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woahjo · 1 year ago

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APHRODISIAC! (Bakugou x Reader)

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Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Katsuki gets hit with an aphrodisiac quirk. You decide to check in on him. What could go wrong?

Chapter Content Warnings: fem!reader, dubcon, smut, porn with little to no plot, aphrodisiac quirks, quirkless reader, prohero!katsuki, rough sex, borderline free use, biting, creampie, multiple orgasms (fem!receiving), masturbation, edging (kinda), manhandling, katsuki is dominant but also not idk he's desperate, possessiveness, overstimulation, size kink, scent kink, some light aftercare! woo hoo!, friends to lovers sort of

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: yeah ik this isn't what i typically write but idk where this came from. i had a thought and it spiraled bad and now i have this. there is no deeper message. there is no meaning. i wrote this to make him FUCK and be kinda weird and desperate and pathetic about it. i needed to see him physically overpower us while also so desperate that it makes him look stupid. i feel violent. this bad boy is not going on ao3 lol. anyway, enjoy, heed the warnings.

Katsuki paces around the one bedroom apartment he rents in downtown Musutafu. His skin is tingling. Every nerve he has burns like it's been set on fire, needing some sort of touch to soothe it. His cock aches between his legs, hard and leaking against the side of his thigh. Katsuki grits his teeth, running his hands over his hair and then letting his palms slide down the sides of his exposed biceps.

Sweat collects on his skin, the kind that comes from desperation or maybe a fever, and he feels it on his palms when he lets them drop to his sides and clenches his fists. Fuck, he can't believe he got hit with a non-fatal quirk and had to be sent home. It's humiliating. What's worse is that it hasn't worn off yet, rendering him completely useless.

He sits on his couch, his legs spread wide, and leans back against the couch cushions, wincing as he reaches to unbutton his pants. He's never been this sensitive in his life and it almost hurts to grab his cock and pull it from his pants. Katsuki watches it twitch for a moment, rigid between his legs and leaking pre-cum from its angry tip. He doesn't even have to think about anything in particular, he's just turned on. Unbearably so.

Katsuki wraps his hand around the base of his cock and jerks upward once, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth at his own sensitivity. Then, the desperation sets in fully and he squeezes the head of his cock with a wince and a low groan before beginning to slide his hand up and down. He pauses to spit into his palm, desperate for some sort of relief from the tension weaving its way through his body, his hand moving faster and fast over this dick. Katsuki only pauses when he touches his overly sensitive head, swallowing down an audible moan as he moves his hips to desperately fuck his fist.

He tries not to think of the humiliation in this, instead focusing on chasing a high that seems to get farther and farther. He stays like this for a while, desperately fucking his fist with low groans and whines. His face is completely flushed, sweat beading on his brow and forehead, covering every inch of his skin with a pathetic, glowing sheen. God, he's almost fucking angry. The frustration, the sheer desperation for release, is making it difficult to control his temper and he knots his free hand into the soft pillow beside him, raising it to his face and using it to cover his head so he can be a little louder.

He's desperately humping his fist when his doorbell rings. At first, it's only once and Katsuki thinks he can ignore it, but then it comes again, five more times and consistently more aggressive.

"Katsuki?" your voice calls through the wood paneling of his door. "I heard you got hit with a quirk and sent home. Let me in."

He furrows his eyebrows at the irony of the last person in the world he wants to encounter at a time like this. Pretty, quirkless, you. His long time friend and recent dispatcher at his agency. Someone he secretly wants to fuck even without the aphrodisiac quirk floating through his bloodstream. You really get under his skin. You’re exactly his type, right down to that annoying little attitude of yours that drives Katsuki insane. Of course, he's always respected your friendship a little too much to do anything about it, but tonight, he doesn't think he'll be able to and he sits in silence with his lip caught between his teeth while he fucks his fists and hopes you'll go away.

"I know you're in there," you call again. "I can see the light on."

You bang three times on the door and then ring the doorbell again, pushy and insistent the way you always are. A match for his stubborn attitude.

Katsuki swears and stands up, his hands shaking as he tucks his sensitive cock back into his sweatpants and flips the head up into his waistband with a hiss.

The crazy thing is, he can literally smell you through the door. The scent of you, that sweet and rounded perfume you wear, wafts under the crack of his apartment door. He pauses outside of it, resisting the temptation to open it, to welcome that smell into his apartment and use you to relieve the aching in his cock and lower belly.

"Katsuki?" You ask, a little quieter now.

Jesus fucking christ, don't call his name like that.

He swings the door open, letting his hand rest on the side of it so that it is positioned above his head. You look taken aback at his appearance, covered in sweat and flushed from the neck up, his chest exposed and heaving.

"What?" he says, looking you up and down.

Katsuki bites back the urge to yank you in. Why is it he can literally smell the sweat on your body and every prick of your emotions? It's like he can tell exactly what you're thinking, or maybe it's what he wants you to be thinking.

"Don't get on my ass about me still technically needing to be at work," you start, stepping forward. "I heard something happened and I just came to check and you look like shi-"

Katsuki blocks you from coming in with his body. You stumble backwards lightly and raise your eyebrow at him. There's a pause as you register that you've just run into a solid wall of muscle, sweat covered and glistening, while Katsuki eyes you like you're meat on a platter. He knows he's doing it, but he can literally smell every turn of your scent, soft and sweet. And he may be fooling himself... but are you... turned on?

"Let me in?" you say with a small laugh, side stepping to go around him. He blocks you again, his fingers gripping the door frame so hard that his knuckles are white.

"Go home," he says quietly, his voice tense.

"What? No," you furrow your eyebrows at him. "What's the matter with you?"

You duck under his arm and place your hand momentarily on his chest. Your touch makes him tingle all over and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"I'm not fucking around," he says.

"Okay, me neither," you respond with a bit of an attitude. "I expected you to be worse for wear but you look like crap. Like you're... I don't know."

You trail off a little.

"Let me help," you say, shaking off whatever thought had come over you. "I'll make you some food."

"Look, no offense, but I don't think you want to help me with this," he says, a frustrated bite in his voice. Food isn't exactly what he's hungry for.

"That's too bad," you say slowly, seemingly put off by the desperate air about him and settling into his kitchen. You move to open the fridge.

Katsuki walks up to you quickly, taking your wrist from the door and holding it between the two of you. Cool air hits his exposed chest and arm as the door falls shut again.

"I'm dead serious. Get the fuck out of here or I'm gonna do something I regret," he hisses through a clenched jaw. Your skin is warm on the pads of his fingers, wrist held flush against his palm. He bites back a genuine shudder.

Your eyes are wide as you look back at him, glancing between where he's caught your wrist by your head and his eyes. Katsuki's gaze roams over your face, pausing as he hits the top of your blouse where a few buttons remain open. When he returns his eyes to yours, your mouth moves to open before a heady understanding settles over your features. You're so pretty. Everything about you is pretty, so delightful and delicate. Your eyes look glassy and wide. Katsuki has always found them tempting, but today he can't stop himself.

He leans forward and kisses you, holding your wrist to his chest as his mouth comes messily into contact with yours. You squeak and freeze and it takes all he has to pull away from you.

"Go home," he says again, his lips tingling. Katsuki feels the color creep onto his cheeks, his hand still holding your wrist.

You don't say anything, looking at him with those pretty eyes. He swallows thick and feels the saliva drag against his throat. Then, his mouth dries completely, his expression twisting into discomfort as his cock throbs between his legs as the scent of you takes on a sharper turn. He's never felt anything like this before, something animal.

Katsuki tightens his jaw, staring at you for a moment. Then, he takes a step towards you. You take one back, though he doesn't feel like you're afraid. Rather, you tilt your head down to look at him through your lashes. He lets out a breath through his teeth and walks you back until your ass hits the counter, his free hand coming to gingerly touch your waist. You inhale when he leans in to kiss you again, screwing your eyes shut and reaching to grab at his shoulder to pull him closer.

Every touch tingles. It burns and he drops your wrist to manhandle your hips. You suck on his bottom lip, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to you. He ruts his hips against yours, desperate for any sort of friction to relieve the ache, and you gasp a little and let your mouth fall open. Katsuki takes the opportunity to bite down hard on your lip with a low groan, slipping his tongue into your mouth as the pads of his fingers press harshly into you. You whine, eyebrows pulling up.

Katsuki’s eyes are slightly open, just so that he can look at you. Every aspect of his senses feel heightened and the relief of your mouth far surpasses that of his hand over his throbbing cock only minutes earlier.

He pants, taking your hips and lifting you onto the counter so that you’re seated, pulling away for just a moment to lift the hem of your shirt and expose your breasts. Katsuki puts his face on the pillowy tops of them, biting and sucking at the exposed skin as his hand teases its way up the skin of your back to unclasp it. He thinks you’re probably looking at him, but if you are, he doesn’t have the mind to care about what sort of behavior he’s exhibiting. He can practically smell how wet you are from just a little touching and if he weren’t so fucking desperate for a little relief, he’d tease you for a few hours just to watch your pussy drool over him.

The cool air of his apartment hits your exposed nipples. Katsuki takes it upon himself, without even a second thought, to roll the hard bud under his tongue. He feels the way goosebumps rise on your skin, his hands coming to rest over the tops of your thighs. Katsuki bites lightly on your breast and you fucking whine at it, tipping your head back and rooting your hand into the tufts of his blonde hair.

His cock jumps in his pants and he’s no doubt leaked enough to leave an evident wet spot against the gray of his sweatpants. He stands to his full height, pushing your skirt up and pressing the outline of his cock to your crotch. Heat bleeds through your panties, the kind that makes him feel like he’s going absolutely fucking insane. You gasp, putting your hands on his shoulders and pulling him close again.

Katsuki’s mouth hits yours messily, breathing hard as he ruts his hips up against your crotch, pulling you forward on the counter so he can feel as much of the pillowy folds of your pussy through the thick fabric as possible. You let him take your bottom lip between his teeth, sharp canines digging into the wet flesh of your mouth. He whines— high-pitched, desperate sound—as you position your hips to press your crotch against the head of his cock. His head falls onto your chest, forehead resting against the hollow of your throat. Katsuki humps at you, pulling you against him to match the rhythm of his hips, grinding your clothed cunt over the bulge of his cock. It’s a desperate motion, completely subconscious as he lets the quirk he’s been hit with take the lead.

His fingers dip into the crease of your thigh, fumbling as they reach for the waistband of the panties you’re wearing. Katsuki’s desperation is so palpable that he finds himself panting as he slips his fingers into the sides of your underwear, yanking them down. You gasp at the force of it and he swears he hears a small tear as he pulls them from your cunt, the crotch sticking to the lips of your pussy.

He leans his hips forward again, sliding his cock between your folds with a deep grunt. His mouth finds your neck and he bites along the side of it, lathing his tongue over your pulse point. It’s like he can taste you. Salt and that stupid perfume, collecting on his tongue as you dig your fingers into his back, his dick rutting restlessly against your clit. At one point, he almost slips in, his eagerness and your wetness making him careless. Katsuki sucks in a breath through his teeth, his whole body on fire.

The kitchen light shines down on his back and he can see the outline of part of his shadow on your thighs as he stares down at them, guiding the tip of himself to your entrance. He hears you wine when he presses against it and moves his hand down subconsciously to rub at your clit. An attempt to ease the stretch.

You tip your head back in a moan and Katsuki takes the opportunity to kiss your neck before settling his teeth against your shoulder and biting down harshly on the muscle connecting your neck and arm. You yelp at the sensation and Katsuki shutters at the sound, willing out a choked I’m sorry as he slides into your wetness. His hands push into the delightfully soft flesh of your upper thighs, the fat spilling up around each individual digit as he uses your legs for leverage, sliding you forward even further to better seat you on him.

Your legs are shaking and he can feel the way your nails dig into his exposed shoulder blades. Your bunch up skirt causes the fat of your tummy to fold over in a way that practically makes Katsuki drool. He urges himself to pause, attempting to come back to his senses as the quirk kicks into high gear. There’s relief in being inside of you, in feeling the flutter of your walls around his thick cock, but it also makes him desperate. Katsuki feels like he’s chasing something that he was desperately and it’s just out of his reach.

You’re breathing heavily above him, he can see the rise and fall of your chest from where his head hangs down, his hands trembling on the tops of your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes, his vision foggy around the edges as if he were peering through a tube. You’re at the end of it, your eyes glassy and mouth open, returning the look. Your eyebrows are knitted up in pleasure, but you almost seem confused.

“What are you waiting for?” You breathe out, the first thing you’ve said since he started touching you.

The tone of your voice is needy, with a delightful whiny lilt that makes him groan out loud. He can barely manage the words that come out next, his brain half mush, and he feels the way his cock jumps inside of you.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he says through gritted teeth, his breath coming heavy.

There’s a pause and he feels the distinct sensation of you squeezing down around his cock, like the idea turns you on.

“Use me,” you respond cautiously, your voice still containing that needy lilt.

Katsuki’s hips fuck up into you voluntarily and he feels the way his breath catches in his throat at the near desperate sound of your voice.

“Say that again.”

“Use me, Katsuki,” you respond, choking on your words as he fucks his hips up into you.

You reach for his face, taking it in your hands and drawing it close until it’s just in front of yours. Then, your palms slide down his shoulders and he screws his eyes shut and fucks into you again, harder this time, causing your body to jolt upwards on the counter.

He curses under his breath, pushing one leg further to the side and fucking his hips up into you roughly. You’re looking right at him, your expression drawn and pleasure-soaked, sweat collecting on your forehead as your mouth drops open into an o-shape. You punctuate his thrusts with high pitched yelps, squeaking out your pleasure and the deepness of where he’s hitting through choked moans.

Katsuki’s hands move up your stomach to roughly cup your breasts, his mouth so close to yours that he’s practically breathing in the sounds you make in exchange for his own hurried groans. He kneads at the fat of your chest, rolling your breast under his fingers before taking your nipples and pulling lightly on them.

He’s aware of just how rough he’s being, just how hard his hips are slapping yours, but he feels like he can’t stop. Katsuki chases a high so fucking desperate that his body is on autopilot, reaching and touching and moaning unabashedly as the room fills with the wet sound of his balls on the backs of your thick thighs.

You push your chest forward towards him, legs spread wide to make room for the width of his hips between yours as he bullies that perfect sensitive spot inside of you. Katsuki feels the way he makes you flutter. Every shift of your body, every involuntary squeeze of your cunt as he drags his cock along your walls, registers as if he were a part of you. His skin tingles everywhere you touch and the drag of your nails over his shoulder blades makes him want to crawl into the deepest part of you. Even the sound of your voice, drawn and desperate and mildly overwhelmed, feels like a drug to him. Every sense he has seems to be acutely attuned to just how badly he needs to fuck your lights out.

His hands slink down to your hips, resituating you and pulling you flush against him. Then, he drags his cock all the way out of you and quickly ruts back in, moaning as he does. His pace picks up, manhandling you forward on the counter until he is supporting most of your weight. You gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as you let him use you like a toy.

Katsuki chases his high, his stomach seeming to wind tighter and tighter but never finding that perfect snap and release. His movements grow faster, using all of his strength to fuck his hips up into you, barreling his cock against your gummy walls and bullying your sweet spot. He feels the way you tighten down around him, your body tensing and fingers digging crescent moons into the tops of his shoulders.

“Ka-” you choke out desperately, your voice breaking. “Wait, Katsuki, wait! I’m gonna-”

You shudder, your thighs squeezing around him as he continues to fuck you.

“Do it,” he seethes, “just fuckin’ do it.”

The end of his sentence comes out as more of a whimper as you cry out and squeeze down around him, squirming in his grasp as you begin to twitch with every additional thrust. Your body shakes, legs locking around him and struggling to hold him inside as he fucks you clear through your orgasm and then to the other side.

Katsuki’s voice breaks, almost whimpering like an animal as he buries himself in your pussy over and over again. He wants to smother you, he wants to completely cover your body and get as close as he possibly can. He’s already so much bigger than you, so much broader, how hard could it be to swallow you completely?

Katsuki’s hands come up under your ass as he wordlessly lifts you from the counter and moves to the couch on desperate, shaky steps. He lays you down, slipping out of you for a moment, before pressing a hand to the inside of your thigh, spreading your legs, and sinking his cock back into you as he crowds his body over yours.

“You know what?” He says, not really sure what’s going to come next. His head is so clouded with the quirk that he can’t think straight. “I’ve wanted to do this forever. I’ve wanted to fuck you for so- long-”

He screws his eyes shut, almost angry with the way he can’t seem to hit that high, teetering on a desperate and near painful edge.

“Those fuckin’ pencil skirts,” he says, unable to control his words or sharp tone. “The way you wear your hair, that damn look in your eye that constantly makes you seem like you’re beggin’ for it.”

Katsuki whines, a sharp sound from the back of his throat, as you tighten up around him. He meets your gaze, clouded and watery eyes accented by the delightful furrow in the center of your brow.

“And then you show up here,” he groans, not even sure of what he’s really saying. “Blouse unbuttoned, looking for trouble. I’m gonna fuck your lights out. ‘Till you can’t even think about fuckin’ anyone else.”

He leans in close, his mouth right up against yours.

“This is g’nna make you mine, right?”

You nod, your movements clumsy, and pull him close to you.

Katsuki loses all of his sense, burying himself in the feel of your pussy and the way he sinks into you, giving into the desperation of the quirk. He can feel just how deep he’s hitting, the way you suck in sharp, whiny breaths with every inward thrust. Katsuki’s hands grip your waist, pulling your ass up off the couch so that his angle is better.

His cock seems to drag endlessly against your overstimulated, pillowy, insides and you practically drool around. He feels like a dog slobbering over meat, any semblance of politeness completely gone from both his expression and his movements. This is going to fucking ruin your friendship, but he doesn’t even have half of a mind to think about it, so drawn into the delightful feel of your body and the aching in his cock that only seems to subside slightly with every thrust.

You try to choke out the word “again” and he feels like he knows what’s coming. Your whole body tenses, legs locking around him as you cream over his cock for the second time.

This seems to get Katsuki somewhere, the sensation of your pussy clamping down finally giving him some leeway to relief. He hits the edge of an orgasm, leading himself to the finish line.

The tension in his belly grows, cock twitching inside of your fucked out cunt. His fingers dig into your hips and he collapses forward, rolling his body so that the head of his cock catches perfectly inside of you, massaging and churning you up. You’re moaning, though maybe it’s more adjacent to whining, and Katsuki can hear himself mimicking the sounds, his body leading the way.

Then finally, on a pathetic and broken whimper, Katsuki cums. His whole body tenses, weight pressing down on you as he buries his face into your neck and lets his voice out beside the hollow of your throat. The relief and pleasure is so intense that Katsuki feels the way every muscle in his body tenses and lets go, filling you up with as much of him as he has to give.

His hips continue to pathetically rut into you, little choked moans escaping his lips as he uses his own cum as lube for his weak little thrusts. Then, he completely relaxes.

Katsuki feels the way his skin stops burning, the way the desperation at the back of his throat subsides, how his body rids itself of the quirk as quickly as the arousal came on. He shudders, coming back to himself and raising his head to peer at your expression.

You look exhausted, hair a mess and face covered in a thick sheen of sweat. You still flutter around his cock, your hands gripping his shoulders as you try and ride through the overstimulation of just having him inside of you. Katsuki furrows his brows, exhaustion creeping into his muscles. He raises his hand and uses it to push stray strands of hair from your face with his palm on your forehead. Then, with a clear mind, he leans forward and kisses you.

You blink at him for a second, before giving a weak smile, raising your eyebrows and letting your head fall to the side. Katsuki winces when he pulls out of you, sucking in a sharp breath and standing to his full height. He places a hand on his forehead like he’s assessing the situation, staring at your body, still fully clothed with your skirt pushed all the way up your stomach and your blouse missing a button at the top.

He wordlessly walks to the bathroom and wets a washcloth with warm water, walking back over to you and wiping down the exposed parts of your body. You don’t really say anything to him, but you smile quietly while he gingerly wipes you down, your smeared makeup accenting just how much of a mess he’s made.

“Fuck,” he says. “I’m sorry, this isn’t how-”

“How you wanted this to go?” You say softly, the corners of your lips turning up.

Katsuki feels the way he flushes, all the way to the tops of his chest.

“No, it’s not,” he admits, running a hand over his face as he crouches beside you.

You laugh a little and he furrows his brows at you, frustrated and embarrassed.

“You’ve got a bit of a possessive streak, huh?” You tease lightly.

“I got hit with some asshole’s fuckin’ quirk and-” he begins explaining himself, something he probably should have done when you showed up at the door.

“It was good though,” you say, tilting your head at him from where you lay.

Katsuki blinks at you, his expression completely flat. You should really know just how fucking crazy you drive him. Then, he scowls a little, not because he’s upset, but because he’s currently feeling the opposite and that makes him awkward.

“You’re into that shit?” He says, a bit incredulously.

You shrug and give him a coy smile.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bnha smut #mha smut #tw.dubcon #tw.biting #tw.free use #tw.overstimulation #tw.size kink #tw.scent kink #idk what this is #it’s a little ficlet I suppose #AND SO DIFFERENT FROM WHAT I USUALLY WRITE I FEEL LIKE #ANY IM NERVOUS ENJOY #cal.writing

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fxymi · 3 months ago

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part 2

okay pushing the pussy whipped loser boy agenda, rin is beyond obsessed with you and your pussy.

rin, regardless of how much of an egoist he is, has never touched a girl. sure, he’s gorgeous n all but his personality doesn’t exactly scream “welcoming” and “lovely”, which is why he’s thrilled that he landed an angel like you.

you’re his first love, his first girlfriend, his first kiss, his first everything—of course he’s obsessed. he doesn’t just want you, he needs you. really, he’s convinced he’ll die if you ever leave him.

he’s devoted to you and solely you, and you are just as down bad for him as he is for you. that’s why it’s his job to take care of you and your needy little cunt that he just can’t seem to get enough of! <3

you had a bad day? no worries, he’ll pound his cock into you until you’re practically clawing at the sheets, crying and begging for more, and the only thing on your mind now is rin looking down at you through his lashes as he makes you cum one more time.

he leans down and presses chaste kisses to your jaw while you ride out your orgasm and brushes away any hair falling over your face.

“feel better?” he mumbles against the skin of your neck that’s glistening with sweat.

of course the answer is yes. if your voice isn’t too hoarse to say so, at least.

tired? he doesn’t just make cringy trash talk with his mouth, so he’ll gladly get on his knees in front of you and needily lap and suck at your clit while you weave your fingers through hair and tug on it. your thighs are clenching around his head and of course, even though he’s doing his best for you, he’ll complain about it a little.

“quit it,” he grunts, forcefully parting your thighs with his arms.

his tongue skilfully works past your folds and at your soaking pussy. he doesn’t care that his nose and lips are glossy with your arousal, he’s just focused on knowing that he’s making you feel this good. you tug on his hair a little harder, head tilting back as you let out a moan that basically shakes your body.

rin thought you were tired?

and if you’re in the mood? if you just get so needy for him? he’ll gladly oblige, no matter how busy he is. even if this means leaving you begging for his cock, you should be grateful that he’s fingering you so well and letting you cum ^^

“rin—hah—please…need you inside me,” you whine out, squirming against the soft silk sheets of the bed.

rin’s sat beside you—one hand flipping through the book he had to read for english, and the other one pistoled and almost idly pumping in and out of your hole while his thumb slowly rubs circles right above your clit.

he shoots you a sharp glare while your incessant begging interrupts whatever jay gatsby was rattling off about on the pages.

“i’m a little preoccupied, if you couldn’t tell,” he says flatly. “jesus, ‘thought you’d be grateful that i’m even taking care of your slutty fuckin’ cunt right now.”

you let out a soft noise of protest? or maybe it was just another needy mewl? whatever it was, rin sighs and caves. how was he supposed to resist when you looked at him all teary-eyed and sounded so desperate, just for him? he loved you too much for this.

“if you can stay quiet until i finish this chapter, ill give you what you want. but only if you shut up and let me get through this.”

#bllk x female reader #bllk x y/n #bllk fanfic #bllk drabbles #bllk smut #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock smut #blue lock fanfiction #blue lock drabbles #rin itoshi #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi smut #rin itoshi x you #rin itoshi fanfic #rin itoshi x y/n #unedited

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pretend-i-don-t-exist · 3 months ago

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sy trying to create a pidw au would be so funny

i feel like he'd actually commit to it to spite airplane. at first, it garnered attention bc it was from the peerless cucumber, notorious critic and biggest pidw hater, so ofc they're all curious how pidw would look like in his eyes. it was surprisingly (well not really, considering the tens of paragraphs peerless cucumber wrote during his rants, all of which have immaculate grammar and spelling— bc ofc he can't let anyone find something to nitpick on his review so they're forced to see the point!) well-written and definitely more plot-focused.

majority of the readers disappeared after the first few chapters, mainly because of the lack of smutty scenes, but those that do remain are very engaged. one of them is airplane's burner account, when he needs to separate himself from his airplane persona. he's really, really curious as to what his hater is doing to his work.

he... he actually likes it. it's not really the novel he envisioned when he was first working on pidw, nor does it contain all the elements of his original draft, but it was good. he likes it a lot better than what pidw turned out to be.

airplane spent so much time contemplating and considering before finally saying fuck it, and dms peerless cucumber to see if he can work as a co-author with him and they can rewrite pidw together. he even sends parts of the original draft (what was left of it, anyway) as incentive!

it takes a long week before even peerless cucumber replies, and by then he has written a novella detailing how much better the original draft was and him screaming very informally at why airplane had to cast it aside.

lol i need money bro im broke af and porn sells, airplane answers.

it takes another week before peerless cucumber finally answers. then live with me, his message reads. no rent. i'll pay for whatever food you want. and whatever bills you have. just write a good fucking novel, i swear to god.

airplane thinks it's a joke, until he receives the address. an actual penthouse. in the richest streets of guangzhou. there is also a request to meet up (seeing as they don't actually know each other, and sy's brothers are very intent on not getting him murdered in his sleep) and airplane, after much, much thinking, accepts.

airplane does not really know what to feel when he finally meets and talks to shen yuan— pampered third son of a very wealthy family, with two protective older brothers and an even more protective little sister— and sy is just. well. he's exactly airplane's type. the beautiful, ice prince who apparently has only shown this much emotion around airplane. sy's meimei had told him cheerfully and then threatened to gut him if he so much as steps a foot out of line. airplane is starting to feel like he's just met a mafia family.

shen yuan's family aside, airplane is actually living his best life. he no longer has to worry about money. he lives in a luxurious (gods he has never seen such a large bedroom before wtf) penthouse without needing to pay rent (!!!) and utilities (!!!) and even food (!!!). he can write as much as he wants. this must be what artists felt like when they're taken care of noble families in exchange for their art.

he does... well. he and peerless cucumber are friends now. they work on the rewrite together. airplane keeps finding out many things, like how shen yuan likes his tea with a lot of honey, dislikes milk chocolate, and prefers drawing over writing. he also runs hot during the night, when he sleeps.

how does airplane know that? well. bros gotta do what bros gotta do. it's a good thing they both like to cuddle.

#svsss #shen yuan #shang qinghua #cumplane #sqh: if i write another novel will you still sponsor me #sy: what's the plot #sqh: hot sassy demonic cultivator who uses a flute to beat up his enemies partners with a hot immaculate ice prince who is devoted to him #sqh: oh and there is a donkey #sy: sold.#sqh: the donkey was the selling point for you???#sy who wants to live with sqh indefinitely bc he horrifyingly actually likes sqh as a 'friend': uh-huh

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joemama-2 · 5 months ago

Text

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: 18.2k (don't kill me) 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: I'm dead, ik i said i wouldn’t write again for a couple days but i had a moment of epiphany series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Walking through the long, but suffocating hallways of the office is excruciating for Satoru—it always is. Today, it feels extra excruciating. He’s been out of the office for a few days now, ignoring his business responsibilities and family, he knows he’ll probably face hell today. How painful.

“Good morning, Mr. Gojo.”

“Hello, Mr. Gojo.”

“Nice to see you, Mr. Gojo.”

“Mr. Gojo!”

A voice says, one he clocks as his secretary. He sighs, but continues to walk forward, forcing Aiko to practailly sprint just to catch up with him. There’s stacks of papers in her arms, her cheeks red with a small sheen of sweat painting her skin. And it’s only the start of the day. He almost starts feel bad for her. “Mr. Gojo! Where have you been? I’ve called and texted, I even went to your house and you weren’t there!”

“Vacation.” he says curtly, not breaking his stride. His tone is clipped, his voice devoid of any real emotion, and it’s enough to make Aiko falter for just a second.

“A vacation?!” she exclaims, breathless. “You didn’t even leave a notice! Do you have any idea how many calls I’ve had to field from your father’s office? They were—”

“Livid. Yeah, I’m sure.” Satoru waves a hand dismissively, rounding a corner and heading toward the elevator. Aiko scrambles to keep up, adjusting the stack of papers precariously balanced in her arms.

“They’re expecting you in the boardroom at ten,” she says, her voice slightly frantic. “And Mr. Gojo said if you didn’t show up this time, he’d—”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” he interrupts, pressing the elevator button with unnecessary force. The tension in his shoulders is palpable, but his face remains a mask of indifference.

“Yes, but—” Aiko stops herself, hesitating. Her voice softens. “Are you okay, sir?”

For a moment, Satoru freezes. The elevator dings, the doors sliding open, but he doesn’t move. The question hangs in the air like a challenge he isn’t ready to face. “Peachy,” he finally says, stepping inside. Aiko hesitates before following, fumbling with the papers in her arms. Once she’s inside, Satoru presses the number 15, doors soon closing. The ascent to the highest floor of the high rise office building begins. As the elevator begins its rising, the silence is thick and awkward. Satoru leans against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the doors. “You’ve got a lot to catch up on,” Aiko ventures, breaking the silence. “There’s the overseas partnership meeting at noon, and your parents are waiting to—”

“They’ll wait,” Satoru cuts her off, his tone colder now. “I’m not on their clock.”

Aiko flinches but doesn’t argue. She adjusts the papers again, her gaze darting nervously to him before focusing on the floor. “Mr. Gojo, they seemed very serious today, more than usual. Your mother was even holding back tears, but she didn’t look sad, she looked…angry.”

His mind turns into uncertainty. His mother’s here and she’s crying? Did he piss them off that much? Well, she’s always been quite the dramatic woman. It can’t be that bad. When the elevator doors open, Satoru steps out without a word, leaving Aiko to scurry after him in usual form. The sound of his shoes clicking against the polished marble floor echoes through the hallway as Satoru walks toward his personal office. Aiko struggles to keep up, her footsteps hurried and uneven behind him.

He caresllesy pushes his doors open, going over to plop himself down in his chair behind the desk. Heavily exhaling while ltilting his head back, eyes fixated on the bare ceiling above. Seems like his carelessness is going to catch up with him today. Although he’d rather not deal with anything business related right now, especially his parents, he’s been gone more than he should. He can already anticipate he’ll leave late today, the monotonous voices of the businessmen, the disapproving words from his parents, the headache that will break through around noon, and the lingering, mundane question in the back of his mind of what you and Koji will be eating tonight for dinner. Maybe I should send her some money to eat out, or to buy a few groceries?

However, another thought makes its presence known by her very…unpleasant voice. He almost forget about her.

“Satoru!”

Aiko squeaks as she’s negligently pushed to the side by Himari, some of the papers flying out her hands—to which she bends down to pick it up, giving the other woman an annoyed glance. Himari plops into Satoru’s lap, arms instinctively moving around his neck. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick, baby. I thought something happened.”

Satoru doesn't react at first, his head still tilted back, eyes glued to the ceiling. His jaw tightens ever so slightly, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Himari presses herself closer, her fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck as she leans in. Her voice softens, pink lips downturning into a pout, dripping with almost a faux sense of concern. “You didn’t answer my calls, Satoru. I thought we were past all this disappearing nonsense. What’s going on?”

Aiko straightens up from the floor, her lips pressed into a thin line as she shuffles the papers back into order. “Excuse me, Ms. Nakamura,” she says tightly, her eyes flicking toward Satoru. “Mr. Gojo has a full schedule today. If you need to discuss personal matters, perhaps—”

“Not now, you,” Himari cuts her off without looking, her attention solely on Satoru. “This is between Satoru and I, not the help.”

Aiko bristles but doesn’t argue, standing stiffly by the door.

Satoru finally moves, letting out a low sigh as he straightens his posture, forcing Himari to shift slightly on his lap. His hands rest limply on the armrests of his chair, making no effort to return her embrace. “Himari,” he says flatly, his voice void of any attempt at warmth. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” She pulls back just enough to look at him, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing. “Too busy to call me? To even let me know you’re alive?” Her voice rises slightly, her frustration barely contained. “You just vanished, and I had to find out from your secretary that you weren’t even in the office!”

His lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. “And yet, here I am. Alive and well.”

“That’s not the point!” Himari huffs, her grip on him tightening as if to keep him from brushing her off. “You can’t just disappear like that, Satoru. It’s irresponsible. It’s—”

“Unprofessional? Reckless? Embarrassing?” he interrupts, his tone sharp enough to make her flinch slightly. “Yeah, I’ve heard it all before. What do you want me to say, Himari? I have my own life too, baby.”

She stares at him, her lips parting as if to respond, but no words come out. For a moment, the air between them is thick with tension. Her expression shifts, the frustration giving way to something colder. “You’ve been acting strange lately,” she says, her tone accusing. “Ever since—” She stops herself, her eyes narrowing. “Ever since last time I saw you.” Himari doesn’t move from his lap immediately, her arms tightening around his neck as if trying to pull him closer. Her perfectly manicured nails graze his skin, and she leans in, her voice then dropping into something softer, more coaxing. “You know I’m only upset because I care about you,” she says, her eyes searching his face. “You can’t keep shutting me out like this, Satoru. I’m your girlfriend, for heaven’s sake. I’m supposed to be the person you lean on.”

Satoru doesn’t respond right away. His head tilts slightly, his expression unreadable as he studies her. The silence stretches on long enough for Himari to shift uncomfortably. His eyes move to hers, the first real spark of emotion flashing across his face. “You have to understand, okay? I’m… going through stuff right now, I just needed a break.”

“A break from me?”

“Himari.” His voice is quieter now, the edge in it is unmistakable, but also resigned. He continues, willing himself to react calmly, “you’re not helping by showing up here unannounced.”

“Unannounced?” she scoffs, her tone sharpening again. “I wouldn’t have to if you actually answered your phone. Or your emails. Or—oh, I don’t know—told me where the hell you were!”

“I needed space,” he repeats simply, his gaze drifting toward the window behind her.

“Space?” she repeats incredulously. “From me?” Her voice trembles slightly, though whether it’s from anger or hurt, even she doesn’t seem sure. “You can’t just disappear without saying anything, Satoru. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to have your parents calling me, asking if I know where you are? To have my parents asking why their future son-in-law is MIA?”

Future son in law. That makes his brows furrow, a frown taking place on his face. “I didn’t ask you to answer for me,” he says evenly, his eyes meeting hers again.

“No, you didn’t,” she snaps, pulling back further now. “But you also didn’t give me a choice. What was I supposed to do? Just sit there and let everyone think I don’t know what’s going on with my own boyfriend?”

“You could have,” he says with a shrug, the corner of his mouth lifting in a ghost of a smirk. “Might’ve been easier.”

Her jaw drops, and for a moment, she looks genuinely stunned. “Are you serious right now? You’re impossible, Satoru. Absolutely impossible.”

“I’ve been told,” he says lightly, but there’s no humor in his voice.

She gets up abruptly, smoothing her Valentino Garavino dress with quick, agitated movements. “This isn’t funny,” she says, her tone colder now. “You think you can just brush me off like this? Like I don’t matter? I’m the one who’s been by your side all this time, Satoru. Me.”

He sighs. “Just stop, please.”

“I’m just saying,” Himari presses on, her voice a little too sharp, “I’ve been dealing with this mess all on my own, while you’ve been out who knows where—doing who knows what—and now I’m supposed to just pretend everything is fine? That’s not how this works.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Satoru says with finality, his patience running thin. “I didn’t ask you to sit here, waiting for me, wondering where I’ve been. I needed a break. A chance to breathe.”

“From me?” she asks again, disbelief written across her face.

He decides to concede. “Yes,” he says quietly. “From everything. You wouldn’t understand.”

Himari falters for a moment, her face flickering with a mixture of hurt and frustration. “And I don’t matter enough for you to tell me why?”

His gaze softens, just for a second, but it quickly hardens again. “I don’t need to explain myself, Himari.” He looks away from her, not trusting himself to speak without snapping. There’s a quiet but heavy tension hanging in the air.

“I thought we had something,” Himari says after a long pause, her voice quieter now, though the hurt still lingers in her tone. “I thought I meant more to you.”

“You do,” Satoru replies, the words sounding almost empty, even to him. “But right now, I need time to sort things out. Can you understand that?”

She glares at him for a moment longer before letting out an exasperated huff. “Fine. Fuck it, ignore things like you always do.” She grabs her bag, turning on her heel. “But don’t think I’m just going to sit around waiting for you to figure things out. You owe me better than this, Satoru.” She storms out, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, leaving Aiko awkwardly standing in the doorway.

Satoru remains frozen in his chair, staring at the empty space she left behind. He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face as his mind drifts back to the other matters weighing on him. The silence feels suffocating, and even though his thoughts want to wander to her—to you—he forces himself to focus. But something lingers, something unsettled that he can’t shake.

Aiko clears her throat, stepping forward cautiously. “Um… should I reschedule your morning meetings, sir?”

Satoru leans back in his chair again, closing his eyes briefly. “No,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just… give me five minutes.” Aiko nods, backing out of the room and closing the door softly behind her. Alone now, Satoru exhales heavily, the weight of the morning and what’s to come settling over him like a thick fog.

Jesus Christ. Can I just have one day without everyone breathing down my fucking neck?

“And so, this is why my team and I believe it’s prevalent to keep things neutral, but cordial with the Nexus Group.” The head of the negotiation team, a sharp-dressed man in his late forties with a voice as dry as the monotony of the topic at hand, clicked through another slide of the dull PowerPoint presentation which casted faint shadows over the darkened boardroom. The screen displayed a web of connections and partnerships that Nexus had with other firms, none of which particularly interested Satoru.

Neutral and cordial. Two words he had no patience for today.

He slouched slightly in his chair, his fingers drumming against the polished wood of the table. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses—his mother would’ve had a fit if she saw him disrespecting the board by doing so—but he felt the familiar strain behind his eyes nonetheless, holding back a heavy sigh.

“Mr. Gojo?”

The sound of his name snapped him out of his haze. He blinked, realizing the room was waiting for him to respond. All eyes were on him, some expectant, some wary. “Hm?” he hummed, sitting up just enough to look like he was paying attention.

The negotiator cleared his throat. “Your thoughts on maintaining a neutral stance with Nexus, sir?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on the projector screen, though he wasn’t really seeing it. The weight of everything—the meeting, his parents waiting to speak with him, you and Koji constantly in the back of his mind—made it impossible to focus. He just wishes these imbeciles could make a single decision without confiding in him first. Finally, he sighed, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think…” he began, his voice softer than usual, almost detached, “that we’ve been through this already.”

The negotiator hesitated. “Well, yes, but we wanted to ensure the approach aligns with your vision—”

“My vision?” Satoru interrupted, his tone bordering on tired amusement. He dropped his hand and glanced around the room, his expression almost blank. “My vision is that we don’t waste time overthinking what Nexus might do. If they’re going to cause problems, we deal with it. If they’re not, we move forward. Simple.”

A few people exchanged uneasy glances, but no one argued; they know better. “Understood, sir,” the negotiator said, his voice quieter now.

Satoru didn’t reply, turning his gaze to the window instead. The faint reflection of the room in the glass blurred with the skyline beyond. He couldn’t remember the last time he truly cared about one of these meetings. The discussion carried on around him, voices blending into a low hum. Every so often, someone would glance his way, but he didn’t react. His thoughts drifted, heavier and heavier, to the inevitable confrontation waiting for him after this meeting. He sighed slowly, shifting in his chair. The tension building in his chest had been there for days, clawing at him, and this—this pointless back-and-forth—only made it worse.

“Satoru,” Nanami’s voice cut through the fog, quiet but firm, “want to wrap this up for today?” Satoru blinked at him, then at the rest of the room. Everyone was waiting, polite smiles masking their unease. He straightened a little, though it felt like dragging himself through water

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Let’s revisit this later.” The meeting adjourned, and as the others filed out, Satoru stayed behind, staring blankly at the table. He knew he couldn’t avoid the next part of the day forever, but for now, he just wanted to sit in the quiet, even if it was only for a moment.

Nanami stays behind until the last man leaves, taking this moment to face his colleague with his usual bored—but calculated gaze. “What’s up with you? First, you go AWOL for days on end, and now you come back and look like you don’t know about a single thing that’s happening. That or you don’t care.”

“I never truly do,” Satoru replies, swiveling.

Nanami shakes his head, running a hand through his blonde locks. “Seriously, Satoru. Can you just fix up your act for the next few days, at least?”

Satoru raises a thin, white eyebrow. “Next few days, hm? Why, what’s happening in these next few days?” He uses air quotes.

“For fuck’s sake,” Nanami groans, arms crossing. “You forgot?”

Satoru tilted his head, feigning thought, though the blankness in his eyes betrayed his apathy. “Hmm... enlighten me.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. “The annual board dinner, Monday evening. The one where you’re expected to charm the investors and keep them from pulling out of their contracts. The dinner that your father has been planning for months.”

Satoru hummed, his head falling back against the chair with exaggerated dramatics. “Oh, that dinner. Right. The one where I play puppet for a bunch of old men who care more about profit margins than people.”

Nanami didn’t rise to the bait, though his gaze hardened. “The dinner where your family’s reputation is at stake, Satoru. It’s not optional, and you know it.”

Satoru swung his chair in a slow circle, his long legs stretched out as if the conversation wasn’t happening. “Guess I should dust off my charm, huh? Or maybe I’ll just stand there and look pretty—that usually does the trick.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his patience clearly wearing thin. “This isn’t a joke. You’ve already caused enough waves by disappearing last week. If you don’t show up, or worse, if you show up like this…” He gestured vaguely at Satoru, encompassing his disheveled demeanor. “…then don’t expect your father, especially your mother to forgive you anytime soon.”

Satoru stopped spinning, his chair facing Nanami now. He rested his elbow on the armrest, propping his chin in his hand. “You sound like her, you know. Should I start calling you ‘Mom’ too?”

Nanami rolled his eyes, clearly done with the conversation. “Do whatever you want, Satoru. Just don’t screw this up.” With that, he turned and walked towards the doors. Stopping for a second and giving one last thought. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to stop running from your responsibilities, it’s catching up with you.” Then, the sound of the door shutting behind him follows, leaving Satoru alone in the silence once more.

For a long moment, Satoru stayed where he was, the room empty except for the faint hum of the projector. He stared blankly at the table, his mind a tangle of thoughts he didn’t want to undo. He let out a heavy puff of air, the sound filling the silence. “Yeah,” he muttered to no one in particular. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” He shakes his head, the density of Nanami’s words settling over him like a heavy cloak. The idea of the board dinner—of facing his parents, the investors, the endless expectations—made his chest tighten. But even that wasn’t the heaviest thing on his mind. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. His finger hovered over the screen, debating whether to send a message. Whether to ask you if you were okay, if Koji had eaten, if you’d even want to hear from him. Instead, he locked the phone and tossed it onto the desk, leaning back in his chair. For now, all he could do was sit in the quiet and try to pull himself together before the next storm hit.

Nanami’s right, it’s catching up to him.

“Where is that little bastard?”

“Mrs. Gojo!”

“Where is he?”

“I-I believe he’s still in the—”

The doors abruptly opening causes Satoru’s head to swivel in the direction of them. He almost wishes he just sink into a hole. The face of his mother, looking pretty damn pissed off, is glaring at him. A familiar look to her son. He still doesn’t know what he did wrong—besides ignoring the business for a week. Still, she’s that upset? “You,” she points a red nail in her son’s direction, to which he stands up. “Get your ass in your father’s office, now.”

“For what?” Satoru asks, though he’s already making his way to her. He then yelps out in surprise when his mother reaches her hand up and pinches his earlobe between her two fingers. “Ow! Mom! What the hell?!”

“Shut it, boy.” She snaps out, hauling his ass down the corridor to his father’s office. The employees watch on, eyes wide with curiosity and surprise as their boss is practically getting manhandled by his own mother like he’s a child all over again.

“Seriously, Mom, let go!” Satoru hissed, trying to pry her fingers off his ear without much success.

“You don’t get to make demands today, Satoru,” she snapped, her grip tightening. “Not after the mess you’ve made.”

“What mess?!” he exclaimed, stumbling slightly as she yanked him forward.

“Oh, don’t act clueless. You’re in enough trouble, don’t you dare add stupidity to the list,” she shot back.

By the time they reached his father’s office, Satoru was basically limping from the awkward gait forced upon him. His mother flung the door open with so much force that it banged against the wall. His father, seated behind his imposing desk, barely glanced up, though the faint crease in his brow betrayed his irritation. “Ah, the prodigal son,” his father drawled, setting down his pen and folding his hands neatly in front of him. “We were wondering when you’d grace us with your presence.”

“Trust me, this wasn’t my idea,” Satoru muttered, rubbing his ear as his mother finally released him. He straightened his jacket with an exaggerated sigh and flopped into the chair across from his father.

“You’re lucky I didn’t drag you here sooner,” his mother said, slamming the door shut. She crossed her arms and went to stand beside her husband, her sharp gaze fixed on her son.

Satoru rolled his eyes. “Alright, what’s this about? I already know you’re mad about last week. Can’t we just skip to the part where you yell at me for being irresponsible and I promise to do better?”

His father didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached into a drawer, pulled out a folder, and slid it across the desk. “We’re not here to rehash your usual antics, Satoru. This is about something far more… shocking.”

“What’s this?”

“Open it.” His parents say in firm unison.

Satoru frowned, his carefree demeanor wavering as he picked up the folder. He opened it lazily, but his body went rigid when his eyes landed on the photograph inside—a picture of him, arms wrapped around Koji, with you standing to the side, your expression tender, smiling. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting the sudden tense silence suffocate the room.

“What the hell?” Satoru whispered, his mind racing.

His mother’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Care to explain, Satoru?”

For once, he had nothing to say.

“I….” he gulps, fists clenching around the photograph. His jaw ticks, brows furrowing in the middle. “Where did you get this?” Satoru’s voice was low.

“We could ask you the same,” his mother snapped, her tone icy. “Who is that child, Satoru?”

Satoru doesn’t answer, instead hyper-fixating on the picture. His father didn’t wait for him to respond either. “We had to hire someone to track you down after you disappeared. Imagine our surprise when they came back with this.” He gestured to the photo.

He looks back at his parents, meeting them with an equally deathly stare, blue eyes bouncing off one another. “You’ve been fucking spying on me?”

“You gave us no choice,” Akane responds, upset with her son’s tone. “You disappeared, we were worried, and now—” she huffs in disbelief. “Now we come to find out…this! What is this, Satoru?”

“Don’t talk about him like that.”

“I’ll do whatever I damn well please,” his mother counters.

Her son’s eyes turn dark, and anger beginning to rise up beneath his flesh. Willing himself to calm down and not snap. He looks between his father and mother, not even sure what to say at this moment. First, he’s pissed they sent someone to watch and follow him, second, how did he not notice? And third, they know. They fucking know. He’s barely figuring shit out on his own and now his parents are involved in the mix.

Yamato reels in a long breath, standing up from his chair. He walks out from behind his desk and stops in front of his carbon copy. “Satoru, who is that boy?”

A rhetorical question, it has to be. They just want him to admit it. They know who it is—who he is to Satoru. They’d be blind if they didn’t. Satoru gulps, biting the inside of his cheek before slowly responding. His words are hushed and careful, but filled with pride. “My son.”

Akane huffs quietly from her spot. “Oh my god.” She runs her hands through her hair, taking a seat in her husband’s chair, shaky hand fanning herself.

Neither son nor father looks at her, continuing to practically look into one another’s soul. It’s funny, he thinks. Two fathers face to face. If this was a different situation, Satoru probably would have made a snide remark about his old man looking hilarious with his wrinkly frown. The latter would then battle and say he’s not wrinkly.

But this isn't a different situation. This is a moment steeped in tension, every second thick with the weight of unspoken truths. The air feels like it's pressing down on Satoru’s chest, and the silence between them stretches unnervingly long. Yamato doesn’t break eye contact, his gaze cold, cutting through the room like a blade. "Your son," he repeats, as though testing the words in his mouth, as though the very utterance holds the power to shatter everything Satoru thought he knew about his own life.

Akane's nervous laugh breaks the heavy stillness. "I can’t even... this is just—" Her voice falters, the shock settling into a mix of disbelief and growing anger. She stands up again, pacing behind the desk, as if the movement might release the pressure building in her chest. "You’ve been hiding this? From us? All this time, Satoru?"

Satoru’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. He wants to lash out, to unleash the storm building within him, but he forces himself to stand tall, to mask the inner turmoil. His pulse is loud in his ears, the rush of blood roaring through him as his parents' words sink into him like cold nails.

But it’s Yamato’s next words that really cut deep. "You’ve been living a lie. And now it seems, so have we." Yamato’s voice is calm, but the edge is there, like a blade just under the surface, ready to slice through the fragile veneer of Satoru’s carefully constructed world.

Satoru looks down at the ground. “You guys don’t understand, I…I just found out too.”

His mother whips her head in his direction. “You what?!”

“What the hell do you mean just found out?” His father adds, in even more disbelief and confusion.

Satoru takes a slow breath, his shoulders tense as he looks up at them, meeting their incredulous stares. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he’s caught between the desire to explain everything and the overwhelming urge to stay silent, to protect the fragile piece of truth he’s only just begun to wrap his mind around. “I didn’t know,” he mutters, the words sounding foreign even to him. “I didn’t know I had a son. Until about a week ago. All of this… it’s new to me too.”

His parents stand still, processing the revelation, but the shock on their faces quickly shifts into something darker. Yamato’s expression tightens, a storm brewing behind his cold eyes. Akane's mouth opens and closes as if she’s trying to find the words, but none come. "You’re telling me," Yamato finally speaks, his voice low and menacing, "that you just found out about your own son? How does that make any damn sense?" His voice cracks on the last word, the authority and power he’s wielded for so many years suddenly slipping, revealing an underlying fury that Satoru has rarely seen.

Satoru looks away, his voice strained. “It wasn’t my choice.”

Akane's face flushes with anger, her hands shaking as she grips the edge of the desk. “This—this is absurd! We don’t even know this child!” Her voice rises in frustration, but Satoru isn’t looking at her anymore. His eyes are focused on the printed photograph still clutched tightly in his hand—the child that isn’t just a stranger, but a reflection of his own blood, staring back at him from that moment he hadn’t even known to be real.

Yamato steps closer, his gaze narrowing as he tries to force the puzzle pieces together. “You just found out… And yet, you're so protective of this child that you didn’t tell us as soon as you found out? What, you expect us to believe you’ve been kept in the dark all this time?”

Satoru’s fists clench, every nerve in his body screaming to either stand his ground or walk out. But this conversation—this confrontation—is unavoidable. He swallows hard, speaking through the tension in his chest. “I’m not lying,” he says, his voice firm, though his hands tremble. “I only learned the truth just recently..” The room falls silent. Yamato stands there, his expression unreadable, but there’s something shifting in his eyes. Something dangerous.

Akane walks over to snatch the picture out of Satoru’s hands, pointing to your figure. “Is this who I think it is?’

He nods without a second thought.

“Jesus Christ!” Akane throws her hands up, walking back to the desk. “I thought—since when—I thought you two broke up years ago, Satoru! She’s had your son this entire time?!”

His parents remember you—quite vividly, actually. The young, and sweet, but out of the league for their son. They remember the way you’d walk into a room, quiet but full of something they couldn’t quite put their finger on—strength hidden beneath the surface, even if you never showed it outright. They remember the way you’d smile shyly when they’d speak to you, eyes bright with a warmth they hadn’t seen in anyone in years. To them, you were everything they never imagined for their son—too sweet, too grounded, too otherworldly for someone like Satoru.

They remember the first time they met you, how you’d seemed so out of place in their world. They'd been skeptical at first, unsure of how you’d fit into the carefully curated life they’d built for their son. They knew Satoru, with all his charm and charm and reckless pursuit of every distraction, was always destined for someone like Himari, someone who could navigate the glitzy world they lived in. So of course, when they first heard of you, they were hesitant—maybe even disapproving. They advised Satoru to end things with you quickly, but their son was always stubborn and did things way.

You came into the picture, with your quiet resilience and soft smile, and for the first time, they saw something in their son they didn’t recognize—vulnerability. Something about you brought that out of him. And that terrified them. They thought you were the kind of woman who could have his heart in a way no one else could. They didn’t know if that was a good thing or a dangerous one. Now, looking at the picture in front of them, that same woman stands on the other side of it, framed by the memories of everything that went wrong. And in the background, a child—their grandchild—who they never even knew existed.

As charming as Satoru is, you were the first girl he brought home. With this came the first time he came to his father for ideas on what girls like for their birthday, the first time they accidentally walked in on you and Satoru in a compromising position, and the first time they heard–-consoled their son after a major heartbreak.

The first and only time, actually.

Yamato’s voice is like ice, cold and calculating. “You finished things with her, Satoru. You let her go, and you let her leave with your son. How did you have not one clue about her pregnancy?”

Akane, still shocked, looks between her husband and son, her face pale. “You were too caught up in your own damn life to notice, weren’t you? Too busy with everything else to see the consequences of it all. I thought you were having safe sex!”

Satoru grimaces slightly, guilt twisting in his gut. “I didn’t know... I didn’t know she had him. I didn’t even know until now.”

His parents exchange a glance, their expressions unreadable. Then Akane speaks, her voice sharp and cutting. “Does it matter? Does it matter that you didn’t know? What’s worse, Satoru? That you let her get away with it, or that you didn’t even care enough to find out sooner? A responsible man makes sure nothing like this happens, especially a man of your status.” Satoru can’t answer. He can’t give them what they want to hear.

Nobody says anything for longer than Satoru finds comfortable. His father leaning against his desk and rubbing a tired hand over his greying stubble. His mother continuing her dramatics, downing some water and muttering something about how she feels faint.

Finally, Yamato speaks once more, with finality in his tone. “Bring them to us.”

Satoru, immediately on the defense, shakes his head. “No, I’m not having you two chew her out and scrutinize them. They don’t deserve that.”

“No, but what we do deserve is a solution to this…” his father wants to say mess, but with a look at his son, he decides against it. “A solution. This…this changes a lot of things, Satoru. Fuck.” He sighs.

Satoru’s chest tightens at the word “solution,” as if his father is already calculating how to fix what he sees as an inconvenience, a mistake to be swept away. His hands clench into fists, but he holds his ground, knowing this conversation is about to take a turn he’s not prepared for. “I’m not having you two tear into her or my son. They’ve been through enough.”

Yamato doesn’t flinch, and doesn’t show any sign of backing down. He only looks at his son with that same icy expression. “You think I care about how you want things, Satoru? I’m telling you, this changes everything. You’ve been playing around with your life, our lives, and now there’s a child involved. You think we’re just going to let this go?” He pauses, sighing deeply as if the weight of this situation is finally starting to sink in for him, but the resentment still lingers in his voice. “This... this situation, whatever you want to call it, has consequences. And you don’t get to hide behind her or the kid forever. This isn’t just about what you want anymore.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens. “I’m not hiding behind anyone. I’m doing what’s right, even if you don’t agree with it.”

Yamato’s eyes darken, his gaze like ice, and his voice drops lower, more calculated. “You’re not doing anything, Satoru. Not yet. You don’t have a choice anymore. This changes everything. You’re going to fix this. You’re going to fix it. You’re a grown man, the heir to my legacy, and a father now apparently, so you damn well better start acting like it.”

Akane stays silent for a moment, her eyes wide as she watches the exchange, but the tension in the room grows unbearable. Finally, she speaks, her voice quieter, yet filled with frustration and disbelief. “This... this is going to affect everything. What the hell were you thinking, Satoru?”

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up from deep within him. “I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t aware. But I’m not going to let you two dictate how I handle this. I’m not going to let you bully her and my son into some... I don’t know... some solution that doesn’t even make sense.”

His father’s words press down on him like a vice, and for a moment, Satoru can’t breathe. It’s not just about his son, it seems—this is bigger than that. His legacy. His future. His family. It’s all crumbling, and the pressure of it all suffocates him, the walls closing in as he tries to find the right words, something to push back against this tidal wave of expectation and control. But there’s nothing. No words that can change what’s been said. Satoru clenches his jaw, his hands trembling at his sides. He’s had enough of this, of the coldness in his father’s eyes, of the way his mother’s stare cuts through him like a blade.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Sunday. I’ll tell her to meet me at my place. But the second—and I mean the very second you two start raining it down on her, on my son, I’m kicking you both the hell out. You’re right, dad. I am a grown man, I am the heir, and I am a father. So I’ll start by protecting what’s mine—my family.” The word feels a little foreign on Satoru’s tongue. But he needs to acknowledge the reality of the situation. Sure, this is still pretty much because you couldn’t man up and tell him, but now that he’s here and involved, he’ll help. In any way he can. And that starts with making sure his parents don’t treat you like shit.

“Sunday,” Yamato repeats. “Seven sharp.”

“Fine.”

“Perfect.”

“Sure is.”

Satoru turns on his heel, heading for the door, but not before he shoots his father a final, burning glance. "And don't think for a second that I'll let you use my son as some kind of leverage in this mess. You cross that line, and there will be hell to pay."

Yamato watches him leave, his expression unreadable, but his eyes cold with something unreadable. Akane, still fanning herself, watches the exchange with a mix of disbelief and frustration, but says nothing. The air in the room thickens, a silent understanding hanging between the three of them. Satoru slams the door behind him, the force of it vibrating through the walls. As he steps into the hallway, the weight of the situation settles on him like a stone. His fingers curl into fists at his sides, his jaw set.

He'll do whatever it takes to protect you and Koji. Even if it means standing against his own parents. The idea feels strange, foreign even, but it’s the only way forward now.

This is his family.

And he’ll burn the world down to keep them safe.

Walking Koji back home from school that day, he’s chatting your ear off about the cool bugs he found on the playground that day. As you walk beside him, Koji's excitement is almost contagious. His small voice is animated, recounting every little detail about the bugs he discovered—how the ladybug was red with black spots and how he tried to catch a dragonfly but it flew away too fast. You smile softly, nodding along to his rambling, your eyes flicking down to his eager face.

“Sounds like you had a good day today, baby.”

“I did! I love school so much, Mama. Mr. Ito says I’m the smartest kid in class.”

You grimace at the mention of his teacher. You’ve luckily been able to miss him when dropping Koji off and picking him up today; but it still doesn’t deter from the fact that you’re uncomfortable that man is teaching your son, around him and many other children every day. You entertain the idea of switching schools, but you don’t think that’s possible. The other closest school is a forty-minute walk, a fifteen-minute drive. And you can’t afford that. Not to mention the tedious paperwork you’d have to go through. As long as his teacher keeps his advances in tow and doesn’t try anything funny with your son, you think you can stand seeing his face every day for a few more months until the school year ends.

The two of you make it to the lobby of your complex before you see Mr. Sato leaning against the counter, talking with the receptionist. Your lips purse, steps faltering for a slight moment before making your way over to him. “Hello, Mr. Sato.” You visibly see him stiffen; which confuses you. “I…I’d like to discuss the money issue with you.”

He gulps down his coffee, almost hesitantly turning to face you. “...Ms. Y/N.” The way he greets you feels even more weird. Why is he suddenly acting so scared? Weren’t you just threatening my ass a few days ago? Never mind that. You shake your head, clearing your throat. “I wanted to tell you that I don’t really…have the money right now. I know it’s an inconvenience for you and a burden on my part, but I’m willing to do whatev—”

“No need,” he cuts you off, hand waving in the air.

You stop, head tilting. Did you hear him right? “I-I’m sorry?”

“I said no need. I already got the money.”

Now you’re really confused. Brows twitching as a wave of cautiousness passes over you. Is he tricking you? What the hell do you mean you got the money? “You…what? But, how? I didn’t….”

“Your husband paid it yesterday.”

“What?! I don’t have a husband.”

“Oh,” Mr. Sato tilts his head, looking down at Koji. “well, his father. He paid it yesterday.”

It’s like a bucket of ice cold water is dumped over you. Huffing out in disbelief, confusion, and annoyance. “Wait, wait. He…paid it? All of it…?”

Mr. Sato nods, then shifts on his feet. “And then some, I’ve applied it to next month, so you don’t have to worry about that..”

A knot forms in your stomach. You can’t process it. Why would Satoru do that? The money, the rent, the fact that he paid it all without saying a word. Without asking you first. You’re supposed to be handling this on your own, not relying on him to bail you out. But the reality of it settles in, cold and heavy. He knows you’re struggling–-pretty damn badly too. Your heart races, a strange mix of emotions stirring within you—confusion, anger, humiliation. "I didn’t ask him to do that," you mutter, your hands trembling slightly as you try to steady your thoughts. Is he going to confront you about this too now? Say how horrible of a mother you are that you can’t keep a shitty apartment? Is he building up reasons to take Koji?

Mr. Sato shrugs, then turns away from you once more. "Doesn’t matter. It’s done. He seemed pretty intent on making sure everything was covered for you.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. The idea of Satoru swooping in like some kind of white knight, fixing things without a word, twists something deep inside you. Why? The simple question hangs there, unanswered, heavy in the air between you. You glance down at Koji, who’s still holding your hand, oblivious to the tension building between you and Mr. Sato. “Thanks, I guess,” you say, your voice distant, almost hollow. It feels like the only thing you can say, even if it doesn’t feel like enough.

Mr. Sato offers a quick nod. “No problem.”

As you and Koji walk away, your mind races, the question lingering in the air: What does Satoru want from all this? And more importantly, why the hell didn’t he tell you? It feels strange and almost invasive to have him literally pay your rent for you. Does he think he can just come in and save the day? Does he think I need him that bad? Why didn’t he tell me?

It feels like a violation, in a way. Like he’s come in and taken control of something that was supposed to be your responsibility. It’s hard to swallow. The pride you’ve worked so hard to hold onto, the independence you’ve clung to, feels shattered with just a few actions and no explanation–-and with such little ease. As you walk into your apartment, you feel the weight of his decisions hanging over you like a dark cloud. Why couldn’t he just let you handle things? You’re blatantly reminded of just how different you two are, of how much better he can provide for Koji than you can.

The problem isn’t just about the rent. It’s about him stepping in without a word, without so much as a “Do you need help?” Does he think I can’t do this on my own? You feel a sting in your chest, like a raw nerve exposed, and the overwhelming urge to scream at the world for being so damn complicated. Koji’s chatter fades into the background as you make it to the door, choosing to sit down on the couch, and pulling your knees up to your chest. What now? You’ve never asked for help from Satoru before, and now it feels like he’s swooped in and taken control, expecting gratitude in return. But how do you even thank someone who’s come in, solved your problems without asking, and left you feeling like you were never meant to stand on your own? What’s he trying to prove? You don’t know if you’re angry at him for doing something you couldn’t or angry at yourself for feeling so vulnerable, like a little piece of you just slipped away. The worst part is that you don't know how to feel about it all.

Thankful?

Happy?

Annoyed?

Angered?

Which of those is valid enough for this situation?

The minute you’re on break at your second job, you pull out your phone and call the devil himself.

He picks up a ring later.

“Hel—”

“What are you doing?”

There’s a pause. “Um…in the office?”

“No, you idiot. I mean what the hell do you think you’re trying to prove here?”

“...that I’m a good worker?”

Jesus, could he be even more stupid? “You paid my rent for me?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, and you can almost hear him thinking, trying to figure out how to spin this. "Yeah, I did," he finally admits, and there's no apology in his voice, just plain confession.

"Why?" The question comes out sharper than you intended, a mixture of frustration and confusion. "Why would you do that without saying anything? Do you think I need your help? Is that it? Just swoop in like a damn knight in shining armor?"

He doesn't immediately respond, and you’re almost certain he’s frowning on the other end. Finally, his voice breaks through the tension. "Listen," he starts, a little too casual for your liking. "I really don’t understand why you’re angry about this, okay? Your landlord came over when you were at work and said you needed four thousand dollars. I just didn’t want you to worry about it, and I didn’t want Koji to see you stress over something like that. It’s not a big deal, it’s handled."

You roll your eyes, the anger simmering beneath the surface. "You don't get it, Satoru. This isn't about whether or not I’m stressing or angered over it. It's about you barging in and making decisions for me, like I can’t handle my own life."

His sigh comes through loud and clear, like he’s just too tired to deal with you right now. "I didn’t make the decision for you, I just—"

"—Paid my rent without asking? You don’t get to play the ‘I’m just helping’ card here! You could’ve at least talked to me first. Why didn’t you tell me? Why hide it from me?"

There’s a shift in his tone, like he’s getting a bit more fed up as the conversation continues. "I didn’t think it was necessary. You’ve been so damn silent about everything. I don’t know if it’s pride or what. But I get it—believe me, I do. But sometimes, pride gets in the way of... I don’t know, survival?"

"Survival?" You nearly choke on the word, incredulous. "Is that what you think this is? Some kind of game to you? You think I can’t survive on my own?"

The silence stretches between you two, thick with unspoken things. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, and then, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks. "Look, I did what I did because I wanted to," he says quietly, the weight of the words heavier than anything he’s said so far. "But if you’re angry about it, then...I won’t do it again. It wasn’t meant to make you feel like... like you can’t handle things. I just thought, maybe it’d be one less thing for you to worry about."

You’re quiet for a long moment, still processing his words, the mixture of emotions swirling in your chest. "You’ve got a funny way of showing care, Satoru," you mutter, and there's a bitter laugh on the other end of the phone.

"Yeah, I know," he admits, voice tinged with regret. "I don’t always get it right." A small, reluctant part of you softens at the sound of his sincerity, but the rest of you remains hard, unresolved. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thoughts. "You just—you have to tell me in advance about these things. This is a big deal to me.”

He nods, though you can’t see it. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you feel inferior, I promise.”

You close your eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. "Just... don’t do it again."

He’s quiet for a moment, and then—"Alright, alright. I’ll back off, Y/N. But you will tell me next time if you need help, understood?"

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the unexpected, but familiar warmth spread through you at his words. "Understood," you mutter, rolling your eyes again even as you can feel the beginnings of a reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

It’s a mess. But at least he’s trying. At least you are.

You’re about to say your goodbye when he stops you. “Hey, um…so I was actually going to call you too.”

“Oh,” you reply, leaning your back against the wall. “Okay well, did you need something?’

“Yeah, I need to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

He pauses again, mulling over how to exactly give this to you easily. “So…my parents found out. About Koji.”

You don’t say anything. The words hang in the air between you, and you feel a chill run down your spine. Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s joking. But the seriousness in his voice tells you that this is no joke.

His parents found out.

You push yourself off the wall, your hand instinctively curling into a fist at your side. "What do you mean, found out? How? When?"

He lets out a long, heavy sigh. "They’ve had someone watching me for a while now because I haven’t been to the office. Apparently, the guy showed them a picture of me with Koji and you, and they…yeah."

The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. "Great," you mutter, voice tinged with disbelief. "So now they know. What, are they gonna show up at my door and demand answers too?"

There’s an uncomfortable pause on the other end of the line before Satoru responds, his voice tight. "It’s not like that. They won’t do anything... yet. But they want to meet Koji, see him, and... they want to talk to you. They’ve got a lot of questions."

Your chest tightens. You feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Talk to me? "I’m not doing this. I’m not putting my son through that," you snap, your tone colder than you intended. "Why would they even want to meet him? He’s not some... pawn in their game."

"I know," Satoru says quickly, almost like he’s trying to reassure you. "But they’re my parents, and they’ve always been controlling. They think they have a right to know him, to know everything. I’m just telling you because I didn’t want you to be blindsided."

You take a slow, steadying breath, trying to push down the rising anger and panic that’s swirling inside you. This is bad. This is really bad.

"They want to see us?" you ask, your voice quieter now, more composed.

"They do" he answers reluctantly. "But you don’t have to. It’s your choice, okay? You don’t have to see them again if you’re not ready."

You close your eyes, your mind racing through the possibilities. You didn’t want this—didn’t want your life tangled up in his family’s politics and power games. But now, it feels like there’s no escaping it. "I’ll think about it," you say, voice soft but firm.

"Take your time," he replies, his tone gentler now. "Just know that... I’ll be there, no matter what you decide."

A part of you wants to believe him, wants to trust that he’s not just playing at being the hero. But another part of you is cautious, knowing the situation is far from simple." Okay," you finally say, the word heavy on your lips. "When did they wanna see us?"

“Sunday. At seven, my place.”

“Fuck,” you heavily breathe out, using your hand to sift through your hair. “That’s…that’s really soon, Satoru.”

“I know, I’m sorry. They just told me all this today.”

You bite your lip, conflicted. You know it is an inevitable thing to see his parents again. But it’s been so long and times have most definitely changed. You’re not sure if you’re exactly ready for that. But would you only be prolonging this?

“Just let me know by tomorrow—preferably,” Satoru adds.

“...okay. Yeah.”

“Okay.”

There’s an awkward gap between you two. Not sure if you should keep this conversation going. It almost feels like your first time calling each other. The silence stretches between you both, thick and uncomfortable. You can almost hear the uncertainty in his breath on the other end of the line, as though he’s unsure what to say next, or perhaps he's waiting for you to take the lead. You want to say something, anything, but the words feel stuck in your throat. There’s so much you could say, but none of it feels right. You’re not sure what he expects from you, or what you expect from him. Finally, you break the silence, your voice quieter than usual. “I’ll think about it. But...this isn’t just something I can decide on a whim.”

“I know,” Satoru responds, his tone more serious now. “I’m not rushing you. I just... I just want to make sure you’re okay with everything.”

You exhale sharply, not sure if that reassures you or not. The weight of the situation feels heavier now, but there’s still a part of you that wants to believe he’s being genuine. That he’s trying to do the right thing, even though you know deep down that the stakes are much higher than just making it through a conversation with his parents. “Right,” you reply, your tone quieter, more resigned. “I’ll... I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

“Take care,” he says, the words soft but weighted with meaning.

"Yeah. You too," you mutter before ending the call, the finality of it leaving a lingering tension in the air.

As you slide your phone back into your pocket, you let out a long breath, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. You're not sure what to expect anymore, not from Satoru, not from his family, and certainly not from yourself. But one thing is certain: this is only the beginning, and you wonder if you’re ready for what comes next. All you know is that you have to protect Koji at all costs. And now, it seems, you have to face the consequences of Satoru’s family knowing the truth.

The next day is bright and sunny, contrasting with the chill of the wind that threatens to break your skin out in goosebumps if it weren’t for your thick layers. Snowfall is supposed to begin soon, Koji told you after learning it in school. He’s excited, which makes you happy to see. He’s always loved snow, you’d make snowmen, throw snowballs, and make snow angels. You have many pictures stored in your phone of him with the white mess of cushion around him, or him holding a snowflake, anything. You take a lot of pictures of your son, mundane or not. Memories you’ll forever cherish so you can look back on them when he’s older.

Walking through town with your little boy for a little day out. The money you were saving up for the rent is now being put to use for some sweet treats and little action figures. The sound of Koji’s laughter fills the crisp air as he hops excitedly from one foot to the other, clutching the small action figures of Spiderman and Ironman in his hands, his cheeks flushed from the cold. His excitement is contagious, and for a moment, the worries of yesterday feel distant, pushed away by the simple joy of spending time with him.

You pass by a few familiar shops, your eyes catching on window displays that seem to taunt you with their prices. You shake your head, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as Koji pulls you towards a small toy store. The lights in the window sparkle with the holiday season, and for a brief moment, it feels like you could stay in this little bubble, far removed from everything else—Satoru, his parents, and the looming uncertainty about what comes next. But even as Koji chatters away beside you, excitedly telling you about the toys he's picked out, the weight of your situation still lingers in the back of your mind. You glance down at your son, trying to focus on the here and now. You’re doing this for him. He deserves moments like these—moments where life feels simple, filled with nothing but happiness and warmth.

“Mom, look!” Koji pulls your attention, his face beaming as he holds up a small snow globe he found in the shop window. The glittering snowflakes inside the glass swirl around, and you can see the way his eyes light up. “Can we get it?”

You smile, reaching down to gently ruffle his hair. “Of course, we can.” As you walk into the store, the bell above the door jingles, and for a second, it feels like you’re stepping into another world. It’s warm, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla filling the air, and it’s so different from the cold outside. For a brief moment, everything feels manageable. Just you and Koji, making memories.

But then, the thought of the phone call from Satoru yesterday creeps back into your mind. You promised you’d think about it, but now, with Koji so happy beside you, you wonder: Can you really keep up this facade? Can you keep pretending like everything is okay when you're not sure where any of this is headed? You shake your head, trying to push those thoughts aside for the time being. Right now, there’s only Koji, only the two of you enjoying a quiet moment of peace in a world that feels anything but peaceful.

“Let’s get that snow globe,” you say softly, even though you know it’s a small treat in the grand scheme of things. But maybe that’s all you can give him for now. Small moments of happiness.

After your purchases, you two make your way to a stand selling hot chocolate. A delicacy that your boy absolutely loves. As you’re paying for the small drink, opting to share with Koji, a familiar voice catches your ears. You turn to look in the direction of the loud voice.

“Thank you all for coming out today, I know it’s a little chilly. But we’re having many fun activities planned, with prizes. Who’s excited?”

The small crowd whoops in agreeance.

With interest, you’re guiding Koji over to the voice, tilting your neck up. You see Suguru standing with a microphone in hand, smiling kindly. The tip of his nose is tinted red, adorning a shirt that says, "Building futures, one child at a time." You recognize it as the slogan on his business card that he gave you.

It’s been a while since you last spoke to him or saw him, the last thing you remembered was him finding out your personal information while you were broken up with Satoru all these years. A frown pulls at your lips, but it’s hard to keep it up when young children rush up to him. Shouting “Mr. Geto!”

You’ve always known Suguru was very good with children, but seeing him now in his element feels wholesome. Cute, you think.

“Mama, that’s your friend. Do we go say hi?” Koji asks, sipping his drink.

For a second, you hesitate. Fearing it’ll be awkward, but you decide it wouldn’t hurt. So, with a nod, you two are walking through the crowd and to Suguru.

As you make your way through the crowd, you notice Suguru’s easy interaction with the kids. They surround him, tugging at his sleeves and laughing as he kneels to their height, his smile never faltering. The sight of him in his element makes you feel a strange mixture of warmth and hesitation. He’s clearly a natural with kids, and it’s hard not to admire how comfortable he seems, especially after all the tension that has hung between the two of you.

When you finally reach him, Suguru notices. His eyes widen slightly before he straightens up. A soft smile forms on his face, and he straightens his shirt with a little chuckle. "Well, look who decided to show up." he says, his tone light and friendly, almost as if there’s no time at all between now and the last time you spoke. “Hi, Koji,” he greets, his voice warm as he crouches down to your son’s level, who’s holding a drink in both hands and looking up at Suguru with wide eyes.

"Hi," Koji replies enthusiastically, his eyes bright. “What are you doing here today?”

Suguru laughs, his gaze flicking back to you for a brief moment before he answers. “I try to help however I can. It’s all about giving back to the community, especially for kids like you, Koji. You’re the future.” He winks at your son, causing him to giggle and squirm a little from the attention.

You can’t help but smile at the interaction, but the knot in your stomach tightens. It’s hard to shake off the awkwardness of your previous encounters with Suguru. You’re not sure what to say now, especially since Koji is so at ease with him. Suguru shifts his attention to you, his expression gentle but knowing. "How’ve you been? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?" His tone isn’t pressing, just an easy question, though you sense the unspoken weight behind it.

You nod, still caught in the familiarity of his presence, but unsure of how much to reveal. "Yeah, it’s been a while." You pause, taking a breath before adding, “So, what’s all this?”

“Fundraiser, we hold one every month,” Suguru explains with a warm smile, his voice carrying an easy confidence. “We do one every month. All the proceeds go to local programs for kids. Things like scholarships, school supplies, and community events. It's a way to give back, especially to kids who might not have access to these kinds of opportunities otherwise."

You take in his words, surprised by how much he’s dedicated to this cause. "I didn't realize you were this involved," you admit, watching as more children approach Suguru, clearly looking up to him.

“Yeah," Suguru chuckles, glancing at the growing crowd. "I really believe in it. This is what I want to do with my life now, and it’s been a rewarding journey. Kids are the future, you know? It's just about giving them the right tools to grow."

You can’t help but be impressed. Suguru always had ambition, but hearing him speak so passionately about his work hits differently now. There’s a quiet weight to his words, as if he’s found his purpose. “You've come a long way,” you say, not able to hide the slight smile tugging at your lips. "I'm glad to see you're doing something meaningful."

Suguru waves it off, his smile a little sheepish. "It’s really the kids who make it fun. I’m just happy I can help make something like this happen." There’s a brief pause between you two, the familiar tension that used to hang in the air now replaced by a quieter, unspoken understanding.

Suguru looks at you. “But, thank you, Y/N. It feels good. And it’s nice to see someone who remembers where I started." The familiarity of the moment hangs in the air between you, the unspoken history still lingering. You remember the time when things were simpler, before everything became complicated and messy. Suguru was always someone you could rely on, someone who was easy to talk to.

Koji pulls on your sleeve, his voice bright. "Mom, can I play the game over there?" You glance over at the game booth he’s pointing to, noticing it’s one of those dart-throwing games. You’re about to nod, but Suguru cuts in.

"Let me give you both some tickets," he says, already reaching into his pocket. "For the games. My treat." You’re about to protest, but Suguru’s gaze stops you. “Really, it’s no problem. It’s the least I can do after everything.”

You swallow the retort on your tongue, a mix of gratitude and reluctance bubbling inside you. “Alright, thanks,” you say quietly. He hands you the tickets with a smile, his demeanor still easygoing.

As you two are walking, watching Koji play games, he decides now’s the time to actually talk. “Y/N, I’m sorry about—”

“You don’t need to apologize again,” you cut him off, putting your hands in your coat pockets. “I heard you, so don’t worry.”

He purses his lips. “Are you sure? I mean, I understand if you’re still put off, I would be too.”

You watch Koji and go silent for a moment. His words lingering in your mind before you switch the subject. “Did Satoru tell you I spoke with him?”

“Oh, yeah,” he scratches at his head. “How was it? I heard it from his perspective, but what about yours?”

“Could’ve been better, could’ve been worse.” Suguru nods, not wanting to pry anymore. Your vague answers are enough. “His parents found out too.”

“What?” he asks in bewilderment. “T-They did? How? What did they say?”

“Satoru said they sent someone to watch him because he was missing from work for a while. They weren’t very happy, and they want to see Koji and me tomorrow.”

“Shit,” Suguru shakes his head. “Are you going to?”

“I feel like I have no choice but to. It’s not like I can avoid this forever.”

“You always have a choice, Y/N.”

You glance at him, his words catching you off guard. “Do I, though? They’re his family, Suguru. And like it or not, Koji deserves to know where he comes from.”

“I get that,” he says, crossing his arms, his expression thoughtful. “But just because they’re family doesn’t mean they automatically get to dictate everything. You have a say in this too. Don’t let them push you around.”

You nod, appreciating his words but still feeling the overwhelming pressure of the situation. “I’ll try. I just...I don’t want to make things harder for Koji.”

Suguru places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You won’t. You’re his mom. As long as you’re looking out for him, you’re doing what’s right.”

His reassurance is a small comfort in the sea of uncertainty you’re swimming in. You give him a faint smile, grateful for his support. “Thanks, Suguru.”

“Anytime,” he replies, his voice soft but genuine. “And if you need backup, you know where to find me.”

You laugh lightly, the tension in your chest easing for just a moment. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Walking home after that day out, putting Koji to take a nap, cleaning up a bit, you send Satoru a text.

“We’ll come. Send me your address.”

You arrive to Satoru’s penthouse with Koji in tow thirty minutes early. Koji was wowing the entire train ride here, even now as he looks up at the large and tall building before him, his eyes are wide with child-like amusement. A part of you feels bad that he’s getting this excited over buildings and nice lights, but hey, you would be too if all you were accustomed to was the other side of town.

The two of you step out of the cab, Koji’s small hand in yours. It practically glows under the evening sky, reflecting the city lights like something out of a movie. Koji’s awe is palpable, his mouth slightly open as he marvels at the sheer size of the structure. “Mama,” he tugs on your hand, his eyes not leaving the building. “Do people actually live in places like this? Like...all the time?”

You chuckle softly, though there’s a slight pang in your chest. “Yeah, Koji. Some people do.”

“It’s so cool,” he breathes, craning his neck as far as it can go. “Do they have their own rooms? And toys? And candy?”

“Probably,” you say with a light laugh, gently guiding him toward the entrance. “But don’t get too excited, okay? We’re just here to visit.”

As you step inside, the pristine marble floors and sleek, modern design hit you instantly. The lobby is massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows and expensive-looking furniture scattered about. Even the air feels different—cleaner, cooler, like it’s filtered or something. A well-dressed doorman greets you with a polite nod, and you awkwardly return it, not quite sure how to act in a place this fancy. Koji, however, is too busy looking around, his eyes darting from the chandelier to the grand piano in the corner. “Mama, look! That’s a real piano! Like the one on TV!”

“Yeah, I see it,” you murmur, trying to stay focused. The feeling of being out of place creeps up on you, but you push it aside. This isn’t about you—it’s about Koji. When you reach the elevator, you press the button for the top floor, and the doors slide open with a soft chime. Stepping inside, Koji bounces on his heels, still brimming with excitement. “Do you think it’s like the movies where the elevator talks?” he asks, his voice full of wonder.

You smile, ruffling his hair. “We’ll see, bud.” The elevator glides upward so smoothly that you barely feel it moving. Koji’s little gasp of excitement when the numbers light up makes you chuckle again, though your stomach tightens as you near the top. You realize Satoru’s space is on the highest floor. Thirty seconds later, the doors open to reveal a sleek, private hallway with only one door at the end. “This is it, Koji,” you say, taking a deep breath as you step out of the elevator. “Are you ready?”

Koji nods enthusiastically, gripping your hand tighter. “Ready!”

You walk toward the door, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. It feels heavier with every step, but you keep moving forward. Reaching the door, you hesitate for a moment, then press the doorbell. A moment later, the door swings open to reveal Satoru, looking as casual as ever—with a hint of nervousness in a loose sweater and jeans. His bright blue eyes light up when he sees Koji. “Hey, you two made it.” he says, stepping aside to let you in. “Come on in. Koji, welcome to my place.”

Koji’s jaw drops as he takes in the massive living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. “This is your house?!”

Satoru grins, picking him up. “Sure is, kiddo. What do you think?”

Koji looks up at you with wide eyes. “Mama, this is way cooler than the buildings outside!”

You laugh nervously, squeezing Koji’s hand. “Yeah, it’s...something.”

Satoru walks around his place, watching the two of you with a small smile. “Make yourselves comfortable. And hey, I promise this’ll go smoother than you think.”

“You’re saying that now,” you mutter with a grimace.

“C’mon, just trust me. I’m here.”

The phrase causes you to clear your throat awkwardly, a sudden memory hitting you—one you push down quickly. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Want some water? Juice?”

“No juice for him, he had a candy on the way here.”

“But Mamaaaaaa,” Koji whines, dragging out his words. “Please, I want some of Papa’s juice.”

“I have all kinds of juice, little man. Red juice, pink juice, green juice.”

“Green?!”

“Mhm.”

“I wan—”

“Satoru.” You say, firmness in your voice. Arms crossing. “I said no juice.”

Satoru’s smile falters as he registers your intonation, his eyes flicking to yours like he’s trying to decipher something. The room feels heavier suddenly, like the air between you is crackling with something unspoken. “Alright,” he says softly, straightening up. “No juice. Got it.” The tone of his response catches you off guard, almost making you feel like you’d scolded him instead of your son. You shift uncomfortably, glancing at Koji, who’s now frowning. Satoru sets him down, to which he gets easily distracted by the shiny skyscrapers outside, rushing over to the large floor to ceiling windows.

Satoru steps back, running a hand through his hair. “I was just trying to—” He stops himself, shaking his head with a dry laugh. “Never mind.”

You exhale, feeling a pang of guilt but unsure why. “It’s not... Look, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in, his tone lighter but his eyes saying something else. “You’re right. Mama’s rules. I’ll stick to them.”

There’s an awkward pause, and you find yourself staring at him, searching his face for... what, exactly? He catches you looking, and for a brief, jarring moment, you’re back in a place you swore you’d moved on from—a place where his charm felt like safety and his presence could undo you. Your stomach is already feeling warm. You snap out of it quickly, clearing your throat. “Thanks. For understanding.”

Satoru tilts his head slightly, his gaze lingering. “Always.”

It feels like a strange promise, one that hangs in the air too long before Koji interrupts, shouting, “Mama! Look, it’s snowing!”

The tension breaks, and you turn to the window, grateful for the distraction. “Wow, it is,” you say, forcing a smile.

Behind you, Satoru’s voice is quiet but pointed. “Snow’s always a fresh start, right?”

You don’t respond, unsure if he’s talking about the weather—or the two of you. Focusing on the snowfall, Satoru takes this moment to side-glance at you. He almost curses himself for wanting to comment on how pretty you look. Not now. But for some reason, his hand is inching up as it it’s about to move a strand of hair out your eye, until you look at him. “Can I use your bathroom?”

He coughs out, quickly bringing his hand to his nose and wiping at it. Real smooth, Satoru. “Yeah, sure. Down this hall to your right.”

“Thank you.”

“Mhm,” he can’t resist watching you leave, eyes moving down to your ass. His stare lingers even when you’re out of sight. The sound of Koji’s voice bringing him back down to Earth.

“Why do you stare at Mama like that?”

“What? I’m not staring.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Why are you lying, Papa?”

“Kid…”

“But it’s normal, right? You and Mama are married.”

God, his innocence is too sweet for Satoru. How exactly can his explain your relationship to the young boy? Not now at least and especially not without you. Hopefully when his son learns the truth one day, he won’t grow to somehow resent him. Or you. Satoru’s throat tightens at Koji’s words. The boy's wide, trusting eyes make the situation ten times harder than it already is. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to think of a response that won’t shatter Koji’s innocence or dig himself into a deeper hole. “Well, uh…” he starts, stalling. “Sometimes grown-ups have… complicated relationships.”

Koji tilts his head, frowning in confusion. “What’s complicated mean?”

Satoru lets out a nervous laugh, ruffling Koji’s hair. “It means… not everything is simple, kiddo. Like math problems that don’t make sense at first.”

Koji wrinkles his nose. “I don’t like math.”

“Exactly,” Satoru says with a relieved grin. “Neither do I. Let’s stick to the fun stuff, okay?”

“Okay, they’re here.”

You take in a deep breath, holding Koji closer to your chest as he sits on your lap. Satoru’s dining room chairs feel too stiff for a situation like this. He’s standing—pacing, and checking his phone constantly after his mother just texted him they were coming up. The tension in the air is suffocating. You grip Koji just a little tighter, your fingers absentmindedly brushing over his soft hair as a way to ground yourself. The stiffness of the chair beneath you feels like punishment, but maybe it’s just nerves crawling into every corner of your body.

Across the room, Satoru paces like a man trying to walk off a bad decision. His long legs carry him back and forth in front of the large windows, the city lights behind him casting an almost surreal glow. He checks his phone again, the screen lighting up briefly before he shoves it into his pocket with a frustrated sigh. You bite your lip, trying not to snap. “You pacing like that isn’t helping.”

He stops mid-step, glancing at you with a mixture of guilt and irritation. “You think I don’t know that? They texted ‘coming up’ five minutes ago. How long does it take to ride an elevator?”

You arch a brow. “You live on the thirty-fourth floor.”

He huffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t change the fact that this feels like the longest elevator ride in history.”

Koji, oblivious to the storm brewing between the adults, tilts his head up at you. “Mama, why are you squishing me?”

“Oh,” you blink, loosening your grip immediately. “Sorry, baby.”

Koji giggles, wiggling to get more comfortable. “It’s okay. Papa’s the one acting funny.”

You glance at Satoru, who’s resumed pacing, his jaw tight. “Yeah,” you mutter, half to yourself. “He’s definitely acting funny.” Before either of you can say more, there’s a sharp knock at the door. It’s like the room collectively holds its breath. Koji perks up curiously, his innocent smile the only light in this tense moment.

Satoru freezes, staring at the door as if it might explode. “Okay,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. “Here we go.”

He crosses the room in a few long strides, his hand hovering over the doorknob for a split second before he pulls it open. And there they are. His parents, Yamato and Akane Gojo, standing like an imposing force just outside the threshold. Yamato is tall and sharp-eyed, his tailored suit as immaculate as his demeanor. Akane, with her perfectly styled hair and the kind of elegance that demands attention, steps in with an unreadable expression. For a moment, the room feels even smaller. Their eyes sweep over you and Koji, pausing on the boy who’s now hiding his face in your shoulder.

“Hello,” Akane says, her voice smooth but laced with something unplaceable. “I believe we have a lot to discuss.”

You gulp and nod as they come closer, Satoru closing the door and quickly making his way to sit beside you. “Nice to see you two again.” The phrase feels hollow and fake on your tongue, but what exactly should you say to them?

Yamato hums as he and his wife sit across from you and Satoru. Their eyes instantly landing on Koji who regards them with a nervous, child-like expression. “This is the boy.”

“Yes,” Satoru answers. “Koji.”

Yamato’s gaze lingers on Koji, sharp and calculating, as though he’s analyzing every detail of the child. Koji squirms slightly under the weight of the attention, pressing closer to you. You instinctively wrap an arm around him, protective. Akane's expression softens just a touch, but it’s subtle—barely enough to ease the tension in the room. “He looks like you, Satoru,” she comments, her voice light but with an underlying edge.

Satoru shifts beside you, his posture stiff. “Yeah, well… genetics and all.”

You glance at him, suppressing an eyeroll. Now’s not the time for his half-hearted attempts at humor. Yamato finally speaks, his voice low and measured. “And how long has this been… a secret?”

The question feels like a slap, even though you were expecting it. You glance down at Koji, unsure of how much to say in front of him. Satoru clears his throat, leaning forward slightly. “Look, I didn’t find out about Koji until recently,” he admits, his tone surprisingly steady. “And as soon as I did, I took responsibility. That’s why we’re here now.”

Yamato’s eyes flick to you, cold and questioning. “And you? Why keep this from him?”

You feel your heart drop, but you refuse to let their judgment pin you down. “I had my reasons,” you say, your voice firm despite the way your palms are sweating. “It wasn’t an easy decision, but I did what I thought was best for my son.”

“And best for Satoru?” Akane interjects, her tone calm but pointed.

You hesitate, unsure how to answer without sounding defensive. Before you can respond, Satoru leans back, his arms crossed. “Enough,” he says, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “This isn’t about blame. It’s about Koji. He’s here now, and I want him to be part of my life. That’s all that matters.”

Yamato studies him for a long moment, then shifts her gaze back to Koji. “What about the boy? Does he even know who we are?”

Koji glances up at you, his small fingers clutching your sleeve. “Mama?” he whispers.

You force a smile, brushing a hand through his hair. “It’s okay, baby. These are… your grandparents.”

Koji’s eyes widen, curiosity replacing some of his nervousness. “Grandparents? Like in the stories?”

Satoru can’t help but chuckle softly, breaking some of the tension. “Yeah, kid. Like in the stories.”

For a moment, the room feels lighter, but Yamato’s expression doesn’t waver. “Then we’ll need to decide what role we play in his story,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. Your stomach twists, and Satoru’s jaw tightens. This conversation is far from over.

Satoru leans forward, his hands clasped on the table, tension rolling off him. “You don’t get to ‘decide’ anything, Dad. Koji is my son, and I’ll handle how he fits into this family.”

Yamato’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze hardening. “You think this is just about you, Satoru? This affects all of us—the Gojo name, our reputation. Your actions have consequences, and it’s my job to ensure they don’t spiral out of control.”

You bristle at his tone, your arm tightening around Koji. “Koji is not some ‘consequence,’ Mr. Gojo. He’s a child. Your grandson. Maybe you should start there instead of worrying about appearances.”

Akane's gaze flickers between you and her husband, her expression unreadable. “Yamato,” she says softly, placing a hand on his arm. “Let’s not lose sight of what’s important here.” Yamato exhales sharply, but he doesn’t respond, his eyes still locked on Satoru.

“Look,” Satoru says, his voice lowering. “I get it. This isn’t ideal for you. But Koji is here, and I’m not going to let him feel like he’s some kind of mistake. He’s part of this family whether you like it or not.”

There’s a pause, heavy and suffocating, before Akane finally speaks. “He’s very handsome,” she says, her tone softer now. “I see the resemblance to you, Satoru. But I also see… her.” She glances at you, and for the first time, her expression isn’t cold. However, that doesn’t mean there’s complete acceptance there. She looks down at her lap with a sigh. “If only it was someone of higher class.”

You and Satoru equally clench your jaw, eyes narrowing.

Koji looks up at you, then at Satoru. “Papa, what’s a ‘rep-…repu-shun’?”

Satoru chuckles despite himself. “It’s something adults worry about too much, buddy. Don’t worry about it.”

Yamato’s lips twitch as if he’s holding back a retort, but Akane cuts in before he can speak. “Koji,” she says gently, leaning slightly forward. “Do you like sweets?”

Koji nods, his nervousness giving way to excitement. “Yes! I like cookies and cake and green juice!”

Kaede smiles faintly. “Maybe next time you visit, I can make some cookies for you. Would you like that?”

Koji’s face lights up, and he nods enthusiastically. “Yes, please!”

You’re caught off guard by the gesture, but you stay silent, observing the interaction. First she bashes your status and now she’s trying to be the sweet grandma. Satoru shifts beside you, his hand brushing against yours briefly. It’s so subtle you almost miss it, but the warmth lingers, grounding you. You could’ve sworn he lets it linger there purposely.

Yamato clears his throat, “You understand your role as heir, yes, Satoru? Having children of your own to pass the legacy down to,” he says, his tone clipped.

You purse your lips. “I don’t want my son being involved in something he doesn’t have to.”

“This isn’t a choice,” Akane responds. “Although this situation is less than savory, and although we woul’ve much preferred a…different candiate. This is the reality, so your father and I have made arranagemnts.”

“You’re not doing anything without telling Y/N or I first. This is our son.” Satoru firmly says.

Yamato cuts in. “Listen, Satoru. This is just how it is. When he grows older, it’s up to you to teach him and pass things down. As of now, no one will know. Not the public, the company, investors, nobody. Until we, ourselves, have a better hold on things, this will stay under wraps.”

Your stomach twists as the weight of their words sinks in. Their calculated demeanor, their cold insistence—it’s everything you despised about this family’s way of thinking. Koji isn’t just some pawn in their grand scheme; he’s your child. “Under wraps?” you snap, unable to hold back. “What does that even mean? You expect us to keep Koji’s existence a secret like he’s some kind of dirty little secret? That’s not what I want for my son, I want him to have a normal and innocent childhood.”

Akane's expression barely falters. “This is for his protection, as well as the family’s reputation. The world can be… cruel, especially when it comes to matters like this. It’s better to control the narrative than let it control us.”

Satoru scoffs, crossing his arms. “Control the narrative? He’s five, Mom. He doesn’t need a narrative. He needs parents who care about him, not a PR strategy.”

Yamato pinches the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t up for debate, Satoru. You’re the heir. Koji is your responsibility, but he’s also ours. You don’t understand what’s at stake here.”

“I understand just fine,” Satoru fires back, his voice rising. “You want to shove him into your world of deals and power plays without even thinking about what’s best for him. I’m not letting that happen.” You glance at Satoru, momentarily caught off guard by his unwavering stance. It’s rare to see him so serious, so resolute. For a moment, it feels like you’re on the same page, like you’re fighting together.

Yamato sighs, his patience clearly thinning. “We’re not trying to take him away from you. But this family operates a certain way, and if you’re unwilling to cooperate—”

“I’m unwilling,” you cut in sharply, surprising even yourself. “Koji isn’t going to grow up like this. He’s not going to be molded into some heir, forced to carry on legacies he didn’t ask for. He’s going to be a kid, my kid, and that’s all. If the time comes when he’s old enough to make that decision, then so be it. But right now…we are making it.” Satoru looks at you, a look of almost tender reliance in his face. He can’t help but scooch closer to you in his chair, the back of his knuckles grazing your thigh as he focuses back on his parents. You don’t move, for some reason.

Akane narrows her eyes, her perfectly composed exterior cracking ever so slightly. “You may not understand the gravity of this situation, Y/N, but you’ll come to see it’s for the best. We’re not here to argue with you. We’re here to ensure the future.”

“And I’m here to ensure my son’s happiness,” you bite back, standing as your chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “If you can’t respect that, then maybe we’re done here.” The room falls into a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken words. Koji, oblivious to the weight of the conversation, hums softly to himself, playing with the edge of his shirt.

Satoru finally speaks, his voice quieter but no less firm. “You don’t make arrangements for Koji without consulting us. This isn’t the company. You don’t get to call the shots here.”

Yamato frowns, standing up as well. Insticvively, Satoru follows, getting in front of you and Koji slightly in a protective stance. Finally, he crosses his arms, looking at the little family before him. Two of them looking exactly the same, for a second, Yamato feels like he’s talking to the past and future version of his son. In a way, he is. “...fine. You two are his parents, then fine. But it is my duty to ensure nothing wrong happens. My point still stands, it’s not wise to reveal Koji to the public eye yet,” he meets your eyes again. “You said you want him to have a normal childhood. Well, you should’ve thought about that before deciding to keep him. If you know what’s best, you’d agree with me.”

Without another word, Akane follows her husband to the door, and the two leave; the door slamming after them. The sound of the door slamming reverberates through the room, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake. Satoru uncrosses his arms, running a hand through his hair as he exhales sharply. You glance at Koji, who’s watching the door with a curious expression, seemingly oblivious to the tension that just passed.

“That man,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Who does he think he is, saying that?”

Satoru turns to you, his jaw tight but his voice calm. “That’s just how he is. Always has to have the last word, even if it’s total bullshit.”

You shift Koji on your hip, brushing his hair back softly as your mind replays Yamato’s parting words. You should’ve thought about that before deciding to keep him. The sting of it makes your chest tighten, but you force yourself to push it aside. “Are you okay?” Satoru asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you lie, though your voice falters slightly. “I’m just…angry. I know we’re not exactly best friends, but he has no right to talk about my decisions like that.”

Satoru watches you for a moment before sighing. “You’re right. He doesn’t. And you know what? Screw him. You’ve done everything for Koji. He doesn’t get to sit there and judge you from his high horse.”

The unexpected sincerity in his words takes you off guard, and for a moment, you can’t meet his eyes. “Thanks,” you murmur, focusing instead on Koji, who’s now fiddling with a string on his shirt.

Koji suddenly pipes up, breaking the tension. “Are they gone?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Satoru says, taking him from your arms. “They’re gone. You don’t have to worry about them.”

“Good,” Koji says with a pout. “They were scary.”

You chuckle softly. “They’re just loud, that’s all. You don’t have to be scared of them.”

Satoru leans back in his chair, his gaze flicking to you. “So, what now?”

“What now?” you echo, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. About them, about Koji, about…everything.” The question hangs in the air, heavy and loaded, but for once, it doesn’t feel like it’s just your burden to bear. You meet Satoru’s eyes, and for the first time in years, it feels like you’re standing on the same side of the battlefield. “I guess we figure it out,” you say softly. “Together.”

Satoru nods, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at his lips. “Together, huh? I like the sound of that.”

It’s not a solution, not yet. But it’s a start. You can see a flicker in Satoru’s expression before he walks with Koji over to the living room. It’s one of hesitance, you understand. He doesn’t entirely forgive you, let alone trust you. But he’s trying, for Koji. This mess happened because you kept your mouth shut, so maybe it’s time you start trying too. You and Satoru are in each other’s lives now, so is there a rush to mend things between you two?

The annual board dinner is just as horrible as Satoru expected. Lavish decorations, stiff small talk, and the overbearing weight of expectations pressed down on him like the overly starched collar of his tailored suit. He’d tried to duck out of it, but his father’s suggestion—which was really an order—left no room for argument. “Smile, Satoru,” Yamato had muttered through gritted teeth when they entered the grand hall. “You’re representing this family.”

So here he was, nursing a glass of expensive champagne that tasted like regret and counting the minutes until he could leave. He glanced around, catching sight of familiar faces mingling and laughing, some of them stealing glances his way with the kind of superficial interest he loathed. “God, this is insufferable,” he muttered under his breath.

Having to charm old men into doing business with his father, flirt here and there with the older, taken women. Smile, smile, smile. For presentation sake.

“Oh, look who it is.”

He groans, looking to the side and being met with the hard and chiseled face of Sukuna. A long term enemy of Satoru’s. Though he keeps it cordial in front of everyone else, he can’t help but engaged in the quiet back and forth. “My number one fan.” Satoru remarks simply, head tilting in a patronzing way.

Sukuna smirked, his sharp features twisting into something smug and self-assured. “Always the comedian, Gojo. I’m surprised you even remember how to crack a joke with how far your head is stuck up your family’s expectations.”

Satoru’s jaw clenched, but his grin didn’t waver. “And here I thought you showed up just to kiss my ass. Flattered, really.”

Their exchange was quiet enough to blend in with the hum of chatter around them, but the tension was palpable. Sukuna, with his sharp suit and predatory air, looked like he belonged here, but his presence was always unsettling. Pink hair that pokes up in a way that just barely reminds him of a certain someone. “I hear the old man’s got you busy charming fossils and bored housewives. Must be exhausting, all that fake smiling. Oh, wait, you’re used to that.”

Satoru’s laugh was light, but his eyes glinted with irritation. “What can I say? Some of us don’t need to rely on intimidation tactics to close deals. Or...whatever it is you call your little power plays.”

Sukuna stepped closer, the faintest hint of challenge in his stance. “Careful, Gojo. You might hurt my feelings.”

Satoru didn’t back down, his posture just as relaxed, his smile just as infuriatingly calm. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, someone’s got to keep you entertained, right?”

Sukuna chuckled darkly, taking a sip from his glass. “You’re lucky this is a formal event. If we were anywhere else—”

“You’d what?” Satoru cut him off, his voice dropping an octave. “Throw another tantrum and lose? You’ve got quite the track record there, Sukuna.”

The older man’s jaw twitched, but he only gave a low, mirthless laugh. “Enjoy your little victories while you can, Gojo. You won’t always have Daddy to clean up after you.”

“No, that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” Satoru grins, patting the other man’s shoulder as everyone begins making their way to the tables as the speaker is about to begin.

Satoru finds his spot next to his parents, arms crossed and one long leg over the other. His dark suit ruffles as circles his shoulders up and down in a fit on annoyance for the tight material.

The speaker, an older man with graying hair and a polished suit, steps up to the podium, his presence commanding immediate attention. The room quiets as he clears his throat, adjusting the microphone with practiced ease. “Good evening, everyone,” he begins, his voice rich and steady. “I hope you’ve all enjoyed the pre-dinner mingling, and I trust we’re all ready to get down to the business at hand. I won’t keep you long, but I must take a moment to reflect on the state of our industry, where we stand, and most importantly, where we’re going.” He pauses for effect, letting his gaze sweep over the gathered crowd. The eyes of the room are trained on him, but Satoru’s attention is divided, flicking between the speaker and the people seated around the table.

“Now, as we all know, times are changing. The landscape of business, both locally and globally, is evolving at a pace none of us could have predicted just a few short years ago. Innovation is at the forefront, and it is only through strategic alliances and forward-thinking leadership that we can continue to rise above the challenges that face us.” The speaker’s voice carries on with the rhythm of a man used to holding the room’s attention. “This is a pivotal moment, not only for our companies but for the future of the industry itself. It is with great anticipation that we look toward new ventures, new opportunities, and a commitment to excellence that can only be achieved through collaboration.”

A murmur ripples through the room as people nod in agreement, sipping their drinks, seemingly in sync with the speaker’s words.

“We have much to look forward to—be it through acquisitions, technological advancement, or our ongoing partnerships. The work ahead is exciting, but it requires unity, dedication, and a shared vision for what we can accomplish together. As we continue to push the boundaries, we must remember that this is more than just business; this is about legacy.” The speaker’s eyes flick over the audience, and for a split second, he meets Satoru’s gaze, offering a nod of acknowledgment.

“Tonight, we celebrate not only our past accomplishments but the bright future ahead. Let’s raise our glasses to the partnerships that have gotten us this far, and to the many more we will form in the years to come.”

A polite round of applause erupts, and the speaker steps back from the podium, signaling the end of his speech. The chatter begins again, and Satoru leans slightly forward with a soft smirk. “Business as usual,” he says under his breath, his tone light but with an edge of something more.

Satoru follows as everyone raises their glasses for a toast, clinking sounding throughout the large hall. Until, there’s small murmuring. It doesn’t faze Satoru as he sips, but then there’s gasps and whispers that sound like confusion mixed with shock.

Glancing around, there’s folks looking at their phones, talking to one another in a quiet voice, and then…looking directly at Satoru and his parents. His brows furrow. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?” His father responds, too busy drinking his glass, even drinking his wife’s.

“This.” Satoru says with finality, jutting his chin up. His father and mother finally pay attention. Noticing the extra amount of attention of them tonight. Satoru spots Sukuna sitting at his table, eyes narrowing as one of his colleagues show him his phone. And then, Sukuna looks up, meeting Satoru’s eyes. Suddenly, everything feels wrong. He can make out the malicious smirk on the douchebag’s face, the laugh he doesn’t even try to hide.

What the fuck?

The Gojos continue glancing around with confusion, Satoru with growing annoyance. Until finally, Nanami briskly walks up to his father. “Mr. Gojo,” he clears his throat. The three turn to the man, Satoru can see a foreign trace of nervousness in Nanami’s demeanor. That’s not like him at all.

Nanami can barely seem to articulate the correct sentence before turning his phone towards the Gojos.

And their blood runs cold, Satoru’s world momenatrily stopping.

It's a news article from Kyodo News+—the headline screaming in bold letters:

"Gojo Satoru’s Secret Love Child Surfaces: The Hidden Son of a Billionaire."

The scream shatters the tension in the air, sharp and filled with raw emotion. Himari’s voice echoes down the halls, a guttural cry of frustration, shock, and betrayal that causes everyone within earshot to freeze. She doesn’t care that her perfectly styled hair is being whipped around as she pushes her way through the staff, her hands trembling in a mix of fury and disbelief. The phone she had been holding moments ago crashes against the wall, the screen cracking as her thoughts spiral out of control. Her breath is ragged, each step fueled by a mixture of hurt and anger as she moves with purpose, her eyes burning with a desperate intensity. “SATORU GOJO!” she screams, her voice cracking as the words leave her lips, the weight of them crashing down on her. “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”

The maids scatter in her wake, unsure of how to respond to the chaos unfolding. But Himari isn’t looking at them. Her focus is elsewhere—on the person who just shattered the carefully constructed world she had built, on the one who, in a single moment, has upended everything she thought she knew.

She doesn’t even notice as she storms past the door to her parents’ private quarters, the sound of her footsteps growing louder with each step. The fury in her chest roars louder than the world around her as she moves toward the only people who could possibly understand the devastation she feels.

It’s not just betrayal anymore. It’s the crushing weight of a life built on lies. And Himari has had enough.

“Pffft!”

“Hey! You just spit on me, you asshole!”

Naoya’s voice rings out, practically shrill with laughter. His excitement is palpable, and it only serves to irritate Toji even more. "Toji! Toji! You have to see this!" Toji’s eyes narrow, his broad arms crossed over his bare chest as he leans back in his seat. The view of Lake Como stretches before him, but it feels distant, almost irrelevant compared to his cousin’s incessant enthusiasm. Vacation my ass, he thinks bitterly, wondering why he bothered to come here in the first place. He sighs, irritation lining his features. "Look at what?"

Naoya, unable to contain himself, thrusts his phone right into Toji’s face, nearly shoving it into his nose. "Look!" he repeats, bouncing on his heels, a look of sheer excitement on his face.

Toji groans, rolling his eyes. “I thought we agreed, no phones while we’re on vacation.”

Naoya ignores him completely, his grin widening. “Oh, trust me, this is worth it.”

With a heavy sigh, Toji finally reaches for the phone, taking it reluctantly. He presses the screen, waiting for the phone to wake up. The moment it does, his eyes meet the image that fills the screen—a photo of his business rival, Satoru Gojo, accompanied by a headline that stops Toji dead in his tracks. His brows furrow, the usual calm expression faltering for a moment. The headline’s words are seared into his brain, and Toji feels a pulse of confusion and something else he can’t quite name. He leans in closer, then back again, as if trying to process what he’s seeing.

"...What the hell?" he mutters under his breath. The image before him shows Satoru with a woman, someone Toji doesn’t recognize, and a child—Satoru’s child, if the headline is anything to go by.

Naoya’s grin only grows as he watches Toji’s reaction. “Pretty wild, huh? Didn’t see that coming from Gojo, did you?”

Toji’s fingers tighten around the phone, his eyes narrowing further. He doesn’t respond at first, too absorbed in the strange mix of shock and calculation churning in his mind. This isn’t just some random leak; it’s clearly orchestrated. “Where the hell did this come from?” Toji asks, finally looking back at his cousin, who’s still watching him with amusement.

Naoya shrugs nonchalantly. “Don’t know. Just saw it on a news feed. Looks like Gojo’s got some explaining to do, huh?” Toji just shakes his head, his mind already spinning with possibilities.

He tosses the phone back to Naoya. “You’ve got some sick timing. Let’s see how this plays out.”

Naoya chuckles, oblivious to the wheels turning in Toji’s mind. “You know, you might want to take advantage of this. Could mean something for the company, or at least an edge over Gojo.”

Toji’s lips curl into a slight smirk, but it’s more predatory than playful. “We’ll see, Naoya. We’ll see.”

You feel like you can’t breathe, like nothing’s real. Staring at your TV screen with complete and utter shock, frozen in place. The world around you feels like it’s fading, as if you’re watching everything happen from a distance, disconnected from reality. Your eyes are locked on the TV screen, but you can’t process what you’re seeing—everything is too surreal.

“Hey, that’s me!” Koji happily exclaims, pointing to his young face on the screen, being carried by Satoru. From the looks of it, the picture was taken yesterday, inside Sator’s penthouse. But the picture is from an outside perspective.

The realization hits you like a cold wave. Who the hell took this? The blood drains from your face as your heart pounds even harder. How did they get this shot? Your stomach turns, a knot tightening in your chest. Isn’t this illegal?

Satoru’s name comes out of your mouth like a whisper of panic. “Satoru…”

You can barely hear your own voice over the buzzing in your ears, as your mind races, trying to process what this means. How could anyone have gotten this close? How could someone have been watching? The image on the screen—the calmness in Koji’s face, the warmth in Satoru’s arms—makes your blood run cold. Koji’s innocent voice cuts through again, “Mama, why is it on TV? Are we famous?” He giggles, clearly unaware of the danger that’s now in your midst.

You mouth emits a breathe of air that faintly resembles a chuckle. But you’re not laughing. You’re too frozen in fear to say anything, to even move. You can’t shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong, that the peaceful life you’ve managed to carve out with your son is hanging by a thread. You hold your breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

How many people know about this? How much further can they go?

How much further can you go?

The woman leans back in her chair, the flickering light of her computer screen casting shadows across her face as she watches the confirmation of the transaction appear before her eyes. Her lips curl into a snarky, satisfied grin. It’s the kind of smile that’s dangerous, the kind of smile that tells you she’s one step ahead, and there’s no turning back now.

A low, almost guttural laugh escapes her—deep and malevolent, echoing in the quiet room. The money is more than just a transaction; it’s power, it’s leverage. And the best part? No one even knows it’s her. Not yet.

She pauses, letting the silence stretch out before her next move. She takes a slow, deliberate breath, savoring the moment, then leans forward. “Wonderful…” she whispers to herself.

a/n: i'm sorry if things seemed rushed, chap was getting looong. but enjoy!

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seospicybin · 1 month ago

Text

COCKY.

CHAPTER III

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Chapters: Chapter I / Chapter II

Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself. (21,2k words)

Author's note: Congratulations on making it to another week! Hope Cocky Chris can help you to unwind and pls share your thoughts after ♡

The second the elevator doors slide open, you storm back into your lab, your heels clicking against the tiled floor with a little more force than necessary. The door swings shut behind you, and you take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. The last thing you need is for your team to see just how frustrated you are.

Chris’s words from the meeting echo in your head. Your product needs more time to fully develop as a whole product. His voice had been calm, professional—like he wasn’t just throwing a wrench into everything you had worked for. Like he wasn’t completely undermining you in front of the board.

You rub your temples, inhaling deeply. You don’t understand. You thought he would support you. He’d been testing the product, giving feedback—participating. You thought you were on the same page. So why?

Your team is scattered around the lab, focused on their own tasks, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. Jane is nowhere to be seen, probably still caught up in meetings or schmoozing with the higher-ups after her own product launch. For once, you’re grateful she’s not here to take one look at you and start asking questions.

You sit at your desk, pulling out your notes, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the sharp sting of betrayal sitting heavy in your chest.

But no matter how much you try to push it away, all you can think about is Chris. And how he went against you.

As expected, Jane bursts into the lab with her usual energy, her eyes scanning the room until they land on you. “Hey! So, how’d it go?” she asks, striding toward you with a bright, expectant grin.

You don’t even look up from your desk. “It was great—until Chris decided to sabotage me.”

Jane stops mid-step, blinking at you. “Wait, what?”

You slam your notebook shut and finally meet her gaze, frustration boiling over. “He went against me, Jane. Chris. He told the board that my product ‘needs more time to develop.’” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “What does that even mean? We’ve done the tests, the results are solid, and we’re more than ready for production. But no—he had to make it sound like we’re not ready. Like I’m not ready.”

Jane raises an eyebrow, stepping closer. “That doesn’t sound like Chris.”

You scoff. “Well, it happened. And now the board is hesitant. They decide to push back production because of his input. I’m screwed.”

Jane crosses her arms, tilting her head in thought. “Did he give any reason? Like, why he thinks it needs more time?”

You shake your head, still fuming. “Not really. Just some vague statement about it needing to be fully developed. He didn’t even look at me when he said it.”

Jane purses her lips, watching you carefully. “Huh.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “What?”

She shrugs. “I just think it’s weird. Chris has been involved in this project. He knows how much work you’ve put in. If he really thought it wasn’t ready, he would’ve talked to you about it first, wouldn’t he?”

That’s what’s been bothering you the most. Chris didn’t say anything to you beforehand—no warning, no indication that he had doubts. Just blindsiding you in front of the board like it was nothing.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair. “Maybe I was wrong to trust him.”

Jane watches you carefully, then smirks. “Or maybe there’s something else going on.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please. Not everything is some big mystery, Jane. Sometimes people just suck.”

Jane laughs, shaking her head. “If you say so.” She places a coffee cup on your desk. “Here. You look like you need this.”

You sigh, taking the cup and mumbling, “Thanks.”

But even as you sip your coffee, Jane’s words linger in your mind. Or maybe there’s something else going on.

As you bury your face in your hands, your phone vibrates on the desk. You sigh, already feeling exhausted, and glance at the screen. The caller ID makes your stomach flip—Chris Bang.

Jane notices your hesitation. “Speak of the devil,” she mutters.

You inhale sharply before answering. “Hello?”

“Come to my office,” Chris says, his voice steady, unreadable.

You grip the phone tighter. “I’m busy.”

A pause and then he says, “It won’t take long.”

You want to argue, to throw his words from the meeting back in his face, but something about his tone makes you bite your tongue. Instead, you sigh. “Fine.”

The call ends before you can say anything else.

Jane raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your notebook and pushing back from your desk. “He wants to see me.”

“Ooooh, sounds serious,” she teases, but when she sees your expression, her smirk softens. “Hey. Just… don’t go in there ready to bite his head off. See what he has to say first.”

You scoff, but deep down, you know she’s right. Still, you can’t shake the frustration burning in your chest as you make your way to Chris’s office.

You push open the door to Chris’s office without knocking, not caring about formalities right now. He’s seated at his desk, fingers laced together as he watches you step inside. His expression is unreadable, but his posture is relaxed—too relaxed for someone who just sabotaged your presentation.

You close the door behind you and stand facing his desk. “You called me, Mr. Bang?”

Chris sighs, leaning back in his chair. “You’re upset.”

You can't keep your composure anymore and let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, you think?” You take a step closer, trying to keep your voice even. “I expected the board to be skeptical. I expected questions, concerns—but I didn’t expect you to be the one who held us back.”

Chris doesn’t react immediately. He studies you, like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I didn’t hold you back.”

“Then what do you call it?” you snap. “You had the chance to vouch for me. For the project. Instead, you basically told them it’s not ready.”

“Because it’s not ready.” His tone is firm, unwavering.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

Chris stands up then, rounding the desk to stand in front of you. “I get that you’re angry. But I need you to trust me on this.”

You meet his gaze, heart pounding with frustration—and something else, something you don’t want to acknowledge. “Give me one good reason why I should.”

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he moves to the door, turning the lock with a quiet click. The sound sends a strange thrill down your spine, but before you can react, he’s walking back toward you.

His hands find your elbows, firm but not forceful, keeping you in place as he looks down at you. “I didn’t say what I said in there to hurt you,” he says, his voice low. “I said it because I know you can do more.”

You glare at him, frustration still simmering beneath your skin. “More? Chris, I’ve put everything into this project.”

“I know.” His thumbs brush your arms, a soothing gesture you don’t want to acknowledge. “But I also know you. You’re not just here to make condoms for guys with big dicks. You’re better than that. Smarter than that.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he steps closer, tilting his head to catch your gaze. “Look at me,” he murmurs.

Reluctantly, you meet his eyes. They’re steady, unwavering. “I trust you,” he says. “But do you trust me?”

Chris waits, his eyes searching yours, his hands still resting on your arms. He leans in ever so slightly, just enough that you can feel the intensity of his eyes, and for a moment, you feel yourself slipping—drawn in by the heat of his gaze, the quiet intensity of his presence.

But then reality crashes down on you. You remember the meeting. You remember the way he spoke against your project in front of everyone, blindsiding you when you thought he’d be on your side. The frustration in your chest flares up again, and before you can fall any deeper into his gravity, you quickly turn your head away.

“I have work to do,” you say, stepping back, slipping out of his hold. You don’t dare look at him as you move toward the door, your heart pounding. “If that’s all, I’ll be going.”

You don’t wait for a response. You unlock the door and slip out, leaving him standing there in his office, alone.

For the next couple of days, you bury yourself in work, but the irritation from your last encounter with Chris still lingers. Every time you think about the meeting, about the way he blindsided you, your blood boils all over again. You tell yourself to let it go, to focus on your research, but the frustration simmers beneath the surface.

Just as you’re lost in thought, the door to your lab swings open, and Han walks in, grinning as usual.

"Guess what time it is," he announces, setting down a cup of coffee and a small paper bag on your desk.

You sigh as you run your hand though your hair. "Is it the time already?"

Han chuckles, pulling out a chair and plopping down across from you. "Don't tell me you forgot about our date?" he corrects, handing you the coffee. "Anyway, I brought a little treat to commemorate the occasion. Cheesecake. I figured I should end our time together on a sweet note."

Despite yourself, you smile. Han’s presence is a welcome distraction from everything else weighing on your mind.

“Thanks,” You mutter before taking a sip of the coffee he brought, you set down your tablet and get ready to dive into the final part of his product testing feedback.

Han occasionally sips his coffee, but his sharp eyes stay locked on you. He tilts his head slightly, studying your face with a look of quiet curiosity before setting his cup down.

"Something’s bothering you," he states, not even phrasing it as a question.

You glance up from your tablet. “Is it that obvious?”

Han leans forward on the table and tilts his head to the side. "Tell me. Who hurt you, baby?”

You rub your temples, feeling the stress of yesterday creeping back in. Han waits patiently, sipping his coffee as if he has all the time in the world. That alone makes you want to talk—it’s rare for someone to actually listen without immediately offering their opinion.

Taking a deep breath, you finally start. “Last Monday was supposed to be the big presentation. I went in there with my team, ready to prove that our product was good to go. We had the results from our test group—82% of participants reported positive experiences. Sure, it’s not perfect, but it was enough to show that this could work.”

Han hums, nodding along. “And...?”

“They were considering it. They were actually talking about approving it for production,” you say, voice tight. “But then he spoke up.”

Han doesn’t need you to say who he is. “Is it the guy with the intense vibe?”

You nod, gripping your coffee cup a little too hard. “Chris, of all people, the product manager, basically told them it needed more time. That it wasn’t ready. That I could do more than just this.”

Han frowns, setting his cup down. “And you didn’t see that coming?”

“Not at all!” you exclaim. “I thought if anything, he’d be on my side. He knew how much effort I put into it. But instead of backing me up, he basically told me I wasn’t enough—like my work wasn’t enough.”

Your frustration is boiling over now, and Han lets you vent without interruption.

“The worst part? He said it like he trusted me. Like he was pushing me because he believed in me. What kind of twisted logic is that?”

Han lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s rough.”

You shake your head, leaning back in your chair. “I don’t even know if it’s worth doing this anymore. What’s the point if the person in charge is just going to keep moving the goalpost?”

There’s a beat of silence before Han speaks again, his voice calm but firm. “So you’re telling me you’re just gonna give up? Just because of one guy?”

You pick up your pen and bring your clipboard closer to you while trying to push down the bitterness that still lingers from that day. “Let’s just start on the interview.”

Han narrows his eyes as he watches you, arms crossed over his chest. “You sure you’re even in the mood for this interview?”

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “Honestly? No. I really don’t feel like working today.”

He grins, as if he expected that answer. “Then why don’t you just skip?” he suggests so casually that you blink at him in surprise. “Come on. Go out, have some fun. Forget about work for a while.”

You hesitate, fingers fiddling with the edge of the papers. “Skip work?”

Han nods, completely unfazed. “Yeah. What, you’ve never played hooky before?”

You chew on your lip, torn between responsibility and temptation. You should be focusing on your project, on fixing what went wrong—but the idea of just leaving, of walking out and not thinking about Chris or the board or your stupid presentation, is suddenly way too tempting to ignore.

Without another thought, you push back your chair, standing up as you yank off your lab coat and toss it onto your chair. “Fine,” you say, crossing your arms. “Where are we going?”

Han’s grin stretches wider. “Oh, I definitely know a place.”

The city is scintillating under the afternoon sun as you and Han stroll through the streets, the heat of the day warming your skin. Brunch is the first stop—a cozy little café where he insists on ordering the most extravagant pastries on the menu, just to see which ones make you scrunch your nose.

“You have terrible taste,” you tell him as he bites into a cream-filled croissant with far too much enthusiasm.

After brunch, the two of you wander into shops, browsing through everything from designer boutiques to random trinket stores. Han has a habit of picking up the most ridiculous items—a sequined cowboy hat, a neon pink fanny pack—just to model them in front of you, making exaggerated poses.

“Be honest,” he says, adjusting a pair of oversized sunglasses on his nose. “I look hot, don’t I?”

You snort. “I need a drink to find you attractive.”

Han gasps, clutching his chest as if you’ve wounded him. “Wow. Brutal.” Then, his expression turns thoughtful. “Well, bars aren’t open yet… but I do have drinks at my place.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, so that’s your plan? Get me drunk in your apartment?”

Han doesn’t even try to deny it. “Absolutely,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You burst out laughing, shaking your head at his shamelessness. “Fine. Lead the way, Casanova.”

Han grins, tossing an arm around your shoulders as he steers you toward his place. “Now this is what I call quality product testing.”

Han’s apartment is surprisingly neat, with a warm and lived-in feel. The shelves are stacked with comic books and figurines, and a collection of vinyl records sits beside a turntable in the living room. You wander over, scanning the titles while Han disappears into the kitchen.

“You actually listen to these, or are they just for decoration to make you seem cool?” you tease with a sly smile, running a finger along the spines of the records.

He returns from the kitchen with two glasses of hard liquor, handing one to you. “I’ll have you know, I’m a man of taste,” he says, feigning offense. He picks a record and slides it onto the turntable, the soft crackle of vinyl filling the air before smooth, jazzy notes spill from the speakers.

You take a sip of your drink, letting the warmth spread through you as the two of you start moving to the rhythm. Han, being Han, doesn’t keep it simple for long—he breaks into a ridiculous routine, wiggling his arms and shaking his hips like he’s auditioning for a variety show.

You burst out laughing. “What the hell are you doing?”

He grins. “Enjoying myself.”

Still chuckling, you play along, mirroring his moves in exaggerated fashion until you’re both breathless from laughter. Then, suddenly, he takes your hand, pulls you close, and spins you into a slow dance.

Your bodies sway together, the mood shifting effortlessly. His arms wrap loosely around your waist, his touch warm and steady. His eyes lock onto yours, playful but unreadable. And then, just as easily as he jokes, he leans in and presses a kiss to your lips.

It’s light, fleeting—like he’s testing the waters. But the second it happens, an image of Chris flashes through your mind. His voice, his touch, the way he looked at you in his office just the other day. Your body stiffens, your grip on Han’s shirt loosening.

You slowly pull away from Han, your fingers slipping from his shirt as you take a step back. “I—uh, I need a minute,” you mutter, avoiding his eyes. “Bathroom?”

Han blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, but he nods and gestures toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s down there. First door on the left.”

You don’t waste time, slipping inside and locking the door behind you. Pressing your palms against the cool sink, you take a deep breath, your mind racing. Why did I think of Chris? The kiss had nothing to do with him, yet his face, his touch, his words—all of it came rushing in, uninvited.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Your gaze drifts around the bathroom to find something to distract you, your eyes land on the slightly open drawer beneath the mirror. Idly, you tug it open, rummaging through the contents without much thought—until your fingers brush against something familiar.

The box of condoms you had given Han for testing sits there, three packs still untouched. You pick it up, flipping it over in your hands, your mind now shifting gears. Without thinking too hard about it, you grab the box and head back to the living room.

Han is crouched by the record player, swapping out the vinyl, but when he sees you standing there, he pauses, his brows furrowing in mild concern. “Hey, you okay?”

Instead of answering, you flash him a sly smile and ask, “You know what time is it?”

He smiles but curiosity filled his dark brown eyes. “What?”

You lift the box of condoms slightly, letting it dangle between your fingers as you say, “It’s time for the hands-on research.”

Han’s lips twitch into a smirk, his eyes flicking from the box to you. He pushes himself up from the floor, stepping closer to you with that playful glint in his eyes. He reaches for the box in your hand, but instead of taking it, he wraps his fingers around yours, tugging you gently toward him.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his voice lower now, less teasing, more serious.

You inhale sharply, feeling the weight of his question, but you nod. "Yeah."

That’s all it takes. Han closes the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss, his hands sliding to your waist. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver through you, and before you know it, your hands are tugging at his shirt. He chuckles against your lips, stepping back just enough to let you pull it over his head.

"This is a first for me," he muses, his fingers slipping under the hem of your top, pushing it upward.

You blink at him. "What do you mean?"

Han grins, nudging his nose against yours as he lifts your shirt off. "Daylight. Never done it with the sun out."

You pause for a moment, realizing the same thing. "Me neither."

Han hums in amusement. "Guess we’re about to check that off the list."

You laugh softly as his hands roam your bare skin, his touch igniting a slow burn inside you. Piece by piece, you strip each other down, the sunlight shining through the windows, painting golden streaks across your skin. The vulnerability of being so exposed in the daylight should make you feel shy, but with Han, it doesn’t.

He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder before murmuring against your skin, “You look even better in the light.”

You smile at his compliment. “And you look... not bad,” you say, followed by playful giggles.

As Han presses you down onto the bed, his body flush against yours, his lips move against yours in a deep, slow kiss. His hands roam over your skin, touching and feeling, occasionally squeezing on the flesh. The warmth of his touch sends a thrill through your body, making you arch into him, wanting more.

When you pull back for air, your eyes drift over his physique, taking in the toned muscles of his arms, the lean definition of his torso, and the ink that decorates his skin. Your fingers reach out instinctively, trailing over the tattoo on his shoulder, feeling the slight difference in texture. Han watches you with a lazy smirk, amused by your fascination.

"You like them?" he asks, voice husky.

You hum in response, letting your fingers travel lower, following the ink down his ribcage. "I do. They suit you."

Han chuckles at that, shifting slightly to give you better access. "You should see the one on my thigh," he teases, winking at you.

You roll your eyes but smile as you bring your lips to his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against the tattooed skin. Han's breath catches, and he instinctively tightens his grip on your waist. You keep going, trailing kisses along the curve of his shoulder, down to his collarbone, taking your time to feel him with your lips.

Not to be outdone, Han follows suit, his lips ghosting over your skin in slow, lingering kisses. He moves down your neck, his breath warm and tickling, before pulling back to look at you with eyes filled with something deeper than just lust. There’s admiration there, fondness, and something playful, too.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmurs, fingertips brushing over your sides.

You arch an eyebrow. “How so?”

Han grins, leaning in to nip at your lower lip before whispering, “Because you make me want to keep you all to myself.”

His words linger in the air, charged with something unspoken as his hands slowly trail down your sides. His fingers brush over your hipbones, teasing, testing, before one hand wraps around your thigh, pulling you closer against him. You can feel the heat radiating between you, the slow, tantalizing friction as he presses his hand on your sex.

Your breaths mingle as you both move in sync, hands exploring, discovering. His touch is firm yet careful as he lands his fingers on your bundle of nerves, his strokes slow at first, teasing, making you gasp against his lips. In response, your fingers trail lower until you find his swollen cock and wrap your hand around it, feeling the warmth, the way his breath stutters at the first touch. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, eyes fluttering shut as he exhales a shaky breath.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pleasure. “You feel so good.”

The pace between you builds naturally, neither of you rushing, just taking the time to savor the way the other reacts. Han groans softly, his hips twitching slightly as your fingers tighten around his length, and in return, he sync his movements with yours, applying gentle pressures on your clit, making you shudder in his grasp. There’s an intimacy in it, beyond just the pleasure—it’s the way he watches your face, the way you both respond to each other, completely in tune.

His lips find yours again, swallowing your soft moans as the pleasure mounts between you. It’s intoxicating, the push and pull, the way you both chase after the same high together, bodies pressed close, hands on each other’s sex, moving in perfect rhythm.

Han groans against your lips as your other hand joins in, moving them in unison, fingers wrapping around him, stroking in sync. His breath is ragged, his body trembling slightly as he thrusts into your joined grip, chasing the pleasure that builds between you. His forehead presses against yours, his eyes dark with desire as he watches your movements, completely entranced by the way you touch him.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes out, his jaw tightening as he tries to hold himself back. "You're really trying to ruin me, huh?"

You smirk, giving him a gentle, deliberate squeeze, and he groans, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as if to stop himself from losing control. Then, as if realizing just how close he is, he suddenly slows your hands, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Han leans in, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss before pulling back just enough to smirk at you. "As much as I'd love to keep going, I should probably put that condom on before I—" he pauses, inhaling sharply as you teasingly stroke him once more "—burst."

His words make you chuckle, and he grins at you, eyes full of mischief as he reaches for the box beside the bed. You watch as he tears open the foil packet with his teeth, his eyes flicking up to meet yours with a playful glint. He rolls the condom over his length with practiced ease, smoothing it down before giving himself a teasing stroke. Then, with a smirk, he looks at you and wiggles his eyebrows.

"Think it's on securely?" he asks, feigning concern as he lightly tugs at the base. "Or should I call customer service for assistance?"

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head at his antics. "I am customer service, you dummy," you quip, reaching out to flick his arm.

Han chuckles, leaning over you, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering, "Then I guess I’m in good hands."

He gently puts his body on top of you, planting his lips on yours again as he slowly positioning himself and in response, you spread your legs wider for him, letting him settling in between.

He props an elbow against the mattress, finding just the right angle to align his cock to your entrance. He gives it a few strokes before finally, pushing it in.

Low groans spilling out of his mouth as he sinks into you, his grip tightening around your hips as he pushes deeper. He moves slowly at first, letting you adjust, but when he looks down at you, his brows furrow in curiosity. “You okay?”

Your lips curl into a teasing smile as you stretch your arms above your head, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah,” you sigh dramatically. “Don’t worry. I’ve taken bigger before.”

Han freezes mid-thrust, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

You bite back a laugh at the mix of offense and disbelief on his face. “Just saying.”

A scoff leaves his lips before his expression morphs into something more devious. “Oh, okay. I see how it is.”

Before you can react, he suddenly thrusts forward, catching you off guard, and a loud gasp escapes you. He smirks. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch it.”

You glare at him, cheeks warming. “Shut up and start moving.”

Han clicks his tongue, clearly enjoying himself. “Say please.”

You groan in frustration, but before you can argue, he leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss. His hips begin to roll, picking up a steady rhythm, and soon, any witty remark you had is replaced by breathy moans.

“See?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice smug as his hands roam over your body. “Told you we’d have fun.”

You huff, pretending to be unimpressed, but the way your fingers dig into his back says otherwise. He chuckles, dipping his head to kiss the corner of your mouth before whispering, “Let’s see if I can change your mind about size, yeah?”

Han may tease, but when he moves, his touches are surprisingly gentle, his lips soft as they ghost over your skin. He’s still smiling, still throwing in the occasional joke between thrusts, but there’s something warm in the way he looks at you—like he genuinely enjoys just being here with you.

“Damn,” he breathes out, his forehead resting against yours as he moves. “You feel so good, I think I’m seeing my ancestors.”

You snort, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head, grinning. “Then why is my great-grandfather giving me a thumbs-up right now?”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You’re so dumb.”

“Hey, you like it,” he says, punctuating his words with a slow, deep thrust that has you sharply inhale air. His eyes flicker with amusement when your breath catches. “See? You love it.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the giggle that bubbles out of you. It’s different from what you expected—less pressure, less intensity, just lighthearted fun wrapped up in warmth and pleasure.

In the next moment, he looks at you with this tenderness in his eyes and then, he leans in close, brushing his lips over yours before whispering, “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

His words make your heart stutter, and suddenly, the moment feels even sweeter. You cup his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of him—of this easy, unexpected comfort.

Between the shared laughter and soft moans, it feels less like a conquest and more like something simple, something warm. Something that, for now, just feels good.

Through the window, the golden hues of the setting sun looks magnificent, casting a soft glow over the room. You’re tangled together under the sheets, your head resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your bare shoulder, and every now and then, he presses a soft kiss against your temple, your hair, your forehead—anywhere he can reach.

“You’re so quiet,” he murmurs, tilting his head down to look at you. “Did I wear you out that much?”

You scoff and playfully elbow his side. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckles, then shifts slightly, his lips trailing from your temple down to your cheek, then to your jawline. He pauses, his breath warm against your skin before he dips lower, pressing a teasing kiss to the crook of your neck.

You shiver at the sensation, but just as you start to relax into it, he suddenly blows a raspberry against your skin. “Han!” you shriek, jerking away with a laugh. “Stop that!”

But he only grins mischievously, wrapping an arm around you to keep you from escaping as he does it again—this time nibbling lightly before blowing another raspberry. You squirm in his arms, half laughing, half protesting. “You’re the worst!” you gasp between giggles.

He hums, pretending to consider. “Mmm, but you like me anyway.”

You glare at him through your laughter, and he grins before pressing a much softer, lingering kiss against your neck.

“Alright, alright,” he says, finally relenting. “I’ll stop—for now.”

You let out a breath, still smiling as you settle back into his embrace. Outside, the sky shifts from warm golds to dusky purples, and for a moment, everything just feels… easy. Comfortable.

And as Han idly runs his fingers through your hair, you find yourself wondering how a simple afternoon turned into this—wrapped up in warmth, in laughter, in him.

As the last traces of sunlight fade into the evening sky, you run your fingers through Han’s hair, gently brushing it back from his forehead. His eyes flutter shut at your touch, a contented hum vibrating in his chest.

“You’re gonna put me to sleep like this,” he murmurs, voice thick with drowsiness.

You smile, smoothing his hair again before giving it a playful tug. “Not so fast. You still owe me dinner.”

His eyes peek open, a lazy grin spreading across his lips. “Oh? I do?”

“Yeah,” you say matter-of-factly. “I skipped work today, wasted my precious energy entertaining you, and now I’m starving. It’s only fair that you buy me dinner.”

Han gasps dramatically. “Wasted your precious energy?” He places a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “I’ll have you know, that was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach betrays you with a low grumble. Han snickers, clearly pleased with himself.

“Alright, okay,” he relents, stretching his arms above his head before sitting up. “What do you want? Something fancy? Something greasy? Or something that’ll make us question our life choices after we eat it?”

You chuckle. “I like the sound of the last one.”

Han grins. “Instant regret it is.”

He lands a long kiss on your lips before getting up, swinging his legs off the bed and starts pulling on his sweatpants, and you do the same, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. It’s not exactly how you expected your day to go, but somehow, you don’t mind at all.

Seated at Han’s small dining table, you poke at your takeout with your chopsticks, watching as he slouches in his chair, looking far too comfortable in just his sweatpants. Meanwhile, you’re drowning in one of his oversized sweaters, the fabric slipping off your shoulder every time you move.

Han takes a big bite of his food, humming in satisfaction before glancing at you. “You’re really not gonna put pants on?” he teases.

“You’re one to talk,” you counter, raising a brow. “Besides, this is more comfortable.”

He grins. “Fine, but if you steal that sweater, I’ll know.”

You ignore his threat, chewing thoughtfully before asking, “So… how was the performance?”

He nearly chokes on his food. He grabs his drink, gulping it down before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Damn,” he laughs, shaking his head. “You just wanna jump straight into performance reviews, huh?”

You blink at him. “Yeah… why not?”

He leans back in his chair, grinning for ear to ear. “Well, if you ask me, I think I did a solid job. Great rhythm, nice pace, perfect execution. I mean, if I had to rate it—”

“Oh my God,” you groan, throwing a sauce packet at him. “I was talking about the condom performance, not yours.”

He gasps, feigning offense as he dramatically clutches his chest. “Oh. So my performance isn’t important?”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips out.

Han seductively winks at you and confidently says, “I know you like it.”

You shake your head, chuckling. “Alright, seriously, though. How was the product? Any complaints?”

He hums, twirling his chopsticks between his fingers. “No complaints. It’s comfortable, does the job, doesn’t slip. And…” He shoots you a mischievous look. “It didn’t ruin the mood, so I’d say that’s a win.”

You nod, mentally noting his feedback. “That’s good to hear.”

Han grins. “And in case you were wondering, you did great too.”

You groan again, but you can’t help the heat rising to your cheeks. “Just eat your dumpling, Han.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction, before taking another bite, looking far too pleased with himself. He chews thoughtfully for a moment before casually adding, “If I had to say one thing, I kinda wish it was thinner.”

You pause mid-bite, looking at him. “Thinner?”

“Yeah.” He leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s comfortable and all, but if it were just a little thinner, I feel like I could… you know, feel you more.” He smirks, his gaze flickering over you with something undeniably teasing.

You narrow your eyes at him, but your brain is already running with the idea. “A thinner material…” you murmur, tapping your chopsticks against your bowl.

Han watches you, curiosity piqued. “You’re really thinking about this now?”

“Well, yeah,” you say, sitting up straighter. “If we can make the material thinner while maintaining durability and elasticity, it could enhance sensitivity and comfort. It might actually improve the overall experience for users.”

Han chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re literally fresh off a test run, and you’re already planning upgrades?”

You shrug. “That’s how innovation works.”

After dinner and two glasses of wine, you return to the bedroom. As you slip into your clothes, Han leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with an amused smirk.

“You know,” he muses, “there are still two packs left. Might as well be thorough with the testing.”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head as you adjust your sweater. “It’s getting late, Han.”

“So stay,” he tries again, stepping closer. “Leave in the morning. I make a killer breakfast.”

You laugh while smoothing down your skirt. “I'm sorry but I have to tell you that this is the end of the product test and we won’t see each other again.”

Han tilts his head, unconvinced. “I highly doubt that.”

You roll your eyes, but a chuckle escapes you. “You’re cute.” Then, without thinking too much about it, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips. He hums into it, chasing after you when you pull away.

With a lazy grin, he says, “Well, if you ever need a booty call—”

“Now, I highly doubt that,” you cut him off with a playful tease, grabbing your bag.

Han watches as you make your way to the door, still smiling. “Love finds a way, you know,” he calls out after you.

Shaking your head, you turn back for a final glance. “Goodbye, Han.”

He lifts a hand in farewell, and with that, you step out, leaving behind both the product test and the man who helped make it a very memorable one.

It's another day at work, another day of burying yourself in your notes, scribbling down ideas for product improvements when Jane bursts into the lab with a dramatic sigh.

“You know,” she starts, plopping down on the nearest chair, “I’m starting to think you love work more than me.”

You glance up, raising a brow. “Are you jealous of my research?”

“No,” she deadpans. “What I'm saying is you’ve been so busy lately, I barely see you anymore. I mean, I get it—scientific breakthroughs, saving the world one condom at a time, blah blah—but can you at least pretend to have a social life?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you lean back in your chair. “I do have a social life. We literally went to your product launch.”

Jane waves you off. “That doesn’t count. That was work disguised as a party.” Then, narrowing her eyes at you, she leans forward. “Speaking of which… you never told me what happened after. You left with Chris that night, didn’t you?”

You freeze for half a second before playing it cool. “I went home.”

Jane’s eyes glint with mischief. “Alone?”

You clear your throat, pretending to be suddenly fascinated by your notes. “Why are you here again?”

She groans, throwing her head back. “Ugh, fine, I’ll let it go—for now. But seriously, let’s go out soon. You owe me drinks for neglecting me.”

You smirk. “Fine, but you’re buying the first round.”

Jane grins. “Deal.”

Later that night, you and Jane are seated at a bar, the warm buzz of alcohol settling in as you sip on your drinks. The music is lively but not overbearing, and for the first time in a while, you feel like you can actually unwind.

Jane stirs the straw in her cocktail before shooting you a look. “Alright, so tell me—what did Chris want when he called you to his office?”

You sigh, leaning back against the barstool. “He locked the door the moment I walked in.”

Jane’s eyes widen. “Ooh, now that’s how you start a story.”

You roll your eyes but continue, “Then he told me he went against the board because he believes I can do more. That I shouldn’t settle when I can create something even better.”

Jane hums, taking a sip of her drink. “And how did that make you feel?”

You hesitate, swirling the liquid in your glass. “Angry. Frustrated. Conflicted.” You exhale, shaking your head. “I mean, I get what he’s saying, but at the same time, I worked hard on this. He basically told me it wasn’t good enough.”

Jane tilts her head, considering your words. “But was he wrong?”

You blink at her, taken aback. And then, Jane shrugs. “Look, I know you. You hate doing things halfway. If Chris is saying you can do more, maybe it’s because he knows you actually want to.”

You purse your lips, not quite ready to admit that she might have a point. Instead, you take a long sip of your drink.

Jane smirks knowingly. “So… what else happened in that office?”

You give her a dry look. “I left.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Jane whistles, shaking her head. “Damn. If a man locked me in his office, I would’ve at least—”

“Jane.”

She cackles, raising her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! But seriously, what are you going to do now?”

You let out a breath, staring at the ice in your glass. “I don’t know yet.”

Jane squints at you over the rim of her glass, then smirks. "By the way, you skipped work the other day."

You glance at her warily. "And?"

"And I want to know what you were up to," she says, wiggling her eyebrows. "Come on, spill."

You hesitate for a moment, but Jane is relentless, leaning in with eager curiosity. With a sigh, you finally admit, “I went out with Han.”

Her eyes widen in delight. "Ohhh, this is interesting. You and Han, huh? What did you two do?"

"Nothing crazy," you say, taking a sip of your drink. "We had brunch, did some shopping, and then—"

Jane cuts you off with an exaggerated gasp. "And then?! Oh my god, don't tell me you slept with him."

You press your lips together, trying to suppress a smirk.

"You did!" she nearly shrieks, slamming her hand on the bar. "Holy shit, I knew there was something different about you! You got that after sex glow!"

You shake your head, chuckling at her reaction. "It was just… for the product test."

Jane snorts, nearly choking on her drink. "The product test? That has to be the best excuse I’ve ever heard."

"It's the truth," you say, half-laughing. "He was one of the participants, so technically, it was all part of research."

She gives you a deadpan look. "Yeah, sure. Research." Then her smirk returns. "So… how was it?"

You sigh dramatically. "Well, let’s just say… Han is very entertaining."

Jane bursts into laughter. "Oh, I bet he is." She nudges your arm. "And let me guess, he was totally cocky about it, too, wasn’t he?"

You roll your eyes and then crack a smile. "You have no idea."

She grins, taking another sip of her drink. "Damn, I really should’ve joined your project. It sounds way more fun than mine."

The two of you continue sipping your drinks and with more people crowding the bar, it is now buzzing with chatter and laughter. Then, out of nowhere, Jane sets her glass down with a determined look. "You know what?" she says, pointing at you. "You should prove Chris wrong."

You look at her, befuddled. "What?"

"You heard me." She leans in, eyes glinting with mischief. "You should prove to him that you can do more. That you can exceed his expectations."

You scoff lightly, swirling your drink. "Why should I care what he thinks?"

Jane raises a brow. "Oh, come on. If you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t still be sulking about it."

You open your mouth to argue but shut it again because—well, she’s not wrong.

Jane smirks, seeing your hesitation. "I mean, think about it. What better way to get back at him than to succeed? To improve the product so much that he has no choice but to approve it?"

You exhale, considering her words. Then, your mind flashes back to Han’s comment during dinner—the one about wishing the condom was thinner so he could feel more. And suddenly, an idea clicks.

You straighten up. "That’s it," you say under your breath.

Jane tilts her head. "What’s it?"

You look at her, a slow grin forming. "I know what to do."

Jane claps her hands together. "Now that’s the attitude I like to see! Let’s drink to that."

You clink your glass against hers, a renewed sense of purpose bubbling inside you. Chris may have doubted you, but that only means one thing—you're going to prove him so wrong.

In your lab, you throw yourself into research, pouring over formulas, materials, and test results. Your determination fuels you, and over the next several days, you barely notice time passing as you and your team work tirelessly on improving the product.

And finally, after what feels like endless trial and error, the first batch of prototypes arrives. You stand in the lab, staring at the neatly stacked boxes on the counter. A rush of excitement and nervous energy courses through you. This is it—your hard work materialized into something tangible.

Jane walks in just as you’re inspecting one of the boxes. "Ooooh," she hums, coming up beside you. "Are those the babies?"

You smirk. "Fresh out of production."

She picks up a box, turning it in her hands. "Extra large and extra thin, huh? Impressive."

You chuckle, but you’re already thinking about the next step. The real test. "Now, I just need to find people to try them out."

Jane wiggles her brows at you. "I have a feeling you already have someone in mind."

Your smirk falters slightly. There’s one obvious choice, but after everything… should you?

There's the right way to do it. You could present the data, write up a full report, and talk to Chris about the improvements—but you don’t just want to talk about it. You want to show him. Prove it to him. Directly.

Without hesitation, you make your way to his office, determination set in your stride. You knock on the door and wait until your hear his permission to let yourself in.

When you step inside, Chris is flipping through some documents at his desk. He barely acknowledges you at first, but when he glances up and sees the look on your face, his brows lift slightly in curiosity.

“To what do I owe this surprise visit?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, one arm resting on the desk.

You don’t waste time. “Do you still want to participate in the product tests?”

Chris’s lips twitch into a smirk, intrigue flashing in his eyes. “And why are you asking?”

You hold his gaze, unwavering. “Please just answer. Yes or no.”

That only seems to amuse him more. He tilts his head, his smirk deepening as he stalls on answering. After a moment, he finally says, “Yes.”

You nod, satisfied. You pull out a card of a hotel and place it on his desk. “Meet me at this hotel. Saturday night.”

His brows lift at that, his eyes flicking over you as if trying to decipher your intentions. But before he can ask any questions, you turn on your heel and head for the door.

“See you soon, Mr. Bang,” you say, flashing him a polite, almost teasing smile before walking out.

As the door clicks shut behind you, you don’t look back—but you can practically feel his gaze following you, filled with intrigue and it only motivates you more.

On Friday afternoon, you find yourself standing outside Jane’s lab, hesitating for only a moment before pushing the door open. Jane is hunched over her workbench, her brows furrowed in concentration as she adjusts something under a microscope.

When she hears you step inside, she glances up, blinking in surprise. “Well, well, if it isn’t our overworked researcher gracing me with her presence.” She leans back, crossing her arms. “What brings you here? Need my genius expertise on something?”

You take a deep breath, feeling a little ridiculous but pushing through anyway. “I need your help with something… off the record.”

Her interest piques immediately. “Ooh, now you’ve got my attention. What kind of help?”

You shift on your feet, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “Shopping.”

Jane stares at you for a second before she bursts into laughter. “You, asking me for shopping help? This must be serious.”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Are you going to help or not?”

“Oh, I’m definitely helping. But I need details.” She narrows her eyes mischievously. “Is this for a date? A hot, steamy date?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s for… research purposes.”

Jane snorts. “Right. ‘Research.’” She grabs her coat from the back of her chair. “Come on, let’s get you something that’ll make your ‘research’ partner lose his mind.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the small smile that creeps onto your lips as you follow her out.

In a brightly lit makeup store, you sit on a stool in front of a mirror while Jane enthusiastically swatches different lip colors on the back of her hand. She holds up two tubes, squinting at your face.

"Okay, bold red or soft nude?" she asks, tilting her head in deep contemplation.

You raise an eyebrow. "What exactly are we going for here?"

Jane grins. "Something that screams ‘I’m sexy, but I didn’t even try.’ You know, the effortless but deadly kind of look."

You huff out a laugh as she dabs a soft, peachy shade on your lips, then steps back to admire her work.

“So,” she starts casually, leaning against the counter. “This research… It’s with Han, isn’t it?”

You pause, eyes flickering to her through the mirror. Instead of answering directly, you smirk and say, “Does it matter?”

Jane gasps dramatically. “So it is him.”

You chuckle and reach for the lipstick tube, deciding to apply it yourself. “I never said that.”

“But you also didn’t deny it.” Jane wiggles her brows, clearly enjoying this far too much. “I knew it. You totally went back for round two, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, amused. “You have a very active imagination.”

Jane watches you for a moment, then narrows her eyes. “Wait. Wait.” She suddenly grabs your arm, making you almost smudge your lipstick. “If it’s not Han… then who—”

You quickly shove a lip brush into her hand. “Focus, Jane. I need to look good.”

Jane watches you with a knowing smirk as you finish applying the lipstick, pressing your lips together to even out the color. She folds her arms, still leaning against the counter, clearly enjoying herself far too much.

“Well, whoever it is,” she says teasingly, “I hope your research goes well.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile playing on your lips.

Jane winks. “Good luck, professor. Make sure to take very detailed notes.”

You shake your head, laughing as you grab your bag. “I’ll see you on Monday, Jane.”

As you walk away, you hear her call out, “And I expect a full report on my desk by then!”

The low hum of jazz music fills the hotel bar, blending with the quiet murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. You sit at the counter, one leg crossed over the other, slowly swirling the drink in your hand as you wait. The deep red of your lipstick matches the rich hue of the cocktail, and you take a slow sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol settle in your chest.

You glance at the entrance, scanning the room for any sign of Chris. He’s late—not by much, but enough to make you feel the anticipation build. You check your reflection in the mirror behind the bar, ensuring everything is still perfect. The makeup, the dress, the air of confidence you carefully wrapped around yourself like armor.

And then, as if sensing your impatience, he finally arrives.

Chris steps into the bar, scanning the room until his eyes land on you. His expression shifts—something unreadable flickering across his face before he starts toward you. Even in the dim lighting, he looks effortlessly good, dressed in all black, his shirt fitted just enough to hint at the body underneath. You lift your glass to your lips again, watching him over the rim as he approaches. This time, you’re the one making him wait.

Chris finally reaches you, his presence demanding attention even in the dimly lit bar. He doesn’t sit right away; instead, he stands beside you, his hand resting lightly against the back of your chair as he takes in your appearance. His gaze lingers, sweeping from your legs crossed at the knee to the curve of your lips as you sip your drink.

"You clean up nice," he murmurs, amusement laced in his tone.

You seductively smile, setting your glass down. "I could say the same about you."

Chris finally takes the seat next to you, signaling the bartender for a drink. "So, are we going to pretend this is just another product test, or are you actually going to tell me why you invited me here?"

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. "Can’t I just want to have a drink with my product manager slash test subject?"

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "You don’t do things without a reason." He leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "So, what’s the real reason?"

You hold his gaze, letting the tension settle between you before answering. "I told you I wanted to show you something," you say, tapping your fingers lightly against your glass. "But instead of talking about it, I figured I’d demonstrate."

Chris raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "You mean—"

You nod, finishing the rest of your drink before sliding off your chair. "Room’s already booked," you say casually, picking up your clutch. "If you’re still interested in participating... that is."

He doesn't say anything but takes the seat next to you, gesturing the bartender that he wants the same drink with yours. He is relaxed, one arm draped casually over the back of his chair, his fingers occasionally tapping against the glass in his other hand.

At one point, he swirls his drink, watching the amber liquid before glancing at you with a smirk. "I have to admit," he says, "I’m a little surprised you asked me to test the product instead of… the other guy."

You pause mid-sip, lowering your glass. "The other guy?"

Chris tilts his head slightly. "I saw you with him the other day," he says, his tone light, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes.

You blink, caught off guard. For a moment, you consider playing coy, but instead, you shrug. "And?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No judgment. Just an observation." He leans in slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. "I just figured if you were looking for a test subject, you already had one."

You let out a soft laugh, setting your glass down. "What, jealous?"

Chris raises an eyebrow, lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Should I be?"

You meet his gaze, the challenge lingering between you. "That depends," you murmur, tilting your head. "Are you planning to fail this test?"

Chris huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Not a chance." He lifts his drink in a mock toast. "To scientific integrity, then."

You clink your glass against his, your smirk matching his. "To exceeding expectations."

As you and Chris step into the elevator, more and more people pile in behind you, filling the small space. The warmth of bodies and the low murmur of conversation surround you, but all you can focus on is Chris.

Without a word, he tugs you closer to his side, his hand resting on your lower back, fingers pressing just enough to make you feel his presence. You tilt your head slightly to glance at him, but he's already watching you, his dark eyes filled with wild glints.

Then, he leans in, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. "You look incredible tonight," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine. "I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you since I walked into that bar."

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your purse, heat creeping up your neck. You don't dare turn your head, knowing just how close your lips would be if you did. Instead, you let out a small exhale, keeping your gaze forward. "Good," you whisper back, just loud enough for him to hear over the hum of the elevator. "I dressed up for the occasion."

Chris chuckles under his breath, his fingers pressing just a fraction harder against your back. "Then I better make this worth your while."

The elevator dings as it reaches your floor, and as the doors slide open, Chris guides you out with a firm hand on your waist. The air between you feels heavier now, thick with anticipation. Neither of you say a word as you walk down the hall—but you both know exactly where this night is headed.

Arrived at hotel room 0810, you slide the keycard into the door, and with a soft beep, it unlocks. Pushing it open, you step inside first, Chris following close behind. The moment the door clicks shut, sealing you both in, he speaks.

"You don’t look nervous," he observes, his voice casual yet laced with something deeper, something almost teasing.

You turn to him, raising a brow. "Should I be?"

His lips curling into a small, knowing smile. He doesn't answer—just watches you, his gaze dragging over your face, down to the way your dress hugs your body. The silence between you stretches, thickening, until the tension becomes almost unbearable.

You break it first. "So," you say, crossing your arms, "should we get started? Or do you need some... encouragement?"

Chris exhales a quiet chuckle, stepping closer. "Oh, I think I’ll be just fine," he murmurs, his eyes flickering with amusement and something darker.

The energy shifts. The air feels warmer, heavier. You hold your ground as he closes the distance, your pulse picking up as you realize—this is really happening. He closes the space between you, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against him. His warmth seeps through the fabric of your dress, and you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

He leans in, his lips barely brushing yours, but he doesn’t kiss you—not yet. Instead, he lingers, reveling in the closeness, in the way your breath hitches, in the way your body naturally molds against his. His fingers flex at your waist, as if memorizing the shape of you all over again.

A quiet sigh escapes him. "I missed this," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the admission is something fragile, something real.

And then, finally, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours. It’s soft at first, almost hesitant, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s waited too long for this to rush it. The kiss deepens gradually, his lips moving against yours with a slow, intoxicating rhythm, his hands tightening their hold on you as if grounding himself to the moment.

You place your hands flat on his chest and steering his body toward the bed, he barely has time to react when you suddenly push him, catching him off guard as he stumbles back onto the bed. His hands press into the mattress, propping himself up as he looks up at you with a mix of surprise and intrigue. His tongue swipes over his lower lip, his smirk playful yet laced with anticipation.

You stand there, letting the moment linger, letting his gaze rake over you. The weight of his stare sends a shiver down your spine, the way he looks at you—like he’s already undressing you with his eyes.

Tilting your head to the side, you exhale a slow, teasing breath. “You know what? I’ll give you some encouragement anyway.”

Then, you reach for the zipper of your dress, sliding it down. The fabric loosens, slipping off your shoulders, gliding down your body until it pools around your ankle. You step out of it, standing in nothing but your silky lingerie, the dim hotel lighting casting shadows over your skin.

Chris lets out a quiet curse under his breath, his smirk faltering just a little as his Adam’s apple bobs. He shifts slightly on the bed, his fingers curling into the sheets as he watches you with darkened eyes. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice rougher now. “That’ll do.”

You crawl onto the bed with deliberate slowness, letting the tension thicken between you. Chris stays where he is, watching your every movement with hooded eyes, his fingers crumpling the sheets as if holding himself back. The moment you hover over him, barely touching, you feel the way his chest rises and falls beneath you, his breath deep and steady, though you know he’s anything but calm.

Then, you lower yourself onto him, your body molding against his. A low hum vibrates in his throat when you shift, you intentionally rub your clothed core against the growing hardness beneath his slacks. His hands instinctively find your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin through the silky fabric of your lingerie.

Your lips find his again, slow at first—like savoring a taste you’ve missed. But as he deepens the kiss, his grip tightens, his body responding just as eagerly. You can feel the heat radiating between you, the steady friction sending sparks down your spine.

Chris pulls away just enough to murmur against your lips, his voice thick with amusement and something deeper. “If this is your idea of encouragement, I might need a little more.”

In one swift motion, he suddenly flips you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress as he settles between your legs. The movement knocks the breath from your lungs, leaving you dazed for a second, but then his lips are back on yours, hungry and unrelenting.

His body presses firmly against yours, the heat between you growing unbearable as he moves, rolling his hips into yours in a slow, steady rhythm. Even through the layers of fabric, the friction sends a jolt through your core, and you can’t stop the soft sound that escapes your lips. Chris groans in response, his fingers threading through your hair as he deepens the kiss, swallowing every sound you make.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs against your lips before trailing kisses down your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. His movements never slow, each grind making you more desperate for something more, something deeper.

His hands roam down your sides, exploring, memorizing, teasing. “Tell me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “is this enough encouragement for you, or should I keep going?”

You break the kiss to answer him. “More.”

Chris grins and then he pulls away just enough to kneel between your legs, his hands going to the hem of his shirt before tugging it off in one smooth motion. The bedside lamp casts soft shadows over the sculpted lines of his chest, his toned muscles shifting as he moves. He doesn’t say anything at first—just looks down at you, his gaze dark and intense, waiting.

Then, he takes your hands, guiding them to his chest, letting you feel the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t demand anything—he simply lets you explore, his breath hitching when your fingers trail lower, tracing the ridges of his abs.

His lips curl into a smirk, but he doesn’t give you time to tease him about it. Instead, his hands move to the front of his slacks, undoing them with ease before pushing them down just enough to free his stiffening cock. The sight alone sends a wave of heat through you, but before you can react, he reaches for one of your hands, wrapping your fingers around him.

His sharp inhale is barely audible over the quiet hum of the room. “Now,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick, “do you think I’m encouraged enough, or do you need to convince me a little more?”

Instead of answering, your fingers tighten around his throbbing length as you begin slow, deliberate strokes, watching the way his jaw clenches at the sensation. Chris stays still at first, letting you set the pace, but his breathing grows heavier with each pass of your hand. His eyelids flutter briefly before he focuses on you again, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words come out—just a sharp exhale.

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “Let me encourage you a little more,” you murmur, your thumb teasing the tip, spreading the pre-cum.

His hands fist into the sheets beside your hips, his muscles tensing as he fights the urge to move. “You’re—” He cuts himself off, sucking in a breath when you stroke him just a little faster.

You watch him unravel beneath your touch, the way his brows knit together, the way his hips twitch slightly as he nears his breaking point. Then, just as you feel him getting close, you suddenly stop, pulling your hand away with a smirk.

Chris snaps his eyes open, a mixture of frustration and amusement flashing across his face. He exhales a shaky laugh, licking his lips as he looks at you. “Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?”

He leans down to give you a hard, deep kiss, almost punishing. He groans against your lips as you use all of your strength to roll to the side, shifting your weight and pinning him beneath you. His hands instinctively find your waist, gripping you, but he doesn’t resist—if anything, he looks amused, his eyes flickering with intrigue.

“You're such a tease, you know what?” he murmurs, his lips curving into a smirk as he watches you.

You lean down, brushing your lips over his in a teasing kiss before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “I need to get the condom first,” you say, voice low but firm.

Chris exhales through his nose, his smirk deepening as his hands skim up your sides. “Responsible and a tease,” he muses. “You’re really making me work for this, huh?”

You give him a knowing smile before slipping off him, making your way across the room to retrieve what you need. Behind you, Chris watches your every move, his eyes dark with anticipation.

You end up taking your bag with you as you return to the bed, putting it down on the bedside table before taking a condom and holding it between your fingers. You pause for a moment at the sight before you—Chris, sitting up naked, waiting for you. His toned body is bathed in the dim hotel lighting, his muscles subtly flexing as he leans back on his hands, watching you approach. His eyes are dark with anticipation, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he reaches out to take the condom from you.

But before he can, you pull your hand back slightly. “Let me put it on for you,” you say, your voice smooth, teasing.

Chris raises a brow, his smirk deepening. “Yeah?” he muses, clearly enjoying the idea. “By all means, then.”

You kneel in front of him on the bed, taking your time as you tear the package open, your fingers working deliberately slow just to watch the way his jaw tenses in restraint. You slide the condom out, meeting his gaze as you hold it between your fingers. His breath hitches slightly as you carefully roll it down his length, your touch light, teasing.

Chris watches you the whole time, his eyes flickering between your face and your hands. “You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, voice lower now, “and I might not last long enough to test this properly.”

You smirk, giving him a final slow stroke over the latex before meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. “Then I guess we better get started.”

He pulls you close, his lips crashing into yours with a slow but deep intensity. His hands wander, deft fingers working open your bra and pushing the straps off your shoulders before trailing down to slide your underwear down your hips. He takes his time, enjoying the way your skin feels under his fingertips as he undresses you completely, leaving you bare beneath him.

He kisses you again, softer this time, before shifting lower. His mouth leaves a warm trail down your neck, across your collarbone, and on each of your soft mounds, his lips pressing against every inch of exposed skin. When he reaches your abdomen, he lingers, placing slow, deliberate kisses along your stomach, his warm breath sending a shiver through you.

Your anticipation builds as he inches lower, his lips hovering over the most sensitive part of you, teasing, making you wait. You let out a shaky breath, your body reacting to his touch before he even fully gives in. And then, finally, he presses a soft, lingering kiss where you need him most, drawing a breathy moan from your lips.

Then, slowly, he slides his fingers up your thigh, trailing closer until he finally touches you. His fingertips press on your clit, exploring, testing, before slipping between your folds, his touch both delicate and deliberate.

He watches you closely, his eyes locked onto your face, studying every expression, every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His fingers move with slow precision, pumping in and out of you, pressing and curling just right, gauging your reactions, adjusting to what makes you shudder and sigh. His gaze darkens with satisfaction as he watches you come undone beneath him, utterly absorbed in the way you respond to his touch.

When he deems that you’re drenched enough for what’s next, he slowly withdraws his fingers, his touch lingering just enough to make you whimper at the loss. Holding your gaze, he brings his fingers to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste you. A satisfied hum rumbles in his chest as he licks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours, dark with something almost possessive.

Then, without a word, he shifts, settling himself between your parted legs. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them further as he positions himself, his body warm and solid above you. He takes a slow, measured breath, his fingers gripping your hips, grounding both of you in the moment before he finally moves.

As Chris slowly pushes his cock inside you, he’s careful, his brows furrowed in focus. His hands tighten on your hips, his breath uneven as he inches deeper. But then—he suddenly freezes. His body goes rigid, his fingers twitching against your skin.

A moment passes before he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in what almost looks like disbelief. “Did you…” He swallows, his voice rough. “Did you make the condom thinner?”

You nod, watching the way his throat bobs as he exhales shakily. His gaze flickers downward to where your bodies are joined, and he lets out a deep, guttural groan. “Shit,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “I can feel you—like, really feel you.” His fingers dig into your hips as he lets out another quiet, almost tortured sound. “You feel too good—I need a second.”

A lazy smile tugs at your lips as you brush your fingers through his hair, letting the strands slip between your fingertips. “Take all the time you need,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, groaning lowly against your skin. His breath is hot, his lips brushing against your pulse, and for a moment, he just stays there, like he’s trying to regain control.

Chris lifts his head, his eyes dark and hazy as they search yours. Then, without a word, he leans down and captures your lips in a deep, lingering kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to taste you. His grip on your hips tightens as he begins to move, his first thrust slow, almost experimental, as if he’s still trying to wrap his head around the sensation.

A low curse slips from his lips as he pulls back slightly before pressing in again, his brows furrowing. His gaze flickers downward, to his cock slipping into you, and then back up at you. “Are you sure you put it on?” he asks, his voice rough with disbelief.

You chuckle breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “Positive.”

He groans, shaking his head, his pace gradually increasing. “Fuck, it’s so thin—Oh, I swear it feels like I’m not even wearing one.” His forehead presses against yours for a second, his breath hot against your lips. “I can feel you—every inch of you.” His words are almost a whisper, as if he’s too lost in the sensation to speak any louder.

His hands roam your body as he thrusts into you, his lips brushing over your skin, leaving soft, fleeting kisses. “You feel too good,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pleasure. “Too perfect for me.” His fingers dig into your waist, his movements growing more desperate, more intoxicated by the way your body molds against his. He groans your name, his lips tracing the curve of your jaw before capturing your mouth once more, swallowing the sounds you make as he completely loses himself in you.

The next thing you know, his thrusts become rougher, more desperate, his restraint slipping with every second that passes. His breath is hot against your skin, his body pressed so firmly against yours that there’s no space left between you. His fingers dig into your flesh, his pace relentless, driven purely by the overwhelming sensation of you wrapped around him.

Then, as if catching himself, he slows down just enough to look at you, his brows slightly furrowed. “Am I being too rough?” he asks, his voice husky, laced with concern despite the pleasure clouding his eyes.

Your lips part, but instead of answering immediately, you reach up, fingers threading through his damp hair as you tug him down for a kiss. “It’s nothing I can't handle,” you whisper against his lips, and a slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth before he kisses you again, deeper this time, as if sealing your words into him.

“Too good,” he groans, rolling his hips into you, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. “You feel too damn good—I don’t wanna stop.” His voice is rough, almost desperate, and the way he’s holding you, touching you, fucking you with such intensity—it’s like he’s completely lost in you.

He buries his face into the crook of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your heated skin. His rhythm never falters, the weight of his body grounding you beneath him, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. And in that moment, it feels like nothing else exists except for the way he’s moving inside you.

A deep, shuddering groan falls out of Chris’s parted mouth as his release finally takes over him, his body trembling slightly as he collapses onto you. His weight is warm, solid, his breath still ragged against your skin as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You gently run your fingers through his hair, holding him close as he takes a moment to gather himself, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

Neither of you speak for a moment, the only sound in the room is your steady breathing intertwined. You feel him place a lazy, open-mouthed kiss against your collarbone before he finally shifts, propping himself up just enough to pull away.

Immediately, he reaches down and removes the condom, tying it off with practiced ease before holding it up. Your gaze follows, and you can clearly see his release pooling inside. But what really catches your attention is when your eyes drop back down to him—because, despite everything, he’s still fully hard.

Your brows furrow as you look back up at him. “How…?” you murmur, clearly confused.

Chris follows your gaze, then looks down at himself before letting out a soft chuckle. “Guess I’m not done yet,” he says, flashing you that familiar cocky smirk, though there’s an edge of surprise in his own expression too.

You blink, still processing, before meeting his eyes again. “Is this normal for you?” you ask, suspicious.

He hums, tilting his head as if thinking about it. “Not usually this quick,” he admits, “but maybe…” He leans in, his lips brushing teasingly against yours. “Maybe it’s just you.”

You try not to let his words get to you, you look away as if looking at him will diminish the effect he has on you.

He twirls the tied-off condom between his fingers before casually tossing it into the trash. Then, he looks at you, eyes dark with something mischievous. “You know,” he murmurs, leaning in so close that his lips nearly brush yours, “we should probably run another test.”

A sly smile curls on your lips as you slowly push yourself up, pressing your palms against his chest to guide him back down onto the mattress. His eyes glimmer with intrigue as he lets you take control.

“Sure,” you simply answer, straddling him, the heat between your bodies reigniting. “But only if I get to be on top this time.”

Chris barely hesitates, his hands instinctively finding your waist. “Fair enough,” he murmurs, his voice already thick with anticipation.

You reach over to the nightstand, grabbing another condom from your bag. Holding it up between your fingers, you tilt your head and smirk.

“This isn’t just an extra-large condom,” you tease, tearing the wrapper open. “It’s extra thin, too.”

Chris watches you, his lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with anticipation. His hands rest on your thighs as you take your time rolling the condom down his length, your fingers brushing against him in a way that makes him impatient. Maintaining eye contact, you give him a few slow, teasing strokes, enjoying the way his jaw tenses, the way his hands tighten against your skin.

He exhales sharply when you shift, bracing yourself with your hands on his shoulders before you begin to lower yourself onto him. His grip on your hips tightens as you take him in little by little, the stretch making you shiver.

When he sinks too deep, you gasp softly and pause, catching your breath. Chris immediately holds you closer, one arm wrapping around your back, the other caressing your side. He presses his forehead against yours, his lips grazing against yours in a reassuring kiss. “Take your time,” he murmurs.

You nod, letting yourself adjust, your bodies staying connected, lips brushing, breaths mingling. The moment lingers, heavy with warmth and intimacy, before either of you dares to move again.

A moment later, you begin moving, rolling your hips against him, taking in every sensation as you feel his size inside you. His hands grip your waist, guiding your movements, but you set the pace—slow and deliberate at first, savoring the way he feels inside you.

Chris groans, his fingers pressing into your skin, his head tilting back against the pillow. "You feel too fucking good," he breathes, voice thick with pleasure.

You smile, leaning down to kiss him, your lips brushing his as you pick up the rhythm. Every drag of his cock inside you sends shivers through your body, making you crave more, need more. You let yourself get lost in it, chasing the pleasure without restraint.

Chris grips your hips harder, his breath coming out in short, ragged pants. "You're—" he groans, cutting himself off, his jaw clenching as he tries to hold himself back.

But you don’t slow down. If anything, you move faster, lost in the waves of your own pleasure. You tilt your head back, your hands splaying across his chest as you ride him, feeling your release creeping up on you.

Chris curses under his breath, his muscles tensing beneath you. "You're gonna—ah—make me lose it," he warns, his voice tight. His hands slide up your back, trying to ground himself, trying to keep control.

But you don’t stop. You chase your high, focusing on the fire pooling low in your stomach, on the pleasure building with every movement. You know he’s struggling, you know he’s holding on for you, but right now, you’re selfish. You need this. And Chris—he lets you take what you need.

The sun is shining brightly outside and it's only a little after eight. You sit by the small table near the window, dressed in the hotel’s robe, sipping on your coffee as you scroll through your phone. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries fills the air, a stark contrast to the heat and intensity of last night.

A sleepy groan comes from the bed, followed by the rustling of sheets. Chris shifts, his hair a mess of curls, his bare chest exposed as he blinks against the morning light. His gaze lands on you, and a slow, lazy smile tugs at his lips.

“Morning,” he murmurs, voice still husky from sleep.

You glance up from your phone as you take another sip of coffee. “Morning.”

Chris rubs the sleeps off his eyes before sitting up, squinting at the trays of food on the table. “You ordered breakfast?”

You glance at him and nod toward the food. “Figured you’d need it.”

He chuckles, stretching his arms over his head, muscles flexing as he lets out a satisfied sigh. “You’re not wrong.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, walking toward you with an easy confidence. “You should’ve woken me up.”

You raise a brow, smirking behind your coffee cup. “Thought I’d let you sleep in after all the work you put in.”

Chris huffs a laugh, settling into the chair across from you. His fingers lazily reach for a slice of toast, tearing off a piece as he studies you. “So… do I get a performance review?”

You don't answer but hands him his glass of orange juice. “Better eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

As you both settle into breakfast, the comfortable clinking of utensils and the occasional sip of coffee filling the air, you decide to bring up the real reason you invited him here in the first place.

“So,” you begin, reaching for a piece of fruit, “about last night—”

Chris immediately smirks, his head tilting slightly as he chews on a bite of his croissant. “Oh? You wanna talk about my performance?”

You roll your eyes but quickly cut in before he gets the wrong idea. “The condom performance, Chris.”

He chuckles, setting down his coffee cup. “Right. The condom.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he thinks. “Well, I have to admit, it really is thinner than the previous version. Almost felt like I wasn’t wearing anything at all.”

You nod, pleased with his feedback. “That’s exactly what I was aiming for. And no issues with fit or durability?”

Chris shakes his head. “Nope. Fit was perfect, no slipping, no breaking, and,” he pauses to shoot you a playful grin, “clearly, it held up well despite extensive testing.”

You fight the amused smile threatening to show. “Good to know.”

Chris wipes his mouth with a napkin and adds with a teasing lilt, “Since we’re giving reviews, though, I think I should also mention your performance.”

You hold your hand up, stopping him. “No one wants to hear it.”

“Oh, I insist.” His grin widens as he leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “Exceptional technique, great stamina, responsiveness was off the charts—”

You throw a piece of toast at him, which he dodges with a laugh. “Please, stop.”

He only smirks, taking another sip of coffee. “Just giving honest feedback. Five stars. Highly recommend.”

You shake your head, but you’re unable to hide your small smile as you sip your own coffee.

Chris wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans back in his chair, watching you with a look that’s softer than before. “You know,” he starts, swirling his coffee, “I was right about you.”

You raise a brow, setting your cup down. “Oh? And what exactly were you right about?”

He smirks but there’s something proud in his gaze as he says, “That you can do more.” He nods toward you, his expression sincere. “You didn’t just meet expectations—you exceeded them.”

A warmth spreads through your chest at his words, but you play it cool, leaning back in your chair. “I had to prove a point,” you say, taking another sip of coffee.

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. “That you did. But let’s be honest, you didn’t just do this to prove me wrong.”

You glance at him over your cup, giving him a cryptic smile. “Maybe...”

He rubs his chin and looks at you like he’s trying to figure you out. “Maybe...” he repeats the word with a sly grin blooming on his face.

The weight of his words lingers between you, and for the first time in a while, you feel something settle inside you—a quiet sense of accomplishment, knowing that you really did do more.

Monday morning arrives, and you’re back in the lab, already deep into reviewing your notes when Jane bursts in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She doesn’t even bother with a greeting—just leans against your desk with her arms crossed, looking at you expectantly.

“So,” she begins, dragging out the word. “How did the ‘research’ go?”

You don’t even look up, keeping your focus on your notes. “Good morning to you too, Jane.”

Jane scoffs. “Oh, don’t even try to deflect. You disappeared all weekend, and now you’re back looking suspiciously… accomplished.”

You finally glance up, giving her a flat look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jane gasps dramatically. “So secretive! Which means it must’ve been very successful.” She leans in closer, lowering her voice. “So? Was it Han or Chris?”

You almost choke on nothing. “What?”

Jane grins like a cat who caught a mouse. “You heard me. Did you finish what you started with Han, or was it…?” She trails off, eyes widening when she sees the slight twitch in your expression.

You press your lips together, shaking your head. You refuse to let anything slips out of your mouth but Jane is too smart to not catch it first.

“Oh. My. God.” She claps her hands together. “It was Chris, wasn’t it?”

You blink your eyes one too many times. “I didn’t say that.”

She practically vibrates with excitement. “Okay, tell me everything—was it hot? Was it awkward? Did the prototype work?”

You exhale in defeat, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You realize I’m not going to give you every detail, right?”

Jane groans, flopping into the chair across from you. “Fine, fine. Just… was it worth it?”

A slow smirk plays on your lips as you close your notes. “Let’s just say… the research was successful.”

Jane gasps, pointing at you. “I knew it!” She then leans forward, resting her elbows on your desk, her eyes practically sparkling. "You know, I kind of guessed something was going on between you and Chris," she says, tilting her head. "And now, I'm right."

"I'm not talking about this at work," you state firmly, turning back to your notes.

Jane groans dramatically. "Ugh! Just a little teaser? A tiny detail?" She wiggles her fingers as if trying to pry the information out of you telepathically.

Before she can push further, the door to your lab opens, and Chris steps inside. You immediately straighten in your seat as he walks in, looking calm and composed, though you catch the subtle twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.

"Morning," he greets, his eyes flicking between you and Jane.

Jane wastes no time to greet him back with such enthusiasm. "Good morning, Chris! I was just here to ask someone about her weekend," she says, shooting you a pointed look.

You see Chris suppress a smile as he casually strolls over to your desk. "Is that so?" he muses, his tone neutral but knowing.

Jane raises a brow at both of you before smirking. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "No need. I'm just here to inform that," he says, then turns to you. "I spoke with the board, and they’ve agreed to a meeting with you this Thursday. Be ready for it."

Your eyes widen slightly. "Wait, really?"

Chris nods. "They’re interested in hearing more about your product improvements. Make sure you’re prepared."

You nod, already running through what you need to put together for the meeting. "Got it. Thanks for letting me know."

Jane watches the exchange with narrowed eyes before breaking into a knowing grin. "Hmm. Very professional, you two," she teases.

Chris smirks but says nothing, and you shoot Jane a warning look before she can say anything else. He gives you a small nod, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Good luck," he says simply, his voice laced with quiet confidence.

You meet his gaze, feeling an odd sense of reassurance from his words. "Thank you. I'll be ready."

He lingers for a moment as if he wants to say more, but aware of Jane’s presence so instead, he just gives you a final look before turning and leaving the lab.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, you feel Jane’s eyes burning into you. "You two are so obvious," she finally blurts out, leaning in closer with a knowing grin.

You sigh, gently massaging your temple. "Jane—"

"Fine, fine! I’ll focus on you for now," she says dramatically, throwing her hands up. "Because you, my dear, have an important task ahead of you."

You nod, already feeling the weight of responsibility settle in. "Yeah, I have a lot to prepare before Thursday."

Jane claps her hands together. "And you will succeed this time!" she declares.

You chuckle at her enthusiasm, shaking your head. "You sound more confident than I do."

"Because I am!" she says proudly. "This is your chance to prove yourself, and I know you’re gonna nail it. You’re brilliant, and your work is solid. The board would be stupid not to see that."

Her encouragement makes you smile, and for the first time since Chris mentioned the meeting, you feel a spark of excitement instead of just pressure.

"Thanks, Jane," you say sincerely.

"Anytime," she replies, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "Now, let’s get to work. You’ve got a company to impress!"

Your heart is still racing as you step out of the meeting room, the adrenaline from the meeting pumping through your veins. You exhale sharply, your hands gripping the folder of notes as you replay the last hour in your mind. The back-and-forth discussion, the sharp questions, the skeptical glances—followed by that unmistakable shift in the room when they started to really listen. Your proposal had landed.

The nerves haven’t quite settled yet, but there’s something else bubbling beneath the surface—excitement. Relief. Pride.

As you make your way back to the lab, you take a deep breath, grounding yourself. You did it. Now, all that’s left is to wait for the final decision.

The moment you step into the lab, Jane is already there, perched on your workstation with an eager glint in her eyes. "Well?" she asks, barely giving you time to set your things down. "How did it go? Did they love you? Are we celebrating? Should I start ordering drinks now?"

You exhale, running a hand through your hair. The meeting had been intense—filled with tough questions, skeptical expressions, but also moments where you knew you had them intrigued.

You glance at Jane, who is practically vibrating with anticipation. Instead of answering right away, you take your time removing your blazer and adjusting your sleeves.

"Let me guess," Jane continues, dramatically drumming her fingers on the desk. "They were blown away by your brilliance. Chris was all proud, standing there like ‘See? I told you she’s a genius.’ And now they’re going to mass-produce your condom and name it after you."

You snort, finally sitting down. "Okay, first of all, no to that last part. Second—" You pause for effect. "—they liked it."

Jane lets out a victorious squeal. "I knew it! Oh my God!" She grabs your shoulders and shakes you lightly. "I told you, didn’t I? I told you this was your moment!"

You laugh, the weight on your shoulders finally easing a little. "It’s not finalized yet, but they’re considering it for the next phase."

"Which means it’s basically a yes," she says, grinning. "Ugh, I’m so proud of you."

Something about her enthusiasm makes you realize just how big this is. You really did it. All the work, the long nights, the stress—it’s paying off.

Jane suddenly gasps, pointing a finger at you. "Wait, does this mean you’ll finally let yourself have fun now?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Define fun."

She smirks. "Drinks. Tonight. No excuses."

You shake your head with a smile, but before you can answer, your phone buzzes on the desk. You glance at the screen and see a text from Chris.

Please meet me in my office when you’re free.

Your heart does a weird little flip. Jane notices immediately. "Who’s that?"

You grab your phone, locking the screen. "Work."

Jane narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Uh-huh. Work. Sure."

You stand up, smoothing down your outfit. "I’ll see you later."

As you leave the lab, you can still hear Jane behind you. "Don’t think you’re getting out of drinks tonight!"

You roll your eyes but smile to yourself as you make your way to Chris’s office.

You knock lightly on Chris’s office door before pushing it open. He’s sitting at his desk, reviewing something on his laptop, but as soon as he sees you, a proud smile spreads across his face.

"Well, look who just walked in fresh off a successful meeting," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Congratulations. You did amazing."

You give him a small smile as you step inside. "It’s too early to celebrate. The board still has to finalize everything."

Chris shakes his head. "They’re already sold. Your product is basically approved for production—they’re just waiting for the right time to launch it."

Hearing him say it out loud makes it feel even more real. You exhale, nodding. "That’s… really good to hear."

"You should be proud of yourself."

You glance down, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I appreciate all your help," you say sincerely, meeting his gaze again. "I couldn’t have done this without you."

Chris tilts his head slightly. "I think you could’ve. But I’m glad I could be part of it."

There’s a comfortable pause before you clear your throat. "Uh, actually… my team and I are going for drinks tonight to, you know, de-stress after all this. You’re welcome to join if you want."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused at the way you hesitated before asking. He doesn’t answer right away, and for a second, you worry that maybe it was a bad idea to invite him. But then he sighs, looking genuinely regretful. "I’d love to, but I have a prior engagement tonight."

You nod, masking any hint of disappointment. "No worries. Maybe next time."

Chris’s eyes glint with something unreadable. "Next time, huh?"

You smirk. "Yeah. I’ll buy you a drink to thank you properly."

He chuckles. "I’ll hold you to that."

With that, you turn to leave, but just as you reach the door, Chris calls out, "Hey."

You glance back with one hand on the handle of the door.

"Have fun tonight," he says, his voice softer.

You nod. "I will."

And with that, you step out of his office, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Everyone raises their glasses in celebration. Jane sits beside you, grinning as she clinks her glass against yours.

“To a successful launch and to our genius researcher!” one of your team members cheers, and everyone echoes the sentiment before taking a sip of their drinks.

You smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment settle in. It had been a long, exhausting process, but seeing everyone so proud and excited made it all worth it. As the laughter and chatter continue, you stand up, raising your glass to get everyone’s attention.

“Alright, before we all get too drunk to remember anything,” you begin, earning a round of chuckles from your colleagues, “I just want to take a moment to say thank you. This project was not easy, and we’ve had our fair share of challenges, but we pulled through because of all of you.”

Your team cheers, clinking their glasses together.

“This wouldn’t have been possible without everyone’s hard work and dedication. So, really—thank you. You guys are amazing, and I’m lucky to work with such a great team.”

More cheers erupt, and Jane dramatically wipes an imaginary tear from her eye, making you laugh. “And, since I know you all worked extra hard…” You pause for effect, then grin. “Drinks are on me tonight!”

The bar erupts in cheers, your team raising their glasses in excitement. Someone pats you on the back, and Jane throws an arm around your shoulders.

“Now that’s the best speech I’ve ever heard!” she exclaims, making everyone laugh.

With the energy high and spirits lifted, the night truly begins. It goes on with rounds of drinks and playful banter, but at some point, Jane leans in closer, eyeing you with a knowing smirk.

“You’re not having fun,” she accuses, nudging your arm.

You blink at her, taken aback. “What? I am.”

“No, you’re not,” she insists, swirling her drink. “Everyone else is laughing, making dumb jokes, and you’re just sitting here, sipping your drink like you’re deep in thought.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just tired, Jane. It’s been a long week.”

She hums in amusement before tilting her head. “Or maybe… you’re thinking about Chris.”

You scoff, nearly choking on your drink. “What? Why would I—”

“Oh, please.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t act like I didn’t see you sneaking glances at your phone earlier. Waiting for a text, maybe?”

You exhale, shaking your head. “I was not.”

She nudges you with her elbow, leaning in close. “You should text Chris,” she says with a knowing smirk.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been thinking about him all night?”

You roll your eyes. “I haven’t.”

Jane gives you a deadpan look. “You're getting too good at lying now.”

Sighing, you take a sip of your drink. “Look, the product is going into production soon, which means I’m done with the testing. And that also means…” You hesitate for a second before forcing yourself to say it. “Chris and I have no reason to meet anymore.”

Jane pulls back, frowning. “Wow. That’s… kind of depressing to hear.”

“It’s the truth,” you say, keeping your expression neutral, but Jane isn’t buying it. She suddenly claps her hands together. “Okay, enough of this sad talk. Take a shot with me!”

Before you can protest, she waves down the bartender and orders two shots of tequila. “We are celebrating, remember?”

You sigh but take the shot glass from her. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” Jane clinks her glass against yours, and together, you down the shot, the burn spreading through your chest.

The moment you set the empty glass down, Jane grabs your wrist. “Now, let’s dance!”

“What—Jane, wait—”

“Yes, you're coming with me!” She pulls you toward the dance floor, laughing as she drags you into the crowd. “Come on, have fun with me!”

You sigh but eventually give in, letting yourself move with the music. And slowly, just for tonight, you let yourself forget everything else.

Jane twirls you around, both of you laughing as the music pulses through the air. The bass vibrates under your feet, and for the first time tonight, you’re letting yourself enjoy the moment—until Jane suddenly gasps and grabs your arm.

She stops dancing abruptly, pulling you close. “Oh my God.”

You blink at her, slightly breathless. “What?”

Jane leans in, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, “Chris is here.”

You lean in close to hear her better. “What?”

She subtly nods toward the entrance of the bar, and your body moves on instinct, spinning around on your feet. And there he is.

Chris stands near the entrance, effortlessly catching your gaze, a small smirk playing on his lips. His hands are casually tucked into his pockets, and under the dim lights of the bar, his eyes glint with amusement. Then, as if he knew exactly when you would turn around, he raises a hand and waves.

You don’t know whether to be surprised or flustered, but the way Jane is gripping your arm tells you that she is already freaking out for the both of you.

“Looks like someone changed their plans,” she singsongs in your ear, nudging you toward him. “Go say hi.”

You swallow, exhaling softly. Yeah, you should probably do that. You weave through the crowd, making your way toward Chris. He watches you approach, his smirk never wavering. When you reach him, you tilt your head, crossing your arms.

“Hey, I’m surprised to see you here,” you say over the music.

Chris shrugs, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “My prior engagement finished early.” He glances past you toward your table, where Jane and your team are still celebrating. “Figured I’d come see how your celebration is going.”

You arch a brow. “And here I thought you weren’t one for company outings.”

He chuckles. “I’m not. But you do owe me a drink, remember?”

You roll your eyes but gesture toward your table. “Come on, then.”

As you and Chris settle at the table, an awkward silence briefly lingers between you. Jane, ever the social butterfly, takes it upon herself to fill the void, coming to the table and panting from the dancing

“Well, this is a surprise,” she muses, waving down a server. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight, Chris.”

Chris smiles at her. “Change of plans.”

Jane eyes him knowingly but doesn’t press further. Instead, she orders another round of drinks for the three of you. As she and Chris fall into casual conversation, you find yourself shifting in your seat, feeling the weight of Chris’s occasional glances your way.

“I’m going to the restroom,” you announce, pushing back your chair.

Jane shoots you a quick look, one that says really? but she doesn’t stop you. Chris watches as you leave, and though you don’t turn back, you can still feel his gaze on you.

In the restroom, you take a moment to collect yourself, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You should at least thank him properly, you remind yourself. After all, without him, your product wouldn't have been as successful. You fix your hair and the smudged eye makeup with your finger before taking a deep breath and head back to the table.

You find Chris and Jane laughing over their drinks. The sight of them getting along so well makes you hesitate for a second, but before you can sit, Jane notices you and stands up.

“It's my turn now,” she announces, grabbing her pack of cigarettes from her bag. “Going outside for a smoke. You two behave.” She winks at you before slipping away, leaving you alone with Chris.

The silence that follows is thick, though not necessarily uncomfortable. Chris leans back in his chair, watching you with quiet curiosity. You take your seat and reach for your drink, clearing your throat before speaking.

“I never got the chance to properly thank you,” you swirl your drink absentmindedly, glancing at Chris before finally speaking. "I really mean it, you know," you say, your voice softer than before. "Thank you—for everything."

Chris tilts his head slightly, watching you with a flicker of curiosity. "For testing the product?" he teases, smirking.

You roll your eyes but smile. "Not just that. For believing in me. For pushing me to prove myself when I was starting to doubt. I wanted to do more than just create a product—I wanted to make something better. And without your help, I might not have had the chance to."

Chris listens quietly, his gaze steady. Then, with a small exhale, he reaches for the collar of his shirt and undoes another button, his fingers moving slowly. He shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders as if the room is suddenly too warm.

"You’re giving me too much credit," he says, his voice slightly husky. "You were always going to make this happen. I just… got to be the lucky guy who helped."

You shake your head. "Maybe. But I still appreciate it."

Chris watches you for a moment, his eyes darker under the dim bar lighting. Then, with a lazy smile, he leans in just a little. "You're welcome," he murmurs.

It’s subtle, but the way his voice drops sends a faint shiver through you. Chris exhales and tugs at the collar of his shirt again. "Is it just me, or is it hot in here?"

You quirk a brow, watching him shift in his seat. His usually composed demeanor is slightly off, his body language restless. "Do you want to go outside for some air?" you offer.

He shakes his head. "Nah, I’m fine. Just need a second." He pushes himself up from his seat. "Gonna hit the restroom."

As he walks away, something about his behavior feels… off. Your eyes narrow slightly, the way he loosened his shirt, the way he kept shifting—something clicks in your head.

Just as the realization strikes, Jane returns from her smoke break, brushing ash off her fingers. "He’s gone already?" she asks, looking at Chris’s empty seat.

You turn to her with suspicion. "Jane."

She freezes mid-motion, giving you a dramatic blink. "Yes?"

You lean in, lowering your voice. "Did you—" you gesture vaguely toward the hallway where Chris had disappeared. "Did you do something to him?"

Jane smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "What? Me? I would never."

"Jane," you say more firmly, arms crossing over your chest and narrow your eyes in suspiciously at her.

She tilts her head innocently before finally cracking a grin. "Okay, fine. Maybe I slipped him a little something."

Your stomach drops. "You didn’t—"

"Relax!" she laughs. "It’s just the same aphrodisiac pill I gave you that one time! You survived, didn’t you?"

You groan, running a hand over your face. "Jane, what the hell?! That’s completely different!"

"Yeah, yeah, details," she waves you off, grinning as if this is the funniest thing in the world. "He looked so tense! I thought I’d help him loosen up a bit."

You don’t waste another second arguing with her. Instead, you push away from the table and rush toward the hallway that leads to the restrooms. If that pill is hitting Chris the same way it hit you, you need to warn him—fast.

You find Chris leaning against the wall in the hallway, his head slightly bowed as he breathes in slow, measured breaths. When he hears your footsteps approaching, he looks up, and for a second, you’re taken aback by the way his eyes seem darker, hazier than before.

"Chris," you say carefully, stepping closer. "Are you okay?"

He exhales heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. "I don’t know," he mutters. "I feel… weird." His voice is lower, rougher than usual. His fingers toy with the buttons of his shirt again, like he can’t stand how warm he feels.

You swallow, already feeling guilty. "Chris, listen to me," you begin, watching his expression closely. "Jane gave you something."

He blinks slowly. "Something?"

"An aphrodisiac," you admit, wincing a little.

Chris processes that for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle, though there’s an edge of frustration behind it. "Well, that explains a lot." He leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "I was starting to think it was just you."

Your breath catches in your throat at that, but you shake it off. "Come on," you say, stepping closer. "I’ll take you home."

To your surprise, Chris doesn’t argue. He opens his eyes, looking at you for a long moment before nodding. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Okay."

His easy agreement makes you pause. You expected him to insist he was fine or brush you off. But the way he’s looking at you—like he’s holding himself back, like he knows staying here will only make things worse—tells you everything you need to know.

You gently take his wrist, guiding him away from the hallway. "Let’s get you out of here," you say, keeping your voice steady.

You help Chris into the taxi, making sure he doesn’t stumble as he slides into the seat beside you. As soon as he settles, he tells the driver his address in a low, slightly slurred voice.

The moment the car starts moving, Chris lets out a heavy sigh and slumps against you, his head resting on your shoulder. You tense at the unexpected weight, but before you can say anything, he shifts even closer, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

"Mm," he hums, cutting you off. "You smell good." His voice is muffled, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart skips a beat, and you fight the urge to push him away—not because you don’t like it, but because you do.

"You’re really out of it, huh?" you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady.

Chris doesn’t answer, just lets out a small, contented sigh as he burrows closer. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, his scent—a mix of cologne and something inherently him—making your head spin.

The driver doesn’t seem to care about the scene unfolding in his backseat, but you can feel your face heating up as Chris stays glued to your side for the entire ride. Every few moments, he shifts slightly, his nose brushing your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

You swallow hard and stare out the window, counting the streetlights as they pass, praying you’ll get to his place soon before you do something reckless—like lean into him instead of away.

When the taxi pulls up to Chris’s building, you pay the fare and help him out of the car. He stumbles slightly, and you quickly grab his arm, steadying him.

“Alright, let’s get you inside,” you say, guiding him toward the entrance.

Chris doesn’t argue, just hums in acknowledgment as you lead him through the lobby to the elevator. When the doors slide open, you help him inside, pressing the button for his floor. As soon as the doors close, Chris leans into you again, his arms lazily wrapping around your waist.

“Mmh...” he hums, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “You’re warm.”

You let out a breath, trying to ignore the way his touch sends a strange flutter through your chest. “You’re really affectionate when you’re drunk,” you comment, keeping your voice light.

He chuckles softly against your skin. “Maybe,” he admits, his grip tightening slightly. “But I like holding you.”

You suddenly turn quiet and you’re grateful when the elevator dings, signaling your arrival at his floor.

Chris groans dramatically but lets you guide him out of the elevator, his arm still draped around you as you make your way to his apartment. He fumbles with his keys, and after a few tries, he finally gets the door open. You help him inside, steadying him as he kicks off his shoes.

Just as you’re about to step back and say your goodbyes, his grip tightens around your wrist, keeping you in place. “Stay,” he murmurs, his voice low, laced with something deeper than just intoxication.

You shake your head gently. “Chris, I'd better go—”

But he steps closer, his hands sliding to your waist, his touch warm even through your clothes. “Please, stay,” he coaxes, his voice like a slow pull, dragging you toward him. “Stay with me tonight.”

You hesitate, but before you can come up with another excuse, his lips press against yours. Soft at first, like he’s waiting for you to push him away—but you don’t. You should.

You try to remind yourself that he’s been drinking, that Jane did something completely reckless, but when he deepens the kiss, his fingers splaying against the small of your back, your resolve begins to slip. You press your hands against his chest, intending to push him away—but instead, your fingers curl against the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him.

Chris hums against your lips, sensing your resistance fading. He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring the way your lips move against his. And the more he kisses you, the more you realize… you don’t want to resist him at all.

The heat between you grows as he kisses you harder, his hands firm on your waist as he pulls you flush against him and before you can even process it, he lifts you effortlessly, hoisting you up onto the nearest surface—his dining table. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as your fingers tangle in his hair.

His lips are relentless, moving from your mouth to your jaw, then down to the curve of your neck. You tilt your head back, granting him more access as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your skin, his breath hot against you.

His fingers skim the hem of your blouse before slipping underneath, palms grazing your bare skin. Then, with a smooth motion, he pulls it over your head and tosses it aside. His lips return to you immediately, trailing along your shoulder, pressing heated kisses against every inch of exposed skin.

You sigh at the sensation, your hands gripping his shoulders as he buries his face against your collarbone, his breath uneven, his body pressed firm between your legs. Your hands move to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly as you undo them one by one. But before you can get through them all, Chris huffs impatiently and shrugs the shirt off himself, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.

The moment it’s gone, his lips crash onto yours again, urgent and hungry. His hands grip your waist as he presses himself against you, his hips rolling forward in slow, deliberate movements. Even through the layers of fabric between you, you can feel his cock, hard and insistent, the friction making your breath hitch.

He groans softly against your lips, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers dig into your thighs as he keeps you steady, his movements controlled but desperate. Your hands roam over his bare chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin as you gasp into his mouth.

Chris pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm and ragged. "...Want you so much," he murmurs, his hips still grinding into you with slow, teasing movements, making it clear just how much he wants you.

A moment later, his grip tightens on you as he lifts you from the table with ease, his strong arms holding you close against his bare chest. His lips never stray far, peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck as he carries you through the dimly lit apartment.

When he reaches the bedroom, he carefully lays you down on the bed, his body following yours as he settles on top of you. His weight is comforting, his warmth seeping into your skin as he leans down, capturing your lips in another deep, languid kiss.

His hands roam over your body, caressing, exploring, as his kisses become slower, more indulgent. The heat between you builds with every movement, every press of his body against yours. But just as his hands begin to wander lower, you pull away slightly, breathless.

“Chris,” you murmur, voice soft but firm.

He hums against your lips, eyes dark with need as he gazes down at you.

“The condom,” you remind him, your fingers lightly tracing his jaw. “It’s in my bag.”

He exhales a short, amused laugh and then drops his forehead to your shoulder for a moment, shaking his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “You really came prepared, huh?” he teases, his voice husky.

Your bag in his hand as he returns to bed and his eyes flicker toward you as he steps closer. He doesn’t say anything as he sets the bag down on the bed, fingers expertly rummaging through its contents until he pulls out the box of condoms. With a small smirk, he places it on the bedside table, his movements slow and deliberate. Then, he straightens, standing at the foot of the bed, his gaze locked onto yours as his hands move to the waistband of his pants. His fingers make quick work of the button and zipper before he pushes them down, letting them pool at his feet before stepping out of them. The last remaining piece of fabric soon follows, leaving him bare before you.

You sit up slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you take in the sight of him—his toned body, his firm stance, the way he watches you with dark, expectant eyes. There’s something about the way he stands there, unashamed, that makes your skin heat under his gaze.

Not wanting to be the only one still clothed, you slowly peel off the remaining fabric on your body. Your movements are unhurried, teasing almost, as you slide your underwear down your legs and toss it aside. You see the way Chris’s eyes trace every inch of newly exposed skin, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

For a moment, the two of you simply take each other in, the air between you thick with anticipation. There’s no rush, no urgency—just the quiet hum of desire, crackling like electricity in the space between you.

Chris picks up a condom before crawling over to you, his eyes fixed on yours as he leans in and presses a lingering kiss against your lips. His warmth surrounds you almost immediately.

You take the condom from his hand, meeting his gaze as you offer, “Let me.”

A slow smile tugs at his lips, and he nods, settling himself against the headboard. He shifts, leaning back comfortably, watching as you move onto his lap, your back resting against his chest. His hands skim over your arms, tracing light patterns on your skin as you tear open the packet.

As you roll the condom down his length, your touch is slow, deliberate. You can feel the way his body reacts beneath you, the quiet intake of breath, the way his muscles tense ever so slightly. His hands settle on your waist, fingers pressing gently into your skin as if grounding himself.

Chris gently grabs your chin before turning your face toward him. His lips find yours again, the kiss deep, lingering. His hands glide over your body until they settle on the softness of your breasts, palming them and using his fingers to tease your already erected nipples.

In return, your hand wrapped around his cock, moving in slow, measured strokes, feeling the way Chris tenses beneath you. His breath grows heavier against your skin, his hands tightening on your waist as he watches you through half-lidded eyes. His restraint is evident, the way he lets you take your time, but you can feel the subtle tremor in his grip, the quiet urgency simmering just beneath the surface.

Tilting your hips, you guide his cock into your entrance and once the crest is pushed inside, you ease yourself down onto him, taking him in and taking him in inches more until you can’t take it. Your breath stutters as you adjust to the feeling, your body molding against his as you rest in his lap, fully connected.

A soft gasp leaves your lips, muffled by the way he captures your mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. His hand trails up, cupping your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles. His other hand finds its way between your legs, fingers circling on your clit in a way that makes you shudder. He continues in slow, teasing movements, pressing and circling on your clit, making you instinctively arching into his touch. The sensations are overwhelming, his touch purposeful and knowing, driving you higher with every stroke.

Chris groans at the way you clench around him. "You're so sensitive," he murmurs against your ear, his voice husky with restraint.

Your hands grip onto his forearm, searching for something to ground yourself, but the pleasure only intensifies. You squirm in his lap, your movements making him hiss as he digs his fingers into your skin, holding you still.

"You're making this hard for me," he breathes out with a strained chuckle, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. "You feel too good."

His groans grow louder as he feels the way you pulse and tighten around him, your body reacting so intensely to his touch. His fingers continue their delightful assault, drawing out every shudder, every whimper, until the pleasure overwhelms you completely.

A breathless cry escapes your lips as the tension snaps, your body trembling against his hand. Chris holds you close, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, your neck, as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

The way you squeeze around him has him teetering on the edge, his breathing ragged, his grip tightening on your waist. “Shit,” he mutters, his voice strained. His hands grasp at you, pulling you impossibly closer as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

His lips find your skin, sucking and biting lightly, lost in the sensation as his own climax rushes through him. A deep, low groan rumbles against your throat as he finally lets go, his body shuddering with release.

You turn your head slightly, finding his lips with yours and kissing him deeply. He hums against your mouth, his hands still roaming your body, his touch warm and firm. Your bodies remain tangled in the sheets, heat still lingering between you as your lips move together in slow, lazy kisses. Chris runs his fingers along your bare skin, tracing patterns as if memorizing every inch of you. His kisses deepen, his tongue teasing against yours, and you sigh into his mouth, already feeling the slow burn reigniting between you.

He pulls back slightly, his gaze heavy-lidded and full of something almost reverent as he reaches for a new condom. Sitting up against the headboard, he rolls it on with practiced ease before shifting back between your legs, his hands smoothing over your thighs as he leans down to kiss you again.

This time, he takes his time, positioning himself carefully. His movements are slow, deliberate, as he pushes his cock into you inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. His breath catches, a low groan escaping him as he fills you, enjoying the way your body welcomes him.

"Always perfect for me," he murmurs against your lips, his forehead pressing to yours as he stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to the sensation. His hands find yours, fingers lacing together as he begins to move, each thrust measured, purposeful, as if he wants to make this last as long as possible.

Chris intently watches every flicker of emotion on your face. His hands hold you firmly but gently, grounding you as he sinks deeper into your warmth, pausing when he feels resistance. His breath is heavy, voice low and husky as he murmurs, "Is it okay if I go deeper?"

You nod, your fingers tightening against his shoulders in silent encouragement. "I can take it," you assure him, your voice breathless.

He exhales shakily, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering, "Tell me if it hurts, okay?" Then, with measured control, he pushes his swollen cock another inch into you, groaning at the way your body tightens around him.

"You feel too good," he rasps, his grip on you firm yet careful, his entire body tensed with restraint.

A shuddering moan escapes you as your back arches slightly. The stretch is intense, but the pleasure rolling through you drowns out everything else. "A little more," you whisper.

Chris hesitates, his dark eyes searching yours. "Are you sure?"

You nod, biting your lip, and he swallows hard before easing the rest of himself inside you, slow and deliberate, until there’s nothing left between you. He exhales sharply, looking down where his big cock is fully disappeared in your little cunt, the sight alone making him groan. "It’s all in now," he murmurs, his voice full of awe. His hands stroke your sides soothingly, his lips brushing over your cheek. "You took me so well."

The overwhelming fullness, the heat of his body against yours, the deep pressure—it all builds too fast, too intensely. A wave of pleasure crashes over you before you can even brace yourself, pulling a cry from your lips as your body tightens and trembles around him. It’s too much, too consuming, and the last thing you hear is Chris’s voice calling your name before everything fades into darkness.

✨ The fourth & final chapter of Cocky is available on my Patreon page ✨

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whytheylosttheirminds · 7 months ago

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Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 5 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 3.8k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

Years later, you’d still wonder if Topper did it all on purpose.

When you asked him, he’d just wink and say “bet you’d like to know.”

As your group walked down the dock towards the rental kiosk, Topper pulled out his phone, grinning down at the screen.

“What’s funny?” Carter tried to read over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” he tucked his phone in his pocket quickly, failing to hide the cheeky look in his eyes, zero poker face. “Kelce is coming.”

The guy Carter had haggled with brought your group over to the three jet skis and gave you a demonstration on how to drive them. You weren’t paying very close attention, more focused on the uneven pairing of the five of you and how to ensure you didn’t end up on the same jet ski as Tom. His rudeness this morning was the final nail in the coffin of your crush.

The guy gave Carter three keys, and you met her eyes, knowing she was thinking the same thing.

Topper looked at Carter hopefully, his big puppy dog eyes watching her with anticipation. You felt for him, the two of you really weren’t all that different. Sure, he’d gotten to hook up with Carter plenty of times, his crush not totally unrequited, but she’d never given him what he really wanted. At the end of the day, you were just two people who were really good at loving people who didn’t love you back. Still, you knew in your heart of hearts that Carter did love him back, even if she wouldn’t admit it. Maybe you would never get your dream, but you could make sure that two people you cared about got theirs, and that might be the only thing that made this all worth it.

You planned it out quick, knowing Carter was seconds from asking you to ride with her so you wouldn’t be with Tom, and also knowing that what she really wanted was an afternoon alone with Topper.

“I told Kelce I’d ride with him,” you blurted out.

“Did you?” Carter asked skeptically, trying to figure you out.

“Yeah, I think he’s still worried I’m mad at him,” you made up off the top of your head. “Thought I’d throw him a bone.”

Carter watched you the whole time she boarded the back of Topper’s jet ski, telling him to wait up so they didn’t leave you alone. Tom and Sabrina didn’t seem to care about leaving you, speeding off the second they climbed on their jet ski, Sabrina’s over-the-top shrieks echoing through the air.

“That bother you?” Topper asked when he caught you scowling in their direction.

“Actually, I’m thinking they might be made for each other,” you concluded.

“So you’re not, like, into him?” Topper asked hopefully.

“Not anymore. That ship sailed so quick,” you snorted.

“Ah,” he tried to play it cool, “good to know.”

“Don’t get any fucking ideas,” Carter warned him.

“I didn’t say anything!” He insisted.

“You don’t have to, you have zero poker face,” Carter said. “No Tom does not equal yes Rafe.”

“I’m just saying it’s good to know. Am I not allowed to know things?”

You rolled your eyes at their bickering, less than surprised they were having this conversation right in front of you.

“Y’know, you guys can just take off, I’ll be fine waiting for Kelce,” you offered, desperate to move this conversation about your love life out to sea and away from you.

“Right, Kelce,” Topper nodded. “Kelce is coming.”

“Why are you being so weird?!” Carter squinted at him.

“I’m not! I just wanna go!” Topper revved the engine of the jet ski.

Carter looked at you one more time, checking that you were okay with this.

“Have fun!” You said to reassure her.

That’s all Topper needed to hear, he hit the throttle and pulled away from the dock as fast as he could. Carter’s laughter filled the air, she grabbed him tight and tucked her chin in the crook of his shoulder as he drove. She was happy, so you were happy. Your whole life, that’s really all it took, and you knew she felt the same way about you.

With that lovely thought, you climbed on the jet ski so you’d be ready to go as soon as Kelce arrived.

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Rafe held the keys a little too tight, Kelce struggling to pry them from his hands.

“You gotta take it easy on the clutch, she’s sensitive.”

“I know how to drive, man,” Kelce wriggled the keys from his grip as he climbed into the driver’s seat of Rafe’s truck.

Rafe stalled by the door for a minute, his feet suddenly feeling very heavy. He looked around the marina, scanning for the group. His heart skipped a beat when he found only you, bobbing in the water on your jet ski all alone.

He’d texted Topper a head’s up that he was coming and asked him to let you know. He didn’t want you to think he was in on Topper’s dumbass scheme to get you two together. If he was gonna do this he was gonna do it right, not try to trick you into it.

Now you were waiting for him, looking so gorgeous with your legs on either side of the seat and your hair blowing gently in the wind.

Usually, he didn’t call girls beautiful, typically opting for hot, or sometimes pretty if he was drunk. But the only word for you right now, and always, was beautiful.

“You gonna let me leave, man?” Kelce asked, gesturing to Rafe’s hands, still clutching the handle of the door.

“Yeah, sorry,” Rafe pulled away, wiping his hand against his board shorts when he realized it was clammy, the sight of you making him nervous in a way he had never been before.

“What’s got you so worried? Are you scared of her or something?” Kelce mocked him.

Rafe was surprised that Kelce had actually caught on to who he was looking at, giving him an annoyed eye roll.

“I’m not scared of her,” he defended himself.

“Don’t even worry about it man, I bet she’s still wrapped around your finger.”

Rafe shot Kelce a steely warning look he’d given him a thousand times.

“I’m just saying, you don’t need to worry,” Kelce explained. “You’re the man.”

Kelce was an idiot, and he spent a good ninety percent of their friendship pissing Rafe off, but he always tried to hype Rafe up. Usually he was annoyed by it, but right now, he actually needed it.

You used to talk about him that way, too. Oh, the money he would pay for you to see him in a good light again. He’d swim across this entire bay just to hear one kind word about him coming from your lips.

“Nah, I’m really not,” he shook his head slightly, looking back toward you. “But I think with her I could be.”

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The audacity, the fucking nerve of him to come strolling down the dock looking that good. The sun actually broke through the crowds at his arrival, like he’d bribed the gods. He strolled towards you so casually, his grin easy, like he didn’t know he was the most attractive man you’d ever seen in real life. It pissed you off.

“What are you doing here?” You snapped at him when he reached you.

His grin faltered, like he was the one surprised to see you.

“Didn’t Topper tell you I was coming?” He asked.

“No, of course he didn’t,” you said, finally understanding the reason for Topper’s strangeness earlier.

“I asked him to,” Rafe swore. “I didn’t want to make you think I was trying to-”

“I think I’m just gonna go alone,” you cut him off, turning the key in the engine of the jet ski, desperate to put an ocean between you and him before he said another considerate thing that he’d just undo later. “You can rent your own.”

“No can do,” said the owner, arriving to hand Rafe a lifejacket. “This is our last one. You better take your boyfriend with you, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes at the situation and the misogynistic comment.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you mumbled.

Rafe felt the correction was unnecessary, but you didn’t seem to be in the mood for constructive feedback at the moment.

“Is it cool if I, uh, can I come with you?” He wasn’t walking back down this dock without trying.

“Fine,” you agreed reluctantly. “But I’m driving.”

“Good with me,” he climbed on quickly before you could change your mind.

With a kick that sent you both lurching forward, the jet ski roared as you tightened your hand on the throttle. Instinctually, Rafe’s hands landed on your side, holding you both in place. You only had a second to feel the pads of his fingers clinging to the soft skin of your waist before he pulled them away.

“Shit, sorry,” he said.

The guy on the dock leaned forward to push the jet ski from the dock, redirecting you out toward the bay.

“No, actually you should hold on,” he instructed. “These babies go fast and it’s a little choppy out there today. Take it real easy out of the marina and then you can kick it up when you’re in open water.”

You could feel Rafe’s hands twitch with hesitancy before they rested on your sides again, so lightly you wondered if he was actually touching you at all.

With a push, you drifted out to sea, slowly picking up speed with the turn of the throttle.

“Do you want me to let go?” He asked, leaning in so you could hear him over the roar of the motor.

Somehow, you thought two completely conflicting thoughts at the exact same time:

Yes, now.

and

No, never.

You settled on, “whatever.”

Rafe started to let go, but the jet ski hit the wake of a nearby boat, and you both nearly flew off the seat. His grip tightened protectively, practically pinning your body down. With his strong hands on you so firmly, it felt like you could hit a tidal wave and he’d still have you in his grasp. You needed more of whatever that was.

Your laughter filled the salty air as you purposefully drove you and Rafe over the choppiest patches of the water, hair whipping behind you into his face, and he didn’t even care. He watched you in the side view mirror on the front of the jet ski, memorizing every inch of your smile like he’d never see it again.

“Jesus, are you trying to kill us?” He teased, yelling over the woosh of the wind.

“It’d be a fun way to go!” You yelled back, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

Rafe’s hands still on your waist, you felt him lean in slightly. Even with two lifejackets between you, the proximity of your bodies was electrifying. You could feel his strong thighs on either side of your hips, closing you in everytime you hit a bump, securing you in place. You wondered if he was doing it on purpose or if it was just his instinct, you didn’t know which was hotter.

The water rushed behind you, a foamy wake marking your path as you continued driving as fast as you could. The others must’ve gone a different way out of the marina, because they were nowhere in sight. The sky was darkening slightly, the shift in weather causing most boats to drive the opposite way, back to the docks. But you just kept going, and Rafe didn’t tell you to turn around, both drunk on the adrenaline of the speed and the feeling of each other’s skin.

After a particularly jostling bump, the engine sputtered slightly.

“Fuck, what was that?” You puzzled, turning the throttle harder but gaining no speed.

“Here, you gotta twist it like this,” Rafe’s arms wrapped around you, his hands covering yours as he guided you to turn the throttle in the exact way you just were.

“That’s exactly what I was doing,” you bickered. “It’s not working.”

“Maybe I should drive?”

“It’s not my driving, something’s wrong with the jet ski,” you argued, swatting his hands away.

“Can you just let me try?” He argued back.

“No, you’re making it worse!”

The engine continued to sputter until it cut completely, causing both your bodies to lunge forward as it came to an abrupt halt.

“Rafe what did you do?” You accused him.

“What did I do? You wouldn’t even let me touch it!” He snapped.

You turned the key in the ignition over and over. The jet ski growled a few times but never started back up. Eventually, you gave up with a frustrated huff.

“I think we’re out of gas,” you conceded.

“Well, did you ask the guy if it was filled before you left?” Rafe questioned.

“Oh, so now this is my fault?” You craned your neck to see him, anger in your eyes.

“No, that’s not-”

“I’m so tired of this, Rafe.”

“We’ve only been out here for like a minute.”

“No, not this,” you motioned toward the water, “this,” you motioned between you and him.

“Oh. Me?” He tried and failed to hide his hurt feelings.

“Not you, just, all this back and forth. One second we’re having a good time and the next you’re pulling away or snapping at me. I have fucking whiplash.”

“Are you sure it’s not just from the jet ski?” He attempted a joke, it only half worked.

“How are we gonna get back?” You redirected the conversation before he could see you were smirking.

“A boat will come by,” he said confidently. “We’ll be fine.”

No boats came by in the following minute, or the following five. You sat in tense silence, your previous words still hanging between you. Your head hurt from the wind and trying to figure this man out.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost inaudible. “I know I’m…difficult.”

You turned your neck, not quite far enough to see him, but enough to let him know you were listening, that he should go on.

“I don’t know how to act around you,” he admitted. “One second I feel like I’ve fucked it up so bad that there’s not even a point in trying to fix it and the next…”

This time, you do turn, twisting your torso so you could look him intently in the eyes, imploring him to say something right for once, begging him not to let you fall off this cliff alone again.

“…you look at me like that,” he almost whispered. “And then I think fuck it, I’d try forever if you let me.”

For the first time ever, he was with you on the way down, finally jumping together.

“Can I?” He asked, voice low.

“Can you what?” you blinked at him slowly, the moment so surreal you worried it wasn’t happening, that you’d wake up in Carter’s bed, all of this day just one long fever dream.

“Fix things…with you?”

“I don’t know.”

It was the most honest answer you could give him.

“Can I try?” His voice broke slightly when he said it, and you could feel the vulnerability leaking through the cracks.

“Yeah,” you gave in.

“I miss you,” he breathed, and your heart felt heavy with longing and resentment at the same time.

“I don’t think you ever really knew me, Rafe,” you said, turning to face forward again, sad eyes scanning the horizon. “You never paid close enough attention.”

He thought over your words, and you could feel that there was something brewing in his mind, a decision he was making. When he finally spoke again, it wasn’t the words you expected.

“What’s your favorite color?”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face as you said, “huh?”

“Just tell me,” he smiled back, even though you weren’t looking, you could hear it in his voice.

You answered him, and he followed that question up with another, and another, and they kept rolling off his tongue and you kept answering, until the strangeness of it faded and the two of you were just talking.

For over an hour, you drifted, leaning forward on the handlebars with your back to him as Rafe asked you questions and listened intently to your long, detailed answers. You were hesitant, just at first. No one had ever let you talk this long without interrupting you. No one had ever wanted so badly to hear what you had to say. He nodded along to everything, responding with thoughtful mhms and carefully worded follow up questions.

After a while, you forgot about the surrealness of it all, where you were, who you were with. It was just you and your old friend, sharing your lives with each other.

I could do this for a long time, you thought, like maybe forever.

Everytime you thought he must be bored by now, he just kept asking, hanging on every word like he was collecting them for some secret project.

“What do you want to do after you graduate?” and “Who’s your closest friend?” and “Are you still into that one band?” and eventually, when he was running low on ideas, “what’s the last movie you saw?”

You laughed.

“What?” He asked with a timidness that squeezed your heart.

“The last movie I saw was the last movie you saw,” you reminded him.

“Oh, right,” he chuckled, but there was an edge to it.

“It’s a good movie, though,” you leaned back toward him a little, trying to pull him from whatever thoughts were causing his spirit to fall. “My favorite.”

He nodded, “Tom did a nice job putting together that little shindig.”

“I guess so,” you said, not sure how to proceed.

“You know he plays football for U of F?” He said. “Or did I guess, before he graduated.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, he was All American,” he nodded. You’d give all the money you had for one glimpse of what was going on in his head.

“He’s an impressive guy,” he admitted. “I can see why you’d end up in his room.”

“Rafe, oh my god,” you huffed, standing suddenly. Your body rose above him, his eyes tracking every movement. You swung your leg over the seat, flipping around so you were facing him, sitting back down so you could look him in the eyes when you said, “I didn’t sleep in Tom’s room.”

“Oh.”

It was all he could muster up, his throat going dry from both the embarrassment he felt for being wrong and the sudden proximity of your bodies. He willed himself not to let his eyes travel down to the way your lifejacket was pushing your chest together, or the soft skin of your bare thighs, now spread open in front of him as you straddled the seat. He kept his eyes on yours, the most respectful option, though it didn’t help his speechlessness. The uninterrupted contact with your beautiful irises nearly put him over the edge. He almost hoped no boats would come by after all so he could look into your eyes for hours.

“Is that why you got up and left last night?” You questioned, not missing the way his eyes were trained intensely on yours.

“The floor was uncomfortable,” he mumbled.

“The floor,” you nodded, “the floor was uncomfortable. Got it.”

“You're mad at me again,” he surmised.

“When was I ever not mad at you?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged sarcastically, “somewhere between the movie and your panties hitting the floor.”

You wanted to slap him. And kiss him. He could tell, teasing you with a sideways smirk. You tried to channel the newfound confidence you’d had last night, addicted to the taste of power.

You leaned forward, hands on the leather seat between you, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

“Did you like that?”

“You know I did.”

He responded so fast and his voice was so low you couldn’t tell if he was pissed off or turned on. Either way, he wasn’t fucking around anymore.

“Then why didn’t you stay?”

It felt like that one question held so many questions, and based on the look on his face, you knew he could hear it too. You weren’t just asking about last night, you weren’t just asking why he went to sleep on the couch. You were asking about years of him coming up short, why he’d failed you so many times, why he never, ever seemed to pick you.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to.”

As he said it, the wind kicked up, and the jet ski began to rock even harder as waves rose and fell beneath you. One particularly choppy wave had you tilting a little too far off the seat, and Rafe’s hands landed on your waist again. This time, there was nothing hesitant about it. When you didn’t push him away, his thumb brushed an experimental circle into your skin.

“Do you want me to let go?”

In lieu of answering, your hands came to rest over his. He assumed you were gonna pull them off of you, and for a moment you thought you might too, but then his words echoed in your mind: he didn’t know you wanted him to.

You could do this. You could lean into it and just let it happen. You were supposed to fight it, make him grovel more, make him pay you back for the years you’d waited. It’s what everyone expected. You were only a few hundred yards off shore, but the rest of the world felt lightyears away, and out here, there was nothing stopping you letting him touch you, kiss you, have you. You could just let it happen, and no one would have to know.

But before you could decide if you wanted to, a deep rumble of thunder broke out across the sky.

“Shit,” you jumped.

“We gotta get out of here,” Rafe looked up at the darkening sky nervously.

“But how?”

“How well can you swim?”

That’s how Rafe ended up in the water, gripping the back of the jet ski as the waves rocked it harshly, water splashing up and landing on your feet. You tightened your lifejacket, feeling apprehensive about the whole thing.

“I can just push us if you want to stay on,” Rafe offered.

“No, it’ll go faster if it’s both of us.”

You stepped to the edge, hesitating, wanting to rip the bandaid and just jump in but not wanting to jump too far off and get separated. Your indecision cost you, your foot slipped and you dropped into the water, your leg scraping against the edge of the jet ski as you fell.

Blinded by pain, you reached for Rafe as your head slipped under the surface, but your hands came up empty.

(Chapter 6: part one)

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a/n: please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

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ladystoneboobs · 9 months ago

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so, one aspect of catelyn which i think is underrated (certainly the biggest adaptation loss which nobody talks about) is her, let's say superstitiousness, or better yet, let's call it genre-savviness, being one of the few adult characters open to magic and the supernatural in this fantasy world. we first meet her in the godswood, home of gods which are not truly hers, yet she is still very aware of their power. when she and ned talk of the deserter he killed, he hopes he won't have to go with the nw to deal with mance rayder, but she has even more fear of that idea bc there are worse things beyond the wall than just wildlings. ned scoffs and says she's been listening to old nan too much, but she's right. we already know from the prologue that she's right! and here she is, understanding the genre of their world better than her husband, who was actually born and spent his earliest years in this northern land of deep magic, listening to old nan's stories. same with the direwolves, where she was uncomfortable with them at first, but later believed in them as guardians from the old gods even after robb had lost his own faith. and once again, we know she's right even if she doesn't know the evidence to back up her instincts, bc summer and shaggydog did not fail bran and rickon and robb was almost certainly a warg like his brothers. (perhaps making it more fitting that she's the one brought back as a fantasy vengeance monster, not ned and robb, the most unbelieving dead starks.) and in her 2nd agot chapter, everyone focuses on her ambition in wanting ned to agree to the hand job (pun intended) and sansa's betrothal, and while she does recognize the value of their daughter being a future queen more than ned does, that's only her stated argument bc she thinks it's rational enough for ned to listen to. (if ambitious matchmaking were as important to her as to her father she never would have made those frey betrothals fandom loves to blame her for.) in her own head there's a deeper urge driving her. she keeps thinking of the dead direwolf with antlers in its throat, an omen which filled her with dread from the first she heard of it, before robert's arrival, and thinking of it again is what makes her desperate to convince ned not to refuse robert. she had to make him see. and really, she's not wrong, as jon snow would say. the dead direwolf was an omen of ned and robert getting each other killed. it's just one of those misread portents, with no way of knowing the danger to ned was in his loyalty to robert, not conflict with him. BUT the next time she's dealing with baratheons, she knows exactly what she's talking about. it's catelyn, not brienne, who sees the shadow slaying renly, and explains that it was stannis who did that through some dark magic. with no way of knowing how it was achieved and no prior expectation that such a thing were ever possible, she realizes with no hestitation that stannis was guilty and that his red witch was capable of pulling this off somehow. really, the only instinct of the supernatural she's wholly wrong about is her insistence that varys gathered his knowledge through some dark enchantment. however, though that might offend varys, given his own personal experience with a sorcerer, i'd say it's a reasonable assumption without knowing the dude had children moving through walls everywhere like oversized rodents. and imo it just shows she had a healthy respect and awe for varys's power which most other characters lack.

oh, oh, and let's not forget that she also believed in the curse of harrenhal, from her own childhood and the stories old nan told her kids. "and every house that held Harrenhal since had come to misfortune. Strong it might be, but it was a dark place, and cursed. 'I would not have Robb fight a battle in the shadow of that keep,' Catelyn admitted." sure, that wasn't enough to save robb, but he did not die from the curse of harrenhal. that doom was meant for his enemies from tywin lannister to roose bolton.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #catelyn stark #catelyn tully #this why i can't w talking abt how much better the northerners are for their supernatural setting #when w the exception of the crannogmen most of them understand their setting less than their southron 7-following lady of wf #people of the riverlands can follow useless gods and still not lose their belief in magic #and people who think it would have been cooler if robbwind or even ned took lsh's place are not just missing the point bc grrm #focused on catelyn as pov for a reason but bc thematically all the gods knew who was actually open to their power #everyone else was only interested in that stupid outline for starkcest shipping but i was most intrigued by cat going beyond the wall #happy tully tuesday!#(c)lsb

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yinyuedijun · 22 days ago

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TRUST FALL | asakura shin x f!reader

Shin is a painfully vanilla guy but tries his best to let you live out your kinky fantasies. You have a breakdown when you try to indulge his very normal one. (Or: 3 times Shin humoured your kinks + 1 time you humoured his.)

11.5k words, sequel to situationship. nsft tags: fingering with the power glove, free use, somnophilia, domesticity kink + breeding kink. all sex is consensual (sometimes veers into cnc territory, shin relies on esp to obtain consent), none of it is rough or mean. toward the end of the fic, the narrative focuses on anxieties and/or desires about starting a family. chapter 203 spoilers. dividers by @/cafekitsune!

IMPORTANT: the reader is hypersexual due to off-screen sexual trauma, which is not explicitly described, but is discussed. there is also one non-graphic nightmare related to this trauma that turns into a horny dream about shin (lol). 20% of this fic is a psychosexually strange healing narrative, 80% of it is just silly porn.

Sometimes, Shin is glad that he can hear all your thoughts.

Mind you, it's not like he doesn't want to give you some privacy. God knows he's tried a million times to tune out your internal monologue the way he can normally do with other people, and god knows you’ve tried your hardest to imitate the cognitive trick that Nagumo does to keep his mind hidden away from Shin. The reality is, though, that your feelings always overpower any psychological barrier that the two of you attempt to create. Your thoughts are always too loud for him to ignore, usually because you're either too happy or too horny around him to keep them quiet. Apparently Shin has that effect on you.

But often he doesn't mind it. It’s sometimes even convenient. Helpful for all the stuff that you want to do in bed, for example.

Now, Shin’s known from Day 1 that you're kind of a freak. He’s seen enough of your psyche to understand the exact nature of your sexual fantasies, and on the day that you became an official couple, he went home and googled how you're supposed to have safe, sane, and consensual sex with a person who dreams of doing the exact opposite of that. Although Shin is himself a strictly vanilla guy, and the two of you were already having perfectly nasty vanilla sex that was satisfying you—he likes you a lot. He wants to treat you right, give you nice things. This includes everything from flowers to chocolates to exciting orgasms for the rest of your life, even if it means he’ll need to get a little freaky about it.

Shin’s since ended up learning a lot about BDSM, and he’s also ended up trying a lot of basic BDSM practices that don't really work on you. You are shockingly bad at enforcing your boundaries. You always get too horny to remember your safeword (Resident Evil—you chose it yourself), find it too much work to use nonverbal cues, and you dry up whenever he tries to use the traffic light system.

“It doesn't matter,” you once whined at him, “it’s not like I’d ever not wanna have sex! You can do whatever you want to me.” Which was an insane thing to say, and exactly why Shin feels like you should know how to use a safeword. But when he tried to explain this to you, you’d crawled into his lap and begged him to fuck you anyway. His dick got so hard that he could only say yes, though he first made you understand that it would be regular sex, not the stuckage roleplay you'd been asking him to try.

Regular sex. You're only supposed to be having regular sex.

There is no reason why you should be in tears right now, desperately trying to stop yourself from cumming on Shin’s fingers—and all over his power glove.

This is mostly your fault. Mostly. Ever since seeing Shin nearly kill someone using the thing, you've fantasised about him having it on in bed. Specifically, you’ve fantasised about him wearing it while his fingers are knuckle-deep in your dripping pussy. Shin wasn't ever planning on humouring those daydreams, but, well. He likes you a lot. He wants to give you nice things. If you want to have a mind-blowing orgasm while you're grinding your clit against the power glove, he'll let you—on the condition that you don't ruin it.

You've been having a lot of difficulty fulfilling this condition.

You're breathless, broken. Face tight from the effort of holding back your orgasm for so long. You’ve cum nearly twice now, and only didn't because Shin decided not to force it. Not yet, anyway. He admits he's being a little mean: every time he curls his fingers and rubs your sweet spot, he feels your cunt drip for him and he can’t help but do it more. The tears pearling up at the corners of your eyes and the way you're trying to squirm away from his hand would ordinarily make him stop—even make him worry—but then he hears you thinking, right there, right there, feels so good Shin you make me feel so good do that again, and then of course he has to comply.

“Shin,” you whimper, “I’ll cum if you don't stop that.”

You try to pull away again, hips jerking back from his touch, but your pussy is begging for him—tight and wet and greedy for more. His fingers are soaked, as is the black steel encasing his palm. Part of Shin feels like the glove has already been ruined; the rest of him is too horny to care. Completely unrepentant, his thumb rubs gentle circles into your clit, and he feels his cock throb at the noise you make.

“Shin,” you whine, “don't.”

He glances up at you. “You want me to stop using my fingers?”

No. You bite your lip. Pretend to look distressed. “I… I’ll make a mess if you don't.”

“I'll slow down,” he promises, and when he eases the pressure on your g-spot, your inner disappointment is so loud that he knows what he should do next.

When Shin lowers his face between your legs and pushes your thighs open with his free hand, you squeal.

“Shin!”

“What? I’m not using my fingers. Should be fine, right?” He doesn't need to wait for a response—he already knows what you're thinking—so he leans down and puts his mouth on you the way he's been wanting the whole night.

You whine when you feel his tongue on your clit. Clench immediately around his fingers—more Shin please I want more please touch me the way I like, you know where—so he curls them again, and the way you cry makes him want nothing more than to get on top of you and fuck you properly.

But that's not how you want to cum. You don't want to cum on his cock; you want to finish on his fingers, soak the sheets, and probably ruin Natsuki’s day with a repair call. So Shin closes his eyes and starts sucking at your clit, and he’s relentless about it—even though you try to push him away, even though you start keening and telling him to slow down, even when you’re panting hard and pleading with him to give you a break. “Shin,” you say, voice breaking, “Shin, no, I can't, please, I'll—I’ll cum, you gotta stop, no no no, I can't, I can't—”

You sob. Fully cry as your back arches, and Shin groans as you gush all over his fingers. Can’t help but watch as you fall apart for him, the way you’ve been wanting the whole time. He admits that it was hot seeing you cum despite the fact that you were begging not to, knowing that he was the one to make you lose control. Still, Shin is a vanilla guy; as soon as you've calmed down, he's wiping away your tears and studying you carefully.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Was that alright? I was reading your mind the whole time and did whatever you were saying to me, but I was still a little worried that—”

You throw your arms around him and shut him up with a kiss.

Once Shin gives up on the use of safewords and starts relying on his clairvoyance, the free use thing also becomes a lot easier.

Now, it isn't like you aren't beaming into Shin’s mind—whether at the store, in your home, or even on the train—that you want him to fuck you at all times. It isn't like he's happily obliging whenever he's over at your place, as many times as his dick will allow. But he likes to ask first, and he likes to hear you say yes first. Unfortunately, you have the specific fantasy that Shin doesn't care what you want—you just want him to manhandle you and pull you onto his cock whenever he feels like it. Also, it's apparently very important that he takes you by surprise, and that he keeps going even if you complain about it?

Shin truly doesn't get it. He's not opposed to having frequent sex. He likes you a lot, wants to give you nice things. You want his cock inside you at all hours of the day? Sure, he’ll give it to you. But why do you want him to be so rude about it? Whatever happened to saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’?!

So anyway, he does it.

It’s hard catching you by surprise. His ESP tells him that you do want—and now expect—to be fucked nearly every moment of every day. You want it in the morning, when you wake up in bed and heat starts curling in your belly at the sight of him next to you. You want it when you're in the kitchen, trying to focus on making dinner while you squeeze your thighs together and try to relieve some of the heat between your legs. You want it as you clean the windows, your panties soaked and thighs messy with slick, thinking of the way Shin fucked you against the glass just the day before.

Want you inside me, Shin, you think nearly all the time. Want you to use me. Please?

This is how you find yourself leaning against the kitchen counter, all the dishes in the sink forgotten as your pussy squeezes around his dick. How you find yourself warming his cock as the two of you watch TV, your focus on the screen wavering as his fingers circle your bud. How he ends up interrupting you when you’re trying to read, pulling down your top so he can squeeze your breasts and tease your nipples through your bra. Stress relief, he calls it, which is true. There are fewer things that take his mind off his ex-assassin troubles than playing with your tits as you squirm on his lap, listening to you squeal and whine as you try to read. Sometimes he can get you to cum that way, too—just by licking and pinching your nipples and letting you grind yourself on his thigh.

It takes him a long time to actually get you off-guard, though.

He finally manages it when he comes home after a late shift in the store, wound up from nearly (but not actually!) killing two hitmen. It wasn't the violence that had bothered him, really; it was the fact that those pricks had knocked over an entire shelf in the store in the process of attempting murder. Couldn't they have attacked Mr. Sakamoto outside?! It took fucking forever to clean up and restock all those cooking wines and soy sauces. Assholes.

To his significant shame, Shin spent his entire commute afterward thinking of coming home and seeing you. Not to kiss you and cuddle with you, which was the sort of thing he wanted to do at the start of the relationship—but to pull you onto his lap and hear the cute noises you make whenever he plays with your body. Apparently that's now his stress response after several weeks of your free use policy, which makes him want to die a little bit. But as this been your explicit goal, he also decides not to fault himself for it too much.

By the time he's stepping into your apartment, he's already hard and thinking about which positions he’ll fuck you in.

In a miraculous twist of fate, Shin catches you while you're folding laundry and thinking about the news, rather than the way his dick felt inside you last night. He knows then that this is his moment: the stars have aligned, and he can finally fulfill your favourite fantasy.

“Shin,” you say, face lighting up. “Welcome home! I didn't hear you come in.”

When he kisses you, you beam at him in a way that's so pretty and innocent that it makes his cock twitch and has him feeling bad about what he's about to do. The two of you could have a wholesome night in for once. You're in the mood for it. He can tell from the way you’re chattering at him about your day off with Lu, and how you’re thinking about maybe doing a trip to Hakone with him because of a travel ad you saw on the subway. I've only ever been once on a mission… it would be nice to go as a couple next time. I wanna go to a ryokan with Shin…

Shin would definitely enjoy a couple’s trip with you. Not just to Hakone, but everywhere else in the world too. Maybe it can be an annual thing, something to do for anniversaries. (Though it's not like he’s thought of destinations for your next five anniversaries or anything. Nope. Not at all.)

Ordinarily he'd start trip planning with you on the spot, but this is an unprecedented opportunity, and his dick is throbbing from the sweet way you keep looking at him. You're in the middle of talking about plans for the rest of the evening, still folding laundry, when Shin's hands slip beneath the hem of your t-shirt.

He feels like a creep doing it. It's rude, right? It's so rude. You were thinking just now about making some popcorn and cuddling up to him and watching John Wick tonight. You weren't expecting to feel his palms sliding up your sides and cupping your breasts. Or for him to start kneading them.

But after a moment of shock, Shin hears a mental cheer from you that’s so loud that it nearly has him laughing.

Of course, you don't voice your enthusiasm. “Shin,” you whine instead, squirming as his fingers start circling your nipples, “I'm—ah—trying to get these chores done.”

“I’m sure they can wait,” he says, pulling you backwards. His cock presses against your ass and your thrill is palpable in his neurons. “This’ll be quick. I promise.”

You don't give in immediately. You chide him a little, then make a half-hearted attempt at continuing at your task. Your hands shake as you pick a shirt out of the basket and start folding it, all while you're being groped and teased and rutted against like a toy. You’re opening a drawer when Shin’s hand wanders between your thighs and he runs his fingers along your shorts. They're thin enough for you to feel his touch through the fabric, and you shudder when he starts rubbing your pussy through them—with a precision that has you melting, because he can hear it when you think about how good it feels when he touches your clit like that, especially while he's ignoring your complaints about it. Who knew you had it in you, Shin? you giggle internally. (Definitely not him, he wants to reply.)

He slides a hand into your shorts, and that's when you drop the laundry and give up.

Shin finds himself fucking you for the better part of the night, first from behind, then from beneath you. The sight of you bouncing on his cock drives him so crazy that he has you pinned underneath him not too long later, moaning and drooling as he drives you into the mattress. He only stops when you start thinking that you're starting to feel too sore. (You can keep going anyway, Shin, you tell him, but he knows he wouldn't be able: it kills his boner whenever you're in any kind of pain.)

But even if you’re a bit uncomfortable, you're practically glowing by the time he's finished.

“That was so fun,” you say as you kiss him. “You should do that more often.”

Shin snorts. “I don't think we can have sex any more than we already do without my dick falling off.” He gives you a curious look, suddenly worried. “Is this really not enough for you, though? ‘cause I can do other things if you want. Use my mouth, or toys, or whatever…”

You seem confused. “Well, it's not really about how many rounds we go…”

He blinks. “It's not?”

“No.”

“Then what is it about?”

You tilt your head. “Haven’t I said it? I mean, I've definitely thought it. It’s about being treated like a ho—”

“I know,” Shin interrupts, deadpan, and you giggle. But then he's studying you intensely; if he wants to give you exciting orgasms for the rest of your life, he'll need to understand what makes you tick.

“What’s the appeal of, uh… being treated that way? If it's not just about how many times we do it in a day?”

Shin encounters one of the major limitations of ESP: if you can't form a coherent thought, then Shin can’t read it. He can only see the knot in your brow, feel the discombobulation in your mind as you try to make out the exact shape of your desire. See it in your face when you can't.

“Who knows,” you finally say. “It's just hotter the way we did it just now, I guess? Like, it's a whole genre of porn. Tons of people like it.”

He frowns. Shin truly doesn't get it, and he wishes he did. But he doesn't need to understand your fantasies to humour you, as long as it makes you happy.

Though... there is one free use scenario he can't deliver.

No matter how many times he’s tried and how many times you've begged him, Shin can't bring himself to have sex with you in your sleep.

He feels a bit bad about it, honestly, because you clearly really want it. You've pleaded with him to try it out for the past twenty nights in a row, slept in exceptionally revealing lingerie just to tempt him, and have recently begun a diabolical routine of teasing him every night. You make out with him, rub yourself on him like a cat in heat, and grind your core on his aching cock through your tiny little panties—all before rolling over in bed and knocking out.

But despite your new habit leaving him with the worst case of blue balls in the world, Shin just can't bring himself to touch you in your sleep.

He doesn't get how it's supposed to work in the first place. It's a kink you probably picked up from all the fanfiction and doujinshi that's rotted your brain, and it doesn't make sense at all when applied to real life. A trained assassin is the worst person to try somnophilia with: “You're a light sleeper and your first instinct is to kill anyone who startles you,” he’d pointed out once. “How am I even supposed to touch you in your sleep without you waking up and accidentally stabbing me?”

In response, you started to take benadryl and melatonin before going to bed, and you promised that you would absolutely, 100% not stab him if you woke up in spite of that. (Okay, it might be more like 90%, but Shin can just use his ESP to see the future and dodge, right?) This flabbergasted him, but also didn't really surprise him.

It also didn’t really help.

The heart of the problem is that somnophilia is truly just too freaky for Shin. Despite everything he's tried with you, nothing really hits like vanilla sex. Even when he's enjoying the more adventurous stuff, he can only do so if he knows without a doubt that you're fully into it, and that's just kind of impossible if you're asleep when he's doing it. What if you wake up and realise that you didn't want any dick that night, actually? What if you wake up and you feel complicated, empty—not as good as you thought you would?

“But I’m always going to want it,” you insist, “and I'll like whatever you do with my body! You don't have to worry about all that.” Which is, again, an absolutely insane thing to say—but Shin doesn't know how to explain that to you. Your mind buzzes with frustration and something that feels a little like heartache whenever he tries, a knot in your chest that you don't really understand yourself, and it makes him feel so bad that all he can do is kiss you until your sadness ebbs away.

So Shin keeps his hands to himself, even when you're having the horniest dreams he's ever seen.

He doesn't mean to peer in on them. It's just impossible not to when you're next to each other in bed and your subconscious is making you think and feel crazy things. The sad dreams are probably the loudest ones, but the wet dreams are a close second. And this current dream is both very wet and very loud. Whenever Shin closes his eyes, he sees it clearly: some faceless man is on top of you, inside you. With each thrust of his hips, you shift in your sleep—thighs pressed together, hips twitching. Hot breaths, little whimpers. Your body is begging to be filled.

Shin doesn't take it personally that you're dreaming of some random guy instead of him. It's part of a particular kind of free use fantasy for you—the idea of anonymous men using you impersonally, like some kind of gloryhole. You used to think of it so much in your waking hours that it's lost all shock value to him. It doesn't turn him on, either—it's just not his thing.

So he lies down next to you and prepares to fall asleep to some pretty mundane gangbang visions. He's nearly drifted off when something happens that makes his eyes open wide—

You start to feel uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable, uncertain. You've just realised that you can't recognise the face of the man on top of you, that you aren't sure if it's Shin. You’re squirming, wanting to get away, because I don't want anyone other than Shin to touch me, I don't want anyone other than him to use my body, I don't want anyone other than him inside it. A sense of panic grips you, and now the whimpers you're letting out don't sound needy anymore.

You sound afraid.

Shin is on you immediately. A hand on your cheek, his voice soft so as not to scare you. “Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. I'm right here. Wake up for me, okay? C'mon.”

He shakes you gently, and then not so gently, and now he's wondering what ungodly cocktail of sleep meds you took to stay unconscious like this. But even if you aren't awake, you can still hear him, his voice cutting through the fog of your sedative-fueled dream—and that's enough to comfort you. You can make out his features now, which are so handsome that you can't help but calm down.

Oh, your dream self says, it is you. Hi, Shin.

Shin sighs. “Hi,” he says, voice full of relief. “Yeah, it's me.”

The little smile you give him is so tender that his heart lurches. I'm so glad, you sigh. I don't want anyone else to do this to me.

This dream version of you is chatty. Infinitely chattier than your real self. I wouldn't have minded some other guy on top of me in the past, you know? you tell him as he undresses you. As long as I came, I didn't really mind whoever was inside me. It's not like I got to choose anyway. I was using my body for missions, so I only slept with whoever I got assigned. Cumming was a nice bonus though.

The Shin in your dream kisses a path from your jaw to your neck to your breasts, ignoring you. (The real Shin would never do this—he would probably start crying if you ever talked about any of this stuff out loud to him, actually.) He doesn't reply as you keep babbling about what sex used to be like for you, about all the stuff that Shin’s seen in your sadder dreams. Not that you think they're sad; you don't know that you sometimes cry in your sleep. You don't think it's too strange that the kind of sex you had for missions sometimes made you pretend that you weren't in your own body, that the kind of things being done to it weren't also being done to your heart. As long as your body had an orgasm, then you were probably enjoying it—that only makes sense, right?

But then you started sleeping with Shin, and sex always feels so different now. Shin doesn't just make you cum; he makes you feel like you're melting. Like you don't want to be anywhere in the world except in his arms where he can hold you and kiss you and hopefully fuck you a second time.

I never liked going multiple rounds with other people the way I do with you, you observe. I kinda feel like I maybe didn't like having sex at all. But you like it if it's Shin. All the things you hated doing with other people—being held, being kissed, being used—you always enjoy doing them with Shin. You’re actually pretty sure that you were doing them all wrong before you met him, and it's nice that your body feels right whenever he touches you now.

That's what you like most about when he fucks you, actually. You can always trust Shin to make your body feel right.

That's when it clicks for him: the shape of your desire, the reason your heart twinges when Shin starts talking about safewords and boundaries and how he can't just do whatever he wants with you. It makes him feel an ache in his own chest, and he finds himself leaning down to kiss your forehead, and then—after a long, thoughtful pause—the silky contour of your mouth.

The Shin in your dreams moves in lock-step with him. Kind of. He kisses you as well, his hands wandering all over your body. But then he gets wildly out of character. Shin goes bright red when he hears the porn dialogue he's been assigned. He wants to wake you up so he can tell you that he wouldn't ever call you his cum dump (what the hell), but it's making you wet that you're being treated like one—and to his utter shame, Shin’s dick is starting to twitch too. Something about you squirming underneath him, desperate and vulnerable for him even when asleep, is making his brain short-circuit.

When you start begging him to touch you—please, Shin, I was so scared I need to feel you now, need you inside me right now, want you to use my pussy, only you and no one else—Shin feels something inside himself snap.

And he touches you.

He starts with your breasts, because that seems least likely to disturb your sleep, and god knows he doesn't want you to wake up and witness him doing something so deranged. But your eyes stay closed even though you feel his touch in your dreams, your nipples pebbling as he teases and pinches them. Your brow dips and you whine, and you only get louder when his tongue starts swirling around a nipple—but you stay fully asleep.

When he reaches down, he's unsurprised to find your panties soaked through. Not just from your juices, but also from all the cum he left inside you earlier in the day. He strokes you through the ruined satin, a thumb rubbing your swollen clit, and he’s startled to feel you get even slicker. His dream self wonders at how sensitive you are, how needy your pussy is, and Shin cringes at hearing himself saying all that—but he also agrees. You always make a point of using toys to keep yourself stretched out for him if he's not around to do it himself, and your body is at this point practically trained to expect his touch—but even then, it's shocking how ready you are to take him even when unconscious.

When he pushes your panties to the side, he sees your hole is fluttering around nothing—both here and inside your dream. The sight makes him lose any shred of self-restraint, and he frees his dick from his sweats and starts fisting himself until his length is slick with his own pre-cum. Your subconscious can't quite recreate the feeling of taking his cock, leaving you panting and unsatisfied, and he fully intends to fix that.

He lines himself up with your slick folds—and he pushes into you.

Shin can hardly believe that you're still sleeping right now, all while your pussy helplessly swallows his cock. He'd feel bad if he didn't know how blissed out you were, your subconscious flooding with euphoria, your body overfilled with pleasure. He's being pretty rough with you in your dreams, but he's careful with you in reality, the way he's always told you he'd be.

Plus, he really doesn't want you to wake up.

But despite his best efforts, your eyes open. You're groggy, confused, not understanding what's happening and how come your breasts are exposed or why is there a cock inside you—and then your eyes are going wide as your pussy starts pulsing around him, and you're gasping and crying as you feel yourself soaking everything.

By the time you figure out what's going on, Shin’s come back to his senses. He blurts an apology on instinct, launches into a garbled explanation of why he was fucking you—but you just give him a dazed smile, a sweet little kiss, and then you turn over to spread your dripping pussy for him.

“Keep going, Shin,” you say, voice drowsy but no less clear. “You're still hard, right? Use my body until you feel better. Promise I'll like it.”

Shin sucks in a breath, feels the last threads of his sanity snapping. He's a vanilla guy, after all. Nothing hits like hearing you ask to be fucked out loud—except for maybe the sight of his cum dripping out of your swollen, needy pussy, your cunt fluttering around nothing and clearly wanting his cock back inside it. The combination is driving him wild.

You don't end up getting any more sleep after that.

The two of you do a lot after that. Way more than Shin ever thought he would in bed, including the most embarrassing roleplays in the world. There was the stuckage roleplay, the sex worker roleplay, the school classroom roleplay, the french maid roleplay, and—perhaps the worst of them all—the chikan roleplay.

(Yes—the two of you tried the free use thing in public, with Shin feeling you up during a commute home as you squirmed and pretended to ignore it. He'd tried to be subtle, telling himself he would stop if anyone noticed what you were doing, but you kept thinking that you really wanted him to keep going, so of course he had to oblige. Shin now can't take the Yamanote line without wanting to die from shame, nor without thinking about you instantly cumming on his fingers when he told you that you were being watched.)

But despite all those insane sex acts, nothing scares him as much as when you ask about his kinks.

“I don't have any specific fantasies,” he says quickly. “I'm a vanilla guy. You know that.”

“Uh huh. Sure. I also know that you're lying.”

He tries not to sweat.

“It’s okay, Shin,” you say delicately. “You don't need to be embarrassed. Breeding kinks are very common and respectable. It's the most normal thing out there, if you think about it. Humans need to procreate somehow, don't they?”

Shin can't form a response. He’s too busy visualising potential escape routes from this room, of which there are none because you are much faster than him and could easily intercept him if he bolted. When he accepts his fate, he forces himself to look at you and finds himself being stared at. Studied.

“So,” you say.

“S-so?”

“Tell me what flavour of breeding kink you like.”

His face burns. “What do you mean, flavour?”

“Like the kind of scenario where the breeding is happening. Like omegaverse, or hybrids, or those stories where someone's chained up and forcibly bred. You know.”

Shin realises then that he absolutely cannot tell you the fantasy that has him furiously jacking off when you aren’t around. He just knows you wouldn't understand it, and possibly you'd also read too much into it. Maybe you'd even freak out and break up with him. He’ll need to keep this a secret and carry it to the grave—or at least for another five years, after which it might make more sense to bring up as a serious conversation.

But you're very, very persistent about asking, and around five weeks later, he caves and tells you everything.

“Pleeease, Shin,” you beg for the millionth time, batting your lashes and giving him wide, pretty eyes you know he can't resist. “Whatever it is, I promise I won't judge. Like—I’m the last person who can make fun of anyone for their kinks. You know the kind of shit I read.”

Shin does indeed know the kind of shit you read—he’s also read it all, secondhand through your thoughts—and he does indeed know that you are in no position to judge anyone else for their preferences. But judgment isn't what he's worried about. It would be easier if it were. If his breeding kink had anything to do with omegaverse or hybrids or the weird dubcon stuff you described, it would be far less incriminating. But given the truth, he coughs and tries to crack a joke—“I dunno, it might be too freaky even for you”—and you give him a look so disappointed that he nearly flinches.

“H-hey—what’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” I just wish you trusted me. “I’m fine, I promise.” I trust you with my thoughts. How come you can't trust me with yours? “Don't pay attention to whatever you can hear from my mind, by the way. It's not anything you should worry about.” I don't want you to feel guilty.

The two of you have a strict rule, given your lack of mental boundaries: when Shin overhears something that you don't want to discuss, he's supposed to pretend it never happened. Usually he obliges, but this is just impossible to ignore. You have a point: you are willing to be vulnerable around him 24/7. There are no psychological barriers between the two of you. Each moment you choose to be with Shin, you also choose to forfeit all privacy for your heart—an act that confuses Shin as much as it moves him. Because everyone dislikes his uninhibited access to their minds. Everyone has something to hide. Everyone should be at least a little bit afraid of him—you, most of all.

The one time Shin voiced all this, you gave him a funny look and thought, I don't understand what you mean.

Because you don't mind that Shin can hear all your thoughts. You don't mind him knowing your insides, feeling out all the places that make you feel nauseous and bruised and dirtied. You don't mind that he's seen things about you that make you feel disgusted with yourself, things that make you feel like your body is undeserving of love—because you know he won't judge you for any of it. Because Shin is a good person, he’s good to me and he's good to my body, better than anyone else has ever been and will ever be. That must be why I have such mind-blowing orgasms when I sleep with him.

I didn't know how good sex could feel until I met you, Shin. Did you know that?

Shin did know that. He had actually figured all that out some time ago from seeing your dreams, which is only making him feel worse. His access to your thoughts is so unlimited that he understands your desires better than you do yourself. It's only fair that you should also understand some of his, right?

Besides, it's just a kink. A harmless kink. You won't think too hard about it, right?

Right?

He clears his throat.

“I…”

You glance at him, curious.

“I'm kinda into… like, a domestic kind of scenario… with the whole, uh…”

He can't bring myself to say it, so you do it for him: “The breeding thing? Like, you’re into the idea of breeding me in a domestic roleplay?”

Shin is going to die. But he perseveres, because it's you, and you deserve this bare minimum from him: “Yeah… like. You're a housewife, and we… y'know.”

You give him a blank stare, which then gives way to understanding. “Oh! I know what you mean.”

“D-do you?”

“Yeah! Like those doujinshi where there's a lonely housewife and the neighbour cucks her husband by sleeping with her, right? Or her daughter’s boyfriend sleeps with her. Or the husband’s father.” You hum, studying him, somehow not reacting to the way his jaw just dropped. Just what the hell have you been reading when he isn't around? “Or is it one of those wedding NTR scenarios?”

“What? No!” Shin really is going to die. But he comes clean, because he won't be able to live with himself if he gets roped into a roleplay about any of those situations: “I just mean, like. We’re a married couple, and we’re trying for a baby.”

You stare, and he hears the open confusion in your mind. Apparently you can't fathom why anyone would find a life of domestic bliss sexy if it's not about to involve some form of cucking. But you keep your word and don't judge him: “Oh. Well, that'll be easy enough to do.”

Shin blinks. “You mean… you’ll do it?”

“Of course I'll do it,” you say, warm and reassuring. “I wanna make you feel as good as you make me feel, Shin.”

Something in him melts at the words, especially because he can hear that you're saying them with your whole heart. Every response he can think of is lacking, and he's at a painful loss for a reply. But then you cheerfully add, “And anyway, you fingerbanged me on the Yamanote line. This is the least I can do in return,” and Shin goes back to wanting to disintegrate.

Despite Shin’s insistence that his fantasy has nothing to do with the R18 cucking doujinshi that you read, you seem dead set on taking inspiration from them. For the next week, he's subjected to some of the worst imagery he's ever encountered as you “perform research” for the scenario you're planning for him—which is to say, he reads a great deal of ecchi manga through your thoughts. Their contents make him incredibly afraid of whatever you'll come up with, but he's also oddly touched at how committed you are to the whole thing, so he can't help but leave you to your machinations.

And to be fair to you, you do your due diligence by asking him additionally what he wants.

“What’s your idea of domestic bliss?” you say one afternoon, when the shop is slow and sleepy and Lu is mercifully absent. “Like, what do you imagine a happy household looks like?”

Shin knows the answer immediately: Mr. Sakamoto with Ms. Aoi and Hana. Eating a home-cooked meal around a table with them and Lu. Waking up each morning to the scent of miso soup and the noise of a laughing child. Hana running into the store as she returns home from school, carefree and loved. Watching you teach her how to fold origami cranes so you can make some to hang from her ceiling. Seeing you beam when she says, Thank you, neesan.

Being embraced by you when he comes back to the store after almost dying. Feeling you wipe the blood off his knuckles before kissing them. Hearing you say, Welcome home, I missed you, let’s eat dinner. Cooking for you with his hands that he once used only for killing.

That's family to Shin. All of you, in the store, together.

Now, Shin will absolutely die if you use such sacred memories as a reference for this roleplay, so he doesn't voice any of this. Problem is—he doesn't have any other reference point for what a family should be. He grew up in a lab, and then afterwards he watched his father explode on a ship. You can't exactly fill in the gaps for him either, given how you were raised, and he constantly listens to the buzz of your disappointment at having no real material to work with for this roleplay.

“I dunno,” Shin eventually says. “Maybe, like, I come home and you’re in the kitchen? And I help you make dinner? And we eat together and go to bed together. I feel like that's what a married couple does.”

You hum. “Yes, that sounds right. And I'm wearing an apron, right? With a conservative outfit that's still tight enough to be kind of sexy?”

“Uh…”

“And I'm super lonely because you've been neglecting me because of work and we haven't had sex in two years?”

Shin is baffled. You can't even go two hours without asking him to have sex—two years is unfathomable. “Uh…”

“And the neighbour has made several passes at the lonely housewife next door, but I turn him down because I only want my husband’s cock inside me, right?”

Shamefully, Shin’s dick twitches at this last suggestion. Still, he says, “Er, no, I’d really just like you to act as you normally do. I don't need a re-enactment of The Neighbourhood Housewife series.”

“Aw, okay… And you're really sure you don't want me to wear an apron?”

Shin overhears a thought, and he almost snorts. “You're free to wear one if you want.”

“I just feel like aprons do a lot for me.” You give Shin—and his shop apron—a meaningful look. “Don't you?”

Shin tries not to flush. A little afraid that you'll next suggest that he wears an apron and plays a lonely househusband, he hastily says, “Good point. I think you should wear one.”

When Shin gets home that Friday, he discovers that aprons do a lot for him too.

This revelation is shocking for him, given all the housewife-centric porn that he's been forced to read secondhand. He's seen probably half a dozen women in nothing but aprons and hardly reacted to any of them, but the sight of you in a sky blue apron, humming as you chop away at some carrots, is doing something horrible to him.

The setup is getting to him too. There are couple photos placed throughout your apartment (among them is his personal favourite, taken among the cherry blossoms at Himeji Castle), as well as a fake wedding band on your finger (he’d picked out one with you at your insistence, and Shin thought it was funny at the time but now his ears are going pink at the sight of it). The air is rich with the fragrance of cooking rice and simmering curry. New curtains, a vase of flowers on the table, unfamiliar decor and some of his personal effects are placed throughout the living room—all to create the illusion of just having moved in together.

The scene isn't making him feel horny, exactly. It's more like it's making him feel warm.

It’d be nice if the two of you could live together like this, he thinks. If Shin could really come home to this everyday, and if you could really greet him with a kiss and smile, and if you could cook together and spend time together and fuck nasty together, if you could take your husband’s cock every day and get filled up with his—

Oh. Those are your thoughts. Not Shin’s.

He clears his throat, and he half-expects you to crack a joke about your dirty monologuing, but instead you put down your knife and come by to kiss him on the cheek. “Welcome home, dear,” you say warmly, and Shin’s heart jumps at the pet name. You smile as his cheeks flush: My husband is so handsome, you think, and Shin feels like he's about to explode.

Somehow, this is harder for him than fingerbanging you on the Yamanote line. That was mortifying, but this roleplay is quickly revealing things about his psyche that frankly distress him. Still, he plays his part, and tries to get into the appropriate mindset. You're his wife right now—his beautiful, pretty, gorgeous wife who he lucked out with and somehow married and now he’s has a home with you, and he's going to start a family with you, and he hopes the baby will have your smile and eyes and hair, and he's going to take so many photos of the two of you, and holy shit he's so glad you don't have ESP.

Anyway, he comes up with an underwhelming response: “H-hi. How was your day?”

“Good,” you say. “Was nice to get a break from work. Missed you the whole time though. You kept me waiting too long.” Wanted to feel you inside me all day, you whine at him mentally, and Shin doesn't know how actual married couples go about their daily lives. If you were really his wife and he heard you thinking like that, he'd probably never leave the house.

(Roleplay, he reminds himself immediately after. This is a roleplay. He shouldn't think about actually marrying you. That would be a dangerous route to go down, and he definitely hasn't thought about it before. Nor dreamt about it. No, sir.)

“I'll make it up to you,” he promises.

“You'd better.” You point at the curry that's simmering on the stove. “You can start by helping me with dinner.”

The way the rest of the night is similar to a regular evening together. The two of you cook together, eat together, and clean together. The only difference is that instead of hearing you monologue in your head about how much you want your boyfriend to fuck you, Shin is instead subjected to fantasies about your life as newlyweds. You beam a false memory of your wedding night directly into his head, and the mental image of Shin fucking you in your wedding dress has him so bricked up that he nearly breaks several glasses.

By the time you've both showered and gone to bed, Shin has been tortured for hours with detailed fantasies about your married sex life. (They involve various sets of bridal lingerie, an amorous honeymoon in Thailand, and sex on every surface in the apartment. All unprotected, of course, and accompanied by tender kissing each time.) Somehow, you don't break immersion even once. Even when Shin joins you in bed, you're thinking about how lucky you are to have him as your husband.

Shin doesn't think he's ever been so hard in his life.

You giggle when you’re straddling his lap, feeling it for yourself through your silk slip. “Someone’s excited.”

“‘Course I am,” he says between kisses. “How couldn't I be?”

How couldn't he be, if you were his wife?

(Roleplay, he reminds himself again. Roleplay. This is a roleplay! It's not good to think in marital hypotheticals. It's stupid, really. But he's doing it anyway and holy shit is it making him horny.)

He reaches under your slip, isn't surprised to find your cunt bare and dripping for him. Stretched myself out for you while I was at home today, you think as you move your lips against his, hot and messy and addictive. Used a toy, but it just wasn't the same as my husband’s cock.

He groans against your mouth as he reads your memories of your day: not a fabrication like the hazy visions of your false wedding and honeymoon, but detailed and heated and real. How you really did feel the frustration of a lonely and neglected housewife and couldn't help but take your favourite vibrator and spread yourself out on your shared bed. How you split yourself open on it and moaned his name as it stretched you out. How you gushed as you came, and how it still didn't feel as good as Shin’s touch because you didn't get to kiss him and feel his arms around you at the end.

He feels crazy when he lays you out beneath him. Insane when he studies your gaze, honeyed with lust, and your pussy, pretty and glistening for him. You give him a smile that's shy—genuinely shy, he can tell from your thoughts, because you've done a million freaky things but you've never acted out anything so tender before. Never played house like this, never imagined a cozy and warm life where you get to have a family.

He's never really thought of it before, either. He never had a cozy and warm life growing up, and he didn't really think he could ever change enough that he could have one. Never thought he could have a family, and maybe this is just a roleplay, but it's the first time he's really envisioning himself starting one.

“Are you gonna put a baby in me, Shin?” you ask shyly, and he nearly cums in his pants.

Shin generally likes to take his time with you in bed. Even if he can hear you mentally whining for his cock, he ordinarily likes to tease you with his tongue and fingers first. But he's desperate to be inside you today, and he can tell that you aren't upset by how quickly he frees his cock and presses it against your entrance. He can feel himself throbbing as he slides between your folds, his cock twitching at the slick and sticky noises from your cunt.

“So eager,” you tease. You break immersion just to taunt him, bedroom eyes turning sly: Wow, you really do get off to this stuff. Never would have pinned you for the type to enjoy breeding someone like this—

“Wife,” he corrects you without thinking, and you blink.

“Huh?”

“You’re not ‘someone’, you're my wife,” he says, fully talking with his dick, “I wouldn't marry anyone other than you, and I wouldn't put a baby in anyone other than you.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed. Shin is vaguely aware of your heart pounding as he lines his cock up with your entrance, your pussy fluttering even as your mind scrambles for words. “O-oh, really? I mean, I guess that is what the scenario-ohhh—aah…”

Your mind goes blank as Shin pushes into you, and Shin’s finding it equally hard to think. He can never get used to how you feel around him—tight and hot and perfect—and it’s even more overwhelming this time thinking that he'll get you pregnant. The thought has him feeling so insane, he can't help but start fucking you immediately.

You gasp when he starts thrusting, driving his cock into you at an angle that has you curling your toes. Pleasure bursts in your mind as he hits your sweet spot, your pussy squeezing around him each time. He's touched you so many times, fucked you into oblivion so many ways, committed every inch of your body and mind to muscle memory—it’s easy for him to take you apart, force you toward a quick finish.

Your hole starts dripping uncontrollably, and your belly tightens in a way that short-circuits your thoughts. Shin reaches between your bodies before you can fully comprehend it, rubbing your clit until you’re whimpering.

Sometimes your mind sounds very needy when you’re about to climax—more more more, right there, right there, don't stop, don't stop—and sometimes you sound pretty depraved—that’s right, Shin, fill me up, wanna be your cum dump—and sometimes you sound very tender—please kiss me, please hold me, please be as close to me as you can—but right now, you just sound shocked.

A-already? you think, dazed, and before your brain can catch up with what he's doing, Shin presses down on your belly and grinds his cock against your g-spot and suddenly you're tearing up as you gush all over him.

It's so hard not to cum with you. Shin nearly has to resort to using ESP on himself to keep it from happening. But he fucks you through your orgasm without pause, and he doesn't really slow down until you're a hazy, fucked out mess. Every inch of your body is so wrung out from pleasure that Shin can't hear a single, coherent thought—just a mindless rush of dopamine—which means you're probably relaxed enough to take his cock just the way he wants.

He brushes his lips against yours, sweet and easy, before he says, “Let me know if this is too much.”

“Hmm?” Not ready to form real words yet, you think, What are you up to, Shin? and You can do whatever you want with my body, you know that now.

Shin answers by throwing your legs over his shoulders. You squeal when he practically folds you in half, grabbing at the sheets when he starts to move again. Your pussy tightens around him as he pumps his cock into you, your body eager for more even though you just came. Deep, you think, gasping, it's so deep—

Shin feels it when he hits your cervix, and he hears you thinking it too. You keen when he does it again, moaning at the feeling. Feels good, Shin, you reassure him, your fingers reaching for your clit. Keep going. It's all he needs to hear before he starts pounding into you again.

He feels like an animal when he fucks you like this. Can't think about anything other than how deep he is inside you and how completely he's going to fill you up, how you're going to be walking around with his cum inside you for days. You’re thinking about it too—please, Shin, want your cum in me, want it in my womb, want you to breed me, please, please, wanna give you a baby—

Shin groans, his hips stuttering to a halt as his cock starts twitching, and soon he's pumping thick ropes of cum into you. You follow not long after, you pussy milking his cock as you gush all over him. He lets it, too—stays inside you the whole time and makes sure that you take it all, the two of you kissing each other hungrily. Only pulls out once you're both spent, and you whine at the emptiness afterwards.

Your hole is stuffed so full that his cum drips out of you almost immediately; you make a small noise as you feel it soaking the sheets. Somewhat predictably, you reach in between your legs, spreading yourself to give him a show.

“You came so much,” you say. “I can’t keep it all inside me.” As if you even tried.

Shin is used to your cumshot displays, but he feels his throat go dry at the sight anyway. “Um…” He licks his lips, and he’s momentarily torn between cleaning you up with his mouth and pushing it all back inside you. “Aren’t there, um. Positions you're supposed to stay in after? To help. With keeping it in. To get pregnant, I mean.” At least Shin remembers this fact from one of the many breeding fics you read over the past week.

“Are there? Oops.” You give him a guilty look. “I didn't know that. I guess we're gonna have to do that all over again.”

Shin snorts. Figures. “I'm gonna need a few minutes,” he says. Then he lies down, pulls you with him. “I wanna hold you first anyway.”

You make a happy noise as you're wrapped up in his arms, his chest pressed against your back as he curls around you. Apparently still committed to your role, you grab your phone as you snuggle up to him and look up post-coital positions for couples trying to get pregnant. Shin watches you type on your screen, idly touching you all the while—his lips kissing your shoulder, his fingers running along the arc of your hip. “Oh, huh, you're right. I'm supposed to lie down and keep my lower body elevated…”

“Elevated?”

“Yeah, people put a pillow underneath their hips sometimes… or sometimes they put their legs up.”

He makes a face as he tries to imagine it. “Sounds uncomfortable. I feel like the pillow thing should be enough… not that I think it's gonna make a difference with how often you like to have sex, anyway.”

You laugh. “Kind of a wonder I'm not pregnant already, huh?” Then you give him a look that's supposed to be shy, but is a touch too playful to be convincing. “But hopefully I will be after this.”

Heat crawls up his neck as he listens to your thoughts. You're not even imagining anything especially filthy—just thinking about what it'll feel like to carry his child. Shin recognises some of your monologuing from a fanfiction you read two days ago, a lot of which is sort of sensual. But it's really the original, non-sexual bits that are doing a lot for him. Stuff like how you'll probably have really bad morning sickness, but you know Shin will be there to rub your back as you throw up. Or how you're worried about whatever weird cravings you’re going to get, but you know Shin will buy whatever snacks you want. Or how uncomfortable you'll be when your stomach gets huge and the baby starts kicking, but I bet Shin will be excited to feel that, though.

There's a long, heavy pause before you think, You're gonna be such a good dad, Shin. Because Shin is a good person, he's good to you and he's good to your body and he's good to everyone at the store. He’s going to be so good to his child, and he’ll be good to their mother, too.

Shin doesn't realise that his fingers are resting on your stomach until he feels you lay your own over his. He closes his eyes and imagines a life there, cradled beneath the hand that he once only used for killing, the laugh of a child carefree and loved, the sound of your voice welcoming him home at the end of the day—every day, for the rest of his life—and obviously it's just a roleplay, it's a roleplay and he's being a moron for thinking in marital hypotheticals, but he says, “I can't wait to start a family with you.”

You stiffen.

Shin blinks. He listens for your thoughts, but there's only a long, crawling silence, and then you bolt upright and say, “Resident Evil.”

His eyes go wide. He sits up, reaches out for you—“H-hey, what's wrong?”—but you're already slipping out of bed.

“Need to pee!” you squawk. “Don't want to get a UTI, y'know?” And then you're gone and the bathroom door is slamming shut.

Your apartment is small, just like most places in Tokyo. The washroom is well within 400 metres of the bed, so Shin can fully hear you crashing out in there. The thoughts are incomprehensible at first—garbled words, high pitched buzz, flashbulb images. Chain link fence. Bloodied knife. Needle in a child’s arm, a string of cranes hanging above their head. Zombies on a screen, Mario and Princess Peach. An older boy with white hair, pinching a crease into flower-patterned paper. Niisan left me they all left me they never wanted me. Nobody ever wanted me, except for Sei-nii but that was only to use me for missions so many missions I lost count. A dark room full of men, their jugulars slashed. Other men, other rooms over the years. There are so many of them, so many men inside my body using my body has Shin ever looked in my head and counted them all?

The sound of chimes in a convenience store. Your favourite place in the world. Then Shin at the stove, in an apron. He's so handsome. Now he's holding a baby, a little boy who looks just like him.

There's someone beside him, and it isn't you.

You turn on the shower, and the rush of water is loud so Shin can't hear the sad little noise you make with your throat, although you can probably hear everything in my head, right? Sorry. Please ignore me. I'll be normal in a minute.

Shin wants nothing other than to kick open the door to help you, but his guilt stops him. His regret at how invasive his powers are, at how he can't shut out your thoughts, so loud and raw, when you most need privacy. It's the least he can do to respect your wishes and leave you alone.

He sits on the bed, listens as the roil of your thoughts become a simmer and then still. The shower turns off. The toilet flushes. I really don't want a UTI. You wash your hands, count to ten, and you come out looking and sounding so calm that if Shin couldn’t read minds, he'd never guess that you just had a mental breakdown in the toilet.

“Hi,” you say neatly as you sit down, and Shin pulls you into a hug so suddenly that you yelp.

“I said to ignore my thoughts!” you whine, squirming in his grip, trying to get away.

Shin actively stops himself from sighing. “I don't need to hear your thoughts to know something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I'm fine! I'm normal. I'm very normal right now.”

He gives you a long, unimpressed stare, but you return it with the look of a prey animal about to bolt, and he realises he has to humour you.

“...alright,” he says, “you're normal. Nothing's wrong.” Shin watches you uncertainly, seeing the tension in your body, hearing the rush of blood in your skull. You're staring at your fingers, remembering how to fold the wings of a paper bird. Trying to focus on the motions and not the person who taught them to you. Trying not to let Shin see all the people you miss and all the things that weren't meant for you.

You find it hard to look at him, so he stares at the wall instead.

“Do you want to be left alone right now?” Shin guesses.

Your voice is very, very small: “...yeah.”

Shin’s brow knots, but he can't hear anything other than a vague emptiness from your heart now, and he shouldn't be listening anyway. Shouldn't exploit the fact that your mind is so defenseless around him.

He's pulling himself away when you say, “Wait.”

You’re visualizing escape routes out of the apartment right now. You'd beat Shin in each one, and you'd be able to disappear from Tokyo long before he could ever catch up to you. But you stay on the bed instead, fidgeting as you stare at your lap, and even though your face is calm, the flood of your thoughts is so scared and sad and hopeful that Shin finds his head and heart aching simultaneously. He wants crush you in his arms and say all the things you want to hear—and then all the things you need to hear, but don't know.

But he stops himself.

“If there are thoughts you want me to ignore,” he says, “then you'll need to say the ones you want me to know out loud.”

You wince. You trust Shin with listening to all your thoughts, but actually voicing them is something you're not very good at yet. Assassins are secretive by nature, and you were raised to be a killer. I’ll throw up if I say this, you think, face miserable.

“You'll throw up if you don't,” Shin points out, feeling your stress response in his brainstem.

You nearly look—and feel—physically pained when you say, “I… I’d like it if you stayed.”

Shin's not sure when his own heart started feeling so heavy, but he's relieved to feel the weight lift. “Okay.”

So Shin settles next to you in bed, and after a moment, you start to relax. The anxious chatter of your mind goes quiet. The old memories stop blinking at you. You try to focus on your boyfriend to further ground yourself. He has a handsome face so it's easy. He goes bright red at the thought, which makes you smile.

Shin cracks a joke, which makes you snort, and after that you crawl pretty eagerly back into his arms. You demand kisses and he happily obliges. Your fingers seek him out and he knows to hold your hand. You rest your head on his chest and you listen to him talk about all the goings-on the store, the upcoming movies he wants to see, the ryokan he's booked for the two of you, and now you're very drowsy.

People's thoughts get slippery and strange when they’re on the verge of sleep. Sometimes it's garbled nonsense, but sometimes it’s their unguarded feelings. Shin hears yours, faint and scared but so very, very tender:

Wasn’t raised for a life like that… Never even thought about it… But if it's Shin…

Shin wants to grab you and make you look at him. If it's Shin, what?! he wants to ask. Suddenly, he’s having insane thoughts about if you’d like to actually live together and when's the right time to get serious and come to think of it, Mr. Sakamoto wasn't much older than him when he got married, right? Maybe he's not crazy for having daydreams where your face is lighting up at a diamond ring that he got you. Not a fool for wanting to come home to you every night. Not losing his mind for thinking that it might be nice to have kids at some point down the line.

Not stupid for maybe sort of really wanting to have them with you.

It did make him feel like he was insane, when he first started having those thoughts. Shin had never contemplated any of that stuff before. He’d grown up in a lab. Drifted through life being rejected for his powers. Shot his own father and watched him die. The only person who looked out for him after that was Mr. Sakamoto, and then he dipped soon afterwards anyway. All this to say, Shin wasn’t exactly raised to expect that he'd someday have a family, either. Never even thought about it, because he was sure he'd never get it.

But even if he’s never expected such a life, Shin can’t help but hope for it when it comes to you.

He would really like to tell you all this, but by the time his own mental crashout is over, you're fully asleep and drooling on his chest. So deep in the REM cycle that when Shin tries to read your mind, he catches you dreaming about kissing him on the Yamanote line, giggling into his mouth as his ears turn red. Typical.

There's a ring on your finger, different from the pretend-play version you left in the washroom. This one’s got a diamond, simple but pretty. It suits you.

Shin commits the design to memory, and he decides to stay up a little bit longer, watching the dream with which you've trusted him.

END

notes: the funniest part of this fic to me is how much build-up was required for shin to try the most standard kinks on tumblr dot com. i am very sorry if you felt misled by the summary/tags, expecting to read something super kinky only to find that this fic was fairly vanilla. i blame shin.

also i know this is not my best writing </3 I actually lowkey wanted to delete it all at the midway point alskdfjsldfkj but we move. please do let me know if you liked it!!!!

#asakura shin x reader #shin asakura x reader #sakamoto days x reader #sakadays x reader #sakamoto days smut #shin asakura smut #dividers by @/cafekitsune

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