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roosterforme · 1 day ago

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Aim for the Sky Part 32 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You're struggling through your pregnancy, trying to stay calm as your worries about Bradley grow as quickly as the baby. Bradley wants to put his best foot forward at work, making himself available for office hours, but maybe he's made himself too accessible.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, smut, pregnancy topics, lactation kink, jealous

Length: 3400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley's new office was coming along nicely. Everything was standard issue Navy grade, but he started adding some touches here and there to make it look more personal. The file cabinet was covered in ultrasound photos, one column of Rosie and one of her younger sibling.

He glanced at the wedding photo on his desk before adjusting it and wincing. You were still mad this morning that he overdid it at the Hard Deck last night, but he wished you would just let it go. It's not like he drove home drunk or anything. Nat and the guys were just excited to learn he was going to have another kid. The drinks just kept coming.

There was a knock on the door, and then Maverick poked his head inside. "You have a minute?"

"Yeah," Bradley replied, waving him inside. "It's not like I can tell you no. You're my commanding officer, Mav."

The older man chuckled, setting some folders on the desk. "I need you to keep all of the forms updated for each of the pilots. It's best if you work on it every day and then update the hard copies. You should have time to do this between visits during your office hours."

Today was the first time Bradley was holding office hours, and honestly he felt a bit like a college professor: the aviators were kind of his students, and he was responsible for making sure they were prepared to fly.

"Not sure how busy my office hours will be," Bradley muttered. He should probably send a text to remind you he'd be home a little later than usual tonight. While he didn't want to make a habit of missing dinner with his girls, this was a far cry better than being deployed.

"You might be surprised," Maverick replied with a smile as he backed toward the door. "You've got a lot to show the others, Lieutenant Commander."

Then he was gone, and Bradley could feel the warmth rising in his cheeks. He just wanted to prove himself, but the first time someone had him up against the wall, scrambling for an answer, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. He'd only started to advertise his extra hours during today's lecture, so it would probably be another week or so until someone came to him for any sort of guidance on a Monday evening. But he would try to be ready.

He was just opening one of the folders from Maverick when there was another knock on his door. This time when he looked up, he was met with a flight suit complete with a Golden Warriors patch identical to the one he wore. That would have been enough to let him know it was Indigo, but then he met her eyes as he stood up behind his desk.

"Lieutenant Jeffries," he greeted with a smile as she strode inside. "How can I help you?"

She studied his face with a knowing look for a few seconds before breaking out into a smile of her own. "Sir, I can think of so many ways you could help me. It's not even funny."

Bradley blinked, brow furrowed as he examined her. "Well, why don't you start with an easy one? It's been a long day. And something tells me you might be regretting the late start you got at the Hard Deck last night."

Her laughter filled the room. "I could never regret finding the officer hangout before the rest of my peers from Texas. I need to keep the edge I have over Rex and Spice." When she started to close the door, Bradley frowned.

"Keep it open," he said casually, reaching out to catch it before it shut. He didn't want anyone thinking he was playing favorites, and the little pout on Indigo's lips convinced him she wanted to be his favorite aviator. But she didn't argue. She simply sat down on the edge of the couch and looked up at him.

"The easiest way you can help me is by telling me where I can improve," she said, fingers toying with the zipper at her neck. "I want to be the best you've ever seen."

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

You couldn't tell if Cat was actually annoyed with you or if she was just teasing, but you were too exhausted from a restless night to care.

"I can't believe Bradley told Jake you're pregnant before you told me yourself! I just saw you last night!"

Her gaze dipped down to your belly as you stood before her in the lab. You knew you were showing. There was no denying it now. You had a bunch of appointments coming up with Dr. Morris, and you were just going to keep getting bigger until you had to wear the maternity tent again. You knew you were already huge and that you'd probably never be your normal size ever again. And the last thing you wanted was Cat Coleman of all people scrutinizing your appearance when she always looked pristine.

Everything was made worse by Bradley's interactions with Indigo. She was everywhere on base, but now she had taken over your bar, too. You saw her this morning but managed to duck out of the way before those piercing eyes landed on you. She knew what you looked like now, and Cat's gaze lingering on your belly was doing nothing to give you a boost of confidence.

"Please make sure you're eating and drinking enough," she told you. "We don't want another repeat of Annapolis where you could barely give a presentation. Or a repeat of the day you fell at work."

You gritted your teeth. "This pregnancy doesn't even feel like my last one. Okay? I'm eating just fine. Too well, actually."

You turned on your heel, boot squeaking on the floor and headed out to collect Rose from daycare. Everything was just a reminder of your size right now. Visions of candy bars danced in your head as you told yourself you'd go home and eat a sensible dinner while Bradley held his office hours. But you already knew... you just knew Indigo would squeeze her way in there with her pretty eyes and her perky tits. And your husband seemed to be oblivious to her. At least you'd tried to convince yourself he wasn't actively looking. But you knew she found him attractive. You could smell it on her a mile away.

Tears filled your eyes as you approached the daycare facility. If he was looking at her, you couldn't blame him. Indigo was beautiful, her body stunning even in her flight suit. Meanwhile you looked like an exhausted, lumpy, khaki-covered potato with acne and zero energy.

"Let's go home," you whispered to Rose, trying to smile at the daycare staff as you pushed her out in her stroller.

You were absolutely fine. You were totally fine. Or at least you would be. Or at least that's what you kept telling yourself.

But all week long, you heard the same collection of call signs spilling from Bradley's lips, and Indigo's was always the first one. She was the fastest, most cunning, smartest, most decisive pilot he'd ever flown with. Any time you asked him a question about work, she was the answer. And he was late coming home almost every day.

"Hey, Sweetheart. Sorry, I had to stay in the infirmary with Spice after she strained her shoulder," he said, rushing inside on Friday night as you made dinner. "She couldn't even raise her arm to get her helmet off."

He kissed your cheek, letting his hand rest on your belly for a beat before he ended up on the floor next to Rose's play mat where she was trying her hardest to crawl to Tramp. As soon as Bradley showed up, she changed her mind and tried to get to him instead.

You pressed your lips together as you turned off the stove burner. "Did anyone else stay with you and Spice?"

"Yeah, Indigo hung out," he replied easily, brushing his fingers along Rose's hair with a smile. You swallowed hard, watching him on his hands and knees in his khaki uniform. He looked so good. Like ridiculously good. Broad shoulders and big biceps and a handsome smile.

"Why am I not surprised?" you muttered, turning away from him.

"I think they're friends," he said. "It's kind of amusing getting to experience the love and hate dynamics amongst the group. The women tend to stick together on the ground, but anything goes in the air."

Your stomach ached with hunger pangs, and the only thing you wanted to eat was ice cream. When you realized you'd eaten a frozen burrito barely an hour ago, you desperately wanted to go to bed hungry, but you started to feel guilty about the baby.

"My parents listed their house today," you announced, trying to change the subject before you started to cry.

"Did you hear that, Nugget?" Bradley scooped Rose up in his arms and carried her into the kitchen where you were plating two meals. "Your grandparents are moving here to spend more time with you. And next summer, we'll take you and your little brother or sister back to Virginia to see where ol' Goose and Carole used to live, okay?"

He peppered her face with kisses until she was giggling wildly, and every negative thought started to get fuzzy around the edges. When his brown eyes met yours, you nodded toward the table, and his arm slipped around your waist.

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

Bradley came home from his office hours on Monday to find you wearing only his old UVA shirt. The soft cotton was hugging your bump and showing off your legs, and he was ready to get on his knees and beg for you.

After he put Rose in her crib for the night, he met you in bed where you were wearing your glasses, your face freshly scrubbed. He was plainly getting hard in his gym shorts the more he looked at you. It was so obvious. When you stood on your knees and coaxed him closer with your finger, he met you there.

"I hope you know how good you have it, Roo," you whispered against his lips.

He knew. He knew all about it. He let his hand slide down over your belly, keeping you in place when you tried to scoot away. Then his fingers slowly yanked up the hem of his shirt until he was touching your pussy.

"Of course I know it, Baby Girl." He circled your clit with his middle finger before slipping it inside you. "I've got my Rosie. And my hot, pregnant wife with her perfect pussy." When you whimpered, he kissed your nose. "I've got it all."

You dragged the shirt up over your belly and chest, tossing it aside. For a beat, Bradley went completely dizzy at the sight of your tits. Then you made everything better by placing your hands on your breasts, working them until beads of milk appeared. Your head was tipped back, pussy squeezing his middle finger, and Bradley almost lost his mind.

His kisses were rough. He knew it. But you were whining Roo as he got undressed, and then you were guiding his lips to your tits. He had to have it dirty. His cock was so fucking hard, he needed to make you scream.

"Oh, fuck," he growled as his lips grazed your nipple, lapping up your milk until he thought he was going to pass out. Every inch of your body was so sweet and supple, but he wanted you babbling and begging.

Bradley meticulously cleaned you up until you were clinging onto him, then he pushed you onto your back. Without hesitation, he started fucking you. When you needed a hand over your mouth to keep from waking Rose, he was all too happy to help. When you spread your legs wider, he watched his cock glide inside your welcoming body over and over again until he felt his orgasm in his balls.

"Shit. I'm gonna cum," he groaned, waiting until you nodded against his palm to lose himself. Hips thrusting, filling you with shallow strokes, he fucked you until your pussy was dripping. He watched the mess he made dribble down your ass before catching it with his fingertips. "I swear I don't think I can keep my cock out of you long enough for you to not be pregnant ever again."

You snorted before reaching for his hand and bringing it to your lips. "After this one, I'm going right back on the pill. No more slip ups," you whispered. Bradley watched as your tongue darted out, licking his sticky cum and swallowing every drop.

"No more slip ups," he echoed, smiling at your belly. He'd never consider this a mistake. Not in a million years. A surprise? Absolutely. But not a mistake.

Bradley's phone lit up where it had been discarded on the floor when you slipped into the bathroom. He had a text from an unknown number with a Virginia area code. At first, he thought it might be his cousin Brenda letting him know she had a new phone number, but when he opened the message, his brow creased in confusion at first.

Lieutenant Commander, thanks for spending so much time with me today in your office today.

Only three people had been in his office with him earlier. One was Maverick. One was Forrest who he had to reprimand. The third was Indigo. Bradley hadn't been giving out this number, but it was readily available if anyone wanted to look through the registry in the lobby of the building where his small office was housed.

He scratched the rough stubble along his jaw, contemplating if he should respond after nine in the evening. He saved her number under her call sign and tossed his phone on the bed when you walked back in with a smile on your face. He should wait until the morning to respond if at all.

You yawned when he passed you. "I'm ready for bed, Roo."

"Give me a minute to brush my teeth, and I'm right behind you."

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

By the end of the week, your parents had two offers on the house where you were raised. They were officially downsizing to a cute bungalow a few streets over in Coronado, and you were excited. Or you wanted to be.

But every time you let your heart fill with happiness over your parents or the baby, you remembered that Indigo was texting your husband. You saw it for yourself. Right after he fucked you so good, you could barely walk, you glanced down at his phone on your bed. He had her number saved in his phone, and you wanted to cry.

You could ask him for permission to look at his phone. You could see what his reaction was. That would give you a good gauge of what exactly was going on between them. But Bradley had never once asked you to hand your phone over to him. He'd ever insinuated that there would be a reason he didn't trust you.

Unsure what else to do, you sat in your office during your lunch break and cried. The tears were hot and miserable on your cheeks, and a headache instantly started brewing behind your eyes. It took you almost ten minutes to get yourself under control, and by then you didn't even feel like going to the cafeteria for food.

When someone knocked, you looked up at your door. Maybe it was Bradley. Maybe you could get his phone from him somehow and check it yourself. "Come in," you called, voice soft from all the tears you'd shed. Instead of your husband, Jake strolled inside. "Did you get lost? Cat's probably in the lab."

"Aww, come on, Angel," he drawled, dropping down into your extra chair. "I came all the way up here to see you."

"Oh." You were a little surprised. Everyone was so busy as the last quarter of the year was beginning, you felt like you hadn't seen much of him.

"Why do you look so sad?" he asked, already leaning forward to stand again. "Want me to grab you and the baby something to eat and bring it up here?"

"No," you told him quickly. "I'm fine. Just a little stressed." You tried to smile, but you felt like you could cry again. "Are you having a slow day?"

"Nah." He leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest. "Just had to get away from your annoying husband and his band of misfits clogging up the comms with their exercises."

"Band of misfits?" you asked with a soft laugh.

"Bunch of children," he replied with an eye roll. "Look like they just graduated from high school." His eyes went wide. "Oh shit, that probably means I look old now."

"You don't look too bad for someone older than me," you promised with a smirk. "Hey, do you know anything about any of those new pilots?"

"I know they like to hog the line in the cafeteria. One of them took the last slice of pizza yesterday, and I had to wait for a new pie to finish baking. Food should be based on seniority. I outrank all of them."

You were laughing at his smile now. "Hey, maybe I should get something to eat. And it might be nice to get out of my office for a few minutes."

"I'll walk you down." Jake stood and helped you to your feet. "Can't hang out too long though. Mav has a fire under his ass about getting Phoenix, Bob and I in the air this afternoon."

You headed to the cafeteria with Jake, getting a chance to hear his side of the wedding plans after listening to Cat for weeks. They wanted something small and simple, but he assured you there would be room for the Bradshaws on the guest list. Once you had a tray piled high with a salad, breadsticks and once slice of pizza, you took a seat while Jake headed back out to the tarmac to get back to work.

Your lunch tasted incredible. The cheese from the pizza was practically melting in your mouth. When the cafeteria started clearing out, there were only a few tables occupied, and you started stacking the plates on your tray. You could have a calm, reasonable conversation with your husband. He'd let you look at his phone, and everything would be fine.

"Okay, but what's up with Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?"

Your eyes darted up from your tray to find two officers sitting a short distance away. The one facing you had a patch on her flight suit that said SPICE, and you recognized her call sign from conversations with Bradley.

"He's hot, but he's wearing a wedding band," she added.

You swore your heart stopped at her words. Then you realized that the woman with her back to you was Indigo. Her jet black hair was wound up in a tight bun that accentuated her long neck even from behind, and her laughter set your teeth on edge.

"I already told you," she said, and you had to stop breathing to make sure you heard every word. "His wife is a civvy. I saw her at the bar the only night he showed up. They have one kid, and apparently she's pregnant again. At least that's what I heard Lieutenant Trace saying."

"What does his wife look like?" Spice asked, casually taking a sip of her drink as if your world wasn't crumbling to pieces.

"It was hard to tell in the dark, but her face seemed okay. Nice-ish body, but come on..." Indigo gestured to herself. "The man's only human, and his wife is definitely older than me. That much is easy to tell. And she'll be huge again soon."

You tried to get up from your seat quickly, fighting with yourself to get out of the room, but it was too late. Both of them were standing now, still chatting as Indigo turned your way. As soon as her eyes landed on your face, you saw them widen. That pretty blue color looked terrifying as a smile of recognition spread across her lips.

Indigo absolutely knew who you were now. Her eyes dipped down to the hyphenated name pinned against your chest, and now she knew you weren't a random civilian. She knew you were an officer who worked on North Island. She knew way too much as she took in every inch of your body. And she looked really pleased by what she saw.

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

He has his sweet moments, but Roo doesn't see the bigger picture here. Next chapter will reveal if Rose is going to have a brother or a sister. Any guesses? Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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mitsiepitsie · 2 days ago

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I went ahead and ran with this. Just a small little blurb, unproofed and everything, but enjoy anyways.

Father's day

When she comes into the world, sticky and red and screaming her indignation, Sylus knows he has never known love before. He'd thought he knew, the moment when you'd stared at him one lazy afternoon, eyes suddenly brimming with tears, and he realized you'd remembered. He'd thought he knew, then, when he breathed his last, and your - the other you - tears fell unbidden, showering his cheeks with grief.

But now, as years of love fell from your exhausted eyes as you looked at him holding your newborn daughter, and he stared down at the bundle in his arms, still screaming at the top of her lungs, only now does he feel he truly knows.

And, instantly, he also truly knows fear. Inwardly frantic but outwardly composed - or so he thinks- he carefully pushes at the the tiny hat they put on her up and off, the pads of his fingers ghosting over the soft skull. He breathes a sigh of relief as he finds nothing but the still sticky, downy hair, and quickly pulls the hat in place again.

—---------------------------------------------

Quietly humming, you sit on the edge of the pink little bed, littered with all the plushies the both of you have ever won, the tiny body of your two year old in your lap as you sit brushing her silver hair, already falling to her shoulders. You notice his shadow as he leans against the doorframe, gazing at his world before him.

Your daughter suddenly cries out in pain as you pass the brush over the top of her head, and Sylus nearly bowls you over in his haste to inspect the source of her discomfort. He coos at the little girl in your lap, consoling her as his fingers card gently through her silvery locks, probing her scalp. You look on, amused at his reaction.

“It's just a tangle,” you say, bemused, as you pick up the brush again, apologizing to your daughter for pulling at said tangle.

“It would appear so,” he says, the tone of his voice hard to read despite your years together.

—---------------------------------------------------

“I swear, all she lacks is a pair of horns,” you exclaim in exasperation one day, as you're venting about her toddler antics while he cooks up one of your favorite dishes.

The pan clatters to the ground, oil splattering the cabinets as Sylus whips towards you, a look in his eyes that you haven’t been at the receiving end of since your first meeting.

“What did you say?” he growls at you, and it's as if the light flees from his presence as he rounds the kitchen island, towering over you, eyes glowing.

You retreat against a wall, shocked by his sudden enmity. “It's just an expression,” you growl back, fighting to overcome your flight response.

He snaps out of it just as suddenly. “I'm sorry, kitten,” he murmurs in your ear as he draws your rigid form into his arms, “I don't know what came over me.”

He makes it up to you, with dinner and at night, but his burning eyes linger in the back of your mind.

—-------------------------------------------------------

It takes a few instances like that for you to catch on. Every bump on your girl's head is rigorously inspected, and your little thunderstorm gets more than her fair share. You assure yourself she gets that wildness from him.

Then, one day, you hear Kieran call her “a little fiend”, and all hell breaks loose. It takes Luke and your unified strength to pry Sylus off Kieran, who flees the scene as soon as his boss's hands leave his throat.

You send Luke off with your girl, telling them to go watch TV or something as you confront your husband.

“Care to fill me in?” you ask icily, glaring down at him on his spot on the couch.

He glares right back up you as you stand in front of him. “He has no right to call her that,” he all but snarls.

“What, a fie- oh…Oh.” It clicks.

The worried looks, frantic searches for some non-existent bumps. The explosions at the simplest, most innocent comments.

You straddle his legs and take his face in your hands. “She's not you, Sylus,” you say gently, “Though she tries her damnedest.”

His head rolls back onto the couch as he covers his eyes with one of his strong arms. “I know,” he rasps, a fragility in his voice that you have only seldom heard, “but, what if-”

“Then we will figure it out,” you murmur as you gather him to you, “like we've done before.”

—‐----------------------------------------------------------

The years go by, and Sylus manages to somewhat lessen the intensity of his reactions to anything horn related. Or curse related. Or fiend, or dragon, or…He tries, in any case, you think, as you carry a tray laden with breakfast up to your bedroom, your daughter scampering up the stairs in front of you, excited for Father's Day and the gift she crafted at school.

You smile from the doorway as she jumps onto the bed where Sylus is pretending to be asleep, exaggerated snoring coming from the heap of covers and cushions. Squeals soon replace the snoring as he reaches out to grab your daughter and drags her under the covers.

“No, no, Daddy!” she cries, indignant, “I must give you your present first, and then you must eat breakfast!”

“Oh?” he rumbles, “Did you make it?”

“I made the present all by myself!” she exclaims as she throws the covers off of them both.

He exclaims in appreciation before his gaze falls on you. “And the breakfast?”

She pouts slightly. “Mommy helped.”

He chuckles at your sigh of exasperation. “And to what do I owe this offering?”

She giggles at his forgetfulness. “It is Father's Day, Daddy!” she says as she pushes the gift into his hands.

He opens the gift, a paper bird with a little picture of his little girl, the writing on one of the wings saying ‘Owl love you forever’. “Why is the owl black?” he asks, as he idly unties the string holding a rolled up drawing together.

“Miss Johnsons made us make an owl, but I wanted a crow,” she pouts, “it's Mephisto, daddy!”

“Of course it is, sweetie,” he says, the chuckle drying in his throat as he unrolls the drawing.

You place the tray on the foot of the bed and walk over to where the both of them are staring at the glitter embellished paper, one proudly, the other aghast. Your question dies on your tongue as you look at the drawing your daughter has made.

On it are three distinct figures, one on the ground and two in the air. Bright red wings sprout from both their backs, black scribbles from their heads, as the figure on the ground waves at them.

“What a lovely picture,” you say as you sit beside them and gently try to pinch Sylus out of his stupor, “will you tell me about it?”

She nods excitedly and starts pointing at the figures. “That's you, Mommy, and this is Daddy with his dragon wings, and that is me!”

“But you don't have wings, honey, and neither does Daddy.”

She exclaims in all the frustration a toddler can muster. “Not right now, but he can magic them back when I grow up and grow mine!”

Sylus trembles, trembles besides you, and you hug your daughter for him, thank her for her wonderful gifts, tell her that Daddy likes them so much that he can't speak right now, but that he will take her out for ice cream later to thank her, and send her off to put on her shoes and wait for him.

You watch as she streaks from the room, silver hair whipping behind her. Sylus softly chuckles beside you, drawing still held reverently in his quivering fingers.

“Leave it to out treasure,” he mutters as you turn to him, his red eyes glossy, “to figure it out for us.”

Imagine Dragon Sylus having a kid and constantly checking to see if they've started growing horns, because he's so scared they'll be cursed like him.

Until one day the kid asks when they'll get horns, and Sylus realizes that his kid doesn't see it as a curse, and wants to be just like their dad when they grow up

#lads sylus #dragon sylus #love and deepspace #lads #l&ds #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x mc

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hottiesforhockey · 2 days ago

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may the best brother win pt 3 ⎜hughes brothers

pairings: quinn hughes x afab!reader ⎜luke hughes x afab!reader ⎜ jack hughes x afab!reader ⎜ genre: romance ⎜bachelorette-esque situations ⎜angst? ⎜friends - to - lovers warnings: tension...lots and lots of tension ⎜make out ⎜ mild grinding ⎜ slut shaming ⎜ jack's a dick ⎜ quinn being protective ⎜ luke being a cutie patootie as per usual ⎜ not a lot tbh ⎜shoving ⎜ synopsis: you have been friends with the hughes brothers for years - but why does this summer feel so different? word count: 6.6k authors note: this is the much anticipated Quinn chapter - there will be one more part after this one that will tie everything together, there hasn't ended up being much actual smut in this series cause it's just not fitting as I'm writing so apologies - btw who do people think the reader should be ending up with? (p.s. i will be posting chapter aesthetic pics at the bottom so you can get an idea of what I was picturing :) )

(unedited)

“He’ll come around eventually.” Luke sighs as he watches your gaze follow his older brother around the backyard.

“You’ve been saying that for days, Lukey—” You let out a long sigh, pushing your sunglasses onto the top of your head as you adjust your position in the sun-chair, “We all know that if there is one thing Jack is good at, it’s icing someone out.” Luke just nods his head along - having also been on the receiving end of Jack’s frosty attitude.

“Look Jack and I are going back to jersey from some promo stuff, give me that time to try and settle things with him.” Luke suggests, shooting his older brother a glare as he notices him looking over at the two of you sitting side by side at the pool. “Just enjoy your time with Quinn and try to relax a little.” He adds and you nod along, pulling your sunglasses back down to your nose, lying back on the sun-chair.

“You know what, maybe I will.”

Luke gathers you in his arms for a quick hug, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder as he and Jack get ready to leave for their trip back to jersey. “It’s only two days.” Luke whispers and you nod, squeezing him back just as hard — Luke and you have become almost inseparable since your date with him to the fair, something lingering between you since you had kissed that night - but things in the lake house had become increasingly tense since Jack had stormed away from you that same night - refusing to hear your side of the situation.

“Okay, you can let go, Luke.” Quinn chuckles as he steps forwards, tugging you from his younger brothers arms, Luke looking at him with a pout before huffing and making his way out of the house. Jack still stand by the door looking between you and his little brother with a roll of his eyes.

“Have a safe flight.” You peep, Jack eyes shooting to you as he gives you a stern nod before following after Luke, shutting the door closed behind him, leaving just you and Quinn in the big house.

“Guess it’s just you and I now.” Quinn teases, his mouth right besides your ear, his hands tight on your hips. You shiver at the feeling of Quinn’s warm breath against your ear, his teasing tone making your stomach flip. His hands linger on your hips, sending a tingle up your spine as you glance up at him.

“Guess so,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady, though the tension between you is undeniable. Quinn’s eyes search yours, his lips twitching into a small smirk that makes your heart race.

“You gonna miss them?” he asks, his voice softer now, though the playful glint in his eyes remains.

You nod, swallowing hard. “Of course. But… it’ll be nice to be able to breathe for a little bit.” Quinn chuckles, his grip loosening as he steps back, though the warmth of his touch still lingers.

“You’ve earned it,” Quinn says, breaking the moment as he steps back, his hands finally leaving your hips. His touch lingers in your mind, though, as he walks toward the kitchen, casually tossing over his shoulder, “Come on. Let’s make the most of this—I'll cook dinner tonight. Unless, of course, you’re still holding a grudge about the whole grill incident?”

You smirk, trailing after him into the kitchen. “Grudge? Quinn, you almost set the deck on fire.”

“Details,” he quips, opening the fridge and pulling out a few ingredients. “I’d call it a learning experience. Besides, I’ve been perfecting my skills since then. Tonight, you’ll see. Gourmet chef Quinn Hughes in action.”

“Should I alert the fire department ahead of time?” you tease, leaning against the counter. His lips twitch into that familiar smirk, and the way his eyes flick over you as he sets the ingredients down makes your stomach flutter.

“I think you’ll survive,” he shoots back, handing you a knife and a cutting board. “Now, sous-chef, make yourself useful and chop these.”

You take the knife, raising an eyebrow. “Bold of you to trust me with this. I could sabotage your big redemption arc.” Quinn steps closer, his presence making the small kitchen feel even smaller.

“I’m willing to take that risk.” His voice is lower, a little softer, and for a moment, his eyes meet yours, holding your gaze longer than necessary. Your breath catches, but before you can respond, he steps back with a teasing grin. “Just don’t lose a finger. I’m not great with first aid.”

You shake your head, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck as you focus on slicing the vegetables. Quinn moves around the kitchen with ease, his arm occasionally brushing against yours as he reaches for spices or utensils. Each touch feels intentional, sending a spark through you that you can’t quite ignore.

“So,” he says, leaning casually against the counter as you work. “What’s the plan while Luke and Jack are gone? Binge some trash TV? Go for a swim? Or are you just gonna sit here and miss my brothers?”

You glance up, smirking. “And what makes you think I won’t be enjoying you instead?” The words are out before you can stop them, and Quinn’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. For a moment, you worry you’ve overstepped, but then his lips curve into a slow, mischievous smile.

“Careful,” he says, his voice dropping just slightly. “Say things like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around.” Your cheeks flush, and you quickly look back down at the cutting board.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Hughes.”

“Oh, too late for that,” he says, laughing softly. But there’s something in the way he looks at you now—something darker, more intent—that makes your pulse quicken. As the two of you work together to prepare the meal, the atmosphere shifts. The teasing banter is still there, but it’s layered with something heavier, the air between you charged with an unspoken tension. Every glance, every accidental touch seems to linger, leaving you hyperaware of his presence.

By the time you’re sitting at the table, plates of food in front of you and glasses of wine in hand, the tension feels almost unbearable. Quinn raises his glass, his eyes meeting yours across the table. “To a quiet house and good company,” he says, his voice warm but his gaze steady, almost challenging.

You clink your glass against his, your heart pounding as you murmur, “To good company.” The conversation flows easily as you eat, but there’s an undeniable pull between you. Quinn’s leg brushes against yours under the table, and neither of you moves away. His fingers linger on yours for a moment too long when he hands you the wine bottle to pour another glass. Every laugh, every shared look seems to bring you closer, the space between you shrinking bit by bit.

After dinner, you find yourself leaning against the counter again as Quinn washes the dishes. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms, and you catch yourself staring before quickly looking away. He glances over his shoulder, catching you in the act, and his lips twitch into that infuriatingly knowing smirk.

“Something on your mind?” he asks, his tone casual, but there’s a flicker of something more in his eyes.

“Just surprised you didn’t break any plates,” you quip, trying to keep your voice steady. He turns off the faucet, drying his hands before stepping closer, his proximity sending a jolt through you.

“You’re always so quick to underestimate me,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, his eyes locked on yours.

“I’m just realistic,” you counter, your breath hitching as he leans in, one hand bracing against the counter beside you.

“Is that so?” he asks, his voice a near whisper now, his face inches from yours. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, the intensity of his gaze holding you captive. For a moment, the world seems to pause, the air between you crackling with anticipation. But then, just as quickly, Quinn steps back, a playful grin on his face as he grabs a towel to finish drying the dishes.

“Guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong,” he says lightly, as if nothing had happened. You let out a shaky breath, your heart racing as you watch him. Something tells you this won’t be the last time Quinn Hughes leaves you breathless.

Later that evening, you find yourself sprawled on the couch, a movie playing on the TV as Quinn settles in beside you. The warmth of his body next to yours is both comforting and maddening, every slight movement sending your nerves into overdrive.

“You okay there?” Quinn asks, glancing over at you with a smirk as he notices your fidgeting.

“Fine,” you reply, your voice a little too quick. You shift slightly, putting a bit more distance between the two of you, though the effort feels futile. The space doesn’t help when his arm stretches out across the back of the couch, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says softly, leaning closer, his voice barely audible over the movie.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shoot back, refusing to meet his gaze. You can feel his eyes on you, though, studying you with that same quiet intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“You’ve been jumpy all night,” Quinn continues, his tone teasing but laced with curiosity. “Is it me? Do I make you nervous?” You let out a laugh that comes out shakier than you intended, finally turning to look at him.

“Quinn, you’re not nearly as intimidating as you think you are.”

“Oh, really?” he replies, raising an eyebrow. His hand drops from the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against your arm, and your breath catches. “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” you say, though the quiver in your voice betrays you. Quinn’s smirk deepens, and he leans in just slightly, his face so close now that you can see the flecks of blue in his green eyes.

“I think you’re lying again,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. His hand lingers on your arm, his thumb tracing small, deliberate circles against your skin.

“Quinn—” His name comes out as barely a whisper, your heart pounding so loudly you’re certain he can hear it. “Why are you doing this?” The words come out of your mouth before you can even think about them, Quinn jolting away from you, a look of panic and confusion clouding his eyes, his mouth opening and closing as he thinks of what to say.

“This whole stupid bet, why did we let this happen?” You clarify, barely noticing the way Quinn relaxes a little the concerned expression falling from his face.

Quinn exhales slowly, his shoulders easing as he looks at you, his hand still lightly resting on your arm. His gaze softens, his usual teasing demeanour melting away. “Because I think we all wanted it to,” he admits, his voice low and uncharacteristically sincere.

Your breath catches at his words, the weight of them sinking in as the charged air between you becomes almost unbearable. “But what about Jack? Luke?” you ask, your voice trembling as you search his eyes for some kind of reassurance.

Quinn leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair. “Jack’s... complicated,” he says with a small, wry smile. “He’s protective and he has a lot of things going on in that tiny brain of his, but he’ll come around. And Luke—he just wants you to be happy, that’s all he’s ever wanted.” His eyes meet yours again, and for a moment, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you.

“And you?” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “What do you want?” Quinn’s lips twitch into a faint smile, but his gaze is intense, serious. “I want what’s best for you,” he says softly, his hand moving from your arm to gently cup your cheek. The touch is so tender it sends a shiver through you, and you instinctively lean into it.

“Quinn...” you start, but the words get caught in your throat as he leans closer, his forehead brushing lightly against yours.

“This bet has clearly gone further then any of us intended and I think we all have a lot to think about but it’s supposed to be fun.” Quinn says, his older brother tone kicking in, his words almost seeming like a reprimand as he adds, “You’re supposed to be having fun but it doesn’t seem like that happening anymore.”

“I am having fun.” You say quickly, “well kinda having fun.” The tension continues to sizzle around the room, Quinn’s hand still warm on your arm, his thumb still tracing soft circles.

“I’m sure we can make things more fun.” He says teasingly, his eyebrows lifting in surprise as you scoot forwards on the couch, your eyes meeting his before dipping down to his lips.

“I’m sure we could.” You agree, your mind screaming at you to stop and walk away - this is what got you into trouble in the first place. “I’ve already kissed two of you, why not get a hat trick.” You whisper, Quinn letting out a breath of laughter as he leans a little closer.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word, and I’ll back off.” His voice is steady, but you can see the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, the hesitance he’s trying to hide.

But stopping is the last thing you want.

Instead of answering, you close the small gap between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s soft and tentative at first, as if testing the waters. Quinn responds immediately, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he deepens the kiss, pulling you closer. The world around you fades away, and all you can focus on is the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand anchors you to him like he’s afraid to let go. When you finally pull back, both of you breathless, Quinn rests his forehead against yours, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips.

“Luke is still the best kisser.” You tease, Quinn’s smile dropping as he shoves you off the couch, a big pout on his face as you let out a bark of laughter, wishing you could take a photo of the oldest Hughes.

“Well that was barely a real kiss, just you wait.” Quinn says, his words holding a promise that sends a tingle down your spine.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of Quinn knocking softly on your door. His voice is muffled through the wood, but you can hear the teasing edge in his tone. “If you’re not up in ten minutes, I’m leaving without you.” You groan, dragging yourself out of bed and cracking the door open.

“What are you talking about?”

Quinn leans against the frame, an infuriating smirk on his face. “We’re going to the beach. Pack a bag—towels, sunscreen, whatever you need. I’ve got the rest.”

“You planned this without asking me?” you tease, though the thought of a beach day makes your heart lift.

“Spontaneity is good for you. Come on, move it!” he urges, tapping the doorframe before heading back down the hall. It doesn’t take you long to pack, and before you know it, the two of you are in his car, the lake house disappearing behind you as Quinn navigates the winding roads toward the coast. The windows are rolled down, and the salty breeze filters through as the scenery shifts from lush greenery to sandy dunes.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” he remarks, glancing at you as he changes lanes. “Second thoughts about spending the day with me?” You smirk, turning toward him.

“Just mentally preparing for the endless teasing I’m sure to endure.”

“Oh, you know me too well,” he says, his grin widening. “But you’ll survive.” The drive takes about an hour, the two of you falling into easy conversation as the miles pass. Quinn insists on singing along—badly—to a playlist he made, and you can’t help but join in, laughing so hard at his exaggerated falsetto that you have to wipe tears from your eyes. When you finally arrive, the beach sprawls out before you, the sun glinting off the waves and the sand warm underfoot. The sight is breathtaking, and you feel a sense of peace settle over you.

“Not bad, Hughes,” you admit as you step out of the car, taking in the view.

“Told you it’d be worth it,” he says, grabbing a cooler from the trunk. “Now, help me carry this stuff before you get too impressed.”

The two of you find a spot near the water, setting up a colourful umbrella and spreading out towels. As you kick off your shoes and dig your toes into the sand, Quinn sets to work unpacking the cooler.

“You ready to relax?” he asks, pulling out a couple of drinks and handing one to you.

“Ready to win at whatever dumb competition you’re planning,” you counter, taking the bottle from him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you think you can beat me?”

“Absolutely,” you say, tossing your sunglasses onto your towel and sprinting toward the water. “Race you!” Quinn lets out a laugh and takes off after you, his long strides quickly closing the gap. Just as you’re about to dive into the surf, he catches you, hoisting you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You squeal, pounding lightly on his back.

“Put me down, you oaf!”

“Not until you admit defeat,” he teases, spinning you around as he wades into the waves.

“Never!” you cry, laughing as the cool water splashes against your legs. Quinn wraps his arm tighter around your legs as he wades deeper in the water taking in one deep breath before letting the two of you fall backwards the water engulfing you both. Quinn surfaces first, flinging his wet hair off his forehead, his hands reaching for you in the water, helping you steady yourself against the moving sea.

“You suck” you say, your voice lighter than you feel. Your hands clearing the water from your face as Quinn reaches forwards, gently pushing your wet strands away from your face, trying to tuck them neatly behind your ears.

“Maybe,” he replies, stepping closer. “But you like me anyway.” You roll your eyes, pushing him away lightly, though the moment lingers, the air charged with something unspoken.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of laughter and sunshine. You challenge each other to frisbee and volleyball, Quinn smugly claiming victory each time, though his moves are anything but fair. When you finally collapse onto your towels, exhausted and content, the sky is streaked with hues of pink and orange.

“Worth the drive?” he asks, handing you another drink as the two of you watch the waves lap against the shore.

“Definitely,” you admit, leaning back on your elbows. “Even if you cheated at literally everything.”

“Cheated? I think you mean ‘strategically outplayed,’” he counters, smirking as he leans closer, his shoulder brushing against yours.

You glance at him, the teasing words on the tip of your tongue fading as you meet his gaze. The playful banter dissolves, replaced by a quiet intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

“Quinn…” you start, but he shakes his head, his voice soft as he interrupts.

“Let me guess—you’re going to tell me Luke’s still the best at something?” His lips twitch into a smile, but his eyes search yours.

“No,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was going to say… thanks. For this.”

His expression softens, and he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Anytime,” he murmurs, his hand lingering by your cheek. “We should head back, it’s getting dark.” He says as he clears his throat, making quick work of packing up your stuff, insisting he can carry everything as you trail behind him, the situation almost identical to your date with Jack.

As you follow Quinn back to the car, a mix of emotions swirls inside you. The day had been perfect—a much-needed escape from the tension back at the lake house. But now, with the sun setting and the beach fading into the distance, you can’t help but feel the weight of the situation creeping back in.

Quinn loads the car in silence, his movements efficient but unhurried. When he finally settles into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, he glances at you, his expression unreadable. “You okay?” he asks, his tone gentle.

You nod, though your chest feels tight. “Yeah. Just… thinking.” He doesn’t push, but you can feel his curiosity. The drive back is quieter, the earlier laughter replaced by a comfortable, contemplative silence. The hum of the engine and the rhythmic passing of streetlights become a soothing backdrop as you lean your head against the window, the cool glass grounding you.

When you finally reach the lake house, the porch light is on, casting a warm glow over the front steps. Quinn parks the car and gets out, coming around to open your door before you can move. “Chivalry isn’t dead, huh?” you tease, though your voice is softer than usual.

“Not on my watch,” he replies, offering you a hand. You take it, the contact brief but electric.

Inside, the house is quiet, the absence of Luke and Jack palpable. Quinn sets the cooler down in the kitchen and stretches, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of toned skin. You look away quickly, your cheeks heating.

“You hungry?” he asks, breaking the silence.

You shake your head. “Not really. Just tired.”

Quinn nods, leaning against the counter. “It’s been a long day.” He hesitates, his gaze flicking to you before he continues. “You know… if you ever need to talk about—well, anything—I’m here.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you offer a small smile. “Thanks, Quinn. That means a lot.” You wipe your hands on your shorts your bikini still wet underneath your clothes. “I might go shower, maybe we can watch another movie?” You ask softly, Quinn nodding quickly as he insists on making your a sandwich cause what kind of date would he be if he didn’t feed you.

As you climb the stairs to your room, you can feel his eyes on you, a warmth in his gaze that lingers long after you’ve closed the door behind you. Slipping out of your swimmers and under the scalding water, you replay the day in your mind—the teasing, the laughter, the quiet moments that spoke louder than words. Quinn Hughes was proving to be more than just the easygoing, confident guy you thought you knew.

And that realisation is as thrilling as it is terrifying. All three of them had proven to be so different from what you always thought you knew. You’d known them since you were kids and yet they each had shown you a completely different side of them over the past few weeks.

As you slip into your pyjamas and brush your drying hair, you let out a long huff, you straighten out your sleep shorts, and tug on your extremely oversized New Jersey Devils training shirt you had stolen earlier in the summer from Jack, before creeping back downstairs, the wafting smells of a grilled cheese floating from the kitchen. You pause by the entryway as you watch Quinn move around the kitchen, his shoulders dropped forwards as he mumbles to himself under his breath clearly frustrated with something.

“Quinn?” You question softly as you take a small step further into the kitchen, his head flicking towards you, his eyes immediately dropping to the t-shirt your wearing and your exposed legs before flicking back up to your face with a frown.

You step closer, your heart pounding as Quinn runs a hand through his hair, his body tense in a way that you've never seen before. The faint sound of the grill sizzling in the background seems to fade into the quiet air around you, as though the whole world has slowed to a crawl. You catch his gaze, and there’s something raw in it—something that makes your breath catch.

“Are you okay?” you ask, your voice quieter than usual, as if any louder tone might break the fragile moment that feels suspended between you two. “You don’t look fine.” Quinn glances at you, eyes dark with something unreadable, before dropping his gaze to the floor, shifting uncomfortably. He doesn’t immediately answer, and you step even closer, this time reaching out to touch his arm. It’s almost electric, the heat from his skin seeping into your fingertips.

“I’m just... not sure about some things,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck as if the weight of the words is too much for him to bear. “Things with you... this summer... us.” You swallow, trying to steady the rapid beat of your heart. This isn’t just a conversation about friendship anymore, and you both know it. You lean in slightly, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body but not quite close enough to make the leap into whatever’s building between you.

“What do you mean?” you ask softly, the words barely above a whisper. Your hand slides from his arm to the side of his body, where it lingers, testing the waters. Quinn’s breath hitches. He seems to hesitate, eyes flicking from your face to the floor, then back again, like he’s fighting an internal battle.

“I’ve always cared about you,” he says finally, his voice a low rasp that sends shivers down your spine. “But lately, it’s different. I don’t know... I don’t know what it is, but every time you’re near me, I—” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as if he’s trying to hold back. But it’s too late. The tension between you two is palpable, thick like the heat of the kitchen. You can feel it humming in the space between you, making everything else feel irrelevant. “And Luke and Jack—” He pauses again.

“You don’t have to explain,” you murmur, moving even closer, your body now mere inches from his. Your voice is soft, but your words are firm, giving him the space to breathe without the pressure of clarifying himself. “I feel it too. But it’s hard, isn’t it? This... whatever this is.” He looks at you then, his gaze searching, raw with something deeper than just desire.

“Yeah. It is,” he admits, his voice rough, husky. His hand twitches as though it wants to reach for you but holds back, like he's unsure whether he has permission to cross that line. “They’re my brothers, I’m supposed to take care of them, put them first but this time—”

You take another step forward, your chest brushing against his ever so slightly, feeling the heat radiating off him, the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. Your breath catches, and the air around you both seems charged, heavy with unspoken words, unacknowledged feelings.

“Quinn...” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, but the weight of his name on your lips feels like an invitation.

“This time I don’t want to put them first.” He resolves. His eyes darken in response, a flicker of something dangerous and thrilling flashing across his face before his hand finally, finally, reaches up to cradle your cheek. His touch is soft but firm, the warmth of his palm grounding you as his thumb gently strokes over your skin. The tension between you two is almost unbearable now. Every inch of your body screams for the contact you’ve both been avoiding all day.

He leans in slowly, his breath mingling with yours, and the world seems to disappear in that instant. Your heart hammers in your chest as you lift your hand, brushing lightly across his chest, feeling the hard line of his muscles beneath his shirt. His lips are just a breath away, and for a moment, neither of you moves. It’s as if the air itself is holding its breath, waiting for one of you to give in.

“Are you sure about this?” Quinn’s voice is thick with want, but there’s still hesitation in it, like he’s asking for your permission, even though his whole body is screaming the opposite.

You swallow hard, your fingers curling into his shirt as your other hand slides up to rest on his neck, pulling him closer. “I’m sure,” you whisper, the words barely audible but full of certainty.

And then, it happens.

His lips find into yours with a fierce urgency, his hands immediately cupping your face as if to make sure you’re real, that this isn’t just some fantasy. The kiss is hungry, full of pent-up desire, a perfect storm of longing and need. You kiss him back with equal intensity, the heat between you growing exponentially as your lips move together, desperate and demanding.

His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, and without a second thought, you open to him, letting him deepen the kiss. He groans softly against your mouth, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel the tension in his body, the restraint slipping away as he presses you against him, your chest now flush with his.

This kiss, the one that Quinn has promised you yesterday when you teased him… was so worth the wait.

Your hands roam, pulling him closer, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of his shoulders as you move your lips from his mouth to his jaw, to the sensitive spot just below his ear. He hisses in response, one hand moving down your back to fist in your shirt pulling you even tighter against him, as he gives you a boost to sit on top of the counter, his lips finding yours again as he pulls your pelvis against his, his hands firm on your hips as he pushes the two of your together tightly.

“This is crossing a line.” Quinn hisses as he detaches his mouth from yours, resting his forehead against your own as he lets out shuddered breaths. His hands slipping under your shirt as he glances down at it, a soft growl leaving his throat. “This stupid fucking shirt, you should be wearing mine not his.” Your mouth drops open in surprise at the possessive tone in Quinns words, the older brother usually much more in control.

Quinn takes the opportunity to attach his lips to your neck, your head falling back to give him better access as you let out a soft breath, your hands tangling in his soft curls, his hips rolling against yours as he sucks harshly on your skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful, but you’d look so much better if there was no doubt about who you belong with.” Quinn whispers against your skin, moving his lips lower before beginning to suck again.

Your hips roll against his as he sucks a particularly sweet spot, his thumbs rubbing soft circles on the skin of your abdomen - the two of you jolting at the sound a suitcase hitting the floor. Quinn pulls away from you, the two of you shooting a glance over at the stunned hockey player standing in the entrance to the kitchen, a frown growing on his face as he takes the two of you in.

“Honey, we’re home— oh shit.” Luke’s voice carries through the silence, being the second body to make an appearance, his eyebrows raising in surprise as he takes in the sight, his smile turning in a smirk as he cocks his head to the side. “I know I said have fun but this seems like a little more then I was anticipating.” Luke lets out a soft laugh, clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder who just shakes it off, his glare moving from his older brother to you.

“Fun?” Jack lets out a humourless laugh, his eyes dark as they lock with yours. “If you call whoring yourself out fun then she’s great at that.” You can’t help the way your body flinches at his words, Quinn letting out a scoff as he helps you slide off the counter, fixing your shirt before tucking you behind him, facing Jack with a frown.

“You wouldn’t be acting like this if she was doing it with you.” Quinn spits back, his arms crossing against his chest as he blocks Jacks sight of you, your hands gently gripping the hem of his shirt.

“She’s not better than a puck bunny at this point - look at her, she’s got fucking hickeys and she’s using this stupid bet to the best of her advantage.” Jack spits back, Luke elbowing his older brother in the side, telling him to ‘shut up’ as subtly as he can manage.

He’s not wrong.

Not entirely anyway.

“No look at them Luke, are you really okay with the fact that the girl you’ve been head of heels for is dry humping our brother.” Jack continues, your grip getting tighter against Quinn’s shirt as Jack’s words sink in. “This bet has become a way for her to act no better then a common slut.” Jack’s words are the final nail in the coffin as you let out a small whimper, your hands knotted in Quinn’s shirt the only thing stopping him from taking a step towards his younger brother.

“What the fuck man.” Luke says first, stepping away from Jack as he looks down at him in disgust. “Why would you say something like that, she’s our friend.” Luke continues, shaking his head in disbelief as he makes his way over to you, his eyes meeting Quinn’s for a fraction of a second as he scoops you up in his arms at the same time as Quinn rips his shirt from your grip, stalking towards his brother.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s being an idiot.” Luke whispers against your hair as Quinn’s words cut through the room.

“You’re just mad that this whole bet was your idea to try and get close with her and it hasn’t gone how you planned it to.” Quinn starts, Jack standing his ground as his older brother shoves harshly at his chest, “News flash Jack, not everything revolves around you, not everyone falls at your feet just because you want them to.” Quinn takes in a long breath, “She is a grown adult and can do whatever the fuck she wants and whoever the fuck she wants, so don’t get mad at her just because you can’t handle that you have feelings for her and she might not have the same feelings for you.” You’re almost choking on the anger radiating from the two brothers, Luke keeping your head buried in your chest as he strokes your hair.

“I wish we never did this stupid bet.” You whisper against his shirt as you pull yourself out of his arms.

“I… I don’t want to listen to this,” you mutter under your breath, your voice shaky, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. Your hands tremble as you try to push away from Luke again, the reality of the situation crashing down on you in waves. Every part of you wants to lash out, to make Jack understand how much his words hurt, but all you can manage is to turn away from the chaos, retreating into yourself. Luke’s protective instinct kicks in immediately. Without a word, he steps forward, his expression fierce, eyes narrowing as he places a firm hand on the small of your back, pushing you in front of him as he guides you towards the staircase.

“Enough,” Luke snaps, his voice low and threatening, but the kind of warning that makes even Jack hesitate. “You don’t get to drag her into this. Not like this.” His gaze flickers over to you, his eyes softening with concern. “Keep walking, let them sort their shit out,” he says, his voice soft but firm, reaching out for your hand. You meet his gaze, your eyes searching his face for a moment, before nodding weakly. The hurt still lingers in your chest, but Luke’s presence is like a shield, blocking out the venom of his brothers’ words to you and to each other.

“I’m sorry,” Luke adds quietly as he leads you up the stairs. “I should’ve never let it get this far.” His grip on your hand tightens, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him if he lets go. You follow him, your feet dragging as the anger and frustration churn in your stomach. You want to say something, want to confront Jack for what he said, but the words seem to die on your tongue, swallowed up by the sadness in your heart.

Luke doesn’t stop until you’re safely inside your bedroom, the door shutting softly behind you. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him. “Just... breathe, okay? You’re okay. You’re not what he said, and I’m sorry for all of this.”

“I didn’t... deserve that,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. Your hands move to cover your face, but Luke gently takes them in his own, guiding them back to your sides.

“You’re right. You didn’t,” he says, his tone firm but caring. “Jack’s an idiot. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. But we’ll fix this, alright? I promise you.” You nod slowly, the tears finally escaping, sliding down your cheeks as Luke wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. The warmth of his body, the steadiness of his heartbeat, is the only thing grounding you as the weight of everything finally catches up to you.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he murmurs against your hair. “This is a mess but we can fix it.” Luke keeps his arms around you as he walks towards your bed, only letting you go to let you slip under the covers, his hands making quick work of stripping off his shirt and kicking his shoes off before sliding onto the bed besides you, pulling you back into his arms as he lets out a long breath.

“Jack was right with some things.” Luke whispers, his warm breath fanning against the top of your head as he rests his chin there. “I am head over heels for you, and I think a part of me always has been, but I know my brothers feel something for you too and I’m not mad at you for exploring what you might feel for them.” Lukes words sink your heart into your stomach, your mouth dry as you think of what to say.

“I just hope that maybe whatever is between us is a little bit stronger, and I know that makes me selfish but a man can dream.” He lets out a bitter laugh as his hands stroke against your back.

“Luke…” you start, your voice getting caught in your throat as you feel him shake his head.

“I just needed to put that out there - I don’t expect anything but you deserve to know.” Luke cuts you off, his head moving slightly as he drops a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just sleep, we can deal with everything tomorrow.” Luke’s heart thunders in his chest, his hands steady on your back, his breath steadying out before yours does.

“I think I need to leave.” You whisper into the dark room, only brave enough to say the words once you’re certain Luke has fallen asleep.

#nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl x reader #quinn hughes #jack hughes #luke hughes #quinn hughes smut #luke hughes smut #jack hughes smut #quinn hughes x reader #luke hughes x reader #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fanfic #luke hughes fanfic #quinn hughes fanfic #mtbbw

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strayingawayy · 2 days ago

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it's the little things for me

chan: folding the laundry as he admires you while you scream to lady gaga on a friday night, cleaning your spectacles/ sun glasses for you, feeding you with his own chopsticks, making sure you're on the opposite side of the traffic while crossing the street, taking strands of hair out of your mouth when you're asleep, making sure he always has time for you, rocking you in his arms while you cry, sharing the tiniest of umbrellas even if you BOTH get wet in the process, silently wiping sauce off your face while you ramble on about the latest gossip at work/uni, sends flowers to your place on random days, saying he loves you more than he loves the ocean. lee know: wearing even the most cringe frilly pink aprons you'll get him which stay stuff like 'kiss the cook' or 'mr. good lookin is cookin', learning how to make all your comfort foods, buying you stuffed toys resembling your childhood pets, always making you taste test the food he's cooking, "do you want it to be spicier? it'll help with the cold.", oiling and massaging your hair on sunday mornings, talking to you like he does with his cats whenever you're sick, screeching to songs in the car, buying stupid matching sunglasses, sharpening your pencils for you, leaving sooni, doongi and dori at his parents' claiming you spend more time with them than him, cracking your fingers when he's bored.

changbin: washing your dishes no matter how much you insist you can do it, keeping in touch with your family once you introduce them to him, giving you piggy back rides, letting you make stupidly cute hairstyles with his hair, sleeping with your stuffed toys when you're not at home, always packing your favourite toothpaste because he knows how much you despise the hotel ones, letting you win at arm wrestling, racing with you to the nearby convenience store.

hyunjin: learning your drink orders for different moods and seasons, slipping little encouraging notes with the cutest doodles into your bag, jacket pockets, underwear pile, EVERYWHERE, clicking lots of candid polaroids of you, always keeping a lipbalm in his pocket for you, making a list of places you want to visit and taking you on surprise trips, rubbing your noses together, drawing on your arms while you watch a movie, listening to you rant about your passions all. night. long.

jisung: always wanting you to share new music you like with him, buying you guys matching fluffy house slippers with the most bizarre stuff like cheese puffs or flamingos on them, decorating your shared space with childhood photos of you, singing karaoke with you until 4 am, watching panda and hamster videos together, singing you awake every morning, playing careless whisper as a way of asking you to dance with him, binging studio ghibli movies with you on days off, afternoon naps, watching fireflies together, weird nicknames like 'cake batter eater' or 'hairbrush stealer', rewatching childhood cartoons, doubling over in laughter one second and having the most serious conversations the next, "would you still love me if i was a worm?"

felix: reporting accounts which abuse skzoo >:(, always stocking up on your favourite snacks, letting you tease him over his small hands, giving you the best massages after long days, whispering and quiet laughing in silent spaces, biting your shoulder whenever you expose him in front of the boys, showing off his latest dance moves while dusting the house, giggling and rolling around in fresh sheets you just finished putting on, being your personal heater during the winters, miserably gardening together, smiling in between kisses.

seungmin: learning small phrases in your mother tongue and making sure his pronunciation is on spot, wearing animal onesies together, waking you up with your favourite cup of coffee every morning, giving you head scratches when you can't sleep, cuddling together on a rocking chair, fighting over who pays for the bill, going to fancy stores and trying out clothes only to leave without buying anything, always finding you first whenever there's a blackout, going to the local adoption center and cooing at puppies together, tracing your features while you sleep, a quick forehead kiss before he rushes to work, replacing photocards you have of other members with his own.

jeongin: "mentioned you in their story", staying on call with you when you're taking a cab at night, wearing normal shoes when he goes out with you, eating caramel popcorn at 2 am, getting on a subway and going to the nearby town because you heard it's raining there and needed a reason to dance together, laying his head on your lap while reading manga, wearing fuzzy socks, trying out stupid tiktok couple trends, pretending to be a toxic couple while grocery shopping.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days ago

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Squeaky Clean 4

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you’re not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU – plus!reader)

Note: yeah…

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A yawn strains your cheeks but you lock it behind your lips. Your eyes water with the constant glaze of fatigue. It could be the work; it’s a lot more physical than you expected, or it could be your usual insomniac tendencies. Whatever it is, doesn’t matter. You just need to get through the day.

You drizzle the tub cleaner around the brim of the porcelain and watch it trickle down. There’s a hint of something scented still in the air. You note the bag of epsom salts on the little shelf. You guess Steve took your advice.

As you wait for the grime dissolver to do its thing, you turn and wipe down the thing, working methodically around the toothbrush holder and the white cup. You even clean the mirror, making sure not to miss a single inch. If you keep your hands moving, you don’t fixate on how dull this all is.

You grab your sponge and turn to crank on the faucet. You bend over the tub and set to work. Your shirt presses to the brim and you feel the moisture seep through to your stomach. You use the running water to scrub the cleaner to suds. The scent roils in the air.

You reach to the other side, one hand on the edge as you strain. You push your toes into the bathmat to extend further. As you feel you might tip into the deep basin, a firm weight settles along your hips and keeps you steady. You kick your feet into the floor as your head snaps up.

You squeeze the sponge in your fist and lean it against the opposite wall. You twist to see over your shoulder, squirming as Steve stands behind you, holding you as you sputter dumbly. What is he doing?

“You looked like you needed help?” He grins.

Your mind and heart race, competing to the panic line. What the hell? You want to yell at him to get off but your caution chokes the protest from you. As much as he’s overstepping, you need the job. Your landlord doesn’t care that the market is shit, he just wants his money.

“I’m... fine,” you eke out.

“You sure?” He asks.

“Yeah, er,” you nudge his fingers with your yellow glove as you turn back to your task. “I’m sure.”

“Well, let me know,” he loosens his grip and drags it around to your lower back. His touch sends a shiver through you. He draws away and the warm lingers there, another spatter as suddenly a clap stings across your ass.

You grunt and keep yourself steady with the hand pressed to the wall. Your eyes widen in disbelief. Steve hums as his footsteps softly retreat. You shudder as you stare at the ivory tile embossed with lilies. He didn’t just...

You scrub in circles as you wade through the shock of the encounter, trying to convince yourself it didn’t happen. You still feel the impact hot against your jeans. You rinse the tub out and stand. Maybe it’s from bending over for so long or the cleaner but you’re dizzy.

You finish up the bathroom but can’t make yourself leave. Where is he? Is he hiding? Does he realise what he did? Is he embarrassed?

Alright, you guess you can talk to Jan at the agency and get this sorted out. Yeah, you need a new client. This one isn’t working out. You gather up the cleaners and tiptoe out of the room. You stop short as you near your kit by the shoe mat. He can hear you. He has super hearing, right?

You’re further shaken by the reminder of his superiority. Before, you only thought of the disparity of your bank accounts, you hadn’t even considered the most obvious disadvantage. More than just the physical. He is Captain America.

Would he notice if you left early? He could report you first if he did. Then you’re the one getting dumped, not him. Between the two of you, he’d be the one they’d want to keep. You’re just another cleaner. You can be replaced.

So get through it and hope you can get a new placement. Hopefully closer to home. Or maybe further. Anywhere, really.

You wade through the townhouse warily. You wipe down the dining table as your mind wanders away. The table presses into your tummy. You look down and retract. Would anyone believe you? You’re nothing special. Steve Rogers wouldn’t waste his time on you. I mean, he works with Black Widow and have you seen her in a body suit?

Stop. Focus. Just get it done.

You continue your usual path through the house. Knocking on each door, checking that each room is empty before you tend to it. As you find each vacant, your dread builds. You’re not so sure he’s hiding from you out of shame now. It’s starting to feel like a game. Like he’s taunting you.

As you return to the entry way to grab your vacuum and do your final walkthrough, you stop just before the banister post. You stare at the broad set of shoulders as they slowly turn to you. You swallow and clutch the cloth in your hand tight as Steve turns to you in full regalia.

Cowl, suit, shield. He’s dressed to the nines in his Cap attire. It doesn’t look as campy as on the television. You can see the intricacy of the armour along his gauntlets and the way it lines his ribs just so, alluding to the wall of muscle beneath. That's what he is in that moment, a barrier. The door is behind him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his jaw looks sharper as the top of his face is hidden under the cowl. “Looking for something?”

You shake and point to the vacuum. He turns and looks around, grabbing the vacuum by the hose and dragging it around. He raises the flat end and wiggles it toward you.

“There you go,” his eyes shine through the cowl.

You shuffle forward and reach for the body of the vacuum. You squeak as he stops you by poking the vacuum nozzle against your chest. You flinch and reel back. He jabs until you’re walking backwards. You squeeze the cloth in your hand until your knuckles hurt.

You hit the banister post and stare at him dumbly. He pushes the flat attachment down so you feel your chest bulge around it. His eyes follow and he lightly jiggles you with the plastic end. You grab it instinctively to stop him.

“Steve,” you hiss.

He chuckles and flips the end free of your grasp. He taps your chin, just enough to make you flinch, and you recoil, showing your hands defencelessly. The cloth drops to the floor as he raises your head with the firm prod of the vacuum.

“They won’t believe you. Captain’s got a lot more going on than whoever’s scrubbing his toilet,” he steps closer, towering over you. You glower up at him, stomach roiling with disgust. “But hey, Stark’s got attorneys on retainer. He owes me one.”

Your lip trembles helplessly and you shake your head. “Why--”

He tuts and taps your chin again, quieting you. His smile remains as he leans in and brings his other hand up, tugging at the top of your shirt until he exposes your cleavage. You press yourself against the banister and whimper.

“Because I can,” he snaps the tension in your collar before letting go. “But the good cap’s gotta go save the world before he gets his prize.” He backs up and once more offers up the vacuum hose, “and you gotta make sure he comes home to a nice clean house. Like a good girl.”

You grab the hose and he keeps hold of it. You hold his gaze as the urge to rip it away and swat him shakes in your grip. He snickers again. You won’t win this battle.

“Tell Jan I say ‘hi’ and I’ll have that client survey done soon,” he lets go and turns away with a sigh. He turns to the door and puts his hands out, cupping them emphatically as he looks from one to the other. “You sure are a handful.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #maid au #squeaky clean #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers

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melminli · 2 days ago

Note

Could you store something with jun-hee (player 222) x f!reader plz🙏

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby

summary - it may sound a bit cliché, but you were in love with your best friend. even though you always wanted to tell her, you strongly doubted that she could use your love - you didn't know that she thought the same. you two were really stupid, huh?

pairing: kim jun-hee x fem. reader

word count: 1.1k

contains: wlw, angst w/ comfort, arguing, fluff, pre squid game au, hidden feelings

a/n: i went to a cas concert a few months ago and it was insane. this was the song that just stuck with me since then and i thought about her when i listened to it again after watching the show! hope u like it ;p

"Oh man, they forgot our spring rolls." you realized disappointed after you went through each package of food one by one until there was nothing left but napkins in the bag. You looked at your best friend as you said. "Should I go to the store and get them? I know how much you like them, and I think the owner likes me, who knows, maybe we'll get an extra portion or something, huh?"

Jun-hee just shook her head with a gentle smile on her face. "That's all right. I want to eat with you and by the time you come back, the food will be all cold and mushy." she said, reaching for the chopsticks after opening her box of fried noodles.

You sat down on the opposite chair of your little dining table in your small kitchen. "I guess, I can't argue with that." you gave in and reached for a spoon to mix your fried rice a little.

You had turned on the radio a while ago and the music it was playing accompanied the pleasant silence between the two of you. You could hardly stop yourself from thinking about how homely this all felt right now with her, as you often did in the last few days. It was sudden and you were definitely caught off guard when Jun-hee suddenly appeared at your doorstep with a packed bag in tow. You didn't know exactly what happened, but you didn't need to because you could imagine that it probably had something to do with her parents or something - it didn't matter. She would tell you when she was ready.

"I heard that this one popular show is getting a second season soon, you know..." you started to tell her and then tried to think of the title when you suddenly heard a soft howl. You immediately stood up when you saw Jun-hee sitting huddled up with her arms covering her face. "Hey, what's wrong..." you asked worriedly, not used to such an emotional reaction from her since she was usually such a collected person. This was a very rare occurrence.

She interrupted you before you could say anything else. "I'm pregnant!" she cried out, feeling the lingering guilt inside her finally take over her entire mind as she uttered those words. A few minutes passed with you just holding her like that and Jun-hee clung tightly to you, sobbing. She was worried that you might let her go - in fact, she expected you to, which is why she didn't tell you for so long.

I can't blame her for anything, I really am the worst. She thought to herself when she still couldn't bring herself to let go. No matter how selfish it might be of her.

"Is it from that Mingyu guy?" you finally asked her and she nodded vaguely, but it was enough for you to understand. Jun-hee didn't even bother to correct you when you said his name wrong.

You just sighed and even if you didn't say it out loud, she could feel how angry you were with her - how disappointed. "You're mad at me," she stated while you continued to stroke her back reassuringly, even when the position you were holding her in was a little uncomfortable for you. "Of course I am, the guy's an asshole and you're only in your early twenties," you answered her honestly, comforting her with your own broken heart. "Does he even know? Last I heard, all his fans were sending him death threats because he stole their money or something."

She didn't even want to think about it. "He's not answering my calls and I have no idea where he is."

You let out another heavy sigh. "You're really stupid sweetie, I knew that guy was like this from the beginning, really," you spoke up before looking confusedly at Jun-hee after she lifted her head from your chest and met your gaze with a furrowed brow. "Can you stop rubbing it in my face? I already know that I fucked up!" she exclaimed, completely exhausted as she continued to rub her reddened eyes.

So she wants to keep the baby, her parents probably kicked her out as soon as they found out. You massaged your forehead, exhausted. "So, what now?" you just asked her, elaborating on your question when she looked at you with a confused look. You just wanted to kiss her right now and tell her that everything would be okay again and at the same time, you wanted to smash your head through a wall and cry. "What are you going to do now with a baby on the way? Do you have a plan for how you're going to look after it?"

I don't have a job or any money. I don't know what to do. She didn't answer you right away and just avoided your gaze, embarrassed, so you reached for her hand to get her attention. "If you don't know what to do and you want me to help you, then you have to tell me," you finally said and you were probably the stupid one this time.

Jun-hee looked at you in surprise and took a few seconds to really understand what you meant. "Are you sure? You don't have to do something like that for me..."

You interrupted her relatively quickly. "I want to do this for you because -" and your love confession was almost half hanging from your lips when you stopped yourself from saying it out loud in the last second. What am I doing? This is completely the wrong time for this. "- because you can always count on me, even if no one else does."

Oh, that's right. Jun-hee thought to herself as she held her pounding heart and smiled a little forcedly. I thought she was going to say something else, how stupid of me I mean you're pregnant with another man's child right now Jun-hee, wake up. She brought herself back down to earth. You already gave her more than enough. "Please, help me."

You spread your arms out again to catch her in a hug. "We'll work it out, don't worry..." you tried to reassure her further, any unspoken feelings remaining as you both made the decision to keep them a secret.

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mggslover · 13 hours ago

Text

No Strings Attached

In which reader is on a mission to get her boss to relieve some stress, not realizing he'd end up doing the same for her.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: smut (18+) x fluff Content warnings: porn with plot, jessica and jack make an appearance, no mention of haley, hotch smiling (lol), reader being sad and a bit insecure bc she hasn't got laid in a while, mentions of drinking wine, no strings attached (but not really bc they're obsessed with each other), soft!dom hotch, praise, breast play, ass worship, oral (f receiving), p in v sex Word count: 4,7k A/n: first time writing a fic dedicated to Hotch and i fear i'm obsessed... also i had to do some acrobatics to make sure these positions work (they do) so give me a heart for the effort your feedback and support are highly appreciated!

Aaron Hotchner is a busy man. And these days, even more so. The responsibilities of being Unit Chief were always demanding, but they seemed to multiply now that he was balancing the weight of single parenthood as well.

As a profiler it was obvious to you how much he struggled with juggling between these professions, even though he always tried to hide it from the team. You noticed his slightly furrowed brow when he thought no one was watching, and the slow drag of his steps as he moved between meetings and paperwork.

Since you’d joined the team, you'd developed a deep respect for Aaron. Where others saw a hard-nosed, no-nonsense boss—a “drill sergeant” in Morgan’s words—you saw a man who held himself and his team to incredibly high standards because he believed in their potential. You saw a man who cared deeply, even when his personal life was slowly suffocating beneath the pressure of it all.

Even if he would never admit it, no human being can go through the difficulties he goes through without ever catching a break, without getting any help. So tonight, as you passed his office, a light still flickering inside, you decided to do something about it.

Your knuckle made contact with the door, knocking three times as you waited. When there was no immediate response, you quietly creaked the door open.

The sight of him behind the desk was familiar. His shoulders were hunched and his brows furrowed in concentration, as he scanned the endless stacks of paperwork that seemed to breed faster than he could handle them.

"Hey," you greeted softly, offering a small smile as you stepped into the room.

Hotch looked up from the pile in front of him, his gaze flicking from the documents to you. There was a slight exhaustion behind his eyes that he didn’t try to mask.

"Hey.” His eyes dropped to his wristwatch for just a moment, his lips curling into a subtle frown. "It’s late. Why haven’t you gone home yet?"

You waved off his concern. "I’m about to. Had to send a few more emails for the lab reports."

He nodded, but didn’t immediately return to his work. Instead, he watched you with that signature intensity of his, silently observing you.

"I- uh, I wanted to ask you something.” You hesitated for a moment as you moved further into the room, the door gently clicking shut behind you.

His brows rose slightly, an almost imperceptible shift of interest in his posture. "Go on."

You cleared your throat, your hands instinctively clasping behind your back. "You’ve been working a lot of late nights."

“That’s not a question.” He stated in an amused tone.

A small smile played on your lips. "I know, but it’s a… concern," you said. "And I was wondering if there was anything I could do to help you out."

He looked at you, his expression unreadable. His hands folded neatly in his lap, and he leaned back in his chair. It was hard to tell whether he was considering your offer or mentally debating the logistics of it.

"You want to help me out?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes.”

Aaron grabbed a stack of papers, knocking them into a neat pile on his desk, then looked back at you. "So, this is something you’re interested in?" His tone was laced with amusement as he nodded down at the amount of paperwork in his hands.

You winced at the sight of it. "Uh... not exactly," you said, trying to keep your tone light. "I was thinking more along the lines of taking care of Jack," you added, raising your voice slightly on the last part, unsure of how he’d react to your suggestion.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Taking care of Jack?"

"Yeah.” You met his gaze, trying to sound confident despite the uncertainty creeping in. "Just on the days we don’t have a case. I could go to your place and stay with him until you get home."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You know Jessica’s there," he said, referring to his ex-sister-in-law who had taken on the role of taking care of Jack when he had to work.

“Don’t you think she deserves a break every once in a while?”

His expression shifted, becoming slightly defensive. "She offered to take care of him.”

"I know," you responded quickly, knowing he’d never force her into it. "But I’m offering too. I babysat all through university, I know what I’m doing."

He gave you a tight-lipped smile, his eyes flicking back to the papers in front of him. "That’s not necessary, but thank you," he said, his tone closing the conversation.

You weren’t ready to let it go yet. You stepped closer to his desk, hoping to draw his attention back. "Please? I want to help you."

He didn’t look up. "I don’t need any help," he stubbornly replied, his eyes still glued to the paperwork.

“Then let me put it this way,” you pressed on. "I want to help the team, because no offense, your stress is affecting all of us. And on top of that, I want to help Jack."

He glanced up at you, the wheels in his mind turning, and you showed him your best puppy eyes.

"Did you learn that from Reid?" he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Is it working?" you grinned back.

He chuckled breathlessly. "Alright, fine. One night. Let’s see how it goes."

You fought back a victorious grin. “Good. Just you wait, Hotchner. Once you see how great I am with kids, you’ll never let me go."

—

A week later, Hotch took you up on your offer. Jessica had a wedding to attend, and you’d agreed to look after Jack for the evening.

Though you’d spent plenty of time with Jack when he visited his dad at the office or at events outside of work, Hotch insisted on driving you to his place for a proper handoff.

He held the door open for you as you entered his apartment. You were immediately greeted by Jessica, dressed in a stunning outfit with a purse ready in hand.

"I’m late, I’m late!" she panicked, almost running as she headed for the door. But when she saw you, her demeanor softened.

“There’s my saving grace,” she said with a relieved smile. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

You waved her off with a grin. “It’s my pleasure. You look amazing, go have fun.”

She offered a final smile, then said her goodbyes to Hotch before quickly heading out.

“Hi, Dad!” Jack’s voice rang out as he bounced into the living room, his excitement palpable. You smiled, watching the little boy as he ran toward his father.

“Hey, buddy.” Hotch lifted him into his arms with a small groan. “You’re getting bigger every day.”

Your heart warmed at the exchange. Hotch was a completely different man when he was at home—more relaxed, more playful, the kind of father who carefully kept work and family separate.

He put Jack down, introducing you to him.

“I know who she is, Dad. We colored together. She’s really good at drawing Spider-Man.”

Hotch raised an intrigued eyebrow at you.

"I have more hidden talents than you know,” you playfully shrugged.

You turned to Jack, crouching down to his level. "Want to grab the crayons? We can make some more drawings."

Jack’s eyes lit up, and without hesitation, he scampered off in search of his favorite colors, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll find the red one!”

You chuckled at his enthusiasm and straightened up, turning back to Hotch. “You’ve got a sweet kid,”

Hotch’s eyes followed Jack as he rummaged through the drawer. There was pride in the way he looked at his son, but you could see the hint of anxiety that always seemed to lurk beneath the surface when it came to Jack.

You placed a reassuring hand on his arm, giving him a small, comforting squeeze. “He’s in good hands, Hotch. You don’t have to worry.”

He met your eyes, and for a brief moment, the weight of his responsibilities seemed to lift. His gaze softened with unspoken gratitude. “I trust you,” he spoke sincerely.

“Good.” You gave him a small smile and gave his bicep a final, reassuring pat. “Now get some work done. You might be able to make it in time for dinner.”

With a final glance at Jack, he turned to leave. The door clicked softly behind him, and you were left on your own with the mini version of him, who was already showing off his new crayons.

—

That evening marked the first of many. When you weren’t out on a case, you found yourself naturally heading to Hotch's after work—sometimes taking over from Jessica for the day or picking up Jack from school yourself. You often stayed well into the evening, even after Hotch came home, enjoying dinner together, playing games, or simply talking. There were even times where you stayed the night, sharing a quiet drink after putting Jack to bed. He’d insist you sleep in his bed while he took the couch. In the mornings, the three of you would share breakfast, with Hotch always ensuring the fridge was stocked with your favorite foods and knowing exactly how you liked your eggs.

You knew your colleagues would lose their minds if they’d ever find out, but for you, it never felt strange. It felt right. Comfortable. And whenever you were back on the field, you’d slip back into your professional roles—the accidental first-name slips the only sign of the bond you shared.

Being at their place made you realize how much your work had tangled itself into every aspect of your life. You’d moved away from family, struggled to maintain a personal life, and watched every attempt at dating falter because of your job. Despite how fulfilling your work at the BAU was, you’d forgotten just how deeply you craved a sense of belonging—a place where you were appreciated for more than just your professional skills or your ability to handle a weapon. Around Aaron and Jack, you could simply let go and be yourself.

Today was another day at the Hotchner house. You had spent the entire afternoon with Jack playing soccer in a nearby park until he was utterly exhausted, you practically had to drag him home. This time you didn’t mind though. Today has been a painful reminder of how single you were. The park had been filled with happy couples—some picnicking, some feeding the ducks, and others nervously sharing their first kiss.

You were grateful for how Aaron had allowed you to wiggle your way into his little family on days like these, but still it wasn’t yours. You still longed for one to call your own one day.

So, here you were—alone on the couch, watching a rom-com wishing you were starring in it, and finding comfort in the warmth of his house and the glass of wine in your hand.

You were so absorbed in the movie that you didn’t notice the door unlocking until Hotch stepped inside.

“Hey,” you greeted, reaching for the remote to pause the film.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said, putting down his bag and hanging up his jacket. He loosened his tie and walked over to the couch, settling on the opposite end.

“Sorry, I opened a new bottle of wine”

He waved it off. “I’m glad that you did. It would’ve just collected dust on the shelf.”

You take another sip. “It’s a good one. Rossi’s?”

“You know it,” he replied with a soft smile, getting comfortable in the cushions as you put the movie back on.

The screen flickered with a romantic scene: a couple dancing in the rain, the male lead spinning the woman around in circles as they laughed.

“I miss that,” you murmured, a wistful smile tugging at your lips as you watched them.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk forming. “It’s raining outside. Be my guest.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully dismissing the comment. “That’s not what I meant. Just look, Aaron,” you pointed at the TV, where the couple gazed at each other lovingly, before he pulled her in for a passionate kiss. “I don’t remember the last time someone looked at me like that.”

“Sometimes, I feel so desperate that I think about saying yes to the first guy who comes along, just to feel wanted again.”

Hotch straightened, concern flickering in his eyes. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“I know, Dad,” you teased, trying to ease the tension. “I’m unfortunately fully aware of the creeps out there.”

“On top of that, I’m not even sure anyone would take me up on it,” you added with a breathless laugh, your voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. “I haven’t exactly gotten much attention since joining the team. Maybe I’m not considered attractive anymore.”

“People can tell you know how to handle yourself,” he profiled. “Some find that intimidating. But you’re just as attractive—if not more so—than before you joined the team.”

You almost spilled your wine at his confession, the sudden heat in your cheeks betraying the flutter in your stomach.

“You don’t have to say that,” you mumbled, not wanting him to feel pity for you.

“Am I lying?” he asked, his voice steady. You met his gaze—his posture was open, his shoulders relaxed, and his eye contact was unwavering. It was textbook honesty.

“No,” you admitted quietly, feeling the truth of his words sink in.

“I don’t think you need some stranger or a serious relationship to get what you’re after.”

You blinked, not sure if you’d heard him right. “No?”

Hotch leaned in just a little, his voice lower now. “I think we could give each other what we need... without it being complicated.”

Your heart skipped, and you tried to process what he was suggesting. Your mind raced, the words hanging in the air between you.

“Are you suggesting a no-strings-attached relationship with me?”

He gave a small, wry smile. “I’m trying to be subtle about it, but it’s not going so well.”

You laughed, caught off guard, trying to mask your surprise as you saw the seriousness in his expression.

“How will this work?”

The corners of his lips lifted as you acknowledged thinking this through. “We would just… enjoy ourselves. Just when we’re here. Just when it’s the two of us.”

Enjoying yourself with Aaron Hotchner definitely wasn’t how you’d imagined this night going.

You stayed quiet, thinking it over. After a moment you slowly nodded your head. “Okay.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, waiting for confirmation.

“Yes. I am,” you responded, the words coming easier now.

You licked your lips nervously as he moved closer to you. His cologne enveloped you, making your pulse quicken.

As he continued gazing into your eyes, you decided it was your turn to make the next move. Carefully, you reached up to cup his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of his stubble against the palm of your hand. A small prayer passed through your mind, hoping you wouldn’t regret your next decision.

Then you kissed him.

The moment his lips met yours, the cliché of “fireworks” suddenly made sense—the feeling was intense, electric, a rush that left you breathless. His hands moved to the sides of your waist, pulling you closer. Before you could think, you were settled on his lap, the world around you narrowing to the heat of his touch.

A small, desperate whimper escaped you as his tongue brushed against yours. It had been so long since someone touched you this way—especially someone as strong and attractive as Aaron. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingertips as your hand slid over his chest, the other wrapping around his neck. He deepened the kiss, and the feeling was so overwhelming that it almost made you cry in relief.

He brushed his hands over the smooth curve of your waist and down the swell of your thighs, digging his fingers into the clothed skin.

Your soft moans were swallowed by your kisses, and you couldn’t help yourself as you moved your hips against his, feeling yourself get more aroused with each movement against the thin fabric of his slacks.

He let out a low grunt as you repeatedly rolled your hips against the hardening bulge in his pants. His large hands roamed up beneath your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You placed your hands over his, ready to take your shirt off, but just as quickly his hands closed around your wrists, stopping you gently.

“Not here,” he warned. “Let’s move to the bedroom.”

His words sent a rush of desire to your core, and though your legs trembled, you stood from his lap and followed him across the room. As he moved, Hotch unbuckled his belt with one swift, effortless motion. You paused mid-step, breath catching at the sight of the leather coiled in his hand, hypnotised by how seductive the image looked. You blinked a couple of times to get out of your trance, before hurrying after him, your legs trying to catch up to his confident pace.

You stepped into the bedroom, moving until you stood at the foot of the bed as he locked the door behind you. A flutter of nerves stirred in your stomach at the reality of what was about to happen.

Hotch walked toward you, slowly closing the distance. His eyes were dark as they took you in with a look of pure lust—one you’d previously never seen on him.

“Turn around for me.”

Maybe it was because you were so accustomed to his authority in the field, or perhaps it was the undeniable fact that you'd let him do anything to you at this point, but without a second thought, you obeyed, turning your back toward him.

His hands reached out to rub over your shoulders in slow circles. You instinctively leaned into him, your eyes closing as you let yourself melt into the comfort of his touch. He presses in closer, his chin resting against your shoulder.

“What is it that you’ve been longing for?” His voice is a soft, sensual whisper, his breath warm against your skin.

A shaky breath escapes your lips as his hands delicately trail over your collarbones, carefully moving lower, inching toward your breasts. The moment his palms cup them, your nipples harden.

He hummed, still awaiting a response.

“You,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible through the thick need.

You feel the faint curve of a teasing smile against your skin. “You already have me,” he murmured. “Tell me how I can make you feel good.”

His thumbs flick over your nipples, and you arch your back into him, feeling the solid press of his body against yours, the hardness in his pants meeting you once again.

“It’s been a while since-” your words dissolve into a moan as his fingers pinch your nipples.

“Since what?” he teased, his lips tracing the curve of your neck, each kiss setting your skin alight.

You swallowed. “Since… since someone’s gone down on me.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, the sound rich with interest. His tongue slides up your neck, before turning it into a kiss.

“Aaron, please,” you begged, grinding your hips into him.

“How can someone like you have been deprived of pleasure for so long?” he thought out loud, and he finally grabbed the material of your shirt, pulling it over your head.

His hands glide softly over your back, before he unclasps your bra with one smooth motion. Your breasts spill free, and he immediately cups them in his hands, holding them as if he wants to keep you warm and covered. The pleasure is even more delicious now that the contact is skin-to-skin.

His hands roam over your stomach, until he reaches the button of your pants, undoing it. He sinks to his knees behind you, his fingers curling around the waistband of your pants and panties, easing them down. A low curse escapes him as the fabric slides over your ass and down your thighs, revealing more of you inch by inch.

You held onto his shoulder for support, as he steadied your leg, guiding you to step out of your pants. The second he tossed the fabric to the side, he placed his hands steadily on your thighs, leaning in to press a heated kiss to your ass. You let out a moan, bucking forward, but he holds you firmly in place as his lips trail wet, lingering kisses over your cheeks.

“Place your knee on the bed for me,” he tenderly instructs.

You followed his order, lifting one knee onto the bed, your upper body arching slightly as it hovers just above the mattress. The cool air brushes over your exposed pussy as you’re displayed in front of him.

A loud moan leaves your mouth, as his tongue makes contact with your folds. The pressure is just right, each flick of his tongue drawing a sharp gasp from you as he licks up and down in a deliberate rhythm.

“You taste like heaven,” he groans, the deep rumble of his voice vibrating through you as he speaks, “dripping down your thighs already.” His lips trail lower, and he laps up the wetness that has gathered on your inner thighs, his stubble tickling against your sensitive skin. You grip the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to.

Aaron’s tongue returns to your pussy, the tip of it firmly pushing inside, curling upward as he slides in and out, hitting all the right spots, sending waves of pleasure through you. Each thrust makes you cry out.

You let out a small whine as his tongue retreats, pressing a delicate kiss to the tender skin. “Don’t get me wrong,” he starts, licking his lips clean, “I love hearing you, but you can’t be too loud.”

You silently nodded, your breath hitching as his finger unhurriedly traced your sensitive folds. Just as he was about to enter you, you stopped him.

“I- I need your cock,” you whined, your hips pushing back toward him, desperate for more.

“Yeah? You need it that bad?” he teased, as he rose to his feet behind you.

You crawled onto the bed, glancing back at him. His lips still glistened with the trace of you, and his eyes were locked onto yours, filled with predatory focus.

“I need it, Aaron,” you repeated, biting your bottom lip as your gaze lingered on the hard outline of his length pressed against his thigh.

He groaned, his hands quickly pulling at his tie, tossing it aside before he began unbuttoning his shirt. His movements were confident—like a private performance just for you. You leaned back on your arms, your feet planted on the bed, allowing him to see just how much he was making you ache for him.

As he removed his shirt, the muscles in his broad shoulder flexed, and the trail of dark hair down his stomach led your eyes straight to what you craved.

He wasn’t shy as he pulled his pants down, eager to show you just how worked up you’d made him. His length stood hard, the tip flushed red and glistening with precum. You instinctively pressed your thighs together, giving you a soft release of tension.

He joined you on the bed, lying on his side and pulling you flush against his chest, spooning you. His lips crashed into yours in a deep, hungry kiss, his groans vibrating against your mouth. His hand explored your front, squeezing your breasts, while his arousal pressed insistently against your ass.

You moaned, your leg draping over his as you shifted, opening yourself up to him. He reached down, gripping his length, positioning it against you before slowly pushing inside, stretching you inch by inch.

You took a sharp breath, adjusting to the feel of him inside you. His cock throbbed, as if begging for you to move. Slowly, you rolled your hips, taking more of him in, and Hotch’s low growl rumbled in your ear.

“That’s it,” he praised, his voice rough with pleasure. “Taking me so well.”

He was fully inside you now, filling you completely, and his hand slid down to your exposed clit, his fingers moving in slow, rhythmic circles. His thrusts matched the pace, deep and deliberate.

Every movement sent shockwaves through your body, your breath quickening as the familiar knot of pleasure tightened in your stomach.

“I’m close, Aaron,” you whimpered, and he moaned in response, placing soft kisses along your jaw before sucking at your neck, marking you.

His fingers moved faster, pushing you closer to the edge, and your body twitched as your orgasm crashed over you. His arms held you tight, anchoring you as the sensations slowly subsided.

When he withdrew his hand from your clit, it slid down to your knee, bending your leg to spread you even wider. Without warning, he began pounding into you, the sudden change in speed making you cry out, a high-pitched moan escaping your lips.

“Be quiet for me. Don’t make me tell you again,” he warned. You involuntarily moaned at the way he commanded you, and he grunted in response.

With a swift motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, your body pressed flat against the bed. A sharp gasp escaped you as he grabbed your thighs, lifting them to raise your ass in the air, before entering you again.

One hand pressed firmly into your shoulder, holding you down, while the other gripped your hips, forcing you to meet each of his thrusts. The new position did its job—your moans were muffled into the pillow, leaving only the wet slap of skin and the sound of Hotch’s deep, guttural grunts with each push of his hips.

“They're so stupid for not wanting you,” he groaned. “You have me now. I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. After feeling this, you knew you wouldn’t ever be satisfied by anyone else. You would want no one but him.

“I’m going to come inside of you,” he breathed, bending over so his chest pressed against your back, his warmth enveloping you.

“Oh-“ Your breath caught as the sensation in your core tightened again. “Yes, please. Inside of me, please.” You couldn’t form a full sentence as the heat inside of your core builds up again.

He reaches under you to touch your clit, and the instant his fingers make contact, you come undone. Your legs tremble, giving way beneath you as the rush of pleasure takes over. Hotch pushes into you two more times before you feel him spill inside, the sensation sending you into another, deeper orgasm.

He presses soft, tender kisses to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers in your ear, “I’m sorry I got a little carried away.”

You hum in satisfaction, a pleased smile tugging at your lips. “I’m glad you did.”

—

You weren’t sure what time it was, but you had a quick shower together—Hotch giving you one more orgasm—and were now laying in bed, your clean bodies tangled under his sheets.

“Will you stay the night?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand as he held you close.

It was endearing how gentle and shy he sounded, a stark contrast to what the two of you had just shared.

“Only if you promise to not move to the couch,” you mumbled sleepily, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

You turned your head to him, noticing the quiet that had settled between you both.

“What is it?” you asked, tracing absent patterns to his skin.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I was thinking… maybe we can attach those strings a bit more.”

You chuckled. “Maybe,” you playfully teased, pressing a final kiss to his lips.

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writemekpop · 3 days ago

Text

Baby Daddy | Jung Jaehyun

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x Reader

Summary: Your baby son asks to marry you… so Jaehyun asks you a big question of his own.

Genre: Domestic AU, Parents AU, fluff

“Mommy, can I marry you one day?"

You looked up from your laptop and saw your five-year-old son Nickesh staring at you with dazzling brown eyes.

You ran your hand through his silky black hair and squished his cheek.

"That’s not how it works, baby,” you cooed.

Nickesh frowned. “But daddy said he got to marry the most kindest, amazingest, beautifulest girl in the world. I want to as well.”

"Nicky, listen. One day you’re going to marry someone even more beautiful than me! Do you understand?"

The little boy pouted. "Yeah…"

"Good boy.” You kissed the top of his head. “Now go play.”

You turned to your husband Jaehyun, who was sat next to you on the couch, staring at the open book in his lap.

“I know you’re only pretending to read, baby,” you said.

Jaehyun kept his eyes trained to the book, but he couldn’t help but grin.

“Alright, you got me! You’re so good with him, you know.” Jaehyun said, lovingly. “It almost makes… nah forget it.” He shook his head.

“No, tell me!” You nudged your husband’s shoulder.

Jaehyun looked at you, a rosy blush tinting his cheeks. “It almost… makes me want to have another child.”

Your mouth dropped open.

Jaehyun laced his fingers with yours. “We can afford it… Nicky’s always wanted a little sibling… and it’s so nice to have a baby in the house…”

You fell silent, thinking.

Jaehyun started pressing kisses to your neck, his soft lips sending shivers down your spine.

"Baby, say something,” he mumbled against your skin.

You curled your hand into his hair, pulling him closer. You let yourself imagine a life where your perfect three became a four.

“Alright,” you half-sighed, half-moaned.

Jaehyun stopped his kisses abruptly. He lifted his head to look you in the eyes.

“Really?” he asked.

You giggled. “Yes, really! I mean… you did call me the most beautiful girl in the world. Let’s make another baby.”

Jaehyun smiled, dimples deepening. “I love you so much.”

You tugged his hair. “Did I ask you to stop kissing me? I said we’re making a baby. We’re gonna start right now!”

Jaehyun nodded briskly, before diving back to your neck.

"Yes ma'am!”

—

MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

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prael · 9 hours ago

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Day 11: Threats And Treats

Newjeans Danielle x male reader smut

words: 4,585 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

She is furious.

She's been in your class for barely a few months, but now she gives you an ultimatum. Either you change her grade, or she'll report you for sexual harassment.

It's a threat that you laugh off.

You have no reason to be afraid. Sure, Danielle's been throwing herself at you ever since you became her teacher. She wears her skirts too short, and her tops too low, and the way she asks you to tutor her privately after school can't be entirely innocent.

But it's not as if you've done anything wrong. You have, in fact, ignored Danielle's advances.

And there's no understating just how hard that has been. She has perched herself on your desk after class and given you a view of her lacy underwear. She has worn her gym shorts to meet you, and the tight material has hugged the cheeks of her firm little ass so snugly that it makes you want to drool. Painted her lips in that deep red that you know would look perfect wrapped around your cock. She brushed up against you in the hallways with a sly little grin and pressed her soft little tits into your side.

"Danielle, get the hell out of my office."

She turns up her nose without a word and she storms off.

She doesn't report you. Instead, she shows up at your office an hour later.

You have a lot of other papers to grade. You've had a long week. And Danielle's attitude is making your day even harder. You are in no mood to play games with this bratty girl. You don't look up when she enters. You barely glance at her.

"I'm not changing your grade," you say dismissively as you mark another awful essay with an F and then flip it over. You wonder how Danielle would react if you gave her a failing grade instead.

Danielle is undaunted. "You have to. You know that's not the grade I deserved."

"I scored you exactly like I did the others, and that is the score you got," you reply curtly, looking over another paper. "I can show you the rubric if you'd like, but it won't change your score. Now please, I'm very busy."

She steps closer. You don't bother to look up until Danielle places one slender finger underneath your chin, tilts up your face, and looks straight down at you. The bratty young woman has some nerve. Her touch sends a tingle down your spine, but you try to ignore it.

"I can make things difficult for you," she says. She's giving you this piercing gaze. Her hair is tied back in a neat ponytail and her lips are bright red again.

"Miss, if you touch me again or make any demands of me, I'll have to call someone to have you removed from my office." You look right back into those eyes, trying to keep a cool facade.

"And how would that look? If someone walked in and I am kneeled on your desk." She whispers as she raises her right knee onto it first and then lifts herself up. "Maybe I could have a tear going down my face." She runs her finger down the side of her cheek. "Or maybe I could have my legs spread. What would they think?"

"Get the fuck off my desk."

"Oh, sir. I do like it when you swear at me. It's kind of hot." She smirks and she shuffles further onto your desk. Her knees push away papers and files. She's such a dainty little thing—you've thought that so many times—that you could lift her right off and carry her away by her firm little ass. You wonder if that would turn her on. "I'm not getting down. Not unless you give me the grade I want."

"Danielle. Get off my desk right now." You warn again.

"Sir, we both know I'm not a B student, don't we?" She asks as she runs her hand up her slender thigh, bringing up her skirt with it and giving you a full view of her lacey pink underwear. Her bare thighs are smooth. Her panties look delicate like you could just rip through them with a single hard tug.

She knows exactly what she's doing, the little minx.

"Are you going to change my grade for me?"

She rests her skirt at her hips, leaving herself exposed right in your eyeline.

"Danielle, you're a student, this is unacceptable." There's a quiver in your voice, but it's still the truth. This is wrong, and she needs to be punished. You want to bend her over your knee, pull down her panties and give her a damn good spanking until her cheeks turn the same shade as her lips. Then you want to pull down your trousers, take out your cock and... No.

You wince at yourself. These are not thoughts you can afford to entertain. No matter how tempting Danielle makes them. No matter how good she'd feel (you know she would feel so good). No, you can't do that.

"Sir, listen to me. Either let me work hard for you and earn my A. Or I tell the principal. Tell her how you tried to fuck me," she purrs. Her eyes flash as she challenges you.

She leans forward, pushing more files off the desk as she does. Danielle's small breasts are nearly to your face, and you wonder how her soft flesh would feel pressed against your skin.

"Well?"

Her perfume wafts around you, filling your nostrils with her sweet, intoxicating smell.

"Please. Stop this," you whisper, trying to remain strong. But you know that you can't resist her much longer.

She reaches a hand up and brushes your cheek and her touch tingles against your skin. It wouldn't be so difficult to pull her in right now and give in to all your urges.

"No."

She leans in and whispers, "Then I'll make things even more difficult."

Danielle suddenly clambers off the desk, pulling papers and stationary with her, and down to her knees. Your chair rolls back a few inches, but now her head is right between your legs.

"This isn't going to work," you lie, your breath hitching. Your heart beats faster in your chest as you realize what is happening. You don't want it to work, you tell yourself. You can't want it to work. Not when she is a goddamn student.

"It will. Trust me," she whispers.

And then you feel the button of your jeans pop and hear the sound of the zipper. You can't look down, you just can't. Instead, you stare straight forward at the clock in front of you. Watching it tick slowly.

Your breathing becomes heavier as she fiddles with the waist of your boxers. She's going to get her grade. There's nothing you can do. She knows that now, and it makes her giggle. It is a girly, innocent little giggle, and that makes everything feel so much worse.

You can feel your cock swelling and hardening underneath her fingers, and you know that there's no way to stop her now. Her hand is wrapped around your shaft. And then, her hot breath on your skin, followed by the wet touch of her tongue.

Your eyes shut tight and your hands clench the armrests. Her tongue slides around you and then, her mouth closes over your head.

"Oh, fuck." You breathe. Your whole body is tingling as Danielle starts to suck your cock, her lips wrapped so tightly around you, her mouth so warm and welcoming. She's a little bit sloppy, a little bit too fast, but you can't help loving every moment. She has you in the palm of her hand now, quite literally, and she's working your cock with all the enthusiasm you could ever want from a bratty girl who's decided that you're going to give her exactly what she wants.

Your hands clench into fists, but as Danielle keeps bobbing up and down your cock, you just can't keep them still. You've resisted this girl for so long. You've been a good man, a decent man, despite her constant efforts to seduce you.

You can't be good now.

You let go of the armrest and reach down, and you place a firm hand on her head. She squeals with surprise and delight as you force her down onto your cock, making her take you deeper than she was prepared to go. And that noise only makes it feel even better, sending tingling pleasure all through your skin. You can feel the head of your cock hitting the back of her throat and the pressure as she gags, the vibrations as she moans, and you don't let up. You don't want to.

You hate yourself for it; you know how wrong it is; you know how it would play out if anyone found out; you know you should feel guilty as sin, and yet all you can feel is pleasure as Danielle bobs up and down on your cock.

You dare to indulge at the sight: a beautiful girl on her knees, sucking your cock, taking you deep into her mouth. Lips laden in red gloss stretched around your cock. Wide-eyed, with mascara-coated lashes. You can feel your balls tightening. The heat in your stomach rises as the pleasure becomes overwhelming. She sucks harder, she moans a little louder, and you know you're close.

Maybe it's just how wrong it is that makes it all feel so good. Or maybe it's just because it's her.

"Sir?" She says it between planting kisses on the tip of your cock, all while her dainty little hand jerks at the shaft, her fingers barely wrapping around you. She's been teasing you for so long now. Months and months. You can hardly stand it anymore. "I want to taste it."

Oh god, how you want to give it to her.

"Danielle..." you gasp.

"I've thought about it so often. When you were in the classroom talking theories and applications, all I wanted to do was get down on my knees and let you fuck my face."

"Danielle..." It's all you can say, because what can you say? This is your student, for god's sake.

"You know how many times you left me soaked after a lesson?" Her voice is low and husky, filled with desire, and she has this little twist in her wrist every time she strokes your cock, and she is driving you crazy. "I'd run home and slip my fingers into my underwear and make myself cum."

"Stop."

"Want it, don't you?" she taunts, and then as if it's some rehearsed move, she lets go of your cock. The absence of touch makes you ache with need. She's smiling so wide that her eyes smile too, and there's a gentle laugh because she knows exactly what she's doing. "Then you better change my grade."

She sits back on her haunches, still between your legs, looking up at you with expectation. She glances over her shoulder to your computer—a suggestion (or a demand) to change her grade right this very second, or else the fun stops.

You're a weak man, aren't you? She has your cock out and your heart pounding. She's giving you an ultimatum that you can't refuse, so you're standing up, looking down at her. Your pants have slipped to the ground. Danielle's face is level with your throbbing, pulsating cock.

"You win," you say with a sigh, as you reach over her to type on the computer, changing her grade. You have barely hit the enter key before she's up and wrapping her lips around you again, her moan vibrating your cock. Your reward for breaking the rules—for betraying every ounce of professional integrity.

Your reward feels so good. You grab a handful of her hair and force her head back down onto you. You watch yourself disappear between those red-stained lips again. You don't hold back. Standing over the cute girl, your cock in her mouth, you thrust your hips forward. Every time you hit the back of her throat you feel her gag. She's trying so hard to suppress the reflex. She wants you to believe that she's an experienced little slut, but her red cheeks and her wet eyes give away the truth.

"Good girl. Take it all."

Danielle looks up at you with those pretty doe eyes, so full of mischief. She has won, and you both know it. But you can't feel sorry now. Not with her on her knees, and her lips around you. This has to happen. So you're fucking her mouth, pinning her against your desk, while she grasps at her own chest. Clenching at her breasts through the material of her shirt and squeezing her thighs together in some attempt to satisfy the burning desire you know she feels.

Her jaw hangs open, leaving you nothing more than a hole to use. You can't keep this up anymore, the tension in your body can't take it any more, and neither can she. She's gasping, choking, spluttering, fighting for her breath as you use your grip on her hair to make her swallow every inch.

A smudge on her cheek, where a tear has spilt, and mascara is starting to stain.

"Look at me," you snap, jerking her by the hair as her focus drifts.

"Yes, sir," she replies obediently, locking her eyes right on yours while looking up. You bite your lip. It won't be long. The heat has been rising, and you know you're close.

She seems to know it too, and her eyes seem to say just how much she wants you to fill her. They show you how much she wants to take her victory. That's enough to send you right over the edge.

"Mmh!" she moans as you push your entire cock into her mouth. Her gagging and protesting does nothing to prevent the contractions from running through your cock. She feels like heaven as your cock jerks, and your eyes shut tight while pleasure overwhelms you. You can feel yourself pumping load after load into her waiting mouth. Thick rope after thick rope. You didn't know you could cum like this. You haven't cum like this since...ever.

She's working you as much as her tired state allows, her tongue shifting and coaxing out your fluids. Draining you of every last drop of cum.

You pull out and she gasps for air, chest heaving. Her face is marked, her lipstick smudged. What's left on her lips looks almost as if it's bruising, and you revel in it. She looks spent. Completely used. She's even pulled one hand up to cover her mouth. With this expression, she can't pull off a confident slut act, and this satisfies you. She's panting, like a dog after a hard run.

You both win. Mutual victory. Satisfaction and defeat.

You slide down into your chair, the adrenaline running its course. For now, everything is exactly the way it should be. As if none of this has ever happened. She's checking the screen and grinning. Her eyelids flutter, and she smiles back at you—almost bashful. Relief that she got what she came for.

Danielle is just happy, while you're thinking about all the ways you would like to pin her to your desk.

It's now well into spring, the snow has melted and the seasons are changing. You've been waiting for a while. Weeks have passed without her coming into your class or your office or talking to you about the latest assignment.

Not that you've minded. After your last encounter, you're prepared for a little bit of distance. You're still thinking about how things went. (You're always thinking about it.)

It's all going to change today. See, the latest grades were posted this morning, and you imagine that Danielle is not going to be pleased with hers. You picture her stopping by your office shortly, demanding another change, and of course, you're going to oblige. You're getting hard just at the thought.

Even the deepest, darkest, dirtiest corners of your mind hadn't prepared for this. You didn't know Danielle's schedule, of course, but it becomes abundantly clear she came right here from cheerleader practice. Athletic, tiny, and body-hugging—all words appropriate to describe the tiny little cheer uniform she is sporting. Her shorts short enough to almost reveal her full cheeks, and her top is way too thin. Thin enough, in fact, for you to tell that Danielle wasn't wearing a bra underneath, and you could see her pert, perky little nipples—making her excitement obvious.

"Sir, what the fuck is this?" Danielle holds out her phone and points at her grade: a B+. "You'd better do something about it."

She stands across from your desk, the image of youthful indifference, her hip cocked and her arms crossed. It is a stance filled with sass.

"I think you failed to take my instruction, my guidance, properly and for that, I had to dock marks."

"And if I show you now, how well I take instruction, will you increase it?" Her head tilts slightly and her teeth rake over her lower lip, and her tone is so impudent, and something about her attitude makes the blood surge through your veins. It's like every word from her insolent mouth is spurring you on to teach her a lesson. Make her moan and scream your name. Fill her up like you did before and erase that smirk from her pretty, pretty little face.

"There is a little lee-way." A teasing, mischievous giggle. "Maybe there's something we can agree on?" You suggest, your eyes tracking the curve of her toned legs. You can feel your pants getting uncomfortably tight at the thought of making Danielle squeal.

"Where do you want me, sir?"

You both know that the bartering is pointless. This deal isn't new, it's a continuation. "Bend over my desk. Like the good little girl that you are."

She strolls right around your desk, swaying her hips a little bit more than necessary, and you aren't sure if the minx is putting a show on for your sake or whether it's just her natural saunter. Either way, as soon as she puts her elbows down on your desk, you're sure that her display was planned to the smallest detail.

Slowly, she pushes her ass up and back, looking over her shoulder at you. "Can I have a word, please, sir? I'm having some trouble understanding," she calls over to you, the most suggestive smile creasing her face, and you try not to let the effect of her bratty charms bother you.

"Danielle, I gave you ample explanation of the assignment." You remind her. You can't keep the humour out of your voice.

"This is true, but...it's the sort of thing I really need drilled into me." Danielle presses the very tip of one blood-red fingernail to the desk and draws it in the shape of a circle.

"I know the syllabus can be a little... hard," you say as you stand behind her. You lean forward and place your hands on the desk. The cheap wood groans in protest. You can smell her intoxicating perfume. She's definitely been driving you crazy.

"So hard," she whispers as you lean over her body.

"Do you need some extra attention, Danielle?"

"I do, sir." She shifts her body, rolling her lower back and standing on the toes, pressing the curve of her pert little ass against your crotch. "Please, sir."

It has been weeks since you had her. How could you resist a come-on like that? How could anyone? Slowly you slide your hands down her sides and grab her hips. You feel a wave of perverted, forbidden lust as you grip her flesh; she feels so good. She shivers slightly at your touch, which gives you a wicked thrill.

Danielle is so small underneath you, so petite. Your hands move from her waist, stroking along the smooth material of the skirt. She draws in a short breath as you place your hand underneath the little article of clothing. She had removed her panties, as you suspect, she would. So there is nothing to prevent you from stroking the delicate, velvety soft skin of her lovely little pussy. It's already wet—which isn't surprising, but it's even hotter than you could have dreamed.

"Danielle, you don't have underwear," you murmur.

"I know sir, so I guess the next part should be easy." She starts to wiggle against your hand, drawing up that tiny skirt a little further, displaying herself to you.

She's perfectly prepared, so you draw your finger deeper between her soft, silken lips, finding her entrance, teasing her gently, drawing mewling, desperate sounds out of the slutty girl bent over your desk. You take a moment just to savour her gasps and little whimpers. To drink in her pleasure. There's something so damn satisfying, knowing the effect that you have on her. Then, you start to pull your fingers down, toward her beautiful little clit, stroking it, working her little bundle of nerves while her excited sounds just get more and more needy.

You continue to play with her pussy while enjoying the way that her tiny breasts squish against the desk, how her hands are clasping desperately for purchase and how she rolls her little hips against you, eagerly seeking out more. She's so consumed, so lost in the moment that it doesn't surprise you when the question finally falls out of her lips.

"Sir, am I going to get an A?"

That smug fucking little minx. She knows exactly what she's doing. "Yes, Danielle. An A." You promise.

"Give it to me, sir," she says with the most expectant little sigh, and the temptation proves too much for you. So you remove your hand and slip your fingers in your mouth. Tasting her. Savouring her. How far you'd gone. She groans in disappointment as you withdraw, but she stops protesting as she hears the sound of your belt. Is it anticipation that has goosebumps blooming on her skin?

When you've freed yourself from your pants, it is no struggle at all to position your cock between those sweet, soft folds and draw a moan from both of you.

"What are you waiting for?" she whines impatiently, forcing herself back against you, enticing you.

Your only response is to smile and continue to enjoy the sight of her pinned against your desk. Her bare, narrow lower back is fully exposed, leading to such a cute, full little ass that is just aching to be taken. You marvel at her every detail as the head of your cock presses right up against her tight hole, tempting you into her body, luring you in.

"Sir," she whispers, a husky, throaty invitation.

Before any more of her words can fill the air, you start to push inside her slowly. Every inch that passes makes her draw a sharper breath and keeps her gasping for air.

Every whimper that passes her lips spurs you on, while every quivering contraction her pussy performs tempts you to pound every single inch of yourself into her. Every deep noise draws your attention, everything she does is captivating.

By the time your every inch is settled within her, you reach down and grip her shoulder, drawing her body into yours. And she's so darn adorable that she struggles to form the words that tumble over her lips, leaving her face twisted in a mask of effort and need. Her breath stills every time you rock inside her.

You lean over her body, your chest against her back, wanting to sink deeper into her; feeling the beat of her heart and the heat of her flushed skin.

In this moment, as the pace increases, time slows. Danielle's lithe body bows against you with every thrust. Words aren't necessary, her moans are better. They tell you just how much you are pleasing her.

She earns every part of that bump in grade through the slick tightness of her cunt, the arching of her back, the fluttering, clenching massaging strokes, and the beautiful noises tumbling from her cherry lips.

"Oh, my god..." Danielle grunts. "Harder!"

And, of course, that pleasure has a price—your control is slipping, the need is steadily becoming more intense and it's harder to resist, especially when it feels so good, your hips keep rocking, every stroke producing incredible frissons of pure, white heat. And the heat grows. You keep picking up speed, keeping her moans coming.

It isn't long before that gorgeous girl, taut and eager, clenches against your unyielding shaft, as if afraid it would disappear within her. Her breath catches as she reaches the pinnacle, before coming apart with a shrieked vowel. She bites her lower lip and digs her nails into the desk. She rides it out until every last drop of pleasure drains from her body.

While watching Danielle lose herself, your resolve disintegrates. You pick up the tempo, pounding into the pliable, supple and downright fuckable cheerleader. Her sharp, ragged gasps dissolve into a plaintive moan. Every stroke drives you closer and closer to the end.

You lean forward and whisper in Danielle's ear, "I'm gonna cum."

She nods her head quickly and urges you on, "Do it, sir."

So, you wrap one arm around her body and press your chest flush against her back, feeling the movements of her every muscle in time with yours. You can barely believe just how incredible this girl is.

"Fill me, sir," she begs as she reaches for your face. Danielle takes you by surprise as she turns to face you and places a kiss on your lips. It's light and quick, but it makes you spill your load inside her all the same. That slight, innocent contact seals the deal and your whole world erupts.

You're drowning. Drowning in pleasure and satisfaction, the throes of ecstasy wash over you as you continue to buck against your perfect little student. Every thrust leaves you breathing heavier than the last, and it isn't long before your forehead is pressed against her naked back as you pump another wave of sticky, liquid heat deep into Danielle's trembling body.

It is impossible to measure how long you two remain there, the line between where she begins and you end blurred. When you eventually start to untangle yourselves, she slinks away and returns your shared gaze with a satisfied grin.

You sit back and catch your breath, while she starts gathering herself together.

Your eyes trace her figure, the shape of her breasts, the slope of her neck. Danielle notices, because her lips curl up just a little more, and she shoots you the cutest little wink. "I know what you did, sir."

"And what was that?" you ask, playing along. Danielle picks up her jacket from the floor and then slips it on. You watch every movement she makes, your heart thumping in your chest as if trying to escape your ribcage.

She cocks her head. "Well, I think it was pretty clever, actually. But I've caught onto your game, sir. That assignment was perfect, we both know it." Danielle leans in, placing her hand on your chest. "Which means that this was never about grades. In future, you can just ask me, sir." She places a quick kiss on your lips.

#Danielle smut #newjeans smut #male reader #kpop smut #m reader #Danielle x reader #dani smut #praelmas #smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction

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joemama-2 · 2 days 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: 7.4k (shorter chap woop) 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 series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Year: Early 2018

He hasn’t been answering your phone calls. Or your texts. A growing sense of anxiety and worry forms in your gut. You've trained yourself to push down the more insidious thoughts that threaten your already deteriorating relationship. It’s been a long day for you. From work, to your annoying mother, and now to your M.I.A boyfriend. You wanted to relax at home with a movie and soothing music, maybe even food. However, it’s been hard to eat for the past few weeks.

The last place you wanted to be was at some house party with snobby people who probably never have realized the true meaning of a dollar. The music is loud and the blue lights do nothing but further annoy you, reminding you of just how much you hate parties. Pushing through the throngs of people, either too drunk to high to give your rudeness a huff.

It’s not hard to spot him, but the sight makes you dig your nails into your palms. Feeling bile rise in your throat when a girl—one you’ve never seen before—is getting too close and personal with your man. And worst of all? He’s not even pushing her away. He’s obviously drunk. Still, you assumed he would have that much decency to push back flirting advances from random girls. He always did.

But things have been changing recently, slowly but surely. Ever since that happened.

Your feet work quickly, forcing yourself to stay determined and not break down and cry right now. You’ve been doing too much of that. “Satoru.” You call out, voice loud and firm enough that he swivels his head to meet your eyes on just the first try. The girl does so also, head tilting in a scrutinizing way that you hate. “Are you drunk?”

The tint on his cheeks is proof enough. But so is his lazy grin. “What do you think?”

The girl giggles, leaning into your boyfriend’s arm. Watching her do so sends a wave of fury down your spine. You would have stepped in if it weren’t for Satoru finally being a decent man and pulling away from her. “Sorry, you gotta go.”

“Excuse me?” The girl huffs, scowling in disgust. “For what? I thought we were having a good time.”

So, they were together the whole night, huh? They probably would have stayed together if you didn’t make an appearance. What if they would have taken things further? What if Satoru imitated something? You can already feel the familiar tingle at the back of your throat, turning around and heading back for the door. He follows, grabbing your arm in an attempt to stop you. “Y/N—“

“Don’t.” You grit, yanking your arm away and pushing your way back out to the front of the large house, ignoring some of a drunken couple’s protests as you ruin their make-out session. When you make your way onto the sidewalk, you feel a more insistent tug at your wrist that causes you to face him fully. Meeting his glazed-over eyes with your own teary pair, biting down on your quivering lip. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why are you ignoring me?”

He sighs, running a hand down his face when he lets go of you. “I’m not ignoring you, Y/N. I’m sorry, I should have told you I’d be out. But it was last minute.”

A scoff falls from your lips. “Last minute, huh? Is that what you call it? Hanging around some random girl and acting like you don’t have a worried girlfriend waiting for you?”

“Y/N—“

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask, voice cracking. Your tears now flow freely down your face, eyes red. The expression you adorn does nothing but break his heart. He hates seeing you cry, he always has. And the small, sober part of him is cursing at himself for being such a jackass tonight. But the dominant, drunk side wants no part of an argument tonight.

“No, I didn’t. I’d never.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”

“I want you to be a good boyfriend for once!” You croak out, pushing him back by his shoulders. “Y-you know what I’m going through, you know how hard it’s been. And what do you do? You go out and party, you don’t tell me, and I find some random girl all up on you. And then you smiled like it was funny. D-do you know how much you’re hurting me even more, Satoru?” The trembling of your voice pokes at his heartstrings.

Satoru stares at you, his expression faltering. For a moment, you think you see guilt flicker across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by something colder—defensiveness. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, alright? I was just...blowing off steam.”

“Blowing off steam?” you repeat, your voice rising as fresh anger bubbles in your chest. “You call this blowing off steam? Ignoring me? Letting some girl throw herself all over you? You’re unbelievable.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his movements. “What do you want me to do, Y/N? Stay at home and sulk all the time? I can’t—” He stops himself, biting his lip, but you know what he was going to say.

“You can’t what, Satoru?” Your voice cracks again, but this time it’s laced with more rage than sorrow. “You can’t deal with me? With everything I’m going through? You promised you’d be there for me. You said we’d get through this together.”

“I am here for you!” he snaps, but the slight slur in his voice takes the edge off his words. “But you’re acting like I can’t breathe without you questioning every little thing I do. I’ve been going through shit too, Y/N.”

You suck in a shaky breath. “That’s not fair,” you whisper, your fists clenching at your sides. “You know it’s not. If I didn’t care—if I didn’t love you—I wouldn’t be here, trying to fix this.”

He exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t cheat on you, Y/N. I swear I didn’t. But I—” He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t know how to handle all of this, okay? It’s a lot.”

Your breath hitches, his words cut deeper than he probably intended. “You think this isn’t a lot for me too?” you ask, your voice trembling. “I’ve been trying so hard, Satoru. To hold on. To be strong. For both of us. But you’re slipping away, and I don’t know how to bring you back. I know how to handle things just as much as you do.”

He looks up then, his blue eyes clearer now, filled with something that looks almost like regret. For a brief second, you think he might apologize—might say the words you so desperately need to hear. But instead, he shakes his head and says, “Maybe we just need some space.”

The world tilts beneath you. His words echo in your mind, louder than the music still blaring from the house behind you. “Space?” you repeat, barely able to say the word. “You want to take a break?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice quiet, almost defeated. “I just...I think we’re both hurting each other more than we’re helping.”

You laugh bitterly, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. “No, Satoru. You’re hurting me. You’re the one who stopped trying. You’re the one who’s giving up.” He flinches at your words, but he doesn’t argue. And somehow, that hurts even more. You shake your head, stepping back from him. “If space is what you want, then fine. But don’t expect me to be here waiting when you figure yourself out.”

You turn and walk away, your heart shattering with every step. This isn’t how you imagined the night would go. It isn’t how you imagined your relationship would go. But as you leave him standing there on the sidewalk, you can’t help but wonder if this was inevitable all along.

The same song begins to play. Because soon, his arms are wrapping around you before you even know it, shoving his face into the side of your neck. “No, no, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m drunk, okay? Please don’t leave, please. L-let’s just go home, my parents aren’t there. Please, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

And like a broken record, you give in. Because the broken part of you still craves him. His touch, his comforting hugs, his words. His everything. You feel like a puzzle with pieces too big or small to fit, some pieces lost. But with Satoru, he makes them fit. He finds those pieces of you; the ones you can’t find yourself. In a way, you know things are failing and falling apart.

But you’re laying back in his bed, feeling the constant vibration of your phone. Texts from your mother and you have no doubt she’s blowing up your phone about the way you snuck out and demanding to know where you are. It’s interesting, you’re twenty-one but she treats you like a kid. All because you still live with her.

Your heart feels heavy, your stomach twisting with nausea and you’re not even the drunk one. His hands hold your teary cheeks, meeting your gaze with watery ones of his own. Combined tears wet his pillow until there’s no more to give out. He’s been crying with you, but sometimes it feels fake.

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask again, whispering in a shaky tone.

His lips purse and he shakes his head. “…no, I didn’t. I told you, I’d never.”

You search his face, looking for cracks in the foundation of his words. His sorrowful eyes, flushed cheeks, and trembling hands—all of it feels sincere, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Not so much anymore. “You’re sure?” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

“I’m sure,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I swear to you, Y/N. I’d never do that to you. Never.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear on your cheek, and for a moment, the warmth of his touch almost convinces you.

Almost.

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily as his hands cradle your face. You want to believe him. You need to believe him. But the doubt lingers like a shadow, clawing at the edges of your mind. “Then why do I feel like I’m losing you?” you ask, your voice breaking.

Satoru flinches, his hands momentarily faltering before steadying again. “You’re not losing me,” he says quickly, almost desperately. “I know I’ve been...different lately, but it’s not because I don’t care. I just—” He pauses, his gaze dropping as if searching for the right words. “I don’t know how to handle this, Y/N. I don’t know how to be what you need right now. There’s so much and I…” his voice trails off, fearing he’s saying too much and it’ll only make you feel worse. Make himself feel worse.

Your chest tightens, his confession cutting deeper than you expected. “I don’t need you to have all the answers, Satoru. I just need you to try. To be honest with me. To stop shutting me out. You…you’re the only one—you’re all I have right now.”

“I’m trying,” he insists, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “I swear I’m trying. But it feels like...like no matter what I do, it’s not enough. And I hate it. I hate that I’m hurting you.”

The rawness in his voice pulls at something in you, making it harder to keep the walls around your heart intact. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the vulnerability in his expression mirrors your own. “I don’t want to lose you, Satoru,” you say softly. “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep feeling like I’m the only one fighting for us.”

“You’re not,” he whispers, his hands tightening slightly on your face as if afraid you’ll slip away. “You’re not, Y/N. I know I’ve messed up, but I’ll do better. I promise. Just...don’t give up on me. Please.”

The plea in his voice, the tears in his eyes—they’re enough to make the broken pieces of your heart shift, trying to fit back together even if they don’t quite align. Against your better judgment, you nod, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whisper. “But this is your last chance, Satoru. I mean it.”

“I know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t mess this up. I promise.” But Satoru isn’t the best at promises. He’s only good at making them for others, not keeping them for himself.

As he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if you might vanish, you can’t help but wonder how many more promises you’ll let him break before there’s nothing left of you to give. But for now, you let yourself sink into his embrace, hoping—maybe foolishly—that this time will be different. Because he’s all you have. All you know. He knows you inside and out—the way your voice wavers when you’re holding back tears, the way your hands fidget when you’re nervous, the way you laugh like it’s the only thing keeping you from breaking. And you know him just as deeply. Every freckle on his skin, every scar that tells a story, every mole you’ve discovered in moments of intimacy. You’ve memorized him like a favorite book, reading him over and over until the lines blur but still feel familiar.

You two are like each other’s canvases—painted with touches, kisses, and shared memories, even the messy ones. Every fight, every tear-streaked night, every whispered “I’m sorry” adds another layer to the masterpiece that is you and him. But lately, it feels like the colors are running, bleeding into one another until the picture is unrecognizable. And you don’t know if you can fix it, or if you even should. Never did you think that things would change so much, and all because of one failed situation.

What a weak body you have, what a weak person you are.

He holds you tighter, his fingers threading through your hair as if grounding himself in your presence. “You’re everything to me, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “I know I’ve been a mess, but I swear I’ll fix this. I’ll fix us.”

But his promises feel like paint on a waterlogged canvas—fading, smudged, and far too fragile. Still, you nod, letting the comfort of his warmth lull you into silence. Because no matter how fractured you feel, no matter how much the doubt weighs on your chest, he’s all you have. You can’t handle the thought of facing everything alone now, can’t handle the thought of not having someone to hug you when you burst down in tears.

You hate the way things are now, but you’ve sunk too deep into him. And him the same. Over time, you feel like he will retract his hold from you before you do so yourself. You can almost feel it coming, one way or another. It’s why you’re holding him tighter, pressing your body deeper into his. Because you know you wouldn’t be able to do it yourself. Awaiting the inevitable hurts so bad. Knowing that no matter what, your end is visible. You can see the finish line just a few yards away. It’s like a race, and you’re letting Satoru win. Envisioning him running his long legs to the checkered line with a smile on his face like he’s happy—relieved. You don’t want to hold him, that’s the last thing you want to do. However, you’re being as selfish as you can be right now. Before every privilege is stripped from you in a cold manner that will leave you shivering for warmth. But his presence is something. And for now, that’s enough to keep you here and sane.

Little did you know, you'd win that race before he did. You just needed that little push. He's the hare, and you're the tortoise.

You stay in his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek a constant reminder of the closeness you’ve always shared. It feels almost like an illusion, the peace between you both. But underneath, there’s a tension that hasn’t quite loosened, a thread pulled tight between the two of you, holding you close but threatening to snap at the slightest tug. His grip tightens, his fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer as if trying to fuse your two worlds together. The quiet hum of the room feels almost suffocating now. Your phone continues to buzz with your mother’s increasingly frantic texts, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that right now. Not with Satoru’s breath warm on your neck and his hands gently caressing your skin. Not when it’s easier to let him hold you in this fragile moment of peace.

You close your eyes, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. The quietness stays for a long moment, But when he speaks, it’s almost a whisper, like he’s afraid of the truth that might spill out.

“I’ll try. I’ll be here for you, Y/N. I swear it.”

You wonder if you can truly believe him this time. If you can let yourself hope that things might really change. But the doubt is a familiar companion, lingering in the shadows, waiting to remind you of the cracks in his promises. Still, for tonight, you let it go. You let yourself sink into him, giving into the small piece of comfort he offers, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

You wake up in a cold sweat, dried tears staining your cheeks. Your stomach feels sensitive, nails already digging into your palms so hard that the skin is growing red and prickly. Every emotion you felt from that dream—nightmare—whatever it was feels ten times more real. You don’t know why you’re having these weird dreams about something from years ago.

But it still hurts all the same, nonetheless.

You still feel hollow, drowned, and ready to pour your heart out into your pillow. But it’s morning and time to get up for bed. Christmas Eve is in three days and you’re just counting down until when you won’t have to go into work. Going through your routine, getting Koji ready for the day, opening the door for Sana. Leaving your place of solitude, it feels like you barely even lived through this morning.

The chill of the morning air hits your skin as you step outside, tugging your coat tighter around you. The weight of your dream lingers, like a fog that refuses to lift. You keep telling yourself it was just a dream, just a memory from a time you’ve tried so hard to bury. But it clings to you like a ghost, whispering doubts into your ear, even as you force yourself to move through the motions. you can’t help but glance up at the sky, the gray clouds reflecting the heaviness in your chest. Christmas Eve is in three days, and you can’t wait to take a break from not just work—from everything.

If only escaping your past was as easy as flipping the calendar to a new year.

Satoru texts you around the 2-hour mark that he’ll be going over to your place soon to see Koji and bring the gifts he got. You let Sana know of the change, she replies back with a simple ‘okay!’

You sigh, willing yourself to forget about the drama your life entails, and focus on your work.

However, another thought is creeping in through the door, and this time—it’s not such a bad one. You feel a fluttering sensation in your gut, holding back a peal of stifled laughter as the memory of last night makes its presence known. After the whole shirt incident, Suguru stayed. He kept his word about not making anything weird, and you two ended with a simple chat and a movie. It felt nice.

Of course, there were hints of lingering peeks, that strange tension tossed up in the air that neither of you fully addressed. But it’s fine, it didn’t mean anything at the end of the day. Although, when it was time for him to leave, you did have a second of hesitation about whether you should hug him or simply say goodbye. He decided for you when he carefully opened his arms up, you followed suit.

Inhaling his scent felt heavenly. Manly, but also feminine at the same time. An earthly scent that felt like hints of incense. The memory of his embrace lingers like the faintest trace of his cologne, warm and comforting. It wasn’t just the way he held you—it was the way he made you feel. Secure. Understood. Like you weren’t just surviving, but living, even if just for that moment.

You haven't hugged a man in so long. You forgot how good they hug.

You shake your head, a small smile pulling at your lips despite yourself. It wasn’t anything. It shouldn’t be anything. Suguru’s always been like that—gentle, kind, and just a little too perceptive for his own good. He knew exactly when to stay and exactly what you needed without you even having to say it. Still, you can’t ignore the way your heartbeat picked up when his arms wrapped around you, the way your cheek brushed against his shoulder, and how your fingers had almost lingered a little too long against his back. It felt natural, but also entirely new.

Suguru’s presence was so easy, so effortless. It felt like slipping into an old favorite sweater, soft and familiar but with a spark of something you couldn’t quite place. You’d been so wrapped up in keeping everything together, in pushing through every day for Koji’s sake, that you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be seen.

You wonder if Satoru holds the same longing you do.

You shake the thought away as quickly as it comes. Don’t think about him. There’s no point in overthinking any of this.

“Hello, you must be Koji’s father.” Sana greets Satoru who stands in the doorway. With him, two armfuls of gifts. Even more on the floor next to his feet.

Simply nodding and looking over her shoulder to see Koji eating his lunch. “And you’re the babysitter.” Without much else, he carefully pushes past her, bringing in the gifts. “Mind getting the rest? Thanks.”

She nods, grabbing what was left on the floor before bringing it in, closing and locking the door. When she turns back around, Koji is in his father’s embrace. She smiles at the scene. “Ms. Y/N told me you’d be coming. He’s been good so far, he’s just eating his lunch now.”

“That’s good to hear,” Satoru replies, pulling away from his son. Doing a quick scan of the place before his eyes land back on the young woman. “How long have you been watching my son again?”

“A couple of years.”

He hums, walking closer to her. “And you’re how old?”

Sana blinks, surprised by the question. "I'm twenty," she says cautiously, her polite smile wavering slightly under his scrutiny.

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "Twenty, huh? Pretty young to be taking care of kids."

“I’ve been babysitting since I was sixteen,” she replies, straightening her posture. “I’m studying early childhood education, so it’s not just a job to me. I care about Koji.”

His expression softens a fraction, and he glances back at his son, who’s happily munching away at his sandwich. “He does seem to like you,” Satoru admits, his tone less probing now.

“He’s a great kid,” Sana says warmly. “Very smart, just like his mother.”

That earns her a faint smile. “Yeah, just like his mother.” He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the counter. “So, Y/N told you I’d be stopping by today?”

“Yes, she mentioned it when I got here this morning.”

Satoru nods, tapping his fingers against his forearm thoughtfully. “Good. Thanks for helping out today. I know it’s probably not easy juggling school and babysitting.”

“It’s manageable,” Sana replies, sensing a subtle change in his demeanor. “Koji makes it worth it.”

Satoru’s gaze lingers on her for a moment longer before he straightens up. “I’ll take over from here. You can go ahead and clock out early if you want.”

“Oh, are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, waving her off. “Enjoy the rest of your day. I’ve got this.”

Sana hesitates briefly, glancing at Koji, who’s still blissfully unaware of the conversation. “Alright then. Have a good evening, Mr. Gojo.”

As she gathers her things and heads for the door, she feels his eyes on her. It’s not hostile, but it’s assessing. Like he’s trying to gauge something about her. She doesn’t dwell on it, though—whatever it is, it’s not her place to question. “Oh!” She turns around as if she just remembered something. “Ms. Y/N leaves a list. It’s taped to the—”

“I don’t need a list to take care of my son.” He cuts her off smoothly, his one eyebrow raising. “Thanks again, have a good day.”

She falters, once again caught a little off guard. This is her first time meeting him, and while she’s of course seen the articles and comments about the drama surrounding the small family, she has no bias. In fact, she sympathizes greatly with you for going through all this alone. As she’s leaving the apartment, she can’t help the small opinion of Satoru that he’s already given her.

He’s so intimidating!

After she leaves, Satoru focuses back on his son—this shitty apartment. He hasn’t explicitly voiced his opinions out to you—of course you already know what they are. And as you said before, it’s all you could afford, and Koji’s happy. However, he can’t stop himself from grimacing at the so-called ‘decorations’. This place needs some serious revamping.

“Hey, buddy?”

Koji looks over, wiping his mouth. “Yes, Papa?”

“When you’re done eating, want to help me with something?” And Koji doesn’t need to be told anymore. He loves helping—especially his mother and father. So he nods excitedly, practically scarfing down the rest of his sandwich. Bubbling with giddiness only a child could have.

Satoru chuckles at his son’s behavior, heart warming. This is the first time he’s doing something festive with Koji. The bitter part of him tells him that he could’ve had more chances to do so if it weren’t for your cowardness. But he shoves that away, focusing on the jolly joy the holidays can bring.

Today was more tiring than usual, with the cafe gaining more attention, there’s been rush after rush after rush. You can handle it, but that doesn’t mean it won’t wear you down by the time you clock out. And your day isn’t even done yet. Slugging your way to your front door, lazily opening it with your key. Tossing your coat on the nearby rack, your bag with it.

“I’m ba—”

You sniffle. One. Twice.

A pinecone-y scent fills your nostrils. Which is strange because you know you have no candles that house that aroma. Confusion, but wariness takes over your senses. Following the sound of laughter down the hall until you’re standing in the living room.

The sight you see is more than startling.

Your eyes dart around in a frenzy, landing on one new thing after the next. The small, simple Christmas tree you’d put up last week? Replaced by a towering, impeccably decorated monstrosity with shimmering lights and a star that looks like it came straight out of a luxury catalog. It barely even fits in the room. Luckily, the small picture ornament of you and Koji is still there. But it looks so out of place.

The garlands you’d strung across the walls? Gone, swapped for lush, sparkling ones adorned with oversized ornaments. Even your modest stockings have been replaced with personalized velvet ones embroidered with gold thread, hanging perfectly above a faux fireplace setup that definitely wasn’t there this morning.

It’s like a winter wonderland exploded in your living room, and you’re not sure whether to laugh or scream.

Koji is sitting on the couch, giggling as Satoru playfully pretends to tangle himself in a string of fairy lights. Your son’s laughter is contagious, but you can’t shake the growing irritation bubbling inside you. When Koji notices you, his eyes brighten even more. Gaping and rushing over to your leg, hugging it. “Mama! Mama! Look what Papa and I did! It’s so pretty and there are so many presents!”

There is. There’s a lot of presents. Practically stacking on top of one another under your refurbished tree. Hidden somewhere in the splurge are the gifts Suguru got for you and Koji.

Gulping, you feel your throat tighten. You feel nothing but overwhelmed. But in the face of your son, you can’t exactly show that. You force a smile as you ruffle Koji’s hair, trying to push down the irritation clawing its way to the surface. “Wow, it’s… definitely something,” you say, your voice strained but managing to sound somewhat amused for Koji’s sake.

Satoru, now untangled from the lights, looks up from the couch with that boyish grin of his. “Do you love it or do you love it?” he asks, gesturing to the extravagant decor like he’s unveiling a masterpiece.

You blink at him, incredulous—but still attempting to keep yourself calm. “What… what happened to the decorations we already had?”

“Oh, those?” He waves a dismissive hand. “Let’s just say they weren’t really up to par. I mean, come on, Y/N. That tree you had? It was like something out of a Charlie Brown Christmas special. I couldn’t let Koji’s holiday spirit suffer like that.”

Your jaw tightens, the forced smile threatening to slip. “So, you just… decided to replace everything? Without asking me?”

He stands, brushing off invisible dust from his jeans as if the weight of his decision is nothing. “You were busy, and I figured you’d appreciate coming home to something nice for once. Besides, look at Koji—he’s thrilled!”

Koji tugs at your sleeve, his wide-eyed excitement piercing through your annoyance. “It’s so cool, Mama! Look at all the shiny ornaments! And Papa let me pick out the star!” Your son runs over to show off a few of the many, many presents he has. Showing extra excitement for the heavier and larger ones. “Papa says it’s magical. I want to have a magical Christmas every time, Mama.”

The words, innocent but heavy, almost make you physically kneel down. You feel your chest tighten, your throat closing up even more. The lump that forms is difficult to swallow down. The implication of Satoru’s and your son's words feels a bit degrading. And you don’t blame it on Koji, he means nothing malicious. But for some reason, being faced with the physical line of difference between you and Satoru, watching your son’s face light up in a way that you’ve never seen before…

It reminds you that your enough has never been enough. Each Christmas, it’s dull. Your Christmases aren’t magical. Your life isn’t.

You feel the weight of it all crashing down like the oversized star on the new tree is pressing on your chest. Satoru's extravagance, Koji's innocent excitement, and your own feelings of inadequacy swirl together into a storm you’re barely holding back.

Your forced smile falters, but you quickly kneel to Koji's level, brushing his hair away from his glowing face. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” you say softly, voice trembling but steady enough to reassure him. “I’m glad you had fun with Papa.”

Koji beams, and for a moment, his joy is a balm to your frayed nerves. “It’s pretty, isn’t it, Mama?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “So pretty.” Standing slowly, your hand lingers on Koji’s shoulder. “Really pretty,” you repeat quietly, not committing to anything. You can feel Satoru watching you, his casual demeanor only adding to your irritation. The worst part of it all is that it seems like he genuinely has no idea what he did wrong.

In hindsight, maybe he didn’t. It wasn’t his intention to make you feel like a shitty mother, but Satoru is good at pointing out the differences in his own ways.

When Koji bounds back to the pile of gifts, you finally let yourself meet Satoru’s gaze. “You really didn’t think to talk to me about this?”

His grin fades just a fraction, replaced by a look of confusion. “What’s there to talk about? I wanted to do something special for Koji. And let’s be honest, Y/N—this is special.”

“It’s not about the decorations, Satoru,” you snap, your voice low but sharp. “It’s about you making decisions without considering how I might feel about it. Again.”

He tilts his head, the glower returning, though it feels sharper now. “You’re overthinking this. It’s just Christmas decorations, Y/N. Look at Koji—he’s happy. Isn’t that what matters?”

You clench your fists, the tightness in your chest threatening to spill over into something you can’t control. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about the decorations. It’s about you coming in here and acting like everything I do is subpar. Like I’m not enough.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, Satoru’s expression falters. But he recovers quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the arm of the couch. “Y/N, no one’s saying that. You’re reading too much into this. I just wanted to make things nice for Koji, that’s all.”

Your laugh is bitter, and it catches even you off guard. “Right. Because your version of nice is always the right one. I’m just the placeholder until you decide to step in and fix everything, aren’t I?”

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, the playful spark he had with Kojidimming. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” you counter, your voice breaking despite your effort to stay calm. “You swoop in with all your money and your grand gestures, and I’m supposed to just smile and be grateful. But do you even realize how hard I’ve worked to give Koji a Christmas he’ll enjoy? How much I’ve sacrificed just to keep things normal?”

His silence stings more than any retort could.

Koji’s laughter in the background feels distant now, muffled by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. He’s too distracted with the tree, his presents, everything. You inhale deeply, trying to steady yourself, before forcing a calmness you don’t feel. You won’t fight in front of him.

“I’m going to get changed,” you mutter, not waiting for a response.

As you leave the room, Satoru calls after you, his voice softer but no less exasperated. “Y/N, come on. Don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is.”

But to you, it already feels like a chasm. One that grows wider with every passing second.

You shut your door, leaning against it with your forehead. Breaths coming in short, hands trembling slightly. Biting your quivering lip, you maneuver your body to change into your uniform. All the while, tears are getting on your hands and clothes. Accidentally, you let out a small, broken whimper.

Quickly, you place a palm to your mouth, stifling and quieting your soft cries. Once you’re done changing, you fall back onto the bed. Curled up with knees drawn to your chest, as the burden of your own self-consciousness rains down on you. The room feels suffocatingly small, your emotions clawing at your throat, demanding to be let out.

The tears come harder now, soaking into the fabric of your uniform as you press your hands to your face, muffling the quiet sobs. You hate this—how easily Satoru gets under your skin, how he makes you feel insignificant without even trying. You thought you were past this. Past him. But somehow, he always finds a way to remind you of all the ways you’ve fallen short. Or at least, all the ways he makes you feel like you have.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Y/N?” His voice is muffled through the wood, quieter than usual as if he’s trying not to disturb you. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer, biting down on your lip to keep from making another sound.

“Look,” he continues, his tone hesitant. “I know I upset you. I didn’t mean to. Can we just… talk?”

For a moment, you consider staying silent, letting him stew in his own discomfort. But the tension is too thick, and you know Koji is just down the hall. With a shaky breath, you push yourself to your feet, wiping at your face in a futile attempt to erase the evidence of your tears. Wiping your face and straightening your clothes, you open the door. “I have work.” You mutter, expertly enforcing a placid emotion. “Will you watch him?”

Without waiting for a response, you walk past him. But he grabs at your wrist, instinctively you pull away. “Stop, just stop, okay? Let’s not fight. We’re adults, we can talk this out. I don’t mean to make you feel less than, I just wanted to make Koji happy.”

“And do you think he’s not happy with me?” You snap back, looking up at him. Feeling your vision already beginning to blur. “Do you? Do you think he’ll be happy with you? I-Is that it?”

Satoru’s eyes widen slightly at your outburst, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. The air between you feels like it could snap under the weight of everything left unsaid. His hand hovers near his side, as if he wants to reach out again but knows better now. “No,” he says softly, his voice steady but lined with regret. “That’s not what I meant. Koji is happy with you. He loves you more than anything.”

“Then why do you keep acting like what I do isn’t enough?” you whisper, your voice trembling as you maintain eye contact with him. “I’ve been doing this alone, Satoru. Every scraped knee, every fever, every night when he cries because he’s scared of the dark—I’m there. Not you. Me. So don’t you dare come in here, throw your money around, and act like you can just fix everything with some… Christmas wonderland.”

“But you didn’t let me come in sooner, Y/N.” He replies, exasperation in his voice.

“I know that, and I’m sorry. I know I fucked up…”

“Then stop getting mad at little things.”

Your fists ball up, your expression growing firmer by the second. But so is the need to cry again. He’s right, everything he says is right. It’s your own fault that you’ve been forced to handle everything alone. But, don’t your feelings matter just a little bit in this situation? Is he allowed to just come in and fix up everything you have? What he thinks is a mess, it’s something that holds significance to you. What he thinks is a little thing, it’s a big one in your eyes.

So while this scenario is blowing up into something bigger, your decorations are something you have control of. You only have control over so many things in your life.

He exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to take anything away from you, Y/N. I swear. I just… I wanted to give him something special. Something I never had growing up.”

It makes you feel even more guilty. You can’t find it in you to say anything else, turning back around and walking to the living room. “Goodbye, Koji. Mama will see you later.” Giving him a brief hug and kiss, you hurriedly grab your coat and purse, exiting your apartment just as fast as you came.

Unbeknownst to you, Koji is left staring at the closed door. His head tilting in curiosity, while a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks up at his father when he enters the living room again, the two owning matching guises. “Why’d Mama leave so fast? I wanted to show her the drawing we did.” The white paper in his hands pictures three figures. Each one smiling, the smaller boy in the middle holding hands with his two parents on either side of him. He even drew blue snowflakes.

There’s a red heart around them with the words My family! at the top.

Satoru stands there, staring at the door you just closed, feeling the weight of Koji’s innocent question settle on his shoulders. He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he glances down at his son, whose big, curious eyes are filled with disappointment.

“She’s just tired, buddy,” Satoru replies, crouching down to Koji’s level. His tone is softer now, more measured, as he tries to mask the turmoil bubbling under his calm façade. “She’s been working really hard, you know? Grown-up stuff.”

Koji’s frown deepens, his little brows furrowing. “But we worked hard too! We did the tree and the presents and everything!” His tiny hands gesture to the decorated room, his frustration clear. “Mama’s s��posed to be happy.”

Satoru feels his chest tighten at the words. He places a hand on Koji’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “She is happy, Koji. She just… needs some time, that’s all. Grown-ups can be funny like that.”

Koji looks down, fiddling with his fingers before glancing back up. “Is it my fault?”

Satoru’s heart aches at the question, and he immediately shakes his head, pulling Koji into a firm hug. “No, not even a little bit. You didn’t do anything wrong, Koji. Don’t ever think that, okay?”

Koji nods slowly against his father’s shoulder but remains quiet. Satoru pulls back, cupping his son’s face in his hands. “Mama loves you so much, Koji. More than anything in the world. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay…” Koji mumbles, still not entirely convinced. He inhaled deeply, then spoke again. “Do…does Mama love you too?”

The question catches him off guard, putting an even bigger weight on Satoru’s shoulders. He should’ve expected it, Koji is a curious kid who still doesn’t completely grasp the complexities of his parents’ relationship. Satoru smiles faintly, kissing Koji’s cheek. “Mama has a lot of love.”

The answer satisfies Koji. For now.

Satoru ruffles his son’s hair. “How about we finish that drawing? We’ll save it for her when she gets back.”

Koji perks up slightly, nodding. “Okay! But you gotta color inside the lines this time, Papa.”

Satoru chuckles, relieved to see even a small smile return to Koji’s face. “Deal. But only if you promise not to make fun of me if I mess up. I’m sensitive.”

Koji giggles, taking his father’s hand to lead him back to the small table. As they sit down to continue their drawing, Satoru steals a glance at the door again, his smile faltering for just a second.

He’s trying—he really is. But he wonders if it’ll ever be enough. It’s like no matter what he does, you don’t like it; and vice versa. He’s being as understanding and nice as someone in his situation can be. At times, he feels he’s being even too nice to you. He knew things wouldn’t be easy, but he wants to spend time with his son. Make up for all the lost time, and even the littlest moments. It’s almost a little bit unfair of you to throw the fact that he has money and you don’t in his face like that. He didn’t ask to be born rich. Just like you didn’t ask to be born…like that. You’re the adults in this situation, there’s a kid involved. So truly, he wishes he could just have a single conversation with you that doesn’t feel anger-surged or bitter. Of course, it’s hard because of what has happened before, but there’s a time and a place, is there not?

Whatever. He’s more than happy to color with Koji and do whatever the little boy asks while you have your own moment. Satoru knows best of everyone else you like having space. And while many years have passed and his feelings for you have grown less than savory, he stills wants to respect your wishes after an argument with him.

He can’t help but think the obvious, though. Is it even worth attempting to mend whatever little shards of semblance there is left with you?

Probably not. Because after all, he’s here only for Koji.

Right?

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cherrylibby · 1 day ago

Text

Spitfire and Smirks

word count: 2145

“You ass!” you snap, your voice slicing through the smoky haze of the bar. The room is alive with murmured conversations, clinking glasses, and the occasional roar of laughter. A neon sign flickers erratically above the pool table, casting shifting shadows over Jake’s figure as he lines up his next shot. He’s so engrossed in the game that he doesn’t notice your approach until you’re standing just behind him, your anger radiating like heat off asphalt on a summer day.

The sharp clack of pool balls colliding echoes through the air, but your tone drowns it out. Jake Seresin straightens, turning toward you with a curious smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes flick to yours, a glint of amusement lighting them as if your anger is nothing more than a passing storm cloud.

Before he can react, you shove him hard.

Jake stumbles back, his boots scuffing against the faded linoleum floor. He lets out a low chuckle, the sound rich and unbothered, like he’s heard this all before. Leaning the pool cue against the table with lazy confidence, he crosses his arms and tilts his head at you. The soft hum of a country song plays in the background, adding to the tension between you.

“Hey, watch it, sweetheart,” he drawls, his grin widening as his gaze sweeps over you. The nickname, said with that infuriating smirk, feels like gasoline on the fire of your anger.

You shove him again, your hands trembling as frustration pours out of you like a dam breaking. “Why did you do that? Why!” you demand, your voice cracking slightly. Around you, a few patrons glance your way, but most return to their drinks, too familiar with Jake’s antics to be surprised by the scene.

Jake stumbles back another step, but he’s still smiling, as though your anger is the most entertaining thing he’s seen all day. “You know,” he says, tilting his head, “you’re kind of cute when you’re mad.”

His hand reaches out, brushing against your cheek. The contrast between his rough fingertips and your heated skin sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. His thumb traces along the curve of your jaw, his voice dropping into a teasing murmur. “Don’t be too upset now. I was just having a little fun.”

The intimacy of the moment twists your stomach into knots, but your anger burns hotter. You slap his hand away, your glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Fun?!” you scoff, your voice rising. “You think ruining another one of my dates is fun?”

Jake straightens, his grin faltering for a split second before he recovers. “Feisty as ever, Spitfire,” he mutters, his voice laced with exasperation. His gaze lingers on you, softening slightly as if he’s about to explain himself, but you’re already done with him.

“Unbelievable,” you spit, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and hurt. Without waiting for a response, you spin on your heel and storm toward the door. The dim bar lights reflect off the polished surfaces of tables and chairs as you shove open the door, letting in a gust of cool night air.

The parking lot outside is dimly lit, illuminated by a flickering streetlight and the faint glow of neon signs from nearby buildings. Gravel crunches beneath your shoes as you march toward your car, your heart pounding in your chest.

“And where the hell are you going, Spitfire?” Jake calls out, his boots thudding against the pavement as he follows. His voice carries a mix of amusement and frustration that makes your blood boil even more.

“Away from you!” you shout over your shoulder. “Or else I’ll run you over with my car!”

Jake’s laugh is sharp, echoing in the quiet night. “You’ve got some nerve,” he mutters, but his footsteps don’t stop.

You reach for the car door handle, your fingers barely brushing the cool metal before his hand wraps around your wrist. The strength in his grip halts you instantly, though it’s not painful. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere,” he says, his voice dipping into a tone that’s firm and unyielding.

“Let me go, Jake!” you snap, twisting in his hold, but he spins you around effortlessly. Your back presses against the cold metal of the car, the chill seeping through your clothes.

Jake leans in, his frame towering over you as he cages you in with his arms on either side of your head. His scent—leather, cologne, and the faintest trace of whiskey—invades your senses, making it impossible to ignore his closeness.

His teasing edge is gone, replaced by something darker, more serious. “We’re not done talking,” he says, his voice low and steady. His breath is warm against your cheek, his eyes searching yours.

Tears well up in your eyes as you blurt out the words that have been eating away at you. “How could you tell him about me being a virgin?” you choke out, your voice trembling. “I’m already insecure, and you… you used it against me? Seriously?”

Jake’s expression shifts instantly. The smirk vanishes, replaced by a frown that deepens with every tear that spills down your cheek. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” he says softly, his thumb brushing away a tear. His touch is gentle, but you slap his hand away.

“Don’t touch me!” you snap, shoving him with all your strength.

Jake stumbles back a step, his scowl returning. “Come on, Y/N, let me make it up to you,” he pleads, his voice quieter now. His eyes lock onto yours, searching for any sign of forgiveness. “Please, just hear me out.”

When he reaches for you again and you flinch, he freezes. His expression falls, guilt clouding his features as he lets out a heavy sigh. Running a hand through his tousled hair, he struggles to find the right words.

“Look, I know I messed up, Spitfire I do. But please, I just want to make things right,” he pleaded, taking another small step towards you.

Jake kept his eyes locked on you, not tearing his gaze away as he stopped directly in front of you. Even in the dim night light he could still see fresh tears in your eyes, guilt filling his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated quietly. Jake gently reached out to take your hand, his touch feather-light as if afraid you’d pull away again.

You don't pull away as Jake gently cupped her cheek, caressing as he leaned forward "I'm sorry for everything" He apoglize "It was a mistake I didn't mean to cause you pain, please" He pleads "let me make this up"

He gently pulled your face closer to his, his hands still cradling your head. He looked down at you, his gaze soft and sincere "Thank you, Spitfire," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you once again, holding you close against him. He buried his face into your neck, breathing in your scent as he savored the feel of you in his arms.

He continued to hold you close, his arms encircling your middle like a protective barrier. His breaths came out in soft, warm puffs against your neck, each one punctuated with a light press of his lips to your skin.

You cross your arms over your chest, your glare unwavering. “Why should I? You think an apology is going to erase the humiliation you caused me?”

Jake’s shoulders sag, and he lets out a long breath. “I wasn’t thinking, alright? I was stupid and jealous, and I let my emotions get the better of me. I just… I didn’t want him getting too close to you. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear.”

“Jealous?” you scoff, shaking your head. “So your solution was to humiliate me? That’s twisted, Jake.”

“I know,” he admits, his voice dropping even lower. He steps closer, cautiously, his gaze locked on yours. “It was wrong. All of it. I didn’t think about how it would make you feel. I just… I didn’t want to lose you, okay?”

“Lose me?” you repeat, your voice trembling. “You can’t lose something you don’t even have, Jake.”

That hits him like a punch to the gut. He winces, his jaw tightening. “I know I don’t deserve you. But I’m asking you—begging you—not to walk away. Let me fix this. Let me fix us.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and for a moment, the cocky, confident Jake you know is gone, replaced by someone raw and vulnerable.

“You hurt me,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“And I hate myself for it,” he replies instantly, stepping closer again. “I’ll do anything to make it right. Anything, Spitfire. Just tell me what to do.”

You stare at him, your heart warring with your mind. Part of you wants to walk away, to leave him to stew in the consequences of his actions. But the way he looks at you—with desperation, regret, and something dangerously close to love—makes it impossible to move.

Jake’s hand rises halfway, then falls back to his side, as if he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to touch you. His gaze softens, and the usual cocky smirk is nowhere to be found. “I don’t expect it to be easy,” he says, his tone quieter now. “I know I messed up—big time. But I’m standing here, asking you to give me a chance to make it right.”

You shake your head, your arms still crossed tightly over your chest like a shield. “You humiliated me, Jake. You made me feel small—like a joke.”

His face falls, and he takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he fights to keep his emotions in check. “You’re not a joke,” he says firmly. “You’re everything to me. And that’s the problem, Spitfire. I didn’t know how to handle it, so I lashed out like an idiot. I thought if I pushed everyone else away, maybe I’d have a shot with you.”

Your breath catches at his confession, and you stare at him, searching for any hint of insincerity. But all you see is Jake—raw, unguarded, and utterly sincere.

“And what makes you think you deserve that shot?” you ask, your voice softer now but still laced with hurt.

“I don’t,” he admits, his voice breaking slightly. “But I’m willing to spend every damn day proving that I can be better—proving that I deserve you.”

The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, and you quickly wipe them away, frustrated by how easily he still gets to you. “You make it so hard to stay mad at you,” you mutter.

Jake’s lips twitch into the faintest of smiles, though it’s tinged with sadness. “Is that a good thing?” he asks, stepping closer.

You don’t answer, but you don’t step away either. His proximity is overwhelming, his warmth chasing away the night’s chill.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I need you to know… I’m crazy about you, Spitfire. Always have been.”

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest, and for a moment, you hate how easily he disarms you. But then his hand rises again, this time hesitating near your cheek.

His hand cups your cheek, the roughness of his palm a stark contrast to the tenderness of his touch. He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, but you don’t.

His lips brush against yours, tentative at first, like he’s afraid of pushing too far. The kiss is soft, almost apologetic, and it sends a shiver down your spine. But when you don’t pull back, he deepens it, his other hand moving to your waist to pull you closer.

The world around you fades, the cool night air, the distant sounds of the bar, and the hum of passing cars all melting away. All that matters is Jake—his warmth, his scent, and the way his lips move against yours as if trying to say all the things he can’t put into words.

When you finally break apart, your foreheads rest together, both of you breathing hard. His eyes search yours, still pleading, still vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice a low rumble. “For everything.”

You nod, your hand resting on his chest where you can feel the rapid beat of his heart. “I’m still mad at you,” you say, but there’s no venom in your tone anymore.

Jake smiles, a genuine smile that makes your chest ache. “I’ll take mad, as long as you’re still here.”

For the first time that night, you let yourself smile, just a little. “Don’t make me regret this,” you warn, your voice soft.

“Never,” he promises, sealing his vow with another kiss that makes your knees weak and your heart flutter.

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