#and thumbnails and tests. so good

[rennybu]

hehe... tagged for wip wheneverdsday by @vakarians-babe and @brother-genitivi ... happy friday everybody

(Tzip (left) is @jawsandbones​ character!)

[goldieclaws]

So this is a small thing but when I make actions play out of sync with each other, it really helps my animations feel that little bit more alive and it makes me very happy :>

Also, I had to simplify Grigori's design for the sake of animating (might add details later tho) so smooth Grigori isn't real, smooth Grigori can't hurt you.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 11.9k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: dishin these chaps out series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Himari is not having a good day. 

First, her burgundy patent leather Saint Laurent Nano Sac De Jour bag is ruined by the help accidentally dropping it on the dirty sidewalk, she lost her favorite lipgloss, and finally, probably the worst of them all, her so-called “boyfriend” isn’t acting very boyfriendly. Sure, he took her out just last night for dinner, and sure he fucked her good when they got back to her place, but he left before she even woke up. Treating her like she’s just a dirty hooker. He’s barely even responding to her texts, letting his ringing go to voicemail. She’s confused, annoyed, and extremely infuriated. There’s no reason for him to be acting like this all of a sudden; she’s his girlfriend for crying out loud.

So why is he being so secretive and mysterious all of a sudden? Why is he almost acting like he doesn’t have a girlfriend?

The sound of her red bottom heels pacing her living room is the only thing heard in the spacious environment. Biting her French-tipped thumbnail, eyes flickering to her cell phone that lays face up on the glass coffee table constantly. She has a right to act this way, she thinks to herself. Did she do something wrong? Did she make him mad? The sharp click of her red-bottom heels echoes through the pristine silence of her living room, the noise rhythmic but erratic as her thoughts spiral. Himari continues to gnaw on her perfectly manicured French-tipped nail, her polished demeanor crumbling bit by bit. As she keeps looking back at her phone, it’s like a silent challenge she can’t seem to ignore. The empty screen glares back at her, fueling her growing anxiety. She’s his girlfriend, after all. What could she have said wrong? She doesn’t remember doing anything to upset him. 

Her mind races, replaying every interaction over the past few days. The dinner last night, the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. The fleeting moments of silence during their conversations, like he was somewhere else entirely. And this morning—no note, no text, no explanation. Just...nothing. She takes a seat and her nails dig into the leather armrest of her designer couch. Glaring at her phone again, willing it to light up with his name. But of course, the screen remains stubbornly dark.

No. This isn’t her fault. Satoru is the one being distant and evasive. He’s the one shutting her out. This is not her fault.  Her heel taps against the floor, her frustration bubbling over. Maybe he’s testing her, she reasons. Trying to see if she’ll chase him. What a bastard.

Her jaw tightens, her perfectly sculpted features twisted in a mixture of anger and determination. Twirling a piece of her long, lusciously healthy caramel hair. No, she decides, she won’t let him get away with this. She’s not some woman he can keep on the sidelines, only to toss a crumb of attention whenever it suits him. If Satoru thinks she’ll just sit here and wait, he’s gravely mistaken. She’s Himari Nakamura for god’s sake, her parents own Tenka Couture—one of the most, if not the most sought out and luxurious fashion brand in all of Japan. 

She grabs her phone and scrolls through her contacts, pausing at his name. Her thumb hovers over the call button, but instead, she opts for something more pointed—a text, again.

We need to talk. Don’t keep me waiting.

The message is curt, sharp, and dripping with the subtle implication that she’s losing patience. Tossing the phone back on the table, she exhales sharply, her chest rising and falling as she tries to reel in her emotions. But it’s no use. The uncertainty, the rejection—it’s eating her alive.

Himari’s gaze flickers to the ornate mirror hanging on the far wall, her reflection staring back at her with a mix of vulnerability and fury. She’s not used to feeling like this—out of control, discarded. Satoru has always been the one to chase, to charm, to reassure her of her place in his life.

So why now? Why does it feel like he’s slipping through her fingers?

A sudden, dark thought creeps into her mind, unbidden but insistent. What if there’s someone else?

Her stomach churns, the idea sending a fresh wave of anger coursing through her veins. No. That can’t be it. Satoru wouldn’t dare. Would he? The phone buzzes, jolting her from her spiraling thoughts. Her heart leaps, but when she sees the name on the screen, her hope evaporates.

It’s not Satoru. It’s his mother. She stares at the screen, her thumb hesitating over the answer button. What could she possibly want? She finally concedes, pushing her hair over her shoulder, and smiling. “Hello, Mrs. Gojo. What a pleasure to speak to you again.” She greets the older woman on the phone with a wave of politeness. 

“Ah, yes. Himari, are you busy right now?” Satoru’s mother, Akane Gojo, replies back. Her aged voice mixed with a hint of reluctance that makes Himari want to call her a bitch. She doesn’t—she’ll never. She’s not that idiotic. 

“No, ma’am. I��m not, may I ask why?”

“Well, I was wondering if you happened to know where my son is. My husband has been trying to get a hold of him all day and he isn’t answering. Is he with you?”

So, he’s not with his parents either. That’s even more shady. Just what the hell is he up to? “No, actually, I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him since yesterday. I was starting to get a little worried.”

Himari hears the other woman sighing over the phone, muttering something about how her son is a headache. "Well," Akane begins again, her tone sharp with a tinge of frustration, "if you do hear from him, could you tell him to stop avoiding his family? It's unlike him to ignore us like this."

"Of course, ma'am. I'll let him know as soon as I can." Himari’s voice is syrupy sweet, masking her own irritation.

"Good. Thank you, dear." There's a beat of silence before Akane continues, her tone shifting to something more pointed. "And, Himari, I hope you understand how important Satoru's family obligations are. It’s important he doesn’t forget that."

Himari freezes for a moment, the subtle jab not lost on her. "Of course, ma'am," she replies smoothly, though her grip tightens on the phone. The call ends, leaving Himari staring at the blank screen, her mind racing. Family obligations. Avoiding his parents. Acting strange. All of it points to one undeniable truth: Satoru is hiding something. Her nails drum against the glass coffee table as she processes Akane's words. For a moment, she considers whether Satoru’s mysterious behavior has to do with the Gojo Group’s business dealings. But no, he’s always managed to balance that side of his life without much issue.

This time, it feels...personal almost. She stands abruptly, pacing the length of her living room once more. If his own mother doesn’t know where he is, then who does? 

Satoru, the wealthy, trust fund man that he is, has multiple places he calls homes. It’s proof of the fact that he has money, lots of it—more than what he knows what to do with. There’s the high-rise penthouse, where most people will find him. Next, the Next, the sprawling countryside estate nestled just outside the city—a retreat designed for privacy, complete with lush gardens, a pristine pool, and the kind of modern architecture that graces the covers of luxury magazines. This place, he rarely visits, but it’s there, waiting for him whenever he craves solitude away from the chaos of his social and family obligations. Then there’s the minimalist townhouse downtown, a sleek and understated property he keeps for the sake of convenience. Its location near the financial district makes it the perfect spot for impromptu meetings or when he wants to blend into the hustle and bustle of the city without drawing too much attention.

And finally, there’s the seaside villa. A true gem perched on a cliff with an uninterrupted view of the ocean. It's a home reserved for moments when life feels particularly overwhelming, a place where he can lose himself in the sound of the waves crashing below and the horizon stretching endlessly before him. Each property represents a different facet of his life: the penthouse for the public figure, the estate for the privileged heir, the townhouse for the businessman, and the villa for the man who sometimes just wants to escape it all.

Despite all these homes, none of them feel like home.

Lately, though, he’s been spending more time in places that aren’t tied to his wealth—places like a run-down apartment complex on the other side of town. It’s jarring, even for him, to walk through the cracked pavement and hear the hum of buzzing fluorescent lights in the lobby. But that’s where she is. Where they are. 

After seeing that place for the first time a few days ago, he automatically felt uneasy—maybe even disgusted. That is not the kind of place he wants his son being raised, where he wants you living. It’s a place for the unsavory group of people. Sure, it’s a little thoughtless of him to think these things because everyone has different situations, like you for example. But as stated before, he’s a spoiled brat to the core. So while he didn’t outwardly show it (at least he thinks so), Satoru hates the place you and his son call home. 

He’s brewing in these thoughts in his villa. Sitting on the white lawn chair, watching the pearly waves hit the shore and back. His phone’s on silent, taking pleasure in his solitude. For a second, he entertains the brief thought of being with his son and you instead. He can imagine the smile that grows on his face, watching the pretty sight in front of him. He can almost picture it clearly: the sight of you two laughing, Koji’s excited chatter, and the way your eyes soften when you look at him. It’s a nice thought, but he quickly dismisses it. You’ve made your choices, his choices for him. 

Still, the image lingers in his mind. Koji, smiling up at him, full of admiration. You, guarded yet warm, offering him a smile that could mean more if he allowed himself to lean into it. The waves crash again, louder this time, and Satoru snaps out of his reverie. His fingers twitch at the side of his chair, but he doesn’t reach for his phone. Instead, he forces himself to stay present. The world he’s created for himself is simpler when it’s just him. No obligations, no questions he doesn’t want to answer. But that image of you and Koji is still there, in the back of his mind. 

He doesn’t know why, sure he can imagine himself being with his son. But you too? The woman who lied behind his back for years, the woman who he doesn’t know would’ve ever told him if his best friend didn’t run into you? He sighs, a frustration that isn’t entirely his own settling in his chest. The villa’s quiet, but his thoughts are anything but. He looks out over the horizon, trying to push the feelings away, but they remain, a constant whisper in the back of his mind. What if things could be different? 

But there’s no going back now. The phone buzzes again, but this time, he ignores it. He can’t afford to entertain any distractions—not now. The solitude feels safer, at least for now. He’ll drive back in a few hours, but for now, he likes it here. 

“You look like you’d be a good mom.”

You falter, hands pausing around the pot of hyacinths. Giving your boyfriend a weird look, one of confusion and small disbelief. “Hah, what?”

He simply shrugs, watching you go back to fixing the displays of flowers. He’s half tempted to spout some cheesy line about how you’re prettier than the plants, but he’s already done that five times today. He watches you with that signature grin that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. “What? It’s true,” he says with a shrug, his pale blue eyes sparkling with amusement.“Yeah, you know—you got those like, instinctual mother thingies.”

“What even makes you say that?” You huff. 

“I’ve seen you with kids.”

“And?”

“Andddd,” he drags the words out, dramatically rolling his eyes. “I like it, looks good.”

You can’t help but snort, shaking your head at his ridiculousness. “You’re unbelievable.”

“No, really,” he insists, his tone softening just enough to make you glance up at him again. “You’re kind, patient—except with me, obviously—and you care. It’s cute.”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at your lips. “You’re so weird to even be thinking about that right now.”

“Maybe,” he says, stepping closer and brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “But I’m not wrong.” For a moment, his words hang in the air, and you find yourself wondering what it might mean—if he’s just teasing, or if he’s thinking about something more. The thought makes your chest tighten in a way you can’t quite name.

“You’re really something, Gojo,” you mutter, shaking your head as you turn back to the flowers, hoping he doesn’t notice the faint warmth creeping up your cheeks. “We’re nineteen and you’re immature.”

“Something amazing, obviously,” he replies without missing a beat, his grin widening. And just like that, the moment lightens, though his words linger in the back of your mind long after he’s stopped teasing. “And I’m not immature—at least not too much.”

You hum, rolling your eyes. “Debatable.”

He leans on the counter again, his head tilted as he watches you with that annoyingly familiar mix of mischief and curiosity. “Debatable? Come on. I’m the perfect blend of maturity and charm. Like... the top-tier boyfriend package.”

“Top-tier, huh?” you say dryly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite yourself. “Is that what you call forgetting our coffee date last week?”

“That was one time!” he protests, holding up a hand like he’s pleading his case in court. “And I made up for it, didn’t I? Flowers and donuts. And sex.”

“Uh-huh, right, right.” You dismissively respond. 

“You know, someday you’re going to look back at nineteen-year-old me and think, ‘Wow, I was so lucky to date this guy.’”

“Or I’ll think, ‘What was I thinking?’” you counter, though your smile gives you away.

Satoru laughs, his hand brushing against yours for just a moment as he reaches for the pot of hyacinths. “Nah, you’ll think, ‘Man, this guy’s been stealing my heart since day one.’”

You roll your eyes again, but the warmth in your chest lingers. Even if you won’t admit it, a small part of you wonders if he’s right.

You sigh this time, brushing your hand over the petals of the purple hyacinth. Its fragrance fills the space between you two, sweet and heavy, like the weight of the moment you’re trying to ignore. “You’re way too confident, you know that?”

“I prefer the term self-assured,” Satoru counters, but there’s something softer in his tone now. Less teasing, more genuine. He leans a little closer, his eyes fixed on you like he’s trying to memorize this moment. “And hey, don’t act like you don’t love it.”

Your fingers are still against the stem, and for just a second, the air shifts. His words hang between you like a thread, fragile and thin, threatening to snap. “You’re exhausting, Gojo,” you murmur, your voice quieter this time. But there’s no bite to your words, only a faint ache you can’t quite name. 

“And yet, you keep me around,” he says softly, his grin faltering into something smaller, more vulnerable. His hand brushes against yours again, deliberate this time, and your breath catches. His longer fingers interlacing with your own, bringing the back of your hand up to plant one kiss, then another, and another to your skin—slowly making his way up your arm.

“Sometimes I wonder why,” you admit, a half-hearted laugh escaping you as you shake your head. The pot in your hands feels heavier than it should, your grip tightening just slightly. Reveling in the warm feeling of his lips, a small breath of air leaving you.

He doesn’t answer right away, and when you glance up at him, you find his gaze steady on yours. There’s no mischief now, no playful grin. Just him. Just Satoru. “Maybe it’s because we fit,” he says finally, his voice almost a whisper. “Even if it’s messy or complicated... it feels like it’s supposed to be this way.” His lips are now on your shoulder, marking up to your neck; to which he spends extra time at.

Your chest tightens, and you quickly look back at the flowers, pretending to adjust the display again. “You’re talking like we’re some kind of fairytale, Satoru.” Your hand lets go of the pot, settling it back on its shelf. Cheeks beginning to heat up and you do your best to hold in the pathetic mewl that threatens to leave your mouth when he sucks just a little too sharp.

“Maybe we are,” he replies without hesitation, and there’s a sincerity in his voice that makes your heart ache. But fairytales don’t last, you think, the thought clawing at the edges of your mind like a dark shadow. You don’t say it out loud, though. Instead, you force a small laugh, pushing the heaviness aside.

“You’re too much,” you murmur, shaking your head again, eyes closing shut.

Satoru watches you for a long moment before leaning up to your ear. You feel his grin returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Maybe. But you love me anyway.”

You don’t respond, but the silence that follows feels louder than it should. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know this moment—this version of you and him—is fleeting. Like the flowers in the pot before you, it’s beautiful, but it won’t last forever, especially with how…different you two are. You don’t tell him that, though. Instead, you smile faintly, keeping your eyes on the flowers, and let the moment linger just a little longer. Letting him continue to worship your skin in kisses, reaching your lips in a magnetizing way that always leaves you begging for more. It’s your own way of letting yourself bask in the simplicity and intimacy of one another, pushing back the brutal thought that this could all change. 

Preparing yourself for the worst, the inevitable because you’re too afraid to admit to yourself that you’re already playing a dangerous game, already biting off more than you can chew. 

The weight of your unspoken fears settles heavily in your chest, threatening to suffocate the fragile warmth between you. Still, you cling to it—this fleeting moment of love—as if holding on tightly enough might make it last. Satoru reaches out again with his other hand, his fingers ghosting over yours, but this time it feels different. Less playful, more deliberate, like he knows something you’re too scared to confront. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, a reminder that he’s here now, that you’re here now.

But for how long?

You glance up at him, catching the faint crease between his brows, the way his lips twitch as though he’s searching for the right words. Or maybe he’s feeling the same quiet dread you are, that bitter knowledge that life has a way of pulling things apart, no matter how tightly you try to hold them together.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. His teasing bravado is gone, leaving only raw sincerity behind.

You force a smile, one you know doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Just... thinking.”

“About?” he presses gently, his gaze unwavering, his thumb moving across your cheekbone gently.

“Nothing,” you lie, your fingers brushing over the petals again, grounding yourself in their softness. “It’s nothing.” Satoru doesn’t believe you, you can tell by the way his eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he leans back, his shoulders relaxing as he shifts the conversation.

“Y’know,” he begins, his grin returning, though softer now, “if you ever get tired of the flowers, I’m always available for career advice. I’m an excellent life coach.”

You laugh despite yourself, the sound thin but authentic. “Yeah? What���s your first piece of advice?”

“Marry rich,” he quips, winking, but the joke falls a little flat. “Meaning me, baby,” he adds, bringing you close by an arm to your shoulders, kissing your temple. You shake your head, but the laughter fades too quickly, leaving you both in the quiet again. The thought returns, sharper now, that this could all slip through your fingers.

And maybe that’s why you let yourself lean into him just a little more, let the edge of your shoulder brush against his. It’s why you kiss him back when he leans back into your lips. It’s not much, but it’s your way of holding onto this moment, even as the inevitability of its end looms over you like a storm cloud. Because deep down, you already know the truth: you’re playing with fire, and it’s only a matter of time before the flames consume you. 

You already know a man like Satoru Gojo would never stay with someone like you.

You jolt upright at the sound of your blaring, very annoying alarm. Quickly turning it off, you give yourself a moment to blanky stare at your sheets. Rubbing your eyes. Were you really just dreaming about that? Or no, it wasn’t a dream—but a memory. A distinct, longing feeling begins to pool in your gut. The kind that makes you feel numb and unresponsive, the kind you get when you just dream about some mystery man you fell in love with but can’t remember his face. You shake your head, trying to push the feeling away as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. The room feels colder than usual, the early morning light barely filtering through the curtains. It’s a struggle to move, the weight of that memory—no, that ghost of a feeling—pressing down on you.

Satoru.

What once was.

The way your chest tightens, the ache that feels both familiar and unwelcome, tells you everything. You can almost hear his voice, playful and warm, teasing you like he always used to. You can almost feel his touch, fleeting but deliberate, like he was trying to leave a mark without you noticing.

God, why now? For what reason? You’ve long been over him, haven’t you? No doubt he has, considering he’s more than likely dating someone right now. You wonder when—or if—he’ll tell you. He has to, right? Because if this woman will possibly be around your son in the future, you have to know who she is, just like she has to know who you are. And if she and Satoru perhaps get married in the fu—

You quickly stop your train of thought.

You run a hand through your hair, trying to shake it off. There’s no time for this. You have too much on your plate to sit here drowning in nostalgia. The rent. Koji. Work. Life doesn’t pause just because your subconscious decided to dig up a piece of your past you’ve tried to bury. But the feeling lingers, refusing to let go. You stumble into the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face in the hopes that it’ll snap you out of it. For a second, it works. The chill jolts you awake, and you grip the edges of the sink, staring at your reflection.

“You’re fine,” you mutter under your breath. “It’s just a memory.” But your reflection doesn’t look very convinced.

Busying yourself with your other life and mom responsibilities proves to work, the thought of your dream this morning and Satoru in general being pushed to the back burner. You rather it be this way, it’s easier to function. 

“I’ll probably be a little late to pick you up from school today, Koji.” You tell your son, hand clutching his as you make the way to his school. The morning is colder, having dressed him in a puffy jacket, a beanie, scarf, and cute mittens you crocheted when you had the passion. 

He looks up at you, bottom lip jutting out into a frown. “Why?”

You sigh, not sure how to explicitly explain that you’ll be putting in an extra hour today at the cafe so you can scrounge up as much money as you can for the money due this Friday—in two days from now. It really feels impossible, but you’ll find a way. “Mama has to work a little longer today, I’m sorry.”

Koji’s frown deepens, his small brows furrowing as he kicks a pebble along the sidewalk. "It's okay, Mama. I can wait." His words are simple, but the way he says them—the way he tries to be understanding beyond his years—makes your heart ache. You hate this. Hate that he even has to think like this. He should be carefree, worrying about which dinosaur to play with or what snack he’ll get after school. Not whether his mama is working herself into the ground. 

You’re feeling extreme guilt again. Wondering and worrying that you’re making him grow up too fast. But tons of kids stay a bit later at school when waiting for their parents to pick them up, don’t they?  You force a smile, squeezing his hand gently. "Thank you, baby. You're such a good boy."

His face lights up at the praise—as always. He starts talking about what he’s looking forward to in class today. You nod and hum along as he chatters, trying to match his energy, but your mind is already elsewhere. Two days.

You’re running out of time, and no matter how many hours you squeeze into the day, it doesn’t feel like enough. You’ve thought about asking for help, swallowing your pride just this once, but the options are limited. The last thing you want is to open that door with Satoru, and there’s no one else who can offer the kind of money you need.

By the time you reach the school gates, you’re exhausted—mentally more than physically. Kneeling to adjust Koji’s scarf and beanie, you kiss his cheek and give him your warmest smile. "I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay? I promise. I love you."

"Okay, Mama. I love you too," he says, his grin wide and trusting as he hugs you tightly before running off to join his classmates. You stand there for a moment, watching him go, before turning and heading toward the café. Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of your reality pressing down on you.

Two days. And not a second to waste.

But just because things never seem to go right for you, Mr. Ito comes out from the classroom, standing by his door. “Oh, Ms. Y/N? Good morning.”

Jesus Christ, can he just take a fucking hint. You’re literally walking away. However, you put on a facade of politeness and turn around to face him, holding back a scowl at his ever-present smile. “Good morning, Mr. Ito.”  

He spares a quick glance into his growing room of children before stepping away and closer to you. Instinctively, you take a small one back. “How are you today?”

“I’m great.”

“That’s good to hear,” he nods, clasping his hands behind his back. His eyes do a quick scan of you, and you could almost swear you see his smile widen—like he’s appreciating the sight. Dirty bastard. 

You suppress a shudder, keeping your expression neutral. This obviously isn’t the first time Mr. Ito has made you uncomfortable, but you’ve learned to play nice for Koji’s sake. After all, the last thing you want is to make things awkward between your son and his teacher. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ito, but I really need to get to work,” you say, shifting your weight to one foot, hoping he gets the hint.

“Oh, of course,” he replies, though he doesn’t move away. “I just wanted to tell you how impressed I am with Koji’s improvement with his behavior. He’s such a bright boy, and so polite too. A testament to your parenting, I’m sure.”

There’s something about the way he says it—too smooth, too rehearsed—that makes your stomach churn. You force a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you. Koji works very hard.”

“Yes, well, if you ever need to discuss his progress or anything else, my door is always open. Even outside of school hours,” he adds, his tone far too suggestive for your liking. 

Didn’t he already say this line before? Your grip tightens on your bag, but you keep your composure. “That’s kind of you, Mr. Ito. Have a good day.” Before he can respond, you turn on your heel and walk away, heart pounding. The nerve of that man. You’d always sensed something was off about him, but lately, he’s been crossing more lines, and you’re starting to feel trapped.

It’s not like you can pull Koji out of the school—this is the best option you can afford right now. And confronting Mr. Ito? That could easily backfire, making Koji’s time in class unbearable. As you walk to work, the weight of your problems feels heavier than ever. The looming eviction notice, the landlord’s constant pressure, and now, Mr. Ito’s thinly veiled advances.

Two days. 

You shake your head, forcing yourself to focus. You don’t have time to worry about Mr. Ito or anything else. Right now, all that matters is making it to Friday.

“Did you yell at her?” is the first thing Suguru asks. After not seeing his best friend for a week, Satoru would’ve thought he’d have something else to say. However, he can imagine he just wants to get down to the point after he sent the black-haired man a message about seeing you for the first time again. 

“No, I didn’t.” Satoru cooly responds, finger tapping along the glass rim of his overly sugar-infested coffee. Suguru takes a seat across from him, giving his friend an analytical glare. Satoru’s dining room, save for the weird tension of words having yet to be spoken. 

Suguru leans back in the chair, crossing his arms. "So, what did you do then? Stare at her like a creep?"

Satoru's lips twitch into a smirk, but there’s no humor in it. "I talked to her, obviously."

"Obviously," Suguru repeats, the sarcasm thick. He glances at the untouched plate of food in front of him. "And how’d that go?"

Satoru shrugs, the motion too nonchalant to be genuine. “She was...surprised. And emotional, but I can’t really blame her for that.”

"Emotional, huh?" Suguru raises a brow. “Did she apologize?” 

Satoru nods. 

"I’m guessing you didn’t hold back."

"Why should I have?" Satoru snaps, his voice sharper than he intended. "She’s lucky I didn’t do worse, she honestly deserves every single fucking thing I told her, and more.”

Suguru doesn’t flinch at the outburst. Instead, he lets the words hang in the air, his silence more pointed than anything he could’ve said. Satoru sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t yell at her, okay? I barely even argued. I just...listened and answered.”

"And what did she say?"

Satoru hesitates, his eyes drifting to the cityscape visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse. “She told me why she kept it a secret, how she felt, and whatever.” Satoru's jaw clenches, the memory of seeing you cry filling him with dread—like it used to way back then. He’s surprised he was that receptive to it, especially that quickly. Luckily, he held back the almost innate urge to bring you into your arms and comfort you. Because again, you don’t deserve his comfort right now.

Suguru pauses, letting his own curiosity win over. “Well…why did she do it?”

There’s a moment of still quietness while Satoru thinks over the other man’s question. Satoru’s gaze remains fixed on the cityscape, the towering buildings blurring as his thoughts churn. His chest feels tight, a cocktail of emotions he doesn’t have the energy to name swirling in his gut. Anger, hurt, guilt—they’re all there, fighting for dominance. “She didn’t give me a chance,” Satoru mutters, his voice barely above a whisper. “She decided for me. Like I didn’t deserve to know. Like I wouldn’t have...tried.” He swallows hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He’s never been good at this—this vulnerable, messy part of himself. The part that cares too much, that aches too deeply. “I’m angry,” he finally admits, his fingers drumming against the table. “I’m so fucking angry at her for thinking so little of me. But at the same time... I…I think I get it. It was the rejection she was scared of, the first failed attempt, she didn’t want Koji growing up like me, she…she didn’t think I was ready, either. She said she was trying to protect us all.” His words are low and hushed, even reciting them making him feel as if he needs to spill his guts. “She doesn’t deserve it, she doesn’t deserve my understanding, my empathy for her, she…she doesn’t deserve anything. I shouldn’t feel bad for her, I shouldn’t. But I do for some fucking reason, and it’s making me so fucking confused.”

Suguru doesn’t interrupt, letting him vent. Satoru’s words come faster now, spilling out like a dam breaking. “And now, I’m just...stuck. Stuck between being pissed off at her and hating myself for thinking she’s right.” He runs a hand through his hair again, tugging at the roots as if the pain will ground him. “Because she was right, wasn’t she? I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. I would’ve run. I would’ve hurt her in ways she didn’t deserve.”

The admission tastes bitter on his tongue, and for once, Satoru doesn’t try to mask it with bravado or a joke. “But now,” he continues, his voice softer, tinged with something vulnerable, “I just keep thinking about Koji. About all the time I lost. About how I don’t even know how to be a dad, let alone his dad.”

Suguru leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “Do you want to be his dad?”

Satoru doesn’t answer immediately. His thoughts drift to Koji’s small, curious eyes, the way the boy had looked at him with a mix of wonder and wariness. The way they got along so well, so quickly. The way the boy was so excited to teach his dad about dinosaurs, to play with him, to his infectious laugh when Satoru lifted him high up in the air. “I don’t know how to,” Satoru finally admits, his voice breaking slightly. “But I want to try.”

Suguru nods slowly, his gaze steady. “Then that’s a start.”

Satoru exhales, the weight on his chest lifting just slightly. But even as the conversation eases, the storm in his mind rages on. Because no matter how much he wants to move forward, the shadows of the past—and the fear of screwing up—loom large. And the fact that he doesn’t know how he can get resolve things with you. How is he just supposed to co-parent and see your face so casually after what you did? 

Is he supposed to just remain cordial? Closed off? Or should he try to fix things? 

But what things even need fixing, there’s nothing between you two. There’s no “them” anymore. There hasn’t been for years. And if there were, shouldn’t that be your job? This entire situation is your fault. You should be the one begging on your knees for forgiveness, you should be groveling for the fact that you kept his son a secret. He’s justified, isn’t he? In being cold? Closed off? In letting you feel every ounce of the pain you caused him? 

The bitterness twists in his chest, a dark, venomous thing that urges him to lash out, to make you feel as helpless and raw as he does. For a fleeting, horrifying moment, the thought slithers in: You should be the one who’s grateful that he didn’t do anything extreme like try to take Koji away from yo–

What the hell are you saying? 

He feels convicted suddenly, wanting to punch himself for even daring to think such an evil thing. Is he that angry? Petty? Does he want to get back at you that bad that he’d threaten to take away your kid from you? The thought makes his stomach churn, the self-loathing hitting him like a punch to the gut. His grip on the edge of the table tightens, knuckles whitening. He’s not that kind of person. He’s not that cruel. No matter how angry, how hurt he feels, he couldn’t do something so vile.

He’s just not. But he just feels so conflicted and…unsure about everything. 

But the anger doesn’t vanish—it just twists into something deeper, more insidious. He feels so troubled, so lost in the storm of emotions that he can’t tell which way is up anymore. And yet... amidst all that chaos, there’s another image. One that keeps replaying in his head like a stubborn melody.

Because he could see it—see how your eyes lit up with a motherly joy after Koji called your name for attention, how you smiled instinctually when seeing your son, how your voice softened so perfectly it practically pulled him in too. He sees the way your face relaxed when Koji tugged at your sleeve, the way your whole being seemed to light up just from hearing his voice. The joy, the pride, the pure, unfiltered love that radiated from you—so natural, so raw, it made him pause.

And for a split second, Satoru forgot the anger, the betrayal, the hurt. He only saw you. You, as a mother. You, as Koji’s mother. Somewhere in the muddled mess of his thoughts, an ache blooms. Not just for the time he lost with Koji, but for the life he lost with you. Because no matter how hard he tries to deny it, part of him still remembers the way you used to smile at him like that. And the other part of him wonders if he’ll ever see it again. 

The war in Satoru’s mind is relentless, his thoughts ricocheting between anger and guilt, blame, understanding, and even longing. Every time he tries to land on a conclusion, another surge of emotions pulls him in a different direction.

Satoru clenches his jaw, his finger now still against the coffee glass. “I didn’t know about Koji.”

“No, but you knew about her.”

The words hit harder than Satoru wants to admit. He doesn’t respond, and Suguru doesn’t push, though the weight of his stare lingers. After a moment, Suguru sighs. “Look, man. If you’re serious about making things right, about stepping up and being a father, you can’t go back. Sure, you just met the boy, but it’s up to you and her to make sure you make up for the time you lost with him—to create even more memories with him. You have to prove you’ll be there for him.”

Satoru looks up at him, his eyes shadowed with something Suguru rarely sees in his best friend—doubt. “And if it’s too late?”

Suguru gives him a small, sad smile. “Then you make sure it’s not.”

It’s around nine at night, the convenience store’s ambience slowly drifting you into a sleepy state before you catch your head upright. It sucks having to force yourself to stay awake, already on your third cup of coffee today with two espresso shots. At this rate, you don’t know if you’ll be able to sleep, but it’s better that than not getting through your days at work. If anything, you can try melatonin again, even if that is just a blatant scam.

Scrolling on your phone through Indeed, Zip Recruiter, and LinkedIn. You hate seeing the same few jobs that say they’re hiring, but ghost you. Or the jobs that you seem completely too unqualified for that it makes you self-concsious. You’re aware you didn’t finish college, very aware. A part at you constantly eats away at your soul, mind running to the loud thoughts of “what if”. What if you finished college? What if you didn’t have Koji? You quickly push that idea away, feeling mad at yourself. You wonder if it’s bad of you to think about never being a mother—if other parents do that too.

It’s just a simple thought. You don’t regret Koji, you never could or would. Still, you can’t stop thinking at time about how life would be if you had a child later on in life. If you had a stable job, life, everything. Would things be better—different? Would Koji have been happier?

The thoughts gnaw at the edges of your mind as you sip from the coffee cup, the bitter liquid doing little to soothe the ache growing in your chest. The sinfulness hits you almost immediately, sharp and unforgiving. It feels wrong to even entertain the idea of a life without Koji, like some kind of betrayal to the tiny, beautiful soul who depends on you.

But you’re tired—so, so tired. And sometimes, when the weight of it all feels like too much to bear, those questions creep in, uninvited and insidious. They don’t mean you love Koji any less. You know that. Still, the mere existence of the thoughts makes you feel like a failure, like you’re not doing enough or being enough. You scroll through the endless job listings again, each rejection or impossibility hammering another nail into the coffin of your hope. A lump forms in your throat as you stare at the screen. Your hands tremble slightly, whether from exhaustion or the overwhelming sense of inadequacy, you’re not sure.

Again, you shake your head, forcing the thoughts away, but they linger like a shadow you can’t quite shake. Koji’s smile flashes in your mind, bright and pure, his laughter echoing in your memory. He’s your light, your anchor in the chaos. No matter how hard things get, you always find your way back to him. But even as you remind yourself of that, the doubts creep back in. Are you enough for him? Are you giving him the life he deserves? You hate that your answer feels so uncertain.

The soft hum of the convenience store's fluorescent lights pulls you back to the present. You set your phone down, closing your eyes for a moment as you press your palms against your forehead. You want to cry but know you can’t afford the luxury of breaking down, not here, not now.

The truth is, no matter how much you love Koji, you feel like you’re drowning. You’re just too good at treading water, keeping your head barely above the surface, to let anyone notice.

And so, you lose focus on your phone and exist in the present. You can’t change the past, but you can change your now, and your future. That starts with working hard, harder than you ever thought you could. The people who rise to the top, the people like Satoru, they fight for what they have. It’s a dog eat dog world out here, and you’d be damned if you let someone else best you. 

You’re the ruler in your own life, not Satoru, not money, not evictions, nothing. It’s you. It’ll always be you. You’ve been working since you were fourteen, practically emancipated because your own sorry excuse of parents couldn’t have been more bothered. 

That’s another thing that’s your driving force. Just like how you didn’t want Koji to grow up like Satoru, you didn’t want him to grow up like how you did either. You would never—ever—be like them. You pledged that, took an oath. Sure, things aren’t looking very good right now. But you’re strong, resilient, smart. You will get through this. For Koji, and for yourself. 

Hard workers get what they worked for. You’ll be there soon. Patience is a virtue, and slow and steady wins the race. 

Almost two hours have passed, once again putting in an extra hour. Right in the middle of ringing up some drunken college girls who came in for snacks, your phone in front of the register rings. You look down, it displays a number you know by heart. Mumbling a ‘have a good night’ to the girls who stumble their way out, you take the liberty to answer; not before you take a deep breath in, however. 

“Hello?”

“Hey.” 

“Um…hey. Can I help you?”

“I’m coming over tomorrow.”

You pause for a moment, the phone pressed tightly to your ear as Satoru's words register. It takes a second too long for you to find your voice again, the casual confidence in his tone throwing you off balance. “Tomorrow?” you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden swirl of emotions his call stirs. “Okay, why?”

He scoffs. “Because I want to see him,” Satoru says simply, as if his answer explains everything.

Your lips purse, a mix of frustration and anxiety bubbling to the surface. “Satoru, it’s not that simple—”

“It is that simple,” he interrupts, his voice calm but laced with a sharp edge. “I haven’t seen him in a few days. I’m not waiting any longer, I want to see my son.”

Your grip tightens on the phone as your free hand balls into a fist at your side. The words you want to say die in your throat, the late hour and your sheer exhaustion making it hard to form a coherent argument. “I…I–I have work tomorrow, he has school.”

“So I’ll come over when he’s out of school,” he counters, his tone softening slightly but still resolute. “Look, I’m not trying to fight with you. I just want to see my son. We’ll figure the rest out as we go.”

You glance around the empty store, the harsh fluorescent lights casting long shadows. The reality of the situation presses down on you, the fact that this is something you’ll have to get used to, have to allow. Because he deserves it. “Fine,” you say quietly, your voice almost a whisper. “He’s off at 2:30, we get home around 2:40, you can be there by that time.”

“I’ll text before I get there,” he promises, though the nonchalant way he says it doesn’t do much to ease your questionable nerves. “See you tomorrow.”

The line goes dead before you can respond, leaving you standing there in the dim light of the convenience store, the phone still pressed to your ear. Tomorrow. You set the phone down, your hands trembling slightly, unsure as to why. It’s just the fatigue. Or maybe it’s the fact that Satoru is officially back in your life, his face will be a regular occurrence now. 

He’s here for Koji. That’s all. Don’t look into it.

When you slug back home, the first thing you do—after paying Sana—is count your money. Mr. Sato needs around four thousand dollars, you’re still fucking short. 

“Nine-hundred.”

“Thousand.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

A thousand short, plus another hundred for the utilities. And he needs it by Friday. It’s Wednesday. 

On a scale from one to ten of how screwed you are, you’d give yourself an eleven. It’s hard to even admit that to yourself, feeling your hot tears wet the green paper in frustration. Gritting your teeth so hard you can hear the creaking of your muscles in your ears, a ringing noise following after. You sit there, staring at the bills fanned out on the table like they’re mocking you. The tears won’t stop, blurring the numbers, but you know them by heart. A thousand short for rent, a hundred for utilities, and nothing left for groceries or the babysitter fees piling up in the back of your mind. 

You take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down, but it’s like trying to hold back a tidal wave. The frustration spills over, hot and suffocating, as you swipe the money off the table in a fit of anger. The bills scatter across the floor like fallen leaves, and for a moment, you just sit there, trembling in the silence. “Goddamn it,” you mutter under your breath, clutching your head as if that’ll stop the spiral of thoughts. You can feel the panic rising, the way it always does when you’re this close to breaking. How are you supposed to keep everything together when the universe seems hell-bent on tearing it apart? You can already feel your migraine coming back like an old friend, feeling its twisting and pulling on your brain. 

Koji’s soft footsteps break through the haze, his small voice pulling you back to reality. “Mama?”

You hastily wipe at your face, trying to compose yourself as you turn toward him. He’s standing in the doorway, clutching his favorite stuffed animal—a tattered little bear you bought second-hand years ago. His big eyes are filled with concern, and it breaks your heart even more. “Hey, baby,” you say, forcing a smile you don’t feel. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?”

He shakes his head, padding over to you and climbing onto your lap without a word. His tiny arms wrap around your waist, and for a moment, the world doesn’t feel as heavy. You stroke his hair, letting the quiet stretch between you. “Mama’s just tired,” you murmur after a while, hoping he doesn’t ask too many questions.

Koji looks up at you, his brows furrowed in a way that reminds you so much of Satoru it’s almost painful. “Are we okay?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut, but you nod, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “Of course we are, baby. Don’t worry about a thing, okay? Mama’s got it all under control.” It’s a lie, but it’s one you tell for his sake. Koji doesn’t need to know how close to the edge you really are. And you’d never let him know just how close you are from sinking completely, he’s too young, too innocent. 

After a few minutes, he’s able to drift off to sleep in your arms, you stare at the scattered bills on the floor, your mind racing. Tomorrow, Satoru will be here. Maybe—just maybe—you can ask him for help. The thought makes your stomach churn, pride and desperation warring inside you. Are you even allowed to? What would he say?

But what choice do you have?

You need this place, no matter how ragged or disgusting Satoru—or anyone for that fact may think it is. It’s home. Home to you, and home to Koji. You’ve stopped caring about what others thought og you a long time ago. It still comes back, of course. Especially in your most vulnerable, most small of moments. And when it hits you, you realize how much you didn’t miss the feeling. You desperately wish you can just give absolutely zero fucks all day, everyday. 

That might be impossible.

As long as you just hold it down, you’ll be good—you think. 

For Koji, for Koji.

Walking Koji home the next day from school, you’re focused on checking the time of your phone; surprised when the young boy suddenly rips from your grip and runs forward. Instantly, you look up and call out for him in a hurry. “Koji! Do—”

“Papa!” 

Satoru, who’s waiting outside your apartment door, crouches down to your son’s height, arms held out with a wide smile on his face. Koji melted into his embrace, small arms wrapped around his father’s neck. Satoru hugged the boy, running a hand up and down his back slowly. “How was school, my big boy?” “Good! We learned about plants, and I drew a sunflower!” Koji exclaims, his words tumbling over each other in excitement as he pulls back slightly to look at Satoru's face. His little hands grasp Satoru’s jacket, his wide eyes sparkling with pure joy.

Satoru’s expression softens even further, a rare glimpse of unguarded tenderness crossing his features. “A sunflower, huh? That’s my favorite flower. Did you know they always turn toward the sun?”

Koji nods eagerly, his grin spreading even wider. “Yeah! The teacher said that too. I wanna show you my drawing when we get inside!”

“Of course. I can’t wait to see it,” Satoru says, ruffling Koji’s hair before standing to his full height, the boy still clinging to his leg like a koala. His gaze shifts to you, his smile faltering just a fraction as his expression becomes unreadable. “Hey.”

You stand a few steps away, your heart caught in your throat. Watching the two of them together feels like a punch to the chest—bittersweet and raw. You manage to swallow the lump in your throat and force a polite smile. “Hey.”

Satoru takes a step closer, his tone light but his eyes piercing. He simply nods in response. 

You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. But there’s an ache beneath the surface, a mix of guilt, resentment, and longing you can’t quite shake. Koji looks happy, that’s all that matters. You step forward to unlock the door.  “I have my other job to get to,” you say finally, keeping your tone neutral. “Do you think you can watch him until his babysitter comes?”

Koji rushes in, but Satoru lingers, looking at you. “Who’s his babysitter?”

“Sana, she usually comes a few minutes before I leave, but if you’re here I can go earlier.” You walk in, arm brushing against his that sends an uncomfortable tingle down your spine—one you ignore forcibly.

He follows in, closing the door behind him. Standing a bit awkwardly around the living room, watching you hang your coat and purse up. “I didn’t know you worked two jobs,” he says, almost like he’s not sure if he should be voicing out this small curiosity of his. 

You pause mid-motion, fingers lingering on the hook of your coat rack. For a moment, you consider not answering, brushing it off with some noncommittal remark. But the weight of his gaze is palpable, pressing down on you until you finally sigh and turn around to face him. “Yeah,” you say simply, your voice flat. “Bills don’t pay themselves.” There’s an edge in your tone, one you don’t intend but can’t quite help. His eyes narrow slightly, and for a moment, you think he might argue, but instead, he just nods, his expression unreadable.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head as you move to the small kitchen area to grab a glass of water. “Tell you? What would that have changed, Satoru? Would you have swooped in and made it all better?”

His jaw clenches, his hands flexing at his sides before he crosses his arms over his chest. “Maybe I would have. But you never gave me the chance.”

You set the glass down harder than you meant to, the sound of it hitting the counter echoing in the silence. “You don’t get to say that,” you snap, turning to face him fully. “You don’t just show up now and act like you care about how I’ve been keeping things together.”

“I do care,” he shoots back, his voice rising slightly. “You think I wouldn’t? That I don’t give a damn about you—Koji?” The small correction doesn’t get missed by you.

“You didn’t care enough to stay,” you bite out before you can stop yourself. 

The words hang in the air, sharp and cutting. His expression falters for just a moment before his face hardens, a wall going up that you recognize all too well. God damn it. Why do you keep bringing up the past and your shitty breakup?

“That’s not fair,” he says, his voice low. “You made that decision for the both of us.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you can’t speak. The two of you stand there, the room thick with tension, until a small voice interrupts.

“Mama?” Both of you turn toward the hallway, where Koji stands in the hallway, tilting his head. Holding his colored paper of a sunflower in his hands. “Are you fighting?”

Your heart aches at the sight of him, his small frame dwarfed by the weight of the conversation he doesn’t understand. You put on a smile, crouching down to his level. “No, baby. We’re just talking, that’s all.”

Satoru steps forward, his face softening as he kneels next to Koji. “Yeah, buddy. We’re not fighting. Everything’s okay.”

Koji looks between you both for a long moment before nodding, though his expression still carries a hint of worry. “Okay,” he turns to Satoru. “Here Papa, my drawing.” 

The two move to the couch, Satoru listening with fascination as Koji talks and talks and talks. His father doesn’t seem to mind, however. Occasionally touching his cheek or pushing hair out his face as if to remind himself this is real, that this is his son. You look away and go to your room, locking the door as you begin changing into your uniform for the convenience store. In a few minutes, you’re out and putting your shoes on. Satoru and Koji are now discussing video games. 

“I’m heading out now, baby.”

“Alrigh—”

“Okay, Mama.” Koji cuts off Satoru, to which the latter is glad because why the fuck did he just almost respond to you? He knows you weren’t talking to him, he knows you wouldn’t ever call him baby again, but it just felt so natural and instinctual. 

Strange.

He watches you come on over to give Koji a hug and kiss, awkwardly clearing his throat in the seat beside his son; looking away like he’s intruding on something. And so you won’t see the odd flush to his pale cheeks. 

“I’ll watch him, don’t call the babysitter.”

You pause mid-motion, your arms still loosely wrapped around Koji. Slowly, you pull back, giving your son a soft smile before turning your attention to Satoru. “Are you sure?” you ask, your tone careful, guarded. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

Satoru scoffs lightly, waving a hand in dismissal as he leans back in his seat. “It’s not an inconvenience. I’m his dad, remember? I can handle one night.” His words feel heavier than they should, loaded with the unspoken history between you two. You don’t miss the slight edge in his voice, though he keeps his expression neutral.

Koji, oblivious to the tension, beams up at his father. “Can we watch that superhero movie, Papa?”

Satoru grins, ruffling Koji’s hair. “Of course, big guy. Popcorn too. But after you finish your homework.”

You hesitate, your eyes flickering between the two of them. It’s hard to argue when Koji looks so happy, his excitement practically radiating off him. Finally, you nod. “Okay,” you say, grabbing your bag and coat, walking over to the door. “Just... don’t let him stay up too late.”

“Got it,” Satoru replies, his tone almost flippant, though there’s a hint of seriousness beneath it. You linger for a moment longer than necessary, your hand hovering on the doorknob. There’s something about leaving the two of them together, about seeing Satoru slip so naturally into this role, that stirs something warm in your chest.

“Alright,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “I’ll be back around twelve.” With that, you step out into the cool evening air, the door clicking shut behind you. You exhale, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions swirling in your chest—wary, relief, maybe even longing.

Inside, Satoru watches the door for a beat longer than he should. Then he shakes his head, turning back to Koji with a forced grin. “Alright, champ. Let’s see what homework you have today.” But as Koji chatters excitedly, Satoru can’t help but feel the weight of your absence pressing down on him, more than he’s willing to admit.

It’s around eight at night now. Satoru took the liberty of making some dinner for Koji, but after sifting through your bone empty pantry and refrigerator, he orders take out. The two are watching Spiderman: No Way Home. His arm is slung around his son’s shoulders, the two sharing a bag of fries. He can almost feel Koji starting to drift off, the sensation of his body sinking further into his side makes him smile subconsciously. However, that small, tender moment is broken when there’s a sudden pounding at the door. 

Satoru looks back over the couch, confused as to who the hell could be trying to see you at this time of night. A hookup? Boyfriend? No, no. Don’t think that.

He looks back down at Koji who’s giving him an equally confused, but tired face. “Is that Mama?”

“No, don’t think so, little man.” You said you’d be back by twelve, it’s only eight. That’s weird. “Stay here, okay? I’m gonna go see who it is.”

Koji nods, Satoru gently laying him on his side and grabbing a fuzzy throw blanket to tuck him in with. He stands with a small grunt, walking over to your front door. He peeks through the hole and sees a man he’s never seen before, Old, ugly, and hairy. He scoffs. The hell do you want? He unlocks it, opening up and coming face to face with the man. 

Mr. Sato regards Satoru with surprise and confusion, bushy brows furrowing. “Where’s Y/N?” he asks, tilting his head to try and get a look over his shoulder.

“She’s at work.” Satoru replies, on guard and a hint of firmness in his voice. “You need her?”

“Correct.”

“And who are you again?”

“The landlord.” Mr. Sato says, heavily huffing as he gazes back up at Satoru. His frown deepening when he feels his neck angle up. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“Late.” Satoru simply mutters, arms crossing. “Gotta come back another time.”

“I can’t,” Mr. Sato gruffs. “I need to talk to her about the money now.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens at the mention of money, and a flicker of realization crosses his sharp features. He leans against the doorframe, casually intimidating, his sheer presence making the older man falter for a second. "Money?" Satoru repeats, his tone cool but laced with an edge. "What money are we talking about here?"

Mr. Sato straightens, trying to regain his composure despite the younger man's imposing demeanor. "Rent," he clarifies, his voice firm, though his eyes avoid Satoru's piercing gaze. "She’s late on payments. Again. I’ve already given her an extension, but this can’t keep happening. I gave her until Friday but something came up and I need it now.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, his posture shifting. Late on payments? He processes the words, his mind jumping to the extra hours you’ve been working, the tired look in your eyes, the way Koji’s jacket was patched up with care but still clearly worn. The pieces click together uncomfortably.

"How much does she owe?" Satoru asks, his tone still calm, though the intensity in his eyes makes the landlord hesitate.

"That's between me and her," Mr. Sato replies gruffly, puffing out his chest as if to assert some authority in this lopsided interaction.

Satoru doesn’t miss a beat, his expression hardening. "Well, she’s not here, so now it’s between me and you." There’s a beat of silence, tension thick in the small space.

Mr. Sato shifts uncomfortably under Satoru’s gaze, his confidence wavering. “Four thousand,” he finally admits, his voice lower. “I told her I need it by Friday, but things changed. She said she’d have it.”

Satoru lets out a slow breath through his nose, his jaw clenching as he processes the number. Four thousand. A drop in the bucket for him, but for you? It might as well be a mountain.

“If she doesn’t have it, I’m gonna push forward with the eviction, I already have possible renters lined up with a more stable income.”

Eviction? And from a place this shitty? Satoru’s jaw clenches, eyes raking over the older man. “Well, she’s not here.”

“Then let me call her.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow, a flicker of something dangerous sparking in his gaze as he steps fully into the doorway, his towering frame casting a shadow that swallows the smaller man in front of him. The landlord, suddenly aware of the shift in the air, takes a half-step back. "You’re not calling her," Satoru says, his voice low and measured, carrying an edge sharp enough to draw blood.

Mr. Sato frowns but falters slightly, the confidence in his stance wavering. "Look, this isn’t personal. It’s business. If she can’t pay by the deadline, I have no choice but to move forward. That’s how it works."

Satoru tilts his head, a ghost of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, but there’s no humor in it—just a cold, calculated edge. "Business, huh? Funny thing about business—it’s always personal when it’s someone else’s life you’re messing with."

"She’s late. I’ve been lenient," Mr. Sato protests, though his voice is quieter now, almost defensive.

Satoru’s smirk vanishes, replaced by an icy glare that feels like a physical weight. "Lenient? Let me tell you something. You don’t come here throwing around eviction threats like you’re some kind of god deciding who stays and who goes. That’s not how this is going to play out."

Mr. Sato scoffs with a scowl, arms crossing. “Listen here, I don’t know who you are, or who you think you are. I don’t give a damn about that. All I care about is having the money, right here,“ he holds his palm out. “Right now.”

Satoru chuckles lowly, but there’s no warmth in the sound—it’s laced with something menacing, something dangerous. His eyes, usually glinting with mischief, now burn with icy resolve as he steps closer, forcing Mr. Sato to look up at him again. "Who I think I am?" Satoru repeats, his voice soft but unnervingly steady, like the calm before a storm. "Let me make one thing clear—you don’t get to care about anything except what I tell you to care about. And right now, you’re going to care about backing the hell off." Mr. Sato’s scowl falters, his mouth opening to retort, but Satoru raises a hand, cutting him off before he can even start. "Because if you don’t," Satoru continues, his tone dropping lower, a subtle, menacing edge creeping in, "I’ll make sure you have a lot more to worry about than late rent. Understand?"

The landlord stiffens, visibly uncomfortable now, though he tries to hide it with a scoff. "You threatening me? That’s illegal, you know."

Satoru smirks again, but it’s colder this time, a predator toying with its prey. He leans in just enough that his towering presence feels suffocating, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Illegal? Oh, I know all about what’s illegal. But see, the thing is, I don’t need to do anything illegal to make your life a living hell. A call here, a visit there… You’d be surprised how quickly someone like you can lose everything they’re so desperate to cling to. You should really care about who you threaten, this is my son and his mother you’re talking about.”

The unspoken promise in his words hangs heavy in the air, and for the first time, Mr. Sato’s bluster cracks. He shifts uncomfortably, glancing around as though expecting someone to step in and save him. Satoru straightens, his piercing gaze never leaving the man. "Take the money," he says simply, pulling out wads of cash from his wallet—carelessly tossing them at him, "and don’t let me see you again. Ever."

For a moment, it looks like Mr. Sato might argue, but the weight of Satoru’s presence, the absolute certainty in his voice, crushes whatever resistance he might have left. With a grunt, he snatches the money, shoving it into his pocket. "This isn’t over," the landlord mutters, but his voice lacks conviction as he turns to leave, his shoulders hunched under the invisible weight of Satoru’s words. Satoru watches him go, the cold fury in his expression lingering even after the door clicks shut. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, the tension in his body slowly unwinding.

Not over? Satoru smirks to himself, shaking his head. "Senile bastard doesn’t know what he’s saying.” He turns back toward the living room, his eyes softening slightly as they land on Koji, still sleeping soundly. The weight of his own actions sits heavily on him, but he pushes it aside. There are more important things to worry about—like making sure you and your son never have to deal with scum like that again. But also, finding some way to talk to you about this eviction. 

Would you have ever told him? Would you have asked for help? Are you going to continue to keep secrets from him, even though they directly affect his son—affect you?

The sound of hurried footsteps, practically running footsteps, sounds throughout the long corridor. Ignoring and maneuvering out the way of the office employees who regard the person with confusion and annoyance. There’s a singular focus in their movement, a sense of urgency that prickles the air. The familiar, large doors of the office are in line of sight, to which the person rushes inside. The grand, imposing doors of the executive office burst open.  Usually, he’d knock and wait, but not this time. 

Inside, Yamato Gojo sits at the head of a polished, expansive table, his wife, Akane, poised elegantly at his side. Around them, a small group of sharp-suited businessmen turn toward the intrusion, their murmurs of surprise quickly silenced by Yamato’s cold, calculating glare.

The informant can barely get the words out, stumbling over. “M-Mr. Gojo! I have—there’s—I—!” Their face pale and slick with sweat. Words fail them at first, a garbled mess of syllables spilling out in their panic. Finally, they manage to force out, "M-Mr. Gojo! You need to see this!"

Yamato leans forward, his eyes narrowing as he motions for the informant to come closer, his long fingers curling in a beckoning gesture. The air in the room seems to thicken as the informant, trembling, hurries forward and hands over a tablet. Akane leans in as Yamato taps the screen, her expression calm and unreadable—at least, until her eyes land on the image.

The sound of shattering glass cuts through the room like a gunshot as Akane’s wine glass slips from her hand, crimson liquid pooling across the pristine floor. Her gasp transforms into a piercing shriek that sends a chill through everyone present.

Because on the screen, displayed in haunting clarity, is an image that chills the air in the room: their son, unmistakably, embracing a younger version of himself—while your figure stands to the side.

a/n: uh ohhhh

taglist is now closed

taglist: @celestialforce @theclassbookworm @tbzzluvr @uhenivid @ofkilljoysandslytherins

@sadmonke @bunheadusa @shartnart1 @lady-of-blossoms @itsinherited

@duooy @ari-sa @dakotali @mew4-ever18 @iv-vee

@devils-blackrose @a-girl-with-thoughts @bitchycloudstrawberry @tiffyisme3760 @iheartshopping

@chiara-hotel @uriahs-barn @celloccino @roronoazorosbxtchh @pseudophyllus

@ratedrrrr @m1gota @tojideckmuncher @yigaclvn @sukunaslve

@eiizabeth-torres @cherrythiccums0 @satorustorm @zoeyflower @username23345

@i0313z @gourdlorddgubes @partypoison00 @quinnyundertow @sorilyae

@redzscare @aldebrana @nycmagi @s4ikooo1 @dreaming-lis @gigiiiiislife

@boothillglazer @miss-dior @miakxn @rjreins

[creamflix]

ryomen sukuna x gn/m/f reader; established relationship, fluff !!, painting his nails <3 – masterlist here ☆～（ゝ。∂）

it’s one of those rare afternoons where sukuna’s not wreaking havoc or tormenting anyone. instead, he’s lying back on your couch, his head resting lazily against the cushions, legs spread in that annoyingly arrogant way that screams king of curses. but today? today, he’s just your sukuna.

you sit cross-legged on his lap, holding his massive hand in yours, trying to focus on the nail polish brush. you picked a dark plum color—something that might not make him roll his eyes too hard—but you secretly wanted to pick a bright pink. maybe next time.

“hold still,” you murmur, dipping the tiny brush into the bottle.

he huffs, amused. “you really think this is necessary?” his deep voice rumbles, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“absolutely,” you reply, not even looking up at him, too focused on getting the first coat just right. “besides, it’s not like you had anything else planned for today.”

he lets out a low chuckle, his chest vibrating under you. “you’re lucky i’m bored, little one.”

you bite back a smile, brushing the color onto his thumbnail carefully. “and you’re lucky i’m so good at this.”

“tch,” he scoffs, though there’s no bite in it. his crimson eyes are watching you closely, studying the way your brows furrow in concentration, how your tongue pokes out a little when you’re trying to perfect the edges of his nail.

his fingers twitch ever so slightly as you work on the next one. you shoot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “if you keep moving, i’m gonna mess up, and then i’ll have to start over.”

“maybe that’s the point,” he teases, his smirk widening just enough to show a hint of his sharp teeth.

you narrow your eyes at him, feigning annoyance. “don’t test me.”

he chuckles again but settles down, letting you continue your work. as you paint, the atmosphere between you is comfortable, surprisingly domestic. the way his hand feels in yours—so much larger and rougher, but oddly gentle right now—makes your heart swell.

halfway through the second hand, he speaks again, voice quieter this time. “you enjoy this, don’t you?”

“painting your nails?” you glance up, meeting his gaze, and there’s something soft in his eyes, something that makes your breath hitch for a second. “yeah, i guess i do.”

“why?” he asks, and it’s not mocking, just curious.

you pause, brushing the last bit of polish onto his pinky nail before setting the bottle down. you think for a moment, then shrug. “because it’s… different. it’s peaceful. plus,” you add with a grin, “you look really cute with painted nails.”

he snorts, though his eyes gleam with amusement. “cute, huh? you're trying to ruin my reputation?”

“maybe,” you tease back, grabbing the topcoat to seal in your hard work. “but let’s be real, who’s gonna say anything to you about it?”

his grin sharpens at that, but there’s something softer beneath it now. “they’d be smart not to.”

as you finish up, you hold his hand up for inspection, turning it this way and that. the dark plum color looks surprisingly good against his skin, and the sight of his nails—painted and shiny—brings a strange warmth to your chest.

“there,” you say softly, smiling up at him. “what do you think?”

he looks at his hand, turning it over slowly like he’s really inspecting it. for a moment, you think he might make a snarky comment, but instead, he just hums. “not bad. could’ve been worse.”

“wow, high praise,” you laugh, setting the polish aside and grabbing his other hand to let it dry properly. you blow on his fingers gently, watching as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“you’re really into this, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice still low, but now it’s tinged with something softer, more amused than before.

“maybe,” you admit, still blowing lightly on his nails. “it’s not every day i get to paint sukuna’s nails, you know?”

“don’t get used to it,” he warns, but there’s no real edge to his voice. in fact, he looks… relaxed. like he’s enjoying this quiet moment with you as much as you are.

you grin, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his knuckles, your lips brushing over the tattoos there. “too late. i’m already used to it.”

he watches you for a beat, and though his usual smirk is still there, it’s softer, more content. “you’re something else.”

“i know,” you reply cheekily, setting his hand down gently on the armrest so the polish can finish drying. “but i’m your something else.”

“that you are,” he mutters under his breath, barely audible, but you hear it. and for a moment, the king of curses looks almost… peaceful, his sharp edges softened by the quiet warmth between you.

as you lean back against his chest, feeling his strong arms wrap loosely around your waist, you can’t help but smile to yourself. this might not be the life anyone expected for sukuna—domestic, soft, even a little silly—but it’s yours. and it’s perfect.

“next time,” you say with a smirk of your own, tilting your head to look up at him, “i’m thinking pink.”

he groans, rolling his eyes, but the small, affectionate squeeze he gives your waist says everything he won’t. “don’t push your luck.”

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[pretzel-box]

Tags: Comedy, Some Fluff, Streamer AU, GN!reader x Human! Sebastian

Words: 1,9k

"Pressured_Solace has started a stream. Click here to watch."

The blue notification button caught your eye as it popped up on your desktop, the usual alert signaling that your favorite streamer was live. A thumbnail of the game he was about to play accompanied the message, and without hesitation, you clicked to join the stream.

“Jellycatfished joined the stream!”

“Is that the real one??”

“Bet it's another faker looking for donations.”

A grin spread across your face as you slid your headphones over your ears, adjusting them for comfort as you leaned back in your gaming chair. Solace hadn’t noticed your arrival yet, too focused on setting up the stream and chatting casually with the early viewers. Hearing his deep, familiar voice through your headphones sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, filling you with a warm, giddy excitement. Pressured_Solace was your absolute favorite streamer—witty, thoughtful, and with a voice that could melt butter. Like you, he streamed without a face cam, leaving his appearance up to the imagination of his audience, which only added to his charm.

“I think… yeah, I’m all set. Everything’s good,” he mumbled into his microphone. You could hear the sounds of items shuffling around and the clatter of coffee mugs on a wooden desk in the background. Then he leaned closer to the mic, his voice dropping to a playful tone. “Test, test, 1-2, 1-2. Can everybody hear me?”

The chat lit up with eager replies—greetings, questions, and a flood of emotes scrolling by at high speed. The sound of his chuckle was like music to your ears as he tried to keep up with the barrage of messages. You could feel his excitement; it was the same rush of emotions and adrenaline that coursed through your body when you streamed.

“Alright, just a heads-up,” he continued, his tone teasing. “I got a new microphone, and I haven’t fine-tuned all the settings yet. So if you hear anything other than my voice… well, that’s just proof I’m not a robot.”

His joke made you laugh out loud, and without a second thought, you hit the like button to show your support. This was classic Solace, always with that sassy vibe and the funny comments right up his sleeve.

You moved your cursor again, hovering over the donation button as you carefully selected the amount, leaning forward with excitement as you typed a message to accompany it. Money wasn’t an issue for you—you had sponsorships, collaborations, and a well-paying side job as a secretary at a company called Urbanshade. So you took the liberty of spoiling yourself a little by supporting your beloved streamer.

“Jellycatfished has donated $1000. ‘You're telling me you are not an AI that will take over the world, Solace??’”

The automatic voice read out your donation, and Solace burst into laughter, probably shaking his head in amusement. “Welcome back, beloved Jelly. How many times do I have to tell you not to donate so much, silly?” His words were playful, but there was a certain softness in his tone, a hint of affection that made your heart flutter. Knowing that your favorite streamer had noticed you always brought a smile to your face. “But seriously, thank you, Jelly, for the donation,” he said warmly. “I appreciate your support—although I’m starting to think you’re secretly trying to buy my loyalty.”

You laughed, quickly typing back into the chat, “Maybe I am! How else would I get the attention of the coolest streamer online?” A quick moment of embarrassment filled you as you suddenly regretted your message, was it too cringe? Too much?

Solace chuckled again into the microphone, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “You don’t need to buy my attention, Jelly. You’ve always had it.”

The chat exploded with a flurry of reactions, hearts, and playful comments. You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, even though you knew he couldn’t see you. This was the magic of streaming—the hidden identities, the mystery, the fun banter. It was your little escape from reality, and you loved every second of it.

Just then, a notification popped up on the screen.

“Pressured_Solace has invited Jellycatfished to a private match!”

It was an invitation to a combat pvp game that grew popular in the past few days, blowing up on social media. It became one of your favorite things to stream, and Solace knew that.

Your heart skipped a beat as you glimpsed at the sudden invitation. A private match? With him? You quickly accepted the invitation, feeling a rush of adrenaline and excitement. As the game loaded, Solace spoke again, his voice filled with that familiar teasing tone. “Alright, Jelly, let’s see if you’re as good in-game as you are at throwing money around.”

You laughed, feeling a surge of competitive spirit. It wasn’t the first time you played with him and surely not the last. “Bring it on, Solace. I’ve been practicing.” This was the last message you typed before the loading screen disappeared.

The game started, and the playful banter between the two of you continued over the ingame voice chat, filled with laughter, friendly taunts, and unexpected plot twists. The chat was loving it, spamming comments like “OMG, this is the collab we didn’t know we needed!” and “Ship them already!”

As the game loaded into the next round of the PvP arena, the tension between you and Pressured_Solace crackled like electricity. The map was a sprawling labyrinth of narrow corridors and open spaces, perfect for ambushes and quick escapes. You took a deep breath, fingers flexing over the keyboard, ready to bring your A-game. The chat, that was open on your second screen, was buzzing with excitement, filled with a mixture of support and playful taunts.

"Let’s go, Jelly! Show Solace who's boss!"

“Team Jellycatfished for the win!"

“Pressured_Solace may be good, but Jelly's got that magic touch!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the encouragement flooding in. The support from your fans always gave you that extra boost of confidence, especially when it came to facing off against someone as skilled as Solace. You knew he was good—really good. But you weren’t about to let that intimidate you.

“Alright, Jelly,” Solace’s voice came through your headphones, smooth and teasing. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

“Oh, I plan to do more than keep up,” you shot back, your voice light and playful. “I’m coming for you, Solace. How about a bet?”

“A bet?” He chuckles. “Sure.”

You started to smirk as an idea came to your mind. “If I win, I get to wish something from you.” It took a moment for Solace to reply, he was definitely teasing you by pretending to think. “Fine, but if I win, you're the one that has to fulfill a wish.”

“Deal.”

The match began, and you immediately took off, sprinting down a side corridor to grab some resources. You knew the map well enough to anticipate the power-ups and health packs that would spawn in certain locations. If you could get to them first, you might stand a chance.

But Solace was a step ahead. As you rounded a corner, you were met with a hail of bullets, forcing you to duck behind a crate. You could hear Solace chuckling through the mic.

“Nice try, Jelly, but you’re gonna have to be faster than that,” he taunted, his confidence evident.

Your heart raced as you peeked out from behind the crate, firing off a few rounds in his direction. He dodged easily, taking cover behind a wall. The chat was going wild, cheering you on, urging you to give it your all.

“Come on, Jelly! You got this!”

“Don’t let him intimidate you!”

“Use the power of the Jellycatfished!”

You grinned, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You quickly reloaded and made a break for it, dashing toward the nearest cover. You had to stay on the move—staying in one place too long would make you an easy target. Solace’s aim was deadly accurate, and you needed to keep him guessing.

But every time you thought you had a plan, he was already two steps ahead. He moved through the map like he was born there, seamlessly transitioning from offense to defense. You managed to get a few hits in, but he was quick to recover, always staying just out of reach.

“Having fun yet, Jelly?” he asked, his tone light but focused.

“More fun than you can handle,” you retorted, launching a surprise attack from above, dropping down from a higher platform. Your ambush caught him off guard, and you managed to land a few solid hits before he rolled away, retaliating with a well-placed grenade that forced you back.

The chat erupted with excitement.

“YES! Go, Jelly, go!”

“That was epic!”

“Don’t let up, Jellycatfished!”

Despite the cheers, you could feel the pressure mounting. Solace was clearly better, his skill evident in every move he made. He was precise, calm, and knew exactly how to control the flow of the game. You, on the other hand, were running on adrenaline and instinct, trying to keep up with his calculated strategies.

And then he made his move. In a swift, decisive maneuver, he cornered you in a dead-end alley, cutting off your escape routes. You fired desperately, but his shots were faster, more accurate. Before you knew it, your health bar was dwindling down to nothing.

“Looks like this is the end, Jelly,” Solace said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Any last words?”

You grinned, a surge of determination flooding through you. “Yeah… don’t underestimate me.”

With a final burst of energy, you lunged forward, launching one last, desperate attack. It was reckless, but you had nothing to lose. You managed to land a few more hits before Solace finished you off with a well-placed headshot.

“Defeated! Pressured_Solace wins the match!”

The screen flashed the results, and the chat exploded with a mix of cheers and playful groans.

“GG, Jelly! You put up a good fight!”

“Solace is just too good!”

“Rematch! Rematch!”

“That was intense!”

Breathless, you leaned back in your chair, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad, Solace. Not bad at all.”

“Not bad? I’d say that was a pretty solid victory,” he replied, his tone teasing. “But you did put up a good fight, Jelly. I’m impressed.”

You laughed, feeling a warm flush of pride despite the loss. “I’ll get you next time, Solace. Mark my words.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said with a grin you could practically hear through the screen. “I always enjoy a challenge from you.”

The chat continued to buzz with excitement, fans from both sides celebrating the epic showdown. Even though you didn’t win, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. You may have lost the match, but you had fun, and more importantly, you had earned Solace’s respect. And that, in itself, felt like a win.

As the stream continued, you and Solace bantered back and forth, the playful rivalry only fueling the chat's excitement. It was moments like these that reminded you why you loved streaming so much—the thrill of the game, the support of the community, and the chance to connect with someone like Pressured_Solace, even if you didn’t know him outside of this virtual world.

But there was always tomorrow, and another game to be played. And who knows? Maybe next time, the outcome would be different.

A message plopped up at last, Solace texted you privately over the streaming platform.

“Alright Jellykitten.” He obviously joked by giving you such a silly nickname. “Time for my wish, prepare for your doom!”

“What is it, Solace?”

“Share your discord tag with me.”

[emilys-bangs]

cherry lips l e.p

Tags: fluff, first kiss, getting together, r has a lip peeling problem (bc I do too), teeny tiny mention of blood (from the lip peeling), no use of yn

Summary: Tired of seeing you pick at your lips, Emily gives you some lip balm. That proves to be a mistake.

Word count: 1.5k

“Here.” Emily throws a stick of lip balm at you. 

It falls on your lap and you give her a confused frown. She barely holds back an eye roll; your fingers are currently pinching a rough patch of skin on your lip—the rest is already peeled off—and when you drop your hand to pick up the chapstick, she catches a smear of blood on your thumbnail.

It really is such a shame. 

You have the most beautiful lips; kissable and soft looking and she’s so often gripped with the urge to lean forward and press her own to yours, test out that softness for herself.

But you have a bad habit—you pick at them constantly, your nails catching on rough skin and peeling it off, leaving behind bright red marks that are sometimes painful to look at. It doesn’t make you any less beautiful to her—god, she wished it did—but sometimes she takes pity on those poor lips of yours. And when she was shopping for some mid-week groceries last night, she couldn’t help but toss the chapstick in her cart.

She won’t be thinking too hard about why she did that.

“Really?” You ask, turning the chapstick over between your fingers, biting your lips to hold back a smile.

Emily’s heart trips when you look up at her with a quirk of your brow; she’s usually good at reading you, but right now she can’t tell if you’re amused or exasperated.

“Since you obviously don’t own one,” she quips, sitting down on the edge of your desk. You roll your eyes and run your thumb over the plastic tube, your nail dragging over the white lettering on the side.

Cherry.

Emily definitely didn’t choose that because it’s her favorite, and she most definitely didn’t choose it because she wants to see how that shade of red would look on your lips.

“I do,” you scoff, unthinkingly bringing your other hand to your mouth. Emily grimaces as you start tearing at the skin, insistent on peeling it off.

“Hey, stop that,” she swats at your hand. You frown as your hand drops to your lap. “Put some Vaseline on or something,” she says, her brow creasing at the blood slowly blooming on your lip, “or some of that chapstick you definitely own.”

She looks at you expectantly and you huff. “Smartass.” You mutter as she turns and snatches a tissue from Reid’s desk.

Emily arches her brow as she extends it to you. “Thank you, Emily, for giving me something I so desperately needed. Oh, no problem, it was my pleasure, really—”

You laugh as you take the tissue from her and press it to your bottom lip, wiping away the little smidge of blood. 

“Thank you, Emily.” You say sincerely, looking up at her through your lashes. “I really, really appreciate you giving me this lip balm and I promise to use it till it runs out.” You vow, your voice silky smooth, fingers wrapped around the chapstick as you hold it to your heart.

Emily’s heart stumbles once more. Do you know the effect you have on her? Sometimes she thinks you do, with the way you flirt with her, but other times you drip with genuine innocence, your smiles nothing but friendly.

“Whatever,” she murmurs, her booted toe lightly hitting yours. You smile and uncap the lip balm, twisting it to reveal a stick of deep red, almost burgundy. 

She almost stops breathing when you turn to the tiny mirror on your desk and start applying it, your lips quickly tinting red, the uneven splotches of recently peeled skin disappearing. You trace it over your skin and smooth your lips together when you’re done, spreading the balm evenly before you turn back to her.

“Good?” You ask as you cap the chapstick and slip it into your pocket. Something in her grows warm at the thought of you carrying it with you. She wonders if it’ll find its way onto your nightstand tonight, if it’ll be hidden in the pocket of one of your blazers tomorrow.

Emily almost laughs at the question. Her eyes drop to your lips, just to check, as if she hadn’t been ogling them while you’ve been turned away. She can still see the edge of the rough skin you were picking at, but it’s mostly hidden beneath the red. She has to tear her eyes from your lips, still ever so perfect.

Kissable. 

“Good,” she agrees, inclining her head in a nod. “I sincerely hope you’ll keep using it.” Her voice turns sickly sweet as she smiles, dimples curving in her cheeks. Your eyes brighten at the shift in her tone.

Grinning, you rest your chin on your palm. “Aw, you wanna kiss me that bad, Prentiss?” You tease. 

She laughs breathily, the sound a little choked if you listen properly. You have no idea.

“Just don’t want those lips to scare anyone away, hon,” she taps your nose and slides off your desk, grinning when you flip her off.

She settles back into her own desk and looks across at you, her heart warming at the light blush on your cheeks, a similar pink to your lips.

“Screw you, Emily,” you grumble, but you’re not fooling anyone with your poorly hidden smile.

She winks at you. “You’ll thank me later.”

----

It’s possibly the worst mistake she’s ever made.

Ever since she handed you the lip balm, you’ve been diligently applying it. Your lips are no longer cracked or dry; they’re plump and healed, shining with a subtle pink sheen, veering into red from the lip balm.

It goes without saying that work has become infinitely harder. She can’t focus when she sees the imprint of your lips on your coffee mug, a red kiss on the rim after you tip your drink back. When you pull out the chapstick in front of her she goes blank, her eyes zeroing in on the smooth, impossibly softer looking skin of your lips.

It only takes a week before her mind inevitably slips and exposes her.

You’re smoothing your hair in the bathroom when she walks in, also intent on touching up her appearance before delivering the profile. Your gaze slides to her and you smile, those perfect lips of yours turning up at the sight of her.

“Hey,” you say as she approaches, but she’s not listening. You’re turning over the chapstick between your fingers, the sheen on your lips telling her it’s freshly applied.

Emily doesn’t return your greeting. Her gaze drops to your mouth as she steps in close, closer than she realizes. 

“Your lips look good,” she says quietly. 

Your brows lift and immediately she feels her stomach drop, a flush rising up her cheeks. “Better,” she amends, her words breathless with embarrassment, “they look better. Than before. Not chapped.”

She really should stop talking. Her mouth snaps shut as her cheeks start to flame. She should stop looking at you, she thinks as your gaze drags over her. Your eyes linger on the pink tint of her pale cheeks, her widened eyes, the flush crawling up her jaw. She swallows and your eyes track that, too, making her body heat.

Emily sees the exact moment something shifts in your expression, as if you’ve come to a decision. Absently, you rub your smooth lips together. Absently, her eyes fall to them.

“They look good, huh?” You tilt your head. You take a few steps and close the miniscule distance between you two. Her chest presses into yours; she breathes in sharply. 

“You know what, Em?” You murmur, your eyes locked on hers in a way that makes her feel dizzy. “They feel even better.”

Emily’s heart races as you slip the lip balm back into your pocket. When you lean in impossibly closer and place your hand on her cheek, she stops breathing entirely.

“We’ve been playing this game for a while,” you say, your thumb stroking the soft skin of her cheek. She leans her face into your hand, chasing your touch. You smile.

“But it’s not a game, is it, Em?”

God, when you say her name like that. When you say Em and not Emily, when you let the syllables roll around on your tongue, when you say it lazily, carefully, as if you have all the time in the world.

Her hand finds your waist. She smiles a little, through her racing heart. “No,” she agrees softly. “It’s not.”

Your skin is warm through your clothes. She hears the soft hitch in your breath, the way your skin caves beneath her touch.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Emily laughs, soft and a little breathless. “Please,” she twists her fingers into your shirt, feels the material slip against her skin.

When you finally kiss her, she tastes cherries.

*I didn’t expect to write this so quickly after the first one but inspiration struck and I ran with it haha. I hope you enjoyed <33 I’d possibly like to write more for em, so if you’ve got any requests, pop in my inbox and let me know!

[inlovewithregencyera]

My Fair Lady: Late Baroque Era Set

(no fancy thumbnail this time, sorry) ♫ < baroque music

Please READ ALL OF THIS before downloading. I will not answer an ask if it was answered here. Read.

This is a late 17th-century/early 18th-century Baroque Set. You will get 25 items for women, girls, and toddlers! Towards the bottom, I will give you tips to start a Baroque Era Save (people to find on gallery and men/boy attire).

I would like to thank @the-melancholy-maiden @linzlu @sychik @batsfromwesteros @vintagesimstress @cringeborg @acanthus-sims @stereo-91 and sims 2 creator maya40 for the stuff I've used to make all of this. I'm sure there are more creators but I cannot recall their names off the top of my head. DM me if you see a piece of your mesh here so I can give proper credit. I would also like to thank @belleophile for testing these items for me.

The stuff in this set can work for the late 1660s-early 1710s.

WHAT YOU GET: You will get 3 hat hairs, 1 for each age I listed above, 2 Fontanges for adults that work with the hat slider mod, 4 adult hairs, an adult baroque hair comb piece, 1 adult baroque sash accessory used for court and portraits, 1 ribbon hair piece to go with a hair, and 13 dresses (2 1670s/1660s mantuas, 1 1680s-1710s Habit used for Hunting or Riding, 1 1690s-1710s court dress used for court occasions, 1 1690s-1710s jeweled portrait dress and 1 1660s-1670s portrait dress with sash, and finally 7 1690s-1710s mantuas used for everyday, formal, and seasonal wear. I've included 1 dress for a child and 1 dress for a toddler as well).

SMALL NOTICE ABOUT THE PIECES: The hairline on the hairs will not behave correctly if you have head shape presets on the sim. I've tried fixing that but no luck. If I manage to fix it, I will update it. The Hat Hairs are found in the HAT category and are not compatible with hairs you MUST download the hair files that I'll be including with them. This being said, if you remove sim clothing while they have the hat hair on, it removes the hair override too. It's strange, but just put the hat back on and it should fix. The comb, and ribbon accessory are also found in the hat category. The Sash is found in the GLASSES category. The 1660s-1670s Mantuas are not compatible with shoes, leggings, or socks. I've removed these options in CAS tools so you shouldn't have to worry about clipping. The Barbara 1670s Dress has a sash meshed onto it, and because of this does not behave well with bigger bodies. The same applies to the Henrietta 1670s Dress, as the pearls don't behave with bigger bodies. Same with the Sarah 1670s Dress jewels. The 1690s-1710s Mantuas will have small gaps if the sim is plus-sized. I have tried to fix these issues, but no luck. The hat hair fontange looks a bit gray without reshade or a lighting mod. @northernsiberiawinds has some good lighting mods. Other than that, it's fine. Below, is how it will look white with a lighting mod.

Everything has AT LEAST 20 swatches. Some things have more. There are only a few things that don't have this many swatches.

Here are some pics up close of what you are getting.

Here are some pics/fashion plates from this era.

Did I forget the 1680s mantua..? Oh no! Luckily, I've included this surprise 1680s dress you'll be getting as well for reading all of that. So 26 items! (here you can see hat hair fontange without lighting mods installed)

BAROQUE SAVE TIPS: These dresses will work for winter, summer, and traveling wear. Just add a fichu for summer wear or a shawl. For winter wear just add some long gloves and a cape. For men's stuff from this era, @stereo-91 has recolored some acanthus outfits which can be found here. I'll show you how they look below. I also recommend going to his gallery (ROTAMETERS91) as he has AMAZING builds for this era. For a little boy, @acanthus-sims has some stuff that can work.

DOWNLOAD

[whirliko]

🌷 kuosi collection 🌷

i started working on this recolor set around three years ago and only recently regained the motivation to actually sit down and finish it. so here you are, a big ol' pile of cas and build/buy items in finnish design patterns (marimekko, finlayson, vallila)! this is very much a self-indulgent set since i am a huge fan of finnish design but can't really afford to buy these items in real life (apart from the dozen marimekko bags i've thrifted lol).

a big thank you goes to my dear friend @cookiesandcrumbs for graciously making me a fem frame tee when i was struggling to find a good one to recolor. the tee has been tested in game, on all body sizes and no issues were found but if you find anything wrong with the tee, please send me an ask or dm! 💕

everything is base game compatible

some items require meshes (info on the download index page)

custom cas and swatch thumbnails

all the items have a bunch of fun swatches that you can take a closer look at through the download index page 🌞🌈

credit to mesh creators: @woosteru @trillyke @its-adrienpastel @ice-creamforbreakfast @charlypancakes

DOWNLOAD INDEX (sfs)

update july 18th 2023: i've updated the spec map for the AF jacket (thank you @cookiesandcrumbs), please redownload the file!

update july 22nd 2023: shadow maps have been updated for af jacket, af pants, af skirt, am jacket, am tee and cu tee, please redownload files!

update june 26th 2024: i have now included the mesh for all the dresses as well as the crossbody bag (thanks to creators and their open TOUs). i also improved the texture for the AF dress. redownload these files if you'd like!

[simplyanjuta]

Enhancing Sims Thumbnails 🖼️🔍👀

So I have received some questions regarding this post and had another look at the ThumbnailConfig.ini file to see if there is anything else worth tweaking to enhance sims thumbnails.

I also decided to share my settings (though not sure if this is a good idea, I'll see how it goes). Disclaimer, that what works well for me/on my screen, might not be the best solution for you and you might be better off with the default settings. Also remember that generating higher resolution thumbnails can slow down your game. I think that visually the settings (only) make a big difference if you play on a larger screen and/or with an upscaled UI (game accessibility settings).

You can try my settings or use the info shared below (I might update it in the future) to experiment with the settings yourself. You can find examples on how to edit the file in my previous posts here and here and you can use any text editor like Notepad or Notepad++ to do so.

Download and details below the cut ⤵️

Below you can see what I changed (marked in green) and for what purpose as well as what resolution settings there are in general. I only looked at sims thumbnails and ignored everything else. I also think some settings should not be messed with, like the ones affecting pictures that are uploaded to the Gallery (exception is if you wanna extract these pictures for editing purposes) and there are a few settings that are not relevant for gameplay. Some settings I'm not sure about (feel free to share any info).

📥Download:

Sim File Share Last updated: November 2nd 2024

📒How to install:

This override does NOT go into your mods folder. Instead, you need to replace the original game file with it which you should find somewhere along a path like this:

C:\Program Files (x86)\Origin Games\The Sims 4\Game\Bin\res

The path might be slightly different for you and depends on where the game is installed on your computer. You can check the location in the EA app. To do so, select The Sims 4 ->  “Manage” -> “View properties” (there should be a similar option on Steam):

Locate the file ThumbnailConfig.ini as described above.

Save a copy of the original file somewhere on your computer in case you need to go back. (However, you can also run a game repair to restore the settings if needed.)

Replace the original file with the override (either with my file or with your own version).

Delete the file localthumbcache.package (see info here), so that the game can generate new thumbnails, then restart the game.

Note that you will need to repeat the steps/redo the changes whenever this file is overriden or updated or by the game.

Current game bug (not a mod/config issue):

It seems that the game currently is regenerating thumbnails each time you restart the game, even when the thumbnails already exist in the file localthumbcache, thus unneccessarily slowing down the game and bloating up this file. I tested this with no mods, with basegame only, in a fresh save, with the thumbnail config file reset to factory settings and it’s still happening. Also added my findings to this bug report. If you noticed the same issue, please hit “me too”.

[sealsdaily]

See, I think this is also what i would've thought if i saw some hoity-toity big blog pat themself on the back about sourcing their reposts. But let's test that theory and have a peek into my workings!

Firstly, i do use google reverse image search. The results for which bring me...

Us, unsourced

A repost, citing the original poster as chiho_pic_seal on Instagram.

A different photo without a source

A different photo, also citing the same original poster

5. Whatever this is

So we've got a lead, and it's very conclusively Chiho. Looking into their blog, we can see every post is one photo, which is good because i can see directly from thumbnails. It's also bad because the photo is also clearly from 2019, and nobody has any direct links to the post, so we need to do a lotta scrolling...

I'll just let the video speak for itself.

It'd be one thing to just link the account like everyone else, but for SOME reason i decided a personal rule of "link directly to the image" was a good idea.

Of course, this isnt to say "Oh woe is me i have to cite my sources ouuugh it is so painful to me", just that it will probably take more time than you think, ergo that's why i made a big deal out of it. We got hundreds of dailies at this point

[polarolds]

From @thedreadslayer's fic Unbroken, Chapter 37.

Sometimes I like to make comics, as a treat. See below the cut for a snippet of my progress. :)

Clothing refs for Ch 37, Ellie's hand-cropped shorts and red flannel were given, but Abby's clothes were not as clear so I took some artistic liberties. :')

+ lighting test - was aiming for early morning/dawn colours. Purple hues are some of my favourites to work with.

The section of the fic I was adapting, written by the brilliant @thedreadslayer:

“What … the hell am I doing?” Her legs go numb and unsteady. She plants herself down on a boulder. “Oh, god. I could’ve … oh, my god.” “But you didn’t,” says Abby, kneeling beside her. She gently rotates Ellie’s arm and indicates her masked bite. “Because of this. Because you believe in what we’re doing here.” Abby takes Ellie’s hand, clamps it around her Firefly dog tag, and just … holds it there. It’s terribly intimate. And terrible. “You did a good thing.” Ellie glares at Abby and imagines ripping her pretty face right off.  Because the Fireflies, the cure, humanity - her supposed “greater purpose” - had little to do with her decision to stay. 

I've made comics from prose a few times before in the past, but I can't say that I've developed any specific process for it lmao 🥲 i just try to make thumbnails and see what vibes well

from sketch (damn they messy)-> lineart -> to final

it isn't shown here, but I've learned to start blocking out the colours before I line and found it's been a great help figuring out the tone and layout :')

and that's p much it!

[k-hippie]

SHETLAND HARBOUR IS COMING :)

I know I know ... I'm a bit late :D as usually but fore sure Shetland Harbour is coming in a few days :) In fact, the world is done and we are just testing it on both Mac and Pc. And making a good starting save game for everyone ...

Shetland Harbour is a medium/large world which has around 100 lots ... and Sheeps.

So what a June month it's going to be ! Shetland Harbour ( a brand new World ) AND the update of Oaksoak Hollow ( pronounced as o-ksoak and not oaks-oaks )

As you already knows it, our Worlds are always made with 2 major statements :

All about Ambiance

A true PLAYABLE experiment

We are aware we are still kinda newbies for everything related to CAW but we are learning ... always ! :D

All informations, cc content, pictures, ANTS ( Absolute Necessary Things & Stuff ), etc ... will be released with the coming download post ;)

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

About the "famous" directX11 Sims4 update, we investigate but everything we read about is quite simple : it's affecting everything graphic related, including thumbnails and so on. So, yes, some of you should get graphic problems since our K-Mods are all about graphic. So, the ones who get problems should doing some tests with our K-Mods and send us what's working and what is not with as much details as possible.

This is the EA statement : " While DirectX11 is available for those Simmers who want to try it, you may experience visual issues with mods so we recommend disabling all mods while using this command line argument "

What else ? well, I'm quite sure the Community will find soluces and more, detailed informations which will become a ground to work on. Then, we shall decide what to do and what not to do ;)

xoxo everyone !

[episims]

Split Character Files: The Empty Face Glitch

As mentioned before I suspected that split character files might cause the empty face glitch. After some more testing I can confirm that split character files cause it, as I managed to recreate the issue reliably in my game.

This is how the glitch works:

This test sim had a split character file. Here's how she looked like straight out of CAS and being moved into an empty lot, all good.

Then I changed her appearance with an in-game mirror and saw nothing weird in that UI window either. But when I saved the changes, I got this:

The new hairstyle I picked for her showed as it should, but her thumbnail icon now appeared without a face.

So I attempted to change her appearance again, and now the UI window looked like this:

Yikes. That's not her face! I didn't make any changes but closed the window by confirming.

Good news: her own face was there again, both in the thumbnail and attached to her body.

Bad news: she lost her eyebrows and makeup in the process. (She wasn't wearing any makeup when I took these pictures, but I tested with makeup too).

I tried this with 8 sims who had split character files and got the same glitch with all of them. After going through the glitch once for each of them, I wasn't able to replicate it anymore, so might be that it's a one-time thing.

It could explain why many players have NPCs with split character files but haven't paid attention to it; most of us don't change their appearance that often, I assume.

At least this glitch seems pretty harmless and fixable, if annoying.

[condensed-ink]

I've been thinking a lot about #FixTF2 and I know that some might have their doubts about the movement, however, I've realized that, even if it does not succeed in getting Valve's attention, it will end up contributing towards an important development in recent years - the shift in the public perception of Valve.

If you are person who was growing up in the early 2010's then you obviously remember how Valve games were essentially the cultural zeitgeist of the time, how you would see pictures of King Gaben on every meme/YouTube thumbnail during a Steam Summer Sale. As I understand it, Valve essentially rode this wave of good will throughout the 2010's. Even when everyone was getting frustrated with the lack of sequels for games such as HL2 and L4D2, some people would just excuse it with "ah y'know Valve, not communicating and not doing anything is just their style, this is just probably part of Gaben's 5D chess - tier master plan". However, the cracks in this image have been slowly showing up for a long time:

Portal fans haven't had anything since Portal 2's release back in 2011. We have had some small VR titles but that's hardly any consolation.

Left for Dead 2 came out all the way back in 2009 with nothing afterwards. As of June of 2024, the game still has more than 10 thousand concurrent players yet it is also unplayable for a significant amount of people due to reported DDos attacks.

The suffering of Half - life fans at this point is a meme in itself. The only thing we got was HL:Alyx back in 2020 and, even though it's a very good game, it was inaccessible to a lot of people at launch due the costs and lack of VR hardware. We were left on a cliff-hanger AGAIN and four years later we have no news of any follow-up.

In my opinion, Valve to some extent could ignore these fandoms since they were smaller compared to their big earners. But it is the recent issues with these bigger titles that have started to test everyone's patience and tolerance for Valve's bullshit:

Team Fortress 2 - I mean what else is there to say: rampant cheating and idle bots, bot hosters doxxing and swatting people. The bots crisis has been destroying the game for the past 5 years. If we remember the original SaveTF2 movement, it had a more positive tone, i. e., people talking about how much they love the game and pleading Valve to fix it. Well, one shitty tweet and two years later the tone has gone from "Please fix the game" to "FIX THE FUCKING GAME YOU ASSHOLES" and rightfully so.

CS2 also has a myriad of issues. CS:GO became CS2 after the game jumped to the Source 2 engine, but the resulting game, by many accounts, is a downgrade. A lot of game modes and maps from the original game were not included and are still not present as of June of 2024. Cheaters are rampant. To what degree I cannot say but it is to an extent where a significant enough portion of the player base is affected. Also, the game hasn't had an operation (major content update) since 2021. The player count is still high, but a lot voices in the community have been chewing out Valve for this level of incompetence.

With DOTA 2 I cannot say for sure. Some people talk about neglect whilst others say the game is in a decent state considering the game still gets frequent updates and patches. At most I can say that there is a portion of players that are dissatisfied with the state of the game but most likely to a much lesser extent than in the previous cases.

HOWEVER

All of that is just one part of the double whammy, the second part is probably is much worse than the first - a lack of continuity for Valve's legacy.

I mean, let's think about it for a second here: most of us who grew with the Valve classics are probably in our mid-to late twenties at this point. Of course, I'm not saying that there aren't any younger fans but the bulk is the old guard. I'm pretty sure a lot of kids and teenagers don't even know a lot about these games and it's not their fault, they weren't old enough to experience them. The blame lies SOLELY with Valve because they have done NOTHING to boost the visibility of their older series due to the fact that they haven't bothered to make a single proper sequel for any of them.

And speaking of visibility, Valve's advertising strategy is non - existent and downright insulting . They really have this holier-than-thou perception of themselves, where they think "I am THE Valve softworks, makers of TF2 and Half-Life! How could you NOT know of us?!?!" and then expect everyone else to spread news of their games through word-of-mouth. Like, I'm sorry, Gabe, but we don't owe you shit. I'm not gonna advertise your shitty card-game and upcoming mediocre 5v5 hero shooter just because I had fun playing TF2 back in high school. Like, it's no surprise that you're not gaining any new fans when this has been your modus operandi for the past 10 years.

TO CONCLUDE

This is where we are right now: the old guard is either apathetic or straight-up hates Valve for their negligence, the younger generation barely knows about most of Valve's OG game series due to the lack of any meaningful output. At the end of the day, Valve isn't going to bankrupt, they're gonna keep taking their 30% cut from Steam and peddling gambling addictions to kids via cases. However, the era of good will is over, nobody is cutting them any slack anymore and, frankly, they deserve all the shit that's going to get thrown at them.

[nectar-cellar]

4t3 Conversion: Wrinkles Blush Makeup by La Factoria De Sims

I wanted more age detail makeup for my sims so I converted these popular wrinkles from TS4. I tried my best to fit the makeup to the TS3 face... I think it looks quite good although slightly different from the TS4 original because of the texture resizing and editing I had to do.

Details:

for young adults to elders, no gender restriction

blush category, custom thumbnails

there are wrinkles for the eyes and forehead, and wrinkles for the lower face (2 different packages)

each one comes in 2 versions, soft and intense, and you can further customize using the game’s colour wheel and opacity setting 

more preview pictures inside the zip

Credits:

La Factoria De Sims wrinkles makeup for TS4

my wonderful talented mutuals @obscurus-noctem and @descendantdragfi for taking these beautiful pictures for me! I’m so grateful they agreed to test and model these for me on their sims. 🥰

In case you don’t like EA’s wrinkles on your adult sims, you can remove them using the “wrinkles begone” mod by simtalic and then add them back with makeup such as these blushes.

Download: simfileshare / mega

[missamyrisa2]

Miss Amy and the Product Test (Parts 1 and 2)

I was just thinking about this story and realizing that with my old tumblr getting deleted the only place part 1 exists is on dA. So here it is, with the second part added as well to keep it all in one post ~ and as usual I couldn't help but go back through and spruce up a few parts and add some additional hottnesssss~ <33

After the incident at the library, Amy was in serious trouble. Too many people knew her secret, too many were looking to exploit it. And when she overheard the maintenance crew outside her apartment talk of bringing the tools with extra soft quills, she decided it was time to get away for a while. The temporary job she accepted was a cinch – product testing for a cosmetics lab far outside of town.

Following the brief pleasantries, Amy’s mind was at ease. The company specialized in lipsticks and lip glosses. Except she wouldn’t be trying them on, other testers would be trying them and she would receive a kiss so that the reaction in her body could be measured. Unusual, but an afternoon of kissing seemed easy and non-tickly enough. Whisked into a pristine testing room, Amy was sat in a chair and waited for the rest of the group to arrive.

The footfalls of countless heels filled the hallway. Amy broke into a slightly uncomfortable smile. She didn’t expect a whole parade of ladies. One by one they filed in, all looking especially corporate save for three lab techs dressed in white coats. Amy sheepishly fingered her casual short-sleeved black cardigan, which sat atop a blank tank top with crimson flower patterns. She looked at skirts and business pants, then glanced at her girly jean shorts, topped with a thick black belt and a big silver flower buckle.

“Sorry I’m underdressed” She mumbled and blushed.

The ladies exchanged glances, suppressing grins. “Don’t worry yourself dear, it’s not as though we gave you a dress code. And…that outfit is actually perfect.” A woman in a bright pink blazer said, assessing Amy with a piercing gaze. Clearly the leader of the test, she began motioning to the techs and directed a perky blonde lady over to Amy.

“We’ll start with pink rose. Please relax and give us your honest reactions.”

“Wait, wh-mppph” Amy’s question was cut off suddenly by the woman placing a hand on her cheek and pulling Amy in for a deep kiss. Soft lips pressed to Amy’s, applying gentle pressure. Stunned, Amy took her kiss and raised her arms, then lowered them, shrugging her shoulders as the woman pulled back. Amy’s lips tingled slightly.

“Very good. Next is purple passion.”

“But I didn’t even tell yo-mmppphm“

Again, Amy couldn’t get a word in as the next tester came in from the other side, passionately kissing Amy. This woman was more assertive, sliding her tongue along Amy’s lips. Amy fought back her instincts, but her body couldn’t resist these affections. A long thumbnail grazed Amy’s cheek up and down lovingly as plump colored lips pressed over and over to hers.

Gasping, Amy trembled with forced pleasure as the woman reluctantly broke her kiss. A woman with deep red lips was instantly there, smiling and wasting no time to move in and catch Amy’s mouth. “Wait, hold on Iummmphhhh!” This lady kissed so affectionally, her lips rubbing and hugging, that Amy was pressed back nearly falling off her chair. A wandering hand casually stroked up and down her side, tracing the curvature of her body. Amy giggled through the kiss, blushing madly.

One after another, the ladies tested their colored lips on Amy. Kiss after kiss was administered, and Amy couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

Finally, with an especially buxom older lady Frenching Amy relentlessly, her nails holding Amy’s cheeks firmly so she couldn’t turn or budge, it seemed the final kisser was done. A lab tech offered to clean the smears from Amy’s cheeks and lips, swabbing around gently. “That was perfect Amy. You are exactly the test subject we’ve been looking for. Now we can get started.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Wh-what? You just like, gang made out with me! What else is there to do?”

“Amy…did you read the contract?”

“Shite…” Amy once again found her stomach sinking.

“Clearly it states that this test is to measure reactions on various skin regions of the body. The lips are merely the preliminary test to ensure you are receptive to our product and methods. Now, try to relax.”

The lab techs whisked Amy over to a nearby exam table, which had a padded backrest to keep her sitting upright. Again, Amy was surrounded by ladies with especially luscious lips. Some made kissy faces, as others applied fresh coats of lipstick and gloss. The smacking of their lips was so tingly teasing it made Amy squeak. Amy’s mind raced. “Um, I think there is some legalise I need to consult with regarding the filibuster of gerrymandering porkbarrel legislation?”

“…What was that?” The pink blazer woman cocked her head to one side.

“I don’t know, I failed political science…”

A tall woman with a rosy red pair of lips approached slowly, grinning warmly and pursing her kissy tools.

“…and I was kicked out of mock trial for laughing at those words….”

Amy whimpered as the lips attacked her neck, kissing gently, brushing all along the tender skin. Amy clenched her mouth. Another woman appeared at her other side and began grazing soft blue lips over Amy’s collarbone, nudging her cardigan open. “Mmmpp….” Amy bit her big lower lip, trying to hold it back. No, I can’t let them find out. I just have to endure some necking, then we’ll be done. Oh pleeease get off there, please! Amy winced as the lips traveled up her jaw and back towards her ear. The other set was working down her arm, centering right on her inner elbow.

She shook her head back and forth, blonde hairs flailing about. The ladies, undeterred, began nibbling softly, sucking in Amy’s earlobe and inner arm flesh. It was impossible to resist. The lips were the worst tickle tools Amy had endured yet, unbelievably soft and penetrating, teasing and erogenous all at once. When she felt fingers tugging on the buttons of her cardigan, Amy bucked up in the table. “No please! I need a break!”

“Sorry Amy, but we’re on a tight schedule.” The leader pointed a short perky lady over, who flashed a pair of blindingly bright pink lips. “Glittered will be perfect right there.” A red dot fluttered around Amy’s midsection as the woman pointed her laser tool. The lab techs tugged open Amy’s cardigan, revealing a little slash of exposed skin between her top and shorts. Cool breath caressed Amy’s ear, and when a tongue grazed along her inner earlobe, her composure was lost.

Amy squeaked and squealed, and before she could even register that her control was gone, the glitter lips began brushing up and down her exposed midsection. “Nooohoohooo!!!” She burst with giggles, blushing deeply. The air hung in the room for what felt like an eternity. Like light bulbs igniting, one by one the ladies grinned. Their faces shifted to fill with lust, and an unmistakable intent to torture. “Not again…” Amy said softly.

“Is somebody…ticklish?” A squeaky voice perked up. “I think sooooo!” another returned.

The glitter lipped woman gingerly lifted Amy’s top and dipped in again. The other kissers watched attentively. Those teasing lips wiggled back and forth along Amy’s belly, kissing tenderly and blowing gently. Amy’s midsection bounced in protest, laughs tumbling out of her freely. When the kiss broke, a big pink smear was all down Amy’s tummy, diverting around her navel and ending on her side. As one lab tech took notes and examined closer, another produced a soft cloth and a swab.

Amy pleaded. “No no you don’t have to do that. Eeeeee!! It’s not necessaryyyyyyy” The cleaning of her tummy was almost as tickly, with soft tools brushing along her skin to wipe away the gloss and restore it to its pale sheen and triggering tickly explosions. Poor Amy bucked and wheezed on her table, trying to fight off the sensations. The next tester was already in place. “You need to relax Amy. Tension affects our readings.” The leader warned, directing the next tester over who seemed to have the same exact lip gloss as the last.

“Hey that’s the same one!” Amy squealed as her tummy inhaled deeply to try and avoid the incoming kissy lips. Despite trying to suck her belly inward, the tickly lips landed precisely in a sweet spot to the right of Amy’s bellybutton, just short of her side, straight up from her hip. “Nooo not there!!  Stop kissing! That, that…tiiickles too much!!”

“Why do you think I’m doin it?” The girl balked in a city accent, burying her lips in again, sucking in Amy’s ticklish skin and dancing her tongue along it. Amy kicked her feet and flailed her arms. Her midsection twisted and twitched. The kissing tickle followed her every move, landing again and again. The girl’s hands couldn’t help but tease Amy further, tracing along her beltline lightly during the kissing. And when it ceased, again measurements were taken, photos snapped, and that mean swab and cloth returned, ever so daintily cleaning away the residue. Every pass of the cleaning tools heightened Amy’s sensitivity, the cool air on her exposed belly even starting to tickle as the wet spots dried.

The next kisser buzzed her lips teasingly. “Hold still girly. This miiiight tickle!” She guffawed in a southern tone, zeroing in right to Amy’s twitching bellybutton. Amy screamed with anticipatory laughs, and gripped the table as big pouty purple lips descended. They sealed over her navel and paused for a scant moment before blowing loudly. Tears rolled out of Amy’s eyes as she was relentlessly raspberried.

“Not the zerrrberrts!!!” She cried, tummy trying to shake the woman away. But that only made it worse. Shiny red nails closed around Amy’s sides as the woman steadied her prey, her thumbnail tips grazing on the ticklish skin there. Amy’s back arched in response, her sides tenderly grasped, tummy covered in those big kissing lips as a wicked tongue began probing her interior crevice. The supple tongue tip dove deep inside, impossibly curling up to an especially ticklish little region in Amy’s upper inner navel. “Goooochie goooo!!” The woman pulled out to tease before diving back in, licking her lips teasingly.

The lips playing at Amy’s hyper-ticklish midsection sent wave after wave of intense tickling euphoria throughout her slender form. Under that cute top, her nipples crinkled in response. Goosebumps lit up her arms and legs. The erotic energy was too potent to fight. Under those little shorts, a fire was building and nothing would cease its progress.

A wicked smirk crosses the woman’s face as she decided to toy with Amy’s sides, brushing her lips up and down. Her mouth smacks over and over, leaving a bright purple streak. She nibbled and caressed the soft line of skin blowing softly between each unbearably kissy tickle attack. Though she bucked, squirmed, and flopped, Amy could not escape. Dimly aware of the continued warnings from the group’s leader, Amy hazily looked down to see the tech returning with the swab.

“Oh pleeease…please don’t clean!!”

The swirl of the swab in Amy’s navel is outrageously invasive, the tender fibers stimulating the whole cavern of tickles like an electric ball. The tech spent far longer than necessary swabbing Amy’s little belly button, as the ladies remarked about its cute shape. When the cleaning finally ceased, everyone watched as her poor navel continued to twitch helplessly, overloaded with tickly sensations.

A semblance of a fight left in Amy, she began to get up as a crimson lipped gothish girl appeared from the group. “Okay, I think we have everything we need here, so I’m just gonna nope right out of here.”

The ladies smiled warmly, blocking her escape.

“Yep, good job everyone. Yay! You did it! Team effort! Way to shift those paradigms!”

The gang didn’t budge, and when Amy tried to slip between them, her arms were seized and pulled back to the table.

“Oh Miss Amy, tsk tsk tsk, we are so far from done with you.” The leader said, wagging her finger back and forth.

The goth girl leaned in swiftly, catching the top of Amy’s shorts with her long blood-red nails. She tugged them down slightly, exposing the top curve of Amy’s hip bones. Amy barely had a chance to whimper before those evil lips landed, massaging in tight circles with pauses to lick playfully and nibble shamelessly. The helpless test subject howled with laughs, flailing and again trying to fight her way out. This time however, the gang grabbed her arms and legs, pinning Amy down.

“Neeee!!! Stop licking my hips!! That’s not what those are for!!”

“Might as well test some blush too!” A lab tech remarked, producing a big fluffy makeup brush and happily dusting pink powder into Amy’s rim and bellybutton as her hip was licked, sucked, and kissed. To keep Amy further on edge, the kisser alternated between hips, always switching when Amy’s hysterical laughs died down even the slightest bit. Each switch, she screamed anew, torso arching in furious protest, which was met each time with a daintily dancing blush brush.

“Tickly tickly blushy blushy!”

Her navel filled with powder and hips extremely red, Amy breathed deep. Hands lovingly twirled her long blondish locks, gracefully massaged her arms, and trailed along her outfit. The break was only momentary, as now double cleanup duty started. An absolutely wicked looking black feather duster was applied to clean out her blushy navel while the swabs returned to polish each hip in big rubbing circles.

“Gossssh!!! Ssssstoop iiit! You wouldn’t have to clean if you would stoppp kissing and blushing meeee!” She whined, pulling at the arms which kept her pinned down. The techs were completely unfazed, working busily with knowing grins.

“Okay Amy.” The leader started, looking over her notes and flipping a fancy gilded pen between her thumb and forefinger. Amy shuddered. Something about this woman was getting to her. The demeanor, the corporate style. The shiny pumps. That ultra-pink blazer, which she was unbuttoning slowly. “We’re going to move to a new test.”

“You mean like, I need a number two pencil?” Amy asked absentmindedly, eyeing her antagonist closely.

“No, you silly cute girl. We’re moving you to a better apparatus. And testing a new locale on your adorable body.” Amy stared blankly. The woman parted her blazer and revealed a shiny thick waist belt. Amy thrust involuntarily, her arousal levels spiking. The ladies didn’t notice as they had busied themselves preparing the apparatus. But their leader did. She locked eyes with Amy lustily.

Their moment was broken as the girls walked Amy over to the next site. Still looking at the mystery woman, Amy was positioned into a padded chair similar to what one would see in a dental office, albeit with long armrests. Her wrists were strapped down, her legs strapped to the end of the end of the chair. The lab techs lifted her top to ensure midsection exposure. Before Amy could come back down and prepare for the next wave, she was screaming with giggles and laughs as tickly kisses started raining down on her body.

She was kissed along her inner elbows. Kissed and tongued on her neck. Mouths brushed and nibbled her sides. One pair of lips gently nuzzled Amy’s lower belly. Another kissed each finger then began sucking them one at a time. Two kissers took each knee, licking and pecking along the perimeter. The goth girl worked her way back to the hips, landing kiss after tickly kiss on each. And one pair of succulent pink lips was leaning down between Amy’s legs, making out alternately with each thigh.

The flurry of kiss testing lasted less than a minute, but Amy trembled and giggled and shook for at least ten minutes after. Her body was buzzing with sensory overload, so overcome with sensual attention. Each tickle spot twitched endlessly. She didn’t even need to be strapped at this point, as she was entirely paralyzed by the flood.

“You….tickle meaniess…..” She whimpered, head lolling side to side. The ladies laughed collectively. The swabbing and dusting started anew. Amy feebly giggled and groaned, those soft little tools working their way along the same paths that had just been ravaged by glossy lips. “Seriously, ssstop cleaning meeee!”

When they finished, Pink Blazer stepped forth, hand on hip, and showed a visage of pure lustful intent.

“wha….? N—no….oh no, pleeease, don’t….”

The woman nodded assuredly as she reached for Amy’s shorts. “Oh yes, mm-hmm. Yes. Yes.” She carefully undid Amy’s flower-shaped belt buckle and pulled it loose. As she unbuttoned the shorts with agonizing slowness, great rosebuds bloomed anew along Amy’s cheeks and neck.

“No! Pleeease don’t do that…You don’t understand!”

“Yes. Uh-huh. I do.” She retorted matter-of-factly, ever so slowly tugging Amy’s shorts down and revealing a pair of polka-dot panties.

“Oh!”

Once again, the room was silent. The ladies looked on with cat-like curiosity. Pink Blazer’s eyes scanned Amy’s panties slowly, assessing the big swell within. Amy embarrassingly looked away, her body so visibly aroused.

“Well now, you’re just full of surprises Amy!”

She leaned down and began buzzing her lips along Amy’s pantyline. The swell quivered and bounced. The woman’s lips were even more tickly then all her minions. Those perfectly rose colored instruments blew and nibbled and caressed back and forth in long lines. The woman hummed softly with each kiss, sending vibrations along Amy’s ultra tender flesh.

“mmmh!!” Amy giggle moaned. “You’re killing meeeee!”

“Coochie coo Amy. All these special kissy tickles, all for you. I know you like this.”

“Unnnnnf! Ju-ju-jusssst! Jusss”

Words tumbled haphazardly from Amy’s mouth as she shook in her bondage. The woman smiled and caressed Amy’s belly, fingering her navel slowly as she leaned in again, grazing her lips right on the swell of the polka dot panties. The techs joined in, lightly dusting Amy’s hips with blush. A lady wrapped her hands around Amy's neck and starting kissing the back of it lovingly. Amy fought the sensual tickle assault as long as she could.

Which wasn’t very long at all, especially when wiggling index fingers began teasing her nipples through the fabric of the top and nails spidered up and down her sides. The swollen strain of Amy’s panties was at critical mass. Her hips thrust hypnotically up and down. She gasped and laughed and moaned. With one more kiss to the swell in Amy’s panties, she started bucking wildly.

“OOOOHHH GOSSSH!!! SPARKLES! FIREWORKS!” Amy’s giggling moans filled the room. “AHHMMMMPHHHH!” And were cut off as the woman caught Amy’s mouth and began kissing passionately. Amy was kissed, caressed, and tickled all through her coerced orgasm. The soft material held Amy’s organ tight, stimulating her with tickly strokes as she came, magnifying the sensation tenfold. Her princess part poking out, Amy’s surge landed along her pinkened belly. Amy submitted and kissed back, her tongue twining with the leader of the tickly kissy gang.

As the kiss broke, Amy fell limp, giggling limply before starting to mewl, pulling at her bonds begging non-verbally for more attention. The lab techs began cleaning up, eliciting new squirms and wiggles as the swabs and brushes cleaned up the discharge and new coats of lip product. She shook her head and whined out for the woman, kissing at the air now. The techs disregarded her begging and fixed Amy’s top and cardigan, slid up her shorts and buckled her cute belt. Sealed back into her outfit, body trembling as she came down from the high, the test subject began protesting anew.

“You’ve had your fun….can I go now?” Amy mumbled, going wide-eyed yet again as she watched the ladies wheel in a shiny mechanical contraption.

“That was just the preload, Amy!” The leader smiled. With clanking and electrical buzzing, the machine thrummed to life. A big pink smiling face appeared on the machine. Compartments slid open, revealing countless pairs of synthetic lips at the end of long coiling tendrils. Some of the ladies were passionately muah'ing into sensors on the machine, which was fed into databanks and allowed more copies of their plush lips to slide out.

“Now that we have sufficient data on you, we can load it into our kissing machine and get some real results.” The endless lips floated towards Amy, eagerly kissing and flicking their tongues. They locked onto various zones, descending towards Amy’s neck, lips, cheeks, collar, arms, elbows, tummy, chest, legs, and hips. “Don’t worry, she’s very gentle.”

Amy sighed. “I think I need to talk to an HR rep…”

Amy shivered and choked back a deep squeal of disbelief. The domineering leader of the cosmetics lab breathed excitedly behind Amy's ears, her hands closing on Amy's lightly exposed sides to hold her test subject lovingly as she cooed and licked. The machine trembled and floated closer to Amy as she sat firmly strapped to the exam chair. The smiling robotic face taunted Amy, making her whimper as its array of synthetic lips swarmed about.

"She's so excited to see you, Amy. She's gonna tease and taunt and kiss you just right on all your spots. Mmmhmm. All of them. We fed her all that data we collected on your cute frame." Her chuckles tingled on Amy's ears, forcing Amy to watch the machine approach and feel those pangs of helpless sensitivity. "You can struggle all you like. The lips won't be deterred." She held up a remote and pressed a button. With a cute chime, the first set of robotic lips began moving.

Despite the taunt, Amy did struggle. A pair of kissing lips floated towards her neck as if magnetically charged. Their stain was a passionate red, and made "muah muah" kissy sounds as they taunted Amy. Her belly twitched and her legs pulled uselessly as Amy desperately tried to avoid the incoming attack. With a gasping giggle, Amy's cheeks flushed pink and her body trembled feeling the soft affection planting right on her sensitive neck.

"Muah, muah, muah"

"Nuuhhhh~ don't kiss meeee! I can't take any more! Turn it offf!!!" The machine cooed as the leader pressed the button again, and sent another pair of lips, this one a set of bright purple headed right for Amy's arm pursing in a most sassy manner. She yanked helplessly at her bonds feeling the impossibly soft brushing in her inner elbows. Amy laughed out, and released a snickering gasp when the lips began a nibbling routine up and down her inner arm. Her head was flopping side to side already, and the pair at her neck followed every motion.

"Oh yes, so many lovely kisses for you Amy. You're so adorable. You deserve all the kisses and loves." The leader brushed her own pink lips on Amy's cheek before stepping back to take more notes and observe her machine. She held up the remote to Amy and thoughtfully began swirling her tapered finger along the button. Amy shook her head no through gasping laughs. The chime pinged and a pair of dark crimson lips centered on Amy's tummy.

"Tummy tummy kissy kissies!"

Amy shrieked as the lips zeroed in on the exposed slash of skin between her shorts and cropped top. The lips sealed around her navel with a cool embrace and began a raspberry routine. "Gguuuhuuhu it can zerrrrberrrt?!" Amy struggled in shock, the rippling kissing tease pushing her into ticklish hysteria. Her toes curled and hips bucked in protest at this new attack. The lips were relentless, blowing over her twitching button, then popping off with a taunting sound before pausing to select a new zone and starting the process over. Her belly was quickly a mess of glossy smears, each set of impact giving Amy aftershock tickles.

"Muah, muah, muah"

"Of course they can. These babies can do whatever I want. Aren't they just wonderful Amy? And you're getting to test all our newest shades. The ladies just love watching you, don't you girls?" The gang of kissing ladies lounged around the edges of the lab, giggling and chatting and cooing. Amy had nearly forgotten them, and blushed a deeper red realizing the weight of all their eyes on her new plight.

The leader struck one of those authoritative poses that drove Amy wild with wanting, continuing as she again drew her finger along the remote's button. "And when the lips find a particularly delicious spot, they will continue to kiss it and tease it so perfectly. They'll linger and coax out all your best sensations, like a sweet lover." With a beep, the next set of lips was summoned to torment Amy with tickly kisses.

"Muah, muah, muah"

"Whhaatt? This machine is ridiculous you're crazy just lemme gommmhpppphh" a pair of passionate purple lips found Amy's lips and ended her protests with a deep kiss. Amy giggled and slipped a moan through the kiss, her arousal starting anew. One by one all the lips began releasing their kissing only to return on the most tender electric zones they had discovered. The pair at Amy's arms nested in the crook inside her elbow. The set on her neck was nibbling  ever so lightly right under the jaw. The belly kisser found the spot right under her navel and was brushing upwards. The lips on Amy's lips began simply brushing their soft glossy surface on Amy's, and she could have soared into the ceiling.

"Quitititititquitit!! I can't I can't!! I'm too ticklish you're too kissy and these lips are toooo...lippy!! Lips mips gallups niiiiipsss!" The ladies chuckled knowingly as Amy started babbling into batty ticklishness.

The leader held up the remote once more. "Aaaaaamy" She held her finger to the button, faking out pressing it to make Amy squeak and writhe on the chair each time. Finally she chimed the machine again and a pair of naughty blueberry lips sprang forth to begin planting pecks on the underside of each toe. The blue prints drove Amy wild with tingles, a fresh set pressed into each and every toe before going back to kiss again in the crook of the whole set. And when they returned for a third pass to begin suckling on each toe, Amy was almost soundless save for her snickergasps.

"Muah, muah, muah"

The leader couldn't help holding the remote right to Amy's ear and chiming again quickly with a double tap. A matching pair of emerald lips quickly flew to Amy's chest and nuzzled up  under her tiny cropped top to hone in on the nipples. "Thanks for the suggestion cutie pie" More snickering gasps as her buttons were worked over with passionate teasing kisses. It truly did feel like a lingering lover, feeding on Amy's every reaction and drawing her deeper into tickled madness.

"Well would you look at that. You're a mess Amy." Amy wasn't sure how long it had been going on. She gradually became aware of the endless lip prints all over her skin. It felt like every bit of exposed skin from her outfit was being taunted with residual kisses. She could feel every kiss now. The lips hovered nearby, eagerly blowing kisses. Worse yet, some of them we lingering and blowing puffs of air on Amy's most tickled spots which made her squeal out in teased agony. That shining pink face never stopped smiling at Amy, just floating nearby to remind Amy of her plight. "Luckily, we have a routine just for this purpose."

With a new chime, Amy screamed a giggle. The lips began sticking out their synthetic tongues, floating back towards her overly teased and sensitized body. "Don'tttt!! You don't understand!! Well you do but I'm just sayinnn!!" Amy managed through her gasping laughing groans feeling the tongues licking up her body, right back on those hot spots. The tongues darted along her arms, up her neck, along her belly and beltline, down each and every toe, and swirled over her nipples. The teasing touches cleansed away the colour stains and left her skin extra tingly.

Amy shuddered and giggled so overloaded as her skin began to return to that pristine pinkened state. The tongues polished endlessly, swirling and lickling to their master's satisfaction. "Aww, it's just a little licking. Don't you like the cleansing routine Amy? You'd better get used to it, after all sweetheart."

She tried to shut it out, push out those teasing words and this swarm of sensations, but the lips shocked her back into reality by returning to brush all over Amy's face. They kissed at her ears, dipping their tongues inside. The lips brushed her cheeks, kissed at her lips and licked all over her neck. "Geeettt awayyyy nuoonununuu you're kiling meeee!!" Amy's face vanished in the flurry of activity, lips working in tandem to cover her with affection. They reared back and dipped in, synchronizing to completely overwhelm their lovely target.

"Mmmmpphphhheheheheaggoshshshmmpphphh"

"Muah, muah, muah"

Again Amy was left gasping. Her face was a mess of lip prints. Instead of cleansing, the leader was once more fixated on Amy's royal zones. She rolled up the crop top, unbuckled the oversized flower belt and tugged Amy's shorts back down. "Sorry Amybaby, I simply must. I need that princess part, mmhm. You need these wonderful tickles. And I know just how to give them." This time, she did not allow Amy to keep her cute polka dot panties. With a sly grin the leader adorned in pink hooked a finger into Amy's undergarments and began slowly tugging them down. A single pair of lips joined the tease, kissing at Amy's hips to tease further.

"Let's see it now. These cute panties are adorable, but they need to come off." She tugged lower, Amy moaned out feeling the pressure releasing on her swollen princess part. "There we go. Beautiful, so pretty." The leader smiled and held out her hands. One of the other ladies opened a bottle of massage oil and let it fall to her boss's hands from high above. The strict leader never broke eye contact with helpless Amy as she began rubbing her hands together.

"Nnnhhooo. Nooo pleeeease don't...that tickles sooo bad you don't even know!!" Amy pleaded seeing those soft hands heading right for her erect princess part. The woman nodded yes, yes, yes, seizing the quivering part and squeezing it ever so gently, her other hand reaching down to lightly scratch at the perenium.

"Oh, my yes I do Amy. You love this. And you wanted a job, didn't you? Well you're getting it." She began pumping Amy slowly, making her moan. The machine responded by sending the lips back in to kiss at their most tickly teasing, circling around Amy's bouncing belly and sides, and down to her feet to lick the soles.  "In fact, you're getting two Amy!"

The leader reached over to hold up the remote once more. The chime started and an especially sassy pair of red lips shot into view.

"Muah, muah, muah"

The leader held Amy's princess part at the base and took her other index finger to lightly draw on the underside up to the glans. She worked her skilled craft to ensure Amy's naughty part was fully engorged and ready to be overloaded by the machine, no matter how Amy tried to fight it. The red lips lowered further and further. Amy's eyes rolled back into her head as she snickergasped endlessly. Her body was paralyzed with sensation, the last set of lips taking in her swollen princess part, planting a red kiss before working downward.

"Make sure to moan real good for us Amy, we're streaming this to all our affiliates. They just love you, and we're definitely having you back."

Amy could barely register the words though there was no mistaking all the cameras humming and training in on her body. She could sense the giggles and taunts. The muahs. The hum of the machine. But most of all she heard that sound of the lips at her princess part. And felt the insanely tickly sensation rocketing down her sex and radiating through her body. She could barely stay conscious during a blowjob under the best circumstances. But the tickly kisses kept her from fading entirely. The machine smiled and worked Amy into the edge. The lips followed a dynamic routine, tickling and teasing and tickling again, nuzzling their softness on the underside of the tip before going down again. Speeding up with their kisses and raspberries before slowing for a moment and ramping up. The leader never stopped teasing Amy with her fingers, stroking the underside of her princess part and inner thighs with the lightest of touches while she leaned in and made little taunting moaning sounds to match Amy's.

"I'd say you need to beg to cum for us, but I don't think you're capable of such words now babydoll."

After an eternity of torment, Amy's body seized, locked into a bonded thrust of teased pleasure. Her form coated with kiss marks, sensitized pinkened skin, and a little trail of drool. She ticklegasmed right into the kissing red lips, right under the touch of the leader. And the machine did not stop nor did its operator. "Gotta make sure we got it allll~" She sang, speeding up the lips to kiss under the tip while she pulled out a mini vibrating wand to coax every drop by buzzing Amy's royal chest buttons and princess part while tickling with skittering nails all over the belly.

The aftershocks still coated her form, though she could tell some time had passed. The leader had released one of Amy's arms and was holding up a contract for the company. Amy's head lolled from side to side. She faintly signed her name and stuck her tongue out in a sassy half-sleeping gesture. The leader smirked and held the remote up again.

*beeeep*

"Muah, muah, muah"