#about all her past jobs / scandals?
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“ don’t give me that look, vic — you know i can’t control what time your meetings are. “ technically she could if absolutely needed but, this would be the third time she had to reschedule on these potential clients and she knew that if she did it again, that they wouldn’t want to schedule another one. “ would you rather i just stand in the meeting for you? it’s not like i haven’t done my research, and i’m smart enough to know if you’d want me to buy in or not. “ // @angelsdvsts
#/ okay here is my idea for this one#what if the meeting is with one of her old bosses ( to which she doesn't know ) a boss that she slept with ( that vic doesn't know about )#and she goes into the meeting and it's just awk and there's all this tension which vic notices and she has to finally come clean#about all her past jobs / scandals?#also yes i changed her fc shh lol#angelsdvsts#threads / veronica thomas
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I’ve Got My Eye On You
Summary: Reader is a Special Surveillance agent assigned to spy on Spencer. He manages to see through her cover, and thoroughly enjoys the confrontation that follows.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Smut
Content Warning: voyeurism, oral (f!receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, f!masturbation, slight dubcon regarding recorded sex, heavily based on that one scene in scandal, iykyk.
Word Count: 3.5k
Masterlist
I’d always been good at watching people.
My life had been spent mostly to myself, divulging the information people offered without even realizing. When you talk less, you learn that body language, passing remarks, or even the quirk of an eyebrow gives away more than anyone ever realized– maybe more than an actual conversation at times.
And I took it all in stride, not a single detail left unanalyzed. People were always surprised when I’d mention my observations, finding a way to explain a seemingly unexplainable situation, those around me wondering how on Earth I could’ve been privy to that. I’d always shrug at their queries.
Pay more attention, I guess.
It wasn’t a surprise that I’d ended up here, I suppose, in the end, as an Investigative Specialist for the FBI. I doubt that my listening skills were exactly what landed me the job, but I’d like to believe they contributed more than they actually did. Regardless, I’d never expected the result of the decisions I’d made over the years to lead to this– involved in spying on an agent of our own.
The infamous "Dr Reid".
His specific circumstances had been shrouded in secrecy and mystery, apparently having just been let out of prison. (Prison? How’s he an agent then? Anyway, not my problem).
The Bureau had been curious about erratic behavior on his part, and the string of discrepancies involving the unit he was involved in. Apparently, there had been multiple unforeseen and unprecedented events all occurring under the same team in a relatively small time-frame, and despite smaller investigations, nothing came out of them to warrant any real disciplinary action. Probably why they brought me in, in the hopes of changing that.
I’d been assigned to put up small, virtually undetectable cameras and listening devices within his apartment. 24/7 home surveillance, no exceptions. I couldn’t help but think that the guy really should invest in better apartment security, despite how easy his naivete made my job. His lack of caution surprised me, given the details I’d been given. For a guy who had a penchant for being framed by the ghosts of his past, he sure didn’t live like it. Even as an FBI agent, he essentially had no technology to counter my own, and the height of his protection was a standard deadbolt. Was he insane? Unaware, somehow? Only time would tell, I suppose. And I had plenty of that, to watch and deduce the nature of his mind on my own terms.
My time spent with Spencer resulted in one, overwhelming conclusion. Spencer Reid lived a relatively quiet life. His apartment was barely used, honestly, given the sporadic nature of his job. (Which was a shame, in my opinion, because it’s a nice apartment). When he was at home, he seemed to remain quite unassuming. The positions I’d see him assume often were that of being hunched over on an aging leather sofa, pouring himself into grading papers, or creating lesson plans for his students. Oh, right. Did I mention he was also a professor? He is. I’d assume he likes the job, given how much of himself he gives into it, or maybe that was just who he was as a person. I wasn’t sure yet.
I monitored his life outside of the apartment occasionally as well, just to see what intel I could gather with further investigation. There wasn’t much. Coffee shops. Book shops. Coffee. Books. Coffee- God, does the guy do anything else with his life?
Most days, though, I’d liken him to butter spread too thinly over toast. Sleepless from nightmares that would have him walking around his apartment until daylight broke through the window panes. I felt exhausted just watching the guy, and it seemed insane that he could continue to live on when he left that apartment at the break of dawn. It didn’t seem like he had anyone to talk to, honestly. From what I was seeing, he wasn’t a threat to the Bureau, just a sad, middle-aged man who’d been dealt the most unfair of hands in life.
I’m sure there’s a moral somewhere in all that. To waste your potential on something that gives so little back. Oh, well. My report was nearly finished at this point, and the most I could recommend the higher-ups was to get Spencer a better therapist, maybe. This one wasn’t really helping, it seemed. Besides that, his personal behavior wasn’t indicative of anything worrying to the interests of those managing him.
At long last, it was my final night of watching him. Coincidentally, the date lined up with Halloween, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to finally be free of this specific survey job. Don’t get me wrong, Spencer seemed nice- but God, his life was boring. I don’t want to say it was like watching paint dry, out of respect, but previous targets had offered at least some part of their life to be interested within. Spencer had nothing. No friends over, no gossip-like phone conversations, no drunk wanderings home. Nothing! I know he didn’t sign up to be watched, but God.
Like, come on. Give me anything here.
Needless to say, I’d become accustomed to the quiet, and this night was no different. If he was following schedule, he should be home right about … now.
Now?
Now…
Silence.
Spencer was definitely a creature of habit, so to not see him adhere to the routine he’d so meticulously stuck to in the past was a bit jarring, but I assumed he was just running late.
A few hours later, I reasoned he must be running really really late. It was bordering on midnight, and he still wasn’t home. I checked train schedules, possible reports of a car crash, just about anything that could keep him from his scheduled appearance at home.
I was just about to call my supervisor to look into whether or not he’d been called out on a surprise case, but that’s when the door of his apartment creaked open, and I felt my shoulders deflate in relief. Okay, he was home. He was going to go to bed and-
He wasn’t alone.
Spencer was dressed in all black, a leather belt adorned with a gold belt buckle being the only color his outfit brought. He wore tiny devil’s ears upon his head, the headband pushing down on the mop of curls that sat atop his head. He looked absolutely delicious, if I must say myself, and it seemed the woman in his arms would agree with me.
He practically pulled her into his apartment, kicking his door in with his leg before slightly fumbling with the lock. As soon as the mechanism slipped into place, his hands were all over her, pressing her flush against his body, as if he couldn’t bear to have any space between them.
For all the time I’d been watching him, none of his behavior indicated the presence of any kind of significant other, so this girl must be a stranger. If this is how Spencer treated strangers though, I was surprised he didn’t have a barrage of women lining up at his door every night.
His lips absolutely devoured the girl, his hand cradling the side of her face, before his thigh slipped in between her legs, possibly to soothe a building ache that had built up there in the time they’d spent together, which I found entirely possible, considering I, personally, was heated from simply watching.
I watched the pixels on the screen with such precision, innocuous shades of red, green and blue painting the most sinful of images. I found myself noting the way his hand snuck up the girls’ dress, the way her breathing hitched as she pulled back, watching as Spencer presumably played with her clit. I could feel myself squeezing my thighs together, recognizing just how wrong it was to be turned on by the scene in front of me, but I couldn’t stop myself. It wasn’t as if this was the first time a target had behaved sexually in front of me. (Or in front of the camera, I suppose.) I’d seen and heard just about anything you could think of, but this was different- in a way. To see Spencer so filthy, so confident, so- interesting. It lit a fire in me that burned with every passing moment he touched this girl.
I’m able to watch him circle over her panties in a way that has her groaning directly into his ear, a smug grin plastering his face as he watches her every reaction.
“Like that?” He murmurs, and I’ve never heard his voice so fucking deep.
She nods frantically, and it only serves to widen his grin. I can feel myself rocking slightly in my own chair, doing anything to try and soothe the fast growing arousal within me, unable to stop from imagining myself in her place. His hands, the feel of hot breath down my neck-
I’m stopped dead in my tracks, however, when his eyes suddenly shift to the camera closest to him, his eyebrow raising, as if in challenge. He continues to whisper in the girl’s ear, and has the galls to wink. I’m horrified, a very sudden and intense heat rising to my cheeks. I can only watch for a second more, before he’s suddenly pulling her away, and I realize he’s taken her within one of the only blind spots within the apartment.
I’m scrambling to turn off the feed, stunned into silence whilst, my heart beating uncontrollably and eccentrically. Oh god. He knew. He knew and he did that?!
I stare into the empty space, a multitude of thoughts inhabiting my brainscape. On one hand, the aplomb shown in that situation was commendable, since most people would react to the knowledge that they’d been secretly watched in their own home for the past few months in a much more hostile way. On the other hand, how did he even acquire that knowledge? The cameras were virtually undetectable, and he’d never let on that he was aware of their presence, and I’d know, considering how closely I’d watched him.
I shake off the thoughts, focusing on something other than the overwhelming mortification coursing through me now.
Alright, tomorrow, get into his apartment, remove the cameras, and hopefully never have to look at the man again. In any capacity, honestly.
When daylight broke, I turned on the cameras for the final time, a bit more sheepish, knowing he was aware of the devices plaguing his home. However, it seemed like he was once again pretending like he wasn’t aware of the looming existence of them, sending his female companion off her merry way once they woke up, before going about his normal routine, heading out of the apartment for what was most likely his morning coffee and then afternoon lecture at the university.
That was my cue. I turned off the cameras, quickly making my way out to sneak into his residence, the heavy door offering little resistance to my advances, my movements quiet and undetectable.
I’m in the process of removing the final camera I had placed in his bedroom, hidden behind a copy of The Sign of Four. Doyle. He had good taste, I could give him that.
I’m just about to turn around and get the hell out of there, when I hear a voice behind me.
“I noticed that one first, you know.”
I turn around slowly, embarrassed and slightly fearful to find Spencer’s eyes meeting mine. I’d watched him for so long, but seeing him now– his eyes were so beautiful. The camera didn’t do him justice.
He continues, despite the silence. “The other ones were harder to spot, I’ll give you that, but once I knew where they were, it was a bit obvious, don’t you think?”
I’m speechless. My mouth is agape, and all he seems to do is smile at my lack of prose.
“Don’t look so surprised. I know this apartment. I’m not here a lot, but I spend enough time to know when things have been shifted around.” His tone is cheeky, and he pauses, almost theatrically to add on:
“I’m sure you knew that though.” His smile turns into more of a smirk.
God, did he have to be so hot?
“Are you going to complain to the Bureau?” I manage out, keeping my eyes steady on him.
“Did you find anything of note to tell them?” He responds, tilting his head with curiosity.
I shake my head vehemently. “No, um. Nothing pertinent to say.” I get my words out in a hurry, my gaze continually trained on him.
He meets my eyes with the same stare. “Then I don’t have much of a reason to complain.”
I nod solemnly. I’m wondering where this situation will lead- what either of our next moves are. Before I can ponder long though, he surprises me and takes a step closer.
“I saw you, you know.” He says. “Thought I was going insane when the same pretty girl kept showing up at the bookstore and coffee shop out of the blue, but I’ve never been one to believe in coincidences.”
“Oh.” I whisper. I really wasn’t as good as I thought I was.
“You really shouldn’t beat yourself up.” He says, chuckling with some mirth. “Again, I’m observant. I notice these things. That, and you’re pretty.” He says, forward. “So, more of a reason to notice.”
“Oh.” I reply, yet again, dumbfounded by the events currently transpiring.
“Yes, oh.” He chuckles, before he starts to move closer yet again. “Tell me. Were you watching last night?” He murmurs, his voice dropping a bit deeper as he directly addresses the elephant in the room.
I give a movement of affirmation, because at this point, what could he do? What could I do?
“So you saw.” He mumbles, moving to position himself right in front of me, his eyes darkened and laser focused on my figure.
“Yes.” I whisper, my voice hushed as our proximity decreased, his breath fanning out over my face now. I’d be uncomfortable, if I wasn’t so distracted.
“Tell me.” He whispers, letting his calloused finger finally touch my skin, running down my neck. “Did it turn you on? Watching me with her?”
I feel the familiar heat of embarrassment rise to my cheeks, my eyes suddenly widening not only due to the sudden proximity, but also the scandalous nature of his words. Did he mean for me to watch? Was that his plan all along? What was this sick and twisted game he was playing?
“Did it.. get you off?” He whispers, his lips leaning in to kiss lightly at the side of my neck where his finger once was.
I freeze, leaning into his touch and going statue-like all at once. I can’t help the shakiness of my voice when I reply. “I.. wasn’t neutral.”
“Mm.” He murmurs, kissing now at my jawline. “Did you get off? When she did?” He whispers.
“I didn’t watch that long.” I reply, helplessly, as I feel his hands start to envelop my waist, pulling me closer to him.
“What a shame.” He mumbles. “I think you would’ve liked the show. I did it for you.”
At this point, I can barely speak, a slight moan escaping me instead of a coherent reply as his lips continue to leave warm, wet kisses on the expanse of my flesh.
“I’m sure you’re curious.” He says, his voice soft and seductive. “Would you like me to show you what we did?”
There’s no hesitation, finally, a resounding thought I can translate from brain-to-mouth for him, in complete certainty.
“Yes.” I manage out, breathlessly.
He makes a noise of satisfaction, quickly pushing me onto the bed.
“I’d already gotten her wet by touching her before, but if my suspicions are correct.” He murmurs, his hands working deftly to undo my jeans and feel the wetness that had accumulated in between my thighs. “You already are.” He finishes.
I let out a small whimper as his fingers touch the heated flesh, unable to help my sensitivity to his small, calculated strokes over my clit through my underwear. His fingers starts to move a bit more aggressively, upon feeling the wet patch that had formed there, the flimsy fabric doing little to hide the stickiness he was now collecting on his fingers. He quickly pulls them off as well though, bringing his slightly damp fingers to his mouth, tasting the hint of my arousal that had accumulated there. His eyes were dark, watching my face for any reaction, and in that moment, I know all he can see is pure want.
I can see the same hunger within his eyes, and I feel a rush of pride as the approval radiates off of him.
“What next?” I whisper, already desperate for his next slew of ministrations. I don’t care how needy I looked. I was needy. I’d spent so long watching him, and now he was here.
“She wanted my mouth.” He murmurs, kneeling at the edge of the bed. His thumb brushes over my clit, his tongue running against plump, pink lips, wetting them, watching over me with a predatory gaze.
Before I can respond, he’s suddenly everywhere, ducking his head and allowing his tongue to brush over my sex in broad, wet strokes. My response is immediate, my hips bucking up to meet him in a frenzied motion. It seems that he relishes in whatever control he can have in this situation, because he quickly holds down my hips in a firm grip, squeezing the fat there while he continued to ravage me.
I can barely look at him, pretty brown locks splayed in his face, his lips moving hypnotically against my cunt. Little whimpers escape me, absolutely aching for more. He seems to catch on, and flicks his tongue over me, before suckling against my clit. It’s wet, messy, and the picture of debauchery– and it’s enough to drive me over the edge, my hands gripping the sheets as I cry out his name.
He seems to be unaffected, getting off his knees, his mouth glistening with my release. The sight makes me wish he could do it again, but before I can get a word in, he’s positioning himself over me, caging me against the bed.
“Then I fucked her.” He whispers, starting to undo his belt with his free hand. “Can I?”
I nod, feeling a wave of anticipation, before registering the sensation of the head of his cock nudging my entrance. I feel my chest tighten, watching him with bated breath, absolutely exhilarated.
“Relax.” He whispers, kissing the lobe of my ear. “You’re in good hands.”
He utters the last word, before sliding into me, a hushed gasp leaving the both of us. He groans in pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the feel of my warm, wet cunt around him. He takes a moment, before he’s setting a steady pace, his hips bucking rhythmically into me in a way that’s designed to bring us both so much pleasure.
I can’t help the string of moans that come out with every slide of his cock inside me, my legs wrapping around his waist, urging him closer than he already is. My hands grip onto his shirt, clawing onto the fabric to find any purchase, wanting– no, needing him on me.
Is it odd to wish a stranger could crawl into your skin itself?
“Fuck, Spencer.” I moan, unabashedly. “You feel so good.”
“You do too.” He groans, his arms braced on either side of my head before gently lowering himself to crash his lips against mine in a messy kiss.
I can feel myself barreling towards release, as is he, if the twitch of his cock inside me were to mean anything. It’s not long before his hand reaches in between where our bodies are met, rubbing my clit in fast, small circles. It’s intense in the best way possible, my body barely being able to process how good it felt in the moment.
“Come for me.” He moans, in between kisses. “Wanna feel you around me. Please.”
I can’t help but obey his words, my cunt convulsing around him in obedience as he subsequently finds his release inside me, groaning loudly as his hips thrust erratically.
He pulls out, and we’re a tangle of limbs, sweaty and sated, breathing heavy.
Of course, it’s him, yet again, to break the silence.
“Two things.” He mumbles, breathlessly.
“Mm.” I reply, weakly, my head a mess of airiness and complacency after the orgasm he’d just brought me to.
“One. I want your name.” He says, rolling to his side to get a better look at my face.
“That can be arranged.” I murmur, nodding dreamily.
“Second.” He whispers, kissing my cheek. His voice takes on a teasing quality to it, before leaning to brush his lips against my ear.
“You missed a camera. Behind the plant. They don’t stop recording, do they?”
okay wowww. clearly this was meant for halloween, if you couldn't tell! this is one of those pieces where i'm like.. hmm .. do i like this? question mark? do i want to put it out? hmm .. but regardless, i hope you guys enjoyed it!! please, please like, reblog, and comment if you enjoyed!!! it is sooo important as an author that i get some feedback and know what you guys think, in any capacity. i truly appreciate all of it <33 thank you for reading, thank you for everything!!!
#spencer reid smut#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid criminal minds#doctor spencer reid#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x self insert#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds self insert#criminal minds#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds smut#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds angst#criminal minds fandom#bau team#spencer reid fic#kinktober#kinktober 2024#Spencer reid kinktober
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velvet lies
pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 11.9k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: dishin these chaps out series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter
Himari is not having a good day.
First, her burgundy patent leather Saint Laurent Nano Sac De Jour bag is ruined by the help accidentally dropping it on the dirty sidewalk, she lost her favorite lipgloss, and finally, probably the worst of them all, her so-called “boyfriend” isn’t acting very boyfriendly. Sure, he took her out just last night for dinner, and sure he fucked her good when they got back to her place, but he left before she even woke up. Treating her like she’s just a dirty hooker. He’s barely even responding to her texts, letting his ringing go to voicemail. She’s confused, annoyed, and extremely infuriated. There’s no reason for him to be acting like this all of a sudden; she’s his girlfriend for crying out loud.
So why is he being so secretive and mysterious all of a sudden? Why is he almost acting like he doesn’t have a girlfriend?
The sound of her red bottom heels pacing her living room is the only thing heard in the spacious environment. Biting her French-tipped thumbnail, eyes flickering to her cell phone that lays face up on the glass coffee table constantly. She has a right to act this way, she thinks to herself. Did she do something wrong? Did she make him mad? The sharp click of her red-bottom heels echoes through the pristine silence of her living room, the noise rhythmic but erratic as her thoughts spiral. Himari continues to gnaw on her perfectly manicured French-tipped nail, her polished demeanor crumbling bit by bit. As she keeps looking back at her phone, it’s like a silent challenge she can’t seem to ignore. The empty screen glares back at her, fueling her growing anxiety. She’s his girlfriend, after all. What could she have said wrong? She doesn’t remember doing anything to upset him.
Her mind races, replaying every interaction over the past few days. The dinner last night, the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. The fleeting moments of silence during their conversations, like he was somewhere else entirely. And this morning—no note, no text, no explanation. Just...nothing. She takes a seat and her nails dig into the leather armrest of her designer couch. Glaring at her phone again, willing it to light up with his name. But of course, the screen remains stubbornly dark.
No. This isn’t her fault. Satoru is the one being distant and evasive. He’s the one shutting her out. This is not her fault. Her heel taps against the floor, her frustration bubbling over. Maybe he’s testing her, she reasons. Trying to see if she’ll chase him. What a bastard.
Her jaw tightens, her perfectly sculpted features twisted in a mixture of anger and determination. Twirling a piece of her long, lusciously healthy caramel hair. No, she decides, she won’t let him get away with this. She’s not some woman he can keep on the sidelines, only to toss a crumb of attention whenever it suits him. If Satoru thinks she’ll just sit here and wait, he’s gravely mistaken. She’s Himari Nakamura for god’s sake, her parents own Tenka Couture—one of the most, if not the most sought out and luxurious fashion brand in all of Japan.
She grabs her phone and scrolls through her contacts, pausing at his name. Her thumb hovers over the call button, but instead, she opts for something more pointed—a text, again.
We need to talk. Don’t keep me waiting.
The message is curt, sharp, and dripping with the subtle implication that she’s losing patience. Tossing the phone back on the table, she exhales sharply, her chest rising and falling as she tries to reel in her emotions. But it’s no use. The uncertainty, the rejection—it’s eating her alive.
Himari’s gaze flickers to the ornate mirror hanging on the far wall, her reflection staring back at her with a mix of vulnerability and fury. She’s not used to feeling like this—out of control, discarded. Satoru has always been the one to chase, to charm, to reassure her of her place in his life.
So why now? Why does it feel like he’s slipping through her fingers?
A sudden, dark thought creeps into her mind, unbidden but insistent. What if there’s someone else?
Her stomach churns, the idea sending a fresh wave of anger coursing through her veins. No. That can’t be it. Satoru wouldn’t dare. Would he? The phone buzzes, jolting her from her spiraling thoughts. Her heart leaps, but when she sees the name on the screen, her hope evaporates.
It’s not Satoru. It’s his mother. She stares at the screen, her thumb hesitating over the answer button. What could she possibly want? She finally concedes, pushing her hair over her shoulder, and smiling. “Hello, Mrs. Gojo. What a pleasure to speak to you again.” She greets the older woman on the phone with a wave of politeness.
“Ah, yes. Himari, are you busy right now?” Satoru’s mother, Akane Gojo, replies back. Her aged voice mixed with a hint of reluctance that makes Himari want to call her a bitch. She doesn’t—she’ll never. She’s not that idiotic.
“No, ma’am. I’m not, may I ask why?”
“Well, I was wondering if you happened to know where my son is. My husband has been trying to get a hold of him all day and he isn’t answering. Is he with you?”
So, he’s not with his parents either. That’s even more shady. Just what the hell is he up to? “No, actually, I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him since yesterday. I was starting to get a little worried.”
Himari hears the other woman sighing over the phone, muttering something about how her son is a headache. "Well," Akane begins again, her tone sharp with a tinge of frustration, "if you do hear from him, could you tell him to stop avoiding his family? It's unlike him to ignore us like this."
"Of course, ma'am. I'll let him know as soon as I can." Himari’s voice is syrupy sweet, masking her own irritation.
"Good. Thank you, dear." There's a beat of silence before Akane continues, her tone shifting to something more pointed. "And, Himari, I hope you understand how important Satoru's family obligations are. It’s important he doesn’t forget that."
Himari freezes for a moment, the subtle jab not lost on her. "Of course, ma'am," she replies smoothly, though her grip tightens on the phone. The call ends, leaving Himari staring at the blank screen, her mind racing. Family obligations. Avoiding his parents. Acting strange. All of it points to one undeniable truth: Satoru is hiding something. Her nails drum against the glass coffee table as she processes Akane's words. For a moment, she considers whether Satoru’s mysterious behavior has to do with the Gojo Group’s business dealings. But no, he’s always managed to balance that side of his life without much issue.
This time, it feels...personal almost. She stands abruptly, pacing the length of her living room once more. If his own mother doesn’t know where he is, then who does?
Satoru, the wealthy, trust fund man that he is, has multiple places he calls homes. It’s proof of the fact that he has money, lots of it—more than what he knows what to do with. There’s the high-rise penthouse, where most people will find him. Next, the Next, the sprawling countryside estate nestled just outside the city—a retreat designed for privacy, complete with lush gardens, a pristine pool, and the kind of modern architecture that graces the covers of luxury magazines. This place, he rarely visits, but it’s there, waiting for him whenever he craves solitude away from the chaos of his social and family obligations. Then there’s the minimalist townhouse downtown, a sleek and understated property he keeps for the sake of convenience. Its location near the financial district makes it the perfect spot for impromptu meetings or when he wants to blend into the hustle and bustle of the city without drawing too much attention.
And finally, there’s the seaside villa. A true gem perched on a cliff with an uninterrupted view of the ocean. It's a home reserved for moments when life feels particularly overwhelming, a place where he can lose himself in the sound of the waves crashing below and the horizon stretching endlessly before him. Each property represents a different facet of his life: the penthouse for the public figure, the estate for the privileged heir, the townhouse for the businessman, and the villa for the man who sometimes just wants to escape it all.
Despite all these homes, none of them feel like home.
Lately, though, he’s been spending more time in places that aren’t tied to his wealth—places like a run-down apartment complex on the other side of town. It’s jarring, even for him, to walk through the cracked pavement and hear the hum of buzzing fluorescent lights in the lobby. But that’s where she is. Where they are.
After seeing that place for the first time a few days ago, he automatically felt uneasy—maybe even disgusted. That is not the kind of place he wants his son being raised, where he wants you living. It’s a place for the unsavory group of people. Sure, it’s a little thoughtless of him to think these things because everyone has different situations, like you for example. But as stated before, he’s a spoiled brat to the core. So while he didn’t outwardly show it (at least he thinks so), Satoru hates the place you and his son call home.
He’s brewing in these thoughts in his villa. Sitting on the white lawn chair, watching the pearly waves hit the shore and back. His phone’s on silent, taking pleasure in his solitude. For a second, he entertains the brief thought of being with his son and you instead. He can imagine the smile that grows on his face, watching the pretty sight in front of him. He can almost picture it clearly: the sight of you two laughing, Koji’s excited chatter, and the way your eyes soften when you look at him. It’s a nice thought, but he quickly dismisses it. You’ve made your choices, his choices for him.
Still, the image lingers in his mind. Koji, smiling up at him, full of admiration. You, guarded yet warm, offering him a smile that could mean more if he allowed himself to lean into it. The waves crash again, louder this time, and Satoru snaps out of his reverie. His fingers twitch at the side of his chair, but he doesn’t reach for his phone. Instead, he forces himself to stay present. The world he’s created for himself is simpler when it’s just him. No obligations, no questions he doesn’t want to answer. But that image of you and Koji is still there, in the back of his mind.
He doesn’t know why, sure he can imagine himself being with his son. But you too? The woman who lied behind his back for years, the woman who he doesn’t know would’ve ever told him if his best friend didn’t run into you? He sighs, a frustration that isn’t entirely his own settling in his chest. The villa’s quiet, but his thoughts are anything but. He looks out over the horizon, trying to push the feelings away, but they remain, a constant whisper in the back of his mind. What if things could be different?
But there’s no going back now. The phone buzzes again, but this time, he ignores it. He can’t afford to entertain any distractions—not now. The solitude feels safer, at least for now. He’ll drive back in a few hours, but for now, he likes it here.
“You look like you’d be a good mom.”
You falter, hands pausing around the pot of hyacinths. Giving your boyfriend a weird look, one of confusion and small disbelief. “Hah, what?”
He simply shrugs, watching you go back to fixing the displays of flowers. He’s half tempted to spout some cheesy line about how you’re prettier than the plants, but he’s already done that five times today. He watches you with that signature grin that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. “What? It’s true,” he says with a shrug, his pale blue eyes sparkling with amusement.“Yeah, you know—you got those like, instinctual mother thingies.”
“What even makes you say that?” You huff.
“I’ve seen you with kids.”
“And?”
“Andddd,” he drags the words out, dramatically rolling his eyes. “I like it, looks good.”
You can’t help but snort, shaking your head at his ridiculousness. “You’re unbelievable.”
“No, really,” he insists, his tone softening just enough to make you glance up at him again. “You’re kind, patient—except with me, obviously—and you care. It’s cute.”
Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at your lips. “You’re so weird to even be thinking about that right now.”
“Maybe,” he says, stepping closer and brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “But I’m not wrong.” For a moment, his words hang in the air, and you find yourself wondering what it might mean—if he’s just teasing, or if he’s thinking about something more. The thought makes your chest tighten in a way you can’t quite name.
“You’re really something, Gojo,” you mutter, shaking your head as you turn back to the flowers, hoping he doesn’t notice the faint warmth creeping up your cheeks. “We’re nineteen and you’re immature.”
“Something amazing, obviously,” he replies without missing a beat, his grin widening. And just like that, the moment lightens, though his words linger in the back of your mind long after he’s stopped teasing. “And I’m not immature—at least not too much.”
You hum, rolling your eyes. “Debatable.”
He leans on the counter again, his head tilted as he watches you with that annoyingly familiar mix of mischief and curiosity. “Debatable? Come on. I’m the perfect blend of maturity and charm. Like... the top-tier boyfriend package.”
“Top-tier, huh?” you say dryly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite yourself. “Is that what you call forgetting our coffee date last week?”
“That was one time!” he protests, holding up a hand like he’s pleading his case in court. “And I made up for it, didn’t I? Flowers and donuts. And sex.”
“Uh-huh, right, right.” You dismissively respond.
“You know, someday you’re going to look back at nineteen-year-old me and think, ‘Wow, I was so lucky to date this guy.’”
“Or I’ll think, ‘What was I thinking?’” you counter, though your smile gives you away.
Satoru laughs, his hand brushing against yours for just a moment as he reaches for the pot of hyacinths. “Nah, you’ll think, ‘Man, this guy’s been stealing my heart since day one.’”
You roll your eyes again, but the warmth in your chest lingers. Even if you won’t admit it, a small part of you wonders if he’s right.
You sigh this time, brushing your hand over the petals of the purple hyacinth. Its fragrance fills the space between you two, sweet and heavy, like the weight of the moment you’re trying to ignore. “You’re way too confident, you know that?”
“I prefer the term self-assured,” Satoru counters, but there’s something softer in his tone now. Less teasing, more genuine. He leans a little closer, his eyes fixed on you like he’s trying to memorize this moment. “And hey, don’t act like you don’t love it.”
Your fingers are still against the stem, and for just a second, the air shifts. His words hang between you like a thread, fragile and thin, threatening to snap. “You’re exhausting, Gojo,” you murmur, your voice quieter this time. But there’s no bite to your words, only a faint ache you can’t quite name.
“And yet, you keep me around,” he says softly, his grin faltering into something smaller, more vulnerable. His hand brushes against yours again, deliberate this time, and your breath catches. His longer fingers interlacing with your own, bringing the back of your hand up to plant one kiss, then another, and another to your skin—slowly making his way up your arm.
“Sometimes I wonder why,” you admit, a half-hearted laugh escaping you as you shake your head. The pot in your hands feels heavier than it should, your grip tightening just slightly. Reveling in the warm feeling of his lips, a small breath of air leaving you.
He doesn’t answer right away, and when you glance up at him, you find his gaze steady on yours. There’s no mischief now, no playful grin. Just him. Just Satoru. “Maybe it’s because we fit,” he says finally, his voice almost a whisper. “Even if it’s messy or complicated... it feels like it’s supposed to be this way.” His lips are now on your shoulder, marking up to your neck; to which he spends extra time at.
Your chest tightens, and you quickly look back at the flowers, pretending to adjust the display again. “You’re talking like we’re some kind of fairytale, Satoru.” Your hand lets go of the pot, settling it back on its shelf. Cheeks beginning to heat up and you do your best to hold in the pathetic mewl that threatens to leave your mouth when he sucks just a little too sharp.
“Maybe we are,” he replies without hesitation, and there’s a sincerity in his voice that makes your heart ache. But fairytales don’t last, you think, the thought clawing at the edges of your mind like a dark shadow. You don’t say it out loud, though. Instead, you force a small laugh, pushing the heaviness aside.
“You’re too much,” you murmur, shaking your head again, eyes closing shut.
Satoru watches you for a long moment before leaning up to your ear. You feel his grin returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Maybe. But you love me anyway.”
You don’t respond, but the silence that follows feels louder than it should. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know this moment—this version of you and him—is fleeting. Like the flowers in the pot before you, it’s beautiful, but it won’t last forever, especially with how…different you two are. You don’t tell him that, though. Instead, you smile faintly, keeping your eyes on the flowers, and let the moment linger just a little longer. Letting him continue to worship your skin in kisses, reaching your lips in a magnetizing way that always leaves you begging for more. It’s your own way of letting yourself bask in the simplicity and intimacy of one another, pushing back the brutal thought that this could all change.
Preparing yourself for the worst, the inevitable because you’re too afraid to admit to yourself that you’re already playing a dangerous game, already biting off more than you can chew.
The weight of your unspoken fears settles heavily in your chest, threatening to suffocate the fragile warmth between you. Still, you cling to it—this fleeting moment of love—as if holding on tightly enough might make it last. Satoru reaches out again with his other hand, his fingers ghosting over yours, but this time it feels different. Less playful, more deliberate, like he knows something you’re too scared to confront. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, a reminder that he’s here now, that you’re here now.
But for how long?
You glance up at him, catching the faint crease between his brows, the way his lips twitch as though he’s searching for the right words. Or maybe he’s feeling the same quiet dread you are, that bitter knowledge that life has a way of pulling things apart, no matter how tightly you try to hold them together.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. His teasing bravado is gone, leaving only raw sincerity behind.
You force a smile, one you know doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”
“About?” he presses gently, his gaze unwavering, his thumb moving across your cheekbone gently.
“Nothing,” you lie, your fingers brushing over the petals again, grounding yourself in their softness. “It’s nothing.” Satoru doesn’t believe you, you can tell by the way his eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he leans back, his shoulders relaxing as he shifts the conversation.
“Y’know,” he begins, his grin returning, though softer now, “if you ever get tired of the flowers, I’m always available for career advice. I’m an excellent life coach.”
You laugh despite yourself, the sound thin but authentic. “Yeah? What’s your first piece of advice?”
“Marry rich,” he quips, winking, but the joke falls a little flat. “Meaning me, baby,” he adds, bringing you close by an arm to your shoulders, kissing your temple. You shake your head, but the laughter fades too quickly, leaving you both in the quiet again. The thought returns, sharper now, that this could all slip through your fingers.
And maybe that’s why you let yourself lean into him just a little more, let the edge of your shoulder brush against his. It’s why you kiss him back when he leans back into your lips. It’s not much, but it’s your way of holding onto this moment, even as the inevitability of its end looms over you like a storm cloud. Because deep down, you already know the truth: you’re playing with fire, and it’s only a matter of time before the flames consume you.
You already know a man like Satoru Gojo would never stay with someone like you.
You jolt upright at the sound of your blaring, very annoying alarm. Quickly turning it off, you give yourself a moment to blanky stare at your sheets. Rubbing your eyes. Were you really just dreaming about that? Or no, it wasn’t a dream—but a memory. A distinct, longing feeling begins to pool in your gut. The kind that makes you feel numb and unresponsive, the kind you get when you just dream about some mystery man you fell in love with but can’t remember his face. You shake your head, trying to push the feeling away as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. The room feels colder than usual, the early morning light barely filtering through the curtains. It’s a struggle to move, the weight of that memory—no, that ghost of a feeling—pressing down on you.
Satoru.
What once was.
The way your chest tightens, the ache that feels both familiar and unwelcome, tells you everything. You can almost hear his voice, playful and warm, teasing you like he always used to. You can almost feel his touch, fleeting but deliberate, like he was trying to leave a mark without you noticing.
God, why now? For what reason? You’ve long been over him, haven’t you? No doubt he has, considering he’s more than likely dating someone right now. You wonder when—or if—he’ll tell you. He has to, right? Because if this woman will possibly be around your son in the future, you have to know who she is, just like she has to know who you are. And if she and Satoru perhaps get married in the fu—
You quickly stop your train of thought.
You run a hand through your hair, trying to shake it off. There’s no time for this. You have too much on your plate to sit here drowning in nostalgia. The rent. Koji. Work. Life doesn’t pause just because your subconscious decided to dig up a piece of your past you’ve tried to bury. But the feeling lingers, refusing to let go. You stumble into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face in the hopes that it’ll snap you out of it. For a second, it works. The chill jolts you awake, and you grip the edges of the sink, staring at your reflection.
“You’re fine,” you mutter under your breath. “It’s just a memory.” But your reflection doesn’t look very convinced.
Busying yourself with your other life and mom responsibilities proves to work, the thought of your dream this morning and Satoru in general being pushed to the back burner. You rather it be this way, it’s easier to function.
“I’ll probably be a little late to pick you up from school today, Koji.” You tell your son, hand clutching his as you make the way to his school. The morning is colder, having dressed him in a puffy jacket, a beanie, scarf, and cute mittens you crocheted when you had the passion.
He looks up at you, bottom lip jutting out into a frown. “Why?”
You sigh, not sure how to explicitly explain that you’ll be putting in an extra hour today at the cafe so you can scrounge up as much money as you can for the money due this Friday—in two days from now. It really feels impossible, but you’ll find a way. “Mama has to work a little longer today, I’m sorry.”
Koji’s frown deepens, his small brows furrowing as he kicks a pebble along the sidewalk. "It's okay, Mama. I can wait." His words are simple, but the way he says them—the way he tries to be understanding beyond his years—makes your heart ache. You hate this. Hate that he even has to think like this. He should be carefree, worrying about which dinosaur to play with or what snack he’ll get after school. Not whether his mama is working herself into the ground.
You’re feeling extreme guilt again. Wondering and worrying that you’re making him grow up too fast. But tons of kids stay a bit later at school when waiting for their parents to pick them up, don’t they? You force a smile, squeezing his hand gently. "Thank you, baby. You're such a good boy."
His face lights up at the praise—as always. He starts talking about what he’s looking forward to in class today. You nod and hum along as he chatters, trying to match his energy, but your mind is already elsewhere. Two days.
You’re running out of time, and no matter how many hours you squeeze into the day, it doesn’t feel like enough. You’ve thought about asking for help, swallowing your pride just this once, but the options are limited. The last thing you want is to open that door with Satoru, and there’s no one else who can offer the kind of money you need.
By the time you reach the school gates, you’re exhausted—mentally more than physically. Kneeling to adjust Koji’s scarf and beanie, you kiss his cheek and give him your warmest smile. "I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? I promise. I love you."
"Okay, Mama. I love you too," he says, his grin wide and trusting as he hugs you tightly before running off to join his classmates. You stand there for a moment, watching him go, before turning and heading toward the café. Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of your reality pressing down on you.
Two days. And not a second to waste.
But just because things never seem to go right for you, Mr. Ito comes out from the classroom, standing by his door. “Oh, Ms. Y/N? Good morning.”
Jesus Christ, can he just take a fucking hint. You’re literally walking away. However, you put on a facade of politeness and turn around to face him, holding back a scowl at his ever-present smile. “Good morning, Mr. Ito.”
He spares a quick glance into his growing room of children before stepping away and closer to you. Instinctively, you take a small one back. “How are you today?”
“I’m great.”
“That’s good to hear,” he nods, clasping his hands behind his back. His eyes do a quick scan of you, and you could almost swear you see his smile widen—like he’s appreciating the sight. Dirty bastard.
You suppress a shudder, keeping your expression neutral. This obviously isn’t the first time Mr. Ito has made you uncomfortable, but you’ve learned to play nice for Koji’s sake. After all, the last thing you want is to make things awkward between your son and his teacher. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ito, but I really need to get to work,” you say, shifting your weight to one foot, hoping he gets the hint.
“Oh, of course,” he replies, though he doesn’t move away. “I just wanted to tell you how impressed I am with Koji’s improvement with his behavior. He’s such a bright boy, and so polite too. A testament to your parenting, I’m sure.”
There’s something about the way he says it—too smooth, too rehearsed—that makes your stomach churn. You force a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you. Koji works very hard.”
“Yes, well, if you ever need to discuss his progress or anything else, my door is always open. Even outside of school hours,” he adds, his tone far too suggestive for your liking.
Didn’t he already say this line before? Your grip tightens on your bag, but you keep your composure. “That’s kind of you, Mr. Ito. Have a good day.” Before he can respond, you turn on your heel and walk away, heart pounding. The nerve of that man. You’d always sensed something was off about him, but lately, he’s been crossing more lines, and you’re starting to feel trapped.
It’s not like you can pull Koji out of the school—this is the best option you can afford right now. And confronting Mr. Ito? That could easily backfire, making Koji’s time in class unbearable. As you walk to work, the weight of your problems feels heavier than ever. The looming eviction notice, the landlord’s constant pressure, and now, Mr. Ito’s thinly veiled advances.
Two days.
You shake your head, forcing yourself to focus. You don’t have time to worry about Mr. Ito or anything else. Right now, all that matters is making it to Friday.
“Did you yell at her?” is the first thing Suguru asks. After not seeing his best friend for a week, Satoru would’ve thought he’d have something else to say. However, he can imagine he just wants to get down to the point after he sent the black-haired man a message about seeing you for the first time again.
“No, I didn’t.” Satoru cooly responds, finger tapping along the glass rim of his overly sugar-infested coffee. Suguru takes a seat across from him, giving his friend an analytical glare. Satoru’s dining room, save for the weird tension of words having yet to be spoken.
Suguru leans back in the chair, crossing his arms. "So, what did you do then? Stare at her like a creep?"
Satoru's lips twitch into a smirk, but there’s no humor in it. "I talked to her, obviously."
"Obviously," Suguru repeats, the sarcasm thick. He glances at the untouched plate of food in front of him. "And how’d that go?"
Satoru shrugs, the motion too nonchalant to be genuine. “She was...surprised. And emotional, but I can’t really blame her for that.”
"Emotional, huh?" Suguru raises a brow. “Did she apologize?”
Satoru nods.
"I’m guessing you didn’t hold back."
"Why should I have?" Satoru snaps, his voice sharper than he intended. "She’s lucky I didn’t do worse, she honestly deserves every single fucking thing I told her, and more.”
Suguru doesn’t flinch at the outburst. Instead, he lets the words hang in the air, his silence more pointed than anything he could’ve said. Satoru sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t yell at her, okay? I barely even argued. I just...listened and answered.”
"And what did she say?"
Satoru hesitates, his eyes drifting to the cityscape visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse. “She told me why she kept it a secret, how she felt, and whatever.” Satoru's jaw clenches, the memory of seeing you cry filling him with dread—like it used to way back then. He’s surprised he was that receptive to it, especially that quickly. Luckily, he held back the almost innate urge to bring you into your arms and comfort you. Because again, you don’t deserve his comfort right now.
Suguru pauses, letting his own curiosity win over. “Well…why did she do it?”
There’s a moment of still quietness while Satoru thinks over the other man’s question. Satoru’s gaze remains fixed on the cityscape, the towering buildings blurring as his thoughts churn. His chest feels tight, a cocktail of emotions he doesn’t have the energy to name swirling in his gut. Anger, hurt, guilt—they’re all there, fighting for dominance. “She didn’t give me a chance,” Satoru mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “She decided for me. Like I didn’t deserve to know. Like I wouldn’t have...tried.” He swallows hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He’s never been good at this—this vulnerable, messy part of himself. The part that cares too much, that aches too deeply. “I’m angry,” he finally admits, his fingers drumming against the table. “I’m so fucking angry at her for thinking so little of me. But at the same time... I…I think I get it. It was the rejection she was scared of, the first failed attempt, she didn’t want Koji growing up like me, she…she didn’t think I was ready, either. She said she was trying to protect us all.” His words are low and hushed, even reciting them making him feel as if he needs to spill his guts. “She doesn’t deserve it, she doesn’t deserve my understanding, my empathy for her, she…she doesn’t deserve anything. I shouldn’t feel bad for her, I shouldn’t. But I do for some fucking reason, and it’s making me so fucking confused.”
Suguru doesn’t interrupt, letting him vent. Satoru’s words come faster now, spilling out like a dam breaking. “And now, I’m just...stuck. Stuck between being pissed off at her and hating myself for thinking she’s right.” He runs a hand through his hair again, tugging at the roots as if the pain will ground him. “Because she was right, wasn’t she? I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. I would’ve run. I would’ve hurt her in ways she didn’t deserve.”
The admission tastes bitter on his tongue, and for once, Satoru doesn’t try to mask it with bravado or a joke. “But now,” he continues, his voice softer, tinged with something vulnerable, “I just keep thinking about Koji. About all the time I lost. About how I don’t even know how to be a dad, let alone his dad.”
Suguru leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “Do you want to be his dad?”
Satoru doesn’t answer immediately. His thoughts drift to Koji’s small, curious eyes, the way the boy had looked at him with a mix of wonder and wariness. The way they got along so well, so quickly. The way the boy was so excited to teach his dad about dinosaurs, to play with him, to his infectious laugh when Satoru lifted him high up in the air. “I don’t know how to,” Satoru finally admits, his voice breaking slightly. “But I want to try.”
Suguru nods slowly, his gaze steady. “Then that’s a start.”
Satoru exhales, the weight on his chest lifting just slightly. But even as the conversation eases, the storm in his mind rages on. Because no matter how much he wants to move forward, the shadows of the past—and the fear of screwing up—loom large. And the fact that he doesn’t know how he can get resolve things with you. How is he just supposed to co-parent and see your face so casually after what you did?
Is he supposed to just remain cordial? Closed off? Or should he try to fix things?
But what things even need fixing, there’s nothing between you two. There’s no “them” anymore. There hasn’t been for years. And if there were, shouldn’t that be your job? This entire situation is your fault. You should be the one begging on your knees for forgiveness, you should be groveling for the fact that you kept his son a secret. He’s justified, isn’t he? In being cold? Closed off? In letting you feel every ounce of the pain you caused him?
The bitterness twists in his chest, a dark, venomous thing that urges him to lash out, to make you feel as helpless and raw as he does. For a fleeting, horrifying moment, the thought slithers in: You should be the one who’s grateful that he didn’t do anything extreme like try to take Koji away from yo–
What the hell are you saying?
He feels convicted suddenly, wanting to punch himself for even daring to think such an evil thing. Is he that angry? Petty? Does he want to get back at you that bad that he’d threaten to take away your kid from you? The thought makes his stomach churn, the self-loathing hitting him like a punch to the gut. His grip on the edge of the table tightens, knuckles whitening. He’s not that kind of person. He’s not that cruel. No matter how angry, how hurt he feels, he couldn’t do something so vile.
He’s just not. But he just feels so conflicted and…unsure about everything.
But the anger doesn’t vanish—it just twists into something deeper, more insidious. He feels so troubled, so lost in the storm of emotions that he can’t tell which way is up anymore. And yet... amidst all that chaos, there’s another image. One that keeps replaying in his head like a stubborn melody.
Because he could see it—see how your eyes lit up with a motherly joy after Koji called your name for attention, how you smiled instinctually when seeing your son, how your voice softened so perfectly it practically pulled him in too. He sees the way your face relaxed when Koji tugged at your sleeve, the way your whole being seemed to light up just from hearing his voice. The joy, the pride, the pure, unfiltered love that radiated from you—so natural, so raw, it made him pause.
And for a split second, Satoru forgot the anger, the betrayal, the hurt. He only saw you. You, as a mother. You, as Koji’s mother. Somewhere in the muddled mess of his thoughts, an ache blooms. Not just for the time he lost with Koji, but for the life he lost with you. Because no matter how hard he tries to deny it, part of him still remembers the way you used to smile at him like that. And the other part of him wonders if he’ll ever see it again.
The war in Satoru’s mind is relentless, his thoughts ricocheting between anger and guilt, blame, understanding, and even longing. Every time he tries to land on a conclusion, another surge of emotions pulls him in a different direction.
Satoru clenches his jaw, his finger now still against the coffee glass. “I didn’t know about Koji.”
“No, but you knew about her.”
The words hit harder than Satoru wants to admit. He doesn’t respond, and Suguru doesn’t push, though the weight of his stare lingers. After a moment, Suguru sighs. “Look, man. If you’re serious about making things right, about stepping up and being a father, you can’t go back. Sure, you just met the boy, but it’s up to you and her to make sure you make up for the time you lost with him—to create even more memories with him. You have to prove you’ll be there for him.”
Satoru looks up at him, his eyes shadowed with something Suguru rarely sees in his best friend—doubt. “And if it’s too late?”
Suguru gives him a small, sad smile. “Then you make sure it’s not.”
It’s around nine at night, the convenience store’s ambience slowly drifting you into a sleepy state before you catch your head upright. It sucks having to force yourself to stay awake, already on your third cup of coffee today with two espresso shots. At this rate, you don’t know if you’ll be able to sleep, but it’s better that than not getting through your days at work. If anything, you can try melatonin again, even if that is just a blatant scam.
Scrolling on your phone through Indeed, Zip Recruiter, and LinkedIn. You hate seeing the same few jobs that say they’re hiring, but ghost you. Or the jobs that you seem completely too unqualified for that it makes you self-concsious. You’re aware you didn’t finish college, very aware. A part at you constantly eats away at your soul, mind running to the loud thoughts of “what if”. What if you finished college? What if you didn’t have Koji? You quickly push that idea away, feeling mad at yourself. You wonder if it’s bad of you to think about never being a mother—if other parents do that too.
It’s just a simple thought. You don’t regret Koji, you never could or would. Still, you can’t stop thinking at time about how life would be if you had a child later on in life. If you had a stable job, life, everything. Would things be better—different? Would Koji have been happier?
The thoughts gnaw at the edges of your mind as you sip from the coffee cup, the bitter liquid doing little to soothe the ache growing in your chest. The sinfulness hits you almost immediately, sharp and unforgiving. It feels wrong to even entertain the idea of a life without Koji, like some kind of betrayal to the tiny, beautiful soul who depends on you.
But you’re tired—so, so tired. And sometimes, when the weight of it all feels like too much to bear, those questions creep in, uninvited and insidious. They don’t mean you love Koji any less. You know that. Still, the mere existence of the thoughts makes you feel like a failure, like you’re not doing enough or being enough. You scroll through the endless job listings again, each rejection or impossibility hammering another nail into the coffin of your hope. A lump forms in your throat as you stare at the screen. Your hands tremble slightly, whether from exhaustion or the overwhelming sense of inadequacy, you’re not sure.
Again, you shake your head, forcing the thoughts away, but they linger like a shadow you can’t quite shake. Koji’s smile flashes in your mind, bright and pure, his laughter echoing in your memory. He’s your light, your anchor in the chaos. No matter how hard things get, you always find your way back to him. But even as you remind yourself of that, the doubts creep back in. Are you enough for him? Are you giving him the life he deserves? You hate that your answer feels so uncertain.
The soft hum of the convenience store's fluorescent lights pulls you back to the present. You set your phone down, closing your eyes for a moment as you press your palms against your forehead. You want to cry but know you can’t afford the luxury of breaking down, not here, not now.
The truth is, no matter how much you love Koji, you feel like you’re drowning. You’re just too good at treading water, keeping your head barely above the surface, to let anyone notice.
And so, you lose focus on your phone and exist in the present. You can’t change the past, but you can change your now, and your future. That starts with working hard, harder than you ever thought you could. The people who rise to the top, the people like Satoru, they fight for what they have. It’s a dog eat dog world out here, and you’d be damned if you let someone else best you.
You’re the ruler in your own life, not Satoru, not money, not evictions, nothing. It’s you. It’ll always be you. You’ve been working since you were fourteen, practically emancipated because your own sorry excuse of parents couldn’t have been more bothered.
That’s another thing that’s your driving force. Just like how you didn’t want Koji to grow up like Satoru, you didn’t want him to grow up like how you did either. You would never—ever—be like them. You pledged that, took an oath. Sure, things aren’t looking very good right now. But you’re strong, resilient, smart. You will get through this. For Koji, and for yourself.
Hard workers get what they worked for. You’ll be there soon. Patience is a virtue, and slow and steady wins the race.
Almost two hours have passed, once again putting in an extra hour. Right in the middle of ringing up some drunken college girls who came in for snacks, your phone in front of the register rings. You look down, it displays a number you know by heart. Mumbling a ‘have a good night’ to the girls who stumble their way out, you take the liberty to answer; not before you take a deep breath in, however.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Um…hey. Can I help you?”
“I’m coming over tomorrow.”
You pause for a moment, the phone pressed tightly to your ear as Satoru's words register. It takes a second too long for you to find your voice again, the casual confidence in his tone throwing you off balance. “Tomorrow?” you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden swirl of emotions his call stirs. “Okay, why?”
He scoffs. “Because I want to see him,” Satoru says simply, as if his answer explains everything.
Your lips purse, a mix of frustration and anxiety bubbling to the surface. “Satoru, it’s not that simple—”
“It is that simple,” he interrupts, his voice calm but laced with a sharp edge. “I haven’t seen him in a few days. I’m not waiting any longer, I want to see my son.”
Your grip tightens on the phone as your free hand balls into a fist at your side. The words you want to say die in your throat, the late hour and your sheer exhaustion making it hard to form a coherent argument. “I…I–I have work tomorrow, he has school.”
“So I’ll come over when he’s out of school,” he counters, his tone softening slightly but still resolute. “Look, I’m not trying to fight with you. I just want to see my son. We’ll figure the rest out as we go.”
You glance around the empty store, the harsh fluorescent lights casting long shadows. The reality of the situation presses down on you, the fact that this is something you’ll have to get used to, have to allow. Because he deserves it. “Fine,” you say quietly, your voice almost a whisper. “He’s off at 2:30, we get home around 2:40, you can be there by that time.”
“I’ll text before I get there,” he promises, though the nonchalant way he says it doesn’t do much to ease your questionable nerves. “See you tomorrow.”
The line goes dead before you can respond, leaving you standing there in the dim light of the convenience store, the phone still pressed to your ear. Tomorrow. You set the phone down, your hands trembling slightly, unsure as to why. It’s just the fatigue. Or maybe it’s the fact that Satoru is officially back in your life, his face will be a regular occurrence now.
He’s here for Koji. That’s all. Don’t look into it.
When you slug back home, the first thing you do—after paying Sana—is count your money. Mr. Sato needs around four thousand dollars, you’re still fucking short.
“Nine-hundred.”
“Thousand.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
A thousand short, plus another hundred for the utilities. And he needs it by Friday. It’s Wednesday.
On a scale from one to ten of how screwed you are, you’d give yourself an eleven. It’s hard to even admit that to yourself, feeling your hot tears wet the green paper in frustration. Gritting your teeth so hard you can hear the creaking of your muscles in your ears, a ringing noise following after. You sit there, staring at the bills fanned out on the table like they’re mocking you. The tears won’t stop, blurring the numbers, but you know them by heart. A thousand short for rent, a hundred for utilities, and nothing left for groceries or the babysitter fees piling up in the back of your mind.
You take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down, but it’s like trying to hold back a tidal wave. The frustration spills over, hot and suffocating, as you swipe the money off the table in a fit of anger. The bills scatter across the floor like fallen leaves, and for a moment, you just sit there, trembling in the silence. “Goddamn it,” you mutter under your breath, clutching your head as if that’ll stop the spiral of thoughts. You can feel the panic rising, the way it always does when you’re this close to breaking. How are you supposed to keep everything together when the universe seems hell-bent on tearing it apart? You can already feel your migraine coming back like an old friend, feeling its twisting and pulling on your brain.
Koji’s soft footsteps break through the haze, his small voice pulling you back to reality. “Mama?”
You hastily wipe at your face, trying to compose yourself as you turn toward him. He’s standing in the doorway, clutching his favorite stuffed animal—a tattered little bear you bought second-hand years ago. His big eyes are filled with concern, and it breaks your heart even more. “Hey, baby,” you say, forcing a smile you don’t feel. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?”
He shakes his head, padding over to you and climbing onto your lap without a word. His tiny arms wrap around your waist, and for a moment, the world doesn’t feel as heavy. You stroke his hair, letting the quiet stretch between you. “Mama’s just tired,” you murmur after a while, hoping he doesn’t ask too many questions.
Koji looks up at you, his brows furrowed in a way that reminds you so much of Satoru it’s almost painful. “Are we okay?”
The question hits you like a punch to the gut, but you nod, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “Of course we are, baby. Don’t worry about a thing, okay? Mama’s got it all under control.” It’s a lie, but it’s one you tell for his sake. Koji doesn’t need to know how close to the edge you really are. And you’d never let him know just how close you are from sinking completely, he’s too young, too innocent.
After a few minutes, he’s able to drift off to sleep in your arms, you stare at the scattered bills on the floor, your mind racing. Tomorrow, Satoru will be here. Maybe—just maybe—you can ask him for help. The thought makes your stomach churn, pride and desperation warring inside you. Are you even allowed to? What would he say?
But what choice do you have?
You need this place, no matter how ragged or disgusting Satoru—or anyone for that fact may think it is. It’s home. Home to you, and home to Koji. You’ve stopped caring about what others thought og you a long time ago. It still comes back, of course. Especially in your most vulnerable, most small of moments. And when it hits you, you realize how much you didn’t miss the feeling. You desperately wish you can just give absolutely zero fucks all day, everyday.
That might be impossible.
As long as you just hold it down, you’ll be good—you think.
For Koji, for Koji.
Walking Koji home the next day from school, you’re focused on checking the time of your phone; surprised when the young boy suddenly rips from your grip and runs forward. Instantly, you look up and call out for him in a hurry. “Koji! Do—”
“Papa!”
Satoru, who’s waiting outside your apartment door, crouches down to your son’s height, arms held out with a wide smile on his face. Koji melted into his embrace, small arms wrapped around his father’s neck. Satoru hugged the boy, running a hand up and down his back slowly. “How was school, my big boy?” “Good! We learned about plants, and I drew a sunflower!” Koji exclaims, his words tumbling over each other in excitement as he pulls back slightly to look at Satoru's face. His little hands grasp Satoru’s jacket, his wide eyes sparkling with pure joy.
Satoru’s expression softens even further, a rare glimpse of unguarded tenderness crossing his features. “A sunflower, huh? That’s my favorite flower. Did you know they always turn toward the sun?”
Koji nods eagerly, his grin spreading even wider. “Yeah! The teacher said that too. I wanna show you my drawing when we get inside!”
“Of course. I can’t wait to see it,” Satoru says, ruffling Koji’s hair before standing to his full height, the boy still clinging to his leg like a koala. His gaze shifts to you, his smile faltering just a fraction as his expression becomes unreadable. “Hey.”
You stand a few steps away, your heart caught in your throat. Watching the two of them together feels like a punch to the chest—bittersweet and raw. You manage to swallow the lump in your throat and force a polite smile. “Hey.”
Satoru takes a step closer, his tone light but his eyes piercing. He simply nods in response.
You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. But there’s an ache beneath the surface, a mix of guilt, resentment, and longing you can’t quite shake. Koji looks happy, that’s all that matters. You step forward to unlock the door. “I have my other job to get to,” you say finally, keeping your tone neutral. “Do you think you can watch him until his babysitter comes?”
Koji rushes in, but Satoru lingers, looking at you. “Who’s his babysitter?”
“Sana, she usually comes a few minutes before I leave, but if you’re here I can go earlier.” You walk in, arm brushing against his that sends an uncomfortable tingle down your spine—one you ignore forcibly.
He follows in, closing the door behind him. Standing a bit awkwardly around the living room, watching you hang your coat and purse up. “I didn’t know you worked two jobs,” he says, almost like he’s not sure if he should be voicing out this small curiosity of his.
You pause mid-motion, fingers lingering on the hook of your coat rack. For a moment, you consider not answering, brushing it off with some noncommittal remark. But the weight of his gaze is palpable, pressing down on you until you finally sigh and turn around to face him. “Yeah,” you say simply, your voice flat. “Bills don’t pay themselves.” There’s an edge in your tone, one you don’t intend but can’t quite help. His eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment, you think he might argue, but instead, he just nods, his expression unreadable.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.
You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head as you move to the small kitchen area to grab a glass of water. “Tell you? What would that have changed, Satoru? Would you have swooped in and made it all better?”
His jaw clenches, his hands flexing at his sides before he crosses his arms over his chest. “Maybe I would have. But you never gave me the chance.”
You set the glass down harder than you meant to, the sound of it hitting the counter echoing in the silence. “You don’t get to say that,” you snap, turning to face him fully. “You don’t just show up now and act like you care about how I’ve been keeping things together.”
“I do care,” he shoots back, his voice rising slightly. “You think I wouldn’t? That I don’t give a damn about you—Koji?” The small correction doesn’t get missed by you.
“You didn’t care enough to stay,” you bite out before you can stop yourself.
The words hang in the air, sharp and cutting. His expression falters for just a moment before his face hardens, a wall going up that you recognize all too well. God damn it. Why do you keep bringing up the past and your shitty breakup?
“That’s not fair,” he says, his voice low. “You made that decision for the both of us.”
Your breath catches, and for a moment, you can’t speak. The two of you stand there, the room thick with tension, until a small voice interrupts.
“Mama?” Both of you turn toward the hallway, where Koji stands in the hallway, tilting his head. Holding his colored paper of a sunflower in his hands. “Are you fighting?”
Your heart aches at the sight of him, his small frame dwarfed by the weight of the conversation he doesn’t understand. You put on a smile, crouching down to his level. “No, baby. We’re just talking, that’s all.”
Satoru steps forward, his face softening as he kneels next to Koji. “Yeah, buddy. We’re not fighting. Everything’s okay.”
Koji looks between you both for a long moment before nodding, though his expression still carries a hint of worry. “Okay,” he turns to Satoru. “Here Papa, my drawing.”
The two move to the couch, Satoru listening with fascination as Koji talks and talks and talks. His father doesn’t seem to mind, however. Occasionally touching his cheek or pushing hair out his face as if to remind himself this is real, that this is his son. You look away and go to your room, locking the door as you begin changing into your uniform for the convenience store. In a few minutes, you’re out and putting your shoes on. Satoru and Koji are now discussing video games.
“I’m heading out now, baby.”
“Alrigh—”
“Okay, Mama.” Koji cuts off Satoru, to which the latter is glad because why the fuck did he just almost respond to you? He knows you weren’t talking to him, he knows you wouldn’t ever call him baby again, but it just felt so natural and instinctual.
Strange.
He watches you come on over to give Koji a hug and kiss, awkwardly clearing his throat in the seat beside his son; looking away like he’s intruding on something. And so you won’t see the odd flush to his pale cheeks.
“I’ll watch him, don’t call the babysitter.”
You pause mid-motion, your arms still loosely wrapped around Koji. Slowly, you pull back, giving your son a soft smile before turning your attention to Satoru. “Are you sure?” you ask, your tone careful, guarded. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
Satoru scoffs lightly, waving a hand in dismissal as he leans back in his seat. “It’s not an inconvenience. I’m his dad, remember? I can handle one night.” His words feel heavier than they should, loaded with the unspoken history between you two. You don’t miss the slight edge in his voice, though he keeps his expression neutral.
Koji, oblivious to the tension, beams up at his father. “Can we watch that superhero movie, Papa?”
Satoru grins, ruffling Koji’s hair. “Of course, big guy. Popcorn too. But after you finish your homework.”
You hesitate, your eyes flickering between the two of them. It’s hard to argue when Koji looks so happy, his excitement practically radiating off him. Finally, you nod. “Okay,” you say, grabbing your bag and coat, walking over to the door. “Just... don’t let him stay up too late.”
“Got it,” Satoru replies, his tone almost flippant, though there’s a hint of seriousness beneath it. You linger for a moment longer than necessary, your hand hovering on the doorknob. There’s something about leaving the two of them together, about seeing Satoru slip so naturally into this role, that stirs something warm in your chest.
“Alright,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I’ll be back around twelve.” With that, you step out into the cool evening air, the door clicking shut behind you. You exhale, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest—wary, relief, maybe even longing.
Inside, Satoru watches the door for a beat longer than he should. Then he shakes his head, turning back to Koji with a forced grin. “Alright, champ. Let’s see what homework you have today.” But as Koji chatters excitedly, Satoru can’t help but feel the weight of your absence pressing down on him, more than he’s willing to admit.
It’s around eight at night now. Satoru took the liberty of making some dinner for Koji, but after sifting through your bone empty pantry and refrigerator, he orders take out. The two are watching Spiderman: No Way Home. His arm is slung around his son’s shoulders, the two sharing a bag of fries. He can almost feel Koji starting to drift off, the sensation of his body sinking further into his side makes him smile subconsciously. However, that small, tender moment is broken when there’s a sudden pounding at the door.
Satoru looks back over the couch, confused as to who the hell could be trying to see you at this time of night. A hookup? Boyfriend? No, no. Don’t think that.
He looks back down at Koji who’s giving him an equally confused, but tired face. “Is that Mama?”
“No, don’t think so, little man.” You said you’d be back by twelve, it’s only eight. That’s weird. “Stay here, okay? I’m gonna go see who it is.”
Koji nods, Satoru gently laying him on his side and grabbing a fuzzy throw blanket to tuck him in with. He stands with a small grunt, walking over to your front door. He peeks through the hole and sees a man he’s never seen before, Old, ugly, and hairy. He scoffs. The hell do you want? He unlocks it, opening up and coming face to face with the man.
Mr. Sato regards Satoru with surprise and confusion, bushy brows furrowing. “Where’s Y/N?” he asks, tilting his head to try and get a look over his shoulder.
“She’s at work.” Satoru replies, on guard and a hint of firmness in his voice. “You need her?”
“Correct.”
“And who are you again?”
“The landlord.” Mr. Sato says, heavily huffing as he gazes back up at Satoru. His frown deepening when he feels his neck angle up. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“Late.” Satoru simply mutters, arms crossing. “Gotta come back another time.”
“I can’t,” Mr. Sato gruffs. “I need to talk to her about the money now.”
Satoru’s jaw tightens at the mention of money, and a flicker of realization crosses his sharp features. He leans against the doorframe, casually intimidating, his sheer presence making the older man falter for a second. "Money?" Satoru repeats, his tone cool but laced with an edge. "What money are we talking about here?"
Mr. Sato straightens, trying to regain his composure despite the younger man's imposing demeanor. "Rent," he clarifies, his voice firm, though his eyes avoid Satoru's piercing gaze. "She’s late on payments. Again. I’ve already given her an extension, but this can’t keep happening. I gave her until Friday but something came up and I need it now.”
Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, his posture shifting. Late on payments? He processes the words, his mind jumping to the extra hours you’ve been working, the tired look in your eyes, the way Koji’s jacket was patched up with care but still clearly worn. The pieces click together uncomfortably.
"How much does she owe?" Satoru asks, his tone still calm, though the intensity in his eyes makes the landlord hesitate.
"That's between me and her," Mr. Sato replies gruffly, puffing out his chest as if to assert some authority in this lopsided interaction.
Satoru doesn’t miss a beat, his expression hardening. "Well, she’s not here, so now it’s between me and you." There’s a beat of silence, tension thick in the small space.
Mr. Sato shifts uncomfortably under Satoru’s gaze, his confidence wavering. “Four thousand,” he finally admits, his voice lower. “I told her I need it by Friday, but things changed. She said she’d have it.”
Satoru lets out a slow breath through his nose, his jaw clenching as he processes the number. Four thousand. A drop in the bucket for him, but for you? It might as well be a mountain.
“If she doesn’t have it, I’m gonna push forward with the eviction, I already have possible renters lined up with a more stable income.”
Eviction? And from a place this shitty? Satoru’s jaw clenches, eyes raking over the older man. “Well, she’s not here.”
“Then let me call her.”
Satoru’s eyes narrow, a flicker of something dangerous sparking in his gaze as he steps fully into the doorway, his towering frame casting a shadow that swallows the smaller man in front of him. The landlord, suddenly aware of the shift in the air, takes a half-step back. "You’re not calling her," Satoru says, his voice low and measured, carrying an edge sharp enough to draw blood.
Mr. Sato frowns but falters slightly, the confidence in his stance wavering. "Look, this isn’t personal. It’s business. If she can’t pay by the deadline, I have no choice but to move forward. That’s how it works."
Satoru tilts his head, a ghost of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, but there’s no humor in it—just a cold, calculated edge. "Business, huh? Funny thing about business—it’s always personal when it’s someone else’s life you’re messing with."
"She’s late. I’ve been lenient," Mr. Sato protests, though his voice is quieter now, almost defensive.
Satoru’s smirk vanishes, replaced by an icy glare that feels like a physical weight. "Lenient? Let me tell you something. You don’t come here throwing around eviction threats like you’re some kind of god deciding who stays and who goes. That’s not how this is going to play out."
Mr. Sato scoffs with a scowl, arms crossing. “Listen here, I don’t know who you are, or who you think you are. I don’t give a damn about that. All I care about is having the money, right here,“ he holds his palm out. “Right now.”
Satoru chuckles lowly, but there’s no warmth in the sound—it’s laced with something menacing, something dangerous. His eyes, usually glinting with mischief, now burn with icy resolve as he steps closer, forcing Mr. Sato to look up at him again. "Who I think I am?" Satoru repeats, his voice soft but unnervingly steady, like the calm before a storm. "Let me make one thing clear—you don’t get to care about anything except what I tell you to care about. And right now, you’re going to care about backing the hell off." Mr. Sato’s scowl falters, his mouth opening to retort, but Satoru raises a hand, cutting him off before he can even start. "Because if you don’t," Satoru continues, his tone dropping lower, a subtle, menacing edge creeping in, "I’ll make sure you have a lot more to worry about than late rent. Understand?"
The landlord stiffens, visibly uncomfortable now, though he tries to hide it with a scoff. "You threatening me? That’s illegal, you know."
Satoru smirks again, but it’s colder this time, a predator toying with its prey. He leans in just enough that his towering presence feels suffocating, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Illegal? Oh, I know all about what’s illegal. But see, the thing is, I don’t need to do anything illegal to make your life a living hell. A call here, a visit there… You’d be surprised how quickly someone like you can lose everything they’re so desperate to cling to. You should really care about who you threaten, this is my son and his mother you’re talking about.”
The unspoken promise in his words hangs heavy in the air, and for the first time, Mr. Sato’s bluster cracks. He shifts uncomfortably, glancing around as though expecting someone to step in and save him. Satoru straightens, his piercing gaze never leaving the man. "Take the money," he says simply, pulling out wads of cash from his wallet—carelessly tossing them at him, "and don’t let me see you again. Ever."
For a moment, it looks like Mr. Sato might argue, but the weight of Satoru’s presence, the absolute certainty in his voice, crushes whatever resistance he might have left. With a grunt, he snatches the money, shoving it into his pocket. "This isn’t over," the landlord mutters, but his voice lacks conviction as he turns to leave, his shoulders hunched under the invisible weight of Satoru’s words. Satoru watches him go, the cold fury in his expression lingering even after the door clicks shut. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, the tension in his body slowly unwinding.
Not over? Satoru smirks to himself, shaking his head. "Senile bastard doesn’t know what he’s saying.” He turns back toward the living room, his eyes softening slightly as they land on Koji, still sleeping soundly. The weight of his own actions sits heavily on him, but he pushes it aside. There are more important things to worry about—like making sure you and your son never have to deal with scum like that again. But also, finding some way to talk to you about this eviction.
Would you have ever told him? Would you have asked for help? Are you going to continue to keep secrets from him, even though they directly affect his son—affect you?
The sound of hurried footsteps, practically running footsteps, sounds throughout the long corridor. Ignoring and maneuvering out the way of the office employees who regard the person with confusion and annoyance. There’s a singular focus in their movement, a sense of urgency that prickles the air. The familiar, large doors of the office are in line of sight, to which the person rushes inside. The grand, imposing doors of the executive office burst open. Usually, he’d knock and wait, but not this time.
Inside, Yamato Gojo sits at the head of a polished, expansive table, his wife, Akane, poised elegantly at his side. Around them, a small group of sharp-suited businessmen turn toward the intrusion, their murmurs of surprise quickly silenced by Yamato’s cold, calculating glare.
The informant can barely get the words out, stumbling over. “M-Mr. Gojo! I have—there’s—I—!” Their face pale and slick with sweat. Words fail them at first, a garbled mess of syllables spilling out in their panic. Finally, they manage to force out, "M-Mr. Gojo! You need to see this!"
Yamato leans forward, his eyes narrowing as he motions for the informant to come closer, his long fingers curling in a beckoning gesture. The air in the room seems to thicken as the informant, trembling, hurries forward and hands over a tablet. Akane leans in as Yamato taps the screen, her expression calm and unreadable—at least, until her eyes land on the image.
The sound of shattering glass cuts through the room like a gunshot as Akane’s wine glass slips from her hand, crimson liquid pooling across the pristine floor. Her gasp transforms into a piercing shriek that sends a chill through everyone present.
Because on the screen, displayed in haunting clarity, is an image that chills the air in the room: their son, unmistakably, embracing a younger version of himself—while your figure stands to the side.
a/n: uh ohhhh
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FORMER MANAGER
PART 3: Crazy.
Kim Chaewon x Male Reader (3.7k length)
The rays of sunlight streaming through the window and illuminating the bedroom made you wake up. You felt sleepy and tired, when you sat up in bed you noticed how all your muscles were feeling pain from the big effort that your whole body had made the night before.
A thin sheet covered the lower half of your body. From the waist up, you were completely naked, you could see some scratches and slight wounds on your arms. You assumed that your back was in worse condition, but you had no way to confirm it.
You got out of bed wearing some simple boxers, and as soon as you stood up, your legs wobbled. God, if only the night had ended in the shower, but no, Eunbi was not satisfied with just that, you both had to take the party back to bed, making that shower in something totally useless.
The owner of your thoughts burst into the room while you picked up your clothes scattered on the bedroom floor. Smiling, happy and unlike you without traces of consequences of the turbulent night experienced. Moving from side to side, in and out of the bathroom getting ready and getting dressed, making you seriously doubt how bad your physical condition was at that moment.
She came up to you, while you were still putting on your shoes to finish dressing, and placed a soft kiss on your forehead that made you raise your head and face her.
“Did you sleep well?”
“As much as I could.” You replied, standing next to her.
“It's not that I want to kick you out or anything, but I have work, you know?”
“Yeah of course, I understand, do you want me to take you?” She shook her head.
“My manager will come pick me up right away, don’t worry.” She approached you with a mischievous smile.
"And relax, I don't do anything with him that I did with you." She whispered in your ear, making you blush.
“Listen to me, last night was…”
“It was fantastic, but it was wrong and should not be repeated?” That made you frown. “I assumed you would say it, you told that to Yuri too, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“Now you listen to me.” She interrupted you again. “There was nothing wrong with what we did. I wanted it, you wanted it and we both enjoyed it, no problem except that you're too cute to be around girls like us.”
You sighed tiredly, you knew that when she got into that mood there was no person or argument in the world that would make her change her mind, stubbornness typical of a leader.
"Besides if it really pricks your conscience and you think it was that bad..." She took a few steps in your direction. “Next time, I'm sure you'll resist…” She whispered, touching your lips in a sensual kiss.
And you were weak, extremely weak and helpful, very helpful, you were always there to satisfy whatever your girls needed, and it doesn't seem like you were going to make exceptions now.
“Can I at least trust that no one will know about this?”
“It is my career as an idol that is at stake, of course no one will know… no one from the outside at least…”
"What do you mean?"
“Well…” She whirled around playfully. “Girls may already know.”
“NOONA!”
This situation only became more and more complicated, you had to stop all of this immediately because it was no longer just your job that was at stake, now the girls' professional careers as well.
Your fear was no longer being discovered by someone from the company but by someone from the press. You hadn't been in the industry for many years, but you knew perfectly how it worked. Scandals like this one have destroyed other idols in the past.
On the other hand, idols relationships were practically an open secret, they were still human, and despite having to act with special caution regarding some specific topics, they should not deprive themselves about anything.
The sound of your phone chased away all those thoughts, the light was constantly flashing, a sign that you had a new message. Strange since due to the short time you had been in the country, very few people had your contact beyond the staff of your company, and that was your day off.
You unlocked it and were surprised to read, 'Kim Chaewon sent you a new message.' True, the night before you had exchanged contacts with the girls.
'Good morning oppa! I remembered that today you had the day off, I need your help with some things, can you help me please? I'll wait for you.’
Along with the message, she shared a location, which after opening with the map application on your phone, you discovered that it was the Hybe building. You felt a sudden pressure. It is really okay for you to go there?
However, you didn't take long to respond to her message, 'On my way.' You were too helpful when it came to these girls.
“And this is where all the magic happens.” You laughed when you heard that phrase when she opened the door to the LE SSERAFIM practice room, after giving you a short tour of the building.
“It's like three times bigger than it was years ago.” You talked to yourself by observing everything around you.
“What can I say? I'm a superstar." She said with superiority, shaking the dust off her shoulders.
“Whatever you say, Miss Superstar.” You scoffed. “Well, what was that I had to help you with?”
"Personal opinion." She said cheerfully clasping her hands together. You stared at her, somewhat confused.
“In a couple of days, we will release a new comeback, everything is ready: the album, photobook, b-sides, performances, and stages. But I would like to have an honest opinion from someone outside before I start promoting.” She explained sitting on the couch.
"I see…"
She pointed, lightly tapping with her hand, to the spot on the sofa that was free next to her. You sat in there, and she lent you her mobile phone, where she played the unreleased MV of her new song. You watched it, paying attention to all the possible details, although somewhat overwhelmed, because Chaewon practically above you, inches away, kept an eye on your reactions.
“And?” She asked somewhat anxiously once you were done with the visualization.
“It's...different, but it definitely has its addictive point.
"What about me?"
"You? Impeccable as always, Chaewon.”
“Oppa please, you must be more critical, otherwise I won't be able to improve.” She said this, throwing a small tantrum.
“Chaewon, I don't understand anything about music production, dance, or anything like that. I can only speak to you as a fan, and I really like what I've seen here.”
You watched her puff out her cheeks adorably, snatching the electronic device from your hands with a huff of annoyance as she was typing something.
"What are you doing?" You asked, but the only answer you got was how she stacked the phone screen over your face. You pulled back a bit, so your eyes could focus on what she was showing you now.
“Now, look at this.” She said it, still with an annoyed tone in her voice.
You picked up the phone again, it was a fancam, focused solely on Chaewon, from one of the songs she had previously promoted. You pressed the play button and started watching the video.
Right away, you recognized the song, it was good, and you liked it enough to have had it on loop at the moment it came out. But it had one small bad part, the choreography. Seeing in certain seconds how Chaewon shook her butt to the rhythm of the music while she looked intensely at you was definitely uncomfortable.
You looked away just as that part came, but you instantly felt a stab of pain in your arm. You looked over at Chaewon, who was pinching the skin on your arm.
“Don't stop looking.” She recriminated. You knew what her temper was like and that it was best to obey her, so your eyes returned to the screen.
“What do you think?” Her voice now left her mouth in a whisper, moving closer to you. You didn't answer, you were trying to find the right answer.
“My ass is also addictive, right?” She whispered next to your ear, her hand was starting to rub over your pants, right in your crotch area.
"Chaewon, what are you doing?" You asked, tense, without looking away from the video, totally hypnotized.
“I worked really hard for that performance…” Her hand slipped directly under your pants, freeing your slightly hard penis.
“C-C-Chaewon…”
"Shhh, just enjoy my fancam, oppa." She placed a kiss on your cheek before starting to massage your cock.
You let out a moan, noticing how your cock throbbed and grew bigger and bigger under her small hand until it reached its maximum size, making her exclaim a moan of surprise.
“Oppa, you are huge!” She commented, biting your earlobe as her hand ran up and down the length of your cock at a sensual but damn slow pace.
"Fuck Chaewon, it's your ass that's huge." The girl smiled as she saw how you couldn't take your eyes off the video.
She suddenly increased the pace of masturbation when the video ended, and she reached out her hand to press the play button again, but you were faster and went ahead of her, causing her to giggle.
"Impatient."
“Capricious.” Both of you were looking each other, lost into those eyes that seemed to speak to you, and without a single word you understood each other, joining your lips in a rough and wild kiss.
Her other hand moved to your balls, playing with them, which seemed to have regained their full capacity after the long night that Eunbi had subjected them to. Even you yourself were surprised by it.
You observed the expression on her face once you separated from her, she still had her eyes closed and a satisfied smile on her lips. Now, with both hands around your huge shaft, stroking it non-stop, trying to squeeze you out.
She got on her knees on her spot on the couch, crouching over your lap, bringing her face closer to your penis to give your tip a shy lick. Another moan left your mouth, which was joined by a set of them when her hand went up in an agonizing manner by the length of your cock, almost closing over your tip, that was already dripping with pre-seminal fluid, which was licked off by Chaewon's tongue.
You held the Smartphone with one hand to direct your free hand to her ass, which stood out as she was in that position. Massaging for a while and giving her a hard spank that echoed throughout the practice room.
As a result, Chaewon's movements became more frantic, with her hands completely wrapping the length of your cock, rubbing as much as she could while your moans accompanied the rhythm.
The video ended again and stayed with the image of the thumbnail with Chaewon's face as a screensaver. She moved your hand that was holding the device and brought it over your cock, giving you a few harder strokes, making you cum and letting out a stream of cum on her face projected on the screen.
“Fuck Chaewon…that was intense.” You said, breathing heavily with your eyes closed, catching your breath.
You felt her move on the sofa, snatching the phone, now sticky and slippery, from your hands. Given that, you opened your eyes to see her straddling over your lap. Her eyes were radiating lust and desire.
She showed you again how her face, in the image of that fancam, was completely covered by your cum, and she gave the screen of her Smartphone a sensual and slow lick, cleaning it and absorbing every drop of cum on it.
Witnessing that scene was super hot, like the atmosphere that had become around you in that room. Chaewon grabbed her small bag on the couch, took something out of it, and threw it away along with the cell phone. She showed you the condom she had taken out of the bag, and your heart pounded.
“Are we safe here?” You asked, realizing the place you were in. Damn, you were going to fuck Chaewon in the fucking Hybe building, you had lost your mind.
“I got the practice room for myself today, there are no security cameras here.” She whispered against your lips.
“What about that one?” You pointed your head to the area where there was a pile of technological elements, among which was a small recording camera with a tripod that they used to record themselves and later analyze their failures and things to improve.
“Do you want us to record what is about to happen?” And as much as you would have liked to, plus the curiosity that filming that would give you, you shook your head.
"Maybe next time."
Next time? Of course, because you were already sure there would be a next time. You didn't know if it would be with Chaewon, Eunbi, Yuri or who else would join this game. Because you had to be stupid not to realize that this was more than planned by all of them, it seemed like some kind of internal competition, and you were the prize.
Even trying to deny yourself with all your might, the part of your brain that was dedicated to controlling your impulses and emotions had completely lost control in a matter of less than one fucking day. Now your devilish part controls you, behaving like an animal in heat. Regardless of the consequences, the only thing that ran through your mind was giving Chaewon the best orgasm of her life.
The girl with short hair opened the condom wrapper and placed it around your erect cock, then she stood on the couch to pull down her leggings, exposing that butt that you had admired so much minutes ago.
Your hands quickly traveled to her buttocks, massaging and worshiping them. She was still standing on the couch, sighing at your touch, while she took off her shirt, and you took the opportunity to fill her belly with kisses.
She grabbed your face with both hands, forcing you to look up and meet her gaze. You brought your hands to her hips, and she began to descend slightly, taking your cock in her hand and aligning it with the entrance to her pussy.
You stared at each other without blinking during those seconds that seemed eternal. The tip of your cock collided with her pussy, beginning to penetrate it, drawing a moan from Chaewon.
You caressed her hips, her arms, and her back as she stayed in that position. You moved closer to kiss her lips, softly and lovingly.
"Ready?"
She nodded, dropping onto your lap, making her pussy take in the entirety of your cock in one fell swoop. She screamed, leaning against your chest, and you completely surrounded her with your arms, hugging her.
When she got used to having your huge penis inside her, she separated herself a few centimeters, starting to move, acquiring a slow rhythm at first but accelerating as time went by.
Chaewon was now jumping on your cock with strength and energy. You could feel your cock reaching her stomach on every decent, and you helped her go even deeper.
Her moans transformed into screams of passion. She was being filled by you with every thrust, and it seemed to not be enough for her, she was totally intoxicated by lust and was letting herself be carried away by pleasure.
The sounds of your bodies colliding together, along with your moans, destroyed any kind of silence there might be in that room. Soon, the festival of lascivious sounds would be joined by the palm of your hand hitting her buttocks and her desperate screams begging for more.
“Please, oppa, make my ass hurt, it deserves to receive a beating.” At this point, her butt was already red, but you just wanted to fulfill her wish, and you spanked her harder.
"You're still my bratty girl, I can't deny you anything." You said, intertwining the fingers of your hands with hers.
She gritted her teeth tightly, once again burying your cock directly into her womb, a trail of saliva beginning to leak from her mouth.
"Oppa, your bratty girl wants to cum!" She screamed, raising her hips in a desperate attempt to reach orgasm.
“Hold on just a little longer, Chaewon, do it for oppa.” You moaned, grabbing her hips and moving yours at a strong pace, pounding her pussy like an animal, causing her eyes to turn white.
“OH MY GOD, OPPA!” Her entire body trembled because of your thrusts.
The rudeness that this whole situation was taking was slipping out of your hands, the sweet and pretty Kim Chaewon that you once knew was now just a piece of meat that you were being used for your own enjoyment.
You hugged her again, pressing her against your body, hers continued to rise and fall constantly, touching your lips every moment. Tears and sobs began to come out of the girl's eyes and mouth. You kissed her sweetly and she reciprocated immediately.
“You did very well Chaewon, let's get you that orgasm…” You said, thrusting into her again with all your strength.
Her body reacted to your moves and fought against yours, it practically seemed like a fight in which neither of you wanted to give in and the first to cum would lose.
A naughty finger traveled to her ass, entering into her small hole making her open her mouth muffling a squeal, now that finger was going in and out of her ass at the same time that your cock was doing the same movement in her pussy.
Chaewon gripped the sofa, placing her hands on either side of your head, her body was already moving by inertia and instinct, her brain had long been overwhelmed by excess pleasure.
She lay on your chest crying, yelling a few insults at you and giving in to the pleasure, curving her back and letting out a large stream of fluids from her pussy.
Her body trembled against yours, which is why you hugged her, caressing her hair, trying to calm her down. Even without being fully recovered, she looked for your member with her hands, found it and took off the condom to masturbate you again.
You lifted her chin with your hand, kissing her again while her grip grew stronger as she regained energy, stroking your cock more and more roughly until you too succumbed and let out another large load of semen that spread across the sofa and part of the floor of the practice room that Chaewon did not hesitate to lick and clean immediately.
Once she left everything clean and swallowed your cum, she climbed back onto your lap, resting there for a while.
“I love being oppa's spoiled girl.” She closed her eyes, guiding one of your hands to her cheek so you could caress it.
“You all girls are.” You said, causing her to open her eyes and look at you angrily.
"I do more!" That made you laugh.
“Hmm, I think I had Wonyoung more spoiled than I had you.” She sat up angrily, making you laugh harder, you kissed her again, trying to calm her down.
“I'm the best for oppa.” She said between kisses surrounding your neck.
Suddenly, knocks were heard at the door of the room, making both of you jump in your seats in surprise and fear.
“Chaewon unnie!” was heard from the other side of the door. Chaewon jumped off the couch, recognizing that voice.
“Kazuha?”
Both of you dressed as quickly as you could, fixing your entire appearance, trying to hide what had happened there. You hid the used condom, and Chaewon sprayed some fragrance around the room to camouflage the smell of sex.
Still fixing her hair, Chaewon opened the door, seeing her member.
“What are you doing here, Zuha? Did something happen?” The leader asked with some concern.
“Our dance trainer said she wanted to discuss something last minute with you, before starting promotions for the new album, so she asked me to come to notify you.” Chaewon sighed in relief for a moment until she remembered that you were still there with her.
"Unnie, who is he?" The japanese girl asked, entering the room and looking at you.
"Oh! He's an old friend of mine, we were just having a little chat." She lied, trying to sound as real as possible.
“But I guess we should continue this talk in another time, it looks like you have a job to do now.” You commented without ignoring the fact that Kazuha still didn't look away from you.
“I guess so.” Chaewon sighed tiredly. “Okay oppa, we'll be in touch, okay? See you." She said goodbye with her hand, leaving the room.
You saw how she disappeared, and you thought it was time to leave too, you bowed to Kazuha and she responded in the same way, and you headed for the exit.
“Can I ask you something?” Kazuha's voice stopped you instantly.
"Sure, what do you need?" You asked, turning to look at her.
“Old friend means you are Chaewon unnie’s boyfriend?” You blushed at that question because of how no hesitation she had in asking that.
“No, no, we're just friends, for real.” A cute smile forms on her face.
"Then…"
Your eyes almost popped out of their sockets, and your face was totally flushed at her request. Had you heard wrong?
“Excuse me, but can you repeat that?”
The girl also blushed and looked embarrassed at the practice room floor before whispering again.
“Can you have sex with me the same way you did with Chaewon unnie?”
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Second chances.
Alexia putellas x coach!reader.
Summary: new job, old friends , and memories your tried to forget. Will you be able to dodge the past as you navigate your new job?
“ More news arrived from the RFEF who have promised that they were going through a systematic change after the Luis Rubiales scandal. They have announced this morning the arrival of a new head coach to lead the women’s team in the upcoming euro cup which will be held in switzerland. The 33 years old coach came from the united states where she led her team to victory in the nwsl. Her name may sound familiar to you because she was a part of Vilda's coaching staff until she decided to step away for unknown reasons. Although she has never coached a national team before, the new RFEF president is confident she will heal wounds left by her predecessor mostré tomé and restore the team to its winning ways.” says the reporter on the TV. you were sitting on your couch listening to her talking about your new job with player’s files in your lap. The international break was in 7 days and you needed to get familiar with everyone and have a clear plan of your strategy.
Being back in Spain brought back so many memories. You haven't come back since everything went down and you quit your job. You swore you would never come back to work with the RFEF however seeing everything unfold in the news you knew that agreeing to come back was more of a necessity than a choice. You loved the girls very much and you knew that they deserved better than what they got and you were adamant on giving them the best. Moreover, the new president was a woman you knew and was friends with. You trusted her and agreed to give her a chance. Besides Barcelona was the best city in the world, you couldn't pass up the chance to come back home.
As soon as you accepted your position, you contacted old colleagues, ones that you knew you could trust, and combined them with some of the existing staff that you were 100 percent sure were a safe fit for the new environment you were hoping to achieve and formed your new staff and announced it to the media. The fans were shocked at the amount of changes you made and their comments were very supportive of your decision which gave you a boost of confidence.
All you were thinking about was this team. You held and attended meetings all day long. You practically lived on your desk but it was all worth it because it all led to this phone call you were pursuing since the day you got to barcelona. You waited in front of your laptop anxiously waiting for your star player to join the zoom call. Shortly after you see her face pop on your screen.
“ hola.” you say enthusiastically. “ hola.” she replies. She looked much older since the last time you saw her, which was 4 years ago.
“ Thanks for agreeing to this call. It truly means a lot.” you say playing with a pen in your hands.
“ yeah it wasn't easy but i thought why not hear you out.” she replied.
“ So I am gonna get right to it. I want you to be back in the national team. You are the best center back i know, i want you to be in the te am, and you deserve to have a place in this team.”
“ I see you haven't changed, you are still as honest as you were but I would have to decline.” responded mapi.
“ I am turning things around maria. You know me, you know my story, you know everything. This time is different. I came back to make things different. You watched everything happen in front of your eyes. Do you truly think I could make someone feel the way I felt back then?”
Mapi stayed quiet, she was perhaps thinking about that night you decided to leave everything behind. The night the idea of las 15 was created.
“ okay.” you hear her say. “ I will come to this camp.” you are overjoyed “ you wont regret it leon.”
Your happiness was cut short because you remembered that you had to do this 2 more times with pina and leila. After 2 very long phone calls you got them to trust you and to agree to the return to the national team. You then drafted the call up list and sent it to your assistant.
The days leading up to camp went by quickly as your plans of the first steps towards rebuilding were coming to fruition.
You were sitting in your office when you heard a knock on the door, it was your assistant coach informing you that the players began to arrive. A wave of nerves watched over you but that was to be expected. You were a part of this team before and you hoped they would welcome you back with open arms. You were wearing casual clothes so that you won't be seen as authoritarian. You settled for a white t-shirt, black pants and shoes, and you wore your hair down. Your objective was to appear normal and friendly to the members of the team you weren't familiar with. You headed straight for the conference room and waited for the first people to arrive. Shortly after that Irene walked through the door. You were instantly transported back to 4 years ago which is the last time you and the captain have spoken. You closed your eyes briefly to try and get the bad memories away and open a new chapter with the captain. You shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with her and the rest of the barca group but quickly moved on to the other members that had joined. After they were all settled in their chairs you noticed the absence of the person you were most afraid to see, alexia putellas. Before you accepted the job you wrote down a pros and cons list. The first reason you put on the pros was the paycheck and the glory. However for the cons the first thing you wrote down was alexia putellas’s name. Seconds after you thought about her she appeared. She was just as beautiful and charming as you remembered. She immediately came to you but without sharing eye contact with you. She went in to kiss your cheek as a way to say hello and you did too. She still smelled like before and her smell still had a magnetic power over you. She then took a seat next to Irene and you pulled yourself together again and started your presentation.
“ Hello everybody and welcome. You all heard of me, some of you even were a part of my team when I was working here which feels like a lifetime ago. But in that lifetime this team has risen from the underdog to the most favored and feared team in the world. I am here to continue that legacy and help the team strengthen its roster. But I am also here to create an environment, a culture, and a safe space for you all. You all are the best in Spain and you deserve to be treated like it. This culture I am trying to create involves no tolerance for homophobia, transphobia, racism, or sexism. I urge you to report any case of abuse or mistreatment from my staff or your teammates. I tried my best to employ people I trust and are advised to report anything that made you uncomfortable. So Without further or do let's talk strategy.”
You go over everything you expect from the team and how the strategy is going to change. You then instruct your team to go rest so that training may begin tomorrow at 9 am.
On their way out you called for the captain to have a word with them. Once the room is empty you quickly say ” so you heard everything i said, i just want to make sure that you two know that i mean Plus the captaincy is going to change. Obviously, you two are the captain and vice. You can come with me with any concern or question about anything.my door is always open. I am appointing jenni as the 3rd captain.”
“ That wouldn't go over well with the federation,” said irene.
“ Well, I don't care. They knew who they hired. Plus I don't play by their rules.” you respond. The captains share a satisfactory look with you although you haven't looked at either of their eyes, then leave.
Your transition to head coach seemed to be seamless. The players were responding to your advice and strategies. The media seemed to be happy with the changes you made and especially with the arrival of mapi leon. The vibe of the club overall was great, and you were getting comfortable in your new spot. However, it was all about to change at the pro match press conference. The conference itself went great. You and the vice captain answered all the questions given to you without any mishaps. But once the media left and you were left alone with alexia, you felt yourself suffocating so you quickly got up to leave.
“ You can't avoid me forever,” said Alexia calmly.
“ Who said anything about avoiding you? The conference is done, so I am leaving. If you want to talk to me about anything, my office door is always open.” you say with a cold tone not bothering to look at her.
“ You don't talk to me like you never do. Besides you won't even look at me." Alexia sounded sad. All you wanted was to take away all her pain but you couldn't.
“ I talk like this to everybody.” you hear her get up and see her in front of you. Not looking her in her eyes would prove her point, and doing it would rip you to shreds. You suck it up and look at her hazel captivating eyes. “ Happy now?” you respond. “ We can't continue like this, we have to talk about that night.”
“ alexia there is nothing to talk about. I forgot everything that happened ,I moved on. I am your coach right now. If you have a concern about anything football related, come to my office.” you were lying straight to her face. You didn't move on or forget what happened. You just hoped your tough girl act would hold with her.
Game Day was always fun for you but this time around it had a little nervousness attached to it since it was your introduction as the new coach. You started your day witha call from the RFEF board wishing you good luck and re-stating their confidence in you. You revised your strategy, confirmed you starting 11, and headed to the bus so that you would head to the stadium. You decided on a blue suit and let your hair down. You looked both masculine and feminine which summed up your personality perfectly.
Once you arrived at the stadium you gave the girls a motivational speech, headed to your seat in the sidelines and waited for the game to begin. You weren't a loud manager. You just sat there, observed the play and took notes. You trusted the girl’s judgment and gave them some autonomy when it came to the style of play which rewarded you with a goal in the 8th minute by aitana bonmati. The 1-0 unset turned into 6-0 by the 76th minute which made you proud of your debut. However it all turned into chaos when alexia putellas fell on the field. You panicked as the paramedics ran to her. You watched intensely as they examined her and waited for the signal that informed you that you needed a substitution which you got almost immediately. Your heart broke for the recently healed midfielder but you had other things in mind. You called for Teresa Abelleira and subbed her in. The game ended in a 7-0 win. You shook hands with everybody, did an interview but the thought of alexia didn't leave your mind. As soon as you were done you semi sprinted to the locker room. Once you got there you found irene.
“ Is it the acl again?” you ask worryingly.
“ No, it's just a muscle strain and her knee is acting up again.” you breathe for the first time in an hour.
“ This is happening because of you.” she says harshly.
“ Excuse me.” you couldnt believe what you heard.
“ You shouldn't have come back here. You taking this job was a mistake. You have opened up an old wound and this is just the beginning.”
“ I am going to have to stop you right here. First, I am your boss not your buddy from back in the day so you are going to have to take a step back and show some respect. Second, you have the nerve to talk to me about making mistakes knowing that you ruined my life not too long ago.
“ She didn't sleep last night. That's why she got injured today. I am worried about my friend.”
“ You should have thought about your friend 4 years ago.” you say as you enter the medic’s room leaving her behind.
You found alexia with tape on her knee and achilles. Her eyes were closed so she didn't see you come in and sit next to her.
“ I am willing to talk about that night this time only. Say everything you need but once I leave this room you are never going to bring it up again.”
The only way to make it out is through. You thought.
#woso#woso community#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso x reader#woso request#alexia x reader#alexia putellas fic#woso smut#alexia putellas#alexia putellas angst#alexia putellas imagine#alexia putellas x reader#espwnt
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when he finds out you're sick through the internet
A/N: idol!au. OC is also a celebrity though I don't explicitly say what. tiny teensy angst bc cheol is a worried Boyfriend💔 1.5k words! another random word vomits bc that's the only way i know how to write now lol idk why but everytime i write this kinda fic it's always seungcheol looooooooooooooool. not proofread, but enjoy!
[part 2]
Seungcheol doesn't really get angry.
For the three years you've known him in which you've dated him for two, you've only seen him actually get angry a total number of three times. None of them was directed at you, and all of them are for reasons that you would've exploded upon way before he did.
Seungcheol is patient and rational.
Seungcheol is normally patient and rational.
But he's never normal when it comes to you. And even though the patient bit still stands, nothing about his feelings towards you is ever rational. He's a little too emotional, a little too rash, and a little too worrisome when it comes to your wellbeing.
So when he's relaxing in the practice room during a break with his members, for once not on his phone because he's charging it somewhere on one of the tables, and he hears Seungkwan gasps a little upon his phone, he thinks there's another scandal blowing up upon the industry. But when the younger guy's blown out eyes meet him, colors drained from his face, Seungcheol hates that he knew it could mean one thing: something happened to you.
He shoots up almost immediately, not registering any words that come out of Seungkwan's mouth. His hands shake a little when he unlocks his phone, and his heart drops when he reads the official post from your company's twitter account that states your current condition, that you might need to pause your activities for the time being due to health reasons, apologizes for the worries, and asks for the fans' understanding.
He wants to get angry.
At who, he’s not sure.
At your company, for pushing you even though they know your schedule is practically inhumane? At your manager, for not making sure that you have decent rest in between schedules? At you, because he’s been telling you to fucking stop running towards whatever goal you have in mind but you insist that you know your limit and you’ll know when to stop?
Apparently, no you fucking don’t because else this wouldn’t have happened.
The rest of the members look at him in worry, and Jeonghan silently walks to their manager and the other staff to let them know about the situation at hand, that Seungcheol would probably not be in his best state to continue practice at the moment. The leader would probably insist that they continue anyway, but they’ve practiced for almost five hours already anyway and they could spare an hour or two for the leader when it’s clear that he’s worried beyond measure.
Seungcheol bites his lip as he tries to call you, his concern skyrocketing by the seconds the longer the beeping sound goes, no sign of you picking it up. He tries one more time, but you still don’t answer and he’s about to hurl his phone at the wall when your manager calls him instead, tells him that he sees his name flashing on your phone, informs your whereabouts, and that he should just drop by your place in a few hours if he wants to see you because right now you’re still sleeping in the car and he’s taking you home.
He finds it hard to say anything, a lump growing in his throat until he manages to swallow it down and ask how you’re doing right now.
“She’s… exhausted.” Your manager says quietly. “I know it’s my job to take care of her but… you know her. She didn’t tell me that she’s been having a hard time sleeping at night the past few weeks and it finally took a toll on her.”
It’s hard to suppress his anger, his breath heavier than usual though it’s not too noticeable unless they know Seungcheol. He wants to scream at your manager, but he knows it won’t do anyone any good and it’s really not the time nor the place for that. So he mutters a quiet ‘thank you’ before he hangs up, his members looking at him with a mix of worry and understanding when he looks up at them.
“Go.” Soonyoung says. “We’ve practiced enough today. Take care of your girlfriend and tell us later.”
Seungcheol nods and sprints out of the room, beyond thankful that his members always have his back.
Seungcheol is glaring at you when you wake up, though the way his thumb is still softly caressing your head and the worry in his eyes clearly tell you that his anger is nowhere near his distress.
You offer him a weak smile, unable to defend yourself because you know what his eyes are scolding you for.
“Sorry?” You whisper and immediately cringe at how dry your throat feels.
He doesn’t say anything as he helps you sit down and hands you your favorite mug. Taking in the moment, you frown at how weak you feel, though you really only have yourself to blame because you genuinely thought you’re okay and you can take it.
You know it’s on you for taking as many schedules as possible, practically everything that your company offers you even when your manager says he doesn’t think it’s physically possible for you to do all that in such a short span.
Thinking about it now, you realize that your manager and the rest of your team also gets the short end of the stick through your decision. Him, your make up team, and your stylists would all need to be with you and your ambition forgets to consider their wellbeing even when you wrongly claim you would be able to handle it.
Guilt starts to eat you inside out, and it grows even larger as you see Seungcheol in front of you–didn’t he say he had practice today?–his face screams distressed and his shoulders tense since God knows when.
“Hey, talk to me.” He says softly when he notices you’ve been spacing out and you’re nibbling on your lip like you would when you’re anxious, taking away your mug before enveloping your hands with his.
You tear up almost immediately, and he moves to sit on the edge of your bed to usher you into his chest, patiently listens to your nonsense as you try to talk through your tears. He gets the gist of it: sorry–manager–company–wellbeing–my team–didn’t think it through–made you worry–overestimated myself–sorry–and the list goes on. He exhales as he hugs you tighter, both understanding and upset at the turns of events.
Being in the same industry, he gets what you’re trying to do, understands that you feel the need to keep on running while you’re able to, relates that you’re doing everything for yourself and your fans. But still, it’s hard not to be upset to know you’re pushing yourself too hard when he’s been telling you there’s no need to run as fast as you are without resting; that you’ll only hurt yourself one way or another and he hates that the one time he needs to be right, it’s this.
You end up laying down against his chest on your bed, hiccups and sniffles filling your bedroom along with a random song he’s humming against your head. You pull away to properly look at him, the first time you’re doing it since you woke up earlier, and his hum stops in question.
“Thank you.” You manage to whisper, your fingers grasping the front of his shirt without even realizing. “For being here when I woke up.”
He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand why you’re thanking him, simply leans down to plant a long, chaste kiss against your forehead before he pulls up your blanket so it’ll cover you properly.
“Just… don’t surprise me like that again, okay?” His breath is warm against your face, pleasantly so, and you nod as you promise him that you’ll take better care of yourself moving forward.
“Are you staying the night?”
“Yes, I’ll return to the dorm the day after tomorrow. They’ve given me a day off.” You cringe at his words, though thankful that he’s been in the industry long enough to attain that kind of privilege. But still, you feel bad that you’re obstructing his practice and his members just because you’re foolish enough to– “Hey. Stop. I know what you’re thinking. No need to feel bad. I’m actually glad I get to rest with you.”
“But–”
“No buts. The kids can do without me for a day.” He playfully bumps his forehead against yours, his lips hover above yours merely centimeters apart. He doesn’t meet your lips, though he kisses their corner sweetly and wraps you back into his embrace to the point where there’s no space between you two. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Good night, Cheol.”
“Night, baby.”
“See you in my dream?”
“I’ll see you anywhere you want me to be.”
He hugs you tighter, and you try your best to return the gesture despite the awkward position of your arms. It’s uncomfortable and you’re sure your arms will be sore the next morning.
But you wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when you succumb to sleep and find Seungcheol smiling at you on the other side of your dream, as real as he can be.
cont.
#seventeen scenarios#seungcheol scenarios#seungcheol imagines#scoups fluff#seungcheol oneshot#seungcheol fluff#seventeen fluff#seventeen fic#seventeen scenario#seventeen au#seungcheol angst#seventeen angst#scoups angst#seventeen imagines#scoups scenarios#scoups imagines
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To Love A Lannister
chapter 9 | chapter 10
You had always thought being betrothed to the one you love would finally make you happy. The one you'd remember as you grew old. A memory you'd cherish forever.
Yet you never thought it would be a complete torture — wanting someone who doesn't want you. Not even a bit.
Queen Mother Cersei continued to ignore you through the days that come, as if you were a common guest in the Red Keep. Queen Margaery however, were already talking nonstop with you, asking how the two of you first met and interacted with each other.
Everyone had apparently heard the news. Tommen had avoided you. Jaime looked bitter everytime you saw him at dining halls and hear his father Lord Tywin discuss your engagement to Cersei and where to hold such event.
The Tyrells did not take it lightly at first, but knowing Ser Loras' character, the decision was for the best. In fact, the Tyrell Lord was happy he was set free from marrying the vicious queen, he'd always talk about inviting you both to see Highgarden to spend time as newlyweds.
Of course, there was always the talk about your sexuality and your special appendage, and you knew Cersei was shamed about all of it as she kept shoving glass of wine into her mouth, as if she needed to be drunk for that kind of conversation. You knew then her father meant this proposal as her punishment. And yours.
Tommen was crowned as King the following day, finally diminishing the gossip.
Yet, the continuing appearance of Jaime inside Cersei's chambers, or along side her at times, never not following her, only made your blood boil. Even after the engagement, he knew how to make you furious, he knew what was your weakest point.
One time you even stopped Jaime by holding unto his fake hand, making him almost stumble. He was about to follow Cersei into her chambers once again. You knew he was part of the Kingsguard, yet it didn't sit well on you for him to guard Cersei. You'd request Lord Tywin to change that once you had the courage.
"What are you doing?" you spat, glaring at the golden haired man.
"Following the Queen—"
"You don't have to do that," you interjected, maintaining your hold. "I trust another loyal Kingsguard can do your job."
He then laughed. "Are you jealous I might start another scandal?"
"You—"
"He's my Queensguard and my brother, Lady Y/n," Cersei spoke, making you both glance her way. "Let him go."
You swallowed a lump in your throat before your grasp weaken.
~~~
"I hear congratulations are in order," Tyrion said, laughing. "Here I thought you had listened to my advice. Yet you had to wear the noose or lay your head down unto the guillotine."
You sighed as you looked at the ground, kicking dirt after dirt. With nothing else to do and nowhere else to hide, you decided to visit Tyrion in his cells in the castle's dungeons.
"I . . . I don't know what I'm going to do," you said. "I . . . I have sent a raven to ask for my father's help. She . . . She doesn't . . . doesn't return my feelings."
"See, I told you she's cruel."
"I . . . I have loved her, you know. I . . . I know she has done terrible things in life, but I. . . I still find myself at a loss of words around her. My heart would still skip a beat every time she's near me. And I hate it. She's . . . She's my weakness and I hate it."
Tyrion looked at you sympathetically. "She's always adored when she doesn't deserve it."
You only stayed silent. Tyrion observed your dilemma and sighed. "I was once betrayed by the one I truly loved."
You glanced at him. "Surely you're not talking about Sansa—"
"No, no." He laughed. "Shae. She's a whore. I fell in love with a whore. And I truly believed my feelings were reciprocated. I should've trusted my gut that it was all a farce. I thought she was different. I thought she'd love a dwarf like me. Funny how that turned out when she told the court the other day how I was guilty in killing Joffrey."
You both stayed silent for a moment, regretting about your past actions.
"I mean, it can't be that bad, right?" you asked expectantly. "Marrying Cersei."
"She'd torment you, of course."
He coughed, leaning against the wall. "I want to feel sorry for you though. However, I might no longer be there to give my sympathies."
"What do you mean?"
"I requested for a trial by combat as a result of betrayal in court," he began. "And Cersei picked the Mountain as her champion."
You stared at him in disbelief. "The Mountain?"
The Mountain. Gregor Clegane. He was the largest, strongest and most feared man in Westeros. No one had ever outmatched him.
"You see, Y/n. When my sister hates someone, she'd do everything in her power to get rid of them. I have lost Bronn to my father's nicer offers. I lost my brother Jaime to Cersei even since birth, but I doubt he can even fight with one hand against the Mountain."
"What are you going to do then?"
"Well, Y/n," he said, smiling weakly. "I have always enjoyed having our talks, no matter how brief. But I believe this is goodbye."
~~~
You were heading back to your chambers when you accidentally bumped into Jaime only coming out from Cersei's. It made you push him against the nearby wall and clutch his armor.
You were envy, it wasn't a question anymore. You couldn't decipher how attached the twins were, and how no one could intervene.
"What do you think you're doing inside? Queensguard are supposed to stay outside the doors."
He chuckled, making you let him go. "She's in a good mood right now, Y/n. Don't try to break it."
"You—"
"I told you we have each other's backs no matter what," he went on in a whisper. "I know you'll be married one day. And one day, Cersei will finally bear another child. I'm sure you couldn't help but wonder once your son or daughter would be born with golden hair," he leaned closer into your ear, "Would it be yours or mine? Robert didn't notice. But I know you're clever enough to see."
The argument stopped when Cersei stepped out the door of her chambers. Your gazes met, and somehow underneath you could still see the Cersei you had known the past couple of weeks. And you knew then you had to let her go. For your own sanity. And hers.
What was once a hardened gaze softened as you stepped away from the Knight.
"Your Grace." You bowed at Cersei before hurriedly leaving.
~~~
You had avoided the Lannisters the following days. It was the only way you could move forward without getting affected. You knew you had to face them one day, but at the moment, you'd savor the time away from them.
At dinners, your seat was always empty, making Lord Tywin ask Oberyn of your daily activities.
You had found a secluded place in the Capital, one that's rarely visited. You could see the entire King's Landing from where you sat and wondered how you wanted to leave that place, how you wouldn't want to be tied down to Cersei in such a depressing place.
If she could only love you, her love would make this view bearable. But she didn't. She wouldn't.
You were still waiting for your father's response to your letter. The violent way was to offer Princess Myrcella, Cersei's daughter, in exchange. But you doubted Tywin would see that as a threat. And you knew you wouldn't choose that way anyway.
You met with Tyrion in his cells later that night when a certain idea finally came to you.
It was the only thing keeping you sane as you finally made your presence known inside the Red Keep. Oberyn even wondered why you were suddenly enthusiastic out of nowhere.
And even when you saw Cersei and Jaime as they entered the dining halls together, you didn't let it affect you. Oblivious of the way Cersei's eyes widened when she saw you at your seat, you went on talking to Margaery about her upcoming marriage to Tommen. You then could see why Cersei never liked Margaery. She was a parasite. And she thought you were too, marrying the Queen Mother and all.
~~~
Offer him Castle Yronwood. He'd set you free from the arrangement.
Yronwood. The castle you won fighting against the lords from the Stormlands when you were young. It was the reply your father sent to your raven.
You knew you had to offer it to Tywin to set you and Cersei free. She wouldn't ever have to marry anyone she doesn't like. She wouldn't have to marry you.
Deep in your thoughts, you didn't notice Cersei approaching you in the balcony.
You greeted and stepped back as she approached the railing and stared at the horizon.
The Queen would always stay beautiful in your eyes, no matter how ugly she was inside.
"Can't sleep?"
You shook your head. "Been thinking a lot."
She snorted a soft chuckle. "Aren't we all these days?"
You smiled at the horizon. There was a long silence before you spoke, "Don't you feel like running away from all this?"
"To where?"
"Anywhere."
"Having cold feet?"
And you laughed, realizing she was referring to your marriage.
"I am not," you managed to reply. "It would be an insult to deny your hand, Your Grace."
She looked at you. "Why are you still nice to me when I'm nothing but awful to you?"
You fell silent as you avoided her gaze. She went on. "Kindness is a weakness, Y/n. For women like us. You should know that by now."
You could see Jaime on the grounds below, talking at another Kingsguard and when you finally looked at Cersei, she was also looking at him. And if your heart could only break more, it would.
"I am cold," you announced as you shivered, stepping away from the Queen. "I'm heading back inside. And I suggest you do too, Your Grace. It won't be wise to catch a cold these days."
"Y/n?"
You stopped in your tracks. "Yes, Your Grace?"
"Nothing happened between me and Jaime," she said, making you glance at her. She sported a genuine look in her face. Yet, you didn't know if you should believe her or not. Maybe, she did care for you. Or maybe she's scared you'd tell her father about it.
But what was the difference if she was saying the truth. She didn't want you. She'd never love you. She hadn't ever loved you once. And you knew that now.
"It's okay, Cersei." You gave her a weak smile before leaving.
~~~
"What the seven hells is this, Y/n?" Oberyn's yell surprised you when you entered the breakfast hall where the Martells dine the next morning. Ellaria was holding back his hand as if to control his temper. But you knew, she had no chance of doing that.
You then looked at the scroll he threw at you, giving him a sarcastic smile before reading the contents.
"Your father would kill me, Y/n!" he said. "The Mountain would kill you."
Yes, you had offered yourself as Tyrion's champion for his upcoming trial.
"I had to help him, Oberyn. Someone has to help him—"
"It doesn't have to be you!"
"Come on, my dear," Ellaria interrupted, rubbing Oberyn's chest to calm him down. "I'm sure Y/n can still back down-"
"And let the innocent man die? There's no justice in the world unless we make it."
You had never seen Oberyn this furious before. And you were at the receiving end. He then looked around the soldiers and ordered, "Leave us."
You then added once the Dornish soldiers had left, "Besides, Cersei won't get to marry me if I die—"
"You can't die, Y/n. Not in my watch. I won't let you die," he said with gritted teeth.
"Thank you for your support. I can fight well on my own—"
"The Mountain has his own mind. He only knows two things, and that is to kill and kill."
"I've fought worse enemies than him, you know that, Oberyn."
"You can't die because you are one of the rightful heirs to the throne," he said in a whisper.
"What?"
"You're my brother Doran's bastard daughter."
"Our cousin Prince Doran? You must be losing your mind."
"He had an affair before Robert's Rebellion, before the Mad King became madder. And Doran had no idea, of course. Still has no idea. For he would have given you away, Y/n. Your mother hid you under her Maester's care in the Capital, but before your mother left for Dragonstone, she sent for me to take you to Dorne. Me and Elia took you to Y/f/n, a distant relative of ours, under your father's care."
"Why would he give me away?"
"Because your house was meant to be removed from existence. Because you weren't supposed to be alive. Your mother is none other than Rhaella Targaryen."
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Hobbies Part 11.
~ Azriel X Reader
Summary: In an attempt to keep Azriel away from Elain, Rhys sends him on a sabbatical to the Day Court. With a lot more free time on his hands Azriel needs to find something to keep him occupied. Unfortunately he meets Y/N who has the annoying habit of not staying away. Can she teach him that there’s more to life than he thought?
Grumpy!Azriel X Sunshine!Reader
Series masterlist
Warnings: mentions of sex
“Will you stop fussing? You look divine!” Azriel praised as he walked up to where Y/N was nervously fretting over her appearance in the mirror. His soothing hands meeting her waist as he pulled her backwards to rest against his chest in a comforting embrace. Mesmerised eyes taking in the reflection before him, Y/N wrapped perfectly in his arms as if she was the missing piece of what was the unfinished puzzle of Azriel’s life.
He placed a tender kiss against her cheek, moving his hands to appreciatively brush them along the fabric of her dress. Another marvellous creation of her own design. “You don’t happen to have a matching top for me, do you?” He asked, eyes still locked onto her angelic face in the mirror as he delicately planted sweet kisses along her neck. A twinkle appeared in her eyes as she pouted in faux disappointment, “I’m afraid not. I must say I’m surprised, I didn’t take you as the kind of person who would want to wear matching clothes with his lover in front of his family.”
“Well it’s a good job you’re not only my lover but my mate as well” he playfully bit the lobe of her ear, the blushing woman squealing in the tight grip of his arms as she tried to escape his affectionate nibbles. Azriel pulling her back into him, refusing to let the woman go, amber eyes moving back to the mirror to admire the happy couple smiling back at him in the reflection. Stomach doing somersaults at the love shining in Y/N’s eyes as she looked up at the male.
Azriel sighed heavily as he rested his chin onto Y/N’s shoulder, “Are you sure we can’t just stay here? I can think of many, much more scandalous, things I’d rather do with you than go and see my family.”
“And aren’t we so fortunate that we now have all the time in the world to do said scandalous things. We can try every sinful thought that crosses through that dirty mind of yours.”
Azriel’s grip on Y/N tightened at her words, his eyes growing dark as she sent a dangerously sensual image down the new found bond. She smirked at his growing predicament pressing against her, pleased at the power she held over the male, before she teased, “oh but what a shame. I think if we tried to escape your family any longer they might come and bash down my door and I’d rather not have an audience when I’m showing you just how much I love you.”
“Let them watch” he groaned, smile dropping from his face as she pulled away before he could act on his desires.
Y/N began to pace the room anxiously, repeating everything Azriel had told her about his friends, “So there’s Rhysand and Feyre, and they have the baby right?”
“Nyx yes.”
“And then there’s Cassian and Nesta. Then Mor, Amren and… oh gosh who was it? Ella? Eleanor?”
“Elain.”
“Yes Elain! Ok.”
“You’ll be fine,” he reassured the fretting woman, just as he had been doing for the past six hours since Rhysand had sent them the invitation, “as much as I know I’m going to dislike it, I don’t think there’s a single person who could meet you and not fall unbelievably and entirely in love with you.”
Y/N stopped her pacing, flushing at Azriel’s words as she moved towards him to place her smaller hands in his, “well, unfortunately for them I only have eyes for my big grumpy mate who would no doubt show them who I belong to.”
“I’m not grumpy, I just don’t like people” Azriel defended with a scowl as a giggling Y/N pecked his cheek.
“Ok” she released a deep breath, giving Azriel’s hands a gentle squeeze, “I’m ready. Let’s go now before I change my mind.”
“The beds right there” Azriel pleaded as she rolled her eyes at his hint, playfully slapping his chest as he chuckled. The male drew her into a crushing embrace, sneaking in one last kiss on the top of her head before his shadows engulfed them. A storm of darkness surrounding their hold as the shadows whisked the loving couple away to the Night Court. To Velaris the City of Starlight.
~~~~~
The pair stepped out from the shadows into an empty cobbled street. A slight chill in the air causing Y/N to shiver at the unfamiliar climate, Azriel made a mental note to get her some more weather appropriate clothes for whenever she was to join him in the Night Court.
Azriel watched on with nervous interest as Y/N took in her new surroundings. Having never been to the night court, he prayed she would find Velaris just as magical as he had done. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, she may be looking at these streets as a place she would one day like to call home.
They hadn't yet had the chance to talk about how their relationship would work with the two hailing from different courts, but Azriel couldn't help but let his mind drift to sweet thoughts of the pair living together in a small cottage overlooking the Sidra. Once more dreaming of a perfect domestic life with the woman, only this time he could dream of them doing it all together as mates.
Y/N was beaming widely as usual, her bright eyes absorbing the view of the picturesque street. "Oh Az, it's beautiful! It looks just like something from a fairytale!" she exclaimed, Azriel releasing a relieved sigh at her open appreciation.
"Yeah?" he asked shyly, "Think you'd like to come back to visit me here?" He needed to hear the words from her lips so Azriel could be free to dream about the future he so longed to have.
Y/N laughed at his anxious question, finding it silly how he would think a place would change her opinion of the man, how it would change how deeply she felt about him, "Azriel," she smiled, pulling both of his hands into her own, "you could live in a literal ditch, and I would still visit you every opportunity I have. Because I love you Azriel, not your Court. Although it is a very beautiful one...you may find it quite difficult to get rid of me."
Now feeling silly about his previous worries, Azriel leaned forward to press a soft kiss against Y/N's lips, joking as he pulled away, "I'd wait to meet my family first before you say things like that, you may change your mind on that fairly quickly."
"I'm sure if they're even half as good as you are I'll love them" she replied, pulling the male in for another sweet kiss whilst they were still in the pleasurable bubble of their own company.
"Don't say I didn't warn you" Azriel teased as he began to lightly push Y/N in the direction they needed to go, his large hand resting protectively on the small of her back.
~~~~~
Azriel already knew this was going to be the most embarrassing night of his life. He had already prepared for that. What he hadn't prepared for was the impatient nudge of Rhysand's voice in his head telling him to hurry up and meet them at Feyre's art studio in the Rainbow. Azriel had expected a sit down meal, maybe even a trip to Rita's for a few drinks if the night went well, but of course it seems his brother has something more nefarious planned.
The shadowsinger, who already wished he was still holed up in the Day Court cottage with Y/N, sullenly led his mate to where the rest of his family were waiting for the pair. Y/N failed to notice his bitter mood, she was too preoccupied with gazing at her surroundings in awe as Azriel dragged her through the winding streets by her hand, trailing behind him like a lost puppy.
Her excitement over being in a new court steadily increasing, until by the time they had made it to the Rainbow Azriel was sure if she were any happier she'd likely combust from the enthusiasm.
He held the door open for her as they entered the studio, Y/N's eyes lighting with glee as she noticed where he had taken her. The inner circle were all waiting inside, turning from their conversations to face the newly together couple.
"Oh my cauldron you're beautiful!" Cassian cried overenthusiastically earning an eye roll from his mate due to his antics. Bounding over to the pair he mockingly wipes faux tears from his eyes before gripping Y/N by her arms and pulling her into the biggest bear hug he could muster. If Y/N were startled by his actions she didn't show it, instead she reciprocated the hug, grinning at the large man as she spoke, "You must be Cassian, I've heard so much about you."
The General gasped as he put her down, turning to yank his grumbling brother into a hug as he teased, "Oh Azzie, I knew you always talked about me!" The rest of his family began to approach the pair, exchanging welcoming hugs (which were less bone-crushing than Cassian's but just as warming) and polite greetings.
Azriel watched his family interact with the woman and he couldn't help but think that if Y/N could be likened to anything it would be the sun, her glowing energy forcing anyone near her to fall into a natural orbit. Her presence acting like gravity, drawing everyone towards her. They had been in the room for all of two minutes and Y/N was already animatedly chatting away with Feyre as she admired her studio, the two women acting as though they had been friends for centuries.
Whilst she was distracted, a grouchy Azriel hovered over to Rhysand, whispering sharply in the male's ear so not to be overheard, "What are we doing here?"
"I showed Feyre the painting from Y/N and she wanted to plan something that would make her feel comfortable, isn't that sweet Azzie?" Rhysand smirked at Azriel's bulging eyes, clearly finding his shock entertatining.
"You showed her the painting?" he grit through his teeth, cheeks turning red at the thought of the High Lady seeing something that felt so personal to Azriel.
"Oh...I showed everyone the painting" Rhys replied as if it was obvious, pointing over to where a flushed Y/N was smiling gently as Feyre held said painting in her hands as she talked about it to the woman.
"You actually hate me" Azriel concluded, eyes now drifting around the room in fear as he noticed the number of blank canvases standing on easels. Feyre's brilliant idea obviously being that they all had a family painting session.
"Don't worry brother," Rhysand grinned as he wrapped a comforting arm around Azriel, "I brought drinks!"
~~~~~
The concentration in the room was palpable. Well, from some of the members. Azriel, Feyre, Amren and Cassian all working in a focused silence, tongues absentmindedly poking from their lips. Elain was also opting to work quietly, unreadable eyes sometimes flickering in the direction of the shadowsinger and his new love. On the other hand: Rhysand, Mor, Nesta and Y/N were all happily chatting away as they gossiped whilst painting their creations. Wine flowing to their heads as they giggled to each other whilst occasionally stumbling on the tall wooden stools they were sat on.
"I have to say," Rhysand mumbled a confession as he squinted at his painting, "Azriel gave us quite the fright when he disappeared from here - twice may I add. He was acting like a feral beast, we all thought you had to mean a lot to him for him to be acting like that."
"Well," Y/N sighed contentedly, affectionate eyes meeting Azriel's from where he sat next to her, "I suppose finding out you're mates would do that to someone."
A chorus of surprised cries flooded the room. The inner circle chiding their friend for not breaking the news to them sooner. Sweet Elain squeaked in shock, spitting out a large gulp of wine all over her canvas. Meanwhile Cassian shouted, "I knew it!" and began to list all the unrelated reasons as to why he believed he had always known that Azriel found his mate during his stay in the Day Court.
"Mates?" Elain quietly sounded, eyes locking onto the floor in disappointment. Before she could say anymore her sister chimed in, Nesta leaning over to place a friendly hand on Y/N's own as she congratulated the couple, "That's wonderful news. We're really happy for you Azriel, you two make a wonderful pair."
Having been sat in a nervous stupor most of the night, praying that Y/N and his family got on well, Azriel flashed Nesta a crooked smile, thanking the woman for her kind words. "Yeah, we do" he replied earnestly, eyes moving to rest on his lovely mate.
"Well cheers to that!" Cassian bellowed as he raised his full glass in the air, liquid sloshing messily down his sleeve.
~~~~~
"What is that?" Y/N asked, squinting inquisitively at Cassian's masterful creation, "A horse?...A blue horse?".
Cassian frowned, a paint-stained hand coming to rest on his chin as he observed his painting alongside the woman. "It's supposed to be Azriel" he admitted in disappointment, "I guess I can't quite get the face right.” Y/N laid a supportive hand onto the general's shoulder, lying through her teeth in an attempt to make it feel better, "Oh of course! You're just forgetting the wings that's all!"
The General gasped at Y/N's words, beside himself that he forgot to paint his brothers wings, he eagerly lunged for his palette so he could complete the portrait of his, eyebrows still knitted together as he focused on painting the lines as steadily as he could.
Y/N moved past the male with a chuckle, wanting to see what other wonders Azriel's family had created. She came across the most exquisite piece, a lovely garden which radiated life, beautiful flowers of all shades decorating the scene. Gasping in awe at the tranquility of the scene, she turned to the artist to profess her appreciation, "It's beautiful! I've never seen a garden like it!"
"Oh...Thank you," Elain quietly answered, "It's of my own one."
"You have a garden? Oh that's wonderful, I bet the painting doesn't even do it justice! You must be really talented if it looks anything as good as this."
Elain cracked a small smile of appreciation, "Thank you, you can come see it sometime if you like. The next time Azriel brings you up maybe?"
"I'd love that!" Y/N replied joyfully, having always had a love for gardens which had only increased by a tenfold since that night with her mate. Azriel tentatively approached the pair, slowly walking towards them before coming to a stop at Y/N's side. "Everything ok here?" he nervously asked, eyes flittering between the two.
"Yes!" Y/N beamed, resting her head against his shoulder, "I was just telling Elain how magnificent her painting is, and she's invited me to come see her garden next time I'm here!"
Azriel relaxed his muscles, not even noticing how tense he had been standing, he flashed Elain a grateful smile, eyes full of apologies for not telling her what had unraveled during his time in Autumn, for not giving her the closure she deserved, "Thank you Elain."
The woman grew a mischievous smile, pulling a sniggering Y/N to her side and into a one-armed hug, "I don't know why you're thanking me Azriel. It's Y/N who I invited, not you."
~~~~~
It had been a wonderful night. Meeting Azriel's family and being allowed a glimpse into his life here in the Night Court filled Y/N with an indescribable warmth she has failed to experience in her life until this moment. Still admiring the artwork they had created tonight, Y/N slowly approached Feyre's canvas, tears welling in her eyes at the sight before her.
There, huddled together in the center of the detailed painting was the inner circle. Arms wrapped around each other's figures, connecting them all in one large hug. Laughing faces stared back at Y/N, their eyes all overflowing with carefree humour as their dazzling smiles met her own.
And there, joined in the familial embrace, was Y/N. Locked tightly in a beaming Azriel's arms. Her smile as equally wide as his as her eyes twinkled with an uncontrollable joy.
Y/N had never had any family and spent most of her life growing up alone and uncared for. But here, wide eyes staring at the familiar woman in the painting who was surrounded by Azriel's loving family, Y/N allowed herself to dream of that family one day being hers as well.
"Oh wow that's amazing" Azriel's voice sounded from behind Y/N, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder as he admired Feyre's hard work. Y/N failed to hold the sob that broke from her mouth as she settled into Azriel's tender hold. "Hey...hey what's wrong?" Azriel asked worriedly, shifting Y/N in his embrace until her face was pressed against his chest. He murmured sweet nothings into her ear to calm her until she was able to speak, swaying them gently in an attempt to comfort the sniffling woman.
Once Y/N had settled enough to speak, she craned her neck back in order to look at her mate, eyes still red and watery. "You have the most amazing family" she wept, unable to stop the tracks of tears rolling down her cheeks.
"We do" Azriel replied simply, agreeing with her statement. He placed a small kiss on her forehead before beginning to gently wipe the tears from her face with his hands. Turning Y/N until she faced the painting once more, back nestled into his chest. "You know I'm not actually related to any of them through blood" Azriel pointed out, his low voice rumbling against her back, "But we found each other and built something special between us. Something that means more to us than just family."
Y/N still sniffled slightly but she was deadly focussed on listening to every word that came from Azriel's mouth as he continued, "Some bonds run deeper than blood. And you're a part of that now. You're one of us."
"Yeah?" Y/N asked hesitantly, fingers coming to brush up against her euphoric form in the painting. Azriel hugged her midsection tightly, gently pulling her back so her hand dropped from the piece, "don't go trying to rub yourself off. You're stuck with us now."
She laughed through her tears, opting to rest her hands on Azriel's encircling arms instead. Happy with the home she had found with the male.
Allowing the final few tears to fall, she breathed out deeply, allowing her overwhelming emotions to expire.
"What did you paint?" she asked curiously, realizing she had now seen every painting in the room except her mates.
"Come on," he smiled, holding out a hand for her to take, "I'll show you."
~~~~~
Y/N stared at the painting which glared right back at her. Absorbing the piece in it's entirety as she tried to figure out what it was.
It was beautiful, a swirl of misty yellows and glittering golds, whirling together on the canvas. Colours blending in harmony as they glided across the surface. The picture had a depth to it, sparking a desire inside her chest to try and climb into it, to see just how far she would make it into the glowing storm, wondering what kind of nirvana she would discover at the end of it.
"Its incredible Az! But...what is it?" she daren't remove her eyes from the painting, afraid that the spiritual journey it was taking her on would be cut short.
"It's you" he replied, his proud amber eyes burning into his own work, "what you make me feel, what the bond makes me feel. Every stroke of the brush, every whirl of paint, it's all you."
His words held truth, as Y/N stood and observed each flowing line that moved along the canvas, she felt a strange sense of intamacy with the artwork. As though Azriel had torn out her soul and plastered it across the surface. Her soul which Azriel had recognized before she had, her mate knowing every part of her in it's entirety.
"I see you for what you are" Azriel stated, bond already revealing your thoughts to him, "Just as you see me."
"Cauldron Azriel!" Cassian's shrill voice severed the consuming aura of the moment Y/N and Azriel were sharing, "Feyre needs to start giving you some lessons cause let me tell you that is one ugly-"
Epilogue
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Notes: Hehe if you want to do what I did picture Azriel punching Cassian for that!
Everybody can thank the lovely @charlineraven for speaking this extra part into existence! (I'm so glad you did! 💕💕)
Just the epilogue to go now!
Also for all those expecting a big Elain confrontation I’m sorry! It felt wrong to belittle a woman just for having a crush (come on! Who can blame her I love Az so much)
Taglist:
@thelov3lybookworm @minnieoo @iluvyewman-blog @going-through-shit @laughterafter @amysangel @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @aaronwarnerobssessedmylove @honeybeeboobaa @justvibbinghere @willowpains @tele86 @mysticalfuncollectorus @mybestfriendmademe @starryhiraeth @gorlillaglue25 @moonlwghts @darling006 @anuttellaa @serendipityx150 @xxxalicerogersxx @that-one-little-soybean @scatteredstardustt @naturakaashi @nyx-the-alien @lostinpages13 @namelesssav @dreamlandreader @fightmedraco @maxmouse001
#azriel oneshot#acotar#fanfic#acotar imagine#sarah j maas#azriel x reader#a court of thorns and roses#azriel imagine#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#azriel
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✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩
All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.
Marvel
how to return home by JBS_Forever
Flash Thompson is a good person, but not a great one, so when Peter Parker accidentally gets drunk at his house party, all he can do is say, “Shit.”
Or: the one where Flash is just trying to be a decent person and get a drunk Peter home. Peter, on the other hand, has different plans.
scandal of the century by joshriku
The headline reads:
STEAMY SEX TAPE BETWEEN MAGNETO AND PROFESSOR X LEAKED!
“All right,” Charles says. “I wouldn’t call it steamy, you know, that’s an exaggeration.”
“That is seriously not the point, Professor,” Jean answers.
(A sex tape is leaked. PR crisis ensues).
DC
two vigilantes carry a cake across gotham by JBS_Forever
Jason's had a nagging suspicion that Bruce keeps stalker-esque levels of tabs on all the places he’s lived, so when Tim Drake shows up at his apartment door, it takes only a half second for Jason to level his gun directly at Tim's stupid face and to say, bored, “Give me one reason not to shoot you.”
Honestly, he knew Bruce had a problem, but sending a bat to his doorstep? This is just ridiculous.
Or: in a scheming attempt to make them bond, Bruce forces Jason and Tim on what should be a simple quest: retrieve Alfred’s birthday cake from across town and make it back before the party.
But this is Gotham. And nothing is ever simple in Gotham.
racing on the thunder by merils
Fortunately or unfortunately, Clark Kent is kind of used to getting phone calls about his too-curious-for-her-own-good wife being held hostage somewhere. Superman usually handles it.
Conner Kent gets a phone call meant for Clark Kent, who is Superman, who is currently in space. Uh.... Have no fear, Superboy is here!
What could possibly go wrong?
Original Works
Halfway Home for Wayward Mages by hoebiwan
Part 24 of mage in a wolf pack (This whole series kills me)
He wouldn’t mind it if Lada collared him, if Khalida or Dimitri collared him, because none of them have forced him to hurt anyone, whether human or wolf. They mostly just want him to—
Live, Jaime. Live.
In which the wolves rescue Jaime, but he doesn't realize he's free.
the sin eater by whitegeraniums (puertoricansuperman)
Part 25 of mage in a wolf pack
Lada, alpha of the Hearthstone wolf pack, finds herself in possession of a captured, broken werewolf hunter.
ATLA
Keeping Ones Head Down by ApoplecticAtPeace
Part 3 of May You be Noticed by The Fire Lord
Bao lost his ability to walk when he was 19. Despite the prejudice of many Fire Nation citizens, he got a job as an accountant in the Royal palace, in the Department of Education. After 11 years of working quietly, keeping his head down and allowing his work to be claimed by others, he expected nothing to change when Fire Lord Zuko took the throne. He didn't expect the entire department to be reformed under the new Minister Shu-Lin, and Bao's overlooked position with it.
Clone Wars
Something in the heart beat like a drum by CombatBootsandDreams
Most Jedi only have to take three formal sexual education classes. Obi-Wan, in all their blessed biology has to take five.
Or: Obi-Wan growing up in a galaxy where Stewjoni are Succubi. This changes very little--but it does make certain things a hell of lot more interesting.
A Stewjoni are succubus au that has way less to do with sex, & is more about logistics, medical problems, and cuddling. Featuring Qui-Gon being an excellent master, codywan, aromantic Quinlan Vos, Obi-Wan using he/they/she pronouns, and plenty of costume changes.
#weekly fic round up#my posts#fic recs#this is my father's day gift to you all#say thank you daddy#sjdkjsdjs#atla recs#dc recs#marvel recs#sw recs#misc recs
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I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part XIV
Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 1.4k | Warnings: none
Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried
Previous part | Next part | Masterlist
You spent the next few nights plagued with nightmares. All flashes of images that made little to no sense, a roaring of water in your ears as you slept until you jolted awake. You were sure the whole house could feel your terror, the dreams so vivid it was hard to tell where they ended and your waking hours began. You couldn’t shake the image of the male, that split second you had seen him coming back to haunt your dreams over the week.
Your lessons with Feyre continued, Azriel’s presence during them a constant whenever he was available. Lessons were much smoother when he was around, it was easier to focus and calm yourself. Anytime he was gone, your thoughts made their way to the mystery male, your nervousness seeping into her until she would end the lesson.
Feyre helped paint the male, but something felt off in the depiction. He didn’t look right. It didn’t help that no one - Feyre, Rhys, or Azriel - had ever seen him. She made several attempts, all subject to different facial features that kept changing in your dreams, making his face hazy.
It wasn’t all despair, though. You had actually intentionally implanted a feeling into Feyre the other day, converting her happiness into anger for a flicker.
It was incredible.
Between the training and your nightmares, your days were very draining, your afternoons full of naps and most of your evenings spent curled up in the library, the couch before the fireplace becoming a place of comfort very quickly. After dinner each night you had Azriel fly you to the library, a nightly ritual you had grown quite fond of. He somehow always knew exactly when you wanted to return back to the river house, the flight back most nights almost lulling you to sleep.
Azriel had dropped you off tonight, telling you there was a chance someone else might have to retrieve you. You nodded, understanding that maybe his official job wasn’t to ferry you around, but unable to stop the disappointment you felt at potentially not seeing him.
You made the usual route to your corner, greeting Clotho as you passed her. The path was familiar to you, passing shelves to get to your favorite spot. What you didn’t expect was to find an envelope on the couch addressed to ‘Birdie’. You looked around, unsure if anyone else would sit here. You had assumed not - the books you had gathered yesterday were still in the neat piles you had left them in, too tired to return them before leaving.
You tucked the letter away into a book after opening it, somehow the contents felt scandalous, opting to wait to ask Feyre about it later.
Azriel returned after your nightly reading, looking incredibly tired as he flew you through the skies, but his demeanor was the same as it was when he had dropped you off.
“Az?” You had to raise your voice enough to be heard over the wind.
“Hm?”
“Are you okay?”
He hummed in response, clearly thinking on how to respond.
“A lot’s just weighing on my mind.” You looked at his jawline, watching his mouth move as he spoke. Every night being this close to his face, you always had a few moments where you were in awe of just how beautiful he was.
“If you ever want someone to unload some of it onto, I’m pretty strong.”
You kept watching him, chuckling a bit at the quizzical look on his face. “Because you said a lot was weighing on your mind?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his eyes looking so open it made you want to confess about your nightmares. How every night was a flurry of images all laying on top of each other, a muddling of sounds that had you swearing you could make out his voice amongst the crowd.
But you kept that to yourself, focusing on how his arms felt around you instead.
“Just wondering how the village is managing without you there.”
A look you can’t discern passes over his face. “I’m sure anyone you’ve left behind feels your absence.”
The rest of the flight was a peaceful silence. When you and Azriel had landed, Rhys and Feyre quickly met the two of you telling you that dinner was ready. The four of you moved to the dining room, the scuffing of chairs against the floor as you all took your seats. A few moments of silverware clattering as your plates were loaded. Feyre and Azriel mindlessly chattered as you and Rhys discussed a rematch of chess.
The routine of the past few weeks allowed you to feel so comfortable, so at ease with these fae. Something you’ve never really had before.
You blame the comforting atmosphere on the words that slipped out of your mouth.
“I got invited to a ball.”
Silverware clattered, Rhys’s fork stuck in midair as he was about to take a bite. It was like the air in the room had been sucked out - everyone’s attention was on you, and somehow you knew it was the wrong thing to say.
“Who invited you?” You pulled out the invitation, feeling so much like an admonished schoolgirl as you passed it to Rhysand who nearly snatched it from your grasp, the fork abandoned on his plate.
“I’m not sure, I found it where I usually sit in the library.”
“How can you be sure it was for you?”
“It was addressed to me.” You could feel the swirls in Rhys’s chest, so much fear and concern spinning around inside of him. Was it because of this? You had been too wrapped up in Azriel’s company when you sat down to notice how everyone else felt.
You turned, your gaze catching on Azriel. He was deadly still, not saying anything, gaze stuck on you. You tried to see how he felt about this, searching deep in his chest for how he felt, but you were met with a quiet void of rage. It started blurring your vision, red creeping in through the edges, the anger crawling up inside of your chest.
It quickly dissipated as you felt something cool brush your ankle, looking down to find one of the shadows that usually held tightly to Azriel’s body was now looping itself around your calf. It carried a chill with it, leaving goosebumps in the wake of its touch. But it was so comforting, it felt like a soft kiss to your leg.
“Do you want to go?”
Your head snapped out of the trance of the shadow at Feyre’s question, missing the way Rhys’s jaw ticked at his mate’s question.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never been to a ball, and I imagine once I go back to my village I won’t have many options.”
Your eyes on Feyre failed to notice the matching crestfallen looks on Rhysand and Azriel’s faces.
“The Hewn City is a terrible place.”
You turned to Rhys, a hard look in his eye.
“I think I can make my own judgments, thank you. One of the reasons I left Illyria was to see other places, and I’d like to see Hewn City.”
Azriel and Rhys looked to one another, their eyes locked in a gaze, neither looking happy.
“And if something happens, that will be my own lesson to learn.”
Rhysand opened his mouth as if to say more, but he quickly looked to Feyre, the two locked in intense eye contact, as if having a silent argument. Azriel refused to look at you, keeping his gaze on Rhysand and Feyre’s animated faces.
Rhysand quickly snapped his head back to you. “Fine,” Rhys gritted through his teeth, as if he were agreeing to a sudden amputation. “But you will attend with us, and you are to go nowhere in the Hewn City unescorted. Understood?”
You debated on the optics of arguing - on one hand, his demands felt incredibly overbearing and unreasonable, but on the other, you didn’t know the Hewn City or its inhabitants, and if his rules meant you were able to see it just with the company of Azriel or Feyre, you couldn’t complain too much.
Right?
Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl
Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage @panther-girl-124 @slytherintaco @userxs-blog
Thanks for reading 🥰
#acotar fanfiction#azriel x reader#azriel#azriel x you#azriel fanfic#acotar writing#i got cursed like eve got bitten#azriel x y/n#azriel shadowsinger x you#azriel shadowsinger
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Oh absolutely not. No way in hell. Pride flag and camera set up in one corner of the press room equals nightmare fuel. Trent looks over at Keeley, glaring daggers at her — and she just giggles. Goddamnit. Apparently that 'pissed off journalist who will end you' expression of his has softened quite a bit over the past few years. Suppose that's what happens when you're married to a literal ray of sunshine.
"So Rebecca and I thought a pride campaign this year—"
"Flattered but no thank you." Trent's voice is clipped, arms crossed in front of his chest.
"But whyyyy?" Keeley pouts up at Trent. "It's not like this is breaking news any more!"
Trent is well aware. The media frenzy when the press caught wind of their fledgling relationship was nothing short of a firestorm. (Trent will kill Ernie. That is non-negotiable at this point.) They always knew it'd be front page headlines, but Trent grossly underestimated the vitriol thrown at them both. Colin's kiss on the pitch was barely a blip on the radar; the press saved all their ire for Ted-and-Trent.
But as with all things, it died down once Rupert had yet another scandal and the news shifted to that story like a flock of magpies gravitating to the next shiny thing. Sure they all circled the proverbial wagons (fucking hell Ted, Trent's tired of thinking like you.) the day Ted showed up on the pitch with a wedding band and Trent, in the press room at his new job as ~~lion tamer~~ press wrangler wore a matching one.
Neither of those were planned events. Ted and Trent had always tried to just keep their relationship quiet — never secret just... quiet. Never flaunting.
This... this is flaunting. This is a public display. This is in your face...
Trent isn't concerned about his own queerness, he's worried about Ted. He's worried about their children. He's worried —
"Don't overthink," Ted says, wrapping his arms around Trent from behind, moustache tickling Trent's ear. "I can smell just how hard those gears are turning. When Keeley asked I said you'd have more reservations than a sold-out Marriott on super bowl weekend."
Turning around in Ted's arms, Trent lifts a hand, threading through the soft tawny strands at the base of Ted's neck.
"You're not worried?"
Ted chuckles, the sound warm and slithers down Trent's spine like a warm hug. "Not a whit, Walt Whitman," Ted replies. "I look at it as an opportunity. Besides, some wise woman once told me to fuck the haters and—"
As always, the f-word spilling from Ted's lips incites some sort of pavlovian response in Trent.
Trent doesn't even hear the sound of the camera click.
- drabble written by my beloved @singaroundelay
~
Fuck the haters! Happy Pride 🏳️🌈
inprnt / redbubble
#hi I love them and they deserve to flaunt their love#prints are on my shops ✨#I’m a little meh about the shading but who cares#if you know what ref I used just ignore it lmaoooo#tedtrent#Ted lasso Pride#Ted lasso fanart#Ted lasso#tedependent
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nsfw - mdni. yami x f!noble reader. cw age gap (reader is in her 20s, yami is in his 30s), virginity loss, smoking. piv intercourse and he calls reader girl 🙂↕��� | wc 2k, divider by @cafekitsune
You have heard many stories throughout the years about this particular moment being painful or emotional, an overwhelming feeling of abandonment as what is believed to indicate your girlhood is no longer yours to keep. This feeling is nowhere to be found within you.
Yami has taken care to prepare you. He’s stretched you out with his fingers, kissed every inch of you with his tongue and lips, encouraging your arousal to drip so freely from you the sheets beneath your hips are damp.
You are a woman parting ways with a burden she no longer wants to be responsible for, the one thing that still made you valuable to a parade of men you want nothing to do with.
You are free.
The sensation of your body stretching to accommodate him overwhelms all else, no tearing or ripping or pulling as has been described to you, merely your muscles attempting to stretch wide enough to allow him to slip his girth inside. His tip rests snugly between your walls and he grunts above you, strong arms on either side of your head.
“Feelin’ alright?” He whispers, gray eyes searching yours for any sign of pain. You smile up at him and nod, already breathing heavily. It’s hot and sticky in this room, his weight is bearing down on you, and he’s only just entered your body and you swear he’s in your throat.
“I…I want more,” you don’t quite ask but offer, allowing him the opportunity to slip a little deeper. A gasp is ripped from you, salacious enough that anyone walking through the hallway on the opposite side of the door would be scandalized. Yami smirks, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.
“That’s what I like to hear.” Heat flushes your body from your cheeks to your chest to further down, his baritone giving you as much stimulation as his cock nestled inside of you. “You’ve figured out so quickly how much I like to know how good of a job I’m doing, smart girl.”
Your walls clamp down around the head of him when he praises you. Of all the things that can be said about this man, astute is at the top despite his aloof exterior. He recognized the first time the two of you ever touched one another that you enjoy being praised - it takes one to know one, after all. He enjoys praising you to feel your body respond, the grip of your walls around his fingers and now his cock, just as much as he enjoys hearing you ask him for more and whimper his name.
“Feel that?” He asks, slipping past any resistance left in your sopping cunt easily, burying himself halfway. There’s a little further to go until he’s fully in but even this slight bit forces a deep groan from him, forehead still pressed to yours. “Perfect fit. Think you were made to take me, what do you think? Were you saving yourself just for me?”
That filthy mouth causes you to squirm beneath him, your parted thighs squeezing his sides, knees digging into them. A slow rhythm develops, a gentle rocking of his hips against yours that is more of a grind than a thrust. It reminds you of the ocean, wave after wave hitting shore, the coarse hair covering his pelvis rubbing against your clit and labia. The sensation is near overwhelming, your eyes fluttering shut, mewling beneath him.
“I want it all.”
In response to your plea, Yami kisses you unexpectedly. He closes the distance between your faces, capturing your soft lips against his rougher pair, gnawing on your lower lip in the way he knows makes your back arch and your tits press against his chest. His tongue slips between your lips and you moan, following his lead by greedily mapping out every corner of his mouth, swallowing his taste. While you’re distracted, he slips the rest of himself in and you both break the kiss to groan, staring at each other with heaving chests.
“Fucking hell,” he hisses, hips stilling so that he doesn’t spill inside of you. He’s no virgin killer or stranger to pussy but he has been going through a dry spell since he met you (at least that’s what he tells himself when he turns down his usual offers, as he has been since that first fateful night he stumbled up on you) and his balls tighten enough he worries he won’t even last a single stroke if he doesn’t calm down.
“Do you feel good?”
The tables are turned enough that he feels like the vulnerable one, a pair of doe eyes blinking up at him curiously. A little smirk plays across your lips and he nods, kissing you chastely, secretly hoping to brush away that smug little look despite the effect it’s having on him. He doesn’t take losing the upper hand well and the gentle rocking becomes a slightly rougher thrust, one of his hands sliding to rest at the dip of your waist.
“About to feel even better in just a second,” he mutters, catching his breath and giving you another thrust. You wait for pain to appear but it never does, just mind numbing pleasure, your head falling to his shoulder while he gradually increases his pace. You’re holding him inside of you, refusing to allow him to fully withdraw, and he exhales sharply through his nose.
“Hope you feel as good as I do, kid. Pussy’s so tight I might never, ah, leave.”
The pause in his words, broken up by his throaty groan, awakens a feeling in you that only arrives when he’s around. Your heartbeat speeds up, palms prickling with sweat while they dangle over his shoulders. Of course you know what this feeling is, it’s a building orgasm, but you feel it even when you aren’t having sex with him - when he laughs at your jokes or playfully tugs at the laces of your dress.
You can’t explain it so you chase it, canting your hips slightly to meet his thrusts. Clearly this catches him off guard and he squeezes your waist, stilling you.
“Nuh uh, not yet.” He’s not out of breath but he’s panting, the lone arm resting on the side of your head shifting so that he can grab the back of your neck, pushing you upward toward his mouth, making it easier for him to kiss you again. “Really are too smart for your own good.”
His praise has the same effect it always does on you. You cling to him, his pace fast enough now that his balls swing against your ass, the steady sound of skin on skin and the slickness of your cunt the soundtrack to your mutual mouthiness.
“You don’t like it when I do that?” You ask, canting your hips upward again. He squeezes your side tighter this time, shooting you a narrowed eye warning glance. “Think I might like it too much, actually. Knock it off.”
If he weren’t knocking you breathless with each thrust, you’d giggle and continue to give him a hard time but it feels silly to do anything but enjoy this. When he’s confident that you’ve followed his directions, his hand slides from your waist to between your bodies. He presses the pad of his index finger against your clit, eliciting a truly delicious near shout from you.
“Tell me,” he reminds you, low voice all but hypnotizing you into doing anything he asks. “Tell me how much you like it.”
You nod, dragging one of your hands from around his neck to your chest, placing your palm between your breasts.
“Think I can feel you here, Yami.” Your heart, in more ways than one. “I’ve never felt anything li–”, you are cut off when he thrusts even deeper, clearly overwhelmed by your vulnerability, the wind knocked out of you.
There is nowhere else he can go. He’s buried as deep inside of you as he can be right now, his own heart rattling its cage, beating as hard as he’s breathing. If he looks down at you for a second too long he’ll be a goner, your lashes fluttering and mouth half opened while babbles and half formed thoughts spill out. He’s making you feel so good, you feel him everywhere, at least that’s what he can sort of make out in his hazy mind.
“Keep going,” you plead, grabbing onto his bicep and squeezing. “A little...a little harder, please.”
Oh it takes every ounce of strength for him not to cum, gritting his teeth and fucking into you so hard that the bed bangs against the wall. He knew from the moment he met you that you’d be just like this, that innocent face hiding a lot more than you ever let on and almost well enough you had him fooled. There are worst suspicions to have confirmed although he wishes you would’ve done so while he wasn’t inside of you, holding onto the snapping threads of his control.
You cum with a cry of his name, face buried in his chest, thighs twitching around and spasming him. He wishes you would have let him see you yet that feels a little more intimate than he feels comfortable asking. He closes his eyes to picture it, though.
Those pretty lips opened into an o shape, eyes and pupils wide and drinking in every flex of his muscles above you. You’d look him over and shut your eyes tightly, fingers grazing over every part of his body…
Before his fantasy can run wild, he feels his cock kick and finishes inside of you, thrusting with every spurt, pushing it deeper and deeper into territory he has now claimed as his own. Perhaps it’s a bit barbaric to ever see sex this way but he can’t help what his urges are telling him to do and he slumps over slightly, body halfway pressed against yours.
“Everything okay down there?” He asks, noticing you’re quieter than usual, and you nod with a blissed out smile on your face, reaching to brush his hair off of his forehead. As badly as he wants to back away and pretend that didn’t happen, he lets you do it again, dark strands pushed backward and no longer dripping with sweat and dangling in his face.
He sits back on his haunches, finally unsheathing himself from inside of you. A low whistle is his reaction when his eyes drop to between your legs, a rush of his release dripping down your ass. “Messy, aren’t we?” He reaches to rub his thumb along said mess, your sticky arousal all over your labia and clit and his spend mixing together.
“Sign of a job well done if you ask me.” You giggle, remaining happily boneless with your legs spread, accepting his thumb when he lifts it to your mouth. Your tongue brushes the length of it and you moan appreciatively, tasting the efforts of what you’ve both done as a reward for the job well done.
Removing his thumb with a pop, he glances down at you for longer than either of you are keeping track of. Dark brows remain furrowed, a little scowl on his face although it’s arguably far softer now than it usually is, and he finally slumps down onto the bed, collecting you against him.
He knows you’ll begin chatterboxing while he dozes off soon, as you always do, but for now he’s content with the silence. It’s giving him the opportunity to consider what any of this means, if he was only babbling lovesick fool shit to make your first time good or because his aching dick was overwhelming his brain.
You shift between his arms, flipping onto your side, facing him with a smile. “Thank you.”
He chuckles, a hand resting on your ass.
“You didn’t do half bad yourself,” he commends, leaning down to press his forehead against yours again. “Might have to test you out again.”
Giggling, you shake your head, wrinkling your nose when you look up at him.
“I hope you do for a long, long time.”
The weight of those words would be heavier if you didn’t immediately dive into a conversation about the cat you found in the garden, leaving him to nod semi enthusiastically while reaching for his cigarettes, puffing while quietly contemplating every word you say.
For a long, long time, he thinks, half listening to you.
He could do this every night if you didn’t live so far away.
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velvet lies
pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.6k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: pls ignore any grammar/spelling errors if so, I wrote some of this on my phone series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter
You’re silent for a moment. Firstly, caught off guard by this woman stopping you from your responsibilities, but also the fact that she seems to be regarding you with such disgust. Do you know who I am? That question pisses you off. Should you say yes? Or no? Instead, you straighten up, scrutinizing her right back. Long, pretty brown hair. Hazel eyes. Pink lips. Expensive clothing. Damn it, she’s pretty.
“Should I?” Perfect balance between the two options.
Her lip curves up into a bitter smile, pushing past you into the penthouse with no apologies. This causes you to stumble back slightly before finding your stance again, turning around to face the woman as she paces Satoru’s apartment with a wave of confidence. Almost more than the man himself. “Where is he?”
“Satoru is at work,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest.
Himari pauses mid-step, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she turns to face you. Her eyes scan the apartment briefly before landing back on you, sharp and assessing. She raises an eyebrow, her expression one of disbelief, as if your answer isn’t good enough for her. "At work?" she echoes, her tone laced with skepticism. "And you’re here, what, playing house in his absence?"
Your jaw tightens, her words cutting deeper than you’d like to admit. "I’m here because of my son," you snap, arms still crossed as you try to maintain your composure. "I don’t owe you an explanation."
Himari’s lips curl into a now mocking smile as she slowly approaches you, her expensive perfume wafting in the air between you. "You’re right. You don’t owe me an explanation. But you do owe it to yourself to figure out where you stand in all of this. Because trust me," her voice lowers, dripping with condescension, "whatever this is? It’s temporary."
You feel your anger rising, but you swallow it down, unwilling to let her see that she’s getting under your skin. "I think you’re confused," you say, keeping your voice steady despite the fire in your chest. "This isn’t about me or you—it’s about Koji spending time with his father. And I’m not going to stand here and let you try to turn it into something else."
Her expression hardens, and for a brief moment, the mask of superiority slips, revealing a flash of something you can’t quite place. Jealousy? Fear? "Koji," she repeats, almost spitting the name out like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. "Is that the name of the little brat that’s ruining everything?"
“Watch your mouth,” a motherly wave of protection instantly befalls you at her choice of words.
“Why should I? That kid is nothing but a—”
Your hands tighten into fists at your sides, and your voice hardens. “I said, watch your mouth. I won’t let you badmouth my child.”
Himari’s eyes widen slightly, the mask of composure slipping even further as she takes in your reaction. For a moment, she looks almost startled, as if she hadn’t expected you to bite back. But just as quickly, she recovers, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a sneer. “Touchy, aren’t we?” she says, her tone sharp. “I’m just calling it how I see it. Satoru and I had plans, a life we were building, and then you come waltzing back in, dragging some kid into the picture. Don’t act like this hasn’t complicated everything.”
Your jaw clenches, and it takes everything in you to keep from shouting. “Koji is Satoru’s son,” you say firmly, your voice low but cutting. “If you think for one second that I’m going to apologize for that, you’re delusional. Whatever plans you think you had with him, they don’t erase his responsibilities as a father.”
Himari scoffs, her eyes narrowing. “Responsibilities? Don’t make me laugh. Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing? Using that child as leverage to worm your way back into his life? Everyone can see through this little game of yours. You seem like a poverty-stricken nobody who probably has nothing better to do with her life than go back to a man you never had just for that security. Let me guess, you’re blackmailing him that if he doesn’t help you out, he’ll never see his son again. People like you are pathetic and you leech off the important people like us—like my boyfriend. ”
Your blood runs cold at her words, and your chest tightens with a mixture of fury and disbelief. For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond, the sheer audacity of her accusations stealing the breath from your lungs. But then the weight of her words sinks in, and a protective fire ignites inside you. You take a step closer to her, your eyes locked onto hers with unwavering intensity. “Say whatever you want about me,” you begin, your voice low and steady, though it trembles slightly with suppressed anger. “Insult me, make your assumptions, spin whatever narrative helps you sleep at night—but leave my son out of it.”
Himari raises an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance, but you see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Oh,” she says, her tone dripping with condescension. “I hit a nerve, didn’t I?”
“Damn right you did,” you snap, your voice rising. “You don’t know a damn thing about me or my life. You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve sacrificed, or what I’d do to protect my child. Koji has nothing to do with whatever petty insecurities you have, so don’t you dare use him as a weapon to take cheap shots at me.”
Himari’s smirk falters, and she takes a slight step back, though she tries to mask it with a scoff. “Oh, please. Spare me the sob story. You can play the victim all you want, but it’s obvious what this is. You’re desperate, and you’re using that boy to sink your claws back into Satoru. You have no idea how much this ruins everything.”
You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You really don’t get it, do you?” you say, your voice softer now, but no less cutting. “This isn’t about Satoru. It’s not about you, either. It’s about giving Koji what he deserves—a chance to know his father, to have someone who loves him unconditionally. If you can’t see that, then maybe you’re the one who doesn’t belong in his life.”
Himari glares at you, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the tension in the air crackling like static. Finally, she lets out a derisive huff, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “We’ll see,” she says, her voice icy. “We’ll see how long this little charade lasts. But don’t get too comfortable—you won’t win. People like you never do.”
“And people like you…” you start, biting the inside of your cheek; debating whether it’s worth stooping down to this woman’s level.
Himari freezes in place, her lips curling into a sneer. “And people like me?” she asks, her voice sharp and challenging.
“People like you,” you say, stepping forward again, close enough to reach out and slap her, your voice unwavering, “think the world owes them something just for existing. You walk around acting superior, but all you’re doing is hiding how insecure you really are. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because deep down, you know Satoru isn’t yours to keep.”
Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think you’ve hit a nerve. She clenches her fists, but her laugh is bitter and hollow. “Insecure? Please. I have everything I need, and I definitely don’t need to play house with some random ex to prove my worth. Satoru’s with me because he wants to be, not because he feels sorry for me like he does for you.”
You take a deep breath, steadying the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “Believe whatever helps you sleep at night. But let me make one thing clear—you don’t get to stand here and insult my son or me. Koji is Satoru’s priority, not some trophy you can use to boost your own ego. So if you’ve got something to say, make sure it’s worth my time.”
Himari’s face twists in frustration, but she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she straightens her posture, her mask of composure slipping back into place. “You have no idea what you’re saying, do you?” she says coolly, her tone a forced calm. “Someone should really teach you what happens when you fuck with the wrong people.”
“Then teach me.”
You don’t want to egg her on, you didn’t even want to see this girl in the first place. But nonetheless, the things she’s saying—how she’s acting, it’s bringing out a side of you that you try to keep hidden. Composed under years of self-calming techniques and resilience. Maybe it’s just adding onto the extra shit going on right now, but the fact that she’s managed to anger you this much in such little time is infuriating in itself. You don’t want to give her the energy or time of day. But, you also don’t want her to think she can get away with speaking about Koji like this—about you like this.
You two are engaged in a heavy staring contest, neither one of you seeming to want to back down. Facing each other with an equal stance of hostility. The air between you is thick with tension, every second stretching like an eternity as neither of you breaks eye contact. Himari’s jaw tightens, her polished exterior beginning to crack. It’s subtle, but you catch it—the slight twitch of her lip, the faint waver in her composed demeanor. For all her bravado, she didn’t expect you to stand your ground.
“What’s going on?” Satoru’s worried, but quick and abrupt voice interrupts the moment. Coming in through the still-open door, closing it behind him, and meticulously placing himself between you two. He looks at you, checking to make sure you’re okay but focusing on his girlfriend. “Himari, what are you—”
The sound of a palm smacking hard against his skin reverberates throughout the place, cutting him off with such force that it leaves a stunned silence in its wake. Your eyes widen, watching as Satoru doesn’t move his head for a moment from the side it has just been slapped to. Looking closer, red already begins to break out on his pale cheek. Your jaw clenches.
He slowly looks back at Himari, who faces him with an angry look. Satoru’s face hardens as he does so, his eyes narrowing slightly. There’s a flicker of something dangerous in his gaze, a sharp edge that doesn’t appear often but sends a chill down your spine when it does. His voice is low and measured, a stark contrast to the tension radiating off him. “What the hell was that for?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm but laced with steel.
Himari doesn’t flinch, her fury unabated. “For letting this—this circus go on!” she snaps, gesturing between you and him. “For embarrassing me, for letting her waltz in and ruin everything we’ve built! How can you stand there and not see what she’s doing to us?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He huffs out, straightening his jaw out.
“You lie to me, you dodge my questions, and now I find out you have a fucking son? And with a woman like her?” She points to you, scoffing at the idea.
Satoru’s jaw tightens, his hands clenching at his sides as he takes a deep breath to steady himself. His eyes, usually so vibrant and full of levity, are clouded with frustration now. “Himari, stop,” he says firmly, his voice low but commanding. “You’re crossing a line.”
Himari laughs bitterly, her voice dripping with disdain. “Oh, I’m crossing a line? You’ve been lying to me for who knows how long, and I’m the one in the wrong? I think I have every right to be angry, Satoru!”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “You’re angry, fine. But don’t you dare talk about her like that,” he snaps, nodding toward you. “This isn’t her fault. If you want to blame someone, blame me.”
You’re the last one to blame, Satoru. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can feel the heat of the moment radiating off them both. Himari’s sharp gaze darts to you, her lips curling in disdain. “Of course, you’d defend her. She’s nothing but a leech, clinging to you because she has no other options. And now you’re letting her use that kid to worm her way into your life.”
“Enough!” Satoru’s voice booms, startling both you and Himari. He steps forward, his towering presence imposing as his icy glare fixes on her. “You don’t get to talk about her—or my son—like that. Ever. Do you hear me?”
Himari’s eyes widen, a flicker of shock passing through her anger. But she recovers quickly, her voice lowering to a venomous hiss. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re ruining everything for someone who’s nothing to you. Do you really think she’s here for you? She’s here for your money, your status. Wake up, Satoru.”
“Himari, you should go now.”
“Oh, I will,” She tilts her chin up at him. “My parents have a lot to say to you and your own. So be ready for that. If you think I’m bailing out on this relationship, I’m not. I am not letting you ruin this—ruin us.”
She speaks with finality, practically pushing into him as she heads for the door. Not even sparing another glance back before exiting, the door slamming after her. All that’s left behind is an uneasy silence. Satoru stays frozen in place for a moment, his jaw clenched and hands balled into fists at his sides. You can see the conflict in his eyes—the frustration, the exhaustion, the lingering anger. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his snowy hair before turning to face you. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, almost defeated. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”
Your lips form a faint grimace, your head slowly shaking. “No, don’t apologize. I–I’m sorry.” You pause again before carefully asking, “Are you okay?”
He closes his eyes momentarily with a sigh, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”
“Does she…slap you like that, like—usually?” The question feels nasty to ask, but you can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling of seeing your ex and father of your son being so carelessly and almost nonchalantly hit like that. No matter who did it.
“Well, no,” he says. “But when she gets really pissed at me, well—she lashes out.”
Your stomach churns at his words, and despite the tension that still hangs between you two, your heart feels heavy with a mix of concern and unease. You want to reach out, but you’re not sure how, not after everything that’s happened. “That’s not okay,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that. No one should. I don’t…like seeing you get treated like that, Satoru.”
Satoru’s gaze softens, though he quickly brushes it off with a wave of his hand, as if he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “It’s fine, really. It’s just how she is when she’s angry. I’m used to it.” The way he says it, so matter-of-factly, makes your chest tighten. You want to argue, to tell him that being used to it doesn’t make it right, but you hold back. He’s not a child; he doesn’t need to be coddled. But the way he brushes off the situation, like it’s no big deal, makes it hard to ignore that maybe he’s been through this for far too long. You almost start wishing you could go back in time and slap her instead.
“Still,” you say, taking a cautious step closer. “It’s not right. You don’t deserve that.”
Satoru finally meets your gaze, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place. He seems grateful, but there’s also a wall behind his expression, a part of him that refuses to acknowledge the pain beneath the surface. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “But I’m okay. Really. I just…I know how to deal with her.”
The words seem rehearsed, like he’s convincing himself as much as anyone else. You can tell he’s not fully okay. And, despite the atmosphere between you two, you know he’s not asking for your sympathy. But you can’t help but feel like there’s more beneath it all that he’s not saying, things he’s kept hidden far too long. “It looks a little swollen, do you want to ice it?”
“Yeah, sure.” He agrees, walking to his freezer and getting out a small icepack. You hover awkwardly, unsure if you should leave him be or offer some strange sense of comfort. But it feels wrong to just leave like that. Sure, there’s a certain line marked between you two, but you still have empathy. Morality. You’re still a good person, and so is Satoru. So, you step forward slowly, still leaving enough room for him to deny you.
Satoru doesn’t protest as you move closer, but you notice the way his body tenses just slightly, a subtle indication that he’s still not entirely comfortable. He continues to press the icepack to his cheek with a quiet sigh, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The sound of the ice against his skin is the only noise filling the silence between you. You can’t help but feel the weight of it all—the tension, the unresolved emotions, the hurt. You know he’s not the type to open up easily, but something about the way he’s holding himself, the guarded look in his eyes, tells you he’s struggling with more than just the immediate confrontation with Himari.
Your hand reaches up and tentatively replaces his own on the pack.
Satoru tenses again for a moment at the touch, but doesn’t pull away. He lets you take the icepack from him, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. The warmth of his skin against yours lingers, and you feel a shift in the air between you, something unspoken, yet palpable. You keep the ice gently on his swollen cheek, careful not to apply too much pressure. Your eyes meet his, the proximity somehow making everything feel more intimate than it should be, and yet, in that moment, it feels right—like you’re not just helping him physically, but in some quiet, emotional way too. His gaze softens, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his usually guarded expression. The situation reminds you of the past.
Nights when he was too sleep-deprived to function, the times when he accidentally cut himself with a knife while making dinner, or the times you used to apply face masks together during your sleepovers. It all feels like how it used to.
"Let me," you say softly, a quiet reassurance in your voice, though you’re unsure why you feel the need to offer it. Maybe it’s because, despite the complicated history between you two, in this moment, it feels like you’re more than just the roles you’ve played—more than the messy entanglements that surround you both.
Satoru doesn’t speak for a few seconds, his eyes focusing on the ice as you hold it against his cheek. The silence between you is no longer uncomfortable, but rather, it feels like a rare kind of peace, a brief respite from the chaos. "Thanks for doing this," he says eventually, his voice softer than usual. "I know it’s not easy, dealing with all the shit going on, but... I appreciate it."
You nod, unsure of how to respond to that. It’s strange, helping him like this, especially considering how much tension has been between you two recently. But the act itself, simple as it is, feels like a small moment of clarity amidst all the confusion. "You don’t have to thank me," you say quietly, looking up at him. “I’m here. For whatever you need. Just…don’t blame yourself. It’s all my fault.”
You both stand there for a long moment, neither of you moving, just sharing the space. No words are needed, the action itself speaking volumes more than anything you could say aloud. He looks like he wants to protest, to say that you’re wrong and that he has some blame in this giant mess too. But he stays silent, enjoying the comfortability of a life that seems to offer none of that so far. It’s like he still—after all this time—finds his peace with you.
That thought makes him feel put off.
Because while he can’t stop how his heart feels and force it to feel the opposite, there are still lingering emotions of annoyance. Of how this all could’ve been avoided. Of how he still hasn’t completely forgiven you. Of how that small part of him hates you. Hate? Does he hate you? It seems like he has an answer to that question when you gently place a hand on his chest. Head leaning up like it’s ready for something, your eyes flickering down to his lips. He sees it; knows it’s coming. But he doesn’t move, for some reason.
Your hand freezes the moment you realize what you’re doing, quickly stopping yourself from leaning up anymore. Though it’s a little too late for that, considering you’re this close to his lips. You hadn't even noticed it at first, your body moving on instinct, closing the distance between you two. But now that his chest rises and falls steadily under your palm, the weight of your action feels impossibly heavy.
“I…” you stammer, the words getting caught in your throat. You glance up at him, your wide eyes meeting his, searching for some kind of response. But his expression is unreadable, his pale lashes half-lowered as he looks at you with something in between confusion and guarded curiosity.
Satoru’s jaw tightens, and you can tell he’s trying to process what just happened—what’s happening now. His lips open like he’s about to say something, but the silence stretches between you both instead. Finally, his hand moves, brushing lightly over your wrist, a cautious touch, testing your reaction. “Why did you do that?” he asks, his voice quieter than usual, yet laced with an edge of something you can’t quite place. It’s not anger, but it’s not entirely calm either.
“I don’t know,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You pull your hand back quickly, as if you’ve burned yourself, clutching it against your chest like it might shield you from the tension. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m really sorry.”
“No,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours. “You were.”
His words send a jolt through you, and for a moment, you feel exposed, like he’s peeled back a layer of your defenses you weren’t ready to give up. He doesn’t break eye contact, but there’s a shift in his gaze, a flicker of something deeper—conflict, maybe.
“Satoru,” you start, but the name sounds so small, so uncertain, even to you. “I didn’t mean—”
“You’re making this complicated,” he cuts in, his tone sharper now, like he’s trying to create a barrier between you again. “I’m trying to figure this out. Everything. And you…you can’t just—” He stops himself, exhaling harshly, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “You can’t just do things like that and expect me to know what the hell you’re thinking.”
You flinch slightly at the bite in his words, but you don’t back down. “I’m not trying to complicate anything,” you reply, more firmly this time. “I just—I don’t know how to act around you anymore. It’s like I can’t get it right.”
Satoru takes a step back, putting more distance between you, but his eyes never leave yours. “Yeah, well, join the club.”
A silence befalls you two. One that threatens you to curse yourself for ruining something so small and tender because of your own selfish desires. What reason was it for? Why did you do that? Maybe it was just a small moment of hallucination. You weren’t thinking right, only your body was. Or maybe it was the peacefulness that tiny moment brought you, or it felt right and nostalgic. Your feelings are already all jumbled up, this situation didn’t make it any better.
The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, as you both stand there, neither daring to speak or move. You feel the weight of your own actions crashing down on you, each second of quiet like an accusation. What were you thinking? The question echoes in your mind, louder and louder. Was it a lapse in judgment? A selfish impulse? Or something else entirely—a longing for something that no longer exists?
You glance at Satoru, his expression unreadable, the cool mask he wears so well firmly in place. You wish he’d say something, anything, even if it was to scold you or tell you to leave. But he doesn’t. He just stares, and the silence twists deeper into your chest.
Why did you do that? you wonder again, your thoughts spiraling. Maybe it was the way his presence felt familiar, and comforting, even after everything. Or maybe it was the way the tension between you two softened for just a fleeting second when you held that ice pack for him. Or, it could’ve been just the nostalgia—a memory of a time when things were less complicated when you didn’t feel so distant, so broken.
But now? Now it feels like you’ve ruined even that small, fragile thread of peace. The silence between you isn’t just uncomfortable—it’s damning. You’ve crossed a line, one you didn’t even realize was still there.
You open your mouth to say something, to explain yourself, to apologize again, but no words come out. Because what could you possibly say? That it was a mistake? That you weren’t thinking? That for just one moment, you wanted to feel close to him again, even if it wasn’t real? Satoru finally exhales, breaking the quiet. His gaze flickers down, then away, like he can’t look at you anymore. “I think…” He trails off, his voice quieter than before. “Maybe it’s best if we don’t… overthink this.”
You blink at him, unsure if he’s trying to offer you an out or protect himself. “Overthink what?” you manage to ask, though your voice is barely above a whisper.
He looks at you then, his expression softening just slightly, but there’s still a wall between you. “Whatever this is,” he says, gesturing vaguely between you two. “I’m trying to figure things out, and this...it just complicates everything.”
Your chest tightens at his words, but you nod, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you murmur, your voice hollow. “I get it.” But do you? Or are you just agreeing because it’s easier than admitting that you don’t know where the lines are anymore? Or if they still exist. Or that you don’t even know how you feel—let alone how he feels.
“I should go,” you say finally, your voice steadier now. You grab your bag again that you set on the table haphazardly after the girlfriend run-in, avoiding his gaze, and head for the door. But just as you’re about to leave, you pause, turning back to him. “Satoru… I’m sorry.” I really didn’t mean it.
He doesn’t respond immediately, his hand lifting briefly as if he’s going to reach for you but dropping back to his side. “Yeah,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Me too.”
You don’t waste time in making your departure after hearing his words. The door closes behind you as you briskly make your way to the elevator. Letting out a breath you must’ve been holding the whole time once you’re in. Watching yourself drop floor by floor, each thought sounding louder than the previous one. Questions of why bouncing off the walls of your brain. You don’t know why; or maybe you do, you just can’t face it yet.
You’re not sure you want to face it.
You can only hope Satoru is right about all this and he stays true to his word. Don’t overthink it, pretend it didn’t happen. That should be easy, right? It should be simple, just forget it.
The elevator doors slide open, and the cold air from the lobby greets you as you step out. The stillness of the afternoon settles around you like a blanket, thick and suffocating. You pause just outside the building, inhaling deeply as if the fresh air will help clear your head. But it doesn’t. The questions still echo, louder now in the quiet of the world around you. Maybe the answer, it’s been there all along, waiting for the cracks in your armor to show. But facing it means confronting feelings you’ve kept locked away for years—feelings you’re not sure you’re ready to admit exist.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, breaking the silence. You pull it out, and Hana’s name lights up the screen. Guilt instantly knots in your stomach. You’ve been so caught up in your own whirlwind of emotions that you completely forgot about your shift. “Hey,” you answer, your voice tight but steady.
“Y/N? Where the hell have you been?” Hana’s voice is sharp but concerned. “I’ve been calling you for hours. Are you okay?”
“I—I’m fine,” you stammer, forcing a calm tone. “Just… had some things to take care of. I’m sorry for being late, I’m coming right now.”
There’s a pause on her end, and then she sighs. “Look, just get here when you can, alright? We’ll talk about this later.”
“Yeah,” you say softly, already walking toward the nearest bus stop. “I’ll be there soon.”
As the line disconnects, you tuck your phone back into your pocket and quicken your pace. Hopefully, work will be a distraction, something to keep your mind from circling back to Satoru, to what happened, to everything it could and couldn’t mean. Because right now, pretending it didn’t happen feels safer than admitting that it did. And you can only hope—pray, even that Satoru is doing the same.
Satoru had barely even eaten the lunch he grabbed from his fridge. Driving back to the office in complete silence, not even putting the radio on as background noise. Now, he’s just staring down at his food on his desk, finger tapping against the armrest of his chair. The food sits untouched in front of him, its aroma barely registering as Satoru leans back in his chair. His finger taps rhythmically against the armrest, an unconscious outlet for the storm of thoughts swirling in his head—an unusual quietness for someone who usually thrives on noise.
But now, the silence feels deafening.
His jaw tightens as he replays the scene in his apartment, your expression when you left, and the weight of your hand on his chest, the way you leaned in so casually, so instinctively. He lets out a sharp exhale, raking a hand through his hair. “Get it together,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at the half-eaten sandwich sitting before him like it’s the cause of his current turmoil.
He’s angry—not just at you, but at himself. At the way his heart reacted in that split second, betraying him when he was supposed to have control. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything, not after everything that had happened between you two. But that small moment—the fleeting touch, the look in your eyes—it’s left him shaken in a way he can’t quite articulate.
The sharp knock at his office door jolts him out of his thoughts. He straightens, hastily pushing the food aside and clearing his throat. “Yeah, come in,” he calls, his voice a little rougher than intended.
A junior colleague pokes their head in, a stack of files in their hands. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but these need your signature before the end of the day.”
“Just leave them on the desk,” he replies, barely sparing a glance.
The younger employee hesitates, sensing the tension in the room, before quickly placing the files down and retreating. Satoru leans forward, elbows resting on his desk as he buries his face in his hands. He knows he won’t get anything done like this, but his thoughts are relentless. And no matter how much he tells himself to let it go, he can’t shake the memory of your hand, your eyes, the way you looked at him as if you were searching for something he’s not sure he can give. “Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, shoving his chair back and standing abruptly. Maybe he needs to walk it off, clear his head, do something—anything—to stop thinking about you.
A few minutes pass, busying himself with the signatures before the doors open again, this time with no warning knock. “I’ve had people look into the leak, it was an anonymous source. There’s a group of men your father sent to scout out the possible places the picture was taken from.”
His mother’s voice is a small distraction from his inner turmoil. Of course it’s not the exact thing he’d like to hear and discuss right now, but anything to take his mind off today's earlier events. “Any luck?”
She sighs, rubbing a hand through her greying hair. “As of now, no. But we’re narrowing it down. Your father believes the leak came from a possible rival.”
Satoru sits up straight. “Like the Zenins?”
Grimacing at the mere mention of that family, Akane frowns but shakes her head. “No, surprisingly. They were out on a family vacation to Italy. I got word they landed back last night.”
“Still, it could’ve been from them. Maybe they hired someone.”
The Zenins and the Gojo Group have been rivals for a long time now. Though most would probably consider them to have a “frenemies” sort of relationship, some of the people in that family are just…horrible. Not all, but almost all. Satoru lets out a low breath, leaning back in his chair as memories of past encounters with the Zenins flash through his mind. He’s been forced to deal with them more times than he can count—at corporate events, business dealings, even unfortunate leisure events—and each time, their games get more infuriating.
The Zenins own a massive real estate and infrastructure business called the Zenin Development Group, or ZDP for short. The ZDP hasn’t shied away from the use of rumors in the past that attempted to damage the Gojo Group’s image. Satoru remembers one incident where word had been flying around about the Gojo Group “losing its footing in certain markets”. A sorry try at weakening their investor confidence. The head of the Zenins, Toji, is usually the more critical and logical man. His cousin however, the man who was supposed to be in Toji’s spot, isn’t. That cousin, lacking Toji’s cunning and restraint filled nature, remains a wildcard Satoru would rather not deal with.
Still, their family name alone is enough to make Satoru’s jaw clench.
Akane pinches the bridge of her nose, clearly exasperated. “It’s a possibility, but your father’s men are thorough. If the Zenins hired someone, we’d have a trail by now. And honestly, Satoru, with the way that family operates, they’d have made sure you knew it was them. Subtlety isn’t exactly their strong suit.”
Satoru lets out a dry huff, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, you’re right. They love to flaunt their chaos.”
“Exactly,” Akane replies, crossing her arms as she paces. “This is different. It feels… personal. Whoever leaked that photo isn’t trying to start a war—they’re trying to cause damage. To you specifically or the company name, either or.”
He tilts his head, processing her words. “Why would it be specifically me? And not the family, not the company?”
“Well right now, it’s focused on you. It’s not the usual business sabotage we see with rivals.” Akane’s tone is pointed as she stops pacing, fixing him with a meaningful look. “They knew about Koji. This wasn’t some random slip. Someone wanted that information out in the open.”
Satoru’s chest tightens, his mind flickering to you and Koji. It hadn’t been long since his son came into his life, and now—now everything felt like it was spiraling faster than he could keep up.
“You think it’s someone close,” he mutters, not quite phrasing it as a question. “A partner?”
Akane’s silence is enough of an answer.
Satoru pushes a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “If it’s personal, then who the hell has it out for me like this? Himari’s pissed, but she’s not stupid enough to—”
Akane cuts him off with a sharp look. “Don’t rule her out just yet.”
Satoru scowls. “Come on, you really think—”
“I think people do crazy things, no matter if we think they will or not,” Akane interrupts firmly. “And she’s been in your life for years now, Satoru. She’s close enough to pull something like this without you suspecting it.”
Satoru is quiet for a beat, his mind whirring. “And if it’s not her?”
“Then it’s someone else in our circle,” Akane says, her voice cool and confident. “Someone with access. Someone who knows where to hit.”
The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. His world already feels like it’s splitting at the seams, and now someone is actively trying to make it worse.
“What do we do now?” he asks finally, his tone subdued.
Akane straightens, her expression hardening with resolve. “We tighten security, keep this contained as best as we can. Your father will expect you to do damage control. In the meantime, I’ll keep digging to find out who’s behind this.”
“And what’s his plan if we find the source?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.
Her lips thin into a straight line. “We’ll handle it as we always do. Quietly. Efficiently.”
Satoru nods, his jaw set. “Good. Do whatever you have to. I want answers.”
Akane turns to leave but pauses at the door. “And Satoru—be careful who you trust.”
The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Satoru alone once more, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the silence.
Someone close to him betrayed him. Someone knew about Koji. Was he getting followed again? It couldn’t have been the informant his parents sent after him when he was gone, they already checked in with him and scared him to keep his mouth shut about anything.
Satoru swivels the mouse to his computer, lighting up the screen once more. An article he had stopped reading a few minutes prior appears. The Zenin Development Group, of course, had been the first to make a comment. Within hours of the news breaking, they released a veiled statement—dressed up as “a comment on modern family values”—that clearly took aim at the Gojo Group. The implication had been clear: Satoru Gojo, the golden heir, had secrets. Unpredictability. For a family like the Gojos, where control was everything, it was a calculated jab. The Zenins would never miss an opportunity to capitalize on a weakness. He laced his fingers together as his mind runs.
The real estate moguls weren’t the only ones circling, though. Smaller partnerships had already started asking questions. He was hoping that deals that were already set in stone wouldn’t suddenly slow to a crawl with poor excuses of “we’re just waiting to finalize a few details” piling up. However, investors did send cautious emails, politely “checking in” to ensure the Gojo Group was still on track.
And the last thing the Gojo Group needed were foreign partners—companies Satoru and his father had worked years to solidify relationships with—showing even hints of hesitation. People wanted answers, of course, clarity. How does the man who’s heir to one of the country’s largest conglomerates have a child hidden away? And more importantly, what else don’t they know?
Satoru exhales sharply, his fingers pressing harder into each other. It had taken everything in him not to lose his temper in the initial meetings of this morning. The entire damn building practically gawked at him more than usual when he strutted in. He felt their silent questions, their shock and confusion. None of them voiced anything, but that didn’t stop them from secretly whispering to each other when they thought he couldn’t hear. He kept his voice steady, his demeanor calm—like none of this mattered, like he wasn’t feeling the weight of it all pressing against his ribs. To his credit, most of the major deals were still holding. The Gojo name was far too powerful to be shaken by one scandal, but that didn’t mean cracks hadn’t appeared.
There were still murmurs, even within his own company. Executives muttering over coffee, wondering if the family would take action to “correct the situation.” His parents had already made their stance clear—they wanted this “mess” cleaned up quickly. A statement. A press release. Something that would sweep the story under the rug.
But Satoru couldn’t bring himself to do it. How could he? What would he even say? That he’s sorry?
His son wasn’t a mistake.
He glances over to the untouched lunch on his desk, appetite long gone. Koji hadn’t asked to be born into this family, into this life of scrutiny and power plays. And yet here he was—thrust into the spotlight because of some unruly person who doesn’t give a damn about anything. The Gojo Group would weather this storm—he’d have to make sure of it.
Still, it’s the moments between all the business calls and the carefully crafted emails that gnaw at him the most. When he catches a glimpse of Koji’s face in the news coverage, or sees your name being dragged into articles alongside his. If he wasn’t so pissed, he’d be shocked at how quickly the public found that out.
It’s just business, he reminds himself.
But Satoru knows better than anyone—nothing about this has ever just been business.
He rubs his face again this time harder, checking the time.
Distraction, distraction, distraction. He takes his phone out, going to his messages. Hovering his thumb over your name, before biting the bullet and sending you a text.
I’m picking up Koji today.
A few minutes later…
Y/N:
Are you sure? I can
Already decided, don’t worry about it
Satoru pauses again, his thumbs doing circles over the bright screen as he thinks of the correct way to articulate his next text.
You should probably stay over again. I’ll watch Koji but if you’re working late, he’ll end up falling asleep. I don’t want you guys out alone at night.
Is that too forward of him to say? Truly, he does mean it for your protection and safety. He’s willing to look past whatever it was earlier today, just as long as you and his son don’t accidentally get ambushed by reporters or strangers. Besides, he’s making up for lost time, remember?
Another few minutes passed with no reply. Assuming you’re busy at work right now, he’s about to shut his phone off and stand up when you say…
Y/N:
Oh, okay. Just one more night
He wishes he can read your tone better through text.
“Papa.”
“Yeah, buddy?” Satoru wipes a small stream of chocolate ice cream from his son’s mouth. He wonders if you’d scold him for giving him ice cream on a cold day. But hey, his son did ask. And who is he to say no?
“On January 5th, it’s a special day.” Koji grins, little legs swinging back and forth over the bed, watching his father clean up the room his son will be sleeping in again tonight. Another reason you’d probably be mad at him for eating ice cream, it’s night time and he’s about to go to sleep.
Satoru had gone to the store after picking up Koji from school to buy a quick set of pajamas and tiny underwear for the boy after realizing he had absolutely no spare children’s clothes laying around.
Why would he?
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
Koji’s grin widens, his little hands clutching the edge of the bed as if he’s holding onto the excitement bubbling inside him. “It’s Dad Appreciation Day at school!”
Satoru freezes mid-motion, Dad Appreciation Day. He turns slowly, trying to keep his voice light and teasing even as something twists in his chest. “Oh, is that so? And what happens on Dad Appreciation Day?”
Koji beams up at him, oblivious to the subtle tension in his father’s stance. “It’s a day where we get to bring our dads to school and show them all the cool stuff we made! Mr. Ito says we’re gonna draw pictures and talk about how awesome they are!” He pauses for a second, as if gathering his thoughts. “And I already told everyone my dad is the coolest of them all.”
Satoru swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “You did, huh?”
Koji nods enthusiastically, his little legs still swinging. “Yeah! ‘Cause you are the coolest, Papa.” He says it like it’s the simplest truth in the world, his voice full of innocence and pride.
Satoru stares at him for a beat too long, that twisting feeling growing stronger. He crouches down in front of Koji, meeting his son’s wide, expectant eyes. But he can’t hold back the warmth that blooms in his being. “So, you want me to come to this Dad Appreciation Day?”
Koji nods again, so quickly it looks like his head might fall off. “Yep! And I want you to meet my friends! And—” he pauses suddenly, glancing down at his hands as if shy about what he’s about to say. “And I want them to know you’re real.”
The words hit Satoru harder than he expects. He blinks, his heart stuttering in his chest. “What do you mean, buddy? Of course I’m real.”
Koji fidgets, his fingers tugging at the edge of the blanket. “Sometimes the other kids say I’m making stuff up. That I don’t really have a dad ‘cause they’ve never seen you. But I told them you’re real! And you’re awesome and tall and can do anything. I don’t have pictures of you either to show them.” He lifts his head again, his little face hopeful. “So…you’ll come, right?”
Satoru feels something ache deep in his chest—a mix of guilt, pride, and something he can’t quite name. This is what he’s been afraid of. The impact his absence might have on Koji, the doubts his son has had to defend himself against. Although it’s not his fault, he still feels awful over the fact that his son is getting criticized by other little shitheads for “lying about his dad”.
Again, who is he to say no?
Satoru musters a soft smile, reaching out to ruffle Koji’s hair. “Of course I’ll come, buddy. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Koji’s face lights up, a pure, unfiltered joy spreading across his features. “Really?! You promise?”
“I promise.” Satoru’s voice is steady, despite the weight of the promise he’s just made. Because for once, he isn’t thinking about the scandal, the headlines, or what his family might say. Right now, all he sees is his son’s smile—the only thing that matters.
Koji throws his arms around Satoru’s neck, hugging him tightly. “Thanks, Papa. You’re the best.”
Satoru wraps his arms around the little boy, holding him close as he presses a kiss to the top of his head. “No, Koji. You’re the best.”
At this moment, Satoru feels like he’s doing something right.
Satoru sits back, still holding Koji close as the boy relaxes in his arms, content and unaware of the complexities that hang over his father. For a few moments, the weight of the world feels light, and the chaos of his personal and professional life fades into the background. He can’t help but wish he could bottle up this peace and take it with him everywhere.
Koji yawns, his little body starting to slump against Satoru’s chest, the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. Satoru gently shifts him back onto the bed, tucking the covers around him. Taking his ice cream from him, the room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. He watches as Koji’s eyes flutter closed, a faint smile still playing at the corners of his lips.
Satoru stands up slowly, lingering for a moment to make sure Koji is comfortable. He reaches for the nightlight switch, casting the room in a soft glow, then turns back to the door. His thoughts are no longer on the promises made to the company or the looming questions about his future with his family. It’s all about Koji, about being the father his son deserves.
As he steps out into the hallway, Satoru feels the familiar weight of the world returning, just a little. There are meetings tomorrow, more calls to take, and a whole slew of problems waiting for him. But tonight, for the first time in what feels like forever, he has something to look forward to. A chance to be present, to be the kind of parent he knows he can be. And that’s enough for now.
He takes a deep breath, letting the silence settle around him as he heads to the kitchen to grab a drink. Tomorrow will come with its own challenges, but tonight, he can rest easy knowing that for once, he has what he wants within his grasp.
Despite his long day, Satoru feels a small obligation to stay up for you. Ensuring you make it back safe and all. You had insisted on using the bus back home, but he sent you money for a cab instead. Sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows floating atop. Still in his white button up and black slacks, white socks on. Once you knock on the door, he’s answering. “Hey, how was work?”
“Okay,” you mumble, walking past him inside. From your demeanor, you look tired. Maybe even still awkward. He locks the door shut and walks over, hovering next to you as you did your body of your coat and shoes.
“Koji’s asleep.”
You nod. “Okay, thank you.”
“No problem ,” he lightly shrugs. “Um…are you hu—“
“No, no. Not really. I think I just want to shower and sleep.”
Satoru watches as you slip off your shoes, your shoulders heavy, and your movements slower than usual. He can tell you’re not in the mood for any more conversation, and he doesn’t want to push. The tension between you both is still there, unspoken but present in every glance, every word. But he’s trying to keep the peace, trying to respect the distance you’ve put between the two of you.
“Alright, well, if you need anything...” he trails off, not sure what else to say. He knows he could offer more, but right now, he’s unsure what would make you feel more at ease. The last thing he wants is to make you feel like he’s prying.
You glance over at him for a brief moment, your face unreadable. “Thanks,” you mutter, the words soft but genuine.
He hums back, putting his hands in his pockets. “And he told me about the Dad day. I’ll clear my schedule and go.”
You glance up at him, a surprised but relieved expression flickering across your face. You hadn’t expected him to follow through so easily, but the way he says it so matter-of-factly makes you believe him. “That’s… that’s really great, Satoru,” you say quietly, trying not to let your gratitude sound too heavy. You didn’t want to make it more awkward than it already is. But deep down, you’re thankful. For Koji’s sake, for his happiness, and maybe for yours too.
Satoru gives you a small smile, almost like a silent reassurance, though his eyes betray a flicker of uncertainty, as if he’s still unsure of how to navigate all the unspoken words hanging between you two. “It’s nothing. He’s my son, after all. I wouldn’t miss it.”
You nod, giving him a small smile back, and you can’t help but feel a little more at ease.
“I should let you get some rest,” he adds, his voice softening, almost like he’s giving you an out. “I know you’ve had a long day. I left some of my clothes out in the bathroom for you, if that’s okay.”
You nod again, appreciative of his understanding. It’s strange how he can act so distant and yet, in moments like these, he can be so… present. For once, you don’t feel the weight of everything crashing down on you. Maybe it’s because of Koji, or maybe it’s because Satoru’s actually trying. “That’s okay, thank you again.”
“Stop thanking me so much,” he shakes you off, walking over to the sink to begin washing the dishes. For a second, you watch his back, seeing the muscles of his firm skin through the almost dangerously thin material of his shirt. You look away, realizing you’ve been staring for too long and head over to the bathroom to begin your shower.
Once again, the water feels warm and comforting against your skin. It’s what you look forward to after your days. Relaxing and letting loose, letting your shower ease your tension in your shoulders. Freeing your body of the day’s dirt and oil, feeling an ungodly amount of clean. Maybe it’s Satoru’s detachment shower head, or his lovely smelling shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, but it makes you sight wistfully.
You allow yourself to bask in it, longer than you would back at your place because it’s not your water bill. As you step out and dry yourself off, the clothes that are left are a simple white t-shirt with boxers. Probably the only thing he has that can semi-fit you.
However, you can’t resist the urge to bring the soft material up to your nostrils, eyes closing as you inhale deeply. It fills your senses with a strange, but familiar twist. Oh god, how you love his smell.
That’s okay to admit still, right?
It’s not even just his cologne, but him. You’ve always loved it, always sniffed him and his clothes randomly. He’d make fun of you sometimes for it, just light teasing. Of course, he also was in love with the idea that just his scent alone can get you going.
Inhale after inhale, practically stuffing the clothing in your face before taking the moment to actually put them on. Still big, but manageable. Besides, it’s just one more night. You and Koji will be back to the apartment tomorrow.
After a good 45 minutes in the bathroom, you step out and walk in the direction of the room Koji’s in. But, you bump right into Satoru as you do so. He’s holding his own pair of pajamas in his arm. “Oh, sorry,” you quickly apologize and step back, voice low in effort to keep your son asleep. The dim lighting of the hallway almost makes his features even more pretty. “Did I take a long time? I thought you showered already.”
“No, it’s okay,” he replies, the bright hue of his eyes moving up and down. “You look…” He pauses, and there’s something in his gaze that’s hard to place, but you can feel the weight of it. “Comfortable.”
You feel your cheeks warm under his attention, but you don’t say anything in response. “Yeah, I am.”
He nods briefly and in silence. Once again, it’s like that moment from earlier today is making an appearance again. But this time it feels a little more electrified. Maybe it’s from the way his Adam’s Apple visibly bobs up and down like he’s gulping hard. Or the way his mouth has suddenly dried out. Or the way he has sudden invading memories of you wearing his shirt with nothing else after a passionate moment. Suddenly, he feels a problem.
“Goodnight,” he swiftly utters, walking past you into the bathroom. His movements are hurried, turning the shower back on, putting his clothes down onto the sink and ridding his current wear. By the second, a knowing throb is taking place, one that almost causes him to groan out when his hand accidentally brushes against it.
The water’s still cold as he gets in—he figures that’s a good thing.
As the water splashes over his skin, Satoru tries to focus on the cold, the sting of it against his flushed skin, to fight off the growing tension that is so hard to ignore. His thoughts are a blur—memories of moments with you, your laughter, the way you’ve always looked at him, the touch of your skin, your smell. They all collide inside his head, each one triggering the next, until it’s impossible to escape the warmth of his desire. He tries to shake it off, tilting his face up to splash cold water onto it, breathing heavily as the icy droplets hit his skin. But the image of you wearing his shirt, the softness of the fabric against your bare skin, refuses to leave his mind. It’s maddening. There’s a part of him that feels guilty, like he’s crossing some boundary, but another part, the part that craves the connection with you, is too strong.
The tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten, feels like it’s pulling him in two different directions. The man he’s supposed to be—focused, disciplined, in control—and the man who craves more than just physical closeness.
“Get it together, idiot,” he mutters under his breath, the words coming out as a sharp reprimand, though he knows it’s easier said than done.
The water begins to warm, slowly, but he doesn’t notice, his thoughts swirling like a storm. What the hell are you doing to him?
He takes a deep breath and turns the temperature up, letting the water envelop him, hoping that it will cool the fire inside of him. But somehow, it just feels like the heat of the moment is following him everywhere.
What was he thinking letting you wear his clothes again? He’s practically asking for it. He should’ve thought more about his decision. But at the time, he was thinking with his brain, not his hard cock.
Sparing a small glance down, his lips downturn. The tip is already an angry red and he’s barely touched himself, his veins becoming more prominent by the second as the blood rushes up and up. It’s practically begging to be felt, begging to be released.
He feels like such an idiot. A perverted idiot.
But with each blink, he’s getting flashbanged of past memories. The way your moans sounded heavenly in his ear, the way you squeezed around him that had his eyes rolling back. When you’d make that cute little noise when he’d circle a thumb on your pussy clif, simultaneously bullying your hole with his cock. The way you’d hold onto him. The way you—oh god.
His body has such a mind of its own.
He’s twitching in his hand, achingly so. Forcing down the surge of sudden need and focusing on the now. Willing his body to stop reacting so…blatant. It’s hard. In both ways. Satoru’s a grown man. He’s not used to such childish behaviors like this anymore. Keeping the lewd noises that threaten to leave his lips down like he’s a teenager all over again, scared of getting caught jacking off in his bedroom while his parents were down the hall. And he especially didn’t think he’d react like this all over again, and so damn easily too.
That’s what pisses him off most. Aside from the fact that you seemed so nonchalant. As if you didn’t know what was happening. That, or you’ve just become a good actress.
The water pellets down on him, hoping that the sound of his warm shower is enough to drown out the noise of the shaky moan that accidentally slips from his lips. This is bad; you and his son are sleeping peacefully in the other room and he’s here doing this.
But he just can’t help himself. His cheeks are flushed red, not just from the water. Head tilting back as he lays his left palm flat on the shower wall. For a second, he lets himself indulge in his selfish desires. And for a second, he doesn’t mind the fact that he just came to the thought of another woman and not his current girlfriend.
Jesus, he’s fucked up, isn’t he?
The next day proves to be busy. With the sudden influx of customers, everyone has been practically busting their ass off. You’re happy to go home, no longer dealing with that hustle and bustle.
Hana stays for another couple hours until she too will be saved. She can’t even count on her hands how many times a customer or customers have asked for you. She feels bad, of course. You seem to be handling it, but at the same time, you’re not.
She’s learned her lesson not to pry anymore when you seem close to the edge, that doesn’t diminish her worry as your friend.
It’s slower as the day continues, the sun beginning to set and paint the sky with pretty shades of orange. She’s cleaning the tables, humming a small tune when the ding from above the door sounds.
Like clockwork, she stops her cleaning and goes behind the register, planting a customer service smile. “Hello, welcome in.”
The man smiles back, though his seems more fake. Stepping upfront in front of her, looking over the menu placed above. He hums and talks his chin with his pointer finger. “What do you recommend?”
“The cookie butter latte is our best seller,” Hana replies.
He nods again, his feline eyes flickering back down to her own brown pair. “That sounds wonderful, can I have that?”
“Of course.” Hana taps the order into the screen of the register, looking back up. “Anything else?”
“You’re a very beautiful woman,” He smoothly says.
Hana blinks in surprise, momentarily thrown off guard by the man's sudden compliment. She forces a smile, not quite sure how to respond. Compliments were part of the job, but this one felt a little too close for comfort. She can feel the warmth creeping up her neck as she tries to keep the conversation professional. "Thank you," she says, voice even and polite. "Anything else I can get for you today?"
The man tilts his head slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Maybe just your name?"
She offers a small, practiced smile, hoping to keep things casual. "Hana," she replies, maintaining eye contact but not giving away too much. "Now, would you like anything to go with your latte?"
He hesitates for a moment, his eyes scanning the pastries behind the counter. "A chocolate croissant, please."
"Great choice," she says, quickly adding it to the order. "That'll be all?"
"For now," he says with a slight nod, but there's something in his tone that makes her wonder if it's really the last time she'll hear from him today.
Hana nods. “And a name for the order?”
He pulls out a crisp total of one thousand yen. “Naoya.”
a/n: writing the "kiss" scene made me think back to a time I dodged my ex's kiss b4 we started dating and I felt so embarrassed for him
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I’ve been having some Thoughts™️ about the weird meta paradox of gerri kellman’s sexuality. as basically The Older Woman on the executive floor she’s trying as much as is possible to blend in with her male colleagues while also not being perceived to be doing so. muted colours and understated makeup. a competent filing cabinet. her husband is dead and her daughters are nameless. she was sexual once but that’s out of sight out of mind and now it’s just the work. it must be a relief in some ways to become finally unfuckable because you’re over 40. she can finally be taken seriously, but only if she toes the line between being too female and not female enough. trying but not too hard. desirable in the past tense only. an honorary man but still in a skirt. and while the men around her can fuck their much younger assistants and get sports massages and run a sex trafficking ring on a cruise ship, she is the job and only the job and that keeps her safe. for a bit anyway.
the irony of gerri saving the company from the full legal extent of a sex scandal by dating someone from the DOJ??? like i’ll never be over it. even filing cabinets have to flatter and please and fuck when called upon. i genuinely don’t believe any of the other execs could have swung it because they’re not women. she dated laurie (generally unseen unless framed from another man’s possessive perspective) to save the men from going to jail for covering up rape allegations. the irony is delicious. and even though she did that, she’s discarded once she’s framed sexually. Dick Pic Gate was out of her control and yet when confronted with any element of gerri’s sexuality (even her PASSIVE sexuality, even after using it to save his company), logan dismisses her as weak or impractical or failing or whatever other excuse he uses to justify his disgust.
i would argue that roman’s interest in gerri is not in spite of but BECAUSE of her asexual framing. it’s a challenge that he’s never going to win which is ideal for his impotency issues; he can push and push and get the thrill out of it, out of the fucked up power dynamic, but he knows he’ll never have to actually fuck her. it’s all hypothetical: down a phone, through a door, half-joking, covered in sensible skirt suits. gerri’s deliberate lack of sexualizing is counterintuitively a turn-on for roman. and i bet the game of chicken they play is freeing for her too because the fact that she has to be professional and cannot be sensual is part of the fun of it. “roman is weird about gerri”. “it’s fucking disgusting”. not because of their family history, or their professional positions, but because she’s old. because the absence of her sexuality is enough of a presence to be off-putting. shiv patronising her about it as a power play is so weird because she’s talking to her simultaneously like a child and like an old woman, and gerri, agency-less, just has to keep reassuring her “i can cope”.
BUT it’s worse than that because it’s so meta. Because gerri is hot. her actor is attractive and like roman, many people watching find her sexless, no-nonsense framing to be titillating. me included. what if roman likes gerri not because of oedipal issues but just because she’s hot and god forbid we find a woman over 50 hot? but whether or not gerri is hot in the context of the show shouldn’t be a big deal, she should have been able to escape this by now!!! she’s in her 60s she’s a widow she’s tired stop sexualizing her!!! but don’t NOT sexualize her either because that’s problematic too and old women can be hot and old women shouldn’t have to be hot and suddenly i’m making gerri do what waystar does and exist as something sexual and non-sexual at the same time. she has a huge plotline in which she’s essentially a sex object. whether or not gerri is fuckable is talked about as much in the show with mildly-disgusted fascination as it is in the real world!!! she can’t win she’s hot she’s old she’s sexually framed she’s deliberately trying not to be she wants sex she doesn’t want sex she’s covering sex with sex and she’s telling roman to leave her alone so she can just do her damn job because she knows that this is what will bring her down!!! sex scandals historically don’t get men fired but an unsolicited dick pic knocks gerri off her podium in logan’s head forever. even now i’m talking about it at such length because i’ve given it so much thought!!! she’s the only woman in the old guard and she’s one of the most sexualized characters in succession. but only as a joke. in the abstract. never actually. because that would be weird. right?
#i would like to point out that none of this is within gerri’s control#it’s like the only thing about herself that isn’t in her control#and that’s how she is sexualised#ironic when romangerri came from j and keiran lmao#succession#sorry long post#succession meta#gerri kellman#romangerri#kinda?#roman x gerri#gerroman#gerriroman#j smith cameron
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prince dick grayson x knight reader that doesn't like him that much??
u can make it fluffy smutty angsty wtv 🙏
implied fem reader
sort of forbidden love??????
angsty af
i was kinda listening to a sad playlist i made...
Prince Dick was known for his scandalous activities. But those "rumors" were almost always shut down by his majesty, King Bruce.
I mean, Prince Dick was the first in line to the throne, so he had to uphold his reputation. But that didn't stop him from flirting and fucking with every maid in the palace.
You, one of the trusted knights in Gotham, were assigned to guard and shield Prince Dick. But sometimes, it felt as if you didn't really do anything.
Dick was... Dick. Currently, he's fooling around with one of the maids of the palace. You could hear her moaning. The sounds of skin slapping and Dick's voice, telling her how much of a "good girl" she was.
Honestly, it was repulsive. This was the future king of Gotham.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open, and the maid ran out. Her cheeks were puffy and red. Dick leaned against the doorframe; his bedsheets were wrapped around his hips, but that didn't cover his boner.
"What'd I do?" Dick asked, tilting his head, causing you to snicker. "Well, your Royal Highness, maybe you should be less... Dickish."
"Come on, love, you love Dickish." You rolled your eyes. "Don't call me that, Dick."
He snickered. "Original. Hey, you know what?"
"What?"
"I have a perfectly empty bed, you know." You rolled your eyes. Prince Dick was always trying to get into your pants, either with his flirtatious comments or his wandering looks.
"Dick, stop," you muttered. "Why?" he said, looking up at you with the saddest expression. "Goodnight, your royal highness." Dick nodded, taking the hint. He retreated back into his room.
The sun rose, waking up the entire kingdom, including his royal highness, Prince Dick. You stood guard the entire night; it was part of the job, right?
The door creaked open, revealing Dick. There were bags under his eyes, and his cheeks were red and puffy. Your cold demeanor melted before it froze back over. "Are you alright, your royal highness?" you asked.
"What? Yeah, of course," he replied with a smile before quickly walking away.
Strange. Could it have been about last night? But you didn't care, right? You were his knight. And he was going to be king. And you sort of loathed him.
He was bratty, annoying, stupid, and a heartbreaker. You did not need that.
You watched as Prince Dick flirted with the neighboring princess, Princess Barbara. You were five feet behind Prince Dick, occasionally listening to his conversation with the princess whenever she laughed a little too loud.
Prince Dick led her to the fountain and gave her a kiss on the cheek; it wasn't incriminating, of course. But it was living up to his reputation of being an A-grade asshole and a flirt.
You looked away as the two continued flirting. You were not jealous, right? I mean, you were just a knight. You had no business being jealous.
You watched over Prince Dick every day. He was your responsibility. You had to follow him everywhere. You watched him flirt with countless men and women. You'd watched his breakdowns and his moments of triumph.
You had seen it all. But you felt empty every time. You were supposed to feel only one thing about him, and that was the need to protect him. That was it. But how have you changed over the past few years? He was becoming king soon. After that, he could get rid of you as he pleased.
You were a few feet behind him, watching as he entered his room before you took your place. You stood outside his door, guarding and protecting him from any possible harm.
Your eyes fell down to the doorknob. You wanted and needed to do so. An exchange of words wouldn't hurt, right?
Your hand fell to the doorknob, gripping it tightly. Your brain needed it to be locked, but your heart longed for it to be open.
Your cold demeanor melted as you twisted the doorknob, opening the door slowly. "What?" Dick called out, hearing the door creak open. "Hey," he said, turning around at the sound of your voice. "Oh, hey. Do you need something? I... did something happen?" he asked.
You smiled and shut the door, venturing further into his room. He tilted his head. "What's wrong?" he asked. You wrapped your arms around his neck, "This."
You leaned in and gave him a gentle kiss. Surprisingly, he kissed back. You quickly pulled away as you felt his hands slide down to your waist. "You and me... we can't happen, okay?"
"Why?" he asked obliviously. "I'm not a princess. I have no real title. And the kingdom would not approve, okay?" You replied, tears brimming your eyes.
"No, we can make this work, okay?" Dick tried reassuring you, but how? You were just a knight. It would never work.
"I do not wanna be your sidechick, Dick!" You yelled, tears falling down your eyes. "You're breaking my heart, love." His hand cupped your cheek.
You slapped it away. "We—we would be unhappy together! We would fight all the time and we would loathe each other, okay? Why can't you understand that?" Tears fell down your cheeks.
"Please, we can make this work, I promise," he whispered.
"No, Dick, we can't. We are too different." You gave him a soft kiss on his cheek and left.
You had nothing with Prince Dick Grayson. You were simply his protector.
CAN YOU TELL I LOVE ANGST??? OMG ANGST IS ANGSTING RN AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OMG
CAN YOU TELL I WAS LISTENING TO "YOU'RE LOSING ME?" YES? WELL, FUCK ANYWAY
#dick grayson#dick grayson angst#robin dick grayson#dick grayson fluff#dick grayson imagine#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x you#dick greyson#nightwing#nightwing x reader#angst#batfam#richard grayson fluff#richard grayson x reader#dc robin#batfamily#dick grayson smut#dick grayson x !knightreader#richard grayson#dick grayson x y/n#dick grayson x female!reader#richard grayson fanfiction#nightwing fluff#nightwing comics#nightwing x you#nightwing smut
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Scandalous (Blitzø x Fem!Succubus!Reader x Stolas) [Helluva Boss] pt. 2 - How to Make Friends
How the mighty do fall. (Getting into a weird three-way situation with an imp and a succubus isn't exactly considered classy, Stolas)
Meet Blitzø.
pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | 1st bonus | pt. 6 | pt. 7 | pt. 8 | pt. 9 | 2nd bonus
Word count: 2,415
Warnings: surprise surprise! the series is actually non-linear! Some hints of trauma regarding feeling used/objectified, a glimpse into a little more context, mentions of sex as usual, i told y’all i can be a fun writer
Things had been running rather smoothly at Ozzie’s before some idiot decided he could just come in.
Sneaked in, you assumed, since he didn’t seem to be accompanied, and, frankly, didn’t exactly look dressed for a fancy dinner night at Ozzie’s like other customers always were and he had the nerve to come up to you and ask for some minutes of Asmodeus’ time as if it were nothing.
This wasn't the first time this has happened, of course- for some reason people seemed to think that speaking somewhat confidently about having an appointment would somehow distract you, the person whose job was to strictly keep track of Ozzie’s time, from… well, doing your job.
At this point, he’d gotten past the whole ‘I have an appointment in five minutes´ thing and started trying to convince you that you had to let him talk to the Sin.
“Uh. I don’t know what you want me to say, dude. You can’t just like… ask to see Asmodeus. It’s… kinda not how it works. At all.”
“Why not?”
You sighed. “Who are you supposed to be again?”
“I’m Blitz. The O is silent.” He offers his hand for you to shake, but you only raise an eyebrow, unamused. He retracts his hand.
“Is that supposed to ring a bell or…?”
“Not to you maybe. But his little bitch boy knows who I am.”
“What?”
“I know Fizzarolli, okay?”
“Okay, and?”
“And? And I need to talk to the big Oz!”
“Yeah first off- you could just be bullshitting me. And second off… that doesn’t just automatically give you any priority in Ozzie’s very, very long list of important meetings.”
“Important meetings? What’s he doing right now, discussing dildo prices with some fuckface from Greed?” He raises an eyebrow in defiance.
You do your best to conceal the look on your face as you glanced at Ozzie’s schedule, which confirmed he was, in fact, discussing dildo prices with a manufacturer from Greed.
It wasn’t enough, though- the imp seems to realize it. “He is, isn’t he?” He grins.
“That’s confidential information.”
He leans over your desk, planting both his hands on top of it in front of you and getting his face closer to yours. “What’s a hot piece of ass like yours doing in a dump like this anyways?”
“This is… Ozzie’s, dude.” At this point, you don’t even have an excuse as to why you were even entertaining this guy (at least none that aren’t ‘things are slow right now and I’m really fucking bored’).
“Yeah, I’m usually at some shitty bar with cum and blood on the walls when I pull this one.”
You actually laugh. “I’m sure you are. Anything else I can help you with?”
“A… meeting with Asmodeus maybe?”
“Definitely not.”
“Eh, worth a try. How ‘bout a drink?”
“Are you offering to buy me a drink or asking me to buy you a drink?”
“Hey I’m up for whatever one you want,” he puts his hands up in surrender.
You roll your eyes, unable to contain a smile at the dumb conversation. At least he was entertaining you. You had to give it to him, he was a little funny. “You know what. Get yourself a drink, Blitz with the silent O. You probably need it.”
“Oh, really? Well if you in- hey wait what’s that supposed to mean?”
You just shrug. “Ya want the drink or not?”
He pauses. “Yes.”
You laugh again. “Just look for Maru by the bar and tell her you got a drink on me, she’ll make something for you.”
“Oh you’re not… you’re not gonna be… joining me?” He asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. He almost looked actually disappointed, just a little bit. Almost.
“Nope. The hot piece of ass is still at work.”
“Riiight. I’ll uh- I’ll be right there! At the bar. Drinking my drink.” He says, awkwardly walking backward.
“If you try to sneak into Ozzie’s dressing room I will find out.”
“And what would you potentially do if you found that out?”
“You don’t wanna-” Suddenly, Ozzie’s voice makes itself known in your earpiece, your voice dying off as you focus on what he says, saying the words that signaled things had gotten a bit heated during the meeting and you need to send in someone to escort the imp out of his office (something you had implemented after the third meeting in two months that had ended with him either slightly injuring or straight-up incinerating someone). “Yeah I wouldn’t recommend doing that, sir,” you tell him, quickly looking for and pressing the emergency buttons that signaled whoever was working security they were needed at Ozzie’s office.
“Oh, sir, huh? I can work with sir.”
“Huh?” Realizing you hadn’t given the imp guy any sign you’d been talking to Ozzie, and not him, you feel your cheeks burn the slightest bit, getting caught off guard. “No, uh- earpiece.” You awkwardly point at your right ear.
Blitzø’s eyes widen, taken by surprise for a second before trying to keep his cool- and the little dignity he had. “Yeah I knew that. Just some good old teasing. Gosh you’re so uptight!”
“Okay, please get in before I change my mind.”
“Yup. Will do. I’m just gonna… stop by the bathroom real quick-”
“It’s the bar or out, man.”
“Fiiiine,” he exaggerates, dragging himself out of your sight.
“Y/n, you there?” Ozzie’s voice comes from the comm again, and you realize he’s probably been saying something already.
“Shit, sorry. Someone was holding me up here. Did they get him out?”
“Yes. Do I have anyone scheduled right now?”
“Hold on, let me see,” you look at the screen, crossing out the meeting he’d just finished as done and finding the name written for the one under it. “Yeah, you have that meeting about the beach accident with those Inccubi in Pasadena.”
“What is a Pasadena?”
“Living world matter, sir,” you simplify for him.
“Living world?”
“Yup.”
“When does he get here?”
“Eight minutes.”
[. . .]
“You sure you’re fine?”
“Yes! All of my meetings are done, performances are going fine and Aro owes me a lot of hours anyway. Now if you don’t mind, I have some alone time with my Froggie to attend.”
“Ugh, that nickname makes me sick.”
“I don’t pay you to judge me.”
“Yeah you pay me 'cause you loooove me. See you on Monday?”
“Yes!”
“If you need anything ‘till then-”
“I will let you know, y/n. Now, I granted you an early night, didn’t I? I expect you to enjoy yourself.”
“Fine, boss,” you teased him, making sure he saw you rolling your eyes.
You walked out of Oz’s office, inside of which you’d seen no sight of Fizzarolli, which was strange. You obviously wouldn’t pry, but wondered if the incident with his hearing aid that Ozzie had had to take a break for earlier had been more serious than what Ozzie made it sound.
There was no use thinking about it too much, though. You and Asmodeus were close, but there were boundaries you still kept between you and respected. You were pretty much the only person Ozzie ever forwardly told about his relationship with Fizz (even though basically everyone else in all seven rings suspected it in some way) and he knew of many personal things of yours, too, but things such as Fizzarolli’s own personal life and the identity of any people you told him about in conversation usually went unmentioned.
So, to the bar it was. When Ozzie told you he’d gotten someone to cover you for the last hours of the night so you could be free, the very first thing you’d thought to do had been to go straight home- but even thinking it to yourself made that sound depressing. In truth, Asmodeus was the closest thing you had to a real friend- the closest you’d had in a really long time. And although you did feel grateful to be free of work, it wasn't really much fun to think of the fact that, not being able to hang with Ozzie, you didn’t really have much to do. Or anyone to do anything with.
So you decided maybe you’d have a drink or two, and enjoy the last performances of the night before bouncing. Couldn’t hurt, right?
To your surprise, when you sit down at a stool by the bar, ordering yourself a blackberry frozen margarita- in your opinion, the best drink on Ozzie’s drink menu- you’re startled to see the imp you’d talked to earlier that night sliding next to you, taking a seat on the stool right by your left.
“Sooo. The hot piece of ass ain’t working anymore?”
“You’re still here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
You shrug. “I dunno, I kind of imagined you would’ve managed to sneak into Ozzie’s dressing room and gotten yourself kicked out by now.” Of course, you were only taking the piss at him- you’d know if that would have happened. Obviously.
He furrows his eyebrows together. “Wait I actually could have sneaked into his dressing room if I tried?”
You laugh and decide to answer his first question instead of that one. “No, I’m not working anymore.”
“Does that mean I’m allowed to flirt with you now?”
“Oh, that thing you were doing wasn’t flirting?”
“Depends. Was it working?”
You drink the rest of your margarita in a single gulp instead of answering. “Hey, Maru? Would you get me another, please? You can put it under Blitz here.”
“Hey!”
“What? I thought you were trying to flirt. Buy me a drink!”
[. . .]
“So you’re the one who manages this whole thing?” Blitzø motions around to the restaurant, almost spilling the shot of tequila he was holding.
“Well not exactly,” you toy with the little umbrella from your third drink of the night. “I’m more focused on managing Ozzie’s business. I mean. The guy, not the place. You know, meetings to attend, places to go, personal errands, everything.”
“That’s… lame.”
“What do you do for a living then that’s just so fun?”
“Well, I used to be a circus clown.”
“What? Wait that is cool.”
“Only a little cool. I’m planning something big next. But uh. Right now I’m kind of doing anything I can find to support my daughter.”
“You have a daughter?”
“Yeah. Loona. The love of my life.”
“That’s cute.” You smile. Examining him with this in mind once again, you take he does sort of have a bit of a dad energy to him. It looks a little unconventional on him considering the… everything else, but it was there. “How old is she?”
“Nineteen.” He finally downs his shot, slamming the glass on the counter.
“Oh, wow.”
He seems to notice all the processing you were doing in your mind to try to gather how old he was.
“I adopted her like a year ago.”
“Oh. That’s cool. What’s she like?”
Conversation with him came to be strangely natural. A few drinks in, and, from an outside perspective, it would probably be hard to figure out the two of you had never seen each other before up until a few hours prior- cracking jokes and playfully flirting, sharing bits and pieces of your lives and drinking a little more than you should together. It was weirdly comfortable.
And, much to your surprise, Ozzie didn’t come up in conversation again. Not in the way you were certain he would eventually, anyway. After all, it all seemed too nice to not be a way to get you drunk and tell him something personal about Ozzie, or ask you again for a meeting with the Sin. Right?
By the end of the night, Blitzø tried a half-serious attempt at getting you to take him home with you (because apparently he rented a one-bedroom place, and gave up his bedroom to his daughter when she moved in with him, so he wouldn’t be able to take you home with him), to which you laughed, but stopped for a second to seriously consider.
You did find him attractive. His style was hot and his personality was fun. It was all certainly working for you.
You’re sure you could have a fun time with him if you did agree, and, honestly, atop of feeling like you deserved this, you kind of needed it. Nothing like a nice, meaningless one-night-stand with a barely-decent man to distract you from from being alone all weekend. Right?
But for some reason, you stop yourself. Maybe not this time. Because, even though you weren’t sure if that was really you or just the alcohol talking, at that moment you found yourself thinking that maybe you could actually become friends with this guy.
And though you weren't sure if he would want that, it would be nice to have a real friend other than Asmodeus, for a change.
“Um, I gotta work really early tomorrow,” you lie, giving him an excuse. “But I could give you my number? You’re really funny and I had a lot of fun tonight. Even though you definitely crashed the place,” you joke. “I think we could be… good… friends? Maybe? I’d like that.”
“You… want to be friends? With me?”
Fine. That’s where this ended, wasn’t it? He realized he wouldn’t be fucking you and so the interest disappeared. That’s fine. You were prepared for that. “It's alright if not.”
“No, give me- give me your number. Yeah. Give me your number.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket and gave it to you.
Oh. “Okay.” He probably only said that in the hopes to fuck you in the future.
Still, you grab the phone from him and type in your number and he immediately sends you a ‘hi’ and a smiley face so you can save his contact too.
“Just to be clear, like, we’re not gonna- like I really mean it, I wanna be friends.”
“Okay I got it the first time, you don’t gotta rub it on my face.”
Maybe he could be genuinely fine with just being your friend?
“I don’t mind some flirting with my friends, though,” you comment, and he smiles.
“Tell that to me when I’m sober, sweetheart.”
No harm in trying, right? And if sober you thought differently, you could always just block him.
Why not? Maybe this is just how to make friends as an adult.
“Okay but seriously where does the ‘O’ even go? Like how do I even save your contact?”
A/N: this wasn't even supposed to be out today but i got too excited so here it is. also im serious abt this being non-linear... there's shit mentioned here you'll only find out more about in like chapter 5 or so but i hope i wrote it in a way thats exciting enough to make it worth it! hope yall like it, share ur thoughts w me! luv yall <3
#helluva boss#helluva boss imagine#helluva boss x reader#stolas goetia#Stolas#Stolas imagine#Stolas goetia imagine#Stolas x reader#Stolas goetia x reader#stolas x blitz#stolitz#stolas x blitzo#stolas helluva boss#blitz#Blitzø#blitzo#blitz helluva boss#blitzo helluva boss#blitzø helluva boss#blitz imagine#blitz x reader#blitzo imagine#blitzo x reader#Blitzø imagine#Blitzø x reader#stolitz x reader#blitzo x stolas#blitzø x Stolas x reader#mars writes#asmodeus
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