#broken contract au

[tonycries]

Cruel Summer - G.S.

Synopsis. The five times Gojo Satoru would rather díe than marry you, his (infuriatingly pretty, oh-so-irresistible) arranged fiancée - and the one time he comes back from déath to.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, arranged marriage AU, enemies-to-Iovers, 5 + 1 things, PINING, Geto and Shoko cameos, matíng press, big D, tummy buIges, GOJO’S POWERS, creampíes, maIe squírting, oraI (fem rec.), face-sítting, he’s FÉRAL, fíngering, chokíng, spítting, p talking, down bad Gojo, slight exhíbitíonism, making him PÚSSYDRÚNK, those Gege sketches, slight spoiIers, HAPPY ENDING, swéaring, pet names.

Word count. 11.5k

A/N. Oh y’all don’t know how those Gege drawings had me, I just had to…

“I’m never marrying you.”

“I’d rather marry a special grade curse than you.”

“Huh- I’m much hotter than a fuc-”

SLAM!

That sharp, pointed noise of a ceramic teacup hitting the winding table you were seated at had almost become ritual at this point. The first few jabs of an argument escaping the mouths of both you and the other heir being a signal for at least one of the grim elders to interrupt before either of you could ruin a four-hundred-year-old contract.

And with a stubborn huff, you’re leaning back into your seat on the tatami mat to appraise the boy opposite you.

Everything from his cropped, snowy bangs to the way his summer-blue eyes blazed into you. Honestly, if you closed your ears every time he spoke, he could almost be- nope, he was sticking his tongue out at you now.

The ever-mature Gojo Satoru; new head of the ancient Gojo clan, freshly-enrolled student at Tokyo Jujutsu High. 

And your soon-to-be husband.

All cooped up in this traditional meeting room, one where generations of matches had been made and very rarely broken.

A coming-of-age ceremony, where the two of you had officially been declared leaders - and an engagement.

Your engagement. 

It was a business transaction of sorts. One that didn’t require any input from either marrying parties, according to the council of elders who sat upon either side of the table and stroked their beards in smug success. 

You’d heard that several clans had physically fought over this chance, before the Gojo clan ultimately chose you. And you knew why - you were one of the very few that had something to lose. 

The chance to attend Tokyo Jujutsu High. 

In short, play sorcerer all you want for three years, and in return they’d be free to enforce an old betrothal alliance between your two clans and demand a powerful new heir to jujutsu society - a win-win.

Though- looking at your reluctant fiancé, still donned in his dark silk robes from his ceremony, you wonder if you really should have just run away as your friends from Kyoto had urged you to. 

And one look at Gojo’s scrunched-up face told you he might just be thinking the same thing. Delicate features marred. Pouty lips nothing of the whispered legends you’d heard of the young prodigy—a monster. A blessing. The strongest.

He sounded very much his age as he echoes, “I’m never marrying you.”

You open your mouth- “And I-”

“-will be part of young Satoru’s high school journey!” Your father puts a hand on your shoulder, lightly squeezing. Becoming part of the Gojo clan was just as big of an opportunity for him as it was for you. Apparently. “We’re sure the young couple will get over their pre-wedding jitters by the time they’re back from graduation to continue their duties- right?”

A tap on your figure, that was your cue to answer.

Instead, you just turn your face towards Gojo, look him serenely in the eyes, the sweetest practiced smile on your face- and flip him off. Pre-wedding jitters your ass. 

The gasps that cloud the stuffy summer meeting chamber atmosphere were almost comical. As if you’d just sprung out of your seat and made an attempt on the poor, sheltered heir’s life. Out of the corner of your vision, you think you see one member of the council clutch his heart and faint-

“Pffft–!” That slight snigger rips through the air in sheer contrast, and every pair of eyes in the room peaks curiously over at the way Gojo muffles a slight chuckle. 

Your eyes widen, you think you liked him better like this.

Almost as if he’d just sensed your thoughts, he’s schooling his face into one of a steady lack of emotion, lightly clearing his throat.

Though, you catch the pointed tips of his ears scorching cherry-red.

“Where is the ring, boy.” Gojo’s father was a stern man, and his commanding voice was just as cut-throat. Seated right beside his son in a mirror image of you and your own father, he didn’t have to be loud to make Gojo’s spine stiffen almost unnoticeably still.

Ramrod-straight, silent- the younger version of the former head stuffs one hand between the fabrics of his yukata. 

And you weren’t sure what sort of ring might be bestowed on you by the famed Gojo clan - you didn’t allow yourself to imagine it. Perhaps a clean silver to match their emblem? Perhaps studded with sapphires for their new head’s irises?

Whatever it may have been, you don’t get to find out.

Because in that moment, Gojo Satoru flashes you with the obnoxious plastic pink of a ring pop. The very same kind you’d sneak out of your estate to buy from that little corner shop down the road, fifty yen maximum. 

“Satoru.”

Make that twenty yen.

“What?” His voice almost lilts into a whine as he responds to his father - trying oh-so-hard to pretend nothing was wrong, and this was totally the silver heirloom engagement ring of his family. Just…smelling slightly of artificial strawberry.

Gojo senior pinches his nosebridge, “I swear to- if you are not serious about that damn- school-”

“It’s alright!” Your fiancé seems just as bewildered at your interruption as you are, and you narrow your eyes enough to tell him that if he messed up your chances at going to Jujutsu High then his blood would be on your hands. Strongest or not. Reaching out your left arm, “I don’t mind, truly.”

And while the rest of the chamber murmurs, Gojo leans over the table to slip his mocking engagement ring onto your finger. To be married. To be his.

Holding your hand in his larger, slightly roughened ones, “I’d rather die than marry you.” He’s crouching to whisper in a heated pant, each syllable sticking to your skin. Only mostly meaning it.

And you whisper back into his furiously pink ear—“And I’d rather marry a special grade curse.”

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru met you in the summer, like one of those heat-induced fever dreams.

Okay, perhaps that wasn’t the best comparison- but in his defense, penning flowery literature was never his best subject after he nearly caused a clan rift by comparing Zenin Jinichi to a bullfrog. 

It was a compliment, really!

But you were a whirlwind, one that left his world tilted and his skin sizzling with heat in the aftermath- in a bad way, of course! You were a bad fever dream - a pretty one, sure, dressed in your most decadent cerulean robes and a withering glare - but still one of those you think back to even months later. 

Even nearly a year later when he’s sixteen and had insisted on walking up the ancient stone steps of Tokyo Jujutsu High without his entourage of attendants and elders.

“Hello hello—” Gojo’s running his pale fingers through even paler, short hair to free it of pinkish cherry blossom petals. Looming around the naturally green gardens of campus, “Where is- oh!”

Just as soon as he was about to tug his opaque, round sunglasses off to inspect whether it would impress his fellow students- that lady working at the store said so, so it must be, he bought twenty-five! Gojo spots a figure leaned against one of the ancient oaks by the dorms. 

That velvety blue of the dress code was one that he could recognize anywhere after so many years of yearning for it. 

And before he can stop himself, he’s sprinting towards the dark blob as fast as his lanky legs could take him. Calling out, “Yoohooo–! Your one and only favorite classmate is here~”

“Ieri–!”

“Wait-”

“You-”

So caught up in both your excitements to meet your new classmate - one of Utahime’s friends who happened to be your age - you two didn’t notice the one, single thing that you two couldn’t deny. Right by your side.

Your betrothed.

You snarl, stopping short. “What are you doing here-” And he does, too, hands haughtily planted on either side of his slender hips as he leans in close.

Snapping at you, the brief glimpse of his electric blue eyes sends goosebumps down your body. “I could ask the same from you. Couldn’t resist my charms so you had to follow me, hm~?”

“I’m here to learn, obviously. Why are you here- to get exorcised?”

“Take that back! I’m here to learn, too.”

You knew that it was part of your betrothal contract that the two of you would attend Tokyo Jujutsu High, you knew that the two of you would end up seeing each other one way or the other. And you already knew your clan stowed that stupid pink ring away deeply at the bottom of your suitcase (where you’d hopefully never have to see it ever again).

But you still raise a brow at the flashy designer stamping on his shades. “…Really?”

And Gojo could’ve taken disgust- hell, he would have even welcomed anger. 

But that genuine, wondering confusion in your tone as you swept your eyes up n’ down his defensive stature made him flush- “H-how dare you- duel me. Right here, right now.”

“Haaah? You would duel your future wife?”

“Scared?”

“No, just wondering why you didn’t ask sooner.”

Scoffing, both of you dart your heads in unison to the girl with the shortly-cut hair that was following your argument like the fiercest of tennis matches. Immediately turning ashen-faced at your attention, and damn near devastated when Gojo happily keens. “Bob girl! Can you keep score of-”

“No.” She deadpans. 

Frankly, you wondered just how she managed to sound as if she’s seen every horror there was to see in the world already. Possibly because she already had, right there, but Shoko doesn’t spend her time answering your unspoken question.

Too busy digging in her jacket pocket for-

“Cigarettes!” Gojo squeals, never having seen someone his age take a puffed-out drag of one so close-up before. The clan always detested anything that would ‘stain the purities of the body’- and right now, Ieri Shoko looked like she couldn’t handle sitting there one more second longer if she didn’t have one. 

He points a lengthy finger your way, accusatory. “I blame you for this- somehow- you must have corrupted her with your ways and made her feel all strange like you did me.”

You roll your eyes, “Yeah? I blame you for our marriage-”

And he’s uttering for the second time, “Oh yeah? Well, I’m never marrying-” 

But just as Gojo was about to whirl on his feet and flick out a few cursed tendrils of energy like he’d taught himself. He was thinking of calling this one ‘Blue’ after that shade of your robes the first time you met, and the way you were about to be it’s first-

A deep voice cuts off his train of traitorous thoughts- “Yeah- mhm, I’ve gotta go. My new classmates are here.” 

A new-comer. 

And the black-haired boy looks as if he’d no sooner flip his cellphone closed to end his ongoing call and pretend he never walked out of the dorms than join whatever mess he’d just walked in on. 

Amethyst eyes slowly swivelling underneath his tied-back bangs to look at a fuming Gojo…to an equally-matched you…to Shoko, already chain-smoking her fifth cigarette away by now.

“Actually…could you stay on the line for a bit longer, momma.”

.

.

.

“It’s legal if it’s personal property, isn’t it?”

You groan, “It’s not your personal-”

He quickly taps the polished handle- “Now it is.”

“That’s…” You’re squinting your eyes, as if it will somewhat blur and spare you the sight of Gojo Satoru attempting to steal that shiny red moped parked at the outer edge of campus. If anything happened, you didn’t want to go through the hassle of getting called in as a witness, at least.

Shoko puts you out of your misery as the one voice of reason, “Yeah, that’s a lie.”

Geto cups a hand over his gaze to fight off the breaking rays of sunset, voice amused. “Well, I don’t see any cameras here.”

“Perfect—!” Gojo sings, clapping his hands together as he stares over his ridiculously gaudy glasses. It was nearing the end of first year, early December wind your fifth uninvited guest as the four of you chose to stay over in the dorms for your first high school holidays. “The key’s still here so we can sneak out, buy me the best birthday cake in Tokyo- no, in all of Japan, and sneak back in right before grump ol’ Yaga-”

“Sneak off from who-”

And, there, was aforementioned grumpy ol’ Yaga. 

Running at full speed toward your deviant little group from the top of Jujutsu High’s stairway. Which, considering the tough, rocky path, wasn’t too fast at all- but the four of you just bolt.

Faster than you’ve seen anyone move during any cursed mission, if you’re being quite honest. 

Shoko running, phone in hand with a suspiciously blinking camera light that meant she was recording the entire ordeal. Geto urgently twisting his fingers into what you’d learned was his summoning technique - he’d meant to call his Rainbow Dragon for a rapid escape, but ended up manifesting the massive, sleek form of his Giant Catfish who scooped him up into the murky depths of its mouth and slithered away.

And Gojo? 

Oh, Gojo was letting out the most impressive high pitched squeal before he’s slamming something hard, and helmet-shaped on top of your head. 

“Wh- hey!” Before you can even register it, two massive hands are grabbing onto your waist to sit you down on the cushioned back of the moped. Backwards. “Wrong way-”

“I don’t know how to drive!”

Your feet hitting the side, your back hitting Gojo’s larger one, it takes only a singular split-second for him to jam that lil’ key and speed off down the stony path of the campus. With Professor Yaga yelling from behind and you yelping, “Gojo I’m gonna kill you-”

“My bad, I meant to grab Yaga.” He’s grumbling at you from the front, the roll of his eyes practically carrying on the whipping wind. 

“Yaga would’ve known how to seat a kidnapee-”

“You want to touch me?”

“…No”

“Scared?”

Your wide eyes watch the disorienting way the lush nature of the Jujutsu High passes by, as if you were stuck in a kaleidoscope. “No.”

He only hums, finally getting used to controlling the vehicle enough that he was mostly sure he wouldn’t crash into every upcoming tree. “Prove it~”

Wordlessly, Gojo slows down enough that you won’t be part of his definitely-opportune traffic accident as you shift your body ‘round. The faux leather cover creaking! once you rover your palms onto his shoulders for balance- “There.”

“Ever seen anyone hold onto the driver like this? Ya prude-”

“Fine-” You’re cutting him off- cutting yourself off by clinging your hands in a neat knot around Gojo’s firm core. And through the flashing shard of the side-view mirrors, you catch the way his ears burn. “You better not get an erection.”

Okay, only partly sure he wouldn’t crash into an oncoming tree.

The deep timbre of his voice cracks- “H-hey!” You knew how to push his buttons just so. “Gods- why’d it have to be you?”

“And why’d it have to be you.”

The part he doesn’t say out loud is that it would’ve been stranger if it was anyone else. 

Not that you needed to hear it- of course not, you were still his infuriating, bold- stubborn fiancée who was forced onto him, after all.

Yet, to Gojo who’s held close by you, and to you who was clinging onto him for dear life as the haven of Jujutsu High melts into the bustling city, he doesn’t think he’s had a more peaceful birthday.

It takes fifteen minutes for the two of you to ride to that cozy convenience store on the outskirts of Tokyo, and what felt like hours (but in reality was five minutes) to give up on convincing the elderly clerk that you both were totally not a couple out for an after-school joyride.

And then - as if the universe was directing its very own prank at your expense - only three for Gojo to grow impatient and throw a tantrum swerving the moped to and fro until you finally tore open that packet of sparklers bought as birthday celebrations.

Honestly, what else did you expect from a man who organized his own surprise birthday party?

“Cake? Check. These things? Check. Happy birthday to me~” He’s tipping the starlit firework upside down to draw bands of gold in the darkening air. “Must be in the top seventeen birthdays I’ve ever had-”

You scoff, your breath emitted as a small cloud. “You’ve only had seventeen.”

“It just dropped down to eighteenth thanks to you-” And you swear you see the strongest outline a dick in the air with his sparkler, you swear he purposefully made it bigger than the one you’d drawn. “And nineteenth if we get arrested for the moped.”

In response, you draw the biggest dick. One with his face. 

You were parked on the side of a lazy road, only the occasional car and Gojo’s wonderment breaking the tense silence - perhaps the most civil one you’ve had in years.

It was odd being out with Gojo Satoru. No sniping over your betrothal, and if he tried hard enough- he could pretend that there was none. That there might be. But for now, the two of you were just two classmates sneaking out to ransack your local stores, “If we do get arrested, I’m blaming you.”

He nods, dramatically. Bumping his broad deltoid against yours, “As husband, that would be my duty.”

“So…” You’re blinking, your own sparkler’s ashy ends drooping onto the ground. There was no doubt on your mind that Geto would not have mercy on the two of you for finishing about half of these sticks. But you had something else on your mind right now, “You’re saying you don’t mind-”

“Wait. wait, no, that’s not what I meant. O-of course I mind!” And Gojo doesn’t give you the time to call out the way his breath gasps- the way his voice shakes, the way he’s flushing. Furious, “Never- in my right mind- would I marry you.”

A ring of gold from the dying sunlight wraps around your irises and irritates him so much when you finally look away to rustle your hand inside the numerous shopping bags.

Airily musing, “Then, I guess as my not-ever-husband you wouldn’t want your not-ever-wife to gift you this-”

“I take it back, I’m marrying you.”

If the elders of your clan knew that all it took for Gojo Satoru to accept the betrothal would be a packet of extra, extra-caramelized popcorn then they would have had the two of you married off by yesterday.

“Make no mistake, this was meant for me.” It wasn’t. You did eye this particular brand too long before swiping it off the shelf and paying when he wasn’t looking. You did think of nothing but the plastic ring burning a hole deeply inside your skirt pocket. And the way he’d whined and thrown himself on the floor of the nearby theatre on your last outing to the city, when Geto refused to buy him caramel popcorn.

So you’d bought it- to shut him up and spare your poor throbbing temples, if anything. Of course. 

But you can’t help the words that tumble out of your mouth at the glowing expression gracing his features. “But- here- happy…birthday. I’m not getting you anything for the next ten years.”

He’s silent.

Pondering.

And he can’t think of anything more flat than a little ‘thank you.’

The red, red metallic bag with enough sugar content to put anyone but Gojo Satoru into a coma sits carefully where you’d plopped it into his arms. And he looks at it with the sort of twinkle in his eyes that you’d never seen before. “Well…If I brought Yaga instead of you, he wouldn’t have bought me this.”

“I take it back-”

“Thank you.” Almost as if realizing those awful, treacherous two words himself, he backtracks with a sputter. Strange, he should bug Shoko into doing some sort of heart check-up on him soon. “W-we’re married for as long as I eat these. And after that? Divorce, sweetheart.”

Pretending to wipe your forehead in relief, “Thank goodness-”

“Oi-”

“What-”

And with your grumblings and partially-filled bags in tow, he’s fastening the singular helmet on you - so fast that you think he might’ve just taken advantage of his powers to do so. 

Just to watch you strangle out in what was definite annoyance as he pets the plastic top as if you were a child. Smack, smack! 

“I’d be a good husband- not that you’d ever know.” Gojo sticks his tongue out at you, vrrrrr—ing the moped engine so that your snarky reply gets drowned out. “And next time I am bringing Yaga instead.”

He takes back those words soon enough when Yaga catches the two of you right at the gates of Jujutsu High. Trying to race back away on his brand-new moped. 

.

.

.

“So- you see” Long, white lashes flutter rapidly, “Take pity on your poor, sheltered student. The Gojo elders really didn’t teach me-”

“I should’ve set the mission sooner so that I could be rid of-”

Geto pipes up above Professor Yaga’s booming lecture, a hand raised in every ounce of solemn discipline that his best friend didn’t show. Another mission. Constant. “In my defense, it was his idea.”

Valentine’s day. Also the early first day of second year; and it only brought about more missions, a couple more students as first-years, and a slightly-longer haired thorn at your side betrothed. And, apparently, this - three annoying, grating voices muffling through the gaps of your dorm’s front door. 

“I call shots on not answering to that.” Utahime pipes up where she was sprawled out on your bed and knitting her brows at your interrupted girl time. It’s not often that she gets time off from Kyoto to bother her only friends in Tokyo.

Snickering at Shoko’s absent-minded ‘ditto’ and Haibara’s- why was he even here, anyway - “I could! But maybe you should do it, he is your fiancé!”

Utahime cackles, face twisting from mirth to disgust when she inspects that plastic ring from where she’d dug it up from your drawer. “On Valentine’s day, too- oh I would rather die if I were you.”

It takes you a few moments to realize that all three occupants of your bedroom were staring at you for an answer. Pointing at yourself, “M-me?” Facing Haibara, “And why do you know that- you’ve been here for a day.”

He smiles, dazzling. “Ah, Gojo-senpai was telling us- it was why Nanami was trying to call home and leave.”

“Oooo, you heard the man.” Shoko presses a few buttons on her phone, and you hear the suspicious beep–! of the camera starting. Only incriminating herself further when she’s raising it upwards and flapping her hands forwards to urge you to open the door.

You groan, “Next time, we are not having girl’s night in my roo- wait.” And it had never caused you any trouble to leave and enter your dorm, it had never taken you more than a gentle push to open your door. So why was it that it just refused to open right now- “What the-”

It’s as if the door was locked from the outside somehow. 

Shoko leans in further with her recording camera as you prod, as you turn your shoulder to hit the wooden pane and shove- 

“Why- isn’t this-” You’re hissing through grit teeth, feet planting firmly on the surface and cracking open the bedroom door inch by inch. Gasping, “-open-ing–!”

And the sight before you was one you’d remembered for years.

Not just because smack-dab front n’ center to your vision was a pathetically kneeling Gojo Satoru, cowering in front of your looming teacher- but because of what was actually blocking your entryway. 

It wasn’t some lock on the outside as you’d suspected, it wasn’t a large desk or anything of the sort. It was a massive, heaping pile of buttons. 

Gold with bits of purple. So many that it was almost as tall as your door.

“What. The. Hell.” Your deadpan voice cuts Gojo off in the midst of some complaint to Yaga about ‘why is it named the Vessel Mission anyway, that’s stupid.’ And three sets of eyes snap to you as they finally register your entrance. 

“Ah…” Geto’s the first one to break the silence of your impromptu staring match, even though Gojo was pointedly staring away. Eyes twitching the longer his best friend stared at the mountain of buttons on your doorstep, he looked exhausted. “Satoru, care to explain?”

He’s gulping, “You see, this all has a very reasonable explanation and a very reasonable line of thinking-” 

“It’s all Satoru’s fault-”

“What-”

“Of course, it is.” Yaga rubs his aching temples, as he often seemed to do whenever he was around his group of second-years for just a minute too long. The older man turns to you with a weary, tired expression - and you make note of his dark circles, “This is the fifth pile of second buttons I cleaned from your door today- this hour.”

Ah, that explained it.

And it feels like your brain had just short-circuited, “Oh…wait- second buttons-?” Nevermind how he’d come across so many. Bought, most likely.

“I told you the elders taught me nothing-” Gojo squawks, scrambling onto his feet. He’s flailing his hands about, it was not his fault he didn’t know that second button meant…a confession. Or the fact that Geto hadn’t bothered to tell him and only watched with an easy smile as he made a fool of himself. “It was a prank- a prank! And his idea- he helped! I was going to block your door with buttons-”

“-second buttons.”

“-and make you all huffy and puffy that way you get-”

“-on Valentine’s day.” You’re finishing off, arms crossed. Carefully scrutinizing up at him- he hadn’t come across a growth spurt since last semester, he’d rammed into one at full speed. You shudder, in disgust, surely. “Did the elder’s hypnotize you or is there something you’re not telling me…”

And he hates it.

He hates how you look right through him in a way that induces some sort of heart condition in him- and Gojo would know, he’s visited every doctor in Tokyo just because of it. They all laughed. 

One even wrote up his letter of resignation.

Sputtering, ears pink in anger- and Gojo was glad that his pale hair had grown out just enough to cover it. Strangely. “Y-you wish, ex-wife.”

You’re swatting the back of his soft locks, and Geto doesn’t note how Gojo seemed to have put down limitless so you could swat him.

“Dickhead.”

“Delinquent.”

“Blind mouse-”

Gasping, he clutches onto the frame of his shades. “Oh, now I really don’t wanna marry you-”

Yaga’s had enough. 

“Enough!” 

One of the veins near the side of his forehead nearly pops, and you step back with a wince at the oncoming scream- Gojo shuffling behind as if he was bravely offering you up for sacrifice. 

“Enough- enough with the- the confessions-” Yaga spears a finger straight at Gojo’s directions and speaks over his protests. “-and the flirting! Flirt after the mission-” Then at you, and you could hear your friends cackling from either side. “Detention for everyone!”

Dammit- another line on your divorce document. 

.

.

.

You didn’t get to ‘flirt’ after that Star Plasma mission - not that you would, but still.

In fact, you didn’t get to do all that much after tasting death so close to your little haven at Tokyo Jujutsu High. 

And life goes on, sometimes leaving those behind.

And other times honing others who choose to stay and snap-

“It’s Suguru.”

“I know.”

The defection of Geto Suguru. The murder of his parents. His mother.

Your voice was more empty than he’d ever heard it- and he wanted you to scream at him, he wanted you to sob. Anything and everything other than the trained, stable tone that clashed against everything he was feeling right now.

But you only stare out into the yolky yellow tint beaming over the sprawling grounds. Sat on the flat, stone staircase of campus with your knees hugged to your chest- and he was close enough on the steps to hear your low mutter. “I’ll be leaving, too.”

Gojo’s head snaps to you- “What?”

“It’s my clan.” You’re swallowing, refusing to look at him directly. And that in and of itself almost hurt as much as when you did- and, for perhaps the first time, he’d rather have his heart race in those strange little palpitations. Right now, it was just heavy. “And yours. They don’t think it’s safe for a ‘future Gojo bride’ to be so close to danger.”

“Then we won’t marry.” He’s declaring, snowy brows set stubbornly.

“I know.” You lilt your head back to watch the sluggishly swimming clouds above, likely the last time you will from here. The council will be here tomorrow, and with them, your departure. You had that silly pink ring on your little finger, he notices. “I’m leaving.”

“I already said we won’t-”

“No, dickhead. I’m leaving.”

Widened, quivering blue peripherals lock onto you- and Gojo’s rosy lips part into a soft oh! 

He knew what you meant- hell, when he first wanted to enroll in this damn school, he’d threatened to leave the clan over and over until they’d finally relented. And suddenly he’s hit with the loss of his little group - no more missions, no more convenience store runs, no more you.

You were to graduate in a year, with only half the students left in both your grade and the one below. Nanami wasn’t even going to become a sorcerer anymore, not after Haibara. 

And he knew - he just felt - that you won’t be there for it. That you might never be. 

How he wished to run, too.

“Utahime’s friends with that one special grade sorcerer- Yuki Tsukumo. I’m leaving with her today to continue training my own way.” You’re continuing, hands flexing in your lap. “And leaving the clan. Officially.”

Huffing, “What? Gonna leave your poor husband at the altar—?”

“Like I’ve always wanted to.”

“Without even a kiss for the bride?” And he doesn’t know why he says it. Even more, he doesn’t know why he holds the line of your gaze and can’t bear to look away, even as his heart starts up that familiarly strange ba-dump–! rattling his chest. 

The tips of his ears tinging the very same blood-red as the sun now, Gojo thinks he can hear his eardrums whistling once you lean in. Once you close your eyes. And once you press your lips to his plush, soft ones for a mere single second. 

“There-” You’re murmuring, trying to sound stern even though the waver in your voice gives you away. “Now you’ve been deflowered and can’t complain. You’re an absolute curse, you know that?”

And, suddenly, he gets it.

Oh, so that was why all those cardiologists he visited laughed at him for about a year straight. 

He gets it.

Chuckling bitterly, of course. Of course, he has to understand now. Of course, he loses every shred of sun just as soon as he closes his hands- because for what reason should a weapon crave normalcy? Crave sealed fate? For what right should he demand that you stay here to bind you to him? 

His mouth quivers, head turning so that you won’t see the wet glitter of his eyes in the dying daybreak. “So now I’m a special grade and a curse? Does that make me the special grade curse you want to marry?”

Your flip phone buzzes, and he already knows it’s time. Standing up, “You had the curse part down pat even before you were a special grade. Probably why your bride’s running off, Satoru.”

It was the fifth and last time that Gojo Satoru would be declaring that stupid sentiment. Smile only half-true. It was a cruel summer.

But he always was good at waiting.

Gojo tugs on that cold second button of his uniform, calling out in place of a goodbye. “Good thing we won’t be getting married, sweetheart~”

.

.

.

Itadori Yuji has spied on his teacher’s phone before.

He didn’t mean to–he swears it! And was it even that much of an invasion of privacy if he simply glanced over at the glaring lockscreen wallpaper? Surely, it wouldn’t have been as bad as if he had peered over Gojo’s shoulder when he actually unlocked his phone…

…Okay maybe he had seen a snapshot of the older man’s home screen as well, but like he said- it was an accident. Flickering his curious eyes over as he opened up his catalogue of movies during their training together. 

But what wasn’t an accident was just how vividly he remembered each wallpaper. 

On his lockscreen; taken from the inside of what looked like one of Tokyo Jujutsu High’s dorms, with a massive pile of toppling buttons in the center and a much younger Gojo Satoru (and someone who looked faintly like Kenjaku?) kneeled on the floor. Clearly being punished.

Yet, what was most interesting was the scowling, arms-crossed figure of another student he was staring up at. Unable to tear his eyes away, even through his shades.

It was you.

That familiar face also featured in Gojo’s home screen - a more blurry photo, this time, as if it was still in motion. Of his teacher in the process of scrambling onto a shiny red moped, keys turning, with you stowed away in the backseat - yelling and sat backwards. 

And Itadori tried not to think much of it, but he saw you in the small framed photograph that Principal Yaga pretended not to have on his desk, yet, polished every day. 

He saw you in the postcards that Professor Shoko pinned up on the packed bulletin board of her infirmary, amongst diagrams of dissections and slaughter. He saw you in the brief, blurry facetime that the other teacher, Utahime, from Kyoto was on during parts of the exchange event.

And he saw you at the foot of Gojo Satoru’s bed, after he’d won.

Older, more mature now - but inevitably you.

Itadori could tell, even in the forlorn way you were slumped over the side of the mattress in Shoko’s clinic, body half-seated on a chair like you’d been there all night. 

“You…” He’s breathing, making you stir against his will. 

You blinky your teary eyes up in groggy confusion, fingers instinctively tightening on the large, callused fingerpads of Gojo’s digits. “Huh? Oh, you must be Yuji. And Megumi, and Nobara.”

Itadori was just about to open his mouth and answer that no, he was actually just Yuji- when a disgruntled voice behind him makes him realize he isn’t alone. “We apologize for the trouble, we can come back later if you-”

“Oh, no no.” You wave Fushiguro’s words off as the three enter - well, as Fushiguro enters and Kugisaki shoves Itadori inside. “I’m sure he’d want everyone here when he wakes.”

Gojo had won in Shinjuku, but Satoru was still sleeping.

Famed eyes closed. Bundled in the arms of bandages and reverse cursed energy ‘round his toned middle, he was breathing in slow unison with the beep! of the nearby heart monitor. Alive. 

You really did have Shoko to thank later.

And Itadori knew that as a student he should be more invested in how his unconscious teacher was doing, but he just couldn’t help but keep sneaking glances over and over. Wondering just who you really were-

“So, is the wedding going to be anytime soon?”

Fushiguro speaks, and the rest of the trio gapes. How dare he ask something like that from a sorcerer so lovely. And wait- why were you chuckling? “Oh right-” Nodding down at Gojo’s large form, of course, he told his honorary son everything. “I am his fiancée.”

“His what-”

“How much did he pay you-”

“Kugisaki, don’t be rude-”

Fushiguro nods, “No, she’s right.”

“Unfortunately, only this.” You’re scrunching your nose as you answer Kugisaki’s question- pulling out a tiny chain from underneath your uniform with an aged, faded pink plastic ring pop.

And she responds like she’d been personally wronged, dragging her hands carefully down her eye-patched face. “Ohhh- I knew it- not only is he a deadbeat teacher, he’s a deadbeat husband, too.”

“To be fair I did leave him. Of sorts.” You wave a hand airily, already having heard from Ijichi about the fate of the higher-ups. The clans. Over the younger girl’s ‘understandable!’ “I just landed in Tokyo today, I wish I could’ve come sooner but- ah, well.”

“B-but…” Everyone looks at Itadori as he stammers out, cheeks burning a slight rouge once your hand drifts over Gojo’s exposed core. Whispering in one breath, “How did he get a wife so pretty…”

“Hey- that’s my wife you’re talking about.”

You could recognize that smug, simpering tone anywhere. You’d be able to pick it out from a crowd of thousands. 

Laughing- as he’s tackled into a hug by an overeager Itadori, and the falsely reluctant rest.

It was quite strange to see Gojo Satoru like this - not just laid barren and sprawled over some hospital bed, but without any of his usual blindfolds and sunglasses. Just like when you’d met. And he always was so honest with his eyes.

And he was back.

And you were back - after ten years.

Which is why Itadori and Kugisaki have to fight the urge to look away at the expression settling over Gojo’s serene face. Wondering how you - his fiancée, of all things - would react. Winning against the King of Curses was quite the accomplishment, even for the strongest.

Would you cry? Would you throw your hands over him as they just did? Should they actually get up and leave the room-

“You- you complete idiot.” Gojo half-wonders whether your strength could rival Sukuna himself once you strike down a punch to his scarred shoulder. Yelling, glaring- crushing him into a hug. 

Your voice is suspiciously thick once you’re gurgling out into the pale crook of his neck, “I thought you said you’d rather die than marry me.”

And they don’t know what they’re more surprised about- the way that Gojo had the audacity to say those words to you, or the way that Gojo had the audacity to listen to those very words and laugh. Head thrown back, “Sweetheart, I’d come back from death just to marry you.”

Pulling away, you take the longest look at your betrothed that you think you ever have.

Everything from his longer, still-snowy hair, tickling the tips of sparkling sapphire eyes. Slightly slicked back to reveal shyly red-dusted ears, and a cute lil’ dimple at the edge of his boyish grin.

He was still the same Gojo you’d left behind - even though he was taller, stronger. So much bigger that you could feel the flex of his deltoids underneath your palms, and the ripple of his beefy forearms looped around your waist.

He was still Gojo. Always beautiful. 

SLAM!

“O-oh.” You’re jolting at the sudden closing of the clinic door, clearly his students had left the two of you to some privacy, and you’re almost embarrassed. “We’re an awful example.”

“When have we ever been a good example?”

“Well, I could say that about you-”

He only tugs you closer, breathing out as if the first breath he’d taken in a while since Shinjuku. Since you’d been gone. “I missed my wife.” And the two of you knew you should alert Shoko by now, but you only stay still- with you nearly in his bed by now. 

For what felt like hours. Years. 

“Yeah? Well, I- I missed you, too. I thought I lost you.” You wince, “I’m sorry for departing so suddenly.”

It was sincere - but the feeling of Gojo’s smirk pressing up against the side of your thumping pulse almost makes you reconsider it. “I know how you can make it up to me, wifey~”

Scoffing, he was really ramming up the ‘marriage’ part of your relationship by now. “Nothing with buttons or mopeds or-”

“No no-” Lurching back slightly, the plush, puckered fringes of his lips lean in oh-so-closely. Until you could practically taste the saccharine sugar of his heated breath, “You know, I never got to kiss the bride.”

Oh.

Oh.

Then he’s kissing you- and you’re kissing him. And it’s all that you’ve ever wanted with the sharp, pointed ends of Gojo’s canines digging into your bottom lip to drag you back.

Drinking you in like a man parched- he’s finding life in your mouth. Slipping his tongue in past the spit-glossed crevice of your mouth and uttering a hot pant. “Please-” Manhandling you with his strong, scarred arms up to straddle him on the rickety mattress. “Please.”

And you’ve never heard the strongest beg like this.

Never heard him flutter his droopy lashes and look at you through starved, feral eyes. A translucent bubble of spittle sparkling by the end of his swollen lips, “P-please.”

Never heard him stutter. 

Clearly he’s reading something in your sultry eyes because Gojo’s hastily shuffling the two of you down the bedsprings. Head hitting the puff of his pillows, your ass hitting his sharp pelvis. 

Your fiancé holds you upright and rubs a clawing hand doooown the back of your spine, toying with the metallic zipper on your sorcerer’s uniform skirt. “Fuck that about hah- not marrying you.” He’s crooning out in a throaty tone, strands of white nearly covering his greedy gaze. “M’ready to consummate our marriage right here, right now.”

“B-but Satoru- you just woke up-” 

“So?” There’s something deep n’ dark in his tone that made shivers skitter up your spine. Attempting to clench your thighs together but all it does is make your outer pussy push against the smooth path of his white happy trail. “Your husband’s the strongest, sweetheart.”

And then you’re being roughened up- then your skirt’s bearing the brunt of being almost torn clean off your hips. 

Gojo barely even registered his power, not giving two shits if it meant that he got to admire your pale blue panties up close and personal. A firm hand groping your right cheeks help push your clothed pussy up until your slit strikes the edge of his chin, thighs now straddling his pretty, pretty face.

Rosy lips purring over that darkening wet splotch between your legs, “Bon appétit.”

“Shut up and just- oh, fuck!”

He’s flopping the pinkish crown of his tongue out just enough to dab a lil’ dewdrop of spit between your swollen pussylips. And it’s just all that it takes for the first taste of your saccharine pussy to coat his tastebuds-

“O-oh!” He gasps, his hazed peripherals widen. You’re faintly registering the way that the shiny overhead lights of the private room flicker- 

Gojo grins as you gape, “Did you just…”

“Guess m’not in control anymore.” He’s snickering, stuffing himself nose-deep into your cunt. And there’s such a primal hunger in him, the way he’s not even caring for your poor, sodden panties before he’s hanging his jaw open and slide-slide-sliiiiding the edge of his mushy tongue up n’ down your folds. “Heh-” A light goes out somewhere down the corridor. “Whoops.

He’s whacking his jawline on the soft inner parts of your thighs and it still isn’t close enough. Tilting his head just so to slip his damp muscle between your ruined fabric.

“Shit- shit, your tongue is sooo big.” You find yourself keening, hips rocking back and forth at a mindless pace. And, truly, you now knew why Gojo talked so much because his tongue was so-very-lengthy, already circlin’ your sticky hole, “Like you better- hck! better like this.”

And the way he looks at you gets you even more drenched, haplessly watching as Gojo opens his throat wide enough to let the cloying droplets of your slick fall down to his maw.

“Oh yeaaaah–?” Gurgling already with the beads of sap that soak the lower half of his face, he’s starin’ you right into your fluttering eyes once he’s tugging your panties to snap! back on your heated core with an index. “Whaddaya gonna do about it?”

Before you can answer - before you can even think, the very tippy-top dome of his fingertip coils slimily down your naked slit. He feels you - so soft n’ warm - for the first time and pants. “Gonna ngh- argue with me from here to make up for it? Hmmm—?”

Almost as if on cue, your pert pussy is letting out the rawest lewd squeeelch at his touch. Bucking wildly, “Are you all talk or what ngh-”

“Looks like you’re all talk.” And you seriously were so wet that it was dripping down Gojo’s handsome chin, rovering a few more solid inches of his index to keep pryin’ your cunt apart with a wet plap!

Then a second inch- and a second finger.

His probing fingers are so big that the gummy channels of your walls have to mold to each size and measurement just to take him. “Look at ya- taking me in sooo well but ya don’t even- sit-” One of his hands claws on your left ass cheek to hold you down where you were hovering your weight, the other sinking in—

You’re squealing at the press of his thick, knobbled middle finger curving against one of your most tender spots. “What if I suffocate-”

“Then suffocate me.”

“You just came back to life.”

“I came back to life just to ngh- see this pretty pussy.” Gojo snarls up at you, tugging you down. Pulling you. Manhandling you. He just wanted to French kiss your pussy until he had that smart mouth of yours stupid. And those silly lil’ panties were a barrier- 

Within seconds, he has shreds of your underwear tattered and ripped between his pearly whites. 

Looking like a fucking animal once he’s finally sitting you down properly and stuffing himself so deep that you nearly see his pale, straight nosebridge disappear between your folds. 

Snaking his tongue to stuff and stuff where two of his fingers were pumping in n’ out in n’ out in n’ out. You were being dually stuffed open, the sting of him stretchin’ you out and swiping the gooey bottom of your core just delicious. 

“Don’t mind- haaaa-” Breaths ragged, movements sloppy. Gojo wastes no time in pursuing his delicate lips and spitting, “-dying now that I got ta see her. Now that I got to- hck- taste.” 

Hand shaking where he slides it along your thigh, breaths stuttered.

He’s feeling your slick waterfall down with every lap and slash of his tongue, bearing no mercy. Your thighs rendered all jittery and sleek with a sheen of syrup every time he flicked the tip of his tastebuds on top of your clit. 

“I’ve been so fucking thirsty- sooooo fucking thirsty.” Gojo whines, and you swear his baritone voice cracks. Hitches. Hips rutting up into the empty air, “You know how long I’ve wanted this- do you have any. Fucking. Idea?”

He sounds genuinely ruined, spitting back into your treacly pussy just to follow the wad dooown the seam of your pussy with his tongue. 

A third finger puckers ‘round the edge of your entrance, and you’re whining once Gojo lazily slugs the first pad inside and scrapes the roof of your cunt. “Please- since when- ngh- s-since…”

Giggling, higher-pitched than usual. “Oh, sweetheart- you don’t even wanna know.” You’re whimpering when he’s swatting down the velvety edge of his tongue on your sensitive nub three times before pulling away. Smack-smack-smack. “Spit in my mouth n’ I’ll tell you, h-heh.”

Breathless, “What did you just ask—?”

“Scared?”

And Gojo’s pale brows raise when you’re hunching forwards just enough to grab his clammy cheeks, streaming out a glittery streak of spittle straight into his ajar mouth. “Not if it gets you t-to- shut up-”

You spit in his mouth, and from the slightly-angled turn of your head you catch the way that his throbbing erection twitches. 

His fingers thwack so hard your very bones rattle, and Gojo drools the knot of slick straight back through your hole. Letting the jointed bumps of his digits stretch rub your pussy all red and raw from the inside. 

“That’s it that’s it.” He’s goading you on, scouring the searchlights of his digits inside of you for that one fragile target. And you’re feeling him poke his fingertips into the nooks n’ crannies near your g-spot, making you see stars. “I’ve wanted you to shut me up- use my ngh- face since I fucking knew what it was. Heh- if you’re not scared-”

“As if I’d be scared-”

“Prove it. Ride me.” 

“I am-”

“Not enough.” Within just a single blink of your glassy eyes, Gojo’s raising his non-dominant hand up with enough cursed energy that the neglected ol’ blindfold strewn on the edge of his bed flies into his grasp. 

Twisting his thick fingers over the silken fabric, circling it over your neck and immediately hauling you further down- “Ride me. Ride the st-strongest like you own it- h-haaaah- I’m your husband, aren’t I?”

With every word, with every second he’s thrashing four exact strikes of his fingertips scraping your poor g-spot. Slurring out a damp sluuurp every time your sheeny pussylips are gobbling him up. 

“Yes- hck! yes.”

Grumbling, sleazy grin just glued to the knobbly tip of your clit. “Yeah- yeah, then use me like I am.”

Kissing right back every time he’s surging his head up and mazing the flexible ends of his tongue muckily. It’s so wet n’ long that you’re damn near feeling the scrape of his tastebuds by your favorite spot, sloppily—“D-don’t think m’gonna last, Satoru.”

Gojo audibly, pornographically moans as you start carnally hastening your tempo. 

Cumming on his face- fuck, this was the wettest of his dreams all those long, lonely nights. In response he only latches his strawberry-pink lips against your cunt further, feeling every hot gush flood his throat. 

And you were so close that Gojo was drooling- pupils stirrin’ around the whites of your eyes with every circle of his thick tongue, throat cracking with whines every time he’s slushily spearing your pussy with his fingers. Over  n’ over. 

Rovering alllll around to prick your tenderest areas with- fuck, now four of his fingers.

Your husband spikes the edge of your g-spot, hard. Pulling you down with the corner of his blindfold just to dig his finger in deeper, “W-wanna cummm— ngh- please.”

“Call me husband.” He cockily smiles over the rim of your cunt where he was devouring you like a feast. “Call me- nghh- husband and I’ll let you cum.”

“Please-” Grabbing a fistful of his hair to shove him deeper and hopefully quieten his teasing. “-h-husband.”

Gojo groans like he’s the one cumming, “Ohhhh- again. Louder.”

“Husband-”

“Again.”

“Husband– Toru–!” Pouting stubbornly, “Unless you fucking can’t- oh, fuck.” 

Both you and the protesting bedsprings sing out in embarrassing synchronization once he’s shoving you into your high with a soft, sudden zap–! of one jujutsu-coated fingerpad across your g-spot. “Cumming- nghhh- m’cumming m’cumming–!”

And it feels so good you lose your vision to pure white, it feels so good that you can only throw your head back and ride him through each one of your peaks.

Milking the highs of your orgasm in repeated, filthy drags of your hips that knock the top of your glazed slit against his buttony nose. Whack! 

“O-ohhh—” Gojo throws his head back at the sheer, sensual motion. It just feels so good having you slickly rovering your pussy over his gaping maw, chasing the heat of his tongue slithering across your clit. Your sweet insides squeeze around his long fingers that Gojo thinks he could just cum right then n’ there.

And he almost does.

Almost- with almost inhuman reflex, he’s sneaking his free hand underneath the covers to plug up his leaking, red-hot orifice. Drivelling out a few creamy cobwebs of pre before he can plop his thumb over it. Close one. 

You ogle with a parted mouth as he grits his teeth hard enough that the plane of his neck throbs with a few veins, “Fuh-fuuuck–!”

And if you didn’t know any better, you’d have claimed that sounded like a whine.

A whimper.

But before you can call Gojo out on it, he’s sitting nearly ramrod straight against the cool metallic headboard. Starchy blankets - all drenched and coated at the hem with your trickling sap - all but thrown to the bottom of the bed. 

“Don’t worry- hah-” Suddenly, you feel something hot and moist gliiiiide between your puffy core. And it was so thickly curvy that your folds are being smeared apart as much as possible, “Made sure to save the big one for when m’inside, sweetheart.”

Mewling, “Big one?” Pathetically swaying your mouth open the moment he starts suckling on your tongue like some cute candy, “You sure about that?”

“See for yourself, my wife.”

You don’t know what to gape at more. 

What Gojo Satoru looks right now - eyes hooded, face flush, ivory tendrils of hair slicked back with sweat, several layers of sickly sweet slick stuck from the tops of his cheeks and gleaming down to his jawline - or the way that his cock looks like right now.

He was completely naked underneath, and you’re mentally counting about nine inches- possible even ten. Ten inches of solid, barreling length scrubbed all red n’ raw with ribbons of precum. Bursting out from the hole at the top of his fat mushroom tip and all the way down to the soft white hairs at his base. 

Drenched.

And Gojo gives the left of your ass cheek a good spank when it seems like you won’t be talking any time soon. Too hypnotized. “There there- big, huh?”

You’re huffing, “Y-you wish.”

“No need to liiiie- s’all yours.” Something in him cracks when he bucks up ever-so-slightly to let the shiny bulge of his cocktip scrape down your slit, mixin’ a heady concoction of white pre and slick that makes him salivate. “Look at her- she’s sayin’ she wants more.”

“You’re pussydrunk.” Such loud squelching noises that he jerkily lurches his head closer to listen to, as if his favorite song.

“Hell yeah I am, my wife.” With a raspy chuckle, Gojo slips the circle of his divot just underneath your swollen folds and hisses. “Now- I won. Your husband ngh- won today, why don’tcha gimme my reward, sweetheart?”

Oh-so-ready to make him cry on your tongue, you eagerly start snaking your hand downward. 

Fist almost enclosed around the bulky cylinder of his hilt before he stops you right there. V-line hitting your pelvis as he fucks up, up, up- 

“Nononono- another time. Right now…” Gojo slouches back, liiiicking that candied glaze of your juices off of his right hand. One by one. Before cushioning it underneath his head and watching you through sexy half-lidded eyes. “How do you want me?”

You hum, pretending to tap your chin in thought. “How you’ve wanted ta- ngh- have me, Toru–”

How he’s dreamed of having you.

Of shoving his thick cock between your pussy folds and fucking that smug smile off of your face while you tried to snap back at him. And his body moves before his brain.

Your back hitting the dampened sheets, your shirt and bra puddling onto the floor.

He doesn’t think he can breathe, he doesn’t even think he can think—especially when he sees that pink plastic ring pop as a pendant on your necklace and leans down to kiss it.

Every ounce of blood sprinting down from his hotly melted mind to balloon up his shaft so hard and cherry-red. Gojo’s tip is practically bawling by the time he’s flipping the two of you over and swiping the hard, aching bulge of it down your cunt.

Your thighs on his shoulders, his pelvis against your ass. 

Eyes widening—a mating press. A fucking mating press.

Gojo’s barely even done folding you completely in half before he aligns the round, spheroid edge of his cockhead to crown your sloppy hole and rut. Gasping, he shuts his eyes firmly at the warmth. “Wanted this.”

“O-oh fuck–” Coming your jittery fingers through Gojo’s sweat-splattered hair. He’s just so big that just the feeling of his globular tip makes you see white. 

“Wanted this wanted this- wanted this.” Gritting his teeth, furiously. He’s hiking his thighs up so that yours are pushed all the way up to hit your tits, bending you with all his powerful strength. “Have no idea how long- I’ve wanted you like this. Always in this position.”

“Why this one?” It was so filthy - even for him.

“What? Your husband’s the ngh- strongest and you expect him not to put you in a mating press the minute he sees you?”

Spanking the slivery slit of your cunt with one hand, Gojo fucking angles his head and grins at the slight puddle of sap that collects on his wrist. 

“So soft n’ sweet-” He bends his knobbly thumb in to twist the button of your clit, licking his pink lips lazily at the way your arousal glitters further soaked. And it wasn’t just that- your husband was just so girthy that he’s tuggin’ your entrance apart to fit his heavy shaft inside. “Oh, always wanted this pretty hole begging f’me.”

Just as he speaks, Gojo slips yet another inch inside and makes your oversaturated pussy keen. “B-bold of you to assume- ngh- I’m the one begging.”

“Ohhh- she’s not?”

“She- fuck!”

Before you can even speak, he’s rolling his sculpted hips and slamming your spit-glued mouth shut. Cooing down with fluttering lashes, “What was thaaaat–?”

You feel a damn sob break at the back of your voicebox at the feeling of his rounded slit lodging against the treacly roof of your cunt. So wet that he’s constantly rubbin’ his veins back and forth on your walls, half-ruts. Half-thrusts. Just to fit in. “Fuh-fuck you!”

And then you’re swearing that Gojo grows harder. Bigger.

The corner of his head swelling up to an even thicker circumference that strikes your soggy cervix with a plop! 

He’s bottoming out with a breaking tone, “Who’s fucking who now?”

And now that you’d given him an inch, he was taking a mile.

Fucking you into the rickety clinic bed like he was trying to stop your cute, arguing mouth from shrilling out. Every swab of his bulging cock enough to make your tongue flood with cockdrunken spit, he pounds his entire length into you like he hates you.

Slap!

So hard that the skin on his prominent v-lines stains completely red. And Gojo isn’t even feeling the pain, he’s only spanking hard abs into your front again. And again. And again.

Mouth falling into a sagged oh! as Gojo tilts his head down and watches when your geysering cunt swallows him up from the ruby-red tip to the bulk of his base. Heavy balls just peeking out cheekily.

All the way up until his pure white tufts of hair scratchily massage your clit and make you rut. “There- there.” The flat mountains of his palm come creeping down your tummy to press as he sliiides inside. With a smile, “Inside. Fuck- it’s inside. Can feel me all deep inside, s’like you’re hngh- made for me.”

“S’just s-sooo big, though!” You’re whimpering once he rubs over the callous of his thumb right at the bumpy point of his mushroomy head spearheading in. 

Gojo grunts, “And what happened to me being small~” 

You clench in response- the only thing you can do. And it’s like the entirety of the chamber tenses with something thick coating each atom of the air. 

You just had to clench once and his cursed energy was lapping. Out-of-control.

So powerful that it might just be enough to cause alarm-

“Oh.” As if alerted by something invisible, Gojo raises his free arm towards the door. Lengthy lashes coating with a flicker of blue lightning- before, like nothing ever happened, he’s back to rutting and rutting. In long, methodical strikes of his bashing, bulbous head. Probing deeply into every ridge.

Before you can ask what was the matter, there’s the metallic jiggling of the hospital doorknob. Locked - by his power.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“I-is anything the matter in here?” Someone- you think it might be Ijichi - calls out from the other side. “The cursed levels were just so high that-”

“Listening to the voice of another man when I’m the one fucking you?” Gojo snarls out, two of his battle-hardened fingertips swatting the side of your cheek so that you’ll stop staring at the door. 

Not when he was looking at you like that.

And not when he was the one unsticking your left hand from the side of his muscular obliques, gently kissing your ring finger even though he was drilling into you ferally. “Don’t you think of anyone else when- haaah- I’m the one fucking you-” The fangs of his canines bite in to the flesh of your digit, “Not when I’m your husband.”

“Wh-what if he hears—”

The end of your whine is caught up in his mouth, gnawing down on your lower lip and draaagging. “So let him.” He melts his glissading abs down onto your core, making you feel every bump and scar. “Let him- fuck. S’our long overdue honeymoon- and you’re gonna fucking- take- it-”

Mewling, “Fuck- fuck yes. More.”

It’s like those words have him going mad.

Gojo’s slick orifice grovering into the very bottom of your pussy, he tugs back on the blindfold dangling ‘round your neck to arch you further. Letting his zig-zagged veins creep down your g-spot, precisely. 

“Yes- fuck. Your husband.” Repeating and repeating every time he hits your sweet splotchy areas. “M’your husband” And then he clings onto your clit, then he twists his wrist and lets the pads of his digits buzzzz–! with cursed energy. “Your husband.”

Almost as if he couldn’t believe it.

He’s departing his breath out in a scalding breeze every time you squeeze. Bodily shoving apart the inner parts of your legs with his large, flexing shoulders. 

“Please- please please-” You’re wailing out utterly raw, the top of your throat feeling like it was clogging up after every ba-thump–! of his sweetly leaking cock probin’ every space inside your cunt. Swelling up so big that it was almost hard for you to clench- “Feels so ngh- good–”

“Yeaaaah–? Your husband’s makin’ you feel all good, huh?” The strongest couldn’t even give a shit about the way your screams were reaching a fever pitch. 

Faster, sloppier.

Fingers starting to stain with a bright syrupy coating of your slick, he doesn’t even mean to- but he can’t help the way that the air touching his skin crackles with energy. Drawing out hearts on your perked clit like a lil’ bullet vibrator.

“Go on- say it.” He outlines a very obvious ‘S’ on top of your rugged nub that makes you quiver like a leaf underneath him. And then an ‘A’, a ‘T’, ‘O-R-U.’ Coaxing out your tiny whimpers, “Say my name—”

“Toru- hck! Satoru.”

He twitches, syllables taking on a shaky manner. “O-oh right, that’s my name.” Chuckling, fuck- did he forget his damn name? Just that drunk on your pussy that he’d rather just be called your husband forever and ever. His flushed face pushes forwards to bite on that blindfold and pull you back down, “Call me your heh- husband again.”

Just uttering those words makes him jolt his mushroomy, flared tip inside you until the ridge hits the door to your womb. His balls on your ass. Bruising. 

You almost felt shy as he hastily brings down one of your hands to caress his rippling core. From each washboard ab to scar, sensually. “H-husband. My husband.”

Shit- he needed to make you cum now or he was going to, already feeling a steaming drop of pearly liquid empty out from his balls. 

“There- there we- go-” And by now Gojo’s fucking you so hard that he’s starting to scrunch his partially-closed eyelids with the weight of big, sparkly tears of sensitivity. “Whatever my wife wants.” The crowned tip of his shaft red and swollen enough to burst, pushing and pushing. “Anything my wife wants.”

“I’m close-” You’re sobbing, reeling him in so close with a grasp of his tensed back muscles. And it was true, his Six Eyes was showin’ him the way your nerves were sizzling, the way your mouth flooded with spittle. 

He counts underneath his breath. Five. Four.

Lips wobbling oh-so-adorably, “Toru, m’gonna cum. Let me cum.”

“Ohhh— s’that what you want, sweetheart?” He rolls his thumb over your overstimulated clit until you scream a yes. “Cum then.” Three. Spitting on the hills of his crowned fingerpads, Gojo makes sure they’re tight with particles of cursed energy. Two. Before spanking down- “Cum, my wife.” One.

You don’t know who cums first.

But to Gojo Satoru it doesn’t even matter- all he needs is to make sure is that you were creaming all over his ravaged cock, and that he was there to pump all his columns of wadded seed inside. 

Room lights shattering, somewhere in the distance sounding with a sonic boom! Gojo fucks himself hoarse on your pussy until the expanse of his skin was littered with pure power and lightning. 

“O-oh my god s’too mmm–” Your mouth dribbles with sap, gooey walls of your cunt sticking to the sides of his veiny shaft. Every tiny drag of his winding lines makes your high explode- “There’s so- hah- so much of it-”

So much that it was overspilling. 

And Gojo can only glide the planes of his digits down the saccharine white sap that leaked from between your legs. Gluing his fingers to the stray gaps of your hole, and they were buzzing. “No wastin’ now.” He bites down on the plush gum of his bottom lip and still can’t hold back his snickers. “Gotta g-give you the ring- and my second button. Then take you out for a- a ride-”

He could almost laugh at the dazed confusion on your face, arching up his spine just so that his cock pummeled into you deep and stayed there. 

“A ride and then a real ride. On a moped.” Giggling at his own joke, “Take you to eeeevery sweet convenience store in Tokyo you ngh- missed out on. Tell each one m’your husband and we’re having a summer wedding.” Kissing you softly, “M’thinking theme colours blue.”

That in and of itself is enough to make his drivelling orifice stream out yet another jetstream of cum, wadding up the entrance to your womb with clingy sap. 

He finishes off with another lecherous slurp that makes you feel so hot inside that it was almost feverish. “A-and then what? S’this all for you big- ngh- honeymoon idea?”

“And if it is?”

“Should’ve left you at the altar-”

Gojo’s red, raw cock jolts. “Ohhhh- just for that m’gonna fuck you in every hah- convenience store, too. Maybe they’ll hear- doesn’t matter.” Grinning, he hikes up a thigh until he is gyrating just enough to swirl his pummeling length in circles. The plump curve of his balls digging into your ass, eyes glowing with blue in the darkness. “Your husband’s the strongest.”

You don’t know if you can do anything but scoff through your embarrassment, “A-and real humble, huh?”

“Well…” He tilts his head with a dopey smile, “Did I tell you that was my first time? Been savin’ myself for heh- marriage, my sweetheart.”

Fuck.

“I love you. Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?”

Oh- “I love you, too.”

And something in you told you that this was far from over.

Maybe it was the way that Gojo’s cock strikes the back of your cunt with a splosh of sap, slimily mazing through until it feels like he streams out a squirt of something. You’d just made him squirt- or maybe it was the way that he kisses your plastic engagement ring. 

Gaze delirious. Ears red. Fucked-out. 

“So…what was that they said about a Gojo heir, my wife?”

.

.

.

“The electricity has been suspiciously unstable today.” Shoko wrinkles her nose up at her completely shattered office lightbulb. The sixth today. 

Urgently flicking through her notes before she made a break for her most important patient as of late - the strongest.

Or, as she knew him, that damn Gojo with a penchant for tantrums and harboring a hopeless love for his betrothed. Often both at the same time. Speaking of said betrothed, she’d already shared a hasty greeting with you once you’d first arrived here- before you practically ran to the idiot’s room, that is.

Two peas in a pod.

“We have been getting strange him-level readings on cursed energy levels in this area since a few hours ago.” Utahime grumbles, barely out of the hospital herself but already steady at work as one of the new higher-ups.

“That so? Strange.”

“Yeah, and when I asked Ijichi about it he only looked pale and ran like he saw a-”

The two gasp. In unison.

“He finally proposed.”

A/N. Wrote this with a fever (Gojo was just that hot aha).

Plagiarism not authorized.

[tsunaso]

hiii, I love ur writing, could u do a fic where Jason Todd is a mafia boss, and the male reader is his most loyal 'guard dog'? Jason literally treats him like one—giving him orders, rewarding him, keeping him close. Maybe there’s a moment where he calls male reader his 'dog,' and male reader just smirk and say, ‘Yeah? And who put the collar on me?’

thank u sm!

“BARK LIKE YOU WANT IT”

pairing. Sub!Mafia Boss!Jason Todd x Top!male reader

synopsis. In Gotham's underworld, Jason Todd holds the city by its throat. But every king has a dog at his heel—and M/n is loyal, brutal, and always watching. Jason calls him a mutt. But he forgets one thing—who put the collar on who? — 2.3k

warnings. Guard Dog AU, mdni, nsfw, amab reader, dubcon, possessive behavior, praise kink, degradation kink, minor physical restraint, mutual obsession, mafia politics, overstimulation, powerplay, collar kink, facefucking, blowjob, spitting, choking, humiliation, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral fixation, crying, subspace, manhandling, aftercare

Jason Todd ruled Gotham’s underground like it owed him blood. And in many ways—it did.

The Red Hood Syndicate didn’t move without his order. Rivals were ghosts before they made it to sunrise. Contracts vanished. Witnesses disappeared. And yet, for all the stories about Jason Todd’s brutality, his trigger temper, his high body count—

There was one man even the worst of the underworld feared more.

His shadow.

His guard dog.

You.

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

"You’re late."

Jason’s voice was sharp, not raised, but biting all the same as you stepped into his office, the double doors clicking shut behind you. You didn’t answer him. You never did when he was in one of his moods—irritable, pacing, hands stuffed into his pockets, a fresh line of blood drying down the corner of his jaw like he forgot to clean it off.

Or didn’t care.

He looked you up and down once. His mouth twisted slightly.

"You smell like smoke."

You stared, unbothered. "I burned a man alive in his own Porsche tonight. You wanted it done quiet."

He laughed. Dry. A little sharp around the edges.

“Messy job for quiet work.”

“Your note said ‘make it hurt.’ So I did.”

Jason stopped pacing. The city light from the penthouse windows caught across his eyes—green-blue, sharp as broken glass. He licked his lips once, slow. Then, “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate.

Your boots echoed on the polished floor, each step solid. Intentional. Controlled. You moved like a weapon kept in a velvet box—danger tucked into civility, teeth beneath tailored suits.

Jason sat on the edge of his desk as you approached. Still calm. Still composed.

But his fingers twitched once where they gripped the edge of the wood. You saw it. You always did.

“You want to be praised?” he asked, tilting his head, voice half-daring.

"No." Your tone was even, flat, as you stopped in front of him. “I want you to stop testing me.”

Jason’s smile twitched. “But you’re so good when I do.”

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

It was like this. Always.

The tension. The push-pull.

He gave the orders. You obeyed. He treated you like property—his muscle, his executioner, his dog. And you let him.

But Jason, arrogant as he was, had always mistaken obedience for submission.

And that was going to cost him.

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

His hand lifted to your collar, two fingers brushing the sharp seam of your dress shirt. His knuckles grazed your throat, casual. Thoughtless.

But that’s where his control ended.

Your hand closed around his wrist.

His eyes jumped to yours, sharp with surprise—but not fear. Never fear.

“You like to call me your dog,” you said, low and measured. Your grip tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to make him still. "Throw me scraps. Snap your fingers. Expect me to sit."

Jason’s breath hitched. Just a little.

Your voice dipped, threading a heat beneath the threat. "You like pretending I belong to you."

He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. His mouth was parted, his pupils wide, and every inch of him was screaming yes.

"So let me ask you something, Todd." You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice dark with knowing.

"Who put the collar on me?"

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

Jason shivered.

It was subtle—but it was there.

The slow exhale. The twitch of his thigh muscles. The flush creeping into his neck that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with being caught.

Owned.

He swallowed thickly. His hands clenched into fists against the desk.

And you—still gripping his wrist—lowered your mouth to his throat and let your teeth drag just beneath his jaw. Not biting. Not yet.

Just reminding.

Of what?

Of everything.

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

He jolted slightly under your touch. A sharp inhale. A curse under his breath. Then his voice—thin, almost petulant:

“You’re supposed to take orders.”

Your smirk was razor-edged.

“I do. Because I want to.”

Your grip dropped. But you didn’t move back.

Instead, you leaned in closer.

Jason didn’t flinch. He never did. But his breathing was heavier now, pulse hammering against his throat—visible. Vulnerable.

"You bark all day, but when I get too close," you whispered, dragging your hand down his thigh with deliberate slowness, "you start to sound like a mutt that wants to be bred, not obeyed."

Jason made a sound in his throat. Half-growl, half-gasp.

"Fuck you."

You grinned.

“You’d beg.”

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

He hated how much it was true.

He could sit on his throne all day—snapping orders, collecting blood money, running the city from his penthouse and dark alleys—but when you stepped into the room?

He was something smaller. Simmering. Waiting.

He wanted you to tear it out of him. To push him back onto the desk, force his legs open, make him say please.

You didn’t even need to touch him to get him there. He was already half hard just from your voice in his ear.

And you knew it.

You always fucking knew it.

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

“You don’t really want a guard dog,” you said, low against his throat. “You want a muzzle. You want a leash you can wrap around your own throat when no one’s looking.”

Jason’s fingers twitched again—this time reaching.

But not for a weapon.

For you.

And you let him. Just this once.

You let him grab your shirt, let him yank you in like he was desperate for something he couldn’t name. Your hand slid up the back of his neck, tangled in his hair, pulled his head back until he was looking up at you—eyes hooded, breathing uneven.

You watched his mouth part.

You watched the fight bleed out of his body.

And then, just loud enough to ruin him—

"Good boy."

　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

The leash comes first.

Black leather, clean and heavy, pulled from your coat pocket like you were always planning to use it.

Because you were.

You knew Jason would mouth off. You knew he’d call you his dog again.

So now you’re going to make sure he was your bitch instead.

You’re sitting on his desk, legs spread, Jason on his knees between them—cheeks flushed, eyes glassy. Still pretending to be angry. Still acting like he’s got pride left.

"Take your shirt off."

He hesitates. Barely. Then obeys. Peels it off like it’s armor, like maybe the fabric will hold him together.

It won’t.

You pull the collar tight around his throat and let the buckle snap into place. His breath catches.

"Doesn’t it suit you?" you murmur, thumb brushing the pulse at his neck. "No tie. No suit. Just a collar. That’s how I like you."

Jason mutters something low under his breath.

You grab his jaw. “What was that?”

His mouth twists, defiant. So pretty like this. “Fuck you.”

You smirk. “You’ll get there.”

You shove two fingers into his mouth before he can talk back. He chokes slightly, but glares up at you through his lashes. You drag them deeper, until his throat works around the intrusion and his spit starts to run down his chin.

"You wanted to talk back?" you murmur. "Then earn the right to use your mouth."

Jason moans around your fingers, eyes fluttering.

His knees shift. He’s already grinding down against the floor, trying to rub the ache building in his pants. You grab a fistful of his hair and yank—his eyes fly open.

"Are you hard just from choking on my fingers?" you whisper. "Are you going to cum from being used like a toy, Jay?"

He shakes his head. He wants to say no. But you curl your fingers around the collar, tug—not hard. Just enough.

He whimpers.

"That’s what I thought."

You unzip. Jason’s eyes drop, hungry. You slap your cock against his cheek, watching the weight of it sink in before gripping his hair again.

"Open."

He does. Mouth wide, eager.

You sink in slow—and he moans. Not a groan. Not a grunt. A real, ruined moan, like he’s been waiting for this all week.

"You love this, don’t you?" you growl, hips pushing forward until he gags. "Love being on your knees like some two dollar whore. Mouth wide open. Ready to be used."

Jason’s face is dripping. Spit down his chin, lips stretched wide, pupils blown. He nods. He nods.

You grab the leash.

Just the feel of it in your hand makes him shudder.

You wrap it around your fist and pull. Not hard. Just enough.

"Good boy," you murmur.

Then you start fucking his throat.

He chokes.

Of course he does.

You don’t stop.

You let him gag, let his shoulders shake, let his tears spill over—he loves it. He’s rutting against the floor now, desperate, whining around your dick like you’re the only thing he needs to breathe.

"You gonna cum just from getting facefcked like a bitch?" you hiss.

Jason nods—fast, frantic.

You laugh. Spit in his mouth. Slap his cheek. Pull the leash again and hold him there while your hips snap forward with brutal rhythm.

When you pull out, he’s wrecked. His jaw is hanging open, tongue out, spit dripping down his neck. And he looks gorgeous like this.

You grab his face. Make him look at you.

“Say it.”

He pants. "Wh-what?"

"Say who owns you."

Jason hesitates—just a second.

Then: "You."

"Say it louder."

"You fucking own me," he moans. "I’m yours. I’m your fucking dog."

You grin.

"Now beg to get fucked."

He doesn't even pause.

“Please,” he gasps. “Please use me. Please, I—I need it—I’ll be good, I swear, just—please.”

And just like that, Jason Todd—the Red Hood, the most feared boss in Gotham—is on all fours, begging for the dick you’re about to be giving him.

Face red. Lips swollen. Hair stuck to his forehead. He’s panting now, thighs trembling as he tries to hold himself together, cock hard and leaking with no relief. The collar glints under the light, tight around his throat, leash trailing from your fist like a reminder.

Jason Todd doesn’t look like a mafia boss anymore.

He looks like a dog.

And he’s about to get treated like one.

“Get up,” you say.

He moves. Clumsy. Obedient. You shove him over the desk, chest flat, ass up, back arching perfect for you. The position makes him groan.

His pants are already gone. You never gave them back.

His thighs part without being told.

Ready.

“You were begging so sweet a second ago,” you murmur, palming his ass. “What happened to all that pride, Boss?”

Jason bites his lip. Doesn’t answer.

So you slap his ass. Loud. Sharp.

He jolts. “F-fuck—!”

“You forget how to talk?” you growl, leaning in close, letting your weight press into him from behind. “You forget who owns this?”

Your fingers drag down to his entrance. Wet. Twitching.

Jason gasps. “N-No—no, I know—I know—”

“Then say it.”

You shove two fingers inside him without warning. He screams. His back arches off the desk, legs shaking instantly.

“Fucking say it.”

“You—y-you own me,” he moans. “Please, please—I'm your fucking toy—”

You laugh against his ear.

“Yeah, you are.”

You press your cock to his slicked-up hole, teasing, dragging the head against him until he’s shivering and whining, back arched beautifully. The moment you press in—

He sobs.

"F-fuck—you're big—slow, slow—"

You don't go slow.

You grip the leash and pull as you sink in, one sharp thrust that fills him to the hilt. Jason’s scream gets buried in the desk wood, his fists clutching the edges like he’s trying to ground himself.

"You’re taking it," you growl. "Every inch. Just like you begged for."

Jason moans—high, desperate.

You start fucking into him, pace unrelenting, cock pistoning in and out as his hole squeezes around you so tight it hurts. He’s already leaking onto the desk, leaving a wet spot beneath him.

“Gonna cum like this?” you hiss. “No hands, no touch—just getting bred like the good bitch you are?”

He nods frantically, words lost in sobs and moans.

You feel the tremble before you hear the whimper.

Jason’s voice cracks. His whole body shudders. And then—his cock twitches untouched, shooting over the desk as his body clamps down around you.

He’s crying now. Quiet, desperate.

“C-Came—fuck, I came—”

You don’t stop.

“You think we’re done?” you growl, voice filthy. “You begged for it. Now fucking take it.”

You grab the leash, twist it around your fist, and pull his head back as you thrust harder, pounding into his overstimulated, raw hole until he’s a sobbing wreck on the wood, dripping and broken. You feel it building. Heat low in your spine. Jason’s still twitching, every thrust making his legs shake, tongue hanging out as he begs for more, whimpers turning breathless.

“You want it?” you growl. “Want me to fill you up?”

Jason nods frantically, barely coherent.

“Fucking say it.”

“Please—please cum in me—want it—need your cum—breed me—!”

You snarl, bury yourself to the hilt, and let go.

Hot, thick, endless—you spill into him like you’re trying to mark him from the inside out. Jason gasps, back arching beautifully as he milks you, his hole clenching greedily with every spurt of release.

The air reeks of sweat, sex, and ownership.

And he loves it. 　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆ ✩₊˚ ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊✩⋆

He collapses the second you pull out, limp and twitching, cum leaking down his thighs in thick streaks. His face is flushed. His eyes are barely open.

You wipe him clean with your handkerchief. Gently.

You kiss his shoulder once. Then his temple.

He breathes slow. Even. Peaceful.

And the collar? You don’t take it off.

You brush your fingers over it softly, smirking.

“You looked better on your knees than you ever did behind a desk.”

Jason—wrecked, dazed, marked from the inside out—manages a breathy laugh.

“Then put my name on the fucking tag next time.”

[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: withdrawal of care and death of an infant in NICU setting

Tess was a rodeo queen.

She could answer “what do you do for a living?” with “I’m a professional barrel racer.”  She had the ribbons and the trophies and the money to prove it.

It’s where the farm came from, all the earnings. She and Liam had big dreams, a legacy, a plan. They had it all, and you had travel nursing contracts, vacations to the BVI, and long nights you only remember half of. Every time you came home, worked a few months in the ED here before skipping out again, she had a new title, a new sponsorship, or a new project. And there was pressure. So much of it.

“If you come home for good you can stay in the house with us. Blue misses you.” The swing’s metal chain creaks as you push off with the toe of your boot. Life is so different here. It’s slower. Sweeter. Dustier. Still, it’s hard to look at everything you grew up with and say you want it back.

“I’m too young to settle down.”

“We’re ten months apart!” You snicker, and she chucks one of the strawberries from the bowl at you. “You could build a house on the land if you wanted.”

“Yeah, with all my house building money?” Build a house. It sounds so… domestic.

“Maybe if you stopped taking vacations everywhere you’d have something left over.”

“So sorry I’m living my life.” It’s a dig and you both know what you mean, but she’ll still bite.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You don’t mean to hurt her. You don’t like hurting her, but she expects something from you, something you can’t give. At least not right now.

“You didn’t leave Tess. You stayed here, bought land thirty minutes from where we grew up. I mean, you did it better for sure. You’re barrel racing like you always dreamed but… I didn’t want it. You can’t fault me for that.” She wipes her hands across her thighs as she stands, smears strawberry seeds across her jeans and shakes her head. Conversation over.

“Let me know when you’re ready to grow up.” You let it go. It’s not worth the fight.

“You’re not going to win you know.” She pauses in the door way, and flashes you that know it all smile over her shoulder.

“Don’t I always though?”

Jokes on you. She won in the end.

“Thanks so much, I really appreciate it. Anything I can do to return the favor, I’ve got you.”

“Do you have pictures?” Isa gives you a kind smile. Her interest warms you, and you nod, pulling your phone out to scroll through the too many photos of Riley you took this morning at her first day of school, smiling big with a missing front tooth. “She’s precious.”

“Yeah. She’s something. First day of third grade, crazy.” Keona slows in front of you with Doctor Riley right behind her, and there’s a confused wrinkle marring her brow.

“I didn’t know you had a kid. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh I… it didn’t come up I guess.” Lie. There were so many times you could have brought Riley up, but you dodged or ignored each one. You glance up and what a surprise… Doctor Riley is staring at you, studying like he’s picking you apart in his brain. Key looks genuinely hurt though and guilt twists your heart. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been a little stressed and so focused on learning.” She nods, and you think she’s going to push it but you’re saved by an alarm, all of you taking off at the sound.

Saved was the wrong sentiment.

You weren’t saved from a conversation by this, this moment. This moment is hell.

“She’ll breathe on her own for a little while after we take the tube out, and you can hold her.” Doctor Riley tells the parents softly. Ryan and Alexa. They’ve been here for weeks, watching Rosie fade while holding out hope. So much hope. You’re devastated for them.

“Do you want to sit down?” You’ve already turned off all the sounds, anything that beeps or dings or blares, and disconnected all the leads, the lines. The only thing left is the vent.

“How long will she… how long will it be?” Ryan’s voice is broken. Shattered.

“We can’t know. Not long.” Doctor Riley looks to you, to where you’re waiting to flip the power, and then he’ll pull the tube. “Are you ready?”

“No.” Alexa sobs, shaking in the rocking chair she’s been sitting in since they got here, but Ryan nods, gives the go ahead.

“Okay.” You do it fast, as fast as you can. It’s like ripping off a bandaid, and you don’t want them to see it, don’t want them to remember the sound of the machine powering down. Doctor Riley frees her from the tube and gently lifts her to pass her to Ryan, cradling her head, supporting her neck and her little body, all of her so small in his arms, so fragile.

“Thank you Daisy.” He’s giving you permission to bolt, but you stand stuck to the floor. It feels wrong to run, it feels like you’re bailing on them, on Rosie.

So you don’t.

You pull her blanket out of the crib and tuck it around where she’s now resting in Alexa’s arms. It’s hand knit by Rosie’s grandmother, pink and yellow, little elephants artfully woven across the bottom, and once you’re done, you turn on the soft lamp behind the chair, angling so it’s not harsh but still enough they can see every little detail of their daughter’s face. So they can memorize her, every little wisp of her hair, the curve of her nose, each tiny delicate eyelash.

And then you leave.

You don’t run from the room. You keep your spine straight, chin lifted. You don’t stop at the nurses station, where Isa and Key are waiting to comfort you as they promised they would be. You don’t stop at the break room, or the bathroom or the empty call rooms. You keep walking, down the end of the hall until you reach the double doors and burst through them into the sun.

You breathe as deep as you can, and hold it. You hold it until you can’t anymore, and then do it again. And again. You try to burn them from your mind, Alexa’s face, Rosie’s weak little cry, but it’s no use. You hate this place. You hate it. You hold your breath again, this time longer, long enough until you start to feel like you might die. It’s better, it’s worse, so you do it again. You’re holding your breath against burning lungs when the doors bang open.

“Daisy.” He’s never said your name like that before. It’s not harsh or acidic or impatient. It’s the opposite. You hate that too.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” It’s said on the exhale released from your sternum, an explosive rush of air punching free from your mouth.

“Take as long as you need.” You don’t answer because you’re too busy patching up the cracks, focusing on breathing in and holding it again, controlling it. You block him out, which is why you don’t realize right away that he’s now standing in front of you, close enough you can see the stitching on the sleeve of his scrubs. “These moments are hard. It’s okay if it affects you, it should affect you. It’s okay to let it out.” You keep your eyes fixed on his chest. Focused.

“I know.” The control is unwavering. Unrelenting. You are a machine. And for good measure, you offer a succinct nod and smile. See? I’m fine.

“There’s no shame in-”

“I know, Doctor Riley. Thank you.” You cut him off, dismiss him. Or try to.

“Daisy.” This fucking man. Something about him is trying to shred your control. Make you weak.

“I’m fine.”

“Let’s go inside.” A minuscule flicker of need ignites in your soul. It begs you to listen, to trust, let the control slip, let go, just for a second. You close your eyes and dangle over the abyss.

If you fell, would someone catch you?

Would he?

It’s a sweet dream, a lovely fantasy. But not for you.

“I’m due for my break actually, so I’m probably going to go down to the cafeteria. Can you let Key know?”

“Daisy,” he murmurs, wraps your name in velvet. “Look at me.” You do it in defiance, to get him off your back. You don’t even know why he’s out here in the first place. What does he care? He hates you. You take a breath, hold it, and meet his eyes, surprised when you don’t see the usual anger or irritation. There’s something else in them instead, something tender and understanding, concerned. “You took great care of Rosie and her parents. They-” No.

“Doctor Riley. I’m on my break. It’s my personal time. If we need to speak about work, we can do it once I’m back.”  The muscle in his cheek flutters as the masseter flexes. The average PSI of the human jaw is around one hundred and twenty. His must be triple that.

“If that’s what you want.” The words are cold. Back to baseline, squashing that tiny blossom of need.

Good.

“That’s what I want.”

[ellewritesx]

sugar, baby series masterlist

Summary: He pays in cash. You pay in obedience. a sugardaddy!harry styles x reader au series

Status: Main storyline completed, bonus parts and check-ins likely still coming.

Warnings: lots and lots of smut, please read the warnings for every part of this series accordingly! also i have to admit i know jack shit about business transactions and such so if these titles make zero sense don't call me out okay i was trying to be clever. enjoy x

...

sugar, baby

He pays in cash. You pay in obedience.

terms of service

Before he can break you in, he needs to know exactly where you break.

possession agreement

Jealousy brought him to the bar. Possession dragged you into his lap.

incidental charges

He takes what he wants. You give what's left.

liquid assets

You left the boxes, but you never really leave.

breach of contract

You give him silence. He gives you the truth.

final clause

Rules are made to be broken.

more coming soon?

...

[sightseertrespasser]

Digging Up Secrets

Reverse Mecha AU spawned by @keferon

Nothing like being trapped underground with just your crush and concussion for company.

———————————————————————

Time stopped.

Or.

Prowl stopped.

Everything was loud moving crashing dangerous move move move.

The radius of destruction. Inside-outside.

He pushed Jazz Outside. Radius.

Fell. He fell. The floor, hollow topped cylinders of raw materials, Inside Radius.

Prowl was Inside the.. Radius of. The radi..

He can’t See. He can see. But he cannot See. He can’t see behind himself anymore. He can’t see outside himself anymore.

Immobilized. Blinded. Living.

Failing. His body was failing. Crushed beneath tons and tons and tons and-

A sound, different from ringing ears or groaning metal. Choppy. Static.

… voice?

“Prowl?”

A voice. He knows that one. It’s new but he knows it. He does, it’s.. His name is..

All Prowl can hear is static.

“Prowler? C’mon babe talk to me.”

Jazz.

“Ja- agh.” Prowls voice was sticky and his mouth tasted like blood. He swallowed dry air and tried again.

“Ja-azz?”

His voice cracked halfway through. Dully, Prowl hoped Jazz wouldn’t be upset.

“Prowl! Oh man I am so glad to hear your voice!” The reception was poor, or maybe Prowls hearing had finally gone with his eyesight. Either way, the pilot pressed his bleeding ear to the warm and rumbly speaker.

“You made it?” Prowl strung the words together like taffy.

“Yeah, I made it. Thanks for the assist by the way. Can I get a location?”

Task. Prowl had a task to do. Leaning backwards into his own mind, Prowl was met with collapsed corridors and broken edges. He navigated, carefully until he found the correct data packet that thankfully survived the crash.

He forwarded it to Jazz.

Just as he was about to slip under again, Jazz crackled through the comms once more, “Uh Prowler? This is for the pickup location.”

“Yes?”

“I need your location.”

“Um.” Prowl tried to think. “Down?”

Why did he need his location? His mecha was an unfathomable wreck, he couldn’t access the programs to run the numbers, but this kind of damage outpaced the repair costs.

His body was a dead weight.

“You okay man? You’re not talking like yourself.”

Prowl tried to run a diagnostic on his comms, why wouldn’t he sound like himself?

Talking.

Jazz said Talking like himself. His brain caught on there was an implication in that wording and Prowl trudged after it like a dollar in the wind.

“What do I talk like?” He needed more information.

A jump in static that Prowls brain interprets as laughter precedes Jazz’s response.

“You talk very precisely. Like. . you talk like if you don’t get everything out exactly right and in the clearest way possible then people won’t listen to you. Or they won’t understand you.”

“They don’t.”

“You also don’t usually use contractions this much.”

“They do not.” Prowl fixed. There. He was fine.

He could smell his own breath. It smelled bitter, like cleaning chemicals and hospitals.

“Can you keep talking? I think I can get a read on where you are by the strength of the signal.”

That was incredibly sensible.

“You’re so smart. Why are you so.. You- you’re the smarter-est. Smart-trest.”

There was a long pause where Jazz processed and Prowl did the human equivalent of a computer dial up tone inside his skull.

“Ooookay, hey Prowler? What do I do if I find a human with brain damage?”

The tactician pondered this riddle.

Mentally, Prowl pulled up a file of information and read it aloud, “Don’t.. let them do stupid shit..”

“Gotcha.”

The letters in his brain didn’t make sense, he tried to remember instead.

“You need to, you keep them awake because, because it’s bad if they go to sleep.”

“What happens if they go to sleep?”

“They don’ wake up anymore.”

“Hey Prowler?”

“Yeag?”

“Yeah, hey I need you to keep talking to me okay? Can you do that?”

“For the signal search?”

“Yeah, for the signal boo.”

Okay. He had a task again. Talk.

Talking is just making words with sounds and doing them in an order that you want them to do and it will make them sound like they’re not going through with what you don’t want them to do, which is the thing that is not the good thing.

Yes.

Good.

What?

“Oh ho WOW you are super out of it.”

His head lolled back towards the speaker, “What?”

Jazz’s voice was coming through much clearer than before, “I was asking about your favorite foods, then you said you didn’t remember and I was all like “Is memory loss a sign of brain damage in humans?” And then you said you didn’t remember because it’s been so long since you’ve enjoyed eating and I was like “Okay that’s actually somehow worse.” And then you asked me “what’s worse” and this is now the third time I’ve had to repeat this conversation.”

Prowl considered this information, sifting through his memories.

“It’s doughnuts.” He mumbled.

“What’s doughnuts?” Jazz grunted between his words like he’d been exerting himself.

“M’favorite food. It’s um, a circle? With a hole, in the middle. .” He tapped a finger subconsciously. “A torus.”

“Can humans taste shapes? What does a torus taste like?” A little bit of wonder was in Jazz’s voice.

“Nooo no no.” Despite himself, somehow Prowl was giggling. “They don’t taste like much. Lot’s of toppings and sweet stuff, but we used to get plain and I’d dip mine in coffee.”

“So a coffee doughnut then?”

He sounded absolutely whiny but didn’t care, “Nooo coffee doughnuts are different. Plain Doughnut dipped in, um, in plain coffee is.. what’sit.”

Prowl tried to put it into words. Sunlight through a window. Sitting on a desk and a peeling office chair. Splitting the torus because there weren’t enough left for two this time. Bitter and sweet, because Prowl got a coffee and hot chocolate for their usual order. Talking, eating, listening.

“Not plain.”

“Duly noted.” There was a hint of mischief in Jazz’s voice that had Prowl zeroing in on it.

“You- you’re- I KNOW what you’re doing you- you-“ Prowl pulled on all his linguistic prowess. “Fucker. You’re prying- plying? Probing me for all my secrets!”

Prowl thumped his gloved hand against a random dead screen inside his mecha.

“Ooo you got me there. Alien invader, come to probe ya. So what do you find attractive in a mech? Er, man.”

“Visors r hot.”

Either the speakers were shorting out or Jazz was. The static resolved back into coherent speech, “Oh I was so not expecting you to actually answer that. Your filter is a little broken right now huh?”

Refusing to answer, Prowl grumbled disgruntedly.

“Wait, are you into Tarantulas? Is that why you let him do that shit to you?”

“Wha-? No I’m not- what? Jazz, Tarantulas is just a coworker. He’s necessary. He’s not- I need him I don’t want him Jazz.”

“Prowl I think he’s killing you. What does he do that’s so “necessary?”

Prowl tried to find the words and began a tumbling run of it.

“He listens to me. And it does, feel good sometimes. The attention. And the compliments. But I don’t need that, I don’t need to be liked by anyone. I need to be better and he listens to me and then makes me better. You don’t- you wouldn’t understand. I have to be faster. I needed to be faster and I wasn’t and Tarantulas is the only one who will help me.”

“Respectfully, but someone who lets you destroy yourself isn’t helping as much as you think they are.” The bitterness in his tone made Prowl go quiet.

“Prowl, I’ve seen you do some absolutely crazy shit to save an absurd number of people. You literally just saved my life and now you’re talking like that isn’t enough?”

“You don’t know. Tarantulas knows.”

“Then what the fuck does Tarantulas know about you that I don’t?” Jazz shouted through the speaker.

“If I was faster it would’ve been me!” Screaming into the confines of his mechas cabin, Prowl choked on the stale air.

His head spun. There was an intense pressure against his chest and something wet dripped tracks down his nose, pooling onto his visor.

“He got to the gate first. He- we had to close it from both sides. I wasn’t fast enough and he crossed over first and- and I killed my-“ His voice cracked in two.

Prowl dry heaved. He screamed. Had he ever stopped? He was blind and broken and half the man he needed to be. Stretching out what little remained of his soul until it could cast the shadow of a complete person.

Shooting pains dulled into cracked bones of exhaustion. Where the marrow seeps away to leave nothing behind but a sad sack in the limp shape of a human being.

Why was he so dizzy? Why did everything hurt? Prowl tried to scan around himself but came back with nothing. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t remember why he was crying but the pain was so familiar that he did.

A sound, different from ringing ears or groaning metal. Fast. Gentle.

A voice. A voice he knew.

Prowl hiccuped and tried to lean into the sound.

“Hey hey hey, Prowl you’re okay. You’re okay we don’t have to talk about any of that anymore.”

Jazz. The voice was Jazz, he knew Jazz.

“Can you just start counting or something? Recite the alphabet?”

Prowl felt his eyes start to slip closed. Listening didn’t hurt. He wanted to not hurt.

“I’m almost there baby, you’ve just gotta stay awake a little longer. Just a little longer okay?”

Maybe it was a trade? The foggier Prowl got, the clearer Jazz became. Jazz was supposed to get closer. That was good.

“Prowler? Please say something.”

The sounds washed over him. It continued for a while, lulling him down further.

He couldn’t remember why he’d been hurting.

He couldn’t remember much of anything.

Silence.

Blissful silence.

“HONK”

Prowl woke with a shout.

“Fu- Wha- What?!”

Heart racing, Prowl tried to figure out where the hell he was and what the hell just startled the shit out of him. Coming up blank on both fronts.

“Prowl! Shit. Keep talking to me. I see plating, it’s looks like you’re face down. There’s some metal beams in the way. I can’t lift them. Tell me how to reach you.”

Prowl was still reeling from the honk. He felt out the remains of his mecha.

“There’s a breach. Right side of m’chassis.”

“Okay. Okay. Ah shitting fuck.”

Prowl was slipping again, but he couldn’t. Why couldn’t he..?

“I’m fine. Jazz. You can jus’ tell them where I’m buried. They’ll get the mecha back later.”

“And you’ll live that long?”

“Umm..no?” Prowl didn’t understand the question.

He heard something that sounded like alien cussing.

And then a scraping against his side.

“Prowl?”

“Jazz?”

“Start disconnecting. I’m getting you out.”

Prowl barely initiated the disconnect sequence before an earth shattering screech of metal tearing away whited out his thoughts.

It felt like it went on forever. The residual power sparked around the open chest wound of his mecha. Prowl was blind. Again. So much of him was missing, missing, missing.

He didn’t realize his eyes were open until a bright blue blob bobbed into view.

“Heya Prowler.”

He’d know Jazz’s voice anywhere.

Prowl was pretty much useless. All he strength was going into staying awake. Because Jazz wanted him to stay awake.

That started out easy. Staying awake. With the pain of extraction and disentangling of limbs from harnesses.

It got much harder once Jazz had him. There was this, this sound. Like a hum. But slowly ebbing and flowing, like slow calm breathing.

Prowl pressed his ear to something warm and rumbly. Metal surrounded him. He wanted it to press harder until he could phase out of his broken body. But it just held him steady.

“Dij.” He tried. “Didou get smaller?”

The voice he knew laughed in.. fear? Relief? Prowl didn’t know. Wasn’t his strong suit.

He could feel the rocking of steps. The metal got a little warmer and time ran in little circles around his head.

And Prowl fell under.

Much, much later, Prowl woke up. Properly this time.

It was a familiar enough sight. Tile ceilings, beeping machines, the general scent of chemicals that denoted Tarantulas’ presence.

The scientist wasn’t immediately here, surprisingly. When Prowl turned his aching neck to find him, instead he saw a plain blue box next to his bed.

Curiosity peaked, Prowl dragged a protesting arm over to the side table, thumbing it open on the second attempt.

Inside, were two plain doughnuts and a closed cup of coffee.

Scrawled on the inside of the lid, “Could you describe them for me later?” - J

———————————————————————

Prowl spent a good 15 minutes trying to work out how the fuck Jazz’s giant metal ass hand delivered that box into a tiny ass room three stories below ground level.

Because there was no way in fuck Tarantulas was going to let Prowl eat that, and it took him another 15 minutes to remember Tiny Jazz. Then another 15 to determine if that was a hallucination or not.

This is future science land were scientists are just wizards with an aesthetic, so Tarantulas will get Prowl back to “normal” pretty quickly.

Additionally, we’re seeing only what Prowl remembers from his conversations with Jazz. Poor dude was digging for hours trying to keep Prowl awake and not set off anymore emotional land mines. With varying degrees of success.

This is probably (for my own sanity’s sake) the only reverse mecha au story I’m writing so if this inspires you go nuts and make it!

-SSTP

[alygator77]

.ೃ࿐motherhood and matrimony I ch 2 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies (annoyances) to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, marriage of convenience, slow burn, smut, fluff, some angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, triggers of prior domestic abuse (physical intimidation, emotional manipulation, from naoya)

ꨄ words: 12.5k

ꨄ a/n. firstly, wow thank you so much for all your kind words on ch 1 :") secondly, this series may be more than 3 chapters (maybe more like 4 or 5? - future aly here, lol what a joke. i thought this was going to be 3 chapters) idk i'm still working out the pacing rn bc i really want the relationship to feel fluid and natural. this chapter ended up being much longer than i anticipated 😅 but as always, i would love to hear your thoughts and hope you enjoy ♡

ꨄ taglist: open (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter →

ch 2 // under the spotlight

Becoming a mother makes you realize you can do almost anything one-handed—though honestly, sometimes you wish you had an abundance of limbs.  

Especially now. Your apartment is a whirlwind of activity – scattered toys, half packed bags and the remnants of breakfast still on the table. You’re in the middle of prepping your daughter’s essentials, trying to make sure you don’t forget anything important. Her preferred snacks, extra clothes, diapers, and a few of her favorite toys all stuffed into a bag.

“Mama, mama, look!”

Haru’s innocent voice rings out like a melody amidst your morning clamor. Halting your frantic movements, you’re drawn to her face, lit up with pure joy as she holds up her beloved Pikachu plushie. The bright yellow toy bounces in her hands as she makes it dance.

Her innocence provides a brief, much-needed, calm to the storm of nerves brewing inside of you. After all, today’s the day you’re meeting with Satoru and his lawyer to finalize the marriage contract. Your marriage—weird.

It feels odd saying it, the word foreign on your tongue. Marriage is a concept you never thought you’d be rushing into, especially not like this.

Once upon a time, you thought you’d marry Naoya Zenin.

Back then, you were so in love with his charm, his confidence, and the way he seemed to have everything figured out. But reality had a way of shattering those illusions.

His charm turned to arrogance, his confidence to control. It wasn’t long before you realized he cared more about owning you than loving you, and now you’re left with nothing but heartache and a broken family.

But amidst your turmoil you found a precious gift—Haru.

Her infectious giggle is a stark contrast to the chaos within your mind—it always manages to pull you back from your whirlwind of worries.

You’ll do anything in your power to keep her smiling, even if that means marrying Satoru Gojo, the man who is guilty for an abundance of your headaches.

With a deep breath, you zip up your duffle bag and turn to Haru who is lovably babbling to Pikachu.

“Come here, sweetie,” you say, kneeling down with her small jacket in your hand.

She toddles over to you, clutching her comforting plushie, eyes wide and curious.

Easing her tiny arms into the sleeves, you gently help Haru into her jacket.

“We’re going to meet some new friends today,” you tell her softly, fastening the buttons with care. “One of them is named Mr. Gojo.”

“Mr. Gojo?” she echoes, face scrunching up in concentration.

Truth be told, you weren't planning on bringing Haru to this meeting, but you’re faced with a lack of options, especially since technically, you’re fired.

Well… temporarily.

Until Satoru rehires you, paying the nanny isn’t feasible with your already stretched finances, Utahime, your ever-reliable friend, is unavailable. Your neighbor, who sometimes steps in to help, is out of town, and your mom is… your mom – as undependable as ever.

At this point you'd rather be caught dead than call Naoya again.

Calling him yesterday, when your nanny bailed, was a moment of pure desperation, a lapse in judgment driven by the chaos of the day and the fear of getting fired. Not your proudest moment.

It’s no surprise he’ll likely use it against you—hold it over your head like a weapon. It’s a pattern you’re all too familiar with.

But today marks the beginning of a new chapter, one that you’re determined to make the best of for both you and your daughter—once this marriage is finalized, you’ll be back to earning a steady income again.

A sigh escapes your lips as you focus back on Haru, her innocent eyes look up at you expectantly.

“Yes, Mr. Gojo,” you repeat, giving her a reassuring smile as you reach down to tie her shoelaces. “We’re going on an adventure today, just you and Mommy.”

“An adventure!” Haru cheers, clapping her hands in unbridled excitement.

Just as you pull the last loop tight, a knock reverberates through the front door, startling you. It’s unexpected, you weren’t anticipating any visitors.

With a deep breath, you twist the handle and pull the door open. The sight that greets you sends a cold wave of dread crashing over you, your heart pounding in your chest.

Speak of the devil—Naoya.

He has an uncanny knack for impeccable timing, always appearing when he’s least wanted.

His presence is as imposing as ever—a smirk crowned on his lips, posture relaxed, hands in his pockets—exuding an air of ownership over everything that’s around him.

As if he owns you.

Damn it. You really can’t deal with this right now; you don’t have the time. Satoru is expecting you, and you need to get moving.

Leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, he surveys you with that annoyingly smug expression plastered upon his face.

"Well, well, if it isn't my two favorite girls," he drawls, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

The frustration you feel from Naoya is vastly different from what you experience with Satoru. With Satoru, it's harmless—like dealing with a mischievous child. But with Naoya, every sight of him makes you want to flee, as if each encounter is a battle you barely survive. He reopens old wounds that never truly healed, leaving you raw and exposed.

Every fiber of your being screams in protest at the sight of him, but you force yourself to maintain composure—refusing to let him see the effect he has on you.

"What do you want, Naoya? I really don’t have time for this today."

Turning away from him, you begin gathering the last of Haru’s things with brisk, precise movements, making it clear you have no intention of prolonging this interaction.

He steps inside, smirk widening with satisfaction and tone laced with mock concern.

"Just thought I'd drop by and see how you're managing. Got your message. Heard you were looking for a babysitter yesterday.”

As expected—you’re really kicking yourself for calling him. His false sympathy only heightens your irritation, grating on your nerves as the condescension drips from his words like venom.

If you weren’t already leaving, you would slam the door right in his smug face.

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to keep your tone steady, for no one other than Haru.

"We're fine, Naoya. We don’t need your help."

In hopes to end this conversation quickly, you grasp Haru’s hand and attempt to brush past him. But he sidesteps, effectively forbidding your path to the door, looming like an unwanted shadow.

"Still as stubborn as ever, I see. How’s that working out for you?” he scowls as he peers through your apartment, “This place is a mess. And you don’t look like you’re dressed for work. Lost your job already?”

His words hit a nerve, you feel your cheeks flush with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"We are managing just fine. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have somewhere to be."

But he wasn’t going to let you go so easily. His expression darkens, and as you repeatedly try to step past him, he halts you yet again, blocking your way like an insurmountable wall.

"And where exactly are you going? Shouldn't you be at work today?"

"That's none of your business. I really need to go," you retort, lifting your chin assertively as you force your way past him. Your shoulder brushes against his in a deliberate act of defiance.

The moment you cast him aside, he immediately pursues after—but choosing to ignore him, you close the door behind you, turning the lock with a decisive click.

As you start leading Haru towards the elevator, you adopt a brisk pace in hopes to put as much distance between you and Naoya as possible.

But he raises an eyebrow, smirk widening as he traverses after you. You hear his footsteps echoing down the hallway of your apartment complex.

"Oh, I think it is my business. Especially when it concerns my daughter."

Oh, please.

It’s painfully ironic how he pretends to care about Haru only when it suits him.

After you served him child support papers, he had the audacity to demand a DNA test, claiming he needed ‘proof’ that Haru was his. Of course, something like that takes time for the judge to arrange.

He knew that damn well—it was just another ploy to delay the process further.

As anger bubbles up within you, a scoff escapes your lips, teetering on the edge of a bitter laugh.

"Oh, so she’s yours when it’s convenient for you. Don't pretend you care about Haru now. You’ve done nothing but make our lives difficult."

Your movements are sharp and frantic until you finally halt in front of the elevator. Just as you press the button to descend, Naoya’s presence descends over you—suffocating like a dark cloud, his face twisting into a menacing scowl.

"Maybe if you weren’t so damn stubborn, things wouldn’t be so difficult. You know, if you ever need help, all you have to do is ask," the insincerity in his voice makes your skin crawl—as his words slither into your ears, each syllable is laced with a condescending edge.

You scoff, jabbing the button over and over again with mounting urgency. Can this damn elevator come any faster?

"Help? From you? I'd rather figure things out on my own than rely on your 'help'."

He steps closer, making you feel small and cornered. It’s a familiar tactic he would use to get his way—the accustomed sense of intimidation he used to exert over you returns, chilling your spine.

"Suit yourself. Just remember, you can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, you’ll realize you need me again,” his voice drops to a low, threatening whisper, the underlying menace making it clear that he relishes the control he still believes he has over you.

Suddenly, you feel small tiny hands gripping tightly onto your leg. Haru’s wide eyes dart between the two of you, her innocent face reflecting a nervous unease that she can’t fully understand—but you do.

Fuck it. Enough is enough. You can't let this continue any longer—screw the elevator.

With a determined breath, you scoop Haru into your arms, feeling her trembling slightly against you. "Come on, sweetie," you say softly.

Her tiny heart beats against your chest, mirroring your own anxiety. Holding her close, you immediately head towards the stairway, your stride quickening.

But Naoya's presence lingers, his footsteps echoing ominously after you.

“Really, Naoya?”

Oh, this is it. Your patience is wearing thin—he’s like a growth you can’t get rid of.

You feel Haru’s grip tighten around your neck as she buries her face into your shoulder. You have been trying desperately not to yell, for Haru’s sake, but at this point, Naoya is overstepping your boundaries.

“Just go away. The only thing I need from you is to hurry up and finish that damn DNA test,” you shout, refusing to look back as you head towards the stairs. “There was no reason for that bullshit; you know Haru is yours. I know you’re just trying to stall our court date,” you snap, your voice trembling with frustration and anger.

Naoya’s eyes gleam with a cold amusement, and the corners of his mouth curl up into a mocking smile.

"Stalling? Hardly. You’re insane, I just want to be thorough. You should understand that, being so meticulous yourself," he sneers, tone derisively sweet.

Finally, you reach the stairway—beginning your descent, Haru clings tightly to you as Pikachu dangles precariously from each hurried step.

"This conversation is over, Naoya,” your voice echoes in the narrow space. “Stay out of our lives. I only want to see you in court."

Naoya contemplates following you, lowering himself a few steps before abruptly stopping. As his voice reverberates through the stairwell, his unsettling demand bounces off the cold concrete walls, chilling you to your core.

"For now, y/n. But remember, this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. You always come crawling back to me one way or another. You’re incapable of anything without me."

There was a time when you believed those words, but you will not fall back into that same vicious cycle.

Choosing not to respond, your resolve is sharpened with one clear goal, getting Haru and yourself out of this building as quickly as possible.

The moment you clear through the lobby door, a shaky sigh escapes your lips. This day is already starting off with a bang—hopefully it goes much better at Satoru’s.

Forcing a smile for your frightened daughter, you try to mask the tears welling up in your eyes—the tremor in your voice quaking.

“Come on honey, let’s go meet Mr. Gojo.”

Time to get this marriage finalized.

ꨄ︎

You had expectations of what Satoru’s house would be like, but even those couldn’t hold a light to the real thing—it’s a stark contrast to the modest apartment you call home.

The meticulously manicured lawn, the pristine arcadian, and the large, ornate door all showcase opulence.

It’s far more luxurious than you had imagined, making you feel distinctly out of place as you step out of your car in your worn jeans and t-shirt, hair pulled up in a lazy bun.

Wait…should you have come dressed businesslike?

But you have Haru—was this supposed to be a professional meeting? Fuck.

On top of everything else, you’re already a few minutes late. Tardiness has become a tiresome trend in your life, one that exhausts you to your very core.

Traversing the entryway, Haru grips your hand tightly as you walk through the stone pathway. Her fingers tremble slightly, perhaps from the unsettling encounter with Naoya, or perhaps from the overwhelming new environment.

Nerves simmer through you once you approach the doorway, but you resolve to mask them. You weren’t going to let Naoya ruin your day—this meeting is your chance to retake control of your life.

As you reach out and press the doorbell, a soft melodic chime resonates, echoing through the spacious foyer beyond.

Within moments, the door swings open, revealing Satoru.

You immediately feel a sense of relief as you observe him dressed surprisingly casual—a fitted blue t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and lean frame, paired with dark jeans that hug his long legs. His snowy hair remains tousled in that effortlessly stylish way, framing his strikingly handsome face.

It’s impossible to advert your eyes as he greets you with that familiarly confident smile curling upon his lips, and those vivid blue eyes, enchanting you with an intriguing glint.

“Hm, late again, I see,” Satoru teases, dramatically placing a hand over his heart as if wounded with an exaggerated sigh. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show up. Here I was, thinking you might divorce me before we even get married—” he stops, lifting his brow as his gaze shifts to the small figure peeking out from behind your legs.

“Well, well, and who is this?”

Haru’s wide eyes are filled with curiosity and apprehension. She peeps out nervously, clutching her plushie’s worn, familiar fabric for comfort.

Satoru’s smile softens as he looks at the little girl, but a twinge of uncertainty tugs at him internally. Children were a mystery to him, their emotions and reactions unpredictable.

What should he say? How should he act?

A flicker of fear crosses his mind—what if he says the wrong thing and makes her cry?

Oh God…

The thought of dealing with a child's tears makes him feel out of his depth, a sensation he’s not accustomed to. Satoru finds himself in unfamiliar territory. He’s used to commanding rooms and negotiating high-stake deals, not interacting with shy children clutching stuffed toys.

But faking confidence has always worked in the business world, and he is determined to make a good impression now.

As you notice Haru’s uncertainty, you gently caress her head, delicately coaxing her out from behind your legs.

"It’s okay, sweetie. This is Mr. Gojo, can you say hi?"

There is an air about you—the gentle ease in your voice, the way you instinctively know how to comfort Haru. It stirs something within Satoru, something he can’t quite place.

All he knows it that now he really doesn’t want to fuck this up.

"I’m really sorry for bringing her along," you begin, tone earnest as you meet Satoru with an apologetic gaze. "I hope it’s okay. I just didn’t have anyone who could watch her today. But she’ll keep to herself during our meeting, I promise."

Satoru’s expression softens further as he looks at Haru, his uncertainty momentarily forgotten. She is so fragile, so docile. In her delicate features, he sees an uncanny resemblance to you—a small reflection of your strength and vulnerability intertwined.

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” he reassures softly. Crouching down to her level, his toothy smile is warm and inviting. “Hi there, I’m Satoru. What’s your name?”

Haru looks up at you for reassurance, her small hand tightening around your leg. Encouraged by your nod, she turns back to Satoru and whispers tentatively—

“Haru.”

Satoru grins, captivated by the softness and delicacy of Haru's voice. Though he is uncertain how to connect with a child. His mind races—

What do kids like?

What should he say next?

While his thoughts scramble, a spark of an idea forms the moment he observes Haru clutching Pikachu.

“Nice to meet you, Haru. Do you like Pokémon?”

Haru nods, her grip on the plushie relaxing slightly. There is a subtle warmth behind the apprehension in her eyes as she holds up her Pikachu toy to show Satoru.

“Yes, Pikachu.”

“Pikachu is pretty cool,” he lets out a contemplative hum as he tries to find common ground. A faint nostalgic smile plays on his features. “But you know, Digimon is even better. Have you ever heard of Agumon?”

Haru’s eyes widen with curiosity as she shakes her head, her interest clearly piqued.

Satoru’s inner child shines through—eyes sparkling with a genuine enthusiasm as his lips curl up into a grin. This is his chance to bridge the gap between them.

“Tell ya what, maybe we can watch some Digimon together sometime. How’s that sound?”

You feel Haru’s grip loosen on your leg. A faint smile touches her lips and a quiet giggle escapes as her initial shyness begins to slowly fade.

“Okay.”

There are many thoughts that come to your mind as you watch this interaction play out—the foremost being how unexpectedly gentle Satoru can be with kids. Something about him, that overconfident and sometimes arrogant man you’ve worked beside, feels different now. Almost likable.

Charming, even

But what you really can’t fathom the most is the image of a sophisticated billionaire engrossed in a kids’ cartoon. That concept alone is enough to make you suppress a laugh.

“You’re a fan of Digimon?” you raise an eyebrow.

Satoru stands up, brushing off his knees with a nonchalant shrug and a crooked smile.

“I used to watch it all the time growing up. Please, come in,” he ushers you inside the building, leading you down the grand hall.

Your breath hitches at the sight of the expansive foyer. The high ceiling, polished marble floors, and impressive chandelier casting a warm glow leave you speechless.

Following behind him, you find yourself studying Satoru’s confident strides—the movement of his back, his broad shoulders and the effortless air of authority he exudes. It’s a stark contrast to what you just witnessed moments ago with Haru.

But that alone makes him even more intriguing to you. Satoru can feel a bit like a wild card. Glimpses of tenderness hidden behind feigned aloofness—subtle playfulness followed by an exacting seriousness.

He keeps surprising you.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Digimon fan,” you remark as you follow behind him.

Satoru chuckles, scratching the back of his head.

“Guilty as charged.”

You can’t help but notice the way he avoids your gaze—is he perhaps being… bashful?

Oh, this is rich.

You really would need an abundance of limbs to count on your hands the amount of times Satoru has given you shit—making your life a daily torture is his specialty after all. Perhaps that is why you couldn’t resist letting this opportunity pass up.

“Next thing you’ll tell me is that you have a secret stash of Digimon cards somewhere,” you snort.

Satoru lets out a contemplative hum.

“Well, I did have a pretty impressive collection back in the day. Who knows, maybe I still have them tucked away in a drawer somewhere.”

“Seriously?” you are unable to hide the amusement in your voice. “You, with a collection of Digimon cards? That’s something I’d pay to see.”

He rolls his eyes with a pout tugging on his lips.

“You’re enjoying this too much. Maybe I’ll dig them out for you one day. But only if you’re nice.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Me, nice to you? That’s a tall order.”

A faint chuckle leaves Satoru’s lips as the spacious foyer transitions into a grand hallway. Haru skips beside you, glancing up at Satoru with a newfound admiration.

The moment you reach a large set of intricately carved wooden doors, he pauses, turning to you with a reassuring smile before pushing them open.

Inside, a cozy yet sophisticated study awaits—shelves lined with books and a large mahogany desk dominating the room.

“Yo, Suguru,” he waves flippantly, “this is y/n and her daughter, Haru.”

Your eyes are met with a man seated behind the desk—a calm and composed air about him. He is strikingly beautiful, raven hair tied back into a bun with louse tousles framing his face. As he looks up from a stack of papers, his sharp yet gentle eyes focus on you and Haru. He rises, extending a hand with a polite smile.

“Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Suguru Geto.”

“Nice to meet you as well,” you shake his hand with a subtle nod.

The presence of another stranger causes Haru’s shyness to return as she hides behind your legs again—you kneel down, smoothing her hair gently.

“Haru,” you pull out a small bag of her favorite toys from your duffle bag, “why don’t you take a seat over there and play with your toys while Mommy talks with Mr. Gojo and Mr. Geto?”

With a light nod, Haru takes the bag and settles into a comfortable armchair in the corner of the room—spreading out her treasures with a look of concentration.

You take a seat across from Suguru, with Satoru sinking into the chair beside you—posture relaxed and seemingly indifferent.

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” Suguru leans forward, “I’ve drafted the marriage contract based on the discussions I’ve had with Satoru. I’ll walk you through the main points.”

Referencing the document upon the desk, he begins.

“Firstly, as you both know, the purpose of this marriage is strictly business-related with no romantic implications. Both parties agree to maintain the appearance of a committed relationship in public and professional settings.”

Okay, easy—right?

You nod, but in the corner of your eye you can see Satoru lounging back in his chair. The mild disinterest on his face and the nonchalant way he twirls a pen between his fingers makes you grit your teeth.

He carries a casual attitude—one you shouldn’t be surprised with at this point because it’s the same infuriating aura he brings to every business meeting. But in this case, it’s a stark contrast to the gravity of this conversation. Here you are, discussing marriage and he’s sitting here as if you’re determining what to eat for lunch.

Yup, nothing’s changed. He still aggravates the hell out of you.

“Next, the duration of the marriage is set for one year, starting from the date of signing,” Suguru continues. “There are provisions for extending or terminating the marriage early, should both parties agree.”

You absorb every word as you listen intently, but Satoru seems to be in his own world. It takes all your self-control not to roll your eyes as you catch him leaning back further into his chair, now balancing it on two legs. He taps his pen against his lip thoughtfully—an indifferent expression plastered across his face.

Is he even listening?

Here you are, about to commit to a fake marriage for the sake of your job and your daughter, and Satoru looks like a bored child.

You shoot him a sideways glance, silently willing him to take this more seriously, but the moment he catches your eye he simply offers a lazy wink, making your blood boil even more.

Suguru, unfazed by Satoru's demeanor, continues outlining the contract.

“The financial arrangements are next…Satoru will include a monthly allowance to you, y/n, to cover personal and household expenses. Both parties will maintain separate bank accounts, and any joint financial decisions require mutual consent.”

You blink in surprise. A monthly allowance?

Though you had asked Satoru to cover child care, you weren’t expecting this level of financial support. Isn’t that a bit excessive?

“Wait, what?” you blurt out, unable to hide your astonishment. “A monthly allowance? For personal and household expenses?”

Satoru’s chair drops back onto all four legs with a soft thud as he leans forward, finally showing a hint of interest. He raises an eyebrow at your reaction, a lazy smile curling his lips.

“We wouldn’t want you or Haru to struggle, now, would we?”

His words sound almost considerate, but it’s the casual way he says them that makes you question his sincerity.

“Some might see you being my secretary as a conflict of interest now. You’ll still work beside me, but I can’t give you a formal salary for that role. Doing it this way ensures that all you have to worry about is playing your part. Besides,” he adds, a hint of amusement creeping back into his voice, “what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t support my wife?”

Raising an eyebrow, you shoot him a wary look, trying to gauge his true intentions. It makes sense… but is he mocking you, or is this his way of showing genuine concern? With Satoru, it’s always hard to tell.

Suguru clears his throat, drawing your attention back to the contract.

“Moving on to the living arrangements, you will both reside in the marital home here.”

Satoru interrupts, tone almost too nonchalant as he leans back in his chair and lazily stretches, “I’ve already arranged for a moving company to pack your things in a few days. They’ll handle everything.”

You blink, the suddenness of it all sinking in.

“Huh?”

“Problem, sweetheart?”

“I... I didn’t realize I’d be moving in so… soon. What about my apartment? I have a lease, and breaking it will incur a penalty.”

He waves off your concern with a dismissive hand, leaning back further with hands casually behind his head.

“I’ll pay it. Consider it handled. No point in you staying there when you’re supposed to be living here.”

Your eyes widen, taken aback by his insouciant dismissal of what, to you, is a significant expense.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. We need to make this look legitimate, and that means living together. Consider it part of the arrangement.”

To him, solving problems with money seamed effortless.

To you, this isn’t just a contract; it’s a complete upheaval of your life.

You’re starting to really feel the difference in your two worlds.

The abruptness is a bit overwhelming, and yet, Satoru seems to handle it with the same ease he applies to all his business dealings.

It’s a bit unnerving. It’s not that you aren’t grateful, but you can’t help but wonder…does he pity you? See you as a charity act?

Suguru, sensing your hesitation, interjects your thoughts with a soothing tone,

“It’s important for appearances that you both share a residence. It solidifies the arrangement in the eyes of your colleagues and the public.”

You take a deep breath, nodding again. “Right, I understand.”

Suguru nods, making a note on the document.

“Good. Now, let’s move on to the responsibilities and obligations. You’re both expected to attend public and social functions, maintaining the façade of a loving marriage.”

Satoru who still remains leaned in his chair, now has his head tilted back, looking up towards the ceiling.

"Oh, and by the way," he begins, eyes flicking to you while his posture remains unmoved, "we'll be getting married at the courthouse tomorrow to make things official on paper. Our public ceremony will be a grand affair, but it will come later to keep the media satisfied and appease everyone."

Tomorrow?

You give a hesitant nod, absorbing the rapid pace at which your life is changing.

“Alright…tomorrow.”

Suguru flips to the next page, “In terms of termination, either party can initiate it with a 30-day notice. Grounds for early termination include breach of contract or mutual consent. Upon termination, Satoru will provide a one-time settlement payment to you, y/n.”

You blink as Suguru pushes the contract towards you, the settlement amount highlighted in bold. Did Satoru add a few extra zeros by mistake? That number can’t be correct, right?

You glance up at Satoru, who is now inspecting his nails with a look of utter boredom.

“Is this…correct?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru looks up, meeting your eyes with a casual shrug.

“Yeah, it’s correct. Consider it a thank you for playing along.”

You shake your head slightly, trying to wrap your mind around the figure. This settlement could change your life, secure Haru’s future, and give you the stability you’ve been desperately seeking.

You could pay off your medical bills for the childbirth, could go back to school. Hell, you could be free of Naoya, you wouldn’t need him or his money.

You narrow your eyes, suspicious of his sudden generosity.

"And what’s the catch?”

Satoru chuckles, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand.

"Come on now, sweetheart. Just think of it as me taking care of my...business partner."

Suguru clears his throat, glancing between the two of you.

“Well, there is one additional detail, y/n. The settlement is contingent on maintaining a favorable public image. Any actions or behaviors that damage Satoru’s reputation would result in the forfeiture of all financial support and settlement funds.”

You blink, the implications dawning on you. Ah, of course there would be a condition—you knew better than to think he was just being generous.

“So… I’m responsible for upholding your image? What does that even mean?”

Satoru’s crooked grin widens.

“It means no scandals, no controversies. You play the part of the perfect spouse, attend events, smile for the cameras, and keep any...personal indiscretions out of the spotlight. Simple enough, right?”

Your stomach churns as you realize the depth of his control—you thought you were escaping Naoya’s grasp, but it seems control is still a prevalent force in your life.

This isn’t just a marriage of convenience; it’s a binding agreement that keeps you in line with his public persona, ensuring that any slip-up on your part will have dire financial consequences.

A part of you can’t blame him, though. It makes sense for him to take extra precautions. The Gojos have always been in the public eye, and there have been countless rumors about Satoru's refusal to settle down.

“What if something happens that’s out of my control? What if someone tries to smear my name?”

Satoru’s eyes harden slightly, though his smile remains.

“We’ll handle that on a case-by-case basis. But let’s just say I have ways of managing the media. You just need to play your part, nothing more.”

The calculated control in his tone, juxtaposed with his unwavering smile, makes your skin prickle with unease. The room feels suddenly colder, and a knot tightens in your stomach. You thought you were stepping into a partnership, but now it feels like a performance where one wrong move could cost you dearly.

Suguru interjects, his tone professional.

“This clause is essential for protecting both your interests and Satoru’s. Maintaining a positive public image is crucial for the success of this arrangement and for avoiding any complications that could arise from negative publicity.”

You take a deep breath—this was a gamble. The settlement would secure Haru’s future, your future, but your every move would be scrutinized, and any misstep could strip away the stability you desperately needed.

Your eyes wander to Haru, quietly and innocently playing with her toys. For her sake, you were willing to play Satoru’s game, even if it meant living under the constant pressure of his expectations.

“Alright,” you say firmly. “I agree to the terms.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker with satisfaction and Suguru leans forward sliding a pen towards you both.

“Good. If you both agree to these terms, we can proceed with the signing.”

You observe Satoru as he reaches for the pen—he is back to that usual air of nonchalance; it is almost unsettling. He signs the document with a flourish, barely glancing at the terms, and you envy his composure.

When he hands you the pen, meeting your eyes with a confident smile, you hesitate for a second—then, with a determined snatch, you take the pen from his delicate hand.

Holding your breath, you press the pen to paper and sign your name in one fell swoop. Each stroke of the pen feels heavy, final, but also strangely empowering.

No turning back now.

ꨄ︎

The courthouse ceremony was as brief and impersonal as you expected.

Something about Haru witnessing you legally enter into a fake marriage just didn’t feel right—so you opted to leave her with Satoru’s nanny.

Standing in front of the judge, reciting vows, and signing the official documents felt more like a business transaction than a wedding.

Glancing at Satoru, you couldn't help but feel a bit solemn as you observed him, his expression as indifferent as ever.

This wasn't the fairy tale wedding you once dreamed of. There was no crowd, no rings, no romantic gestures—just a legal agreement with a pen on paper, binding you to him for the next year.

But then again, you knew that coming into this—it was never about romance or dreams; it was about survival and securing a future for Haru.

It was over as quickly as it began—just like that, the judge declared you husband and wife, immediately leaving you alone with Satoru right after.

Noticing your serious expression, Satoru leans in slightly as you gather the official documents.

"You look like you're attending a funeral, not a wedding Mrs. Gojo," his voice drips with playful mockery.

Hearing him call you ‘Mrs. Gojo’ sends a shiver down your spine. That was going to take some getting used to.

“And you look like you’re at a board meeting, not your wedding, Mr. Gojo,” you retort, unable to hide the underlying bite in your voice as your fingers shuffle through the pages.

A deep chuckle reverberates through the otherwise solemn atmosphere. Once you tuck the documents under your arm, you begin to make your way towards the exit. Satoru immediately falls into step beside you.

“Touché. But really, lighten up sweetheart. Gonna need to work harder to convince everyone you’re head over heels in love with me,” there’s a playful challenge in his voice.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh.

“Well, forgive me for not swooning over this magical moment. You know, this isn't exactly how I pictured my wedding day," you mutter, trying to mask the internal melancholy whirling within you.

When you reach for the door, Satoru beats you to it, holding it open with a flourish.

"Oh? And how did you picture it?” he raises an eyebrow as his eyes gleam in amusement, “Let me guess, lots of flowers, a big white dress, and some poor guy professing his undying love for you?"

Okay, screw him. He was really not making this any better. You feel the heat rise to your face as a scoff escapes your lips—the only response you will give him.

Brushing past him, your heels click against the polished floors through the marble halls of the courthouse. As you glance to the tall, ornate windows lining the corridor, the sunlight streams through, casting intricate patterns.

“Hmm, think I guessed right,” he chuckles as he saunters after you.

“And what if you did?” you snap, voice echoing in the grand space. “Is it so weird for me to want a normal family for my daughter?”

The teasing glint in his eyes dim as his expression softens slightly. Once you reach the elevator, Satoru presses the button—the two of you wait in an awkward silence.

The moment the elevator door slides open, you both step inside, the quiet hum of the machinery enveloping you.

“No, it’s not weird. It’s just... different from what I’ve ever thought about,” he says while he presses the button to the lobby.

You huff, crossing your arms as you lean against the back of the elevator.

“What, Mr. Perfect never thought about settling down?”

Satoru's gaze drifts for a moment as he considers your question. The elevator begins its descent, the soft whirl filling the silence.

“Honestly? No, I never did. My father used to pressure me about it all the time. Wanted me to marry someone who could... 'enhance' our family’s status.” He was contemplative, and the echoes of old frustrations are clear in his voice.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden openness.

The rumors about Satoru had always painted him as a carefree bachelor, uninterested in the constraints of marriage.

Some said he was too focused on his career, while others whispered that he enjoyed his freedom too much to settle down. There were even speculations that he had a hidden lover, or perhaps he was waiting for the perfect match to come along, someone who could stand by his side both in business and in life.

“…and you never found anyone who fit the bill?”

He chuckles, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Plenty of candidates. None that I wanted to spend my life with. Plus, all those ‘suitable matches’ were just women trying to get their hands on the Gojo fortune. Most people just see the money and power. They don't see the person behind it.”

The vulnerability in his eyes is fleeting, and you realize that his father’s expectations must have weighed heavily on him. The pressure to find someone was not about love or companionship—it was about maintaining an image, a legacy. In a way, you both have been victims to control your entire lives.

As the depth of his frustrations become more apparent, you feel a pang of sympathy. It’s enough to make you wonder about the real Satoru. The elevator continues its descent, and you find yourself lingering on his words.

“That sounds... difficult. So why did you go through with this then? With me?”

His gaze softens; his expression thoughtful as he watches the numbers descending the floor levels. He tilts his head slightly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Because you’re different. You didn’t come to me looking for wealth or status. You needed help, and I needed a solution. It’s honest, in a way. No hidden agendas, no false pretenses.”

A nervous flutter dances in your stomach, your fingers fidgeting with the folder of documents in your hands. The softness in his words catch you off guard, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact.

A small, rueful smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“In a world where everyone wants something from me, I find your straightforwardness refreshing.”

Your heart skips as a warm blush creeps up your cheeks.

“I never thought you’d see it that way. I just... I wanted to do what was best for Haru.”

“And that’s what makes you different,” he replies softly. “You’re doing this for her, not for yourself. That’s why I agreed to this. Because I believe you’re sincere.”

The elevator chimes softly as it reaches the ground floor and the doors slide open to reveal the bustling courthouse lobby.

The weight of the conversation settles between you, a rare moment of vulnerability that made you see Satoru in a new light—a glimpse into his inner world.

The moment you near the courthouse door, you and Satoru push it open in an attempt to exit, but are immediately greeted by a barrage of flashing cameras and shouted questions. Paparazzi swarm around you, seeming to have materialized out of nowhere—how did they even know where to find you both?

Satoru, ever the master of public appearances, wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. His touch is warm and firm, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart through his suit.

The sensation of his hand resting securely on your hip sends a tingle through your body, a fluttering in your stomach—you realize now that this is the first time he has touched you.

“Smile for the cameras, Mrs. Gojo,” he whispers into your ear, breath tickling your skin.

You blink, heat rising to your face as you’re momentarily caught off guard by the sudden display of affection. But you quickly compose yourself, remembering the role you have to play.

Leaning into him slightly, you offer a shy smile to the cameras. The flashes intensify and the questions grow louder.

“Mr. Gojo why are you in a courthouse?”

“Mr. Gojo, what is the status of Gojo Corporation?”

“Who is this woman Mr. Gojo?”

“What is your statement on your father’s passing?”

As the paparazzi continue to snap photos and shout questions, Satoru leans down and presses a quick, gentle kiss to your temple. His lips were soft, and the warmth of his breath burned your skin. The gesture, though small, sends a shiver down your spine.

It was all for show, you reminded yourself. Just part of the act.

Yet, the unexpected intimacy lingered, making it hard to ignore the way your heart raced at his touch.

Satoru’s kiss had worked perfectly, fueling the media frenzy. The paparazzi went wild at the tender action—camera flashes intensifying and voices growing louder. They call out more questions, desperate to capture every angle of the seemingly affectionate moment. You feel the eyes of the crowd boring into you.

“Let’s get out of here,” Satoru murmurs, voice low and soothing amidst the chaos.

He reaches out, hand warm and firm as he interlocks his fingers with yours, gently guiding you through the throng of reporters towards the waiting car. His other arm subtly shields you from the crowd.

As you finally break free from the mass of flashing cameras and shouting voices, you slide into the car, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as Satoru slides beside you immediately after.

Glancing back at the courthouse, the reality of your new life begins to sink in. Once the car pulls away, a breath escapes you—one you didn’t realize you had been holding in.

“That was... intense.”

Satoru chuckles, arm resting behind your shoulder. He tilts his head slightly, allowing a few tousles of white hair to fall into his eyes. Through the soft strands, his gaze meets yours, a mix of amusement and seriousness dancing in his striking blue eyes.

“Welcome to my world," he murmurs. "Better get used to it, sweetheart. This is just the beginning.”

ꨄ︎

The following day, a moving company arrived at your apartment as promised—they packed up your belongings with swift efficiency, leaving you feeling like a spectator in your own life.

Watching your life be boxed up and loaded into trucks was bittersweet—as your small apartment, with its familiar creaks and cracks, had been your safe haven.

Everything was arranged, down to the smallest detail. By mid-afternoon, you found yourself standing in the grand foyer of Satoru’s mansion once again, this time with all your worldly possessions.

Haru, wide-eyed and excited, clung to your side, her tiny fingers wrapped around your hand.

"Welcome to your new home," Satoru says with a grin.

It felt more like stepping into a palace than a home.

He reaches down and grabs one of your suitcases, lifting it effortlessly,

"Let me show you to our room."

You feel your face heat up instantly.

"Our room?" you stammer. "Why would we need to share a room when no one is here to watch this charade?"

Satoru's grin widens, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

"Relax, I'm just teasing you. You have your own room. I just wanted to see your reaction."

You shoot him a glare, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance.

“You're impossible," you mutter, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

He chuckles, leading you up the grand staircase, and Haru follows closely, her eyes darting around in awe at the luxurious decor. The polished marble steps feel cool underneath you, and the ornate banisters gleam under the soft lighting.

"Come on, let me show you around." Satoru says as he leads the way down a long corridor.

The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries and framed artwork, each piece more exquisite than the last.

Eventually, Satoru stops in front of a set of double doors, turning to you with a small, satisfied smile.

"Here we are."

He pushes them open to reveal a spacious bedroom. The room beautifully furnished, with a large bed, elegant drapes, and a balcony overlooking the manicured gardens below.

"This is your room," he announces, setting your suitcase down gently.

"Wow," you breathe.

It feels a bit overwhelming the moment you step foot inside. Haru, on the other hand, darts past you, exploring every nook and cranny with a delighted giggle. It was easily twice the size of your old apartment.

"This is beautiful... and a lot."

Satoru leans against the doorframe, arms casually crossing over his chest.

The soft light from the chandelier above casts a gentle glow on his features, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips. His white hair, tousled just enough to seem effortlessly stylish, frames his face perfectly.

"Only the best for my... business partner," he says, tone light yet carrying a hint of something deeper.

You offer a simple, "Thanks," but your voice is softer than you intended. Your eyes betray you, lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary.

Satoru's eyes hold yours with a softness that catches you off guard—a striking shade of blue that seems almost ethereal. In that moment, you couldn't help but notice the intensity and warmth in his gaze, it’s almost tender, making you feel like anything but just a ‘business partner’.

Was he always this beautiful?

You can’t help but wonder, feeling a warmth spread through you as the silence stretches on. The moment feels strangely intimate, a connection forming that neither of you expected.

Crap. What are you thinking?

Haru’s giggle breaks the spell as she jumps on your bed.

"Oh, and just so you know," he adds with a playful glint in his eye, "my room is right next door. We share the bathroom, so try not to hog all the hot water."

You blink, surprised. "We have to share a bathroom?"

Curiosity getting the better of you, you open the bathroom door and peer inside.

It was equally impressive, with a large tub and walk-in shower, all in pristine condition. The fixtures gleam, and the marble countertop adds a touch of luxury. There was another door leading directly to Satoru’s room, a constant reminder of his proximity.

"Yep. Just think of it as our first test of marital bliss. Can we survive sharing a bathroom?" Satoru's voice was suddenly closer.

You turn to find him standing right behind you, having moved from his previous spot at the doorframe. The idea of sharing such a personal space with him was a bit unnerving. An awkwardly intimate setup for such a detached relationship, but you didn't have much of a choice.

"…I suppose I'll manage.”

Satoru laughs softly.

"That's the spirit. And don't worry, Haru's room is right across from us. She's got the best room in the house actually," he adds, tilting his head to the side as a cue for you to follow him.

Haru trails excitedly behind as you walk through the luxurious hallway, her giggles echo off the walls. Opening the door, you peek inside and are struck by the sheer extravagance of it.

The room was a child’s dream—decorated in soft pastel colors, with a canopy bed draped in delicate lace, plush toys neatly arranged on shelves, and even a small play area complete with a dollhouse and a set of building blocks. The walls were adorned with whimsical murals of fairies and woodland creatures, creating a magical atmosphere that seemed straight out of a storybook.

Haru's delighted squeals bring a smile to your face, easing the last of your worries.

It was clear that Satoru had spared no expense in making her feel welcome. Each detail spoke of thoughtfulness and care, from the cozy reading nook to the vibrant rainbow-colored rug that added a playful touch to the room. How on earth did he pull all this off so quickly?

“Wow, look, Mama!” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up with joy, running inside to inspect her new haven.

A sense of relief washes over you as a tender smile forms upon your lips. At least Haru would be happy here. The sight of her so animated and cheerful makes the transition a bit easier to bear. Satoru stands beside you.

“I wanted her to feel at home," he says softly, eyes reflecting a rare sincerity.

“You've done more than that. She's ecstatic," you reply, watching Haru dive into a pile of stuffed animals with a gleeful laugh.

Satoru clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, the gesture uncharacteristically awkward. He glances at the clock on the wall, as if searching for an excuse to end the moment.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," his tone is gentle and almost hesitant. "Let me know if you need anything. Dinner will be ready soon, see you down there?”

His usual confidence is somewhat muted—you wonder, is it you? Haru?

"Yeah,” you nod, “I’m going to put a few of my things away and then we’ll meet you downstairs."

“Right. Take your time. There's no rush."

You can’t help but replay the interaction in your mind as you unpack the essentials from your suitcase. The awkwardness between you and Satoru would pass, you hope. For now, it was enough to know that Haru is happy and safe.

Haru’s laughter echoes from her room, a sound that brings a smile to your face. She seemed to be adjusting much faster than expected, her innocent joy undiminished by the upheaval.

And to you, her laughter solidified it—marrying Satoru, this was the right call.

ꨄ︎

The past few days living with Satoru had been a whirlwind of adjustments—it wasn’t without its challenges. The mansion, with its sprawling rooms and luxurious decor, is more like a museum than a home.

The sheer size makes you feel small and out of place at times, and the constant presence of staff make it difficult to find a moment of privacy.

Satoru, however, had been surprisingly considerate. He’s a constant reminder of the delicate balance you need to maintain—attentive yet reserved, playful yet serious, a paradox that kept you on edge.

Your interactions with Satoru had settled into a routine of polite, if somewhat distant, cohabitation. There were moments of unexpected tenderness, like when he had found you struggling to open a jar in the kitchen and had stepped in to help with a playful grin.

Another time, you had been overwhelmed while trying to assemble a new toy for Haru, and Satoru had quietly taken a seat beside you, helping to figure out the instructions without a word.

Yet despite these moments, there was always an underlying tension, a reminder of the unusual circumstances that had brought you together.

As the days passed, the impending charity gala loomed larger in your mind—the first public event you would attend together as a married couple.

Satoru had taken the time to sit down with you and discuss how you would present yourselves, a task that seemed daunting but necessary.

You agreed on the basics: stay close, exchange subtle touches, and share occasional whispers to create an air of intimacy. The plan was straightforward, but the execution would be another matter entirely.

He emphasized the importance of appearing united, offering tips on how to handle the media and the probing questions that were sure to come. His confidence and ease in handling the media was something you were learning to lean on, though the pressure of maintaining the charade weighed heavily on you.

“What about Haru?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

“We’ll leave her out of the spotlight,” Satoru replied gently. “I don’t want to overwhelm her. She takes no part in this agreement beyond being your daughter. She’ll stay here with the nanny during the event.”

Amidst all this, your phone had been buzzing constantly with missed calls from Naoya. You hadn't answered any of them—maybe you should just call off the court case?

You did just go through a life changing event, marriage, and that often interferes with the legal process anyways. The judge would need to take into consideration your new source of income for the child support payments.

Honestly, you don’t need Naoya’s support anymore.

You’ll take care of that after the gala though—right now you already have too much on your plate, spending hours with Satoru, fabricating shared experiences and finding common ground to make your relationship believable.

The task of memorizing details about his likes and dislikes, his habits, and his quirks was daunting, but you found yourself surprised at the small details you were beginning to remember about him—the way he took his coffee, his favorite late-night snack, the way his eyes crinkled just slightly when he found something genuinely funny, or how he would absentmindedly run a hand through his tousled white hair when deep in thought.

As the days slipped by in a blur of preparations and rehearsed smiles, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this carefully constructed façade was starting to take on a life of its own. Each shared glance and each moment of unexpected kindness blurred the lines between reality and pretense, leaving you wondering just how deep this charade would go.

ꨄ︎

Standing in front of your bathroom mirror, you adjust the luxurious dress Satoru had picked out for you. A deep, elegant blue fabric clings to your curves in all the right places, and the V-shaped open back that rests above your hips adds a touch of allure.

Loose cascading waves frame your face perfectly, and the professional makeup artist gave you a look that is both subtle and glamorous, enhancing your features in a way the felt natural yet striking.

You barely recognize yourself.

The transformation was astonishing, turning you from a frazzled single mother into a vision of sophistication and grace.

Was it too much? You feel out of sorts, like you’re wearing someone else's skin. The elegant image in the mirror is both thrilling and unnerving.

As you try to steady your racing heart, a knock on the bathroom door makes you jump slightly—Satoru’s door.

“Y/n you ready?” his voice calls out.

With a deep breath, you take one last look in the mirror. As you open the door, Satoru’s frame leans casually against the entryway.

The sleek black tuxedo he is adorned in highlights his broad shoulder and lean frame. His white hair is perfectly styled, contrasting sharply with the dark fabric.

He meets you with a stunned silence—eyes widening slightly as he takes you in. The cool blue of his irises seem more vibrant, gleaming with anticipation as they trace over your form.

You had never seen his eyes linger across your figure like this before—the intensity of his gaze makes your stomach flutter. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you fear what will come out of his mouth.

Does he think it’s too much?

“Wow,” he breathes, voice almost reverent. “You look... stunning.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks at his unexpected compliment, and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze.

"Thank you," you say softly, smoothing down the fabric of your dress.

Satoru steps closer, eyes locked on you. He reaches out and gently lifts your chin, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“Seriously, you look amazing. I knew the dress would look good on you, but this... you’re going to be the star of the gala,” a slow smile spreads across his lips. “Ready to knock them dead?”

You nod, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“As ready as I’ll ever be…hopefully I can live up to the part.”

“You will,” offering you his arm, he adds, “Just be yourself, and stay by my side, we’re in this together."

ꨄ︎

The ride to the gala is filled with a comfortable silence.

The city lights blur outside the window as the car smoothly navigates through the streets. You find yourself stealing glances at Satoru, admiring the way his profile looks in the dim light.

Strange.

The usually insufferable man seemed different tonight—steadfast, dependable, almost... comforting? Perhaps it’s the nerves.

His arm rests casually behind you, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder, and you’re surprised yourself how it does not bother you—in fact, it’s actually quite soothing.

Once you arrive, the grand ballroom is a stunning sight. Chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the elegantly dressed crowd.

The room is filled with the city’s elite—a sea of luxurious gowns and tailored suits mingling and exchanging pleasantries. The sight of you and Satoru together was enough to turn heads, drawing curious and admiring glances.

But the sheer number of people, the pressure of playing your part, and the countless eyes watching your every move—it’s all a bit overwhelming. You really felt out of place here.

Sensing your unease, Satoru leans in close, breath warm against your ear.

“Remember, just follow my lead.”

Guiding you with ease, his hand rests lightly on the small of your back as you voyage through the attendees—the warm gentle touch is electric against your bare skin.

Your eyes skim through the herd of people and land on a waiter balancing a tray of champagne glasses. Perhaps a drink would ease your nerves? You don’t hesitate to grab a glass as you navigate the crowd.

Satoru, ever the socialite, seamlessly traverses the room, introducing you to important figures and engaging in small talk that you struggle to follow.

Discussions ranged from market trends and corporate mergers, to the latest charity galas and art exhibitions. Trying to keep up, you nod and smile at the appropriate moments.

It’s clear that Satoru is in his element—his charm, effortless. You find yourself admiring how easy he makes it all look.

As you cling to him, the pride in his eyes when he looks at you makes you feel like you belong, even if you are just playing a part in this elaborate charade.

The evening flowed smoothly enough, with your glass of champagne acting as a steady companion. The warmth of the alcohol helps you mingle with guests, exchange polite conversations, and stay close to Satoru, all as planned. But each interaction was a delicate dance—your smiles and nods masking the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

Honestly, your mind was elsewhere—there is an undercurrent of anxiety as you anticipate Satoru’s announcement on stage, where he would publicly acknowledge your marriage during his donation speech.

When the moment you had been dreading finally arrives, you settle into a chair near the front, heart pounding in your chest.

Satoru takes the stage with a natural grace, and as the spotlight illuminates his striking figure, his presence commands the attention of everyone in the room.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice resonating with a confident authority. “I want to thank you all for being here tonight. Your generosity and support make events like this possible.”

His words flow smoothly as he speaks eloquently about the cause and significance of the charity, each sentence perfectly crafted to engage and inspire—you marveled at his ability to enthrall people.

Pressing your champagne glass to your lips, you desperately hope the cool liquid can help to steady your nerves a bit more.

Then, the moment came.

“I will be donating ten million dollars to this charity,” Satoru announces, his voice carrying a conviction.

The amount causes a ripple of excitement and murmurs to spread through the crowd—you nearly choked on your champagne in shock.

Ten million?

You couldn’t even fathom having that much money, let alone donating it. The magnitude of Satoru’s status is staggering.

A smile tugs at Satoru’s lips—a genuine warmth mingling with the mischievous glint in his eyes. He pauses, letting the impact of his words settle, then lifts a finger to tap his chin contemplatively, as if he just remembered something.

“Or should I say, we will be donating—me and my lovely wife.”

Satoru gestures in your direction as a spotlight beams upon you. The crowd erupts into an enthusiastic applause, causing your heart to race the moment all eyes instantly turn to you.

There is a rush of heat that rises to your cheeks, mixing with the warmth of the alcohol. The weight of the crowd’s gaze makes your vision a bit blurry.

Beckoning you to join him on stage, Satoru extends his hand and offers a comforting smile. Though, the moment you stand, the room spins slightly—perhaps it’s from the champagne, or perhaps it’s the sheer pressure.

You can’t fuck this up.

With as much grace as you can muster, you make your way to the platform.

Satoru wraps an arm around your waist the moment you are at his side, pulling you close and steadying your trembling figure. He looks down into your eyes with a genuine look of endearment.

“Everyone, please welcome my beautiful wife, y/n,” he says softly in the microphone, his voice filled with a gentle pride.

The applause swells, and you manage a smile, trying to focus on Satoru while ignoring the spotlight’s heat and the intense gazes of attendees.

Leaning in, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “You’re doing great.”

Despite the orchestrated nature of your relationship, in this moment, his genuine reassurance means everything. His presence is a steady anchor in the sea of faces and flashing cameras, the only thing holding you together right now.

When the applause dies down, Satoru continues his speech, the warmth of his hand remaining on your waist as his thumb traces soft circles.

You can barely focus on his words, the dizzying reality of where you’re standing feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

The moment Satoru’s speech concludes, the soft hum of conversation mingling and the delicate notes of the live orchestra begin to fill the air yet again. Satoru leads you off the stage, his hand never leaving your side.

Almost immediately after you descend to the floor, Satoru is approached by a business associate, his demeanor shifting effortlessly into that of a seasoned negotiator as they exchange discussions of market trends, potential collaborations, and strategic ventures.

Your heart is still pounding—public speaking was never your strong suit. Despite not needing to speak, being on that stage stirred something within you.

You recall a particularly disastrous presentation in college where you accidentally knocked over the projector, sending your notes flying across the room. The laughter from the audience still haunts you, and since then, you’ve always dreaded being the center of attention.

With Satoru engrossed in conversation, you seize the opportunity to make your way to the bar—seeking a moment of reprieve. Another drink wouldn’t hurt, right?

The gleaming rows of crystal glasses and various bottles of wine and spirits catch your eye. You scan the selection, your gaze lingering on a particularly rich, deep red wine.

Deciding it’s exactly what you need to steady your nerves, you signal the bartender and opt for a glass of the robust vintage, savoring the thought of its smooth, calming flavor.

One glass turned into two—your nerves finally beginning to settle as the soothing effects of the alcohol take over your senses.

Realizing you’ve been away from Satoru for quite some time, you prepare to rejoin him—but just as you start to rise, a familiar, unwelcome voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Well, well, look who we have here,” Naoya sneers, leaning against the bar beside you, a glass of scotch swirling in his hand. “Didn’t expect to see you here, mingling with the high society.”

A chill runs down your spine and you heart drops. No amount of alcohol could have prepared you for this moment.

“Naoya,” you stiffen, clutching your wine glass tighter. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a swig of his scotch, emptying the glass and placing it down on the counter with a loud clink. Leaning closer into your space, his eyes narrow—a cold, cynical stare boring into you.

“I could ask you the same thing. This doesn’t seem like your usual scene. What’s your angle?”

Your breath quickens and you feel your pulse hammering in your chest. Adverting your gaze, your fingers brush against the rim of your wine glass.

“I’m sure you heard, I’m here with my husband, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business.”

The sneer he meets you with makes the room suddenly feel smaller, as if his presence is suffocating you.

“Husband, huh?” his eyes rake over you with contempt suspicion, “Quite the leap from where you were a few weeks ago. Is this some kind of game to you?”

Summoning your courage, you straighten your back and meet his gaze head-on.

“Not a game, Naoya. It’s called moving on. You should try it sometime. My life is no longer any of your concern.”

Taking a step closer, he looms over you—his voice lowering to a menacing whisper.

“I don’t buy it. This whole charade… you think I don’t know what you’re trying to pull?”

For a moment, you are frozen in place, the fear and control Naoya exerts paralyzing you. Your mind races, the implications of his words sinking in.

What if he exposes you?

What if this carefully constructed facade comes crashing down?

Before you can respond, you feel an arm slip around your waist, pulling you with practiced ease out of Naoya’s bubble and right beside Satoru.

“There you are, darling. Everything alright?”

His voice is smooth and warm, and his gaze flicks between you and Naoya, narrowing as he surveys the situation. The look on your face unsettles him—something feels off.

Naoya straightens himself, leaning against the bar with a supercilious smirk as he crosses his arms.

“Just catching up with an old friend. No harm in that, right?”

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” Satoru’s tone was light but laced with an underlying steel, “I’m y/n’s husband, Satoru Gojo.”

A scoff escapes Naoya as his eyes flash with irritation, but an unnerving smile remains upon his lips.

“Yes, I’ve heard. You certainly move fast, don’t you, y/n?”

Naoya can see right through you—you fell a flash of panic. Turning to Satoru, your eyes meet his with a silent plea for support. His expression softens and he gives you a reassuring nod while tightening his grip upon your waist.

“Well, when you know, you know,” Satoru says with a charming smile, “and we knew.”

Naoya snickers, running his hand through his hair in disbelief.

“Come on y/n. How did someone like you end up with someone like him? Seems... unlikely. You don’t belong here.”

Heat rises to your face and the sudden urge to shrink away overwhelms you—your heart dropping at the sting of Naoya’s words.

Suddenly, Satoru steps closer, creating a protective barrier between you and Naoya—the playful glint in his eyes gone, replaced with a cold, steely determination.

“Watch your mouth, you don’t get to talk to my wife like that.”

“I’m just stating the obvious,” Naoya shrugs, meeting Satoru’s glare with an indifference as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “She’s out of her league here.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens, his voice low and dangerously calm.

“If you think she’s out of her league, then you clearly don’t know her at all. You’re out of line. Y/n belongs here more than anyone. So, unless you have something worthwhile to say, I suggest you move along.”

“Is that so?” Naoya raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical. After all, you’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf, Satoru Gojo.”

Panic seizes you as Naoya’s observation hangs in the air. The last thing you need is for him to start spreading rumors or causing trouble. You realize you have to do something, and fast. Your mind races, desperately searching for a way to convince Naoya of your authenticity.

Summoning all the courage you can muster, you step forward, threading your arms around Satoru’s neck as you rest your forehead against his own. Your words are addressed to Naoya, but your eyes remain on Satoru the entire time, drawing strength from his steady gaze and the warmth of his touch.

“Satoru and I... we chose each other for reasons that go beyond what you see. We may have our differences, but we’re stronger together, and we have a connection that you can’t comprehend.”

Satoru’s eyes soften, reflecting a silent understanding and a shared resolve—his breath mingling with yours.

Feeling Naoya’s probing gaze, you know he won’t be easily convinced, and so, acting on impulse, you pull Satoru closer and crash your lips against his.

For a moment, Satoru seemed caught off guard. His eyes widened in surprise before they fluttered closed, his hands moving to rest on your hips. The world around you seemed to fade away as the kiss lingered, heat pooling in your stomach.

It was supposed to be a quick peck, just enough to sell the act. But the moment your lips met his, something shifted.

Perhaps you were emboldened by the alcohol, perhaps it was the need to be convincing, perhaps it was the way Satoru stood up for you—without thinking, you deepen the kiss, parting your lips and slipping your tongue into his mouth, making things more intimate than you originally intended.

You can feel Satoru tense for a moment, his surprise evident. But then, with a soft hum against your mouth he melts into the kiss, a hand moving to cup your face as he returns the intimacy with unexpected fervor—his other hand encircling around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

Your fingers thread through Satoru’s hair and the world around you seems to fade away—the only thing that mattered now was the heat radiating off of Satoru’s body, the warmth of his lips against yours, and the lingering sweet taste of the gala’s chocolate cake mingling with the wine on your tongue.

It was a moment that felt both incredibly real and utterly surreal.

When you finally pull back, you are both breathless. As you catch a flicker of something unreadable in Satoru’s half lidded eyes, for a brief moment, you forget about Naoya completely, about the act, about everything except the electric connection between you both.

Satoru's thumb gently caresses your cheek, his gaze softening.

Pulling yourself back to reality, you peer over to Naoya—his smug expression had vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise and irritation.

“As you can see, we’re very happy together,” you say sweetly, rubbing your nose against Satoru’s.

"Didn't think you were the type to move on so quickly," Naoya sneers.

A wave of exhilaration and embarrassment course through you as Naoya retreats back into the crowd. The kiss had done its job, but it had also left you with a lingering sense of uncertainty. Satoru’s touch is still warm on your skin—you can still taste him on your lips.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his concern genuine.

The question pulls you out of your thoughts, but his gaze does the opposite—your face flushes and it feels like your heart is going to pound out of your chest.

"Yeah. I... I just needed to convince him.."

Satoru studies you momentarily—knowing there is more to the story with Naoya. But he also knows now isn’t the time to pry.

He chuckles softly, his hand lingering on your waist.

“Well, I think you succeeded. That was... unexpected. You really went for it there,” he murmurs.

For a moment, it felt like you were playing a role, but the feelings stirring inside you were anything but fake.

"I'm sorry," you swallow hard, face flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to..."

“I didn’t mind,” he interjects, thumb brushing against your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just so you know, you did great. Better than I expected,” his voice low and husky.

Fuck.

You blink—Naoya is gone, but here Satoru is, still holding you so intimately, so intently.

The way he looks at you, the warmth in his touch, the tone of his voice—it makes you question the lines between reality and pretense.

“Didn’t know you had it in you.” Satoru hums, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. He leans in, his breath dancing on your lips, tantalizingly close. “But next time, let’s save the tongue for when we’re really alone, hm?”

What is he saying?

Your mind races, trying to decipher his words, his intentions. Was he still in character, or was there a hint of genuine desire in his eyes?

The electricity in the air was undeniable, and you find yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze—the crowd around you fading, their murmurs and whispers becoming a distant hum.

Satoru’s eyes held secrets you were desperate to uncover.

As you struggle to formulate your thoughts, Satoru’s hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along you jaw.

"Relax," he murmurs, "We're just putting on a show, remember?"

You nod, though your heart betrays you with its rapid pace.

“Right,” you whisper, forcing a smile. “Just a show.”

But deep down, you can’t shake the feeling that there was more to this act than either of you were willing to admit.

a/n. ahh i really enjoyed writing this chapter. okay, i was snickering at satoru's internal turmoil when he met haru for the first time. i couldn't resist with the digimon 🤭 my daughter is currently obsessed with pikachu so that's where that inspiration came from lol. also, this kiss was one of my favs to write 🥰 lemme know if you guys are interested in me making this a longer series. as always, thanks for reading 🫶🏻 → on to the next chapter ꨄ

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[tranquilreign]

hi can i request a female reader x jk angst? the plot is jk's wife passed away like a year~2 years ago but he never moved on bcs he loves her so much maybe she's his first love?? but he's a well-known ceo so his family cant afford public seeing jk weak or it will affect their business, so they arranged his marriage with reader, a daughter of their business partner. jk always ignore her in their marriage but she never stops trying, but at one point jk did something that hurts her so she ran away and plan to divorce.. thats when jk realise how bad he's been treating her.. sorry for being too specific, u can change anything as u like 😭🙏🏻 i'm hoping for a happy ending but after jk has suffered LMAO anyways thank u so much in advance if u could write this request 🥹🫶🏻

without you | requested oneshot

- © tranquilreign - all rights reserved | DO NOT STEAL, TAKE, or COPY any of MY WORK without MY PERMISSION.

🗒 details

pairing; jungkook/reader genre: angst, fluff, arranged marriage au! ceo au! warnings: loss, swearing, slight neglect, arranged marriage word count: 4.2k

🖋 synopsis

without (pre.) wuh·thowt in the absence of

when jungkook's image begins to crumble due to the loss of his wife, his family force him into an arranged marriage to keep their strong influence.

🖇links

jungkook masterlist main masterlist request | request rules prompt list

Jeon Jungkook. CEO of Golden Closet Corporations. A powerful, wealthy man. But broken. The news of his wife's death spread like wildfire when it was confirmed. He couldn't escape the images of his wife's face. She was everywhere he looked.

Being who he was, Jungkook couldn't properly grieve. Maintaining the perfect, pristine image as CEO. Though months passed by, Jungkook stayed the same. Stoic, unhappy. His employees had noticed the cracks first.

The way he would stay in his office for hours, claiming he was working, when in fact he was weeks behind. Lashing out at employees and even trashing his own office at one point.

Rumours quickly spread throughout the building, then into the press about Jungkook's behaviour. Contracts were cut, and new connections were declined due to Jungkooks state.

Eventually, his family had to get involved, turning up unannounced one evening at his home. Jungkook reluctantly let them in, letting them walk into the living room to sit down.

The house wasn't as clean as it used to be. Dirty dishes sat piled in the sink with the dishwasher open, showing clean dishes that hadn't been put away. The lights and table surfaces were dusty, something which Jungkook typically hated. It made his parents cringe at his lack of hygiene.

"Son," Jungkook's father began, leaning forward on the couch, elbows resting on his knees.

His eyes were stern, disapproving of his son's behaviour. Jungkook would usually shrink at his father's gaze, but he was numb. No amount of dissatisfaction he felt from his father fazed him. His own disappointment in himself clouded that.

"Kookie," his mother spoke faintly, moving to place her hand on his knee.

He looked at her, his eyes filled with nothing. Empty. She squeezed his knee reassuringly, but the look in her eyes told a different story. She was looking at him apologetically, which confused Jungkook. His eyes moved back to his father.

"Your past actions are having a severe impact on the company. On us," Jungkook's father explained.

Jungkook scoffed.

"Is that what you are here to talk to me about? My reputation. Your reputation," Jungkook snapped. "In case you've forgotten, my wife-" he paused, feeling the lump in his throat.

"Yes, we know. Your wife died... a year and a half ago," his father brushed off.

"What your father means to say-" his mother responded quickly. "Is that we know you are going through a difficult time, but lashing out at your employees isn't helping you."

Jungkook huffed, leaning back in his seat, looking out the window, staring at the city skyline. He remembered how he would sit with his wife, watching the sunset together as he held her close. He would whisper sweet nothings into her ear, embracing her in a long, loving kiss, as the sun sank behind the skyscrapers.

"You're getting married."

Jungkook's head shot round, now glaring at his father. How could he be expected to remarry when he hadn't even been given the chance to properly grieve his wife?

"No."

The two men stared at one another, silently challenging each other. Their gazes were intense, the atmosphere making Jungkook's mother shift in her seat uncomfortably. Jungkook's jaw clenched at his father, who wasn't backing down.

"If you don't remarry-" his father paused, "we'll take everything away from you. Your position, your home. We'll take every memory you have with your wife out of this house away from you."

Jungkook's eyes softened. He had built a life with the woman he loved in this home. It was their dream house, exactly how they wanted it. He couldn't give it up, letting go of all those memories. He would never see her again in his dreams, the only time he felt truly at peace.

"That's what I thought," his father spoke, tone low. Jungkook's head hung, staring at the floor.

His mother made a move to comfort him, but was stopped by her husband. They stood, making a move to leave the house.

"Will you at least tell me whom I am to marry?" Jungkook asked, looking up at his parents.

His father turned around, his grip on his wife's hand loosened, letting it drop to her side. She looked at her son with sorrowful eyes, wishing nothing more than to see her son happy again.

"Her name is Y/n L/n. She is the daughter of a rival company, but through this marriage, we will unite under one name."

His father walked out of the apartment, leaving Jungkook's mother as she looked at her helpless son.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she soothed. "I know this isn't what you wanted, or what you'd ever want. But please, at least try."

Jungkook's eyes stung from the tears that rolled down his cheeks. His mother's heart broke at the sight, wanting nothing more than to embrace her son and reassure him that everything would be okay.

With one final goodbye, she left, leaving him completely and utterly alone.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ──��─── ⊰

Jungkook stood silently at the altar, the crowd muttering amongst themselves as they waited for the ceremony to start. The CEO unknowingly fiddled with his watch, feeling exposed. His father had made sure to make this a large, extravagant wedding, which was against Jungkook's wishes.

"It's to make a statement, Jungkook. Showing the world that we've made peace with our rivals."

At that moment, the crowd quietened down as the music picked up. Jungkook looked at the double doors at the back of the room. His mind wandered back to the day when his wife walked through similar doors, her face hidden by her veil. But he knew she would be beautiful. She always was.

He smiled slightly, expecting his wife to be behind the doors. Knowing it was too good to be true, his smile faltered back into his stoic expression. The doors opened, revealing a woman.

In her hands, she held a stunning arrangement of white tulips and roses, elegantly spaced among each other. Her dress was beautiful, featuring off-the-shoulder sleeves that showcased her radiant skin. It struck the perfect balance between lace and silk. Small rhinestones adorned the dress, creating an ombre effect that cascaded from the bodice to the floor.

Her face was not hidden behind a veil; instead, her hair was styled delicately, with a few curled strands falling down the sides and framing her face. Her chest rose and fell quickly, clearly indicating her nervousness.

Jungkook locked eyes with you, noting your innocence. But you still smiled at him, appreciating his presence. Jungkook hesitantly held out his hand to you when you reached the altar, which you gladly took.

Gracefully, you lifted your dress, making sure not to tread on the expensive fabrics as you ascended the stairs. You stood in front of Jungkook now, looking between him and the priest to your left.

Jungkook stood, imagining it was his deceased wife in front of him, hoping there was some escape in this nightmare.

"Mr. Jeon?" the priest asked.

The man looked at the priest, then at you. You were looking around, biting your lip nervously.

"Do you take Y/n to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Jungkook hesitated for a moment, the tension in the room growing thicker as the silence continued. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

"Yes. I do," he replied dryly.

You let out the breath you didn't realise you had been holding. You had responded immediately to the priest's question, smiling reassuringly at Jungkook.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Jungkook didn't hesitate, wanting this to be over with. He pulled you in by the waist and kissed you. It was short, with no passion lingering in his touch. He pulled away, both of you turning to the guests who clapped excitedly for you.

You tried to slide your hand into his, but he retracted. He had eventually moved it into yours as he escorted you out of the hall and into the street, which was bustling with reporters and paparazzi.

All questions were ignored as he guided you to the limousine, opening the door and indicating for you to get in. You compiled, the flashing of the cameras beginning to bother your eyes. Jungkook moved around to the other side, quickly getting in. The vehicle sped off, leaving the reporters and guests behind.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

The after party was uneventful, parents and friends giving speeches, dancing and drinking. You and Jungkook hadn't had anything to drink, growing uncomfortable in the growing silence between the two of you.

When you had made it back to his place, Jungkook tugged his tie off and threw his jacket onto the couch. He sighed, his head falling back, the realisation finally sinking in. You had been arranged to live with him.

"Take the bed, I'll sleep on the couch," he muttered.

Jungkook didn't want to disrespect the loving nights he shared with his past wife. It was their bed, and he wouldn't ruin those memories by having another woman beside him.

"Are you sure? I can take the couch instead," you suggested.

You were well aware of Jungkook's loss. Having seen the rumours in the news about his behaviour and coldness. You knew he would never love you and that there would be no way you could replace his previous wife. But you wanted to try and make things as easy for him as possible.

"No. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you sleep on the couch?"

You hummed in response, bowing a quick thank you to him, then disappeared into the bathroom. Your belongings had been moved in the previous day, while you and Jungkook's families were sorting the final few details of the wedding.

You gently took off your makeup and did your regular skin-care routine. Sliding your dress off your body, you changed into pyjamas and draped your wedding dress over your left arm.

Leaving the bathroom, you took notice of Jungkook, who was still in his suit, shoes now kicked off, lying down on the couch, watching as the sun set. You slowly approached him, sitting down on the chair to his left and looked out at the city.

"I'm sorry," you spoke softly.

Jungkook didn't look at you, making no movement or sound to indicate that he acknowledged your words. You continued nonetheless.

"I know this isn't what you wanted. And I am deeply sorry for the loss of your wife."

Jungkook stiffened at your words. No one had given him an ounce of sympathy since she had passed. It felt strange, unnatural, now receiving that comfort.

"I also know I will never be her. And I won't try to be her either," you paused. "But please know, I will do my best to make your life comfortable and happy."

For the first time since the ceremony, he looked at you. He said nothing, eyes almost empty. You caught a slight sliver of appreciation for your words. He then moved, lying on his back and closing his eyes. You took that as your cue to leave.

"Good night," you whispered, standing up and making your way over to the bedroom.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

A few months had passed since you had been wed. Not much had changed; Jungkook was still quiet and barely acknowledged your presence. But he showed his appreciation for you being there for him in small ways.

Whether it was bringing home take-out for both of you when you'd had a long day. Or when he would silently run a bath for you when he had noticed you rubbing your shoulders in discomfort.

The awkwardness had eased between you, but sometimes it was still there. You never knew what exactly to say to him. He wore the same stoic expression, never once smiling or becoming angry.

You had awoken early one morning, yawning and climbing out of bed, and groggily walking into the kitchen. You glanced at the clock ticking away quietly on the tiled wall. 5:00 am.

Jungkook slept peacefully on the couch, still refusing to share a room with you. Yet you had often caught him in your supposed shared bedroom. He would gently graze the bedsheets with his fingertips, memories of his passed wife easing into his mind. It was the only time you'd truly see him at peace.

Jungkook inhaled the sweet scent of bacon, the aroma waking him up from his slumber. He groaned slightly, sitting up on the couch and looking around the room. Turning in his seat, he looked at you, his eyes still foggy.

"Good morning," you mused, giving him a gentle smile.

"Mina?"

Your smile faltered, turning back around to flip the bacon in the pan. Jungkook stood up, rubbing his eyes. Realisation came to him when he finally saw it was you in the kitchen, not the woman he loved so dearly. He cursed under his breath.

"Sorry."

"It's fine," you mumbled in response. "Like I said, I will never be her, or try to be her. I have no expectations from you."

Your words, for some reason, hurt Jungkook's heart. He was confused by the feeling growing in his chest. Shaking it off, he shuffled over to the island table in the kitchen and sat down at one of the seats.

"Mina used to make me this," he sighed, looking at the display before him.

Pancakes sat in the middle of the table, with an assortment of fruits and nuts, all in separate bowls. A glass jug of orange juice sat to his left, which Jungkook made a grab for immediately. He poured himself a glass, then looked around for yours.

"Are you not eating?" he asked.

"Hmm?" you asked, in a moment of confusion. "Oh, no. I'm not hungry."

Jungkook eyed you warily, watching you closely. You turned around, scooping the bacon out of the pan and placing it on his plate. He looked down, and it was exactly how he liked it.

"Thank you."

"It's alright. I won't make it again, though, if it was something Mina did. I don't want you to think-"

"No," Jungkook suddenly responded, taking both of you aback. "I appreciate you doing this for me. Please don't stop, if it's something you enjoy making."

A gentle smile graced your features as you sat down opposite him. You watched him eat, looking at his messy hair and baggy t-shirt. As time passed, with you and Jungkook living together, you had slowly begun to develop feelings for him.

You would never act on those feelings, however. Knowing Jungkook would never accept you. The loss of his wife still affected him so deeply to the point he still dreamt of her, and even envisioned her in the house.

You stretched, stepped out of your seat. Jungkook looked up from his food and couldn't help but stare at the way your t-shirt rode up, exposing a little bit of your stomach. He swallowed and looked away, scolding himself for his wandering eyes.

"Do you have any plans today?" you asked suddenly, moving out from the kitchen and to the living room, picking up the discarded pillows on the floor.

"No," Jungkook responded blankly. "You?"

"I was planning on doing some cleaning," you responded, fluffing the pillows that now sat on the couch. "I typically do it while you are at work, but I was so tired yesterday..." you trailed off, a slight blush spreading across your cheeks.

"Do you want me to help?"

You were surprised by his offer, not expecting him to want to help. You shook your head, holding up your hands and waving them in the air.

"No, no. It's alright, you just relax. I shouldn't be too long anyway," you explained sheepishly.

Jungkook finished the last of his food and picked up the empty plates. He moved over to the sink on the other side of the island, turning on the tap.

"At least let me do the dishes. It's the least I can do for you, making me breakfast," he spoke, his tone soft.

It was the first time he had sounded... human. It was surprising. You smiled at him and nodded, confirming his request.

"I'll start in the bedroom. If you need anything, just give me a shout," you said. "Excuse me."

You walked in behind him, trying to squeeze past him. You accidentally tripped, stumbling over your feet. Jungkook was quick to react, his arms wrapped around your waist, halting your fall. You jerked at the sudden stop, turning your head to look at him. Both of you held eye contact for a moment until he let out a grunt, helping you stand back upright.

"Thank you. Sorry."

"It's fine," Jungkook muttered shyly.

You bent down next to him, opening the bottom cupboard door and grabbing the feather duster. Instead of trying to squeeze past him again, you walked in the opposite direction around the island and into the bedroom.

Quietly, you hummed to yourself, dusting away and moving anything that could get in the way or get knocked over. You silently cursed to yourself when you had elbowed a small box off the bookshelf.

You bent down to pick it up, stopping when you noticed the contents had spilt out. A beautiful emerald ring encased in silver glittered against the sunlight. Carefully, you picked it up and examined it. It was beautiful.

You moved to pick up the box, and you placed it onto the set of drawers in front of the bed. Looking at it one more time, you were about to put it back in its box when Jungkook's voice boomed throughout the room.

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

You spun on the spot, stunned by his sudden tone. He was angry. With no hesitation, he stormed over to you and snatched the box and ring from you.

"I-I'm sorry," you stuttered out. "I accidentally knocked-"

"Shut the fuck up."

You fell silent. His glare didn't once leave you as he pocketed the box, ring now inside. He grabbed you by the arms tightly. You winced.

"Jungkook, you're hurting me."

"You will never touch that again. Do you hear me?!" he spat, his grip continuing to tighten until a scream escaped your lips.

In that moment, Jungkook felt his world crash down around him. He panicked, letting you go. You fell to the ground, holding your arms, trying to ease the pain.

"Fuck... Y/n, I'm so sorry," he went to move towards you, but you slid away from him, fear evident in your eyes.

Tears fell down your cheeks as you moved as far away as you could from him, your back hitting the wall when you could move no further. He ran both of his hands through his hair, fear and frustration clouding his mind.

He hurt you.

"I'm- I'm sorry," he breathed, backing away. "So... so sorry."

He ran for it, grabbing his jacket and leaving the house, the door creating a loud slam as he did so.

You sat back flush against the wall, exhaling in relief. You had never seen Jungkook so angry, and it terrified you. Based on his reaction, it must have been Mina's engagement ring, something which was clearly precious to Jungkook.

"That's gonna bruise," you muttered, examining your arms as you slowly stood up.

Grabbing the discarded feather duster, you shuffled back into the kitchen, putting it away. The ache in your arms was still evident, and in that moment, you decided that a bath was probably the best way to ease the pain.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Jungkook continued to run, the hard rain hitting against his face. He couldn't believe what he had just done. He put his hands on you. To hurt you. He wanted to hurt you. Because you had touched something precious to him. Something you weren't allowed to touch.

He stopped, catching his breath. He cried, not knowing what to do. Jungkook knew you weren't going to do anything with the ring. But the sight of you looking at it had him see red.

He leaned against the railings in the park, staring out at the pond, its usually still water disturbed by the pattering of the rain. Thunder crashed as the sky continued to darken, Jungkook's already soaked hair beginning to stick to his neck and face.

Jungkook had to make this right. He pushed himself off the railing and sprinted back to the apartment, praying you weren't already packing your things to leave him.

He pushed himself, lungs burning as they begged for breath, but he didn't stop. Turning the last corner to the street where you lived, he slid. He lost his breath, pitching forward and catching himself with his hands on the ground. He stumbled forward, eventually balancing out when he regained himself.

He barged into the apartment, not caring that he was leaving water all over the floor. He glanced around the room, looking for any sight of you. Running to the bedroom, his eyes widened when he saw the suitcase that sat on the bed, with clothes laid out.

"Y/n!" he shouted, between panting breaths.

No response. Without thinking, he turned to the bathroom, starting his search for you there.

You let out a high-pitched scream when Jungkook suddenly burst through the door. You move to cover yourself with your hands, trying to hide the most desirable parts of you.

"What the hell, Jungkook," you squeaked.

Your head was resting on your knees, which were tucked up against your chest. You were looking right at him, eyes blown wide at the circumstance you both were now in.

The sight before Jungkook didn't bother him. Instead, he dropped to his knees and shuffled towards you. He plunged his hand into the hot water, pulling your hand out and holding it in his.

"Please, don't leave Y/n," he begged, his head bowed as he did so.

"What-"

"Please. I don't know what I would do if you weren't here. You've helped me through so much. You have shown me kindness and that you care about me."

You were dumbstruck, unsure of the situation at hand. Had Jungkook hit his head while he was out? You didn't know, but you were more confused than ever.

"Jungkook, who said I was leaving?" you asked, lifting your head up.

Jungkook's head shot up, looking at you with tears in his eyes. He stuttered over his words, trying to find a way to explain his thought process. He stopped when his eyes wandered to your arm, a bruise beginning to form from where he grabbed you.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed, lifting your arm closer to him.

He planted a soft kiss against the bruise, his actions taking you by surprise. Jungkook pulled away, gently running his thumb over the injury, ashamed of his actions. He promised himself, from then on, that he would love and protect you. Forever.

In that moment, it was as if Jungkook had an epiphany. In the recent days of your relationship, whenever he closed his eyes, he thought he saw Mina. The love of his life.

Instead, he was seeing you. Smiling and holding out your hand for him to take. As if Jungkook was dreaming, he looked behind him, seeing Mina holding his other hand, caressing his knuckles lovingly.

"Go to her," Mina whispered. "Be happy again."

For the first time, after so long, Jungkook smiled, looking up at you. You raised an eyebrow, confused at his sudden reaction, but your heart warmed at his smile.

Jungkook moved his hands to cup your face. You stared at him, unsure of what he was doing. He didn't think, moving forward and pulling you into a soft, gentle kiss.

You immediately melted into him, closing your eyes, manoeuvring around in the bath so you faced him. His touch was warm, moving from your face to your jaw, holding you delicately, passion exploding between the two of you.

You were the first to pull away, moving your arm back around to cover your chest. Jungkook kept his eyes shut, panting softly. He felt warm, happy, something he had yearned for, for so long.

"It's taken me so long to realise," Jungkook whispered.

He placed his forehead against yours, opening his eyes and looking at you lovingly.

"That you are what I needed. Who I needed. You've helped me see, helped me realise that Mina wouldn't want me to grieve. To push everyone away."

You smiled at his words, moving away from him. He took your free hand in his, running his thumb over the back of your hand softly.

"I love you, Y/n," he breathed.

It was as if the world had stopped spinning. You looked at Jungkook, whose eyes held every emotion he had seemed to have forgotten long ago. Tears welled in your eyes, your hand squeezing his reassuringly.

"I love you, too."

hello guys! hope you enjoyed! this one felt rather long so i am sorry for that! and to the lovely person who requested. thank you so much!! you are the first to have requested and I really appreciate you doing so!

this was so much fun to write, despite it being sad, but it truly was a blast! i do hope this is what you had in mind when you requested. when I saw your ask this type of story immediately came to mind! i do hope that is okay!

tranquilreign~

[priintaniere]

"Sylvain Gautier and Dorothea Arnault stun on the red carpet for the #FromFaerghusWithLove screening at 75th Enbarr film festival"

or simply, an actor/bodyguard AU

more notes on this AU under the read more

※ please do not repost my art ※   ➜ commission and ko-fi links in bio

this AU really started as just me toying with the idea of actor sylvain with his protective bodyguard felix then wanting to put dorothea and sylvain in fancy clothes but the more i thought about it, the more ideas i had dshhjs

SO expending this with more characters cuz it's fun!

sylvain: actor, model, former child actor dorothea: actress, model, singer, former opera singer lorenz: stage actor claude: writes stage plays for lorenz in his free time ferdinand: stage actor, making his debut in cinema annette: pop singer hilda: pop singer, model yuri: model, singer, former boys band member bernadetta: successful romance writer, debuting as a script writer encouraged and helped by sylvain

dorothea and sylvain have played romantic partners in many movies together and have very good chemistry on camera and during interviews, leading to lot of speculations of them dating

sylvain has the reputation of dating all his co-stars

felix started to wear a mask bc he saw that he was nicknamed "sylvain gautier's hot bodyguard" online and he hated it but now people only finds him hotter and more mysterious with the mask

OF COURSE there are rumors that sylvain and dorothea are dating or at least, have smth romantic (or sexual…??? 👀) going on with their bodyguards (literally the whole point of the au)

ferdinand, sylvain, lorenz and claude attended the same school (think, fodlan's equivalent of juilliard) and used to do stage plays together

ferdinand recently made his debut on screen while lorenz stayed in theater only because he prefers it here, claude's job is totally unrelated to acting or theater but he still writes and arranges stage plays for lorenz in his free time (mostly shakespearean plays)

sylvain has always liked theater and his parents encouraged and supported him when he was noticed by an agent at a very young age to be cast into a movie. he enjoyed it a lot at first but slowly lose his passion but stayed to please his parents (and there may have been parental pressure)

when he turned 19 and his contract was broken, he decided to quit acting to focus on his studies. he later returned 5 years after on his own terms

dorothea had a brief career as an opera singer but found out that she enjoyed doing musicals more

she debuted on screen with a musical and has slowly been branching out, first in romcoms or as the male lead's love interest in action movies but she has since taken more atypical roles for indie movies

felix, ingrid, sylvain are childhood friends, with ingrid initially being sylvain's bodyguard

ingrid became sylvain's bodyguard because she was worried about him and that way, she could always keep an eye on him

when dorothea rose to fame and was thinking of hiring a female bodyguard, sylvain recommended ingrid to her

ingrid then asked felix to replace her as sylvain's bodyguard

[luludeluluramblings]

Poor reader though.

She's just waiting for Alfred to pick her up and take her to the hospital when she sees the batfamily in the van.

Reader: .....

Batfamily: :)

Reader: *just starts walking to the hospital*

Alfred the stressful butler: young miss please wait!!!!

Link to the first part...

Bat Family somehow forcing Pregnant!Reader into the minivan

Bruce panik: Who’s the father? Why didn’t you tell me us? How did this happen?

Pregnant!Reader in pain: Do you really want to know the how, jackass?

Bruce: … ETA on the hospital.

Jason in the driver’s seat running red lights and stop signs also panik: 3 minutes.

Pregnant!Reader: Oh shit… Contraction, contraction!

Tim: Now remember to breathe.

Pregnant!Reader: Tim, if you tell me to breath one more goddamn time I’m gonna chop off just the tip of your dick and ship the bits to Ra’s al Ghul for him to keep beside YOUR FUCKING SPLEEN JAR!

Bat Family: …

Barbara: Contractions are at least a minute apart now.

Stephanie: Has your water broken yet?

Pregnant!Reader: Well, either that last contraction did it, or I just pissed myself.

Duke: Oh my god, how do you tell the difference?

Pregnant!Reader: I don’t know, google it!

Dick: Do you want to hold my hand?

Pregnant!Reader: I’d rather punch you in the face… Fuck, here comes another one….

*Bat Family, screaming and panik*

*Minus Alfred, Stephanie, and Cassandra kalm*

A/N: All crack, but I now realize I'm gonna have to plan on writing a delivery scene in the main and in the AU. Back to brainstorming!

[hameesstuff]

"A Marriage Rewritten”

Pairing: Husband, Lawyer!Jaehyun x Wife, Artist!Reader

Themes: Arranged Marriage AU | Exes to Lovers | Jaehyun x Reader | Smut | Enemies to Lovers | Exes | Slow Burn | Angst, Humor, Longing

Word count: 4.4k

Preview: They were each other’s first everything — love, heartbreak, mistake. Jaehyun is now a ruthless corporate lawyer and her, a struggling but spirited artist. Years after their painful breakup, fate plays its cruelest card: their families arrange their marriage for business-political reasons. Just great.

__________________________________________

Part 1: Signed in Ice

The pen trembled in your hand.

"Don't make it dramatic," Jaehyun muttered across the table, his tone cool as a polished knife. "It's just ink."

You looked up slowly. He was seated like he always was—back straight, suit immaculate, jaw tight. Only his eyes betrayed anything. And even then, they were unreadable.

“You said the same thing when we signed the lease to our first apartment,” you said flatly.

Silence.

The lawyer in the corner shifted uncomfortably.

You signed anyway. Because what else could you do?

Your father's health was failing. Your art gallery was barely breathing. The offer had come dressed in silk and thorns — "a family merger," they called it. His family wanted the political ties. Yours wanted stability. And here you were, a broken love story tied up with gold and paper.

The moment your name hit the contract, Jaehyun pushed his chair back.

"Congrats, Mrs. Jung," he said without a smile.

You stared at him. “Still as charming as ever.”

He stopped at the door. “You knew what this was.”

“Yeah,” you muttered under your breath. “A mistake. Just like last time.”

But he’d already walked out.

Later That Week: The Penthouse

“Wow,” Taeyong muttered, looking around the pristine space like it was a museum. “Cold, sharp, and lifeless. Just like your husband.”

You laughed. “Don’t let him hear you. He might sue.”

He handed you a carton of takeout and flopped onto the modern black couch like he owned it. “So… how does it feel to be back in hell?”

You sighed, pulling your knees to your chest. “Familiar.”

You hadn’t seen Jaehyun since the signing. His assistant had dropped off the penthouse keys with a post-it that said “Don’t touch my wine.”

So you touched all of it. On principle.

Two Days Later: The First Fight

The door slammed just as you were dancing barefoot in the kitchen to an old indie song, wearing one of your paint-stained shirts.

“I live here too, remember?” Jaehyun’s voice cut through the music like a blade.

You didn’t even turn. “Thanks for the reminder. I was starting to feel safe.”

He appeared beside you, hair ruffled from work, tie loose. “And this?” He gestured to the chaos of your paints. “This isn’t a studio.”

You held up a brush and smiled sweetly. “Now it is.”

“God,” he muttered. “Why are you always so—”

“Alive?” you offered. “Free? Full of joy that makes your tight little jaw clench?”

His eyes darkened. “You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re boring.”

He stepped forward. “Say that again.”

“You’re boring, Jung Jaehyun,” you said, poking his chest. “You weren’t always. But now? You’re just a stiff in a suit who thinks feelings are weaknesses.”

His mouth was a breath from yours. "You’re one to talk about feelings. Who ran when things got hard?”

You shoved him lightly. “Don’t twist it. You walked out first.”

You didn’t realize how close you were until your chest brushed his.

His gaze dropped to your lips.

But he stepped back. Cold. Colder than the last time.

"Grow up,” he said. “You're not twenty anymore."

You didn't answer.

And the ache between your ribs reminded you that neither was he.

Part 2 - “Velvet Lies & Stolen Glances”

Charity Gala – Grand Hyatt, Seoul

The gala was for some high-profile legal foundation. Jaehyun’s turf. You were only there to play the role of a dutiful wife — the ornament beside Seoul’s most prized lawyer.

You’d worn black silk, not for him — for yourself. But the look in his eyes when you stepped out of the dressing room said otherwise.

He’d gone quiet. Too quiet.

“You clean up well,” you muttered, tugging your earring on as you passed him.

He didn’t answer — just stared.

But then came the car ride. Cold. Professional. His voice only used for directions and “You forgot your clutch.” The same man who used to kiss your shoulder at every red light now treated you like a contract clause.

Inside the Ballroom

You weren’t even halfway into your first flute of champagne before you felt a presence.

“Yo.”

You turned — and lit up. “Taeyong!”

He hugged you like the night hadn’t been awful. “You look like a painting tonight.”

You mock-curtsied. “I clean up when I want to show my ex-boyfriend-slash-current-husband that I’m still capable of turning heads.”

Jaehyun, standing not five feet away, tensed.

Taeyong grinned. “You still turning hearts, too?”

You leaned into him laughing — and Jaehyun’s hand appeared at the small of your back like a damn reflex.

“She’s married,” he said smoothly. “Remember?”

You turned your head slowly. “To you? Oh, right. I forget sometimes.”

His jaw flexed. “Clearly.”

Later: On the Balcony

You needed air.

The silk clung to your back like heat, and the music inside started to feel suffocating. You stepped outside into the cool night — and Jaehyun followed five seconds later.

“You like making me look like a fool?” he asked, not angrily — but low, sharp.

You scoffed. “If the title fits.”

“He touches you like you’re his.”

You turned to him. “And you act like I’m yours.”

A beat.

Jaehyun stepped forward, jaw taut, eyes unreadable. “Aren’t you?”

You blinked.

“You’re not dating him.”

“No,” you admitted.

“You’re wearing my ring.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

His voice dipped. “Then why do I still want to kiss you every time you laugh at someone else?”

You stared at him.

Silence stretched.

And then you turned away, heart slamming, voice low. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

He didn’t stop you from walking back in.

But he didn’t look at anyone else for the rest of the night.

Part 3 - “Cracks in the Ice”

Back at the Penthouse – After the Gala

The car ride home was silent again.

Only this time, the silence felt different.

He kept glancing at you. Like he wanted to say something. Like if he opened his mouth, everything he’d buried for years would spill out.

But he didn’t.

So when you got home, you went straight to your makeshift studio—Jaehyun’s sterile guest room, now littered with canvases and paint jars.

You kicked off your heels and dropped onto the floor, dress pooled around you, dragging your fingers through a half-finished piece.

Not five minutes passed before he stood at the door, hands in his pockets, tie loosened.

“You were flirting with him.”

You didn’t even look up. “And you were pretending to care in front of donors.”

“I wasn’t pretending.”

Silence.

Then—his voice, sharper this time. “What does he give you that I don’t?”

Your head snapped up. “Kindness. Consistency. Someone who doesn’t treat me like a transaction.”

Jaehyun's jaw locked, but his eyes… cracked.

“He was never there when you fell apart. I was.”

“You also left me in pieces.”

That shut him up.

Next Day: Solo Gallery Appearance

It was supposed to be low-key. A community event for local artists — nothing glamorous, nothing massive. But the article dropped while you were still standing by your own canvas.

“Wife of Elite Corporate Lawyer Peddles Paintings at Local Crafts Fair?”

You froze. Mouth dry.

And then you saw the rest.

Anonymous quotes:

“She only got the spot because she’s married to Jung Jaehyun.”

“She’s talentless — the marriage is her real gallery.”

“Desperate for relevance.”

The world tilted.

Your hands shook. You stepped outside, back pressed to a wall as the chill hit your bare arms.

That Night – Back Home

You were curled on the couch, staring at nothing. Still in your gallery dress. Your phone on silent.

Jaehyun walked in and stood there for a long time.

Finally: “I handled it.”

You nodded numbly. “Good.”

“I mean it,” he said. “I had them retract everything. I bought out the blog. They’ll be issuing a formal apology tomorrow. And they’ll donate to your gallery.”

You stared at him. “Why?”

He knelt in front of you slowly. “Because I let you go once,” he whispered, “and I’ve regretted it every goddamn day.”

Your breath caught.

“And because…” his voice cracked, “you’re still the only person whose opinion has the power to ruin me.”

The air between you tightened. Dense. Fragile.

You leaned forward without thinking, forehead brushing his.

“Jaehyun—”

“I’m still in love with you.”

His hands curled around your waist. Yours knotted into his shirt.

And then—

You kissed him.

Hard. Hungry. But not angry.

It was years of silence being undone.

Part 4 - “The Wall That Broke”

The Morning After

You woke tangled in a blanket on the living room couch, your head resting on Jaehyun’s lap.

His fingers were in your hair.

Not moving. Not stroking. Just… there. Holding.

You blinked up at him. “Didn’t know lawyers came with built-in pillows.”

He didn’t smile. “Didn’t know artists kissed like they never stopped loving you.”

Your throat tightened.

Neither of you moved.

Then, softly: “Do we talk about last night?” you asked.

He looked away. “Do you want to?”

You paused. “Eventually.”

He nodded once. “Then eventually.”

But when you got up, he helped you straighten your wrinkled shirt.

His knuckles lingered on your collarbone.

That Week: Your First Real Outing Together

A city charity fundraiser. Crowds. Cameras. Handshakes.

He kept his hand at the small of your back all night.

You smiled when the press called you “picture-perfect.”

You didn’t know he’d canceled a major case to be there.

That Night – The Bedroom Door Left Open

You passed his room on the way to your studio.

His door was open.

He sat there in a white tee, head in his hands.

When he noticed you, he didn't speak — just patted the bed beside him.

You sat.

Neither of you said a word.

He laid back, arm brushing yours. You followed.

No kisses.

No lies.

Just silence and breathing, and his fingers grazing yours under the sheets like they used to.

Final Part - “The Letters He Never Burned”

The house was quiet when you returned from the hospital. Your father’s operation had gone well — a miracle, the doctor had said. The relief should’ve settled your bones, but it hadn’t. Not until the nurse handed you the paperwork.

Paid in full.

Signed: Jung Jaehyun.

You stood in the doorway of the penthouse, fingers trembling, the receipt still in your coat pocket.

He was on the couch, shirt sleeves rolled, legal documents beside him. He looked up when he heard the door—then immediately stood, brow creasing.

“You’re back late.”

You didn’t answer.

“Is your dad—”

“He’s fine,” you said softly. “Because of you.”

He went still.

You walked toward him slowly, heart loud in your ears. “You told me your family wouldn’t help.”

“They didn’t,” he said. Quiet. Careful.

“But you did.”

He swallowed. “You hate charity.”

You stepped closer. “You think this is about pride?”

“No,” he said after a beat. “It’s about how I failed you once. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to buy forgiveness.”

Your throat clenched.

Then you dropped the second bomb. “I went into the study.”

He froze.

“You should really lock your drawers,” you whispered.

He didn’t ask which ones. He knew.

“All the letters, Jaehyun.... Every single one. From college. From after the breakup.” You paused. “Even the one where I told you I hated you.”

His voice cracked, “Never believed that one.”

Silence. Heavy. Soft.

You stepped right into his space. “Why didn’t you let me go?”

He exhaled, hand brushing your waist with the ghost of a touch. “Because letting you go never worked. I tried.”

You blinked back tears. “And marrying me?”

“The only way I could keep you close,” he admitted, voice low. “Even if it meant you’d hate me again.”

Your breath hitched. “You think I still do?”

He looked at you like you were sunlight after a long winter. “I think I don’t deserve you. Even If I never stopped loving you.”

And finally—finally—you kissed him.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed.

It was reverent.

Years of pain melting into the space between your mouths.

He kissed your forehead. Your cheek. The tip of your nose.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was hoarse. “I love you.”

His kisses were slow. Thoughtful. Like he was mapping the years you’d been apart with every touch of his lips. He didn’t pull you into bed like he used to — like a man starved.

No.

He laid you down like someone he'd loved in a hundred lifetimes. Reverently. Carefully. His hands explored your skin like an old story he finally had permission to reread.

Your breaths tangled. His forehead pressed to yours.

When he entered you, there was no sharp gasp. No race. Just a sigh — one that left both your mouths at once, as if your bodies remembered what your pride had buried.

His hand was laced with yours above your head. His voice was in your ear, cracked and breathless.

“I still see you every time I close my eyes,” he whispered. “Even when I didn’t want to.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“I never stopped writing letters,” you whispered. “I just stopped sending them.”

He slowed.

Held your face.

And moved inside you like he was writing one back — with his hands, his mouth, his heart.

No rush.

No noise.

Only softness. Only “I love you” in every unspoken place between your skin.

Epilogue – “Framed in Color”

Five years later – Seoul Contemporary Museum of Expression

The museum bustled softly, high ceilings glowing with morning light.

In the far wing — the one newly dedicated to living Korean artists — a six-year-old girl in a yellow sundress stood in front of a giant abstract mural, tilting her head.

Jaehyun crouched beside her.

“What do you think it means?” he asked.

His daughter scrunched her nose. “It looks like... Mama’s dreams.”

He smiled. “You’re not wrong.”

The plaque at the base read:

“To the woman who paints without apology, and the man who finally learned how to see her.”

— Y/N Jung

Your name.

Framed in gold.

You walked toward them with two iced coffees and a juice box, smiling as your daughter tugged her dad’s sleeve.

“She’s gonna be famous,” the girl whispered.

Jaehyun looked up at you, his heart never more full.

“She already is.”

And as your daughter ran off down the gallery, her laughter echoing, Jaehyun reached for your hand.

Not like he was holding on.

But like he’d never let go again.

The End.

Feedback is welcome!

___________________________________________

[tonycries]

Lady & The Sick Man - T.F.

Synopsis. Most people would run away from the ghost in their shabby new apartment, Toji Fushiguro makes you lose your mind.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Lady K!reader, Lady K & The Sick Man AU, roommates-to-Iovers, sIeazy Toji, he cooks for you, male mast., face-sítting (fem rec.), Toji’s DOWN BAD, pússydrúnk Toji, dry húmping, matíng presses, he’s BIG, tummy buIges, pushing down on it, MARATHONS, bréeding, spítting, dúmbifícation, fíngering, cúmplay, making him whímper, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.1k

A/N. Babygirls, I WILL cry if this doesn’t post-

All in all, it wasn’t the most awful place, considering the dirt-cheap price.

Toji certainly could’ve done worse for himself after being sacked from his job - some nonsense about recessions and workforce reduction, go figure - and racking up a mountain of arrears on his last home. 

Sure, a few questionable mildew stains here, and perhaps a broken floorboard there. But this unverified property wasn’t completely run-down; at the very least it had running water, a dingy kitchen, tolerable enough neighbors, and…

…you.

It was only a few hours after moving into his new apartment that Toji understood exactly why the rent was cheap enough even for him. Exactly why the jittery landlord was oh-so-insistent on signing the contract right away. And exactly why he’d kept looking over his shoulder all throughout their rushed “tour” - as if dreading for something to pop out of thin air any second now.

Like a pretty lil’ poltergeist haunting the closet inside his bedroom.

Toji sighs out a clammy breath at his glaring phone screen, thumb brushing over the twentieth interview rejection this week. 

Honestly, with his recent lack of employment success and the sheer amount of boxes he had to unpack, a ghost seemed like the last of his worries. 

It wasn’t as if he really wanted to do something about his unsolicited roommate in the first place - not that he had the funds to move again, anyway - because from what little he’d seen of you since moving in today, you were harmless. 

And…fucking hot. 

Startling out a disbelieving huff of laughter, Toji empties out a boiling hot kettle over two matching cups of instant ramen. The bubbling red sauce molten and simmering to the surface exactly in time with the traitorous flush over his ears.

Almost hunched-over in his snug kitchen, he could visualize it from glimpses already— that skin-tight dress of yours, so thin it looked see-through, always peering at him from corners with those confused, gorgeous eyes. 

Like he’s sure you were doing right now.

“D’you want the spicy or the extra-spicy noodles, doll–?” Toji’s crooning out somewhere behind his back, lazy drawl laced with a titter of sheer amusement as he hears your shocked squeak. Followed shortly by the urgent thud-thud-thud of you surely running back to the safe haven of your - his - bedroom. Calling out, “Oi! S’not that bad.”

Turning back, he warily eyes the soils of chemicals swimming around inside the mouth-watering concoction that’d become his dinner every night since getting fired.

Well, Toji’s bored, mossy eyes flit questioningly from the tower of instant ramen stocked up on his kitchen counter to the shadows where you’d disappeared. If even a dead person wouldn’t eat those then…

And it hurt - ah, did it hurt for him to grab a handful of the ones he’d begrudgingly acknowledged were extra awful for your insides. Big, beefy hands shovelling them down his waste bin with a pained grunt-

Wait- did said dead people even eat? He has no idea, and yet carries both scalding hot cups to the room he’d become quickly accustomed to. Even despite his afterlife accomplice. 

“Yoohoo, pretty lady~ I got somethin’ for ya.” He’s cooing as he enters, husky bass dipping into something softer. Smoother. 

With a humming gruff, he seats himself down on the scratchy tatami floor. Surrounded by so many boxes upon boxes to be sorted through, quirked gaze locked firmly on the shut sliding doors of the closet. That papery wall just opposite him was so flimsy that he could almost see you watching from behind it, waiting. 

And Toji waits, too.

He waits until his senses get used to the slightly damp, willowy scent of the four walls. 

He waits until his ears grow strained n’ tired from yearning for but a single sound that you were still there with him. 

He waits until he’d finished both savory, now-lukewarm cups - in his defense, job-searching and trying to make nice with your resident ghoul will really work up an appetite, alright?

Letting off yet another exhausted gust of air, Toji’s just about to throw his hands in defeat and dispose of the remnants of his dinner - perhaps even try and forget about this entire ordeal altogether. Briefly-unused joints creaking as he stands up, he’s shaking his head free of you when his eyes land on something.

Actually, more someone. 

That raunchily flashy cover of one of his favorite porn DVDs, propped right on top of one open box, the actress in it smiles brightly in a sheer white dress that reminded him too much of yours. 

He gulps– if he remembered correctly, it was about some foreign exchange student that seduced her nervous roommate and- Toji’s lids crack wider, the sleaziest of leers plastering allll across his face. Well, hey…

SLAM!

The cozy closet trembles with both surprise and poor woodworking as Toji all but crashes it open, making quick work of fitting himself inside the stifling airway and propping open the hidden attic doorway homed on the ceiling. The only place he would expect a ghost to disappear off to.

Shit, you think he looked so unfairly handsome like this.

Cottony black fabric of his sweater hanging off of his every bulging muscle, heavy eyelids half-hiding away that glinting stare. Devouring. 

One meaty palm pushing the rickety door upwards, his grin is vulgar as his sights land on your crouched figure. Rasping, “Hey there.” The heated gasps of his words barely hit your face before Toji’s other hand- oh, his other hand shoots up in a split-second to curl sternly around your neck. 

Tight. 

Before you know it, you’re letting yourself be pulled into a filthy, filthy kiss. 

Fuck- Toji’s honed canines snag against the cute plush of your wobbly bottom lip and make you sing out the prettiest whine. Biting back a groan himself when the spit-filled crevice of your mouth parts way to let him squeeze his tongue in - making you suck.

You tasted like the most syrupily cloying candy and, hell, Toji wasn’t one for sweets but now he wanted more. 

More more more. 

The doughy mounds of his sensory tips itch out bruises right near where your pulse was thundering, he’s flexing his strong arms and reeling you in even closer. So soft and warm; you were practically melting into every swipe of his mushy tastebuds, and he was drinking you in like a man dying of thirst.

Straightening his towering height even more into the attic, it was like he was burning. Bright, boiling red. A rugged palm gliding to your beautiful nape and pushing-

Every breath. Every whine. Every slippery dollop of spit that dribbled out of your unfastened maw and straight into his watering mouth. 

Toji was a damn sloppy man - and he was just as cocky, too. Feeling your nose nuzzle against his cheek in an effort to get him to kiss you deeper, he’s parting one bleary eyelid just a fraction to envision the full force of his effect on you. 

Trembling and impatient. How cute.

One dark brow raises at the way your lashes were so close and clumped with great glittering droplets of tears. Sliiiiding just away to take in the way your thighs were squeezing–

“Hck!” You’re breaking off from the lecherous French kiss with a sappy pwah! delicate strings of spittle, still dangling from each of your lips as Toji drunkenly chases after your mouth.

Feeling his gawking on you, your hand shoves shyly between your legs. And the other shoves him right out of the opening of the attic, as if you weren’t raw putty in his palms just mere sultry seconds ago. 

Fuck. 

Toji finds himself thrown back onto the wooden closet floor, marvelling at the thunderous crash of you locking yourself back away - and yet he still can’t fully compute it all. 

A calloused palm comes up to cover the lower half of his face, mind whirling over and over with the burning memory, and before long he’s realizing that he’s let his kiss-swollen lips leak with a thin trail of drool. Him. Drooling. 

Even more once he’s thinking of it again - the way you were sooo fucking wet, just from a kiss. 

“What….the…f-fuck.” Toji mutters to himself, stare latched dazedly to the closed wooden surface of the attic as if just willing it to somehow open once more. Toned thighs making to leave and-

Oh.

It’s right then and there that the man looks down at the hardest fucking boner he’s ever gotten in his entire life, wet n’ achingly swollen. Almost as if his prolonged length was about to break through his sweatpants right this very second-

“Dammit.”

.

.

.

Back at Toji Fushiguro’s last place, there’d been no one but himself to keep him company.

Which wasn’t necessarily bad - he’d still had his instant ramen (almost all of it now thrown away because of…health reasons), his vast porn collection (given away to a few friends, no use keeping something he couldn’t watch with you around), and occasional small talk with his neighbors (his current ones seemed to avoid him for whatever reason.)

Right now, it was just him. And-

“You know, I hear these new microwave meals are supposed ta be killer, pretty lady.” 

“Ahh–!”

“Oh- sorry. S’that too insensitive?” Toji snickers out, sounding not even an ounce apologetic as he catches the cute frill of your ghoul-like dress disappearing behind the corner of the grim kitchen wall. 

It was about as much of a conversation as he’d managed to coax out of you in the week you’d started cohabitating.

A week of letting you squeak and ogle at him from the shadows as you pleased, a week of trying his very best not to show off the puffing bulge of his muscles whenever he worked out unabashedly in front of you. A week since…that kiss.

“How rude.” He’s scoffing, though the curling twitch of his lips says otherwise. Eyes still honed on the way the very crown of your head just spies out from the corner. Cute. 

Seating himself on the creaky kitchen table, Toji places the second microwave dinner right opposite him and pretends not to notice as you pad a few tentative steps forwards. Picking idly at the soggy rice on his plate, he feels the bottom of his stomach twist with something strangely akin to delight.

Closer. And closer. 

You’re peaking curiously over at the clouds of steaming tendrils that waft off of the food, catching a whiff and- nose crinkling in disgust, you scamper away before Toji can even feel disappointed. 

“Yuck.”

Grumbling, “Now that was really rude.”

Well, he really didn’t know why he was so intent on befriending the cute lil’ ghost that lived in his closet attic. And he really didn’t know why he found himself trudging over to that tiny nook tucked away in his bedroom later that night, full of a microwave dinner he certainly won’t be buying again.

Blankets and flattened pillow in hand, Toji’s eyes rover for any sign of you - any. 

But, alas, as most things tend to do, it doesn’t exactly go the way he hoped.

“Hmm– no sign of her.” He murmurs underneath his breath, uncertain hands setting his impromptu bed down on the closet floor. Volume lilting just a few pitches louder in emphasis, “Guess I’ll go to sleep then.” Higher - and so does his head up into the looming darkness where you were sure to be. Slithering underneath the warm covers, “This is me now. Sleeping.”

And Toji doesn’t exactly have to pretend to fall asleep - not quite. 

Long lashes shuttering; the net of slumber casts down on him sluggishly - it’s not long before his chest grows heavier, breaths more staggered, and a heated body settles into his bed.

You. 

“Ya came back for more, huh?” His softly musing groan strikes the back of your neck like a scorching breeze, skittering such delicious goosebumps all over your body and all underneath that useless piece of cloth you called a dress. 

Making him wonder where else…

Plump, puckered lips hit the side of your throat and you shiver– hips gyrating back in a lewd figure eight to where Toji was spooning you now. 

He was so big, in every sense of the word. Chiseled washboard abs gently caressing down your arched spine in a repeated back n’ forth, every ridge massages you depravedly, the plush pillows of his pecs cushioning your back. 

When Toji’s broad arms wrap snugly around your body, so do his meaty thighs pinning you to him. Instantaneously, your head tumbles backwards with a stuttered gasp, “Please.”

And something in Toji twitches. Something in him awakes.

“Ohhhh– so ya can be nice?” He purrs, roaming over one hand in a carnal grip on the globes of your ass. He’s savoring that sweet, sweet sound of your voice begging for him and- shit, he really hadn’t dreamed of this last week. “Say it- say it f’me again like a good girl?”

“P-please.”

“Hmmm, how cute.”

The very tip of his thumb writes out a cursive Toji on the right cheek of your ass, playfully tapping its way down to cup your fluttering core. 

You were so fucking wet that the fabric of your dress was clinging between your legs in a way that made him jealous, sticky fabric seeping through with a few glistening slathers of syrupy wet slick. Practically flooding out a lil’ damp spot where his massive cock was stirring. 

“Fuck- hellooooo girls.” That hooked scar tickles down the tenderest spots of your neck to pant out humid breaths over the swell of your breasts. A viscid layer of sweat slicking up those perked nipples as you squeeze your shaky thighs and push-

Your lungs burn with a fiery need, squeezing out every ounce of air as he’s smearing his hands all over your tits. “-T-Toji.”

His name - you’d memorized his name. 

You were going to be the death of him.

And your body renders forwards, dipping the curves of your gorgeous tits further into his ready grasp. You could feel every roughened callous, every palmistry line, every grope he was relentlessly feeling all over. Feeling allll of you.

“Ngh- T-Toji.” You’re slipping out adorably, as if his name was all that you could repeat at this point. Fuzzy brain showing static at the spiking heat of this closet room-

“Yeah- Yeahh–?” It’s all you hear before his rounded digits spank down on your tits, circling out softly against where you were the most sensitive. That high-pitched wail you’re keening out is the sexiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

Toji has the audacity to giggle, thick fingers sneaking underneath your dress to give your pebbled nipples yet another thwack! 

“Whoops.” And another. “Sorry-” Dutifully pinching the nibs of your tits as he pecks your jawline, he’s rolling his thumb right over those pointed nipples like he was milking them. “-hand slipped.”

“Y-your fingers–” And you’re choking on numerous saccharine moans when his fingerpads come slamming down once more, the stinging striking rendering your mouth waterlogged with oodles of saliva. “-so m-mean.”

Tears were practically overtaking your pretty features now - but that wasn’t the only place you were letting out sobs from.

Your inner thighs glue together with a clingy film of bawling sap out from your cunt, puffy lips so bloated n’ needy that Toji could peer down and count every sinful throb. 

“Wouldya look at that–” He’s breathing out, in such awe at the slurping slurs that were springing up from your dampened pussy. Almost as if she was squelching out in conversation, he nods, “She’s more talkative than you. This heh- turns ya on- doesn’t it, pretty lady?”

Velvety sweater skirting up, he’s dragging the thick, scratchy tufts of a black happy trail straightly down your squirming back. Pushing you against a sexily tensed core, your heart races as you could feel him harden.

“Mmm…could bury myself here forever.” His voice cracks sloppily as he cranes over to muffle the ends of that particular sentence into your heaving mounds. Musked cologne hitting your senses, filthy tongue flopping out to smack your tender areolas and draaaaag-

“Toji- Toooji–”

“Heh- m’here. Your Toji’s here, sweet thing.” He’s snarling as he bites, glistening white edges of his teeth scraping your raw flesh. Voice warbling - high, his raven lashes flap furiously to keep his vision from hazing over. “C’mon- c’mon c’mon c’mon don’t hide ‘em from me.”

Sensually, he’s trekking his hand near the hem of your dress and tugging down until he can fully try to suffocate himself between your pretty tits. 

Toji didn’t need fucking air - the sight of you was heavenly enough, making him buck so that the curly black hairs near his base scratch your skin and leave it stinging. 

Tongue simply ruthless, whisking out soppy dollops of spittle that drip down your nipples and purposefully make a mess. Sucking and sucking while he ruts from behind with a groan.

Messy. Toji was making sure of it.

The slimy trailway of his tongue laps and laps until your eyes are bulging halfway out of their sockets, grunting. “You got it- you got it, sugar.” He latches on hypnotically to your left nipple and gnaws a generous mouthful. “Keep up now- I bite.” 

Jaw dropped, toes curled. 

Babbling broken ohs! and Toji! your lips smack away incoherently through bouts of bubbling slobber. He’s watching with awe as your legs fall open, glue-stuck pussylips spreading wiiidely apart- 

Swallowing a leaden ball at the sheer amount of wetness you were pouring out. Bucketloads, really.

Pretty. 

Toji grabs ahold of your humping hips with a groan, pushing you all snug n’ cozy against his throbbing cock. Spying from beneath his unruly black bangs, “Would make the s-sweetest fuckin’ birthing hips, pretty lady.”

He was so…massive.

Gasping, the very action of you scrambling up onto your elbows makes your vision swim with a few blotches of black - still tingling all over with the buzz of being so close.

You’re shivering, a sudden yelp escaping your glossed lips as you nudge Toji away with something that resembled a headbutt and ran. 

Well, more like crawled with whatever strength you had left - all the way back up your safe, dark attic whilst leaving the man disoriented below. 

And it was not just because of your forehead crashing into his.

“Shiiiiit.” Toji belts out a low whistle, a hand dipping down to grab his thickened cock through his drenched-through sweats. He’s laid all out on his back now, staring up at the shuttered attic door where you’d disappeared, “I’m fucked.”

.

.

.

It was quite a change to be sleeping with a ghost - in the most literal sense, he wasn’t sleeping sleeping with a ghost.

Turning into somewhat of a routine now to find himself woken up inside the closet space with your sleeping body cuddled softly up to him - at least, until you realize and make it your mission to disappear before he can say more than a few words, that is.

You hadn’t progressed past a few cute whines n’ touches here and there, and even that was enough for Toji to lose his damn mind this past week. 

He thought of you when he cooked, he thought of you while his neighbor squawked at every glimpse of him, he thought of you in the shower - especially in the shower, in fact, with one hand wrapped around his hard fucking cock- 

-and he was thinking of you right now. 

Stood stock-still in front of one of those high-end fashion stores beaming smugly on the bustling streets of Tokyo - the exact type he’d have scoffed and turned his nose up at just a few weeks ago.

But now, Toji was turning his nose at something else - right downwards to search for a price tag on the cute pink dress that was displayed proudly in the middle of the shop window. 

It was a skimpy lil’ thing, open and stylish, the exact type he knew you’d look perfect in. The exact type you’d wear so nicely that it’d make him want want to rip it off altogether. 

The exact type that was making him gape at the sheer number of zeros on the printed price, jaw moving up and down soundlessly as he double takes - was it legal to charge this much for a fucking dress? How the hell was he supposed to even get it for y-

Wait. Toji straightens up until he’s ramrod as a pole, not even caring for the way passersby give him the dirtiest of looks as his bulky frame blocks most of the sidewalk. Why was he even thinking of buying this for you in the first place? Did ghosts even-

“Steep price eh, sonny?”

He’s turning ‘round towards the aged, grating voice of the shopkeeper who’d apparently come outside to investigate his conundrum. 

The older man smiles apologetically at him, as if he wasn’t the one that was responsible for half those prices anyway. “You know how it is with these one-of-a-kind pieces. Lowest I could put it at, of course.”

Toji nods without a word, feet itching to remove himself from this awkward situation before- 

“S’for a special lady o’ yours, isn’t it?” 

“None of your business, old man.” Toji snarls, not much bite to his words. 

Judging by the way the clerk smirks, he’d figured out that he hit the target dead-on. And the frosty cold of the city air had never bitten the tips of Toji’s ears sharper, redder. Waving a weathered hand airily, “Tell ya what- I don’t usually do this, but I’ll reserve this piece until you collect ‘nough of those salaries and buy it for ya girl. How about it?”

And usually - usually - Toji would have told the man to fuck right off with those bargains. “One-of-a-kind” his ass. 

But…his eyes drift to the gauzy, delicate dress, the way it fitted on the mannequin. And how much more gorgeous you’d look in it. Salaries, huh?

With a firm nod, and a reluctant handshake with the shopkeeper, he finds himself browsing once more through a few employment sites he’d all but cursed the name of and abandoned a few weeks ago. 

One thing at a time, Toji ponders, shuffling his phone back into his pocket, albeit with a few fresh webpages bookmarked. 

Now, back onto his mission to head to the nearest supermarket - namely the fresh produce section. 

Which…actually didn’t turn out to be as much of a wild goose chase as he expected about two hours, a pissed shop employee, and three burnt fingers later. 

Skin muggy with the stifling kitchen air, hands placed on either side of his waist in a way that reminded Toji of his mother- “So?” He grouches out, the nonchalance in his voice given away as nothing but a façade with the way his feet tap-tap-tap. “How about it? Michelin star or what?”

The subject of his attention - you, like most days recently - only scrunches your nose in distaste. A spoon filled to the brim with steaming hot miso soup inching ever-closer to your mouth with the air of a lamb being carted off to slaughter. 

And a fucking massacre it was once the taste hits your awaiting buds and you spit–

“Oi-”

“Yuck!”

So much for Michelin stars, Toji’s grumbling to himself as he takes your same spoon and savors the miso soup with tofu for himself. Face crinkling immediately like a piece of paper at the salt bomb that assaults his senses, “Too much miso.”

Well, it seems he couldn’t fault your ghostly tastebuds just yet - but in his defense, it was his first time doing anything as sensible as this!

“Pretty lady~” Toji coos out, kneeling on the frigid quilt of his kitchen tiles to bring himself eye-level with your crouched figure in the shadows. “C’mere, sorry about the miso- try the tofu.”

And it was almost…adorable how you’re tentatively skulking your way over, pretty lips pulled into a permanent pout after his mess of soup. 

As soon as you’re close enough, he’s popping a hand into one of the bowls and plucking out  a creamy wad of tofu to nudge inside your mouth; slightly mushy in his touch, but at the very least you don’t wince too much at the overdone flavor of it. 

In fact, you actually swallowed. 

“Mmm–”

Leering, “Delicious, huh?”

“No.”

“Fine then- not bad.” Cackling out a hoarse bark of laughter, amusement sets his features aglow as Toji thumbs over the stray smidgens of white that stuck to your salivating lips. Catching a few beaded droplets of soup, “Messy girl. Look at you.”

You’re whining as he smears over the sleek spillage, trickling from between your lips and down to where your see-through dress was drenched almost non-existent. 

Fuck. 

You really were messy - and it was driving him crazy.

Parched Adam’s apple bobbing up n’ down in his scratchy throat at the glistening stickiness where your tits were heaving, his strained breaths aching to match your own. Pants tightening, buzzing fingertips twitching, Toji can’t even think before he unfastens his mouth with a dry, “Let…let me try something, doll?”

Your mouth drips hot and open as soon as Toji tugs down on his snugly-fitted sweatpants until his throbbing cock proudly slaps at his tensed core. 

And when you imagined that he might be big - you didn’t think he’d be big.

Red n’ swollen, the glittering tip of his mushroom crown was sprinkling out pearly drops of pre at the sudden sting of the cold kitchen draft. Simply gaudily decorated with fatly pumping veins all ‘round his girthy sides, they slithered in a zig-zag towards the clammy tufts of his happy trail. 

Nine- maybe even ten solid inches that twitch as your glassy eyes set sight on all of him greedily. So ridiculously massive that your mouth was starting to water already.

“Just hafta watch me, pretty lady.” Toji gruffs out solemnly, one of his burly hands curling around his meaty hilt. The ridges of his teeth sink down as he bites back a simmering hiss- “Just- just–”

Trailing off into merely nothing but soft rasps as he’s starting up short, stout tugs of his painfully hard cock. Not made of rocks, but made of fucking diamonds and jolting out creamy spatters of precum with every slight squeeze.

He was teasing. Toying. Just blushing cherry red at his tip, a saccharine lil’ color that made you want to inch forwards…

“Awww- yer drooling, sweet thing.” Toji interrupts your train of thought with a cocky tilt of his head, narrowed gaze flittering down to the thin line of spit that’d started to overspill from your maw. “Heh- never seen a guy so big, huh?”

You’re shaking your head in a way that makes the man groan, and with a vulgar few flicks of his capped thumb underneath the jutting ridge of his slit, Toji shoots out his free hand. Darting, in two bats of your shocked lashes you’re registering that he’d locked one hand around your neck and was pulling you.

Unapologetically tittering, “No needa be shy now.” Closer. Closer. Faintly wondering whether ghosts could bruise, the curved margins of his nails bite down your rapid pulsation. “C’mere.”

Mewling once gusts of his bodyheat radiate in waves, making your skin prickle with cold sweat. Your spine aches with the effort of being manhandled close, “T-Toji…”

“Tha’s right, m’here.” He’s grunting from above, scarred lips pulling into a prowling snarl as he smears the tender side of his length against your cheek. Burning hot and messy, your features gleam with a sprayed sheen of sweltering pre. “S’a biiig fucking cock, huh?”

“Please-” You’re latching down onto the elastic hem of his pants, mindlessly yanking away until you could see the chubby curve of his fat breeder balls. “S-sooo big.”

“Greedy greedy.” Toji’s right hand slows down to a slooow crawl up and down his plump shaft, taking his lazy time to tug open your prettily pouted maw with his other hand. “Heh- could open that pretty mouth all wide f’me and it s-still wouldn’t fit, doll.”

With a wailing protest, you’re letting him lilt your mouth open further- and fuck, the way that pinkish tongue of yours flops out eagerly makes Toji dizzy. 

His own tastebuds flooded with a freshly scalding wave of briny spittle, just starting to threaten near the crevices of his stern lips before he cranes his head towards yours and spits. 

Splattering.

Now, Toji had good aim - perfect, actually. But where was the fun in that?

His rotund thumb swipes away a few speckles of excess, plugging the frothy remnants back between your whiny lips. The way your brows scrunch at the impact is so adorable, “Look at you- all greedy for this cock. Sooo fuckin’ wet already.”

“M’n-not…” 

Liar, your cunt seemed to throb. Legs trembling together whilst your whirling pupils followed every draaaagging stroke of Toji’s big hands, the way he’d softly caress his lengthy digits over those delicate lightning bolts of his veins. It made you clench around nothing just to imagine how they would feel inside.

You blubber out a sobbing, “T-Toji.”

“Say it- say m’name again.” Toji drawls out sluggishly. Needy. He’s spitting down his spheroid cockhead, pumping angrily. “C’mon, say it-”

“Toji-”

“Again.”

Stuttering, slobbering with every gyrating hump gifted into the heady air.

“Toji…” Your bottom lips swells with your biting nibble, “-cum f’me.”

And as soon as the axons in his body pull taut and snap, he’s scrambling up from his seated position onto his knees to push his weepy tip into your face and cum.

Alllll over your pretty face - great, dripping cobwebs of seed that make his heavy thighs shake with sheer force. Whacking his bulbously swollen tip against your lips so that the ivory topping swabs across every inch he could reach. 

Toji’s clawing on a tight hold around your neck to keep your cutely squirming self in place, his sharp hips jutting outwards in a slow gyrating pace. As if he was fucking an invisible you - envisioning it whilst his stringy bouts of sweltering hot cum dripped down your face. 

Sloppy, sloppy.

“Shiiiit, haven’t cum this hard in…” His deep bass trembles, eyes glazing over with something primal and dreamy. Practically melting for you, “...in forever.”

The fastest he’s ever had, he shakes back the red, red blush scalding his ears now- just from you and those words. You. 

You’re mewling, lapping your tongue out to taste the syrupy salted caramel flavor of his oozing sap. Lips gluing together at the thickly glutinous consistency, “Toji- cummin’ so much. Want more.”

“Shit.” Toji hisses, lurching as if he’d just been bolted with a zillion volts of electricity. Instantly, the hand at your throat adjusts you so that you’re splayed out on the kitchen floor. Pretty and slobbering with need for him.

Dewy eyes widening a significant fraction at the way his rounded capped knees settle languidly on either side of your head. He was so thick with chiseled muscles, you think you could cum alone from the way that Toji’s wrapping a hand around his hefty base and milking himself.  

Face blossomed red, black brows scrunched, a slow splashing of sweat falls onto your face once he’s squeezing his hilt with a raw squeeeelch–!

“Sh-shit, talking outta pussy when you ngh- can’t even-” Straddling you, he nibbles on the flooded inside of his cheek, whirling peripheries locked on the last few splotches of pure sinful white that cream out of his tip and frost an adhesive capping down his length.

Chest heaving, voice guttural. “-can’t even- even hck!” As he’s finishing off, he guides his length to stand side-by-side with your fucked-out face. The way he was bigger than your head. Airily musing, “-fit this.”

You can only whine in protest, “A-as if.”

“Sass.” And Toji’s overstimulated cockhead twitches once, twice as he drifts a hand over to thumb his fattened pad on a particularly knotted puddle of cum beside your cheek. Gliding it allll down your wobbly lips like a sticky lipgloss, “Damn beautiful, too.”

With a shy peck on his meaty palms, you slip away into the shadows as you usually do. And eventually he’ll find his charcoal lashes dipping lower with fatigue, skin still sizzling with you and his high and you-

“Oh? Ya also wanted a change tonight, doll?” Toji pauses, worm-patterned blanket (it was half-off, alright!) partly spread in his arms. 

Now about an hour later and back in his dingy bedroom, Toji stares with bated breath as you sneak out from the cracks of his open closet. 

It wasn’t like him to leave you all alone, but after a week of his back moaning and aching at him- well, a night away from that teensy shack you called a home wouldn’t hurt right? At least not physically, it was tough for a man his size to squeeze himself inside without any afterlife powers.

What he certainly didn’t expect was for you to move back into the proper bedroom with him.

Cuddling your back against his toned front, fitting together like two puzzle pieces. Arms tight around your waist like glue, legs tangling together sweetly. Toji finds himself scoffing at the rosy heat that rises irrationally up to the tips of his ears - practically mocking him. 

“G’night, pretty lady.”

“Good night…Toji.”

Burying his face into the soft crook of your neck so you wouldn’t see his furious blush, he thinks he’s never slept more peacefully.

.

.

.

Once in a blue moon - emphasis on once in a blue moon - Toji actually begrudgingly appreciates the presence of Shiu Kong in his life. 

Sure, the man was an ass and absolutely too proud of those pencil lines he called a stache, but he was employed, at the nearby gym no less. And the best part about having a friend that was employed was that he could help Toji himself get employed. 

And it was walking back home after (completely, totally acing) his job interview as a boxing coach, swiping through the email with his advance and the request that he start next week, that Toji runs into his enigma of a neighbor. 

Ichiro…Ijishi…? Something of the sort. Running on the fumes of his good day, Toji raises his hand at the fidgety, spectacled man in greeting, “Yo- Itachi.”

Honestly, he couldn’t have looked more terrified had he been welcomed by a phantom. And Toji would know…

Jumping about a proper three feet in the air, he’s breaking out in a glittering cold sweat all over. Muttering incoherently, “I-it’s Ijichi…”

“Ah, right.” Toji grunts, shocked he even managed to squeak out enough syllables to answer him. Usual conversation was limited to running away or avoiding him altogether - though, perhaps the presence of you had something to do with that fact. Not that he was complaining though, as long as he had you.

Almost as if Ijichi had sensed his thoughts, he’s splaying his hands out in warning, “Y-you know- Toji-san, you should really be careful.”

Halting right in front of his walkway, the taller man raises a brow in questioning. This was bound to be interesting. 

“I’ve been wanting to tell you this for a while but, th-they say there’s a…” Looking around, shuffling. “-g-g-ghost in that apartment, a woman who lived long ago and- d-died inside that closet. Until you, no one could live there because she would eeep! haunt them. Y-you should really be careful, Toji-san, I’ve been hearing noises from your home at the dead of night lately, too…”

Ah, your moans. He forgot he shared a bedroom wall with the other man, and you were probably louder now since you’d started sleeping in the bedroom with him.

Fingers tightening on the glossy pink shopping bag held in one hand, “S’that so? She’s really this scary ol’ ghoul then?”

“Exactly- it isn’t an o-old wives’ tale, either. Everyone’s seen it, the closet door opening at night, lights flickering, strange voices.” Dark brows furrowing, he trails off. “If you want the- the town’s exorcist, Ogami, is coming to cleanse my a-apartment tonight and has been urging me to give you her number.” 

“An exorcist.” The syllables fall flat on Toji’s tongue, “For the ghost.”

“Yes yes- that ol’ woman, ah- exorcist says that the vengeful s-spirit can attach to a human being and sap their life source, tying the ghoul to them forever-”

“I wouldn’t mind that, actually. If it was her.” 

He’s surprised to find that he means it. 

Leaving Ijichi blubbering in confusion, Toji mutters away something that hopefully sounded like a ‘thanks but no thanks.’ Easily making his way inside, the door had barely slammed closed before you were slamming into him.

Face pushing into the valley of his firm pectorals, arms dangling to reach around his neck. Your fingers tangle into the delicate waves peaking out at his nape and Toji almost purrs, tackling you equally as fervently. 

“So- dinner?”

Damn, he couldn’t even deny it anymore. Exorcism and spiritual powers his ass, you’d turned him into some sort of house-husband. 

The same thought he’s repeating again and again as he cooks up a mean omurice in that tiny kitchen of his, golden brown and perfectly crisp on the edges.

All thanks to two hours of online research and bugging Shiu - his usefulness strikes again, dammit.

Toji takes great pride in drawing a lil’ heart of ketchup on the mounded middle, like he’d heard maid cafés do. Watching as you sniff. Cautious…and then scoff it down in generous gulps. Smirking, “So…Michelin stars?”

You’re only nodding, leaning over to plant a lingering peck- “Mhm.”

“Knew it.”

You were eating something he cooked - finally, finally eating something he cooked.

Suddenly hit with remembrance, Toji reels back his body a few inches away from your proximity on the kitchen table and almost whines - what the hell have you done to him? Shuffling through the few groceries, he waves one bag tantalizingly in front of your face, “Guess what, pretty lady.”

Oh, Toji was right. 

If you asked him, he would say that he’s always right - but he was especially right in his assumption that you’d look jaw-droppingly gorgeous in that pretty pink number from the shop. 

The old man had kept his word, reserving that dress so that Toji could splurge almost all of the hefty advancement fee from that brand-spankin’ new job of his. Later that night, he sat criss-crossed on his bedroom tatami, awaiting the fashion show. Letting you waltz out of the closet, nervously donned in a gauzy layer of fabric that hugged your body just so-

“C’mere. Shit, c’mere.” Toji rasps out, one hand sliding down his face because shit- the other clamors for his phone to take a picture. He glances down at the kassha-! of the screen, jaw dropping when- “Oh, ya really are a ghost.”

You’re spying over at the photo that showed nothing - literally. Nothing but a dress floating in midair, you shrug. “Duh.”

“Well, whatever-” Toji grouches, so much for setting a picture of you as his lockscreen. More preoccupied with the success of you becoming more talkative lately, “-do ya like it, doll?”

“Mhm– like it a lot.”

“C’mere, then. We hafta celebrate.”

Ah, you had the feeling that ‘celebrate’ meant so much more right now. 

Because without warning, Toji’s roughened hand clings to the side of your waist and pulls you until you’re landing cutely to straddle his manspread lap. “Toji…”

“S’alright, sweet thing.” His familiarly heady musk and cologne invade your senses like fog, and Toji’s nose slides alllll the way up and down your gulping throat. Slowly. “M’kinda…starved.” Your hand twitches towards the hem of your dress- before Toji stops you gently. “Nah- keep it on, pretty lady.”

Oh?

Oh.

“O-oh, fuck–!” You’re squealing before long, straddling Toji’s sprawled head, the halo of his unruly bangs tickling your tender inner thighs. Laid out on the matted floors beneath you and leaving a wet peck near the sheeny splatters of slick coating your outer pussy.

Squelch after raw squelch he was ripping out of you with only a few innocent glides of his lips on your own, “No underwear? What a sweet girl ya are f’me.”

You’re gasping as his tongue swirls over a few gumdrops of escaping sap, opening his rugged maw wiiide open to let you see the way they slip n’ slide all the way down Toji’s ravenous gullet. 

“Ride. Ride my face- c’mon, ride my face like you own it.”

Hiking your newly-bought dress further up the curve of your ass, your knees ricket in tiny gyrations on top of his maw- needing more. A bullet of beaded sweat drips down your temple, “Stop- teasing, Toji.”

“Demanding now, aren’t we?” A soft spank leaves your mouth cracking with shrilling whimpers, head throwing back at the calloused drag of Toji’s fingers grabbing your ass and pushing you in deeper. A French kiss. “Let me- mm- let me taste ya first, at least.”

Oh, he was mean.

And the only thing meaner than Toji was that damn sinful mouth of his. Purposefully latchin’ his plush lips where your swollen folds were all puckered, letting your legs twitch with each vibration of his throaty groans. 

“Wanted this for so long- so long.” He’s letting his spit-glossed tongue swipe suddenly between your drooling slit, a faaaaat drag of his ridged tastebuds. “So long- n’ you’re so fucking sweet.”

“F-fuuuuck– your tongue-”

Toji snickers, hot gusts from his lungs heating your pried-apart core - his widely prolonged tongue flops out eagerly to drink up every sploshing wad of slick that trickles down from your sloppy entrance. Cock twitching at the lacquered gloss hitting his chin, “Mhm- ya like that, right? She likes that- riiight?”

You did. He didn’t even need to fucking ask - your syrup sweet liquid gluing to his tastebuds was enough of a clue. 

And Toji didn’t need another sign for his girthy tongue to inch towards your quivering hole, slithering. Sensually, so that every passing second meant you felt the grating scratch of his sensory buds. 

“Now–” His nose crinkles in excitement at the thundering sluuuuurp he hears once his mushy tip presses inside your rubbery cunt. Stretching and stretching out your tight channel with a few slashes of his muscle, “-hello to you, too, sugar.”

Was he…giving nicknames to your pussy? Your tear-trapped lashes flutter awake, “Toji- wh-what are you-”

“Shhh- s’alright, doll.” With only one of his hands locking on your waist, he’s easily hoisting you onto your knees- fuck, you didn’t even have to burden your weak limbs with your weight because he was holding you up anyway. Scar-decorated mouth murmuring, “Upsy daisy- you just keep those pretty legs wiiiide open f’me and ride, okay? M’gonna take care of you…”

Words seeping with a dangerous whisper now that he had the perfect view of your pouted pussylips, it made Toji want to lick his own lips in desperate salivation. 

Breathy, “Gonna take good- good-” Surging upwards until the tip of his high nosebridge bangs into your treacly clit. Hard. “-good care–” Tongue making a mess, humping up into the air. “-of her.”

You’re whimpering, hands bunching up into your dress to lift it higher once he brutally squeezes past your tight first ring of muscle. Enveloping eeeeevery nook and cranny inside you with his relentless tongue-

“Ngh- Toji–” Your hips restlessly roll into every barreling push of his swiping muscle, thighs flinching with every flick of his curling, dexterous crown stirrin’ your innards. Filling you up until it was maddening.

Just about all he can manage out right now, muffling a lil’ ‘mhm—?’ right when his tongue pokes into one of your earliest tender spots. Treating it like a dart board, he’s stretching his tongue as faaaar and wide as it could go to hit it repeatedly.

Vulgar. 

He’s massaging his stinging maw into your saturated pussymound over n’ over until every bit of your steaming hot slick is piled onto his lips. With a harsh grip of one of your asscheeks, and a thumb lugging lazily over your throbbing clit - Toji was sloppy.

And you were simply crying from both ends, bubbling tears clogging up your throat at the bruising pace he was making out with your honeyed cunt to. “H-how are you even- reaching-”

To Toji, it was a personal insult that you were riding his handsome face like this and still had the time to ponder your pretty head with nonsense like that. 

Well and fully intending to gnaw on your teary pussy until you were stupid, one of his free hands traverses a sneaky pathway underneath you. The thick, rounded stretch of one of his fingers circlin’ your hole making you moan. “Wh-what- hngh!”

That was more like it, he’s smirking something dark as you clamp around his bulky finger with your dripping wet core. Warm and soft. 

So soft. He really can’t help but stare down in pure awe with those sultry hazed eyes of his, watching through partly-open lids when he slaps his tongue down on your perky clit and takes the opportunity as you gasp-

“Fuck! Toji–”

-to rummage in another girthy finger, canines bared back in the tiniest of snarls while he unapologetically pumps back and forth to try and shovel them deeeeply inside. Hissing at the slight resistance, scouring fingertips scraping way inside your flooded wet depths. 

And he doesn’t know who’s louder - you or this sweet pussy of yours.

Fuck- with a joint furrow in his brow, Toji’s holding back his rasping pants in an effort to memorize every squelching noise you were letting off from between your legs. “Tha’s it- atta girl, talk t’me.”

Scissoring his knobbled digits all the way until his knuckles are striking your plump lips, lurching out filthy slurp after slurp. 

You were just too damn sexy for your own good, and before the next few whimpers of his name can formulate on your tongue, Toji spits a weighty glob of spit down your bulging slit and chases it. Like a moth drawn to flame, he’s pressing the flat of his hot tongue everywhere. 

The stray spaces where he was viciously thrusting away inside your entrance, the hood of your clit, the glittering layers of slick caking your inner thighs. 

Anywhere, in long depraved licks until your back begins to arch. Voice cracking at a lilt he found familiar, “Please- please please please m’so c-close, Toji-”

“Close, huh?”

You’re damn near falling straight onto your face if it wasn’t for the way Toji holds you up, sobbing when he only dips his fingers ever-deeper right where your nerves were on fire. Slapping a stinging bruise over the patch of your g-spot. 

“S’that r-right, sugar?” He gasps through pitched pecks, kiss after kiss of his swirling berry-pink tongue that makes your eyes twirl comically. His own thighs squeeze together, aching for any friction between, “Gonna- gonna cum? Gonna- ngh- cum on my face, sugar?”

Fuck- and every time his pearly white teeth latch on animalistically to the fleshy nub of your clit, your puffy pussy practically screams out answers. Tugging on your perked hood until drool seeps like a river from your lips. 

Both pairs, and Toji loved it. Loved what a pretty mess he could make of you. 

“S’that so? Uh uh–” He nods, and if you weren’t rendered stupidly speechless right now you might’ve just said a thing or two about the way that he was talking to your dripping cunt. “Mhm? Oh? Oh really…” Before spying over at you through lowered lashes, “Says she’s gonna heh- cum, doll.”

Almost as if he spoke it into existence, you’re hitting your high at that very moment. 

“Shit- shit shit shit m’cumming– ngh, m’cumming.”

Rolling his eyes with fondness, “Oh yeah? Give it t’me- give it all, m’fucking ngh- starving.”

“All- all.” Your voice reaches a fever pitch inside those papery-thin walls.

Vision shattering with tears, and you might not have seen the way you’d cum - what with your eyes permanently finding a home at the back of your head - but Toji certainly did. 

And fuck, he’s never wished more that ghosts could show up on camera. 

Because you weren’t just pretty when you were finally overcome with your orgasm, you were gorgeous. Toes arching cutely, mouth plastering with a fresh lipstain of moisture, throat parched over and over with the sound of his name. 

“Pretty girl.” Plopping in another finger with a wet splotchy sound to fuck you through your euphoria. His lengthy tongue aches with the slippery squeeze of your walls, grinding up with every rolling push of your hips. “Pretty pussy.”

You’re cumming and he’s tugging down his currently see-through pants to furiously pump his rock-hard length. Fucking you with his mouth the way he needed to with his bloated cock.

Your body lurches in sparking sensitivity-

Only to be hauled back down unceremoniously by his hand resting upon your throat, “Nuh uh, no runnin’ away.”

Just pouring wet, and Toji was more than happy to drink up every ounce and sappy wad. The treacly slabs of his saliva so weighty and thick that you could almost taste it on your own stinging buds.

Toji’s kiss-swollen scar smeeeears down your clit one last time n’ stays there playfully, “Heh- had my fill, pretty lady. Now about that dress…”

It’s only then that you’re gathering all your bearings enough to gaze down at your dress- well, initially supposed to be the drenched hem of your new clothes.

But instead what your eyes are drawn to was the way that big, bad Toji looked so ruined.

His sparse chest hair glinting in the dim-lighting with a lamination of fervent sweat, flushed a clammy crimson all the way down to his collarbones. And the look in his eyes- oh, Toji was drunk on all the sweet, sweet juices of your pussy. 

Half-lidded, woozy, dilated until his gaze was almost all Stygian black - he doesn’t take his stare off of you for even a second as you remove yourself with a sappy pop!

Breath hitching at the way your slick slobbered until it was dripping down his chin, creeping all the way up to Toji’s cheekbones. He grins– and you don’t think you’ve seen Toji look so accomplished, freeing you of your soaked-through dress. 

Staring at your nude figure in worship, “How about a bath. Together?”

“Mmm- that sounds…” Your sensitive eardrums crane towards a lowly incanted muttering that came from one side of Toji’s bedroom walls. “-s-sounds…”

He’s instantly raising his thick brows in confusion, brushing away a sliver of sweat away from your face. “You alright, pretty lady?”

Yes. You want to say yes, but the electrified vibrations invading your body say otherwise - and you’re staring at that particular blank wall like a deer in headlights. 

Toji couldn’t figure out for the life of him what was going on, following your beeline of sight towards the edges of the thin wall adjacent to you two - the same one he shared with Ijichi next-door. Ijichi who was scared of you and- oh. 

Straining his ears urgently, he’s managing to catch a few snatches of the man’s conversation from the other side-

“-s-strange noises————louder——p-please get rid of-” Overlapping with the constant utterance of something that sounded like a…mantra…

Oh, shit.

He’s snapping his head to you - faint, “No. No no no no–” Fuck, how could he forget? That ‘cleansing’- you were being exorcized in front of his very eyes.

Toji Fushiguro has never moved faster in his entire life than when pins you down on your back and plugs your ears with the knobbled globes of his digits. Blocking out that damn incantation that might have you slipping from his very fingers. 

“Don’t listen.” He rasps, watching at the twinkle gleams back in your hazy irises. Mouth crashing into yours, “Don’t listen- please, don’t listen- Stay with me, try not to think of-” But how could you not when the scratchy voice from beyond the wall only seemed to grow more determined, louder?

Shit- a distraction. He needed a distraction. 

Suddenly too aware of the way your thighs were trembling around his toned waist, your naked middle rubbed scratchily with the peeking curls of his pubes- you drown out the mantra with a moan.

Your head tilting down-

Baritone growling with a slightly dark glint, his cock sags even heavier out of his pants at your intense stare. “What do you want me to- oh.” Following your line of sight, Toji’s jade eyes twinkle. “Nasty girl.”

Oh, you had the perfect idea to ignore that damn exorcism.

The trilling mewl that escapes your lips is nothing short of music to his ears once he’s tightening his vice-like hold on you and forcing your eyes permanently onto where his big, leaking cock was pulsing for attention. 

Red and huge. 

Swollen so tautly that it was bobbing from above his waistband, the chilling bedroom air making precum weep out in stringy splatters and hit right on the bullseye of your hole sloppily. 

“So much precum…” he’s muttering to himself.

He was so ridiculously big that it made you thighs tremble - and not with fear over the happenings next door anymore, the incantations still distantly resounding.

“Take it then-” Distraction or not- this was a wet dream he’d been having ever since he moved here. He’s letting his throat tear with a primal growl, “Take it all- feel it, n’ you better only think about my fucking cock.” A lecherous idea pops into his head, “N’ you better count.”

It takes you all of one second - and two direct smacks of his fatly bludgeoning cockhead on your dripping mound for you to finally understand what he meant. Oh. 

Round and pretty, Toji’s blushing a ruby red at this strawberry divot. Plump against your puffed-up pussylips, he’s angling his hips to position the curvaceous mushroom tip against your flooded entrance. Rubbin’ up and down your slippery slit sweetly-

“Count.”

“O-one.” Your sweet voice is enunciated with a quiet whimper, watery eyes slipping down to make note of every one of his branding, mazing veins. One twisted cozily around his base, one pounding near his split-ended tip. He wanted you to count his inches. Each and every one. “Two- three.”

With a smoky moan, Toji’s throwing his crown back- forehead slicking with a thin lamination of sweat at those pretty noises drawing out of you. “Mhmmm, good girl. K-keep going.” 

Stretching you open so wiiiide, that you were temporarily stupid. His left-leaning cock was positively covered in curling veins, snagging and snagging your gummy walls they were molding to his hugely rotund circumference.

He cracks open one heavy eyelid to watch the way you gawked downwards, “Four- no, five.” One hand carefully letting go of your ears- the incantations growing fainter, he flies it down to his squelching wet length, fap! fap! fapping! it just to try and fit.

You’re pausing momentarily to ogle the flexing ripples of his working biceps. 

“Talk- fuck, talk. Could cum from just the sound of that ngh- voice of yours, pretty lady.”

“Six…”

Sploshing out a heaping pile of pre somewhere into your heated core simply by the way you talked. It pat-pat-pats down in goopy, translucent dewdrops that slither to the saccharine bottom of your pussy.

He’s twisting his fingers to scratch that carnal itch on the line between his stimulated balls, probing you with the deeply rounded underside of his crown. Deeper. Deeper. Thighs shaking, breath harrowing, ears popping- a steady line of perspiration drips down his temples at the way he touched your walls with a final, filthy vein peeking out at you from underneath. “Yeahhh–? And? C’mon l-let me in–”

You’re gasping, “Seven-”

Oh- it was almost like a countdown for Toji but in reverse.

A countdown until his sanity snapped, and he was crawling a hand midway down your tummy. The mountains of his palm massaging your front when he pumps his hips a few sultry millimeters back and pushes- 

Bottoming out.

“Ten–” Your mouth cracks open into a goopy mess as the remaining rest of his inches shovel ruthlessly inside you. Second high of the night hitting you like a truck, “Ten.”

He gasps at the way you’re cumming already. Already. 

“Ten.” Toji echoes in a slight hiccup, heftily-lidded gaze roaming over the stout hill he was drilling into you. The outline where his crowned head was smooching the mushed sponge of your cervix, digging in deep. And if he sprinkled out just a singular jetstream of cum early then- well, he was only glad that you were too fucked dumb to notice the second skin of sap cascading down your walls. 

“All the way…” He’s cooing at the way you twitch n’ whimper as he draws an invisible line up, up, up and down from the tip top of your cunt to your cylindrical bump. “-to your heart.”

Ten entire inches.

Toji starts to move in short, rapid little thrusts to batter the your cervix with a cratering circle of his cock tip. The bulging girth of his fat sides sensually giving your g-spot repeated hits, “Biiig stretch- isn’t it, pretty lady?”

“Hngh- y-yes—” You moan at the sloppy spanks, frothing out bursts of creamy buttery pre cum from the space between your puckered hole. Still oh-so-gone with the embers of your last orgasm.

Gasping, when his crownhead slopes in and out minutely - he’s so damn big that even that makes your hips thrash stupidly. 

“Now now, what did I hah- tell ya about that damn f-fucking runnin’.” Toji grunts, watching as your folds throb palpably. Pinning you down with the ridges of his chiselled abs, one hand pulls you to him by your hips. “Won’t let you run. Breathe girl- breeeeathe n’ take it all.”

“B-breathe-” But it was so difficult considering how every mushy bump of his pulsating cock left you gasping for air. Lungs burning with strain-

He’s pinching your flared nostrils and blubbering out a drunken giggle, watching the way your shrieks lilt cutely higher. “See-” Your ears pop! “-see how much better it is when ya ngh- breathe? So take it like a good girl n’ ngh- say it with me, ‘biiig stretch.’”

Folding you like a lawnchair until until your chin hits the jiggling mounds of your tits, you stare dazedly at the way Toji’s eyes flit down to your gulping pussy and dilates. “B-big-”

“No no—” He starts driving into you with thorough, solid inches, reaching tender spots you didn’t even know existed. And you’re ringing the four walls of the room with your trilling wails, “S’a biiig stretch- not a ‘big’ stretch-” Finally cautious enough to dart his second hand down to roll your cloying clit, “-isn’t that right, sugar?”

It was apparent he wasn’t even talking to you anymore, watching your cutely contorting expression as Toji slouches his knees and pushes and pushes.

“Yes- yes yes yes yes–” Your ass stings with the ferocity of his strikes, and Toji’s toned pelvis was already starting to redden with the slamming impact. Babbling, “S’a biiig stretch- a biiig stretch.”

Sleazing a scarred grin when your capped knees start trembling, “Yeah- yeahhh atta girl. My poor baby needs a hah-hand?”

With a ricketing creak–! of your poor knees, you’re being pressed into the sloppiest mating press possible. Your heels digging bruises on his proud shoulder muscles, instinctively clenching ‘round his bustling length. “O-oh my god- fuuuck, Toji-”

“Oh…so fuckin’ wet. So fuckin’ pretty…” He’s breathing out in a quiet huff that hits your mouth, hungrily lapping up the few stray drops of saliva that string out from your parted lips. Toji’s intense gaze is so adoring that your skin prickles with goosebumps, “Makes me wanna…wanna ngh-”

“Wh-what–?” Your head tumbles back into the scratchy surface of the tatami, urging an answer. 

And oh, Toji’s only pounding you harder into the ground in response. Again and again and again until your legs are numb.

Striking your throbbing g-spot with a dead-on whack, whack, whack. So hard that every ramming jackhammer from the curving mound of his red-tipped cockhead to his hilt makes the floorboards tremble. 

Feverish. Desperate. 

A pornographic groan breaking off from him, “Wanna- wanna ngh- cum inside. Wanna breed this pretty pussy.”

Oh, it’s like something had snapped inside of him. Every gobbling inch vigorous.

Toji’s trembling, thighs jolting- ramming into you so hard that your brain was all stupid with static electricity. And the only thing you could think to do at this very moment was stick your face into his clammy crook and whine- “Please- inside. All inside, Toji.”

“Fuh-fuuuck–”

With those words in mind he’s collapsing his sculptured body on top of yours as if he was shattering, and you’re catching sight of his rounded ballsack flinching dangerously at your targeted words.

Sucking his velveteen lips back into his teeth, one hand twisting on top of your crowned, sweat-matted head to push you down. “I-I’ll pump you so full of hah- cum that you won’t be able to keep it all inside you.” The other twisting on your clit, “Gonna breed you right, sugar.”

And you don’t know who cums first - but it makes you sob.

Your eyes turning pure white as his cock searches deep, deep, deeply to hit the back of your pussy with ribbony knots of cum. 

It’s so wet down under, so much seed being pumped into you - just about two or three thick wires glueing to your insides with each passing second - that you’re flooding out. Great, heaping torrents he mercilessly thrusts into you after every one of your high peaks. 

“Cum- cum- cum a lot.” Toji gravels out into your buzzing ear, pinching your fragile clit until you’re shattering underneath him. Faster. “Cum. Get- get pregnant with my ngh- child.”

You bawl out belatedly, “Cumming– cumming, Toji- don’t m-miss…” 

“Never, pretty lady.” He’s biting down on your lollling bottom lip, larynx scratching with grunt after grunt with every hit. Every plummet of his plummy, cum-candied cockhead turning your brain into melted mush. “Gonna get you pregnant- get-”

Two knobbled fingerpads dip down to plug your leaking hole back full with the glittering globs of cum spilling out of you. 

Scarred lips curving into a smile, crazed. “Get pregnant- get–” With a final few slams, he’d milked himself dry and was still aching for more. Pressing down on your bloated tummy bulge of cum, “Ohhh look at th-that, all mixin’ together. All yours.”

You wince, your heart thundering at the way he was making even more of a mess down there to meanly push back into you.

And every lazy, directed pound leaves you gasping for air– Looking down at the dolloping cream, you���re mumbling out a fatigued, “M-mine?”

“That’s right, doll.” 

Heart racing, the lights flicker as your spectral powers yield out- and you’d already known that Toji was the only one you’d tie your soul to this way, till the ends of time - immortality for him.

But now was the moment - that burning question finally on your tongue. 

“Be mine?”

He leaves a slight smack at the adhesive sheen overtaking your thighs and makes you shake. Eyes half-shuttered, blush burning, maw drooling– Toji throws his head back as his aching tip twitches wildly for a second round. “All yours.”

.

.

.

And it was by the time that your second round turned to thirds, your thirds into fourths- fifths, sixths, fuck- Toji couldn’t even keep track.

It might as well have been a draw.

The only thing he could register was the yolky light of dawn filtering through the windows, and the way that every inch of the bedroom was a mess beyond recognition.

A few holes were made in the neat tatami, his bed broken into splintering pieces, desk shattered. 

He now had himself pushed back into the cool wall of the snug closet, restless lower half papping up where your hips were straddling his. Ruined. Toji creeps a hand down the humid skin of your spine and pants, “So f-fucking wet, s’like a damn ngh- water…park…”

His sluggish eyes flap and fight to stay open, words sluuurring - and so do his hips. 

“T-Toooji—” You drag out like a broken record, your hands resting precariously on his bulky deltoids. Scrambling to swivel n’ swivel in lazy hearts and circles, drool dripping out of you like a waterfall from both ends. “More- ngh moooore.”

“Holy shit- what sorta s-stamina, doll-”

Though, he really wasn’t complaining. Not when Toji lets his sweat-dropped head hit the back of the wall with a gruff call of your name, aching red cock loading out just a few more wispy strings of sap.

“Yours. Yours yours yours-” He whimpers- whimpers. Head spinning once you’re huffing out a pout and swerving your hips in a sexy figure eight, bouncing ever-so-slightly to milk him dry. “Stainin’ me all nghhh- white n’ creamy.”

A soft spank on the tippy-top of your clit makes you see stars - cheek nuzzling his own and Toji thinks it’s so cute. 

“C-cute?”

Oh, shit, did he say that out loud?

Judging by the twitching corners of your lips, he’d said that part out loud, too. “Mhm– k-keepin’ me hostage. Squeeze me like that n’ I’ll- ohhh- one hell of a ngh- woman.”

By this point, the inflated bulge at your tummy was jiggling with each plap! of skin stickily slamming down onto skin. You’re whimpering as you start veering into fatigued grinds instead, scraping the outside of your clit down on his drenched happy trail.

“Tha’s right- fuuuuck, gimme those h-hips- those damn birthin’ hips, my lady.” His vision muddles with a few tears, and Toji has to grasp your neck to keep guidin’ your cunt to that pinpointed target of his tender inches. Big, fat cock sending shots of electricity darting along his veins, “Squeeze me t-tighter.” Fingers getting tighter, “Tighter- c’mon g-grind those ngh- pretty hips a lil’ bit.”

“L-like this–?” 

He’s using up all his strength to bounce his knees - heart stuttering just as much as his words were. Toji could barely feel his spasming pink tip, “Back and f-forth- back n’ forth back n’ forth–”

You’re letting yourself be manhandled like some glorified doll, your slurping walls sucking the soul out of him with every swash of that weighty cum jostling inside of you. “P-please.”

Ah, and that was all it took a thoroughly overstimulated Toji to keen out yet another wringing orgasm. Though, this time filling your swampy cunt up with nothing but a few twitches and jolts, he’s cumming dry– still fucking up into you like he was pumping you with severe bouts of seed.

“Pregnant-” He’s rasping out mindlessly, parched. “Preg- ngh! Gonna breed you all pregnant, sugar…” The syllables tumbling out like a babbling mantra. 

And that was when the final shreds of his rationality spark, tear-polished lashes fluttering as he listens intently beyond your four walls. Only to discover…nothing.

No mantras.

No exorcism.

Nothing taking you away from him.

“Scared off, huh?” Toji catches your eye and smirks, “Hope they heard.”

You giggle, “You’re a sick man.”

“M’your sick man.”

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[ducksido]

OMGGGGG I WANT NOW THIS[i am still not fed enough]. Yuu is an artist but no one likes their art:((( but their art is rlly good like realistically and it has meanings the art is like this:

Some of them as beautiful and maybe like showing their idk power, they draw them beautiful and make an au's drawing a traditional clothing on them from our world or in their dorm uniforms idk AGHHH I just want it, you can take houswardens+Ace and Deuce and Jamil PLS...

I wnat Ace and Deuc as having swords like drawing them as knights?!?!? You can make it romantically if u wanna 😙 it will juts make it interesting lol.

Yuu paints in silence.

Not because they want to be alone—but because the world makes them feel as though their silence is more welcome than their voice.

Their art is painstaking. Realistic. Expressive. Each brushstroke is a love letter and a lament. They do not simply “draw the boys of Night Raven College”—they immortalize them. Elevate them to something more than students. More than dorm leaders. They turn them into gods, warriors, ghosts of a past that never was.

But no one cares.

They walk past the canvases with flat eyes, say, “Kinda creepy, don't you think?” or “Looks nothing like me.”

Only a few look closer. Only a few ever wonder why Yuu captured them that way.

Ace & Deuce – The Knights of Heart

Yuu's painting shows them not in their school uniforms, but in armor—each with a sword of gleaming steel. Deuce’s posture is rigid, proud, noble. Ace’s smirk peeks from behind his raised sword, always cocky, always two steps away from reckless.

In the background, a cracked chessboard floor and red rose petals falling like blood.

No one asked for this AU. But Yuu needed it.

A story where Ace and Deuce are sworn to protect a crownless royal—Yuu themself. Their loyalty goes unspoken in reality. But in the painting, it's sacred.

Ace scoffs at the piece when he sees it.

“What, you got a crush on us or something?”

But he goes very, very quiet the next day when he finds a smaller sketch tucked under his textbook: it’s the same knight AU, but this time... he and Deuce are standing in front of a ruined castle, holding Yuu’s hand.

Deuce blushes for two whole days straight and keeps the original version in his notebook. Pressed flat. Hidden from everyone but him.

Riddle – The Crimson Law

In Yuu’s art, Riddle isn’t a boy.

He’s a blood-stained monarch atop a throne of roses, a crown broken in half and still worn like a badge of defiance. His scepter burns with red magic. His expression? Cold. Regal. Lonely.

He sees it once. Scoffs.

“You really think that’s how I see myself?”

Yuu only shrugs. “It’s how I see you.”

He never compliments it. But he comes back to stare at it... more than once. When no one is watching.

Leona – The Sleeping Beast King

Leona is painted like a lion-headed war god emerging from golden dust, his cloak shredded by sandstorms, eyes sharp like obsidian.

He doesn’t say anything when he sees it. Just grunts.

But he doesn’t look away.

What he doesn’t know is that Yuu drew the background after seeing him asleep under a tree. Not peaceful. Not lazy. Just tired in a way the world never lets him rest.

Later, a folded canvas appears on Yuu’s bed—Leona painted them back. Sleeping on his shoulder. They never speak about it.

Azul – The Bargain Prince Beneath the Sea

Yuu’s painting shows Azul surrounded by glass contracts floating midair like jellyfish. His eyes are bright with desperation, pride, and fear all at once. Tentacles curl around his ankles like a curse.

He’s underwater. Alone.

Azul laughs when he sees it, a too-tight sound. “That’s dramatic.”

But he doesn’t deny it. He even keeps a print of it in the VIP room. Framed. Hidden.

Kalim – The Gold-Sunned Joybringer

He’s dancing, arms open, light spilling from his chest like a sun cracked open. His jewelry glints like hope, and behind him is a swirling crowd of faceless figures. He’s trying to reach one in the center—Yuu, small and shadowed.

It’s beautiful. Glowing. Sad.

Kalim beams when he sees it. “You made me look like a storybook hero!”

But when he realizes he’s not the focus, when he sees Yuu in the background reaching back... he tilts his head.

He doesn’t ask. But he thinks about it.

Jamil – The Coiled Cobra

He’s shown with a cobra at his side, dressed in black with red eyes gleaming. His hands are controlling puppet strings, but he himself is tangled in invisible chains.

It’s regal. And painful.

He doesn’t speak when he sees it. Just stares. Then asks quietly,

“Why did you paint me like this?”

Yuu replies, “Because you deserve to be known.”

He never says more. But he starts leaving fruit near Yuu’s studio after that.

Vil – The Poisoned Beauty

In the painting, Vil is mid-transformation—one hand clutching a crown, the other bleeding from a thorny rose. His reflection in a mirror is shattered, each shard showing him at different ages—child, teen, adult.

Each face screams not enough.

He stares at it for a long time.

“You’ve seen too much,” he says softly.

But he doesn’t deny it. He touches the edge of the canvas like it’s glass, and sighs.

Idia – The Fire Beneath Ashes

He is painted not as he is, but as he could be. Hair not blue but flaming orange, cloaked in stars, eyes burning like collapsed galaxies. He’s alone in a digital void—codes swirling, emotions raw.

Yuu writes under the painting: “Your silence is not your curse. It’s your sword.”

He panics when he sees it. But he steals it. Gone in a day.

Malleus – The Prince of Forgotten Legends

He stands in a field of ruins, thorns growing from the stones, wings unfurled. In one hand: a withered crown. In the other: a child’s drawing of a castle and three friends holding hands. Lightning arcs in the sky.

He doesn’t say a word.

Just smiles, for once, with sorrow and warmth. “You see the old stories too.”

He asks Yuu to draw another version—one where the castle is rebuilt.

Yuu paints in silence still.

But slowly... small glimmers return. A flower left on their palette. A quietly scribbled thank you on their sketchbook cover. A printout of their art—taped to a dorm wall where no one will see.

They were never painting for praise.

But now, at least, they are seen.

[mooningningg]

𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 — prologue

PAIRING. assassin!sukuna x spy!reader — spyxfamily AU!

about. when a notorious assassin is forced to abandon his identity, the last thing he expects is to be ordered to build a new one—by faking a marriage and raising a child. but with a psychic kid, a mysterious wife who’s hiding something darker than him, and enemies closing in on all sides… sukuna’s new “normal life” might just be the most dangerous mission of all.

warnings. angst, violence, blood, cursing, adult content in some chapters, slowburn.

notes. I just jumped into a full on series fr, i can't stay on wattpad anymore. I really hope you all can enjoy this, message or comment be if you wanna be added on the taglist. and also I will appreciate feedbacks.

chapters. Materialist - Chapter 01.

It’s easy to disappear when the whole world already thinks you’re dead.

That’s what he tells himself as he sinks into the leather chair, the skyline flickering like a heart monitor flatlining in the distance. There’s a storm on the horizon, city lights warping against the glass like they’re underwater, like they’re drowning — and Sukuna wonders, idly, if that’s what it feels like to be alive.

No one calls him Ryomen Sukuna antymore. That name’s been buried in blood and bureaucracy.

He’s been six different men in three different countries in the last year alone. Sometimes he remembers their names. Sometimes he doesn’t. But the weight never leaves.

The weight of being watched, being hunted. The kind of life where silence is sacred and attachment is lethal. Where waking up means checking for red dots on the windows, where every knock could be a gun to the temple or a dagger to the spine. Where even in dreams, he’s still fighting.

He left the organization months ago. Technically.

But you don’t just leave something like that. You don’t leave an empire built on unsanctioned kills, whispered contracts, blood-soaked diplomacy. You slip away, like smoke. Like sin.

And even that’s a luxury.

His hands are still red, even when they’re clean. His heart still beats, even when it doesn’t want to. And lately, he’s started to wonder if there’s anything left of him that isn’t sharp or broken or hollowed out to make room for more violence.

What is a man supposed to become when he’s spent his whole life being a monster?

That question lingers in the room as he stares out over the neon skyline of Jujutsu City. Somewhere down there, people are living lives they don’t need to lie about. Laughing without checking who’s listening. Kissing someone they’re allowed to love. Sukuna wouldn’t know what to do with a life like that.

He’s always been good at one thing: killing without being seen.

But he’s tired.

Not the kind of tired sleep fixes — no, this is bone-deep. The kind of exhaustion that makes your soul feel like it’s been scraped raw. The kind of tired that turns even silence into something deafening.

He closes his eyes. Thinks about the last mission. Thinks about the look on the boy’s face when Sukuna let him go. Thinks about how stupid it was — how human it was — to hesitate.

That’s why they summoned him again.

A black envelope lies unopened on the table, marked with the symbol of the organization. Simple, final. No return address, because it doesn’t need one.

He knows what’s inside. And he knows it isn’t optional.

But the voice that speaks from the shadows of the room — cold, robotic, almost bored — still slices through the silence like a knife.

“You’ve been compromised,” it says. “You want a new identity? You want to live long enough to use it?”

“Then bury the killer. Burn the name.”

Sukuna doesn’t respond.

His jaw ticks. His eyes stay on the city, pretending to look at something that isn’t slipping away from him again.

“We need foundation,” the voice continues. “You need to blend in. Be normal. Be forgettable.”

It pauses — and then delivers the final order with surgical precision.

Like it’s not the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever asked of him.

“Start a family.”

— Chapter 01. — Materialist —

[leqonsluv3r]

Thoughts on a ‘the bodyguard’ AU with leon and reader BUT!!!! Reader is a superstar who is much more “sexualized” and basically records soft porn for their music videos. at first leon thinks he's going to deal with another girl who thinks shes all hot shit only to find out shes bound by contract and only wanted to sing and preform not do.. this. But shes wary of Leon bc she thinks Leon thinks can get her in bed.

Even better.. if shes a virgin… 👀

popular

re4 bodyguard!leon kennedy x famous!fem reader

— a oneshot (request)

warnings: MDNI, 18+, virgin reader (but not naive or inexperienced), leon being a big soft bodyguard, reader has insecurities, some mentions of body issues, mentions of anxiety around cameras, readers parents are assholes, everyone that’s not leon or reader is kind of an asshole (sorry), mentions of masturbating, praise, pet names (baby, sweet girl, etc), small age gap (reader is 21 & leon is 27), lots of kissing & praise, aftercare, soft!dom leon makes another appearance, sub!reader, oral (m receiving), and unprotected sex.

“she wants to argue. wants to refute the idea of even having a bodyguard. it’s ridiculous. even if stepping into a crowd with cameras pushed in her face and flashing lights makes her heart rate increase, not in the way she’d prefer. she waits for him to show up, she doesn’t even know who her agent hired but she’d rather hide and cower in fear then stand at her door like an idiot. finally, a knock at her door. she opens it without a second thought. the most devastating man on the other side of it, her resolve slips as he looks her up and down with a small click of his tongue, “nice to meet you, i’m leon.” and she seems to forget the reason she was arguing to begin with.”

— or reader gets a bodyguard and unknowingly signs up for more then protection in the process

masterlist taglist

an: HOLY SHIT UR A GENIUS <333 thank you for the request. i’ve been waiting for this, hopefully you enjoy it. i am a sucker for the bodyguard trope but throw in the fact that she’s a virgin and it’s almost like the bodyguard :,) jesus, y’all are geniuses. i’m sorry that this is so long in advance. take it as a peace offering for taking so long.

she has no idea what she signed up for.

not in the slightest.

she has no idea who her agent hired for protection but after her stunt last week in front of the paparazzi, she’s willing to bet it’s someone who knows what he’s doing.

after leaving her house last week, going to the strip to shop a little and having a day to herself. she got bombarded by the paparazzi for no reason, other then just simply being in the limelight and having cameras shoved in her direction.

she tried to avoid the millions of people with cameras, flashing bulbs and the annoying click of the cameras lens with their annoying and useless questions. one person in particular got a little too close and…

her anxiety spiked causing her to smack the persons camera out of their hand and cause him sending backwards on the sidewalk with the persons broken camera. she didn’t act rationally, there wasn’t room for that anymore. not when she was as famous as she was.

not when she closed her eyes she could hear the clicking of the cameras and the flashing of the lights and everything but her heart pounding her ribcage ceased to exist.

she hated it, she never wanted to be half-naked on magazine spreads, showing off her body on stage. she just wanted to sing for christ’s sake, wanted to write and preform the songs she’d written for years. but her fucking parents…her stupid agent. she hated all the people around her in her career secretly who made her into some sexualized object for people to gawk and stare at.

she felt like a circus act sometimes, not even a world renowned singer. she hated it, she really hated it. and not to mention, she’s a virgin. it’s like her career and the people around her are mocking her, taunting her with the idea of sex but not letting it within her reach.

it’s not like she still wanted to be a virgin at twenty-one. she didn’t but she couldn’t trust a single soul in her world, in her life that she could even begin to consider sharing that part of herself with.

so as she paced in the foyer of her house, waiting for this so called bodyguard that her agent hired to arrive, she couldn’t help but hate the idea. sure, she had anxiety with cameras and sure, she was unsafe every time she went out because of her status to the public.

and the fact that her agent didn’t even ask her before getting her a body guard, going behind her back and just doing it. another nail in the metaphorical coffin that was sure to send her spiraling one day. she ran a hand over her face and checked her apple watch on her wrist.

she didn’t wanna even think about the person that her agent hired. probably getting her someone who has more muscle mass then brains, and doesn’t think before he shoots a gun. in her case, if that’s it, she could just fire him.

a smile slid onto her face at the prospect, even though she really did need protecting. she just hoped it didn’t come back to bite her in the ass later. that was the last thing she needed in her already hectic life.

the doorbell rang and she smoothed out her yoga pants and baby tee, going to open the door. almost waiting to be disappointed when she opened the large piece of wood. but to no avail, she opened it and on the other side stood the most devastatingly handsome man she had ever laid her eyes on.

he seemed to be eyeing her the same way she was with him, she was suddenly very self conscious about her choice of clothing. almost wanting to run back up the stairs to her bedroom to change, his hard blue eyes scanning her from her feet to her eyes like he was analyzing her.

“nice to meet you, i’m leon.” he says with a small ghost of a smile on his features, she swallows and doesn’t know why she forgets her name all of a sudden. this cannot be her bodyguard, please tell me this is her agents idea of a cruel prank.

she nods and says her name, barely getting the words out. she tries to regain the confidence that she had before she opened the door, but it’s lost and she can no longer find it. “i know who you are,” he says with a small chuckle, “i’m sorry i’m late. they wouldn’t let me in at the gates.” he says with a small sigh as if reliving the moment in his head.

she side steps and lets him in, “yeah,” she laughs nervously as she watches him step past her and into her house. “they’re kind of paid to keep people out, not let them in.” she says with a small laugh that sounds nothing like herself. she shuts the door behind them both, letting him look around the interior of her house.

“i suppose their just doing their job then.” he says with a small amused click of his tongue as he moves through the entryway of her house. she stands behind him awkwardly, taking him in while he’s not looking.

he has to be six feet tall at least, or close to it. the suit he’s wearing doesn’t do him enough justice, his muscles are barely straining underneath the fabric. and how he smells…he’s like a cooling mix of mint and some other fragrance she can’t get a handle on.

“i suppose they are.” she says awkwardly as she makes her way past him and trails herself into the kitchen, letting him follow behind her. his shoes thudding against the hardwood polished flooring, making her heart pick up for a different reason entirely.

she grabs a drink from her fridge, trying to distract her brain and her eyes from the gorgeous man a few feet away from her. “would you like a drink?” she asks with a small nervous smile, keeping her eyes trained on the interior of the fridge rather than him. god, he just made her wet. just his presence was enough to make her feel horny.

he shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively, “i’m alright.” she nods and grabs a soda for herself out of her fully stocked fridge and shuts it behind her, cracking the soda and taking a sip. she manages to take a peek at him, he’s still looking around her house.

what could be so interesting about her house? she thinks to herself as she shifts on her feet, just watching him as she leans against her marble counter and sips her soda. his eyes seem to catch a piece of art in the kitchen, that was one of the perks about being subjected to being famous.

the art and things she had acquired, she had collected some pieces like trophies. just to prove to herself that not every part of being famous and having a lot of money was so terrible.

“you like art?” she asks softly as she shifts behind him, sipping on her soda again. she watched his blue eyes trace over the contours of the canvas in the kitchen. she just watches him take it in and devour it with his eyes.

she was kinda jealous of the painting.

just for a split second before he spoke and snapped her out of it, “i have a taste for it.” he says demurely, looking back over at her and away from the art. “so,” he eyes her up and down with those glacier blue eyes.

she swallows and shifts on her feet, looking back at him. “so?” she says with a small nervous smile. he sighs, “things are gonna be different from now on and i’m assuming you know that.” he says with a small brow raise, sticking his hands in his slack pockets.

she swallows and nods, “yeah, uhm, probably. my agent said that she gave you a rundown of everything that’s been going on.” she says nervously as she drinks more of her soda again and ducks her down for a split second. meeting his eyes was dangerous, it was like he could see right through her.

“exactly.” he clicks his tongue and moseys through the large kitchen, almost like he’s inspecting it as he talks, “i’m going to be with you all the time. i’ll escort you to places, even public outings that are simple. not another paparazzi fiasco will happen when i’m around.” he says firmly but his tone was gentle and smooth.

her cheeks blush a deep shade of scarlet, “you…heard about that?” she swallows as she looks back up at him from where he stood on the opposite side of her kitchen. he nods, a ghost of a smirk on his face, “who didn’t hear about that?” he says with a hint of amusement in his voice.

she had to give him that, it was on every publication after it happened. saying that she was violent towards the press when she simply just freaked out. cameras being shoved in her face, the flashing lights, the clicking of lenses, she hated it.

“that will never happen again, paparazzi will be controlled and away from you. put to a minimum, i’ll make sure of that.” he said with a tap of his fingers to the countertop of her kitchen. she sighs and nods, her mouth dry at just his presence alone. “i’ll protect you, okay? you’ve got nothing to worry about.” he said firmly.

she found comfort in leon’s words, more comfort then she should. she liked him already, maybe a little too much.

two weeks later, it was proving harder and harder to be around leon. she liked his presence, he was gentle and he never scolded her. he didn’t put pressure on her like everyone else did. he was simply doing his job and protecting her, like he was hired to do.

but she couldn’t ignore certain things about him, things that made her core heat up. he would always have his fingers splayed out on his thighs when he sat, and it was hard to not let her mind wander around. just imagining his hands on her, rubbing over her skin and coaxing noises out of her.

then there was the matter of him coming to her shoots, he would always keep his eyes trained on her. and seeing him and his eyes on her when she was basically wearing nothing for a shoot, it was beyond torture and it was like having another piece of sex dangled in front of her that she couldn’t have.

over time, in the next two weeks, she kept doing it for him. usually she’d have to fake acting sexy, fake her confidence but with his eyes on her. his blue irises trailing every movement, it was so easy to just pretend it was the two of them, fantasize for a small moment. it was the only way she got through shoots anymore.

as another week passed, then another, the constant presence of leon whether she went shopping was there. he was always watching her, watching other people. his gaze was so gentle, so firm and yet so cold. like he could snap someone’s neck with just a simple look. it was exciting and thrilling, making her uncomfortably aroused.

and whenever that happened, she went home, dismissed him for the day and went to her bedroom. she would slide her hand down her pants and just fantasize about him, his strong hands, his sharp jaw and the way his tone sometimes became gentle out of nowhere.

she would imagine that maybe one day, he would bend her over her kitchen counter, fuck her until she was a crying mess. he’d be gentle, but also rough and firm when it counted. she imagined all these things with her hands rubbing at herself.

it was becoming so unbearable to just be in his presence these days, he was just doing his job but it was so annoying. so annoying to be a virgin still and have a piece of eye candy basically follow you everywhere and always have his eyes on you.

the universe was taunting her again with her career, with her fame and she deeply despised it. she hoped secretly that she would just be put out of her misery sooner. she didn’t wanna be a virgin anymore.

one day, after hours at a shoot and grueling work, she went back to her house. leon escorted her back and she dismissed herself to go shower and clean up.

she needed to wash the filth of her career off of her body in one way or another. she fucking hated that she was forced into doing something by her parents and agent just so she could make money.

money was not everything. that was a proven fact.

after she showered, changed her clothes and did her skincare routine. she went downstairs, going into the kitchen to grab a soda. she needed calories, she didn’t give a fuck anymore. her mom, her dad and her agent could all shove it.

“a soda? it’s 4pm?” leon said from behind her at the island, his suited muscular body sitting on a stool and scrolling on his phone. she sighed, popping the can of soda open with a hiss, “your not my keeper. i can drink soda.” she says with a small frown.

“i personally don’t care what you do as long as it’s safe. i was just making an observation.” he says with a small ghost of a smirk down at his phone. why does he have to be so hot, this isn’t fair. she thinks to herself as she sips on her soda and nods.

“sorry, i’m just…” she starts and walks towards the marble island that separated them in the lavish kitchen. “i just don’t like being told what to do in every aspect of my life, i get a little touchy.” she says with a small sigh, brushing her damp hair over her shoulder.

he sits his phone down on the island, looking at her, “who tells you what to do? your parents?” he says with furrowed brows, he was almost confused. like he couldn’t understand why a 21 year old like herself was getting bossed around and told what to do.

“try my parents, my agent, and all of the people i employ.” she says with a small frown as she sips on her soda, looking down at the marble counter top of the island.

he sighs and shifts on the stool he’s perched on, “they’re all controlling?” he asks with a small look of confusion on his lovely features. she swallows back a little bit of her nerves, “i didn’t want this.” she says honestly.

she doesn’t feel like she has to hide everything from him all the time, not after he’s been around her a month, almost two. “i didn’t want to be…this.” she gestures to the house around him, she looked up at him and unflinchingly met his strong blue gaze.

she continued, “all i’ve ever wanted was to do things my way. my career, my life. i have never had a choice. my parents, my label and my agent have all made sure of that.” she feels her mouth drying up as she continues to speak. like all the things that have been pent up were pouring out of her.

and leon just listened, nodding when he wanted to or when it was needed. he wasn’t being paid to be her therapist, or anything other then her bodyguard. but he was listening, he was understanding her. her frustrations and the things that made her tick, made her upset.

“so let me get this straight.” he says after she explains and basically rants to him, raising a hand as his eyes shut in frustration and in something that border-lined on concern.

“you’ve just wanted to sing, to write music and preform. but your parents, your label and…your agent they’ve all made you into this sex symbol just because of the money?” he says with a small open to his blue eyes again, they were so powerful and untouchable, just like him. no wonder he was her bodyguard.

she nods with a dry mouth, sipping on her soda again, forgetting it was beside her on the counter. “pretty much.” she said with a sad laugh, shifting on her bare feet against the cool tile of the kitchen.

his face took on one of frustration, sadness and he almost looked pained. he didn’t pity her, didn’t say sorry. he just pressed his lips together into a line, “your they’re daughter.” he says in a cold tone.

it’s one she had never heard before but it had an affect, the shiver up her spine beneath her clothes. the goosebumps on her arms and the pulsing of her clit. it was having an affect.

she closes her eyes for a beat, blowing out some air and just said, “i know.” and she accepted it. she had accepted it for a while now, that maybe some things were just never going to change.

and she was just going to be expected to live with it.

the revelation to leon had brought forth changes, changes that she didn’t ever know she needed. and she should’ve done it sooner, told someone on the outside that had no idea who she was what she desired, what she longed for.

freedom.

he was different now, he was more…attentive.

he would stick by her side until the very last second at shoots, music videos, anything that required her to be half naked. he was there, standing right beside her.

he would even encourage her, whisper things when her makeup crew or clothing people weren’t around. he was even rubbing his hand over her elbows, shoulders and a firm hand on her lower back to steer her.

people wrote it off as him just being a very good and protective bodyguard. but they both knew deep down that things had shifted between them.

it was almost friendship, almost, except for the longing deep in her gut. his touches were innocent but would make her body pulse and her skin heat. it was dangerous to be so close to him sometimes.

she couldn’t doubt that if someone were to take her virginity, she’d want it to be him. she’d imagine often how gentle he would be, yet domineering like he was in his role as her bodyguard.

she had no doubt in her mind that if the opportunity ever presented itself, she’d have to take it.

she’d let him, the thought didn’t petrify her anymore. he had not spoken to a soul about what she shared about her career, about her life and what she really and truly wanted. she knew she could trust him.

she’d just have to wait and deeply hope that he’d try something, anything that she could latch onto where he was concerned.

she was too fucking nervous to make the first move, she didn’t know what that would even be? kiss him? palm his erection? she’d had sexual encounters before but they never went below the belt.

but she knew that she had just as much impact on him as he did with her. she had seen that subtle shift in the next two weeks after she had confided in him in the kitchen.

his stare lingered on certain parts of her body for far too long to be considered friendly. she never caught his stare, she wanted him to look. and it felt good to be practically eye-fucked by him, it gave her a sense of confidence that she’d never had before.

it was freeing.

one day, she was feeling like a taut rubber band. like every gentle touch and feeling of him being in her vicinity was driving that feeling in between her legs in agony.

it physically pained her from how aroused she was, her nipples were hard in her bra and she felt like she was going to burst into flames if he delicately touched her elbow or any part of her skin again.

it was torture.

she felt like she needed at least to masturbate like a hundred times before the feeling ended. before she could ease that ache, she was just sitting in her bedroom, watching her flatscreen on the wall mounted in front of her.

she rubbed her thighs together, she was hoping to soothe the ache there. she bites her lip until it could almost bleed.

she wasn’t expecting leon to still be here, she was waiting for him to go home like he did everyday, waiting for him to leave her. she was almost desperately waiting just so she could stick her hand in between her legs and satisfy the ache there.

but no, he looked in the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe. she kept her eyes locked on the tv, but she could feel his glacier like gaze on her. she kept her back leaned against the headboard, pressing her thighs together as she watched the tv show in front of her.

“i thought you went home already?” weak excuse and question on her part, she didn’t know if she wanted him to go so she could alienate the ache herself or if she wanted him to stick around to see where this might lead.

he chuckled lowly and shook his head, “nah, sorry pretty girl. i’m sticking around a little later. why so urgent for me to leave?” he says with a small raise of his brow in her direction.

pretty girl? fuck me. she thinks to herself as she sputters for an answer, her lips parting. “uhm, i just…i’m not urgent. you…you just usually are gone by now.” she says softly as she looks at him, meeting his gaze.

she presses her thighs together on instinct even though it did nothing to get rid of the dripping tension in her panties.

“oh? so it’d have nothing to do with you touching yourself now would it?” he says with a almost feline smile, she felt her eyes go wide and her body freeze. how the hell did he know about that?

“i-i…” she tries to speak, to ignore the way her cheeks were heating up in embarrassment or the way her lower stomach churned with arousal that he knew.

“i heard you last week after you thought i left.” he says lowly as he slowly saunters into her room a little more, rounding the bed until he was standing at the very end of the queen mattress, his gaze trained on her, his movements almost primal.

she would almost pinch herself, she had to be dreaming. this wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real.

“i-“ she tried to speak again, to justify what he heard, to maybe get some kind of excuse or explanation out. he stopped her again, planting one of his hands on the surface of her mattress. “you moaned my name.” he says in a dark voice, his eyes practically eating her alive.

she felt naked under his gaze, felt her skin shiver and heat up within the same breath as she parted her lips a little.

“so tell me, pretty girl, what about me turns you on enough to where you feel the need…to stick your hands down into your pants and cum all over your fingers?” he says with a small predatory raise of his brow, he leans back and rounds to her side of the bed on her mattress.

she couldn’t think of just one thing to answer his question, she had so many things. so many things that she could say but the lust and arousal in her underwear was fogging her virgin brain. “everything.” she breathed out as she looked up at him as he stood above her on where she was sitting on her bed.

he licks his lips and his pupils dilate a little bit, “everything, huh?” he says with a smirk, sitting down on the bed by her. his hand resting on her knee, rubbing small circles on the skin there, causing goosebumps to crawl up her legs and make in between her legs pulse.

“yes.” she breathes softly, almost gasping for air. this sounds nothing like her, so desperate and wanting. this was the opportunity and she had to take it, she moved forward as she met him, her face so close to his as his hand went up from her knee up to her thigh, gently squeezing and rubbing.

“go ahead, baby.” he said in a low rasp as he saw her looking between his beautiful blue eyes and his pink lips. she licked her own lips and nodded slowly, almost in a trance. he was giving her permission, he was letting her kiss him.

she moved her head forward and pressed her lips to his, softly moving her lips against his as his grip on her thigh got tighter. the kiss started to heat up, his tongue started moving against hers and she grasped at his shirt, her small hands grasping the fabric like a tether as they continued to sloppily make out.

she couldn’t find it in herself to care as the tv show went on and played softly in the background as she kept kissing him. she was desperate and trying to subtly get him closer to her, trying to pull herself on-top of him.

he caught onto that, letting her move onto him, straddling his lap as she felt his bulge rub up against the hem of her shorts. she came up for air but kept kissing him, his hands holding onto her hips in a gentle but firm grip. she wasn’t going to be moving anymore or going anywhere.

finally, he pulled away and rasped near her ear, “tell me what you want? hmm, pretty girl? what can i give you?” he whispers against the skin of her ear in a soft rasp.

she shivers and lets out a small whine, “i want…want…” she breathes and she’s desperate, she moves her hips down against his erection, trying to get him close to her.

“you want my cock pretty girl?” he says softly in her ear, rubbing the soft skin in between her shirt and shorts, down to her ass, cupping both cheeks in his hands and squeezing. the words going into her ear and drifting around like music to her ears.

she mewls, his hands on her ass making her press down on his hardened erection more. she nodded slowly and licked her lips, he pulled his head away a little to fully look at her face. her lips were puffy and swollen from their kissing, her eyes hazy and diluted with lust.

“where do you want it?” he rasps softly as he moves on of his hands from her ass to cup her chin, his thumb rubbing over her bottom lip. “you want it in your mouth?” he says with a soft smirk, completely 180 from before.

he then doesn’t give her a chance to respond or react before he moves his hand down to her shorts, cupping in between her legs. “or in that pretty pussy you have?” he says. she whines and tries to move against his hand, he tuts her and moves his hand away. “choose baby, i’m being patient.” he whispers in a low rumble.

“both.” she mumbles in a small heave of breath, her chest rising and falling beneath her shirt fast. his eyes dilate more if it’s even possible, she can barely see the blue in his eyes anymore.

he licks his lips, she could feel his dick twitch in his pants beneath her, she held back a whine and swallowed. “mmm, both? i think that can be arranged, princess.” he says softly as he looks at her with a soft grin.

she feels her panties get wetter if it was even possible at this point. he seems to toss the idea around in his brain for a second, one hand still squeezing her ass and the other rubbing over her stomach over her shirt.

“get naked, baby. then get on your knees.” he says in a soft demand. she shakily climbs off of him, his hands falling away as her feet hit the ground of her bedroom in front of him. she keeps eye contact with him as she moves her hands to the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head.

her skin kissing the cool air of the room, her nipples hardening further beneath the material of her bra. he keeps his eyes on her the whole time, practically devouring her with just a simple gaze.

that was incentive enough to continue doing what he said, the promise of what she was going to do after she got naked made her tremble in arousal a little.

she slipped off her cotton shorts next, letting them pathetically fall to the floor by her feet and her discarded shirt. and now was the time when he would see everything, he wouldn’t see the version that he’d seen before.

he’d see all of her in her purest form, so raw and real that it almost made her legs shake where she stood. he nodded once at her, silently telling her to continue.

she licked her lips and reached behind her, unclasping her bra like she’d done this a million times before. she lets the material fall to the floor again with the rest of her discarded clothes. she could’ve sworn she heard him groan when he saw her breasts.

she didn’t give him much time to recover as she stripped her underwear down her legs and was completely barren and standing before him.

he muttered a ‘fuck’ beneath his breath and grabbed a pillow from her bed, sitting it on the ground in front of his legs. she’d given blow jobs before, but nothing like this.

nothing like leon looking at her like she was the only thing that seemed to matter in this moment. this went beyond protection, beyond his job description and beyond anything they both could comprehend.

she got down on her knees in front of him, her knees kissing the pillow as she felt him reach down and cup her chin, bringing her gaze up towards him.

“your in good hands now, pretty girl. i’ll give you what you want. and i don’t expect anything in return, okay?” he says with his unwavering gaze locked on hers. she nods in his grip, his thumb going back to her bottom lip and pushing his thumb in between her lips and teeth.

she understands, her arousal pooling messily in between her thighs as she kneels on the pillow before him. she sucks generously on the pad of his thumb, taking the whole thing into her mouth, swirling her tongue on it a little.

“fuck, baby. so messy.” he whispers in a low rasp as he watches in amazement as you suck and lick at his thumb like it was his cock. he pulls it out of your mouth with a small pop, smearing your saliva all over your lips. “so pretty, princess. i promised you my cock.” he muses lowly.

she can’t think or say anything, fearing the only thing at this point to come out of her mouth would be whines and whimpers. he undoes his belt on his slacks, lifting his hips to pull both the boxers and the slacks down to where his cock springs free against his stomach.

fuck, even his cock was beautiful. she licked her lips on instinct and saw the little bead of precum at the tip, swallowing her nerves she moved her head over it. pressing a kiss to the tip which made him emit a small noise bordering on a groan and a moan, she kept pressing kisses to the tip before licking at the vein that ran from the base to the head. 

“oh, pretty girl…such a tease.” he drawls in a low panting breath above her. she feels her practically leak down her legs at this point, his words making her clench around nothing.

she licks at the tip before hollowing her cheeks and sucking him into her mouth, her head bobbing slowly. she felt his hands go into her hair and hold her head gently almost guiding her as she kept her mouth and head moving on his cock.

“fuck, just like…fuck…that.” he moans as he looks down at her, her head moving as steadily as she can, raising her hand to stroke what she can’t fit in her mouth. sucking on him like a lollipop, he lightly fists her hair, his nails lightly scratching her scalp.

she moans around his cock, her jaw aching but finding the pain worth it as she keeps trying to pleasure him. she looks up at him, making eye contact as she flutters her lashes, removing her hand and taking all of him into her mouth as she gags softly, ignoring the pain in her jaw and throat.

“oh god…such a dirty girl, you like having my cock in your mouth, baby?” he groans as she fists her hair a little tighter, she nods around his cock, moaning softly against it. he hisses at the feeling.

“so fucking close, princess. gonna cum in that pretty mouth and then…gonna cum in that pretty pussy.” he growls as she keeps up her pace with her head, basically deep throating him as the head of his cock meets the back of her throat.

she could come at just his words alone at this point, her pussy aching painfully and dripping down the inside of her thighs. she is determined at this point to let him finish inside of her mouth, she finds herself actually wanting his cum to slide down her throat.

with just a few more bobs of her head, he’s cumming into her mouth with a loud moan, gripping at her hair. seeing him come apart by just her mouth was enough to make her nerves disappear, he was so wrecked from just her mouth alone and it made her pussy tingle.

she eagerly swallowed his cum, swallowing all of it and pulling away from his cock with a small pop. he reached down with his thumb and wiped some of the saliva and his cum off of her lip and pushed it in her mouth. “mmm, good girl, baby.” he praises.

he gave her a second to gather herself before lifting her softly off of the pillow on the ground and laying her down on the bed. she hits her mattress and her comforter with a soft thud and bounces a little as he stands where she was just kneeling, kicking the pillow to the side by his feet.

he starts unbuttoning his shirt, getting fully undressed and kicking his shoes and socks off. his clothes joining her discarded ones on the floor. he then lets his blue eyes rake over her, looking from how hard her nipples are to the way your pussy is practically leaking onto the sheets below you.

he just can’t help himself, not when your involved. “baby, i’m gonna ask you something and please be honest with me.” he says in a soft but firm voice as he kneels in between her thighs, brushing some of her hair out of her face.

she just nods as she licks her puffy lips, letting him ask his question and giving him the go ahead that it was okay to ask.

“has anyone fucked you? ever?” he says with a small look over her eyes and the way her cheeks heated up to a perfect pink again. she shakes her head, “no, i’m a virgin. i’ve…i’ve done things but ive never…” she trails off and hopes that answer is good enough to satisfy him.

he groans and shakes his head, “jesus, princess.” he says with a low rasp as he leans over and presses a kiss to her cheek. “i’ll have to take extra care of you then, huh?” he says with a small smile against her lips, pressing a delicate kiss there.

she nods slowly, “i’ve trusted you enough to let you.” she whispers as she looks into his blue eyes, they were connected and yet they weren’t. the way his body came over hers and just protected her from the onslaught of nerves that bubbled beneath the surface.

his blue eyes soften and he nods slowly, the hand that’s not propping himself up by her head moves to cradle her cheek in a loving manner. “i know, baby. i’m gonna take such good care of you. make sure it’s nice for you.” he says with a ghost of a smile on his divine features.

she nods slowly, keeping eye contact as he reaches in between their naked bodies, grabbing his cock and rubbing it in between her slick and wet folds. she gasps softly when it catches her clit. “if it hurts,” he uses his other hand, balancing back on his knees above her on the bed.

he grabs her hand by her side, using the hand that he’s not stroking himself with to intertwine his fingers with hers. he lifts it by her head and leans forward again, his forehead resting against hers, “you squeeze three times on my hand. okay? and i’ll stop.” he says softly as he just lets his eyes flutter open and shut.

she nods in understanding, he continues to run his cock through her wet folds and coating his cock in her arousal. he presses a soft kiss to her lips and slowly notches the tip of his cock against her entrance.

she bites her lip in anticipation, waiting for the stretch and waiting for the pain that her friends had talked about for their first times. “relax. don’t tense up or it’ll hurt more.” he says softly as if he can read her mind.

she sighs softly against his lips and deeply inhales and exhales, attempting to relax her body and the hot rush of her blood beneath the skin.

he finally sticks the tip into her entrance, the stretch isn’t there yet, she can feel it. she can feel the burning fire in her belly. she doesn’t squeeze his hand that’s intertwined with hers on the bed, she just holds it and waits for him to slide in an inch, then another inch, and the burning is there.

it’s a stretch, it doesn’t hurt…not yet.

he keeps sliding in slowly but surely to make sure she’s okay, make sure she can take him. she takes slow breaths, letting his own mingle with hers in the small space between their lips. she feels him push more until he’s bottomed out within her.

if it wasn’t for his heavy breathing or the little aching stretch in her hymen, she wouldn’t have even known he was inside of her fully. “jesus…god…” he mumbles soft curses as he hovers his lips over hers.

“your pussy is gonna be the death of me. i swear to god.” he mumbles in a low groan as he just stayed still inside of her, the words making her clench instantly around him, he hisses and squeezes her hand, “don’t do that, or i’ll cum.” he grips.

she swallows and tries to ignore how he’s letting her grow accustomed to him inside of her, letting his dick stretch her out and make room for him. after a few minutes and just the sounds of their heavy breathing between them, she nods slowly.

“you can move. i’ll squeeze your hand if…if it hurts.” she manages to get out through a shallowed breath, he nods slowly. taking that as a sign to move his hips that are pressed against hers.

and god, help her. she was going to cum within minutes. the second he moved his hips, pulling out almost all the way and plunging back in, a steady pace that burned only slightly. the burn turned into pleasure as he kept moving his hips at a steady place, her moans soft and echoing through her bedroom.

she needed more, soon enough the heat within her became an insatiable desire. she needed it, craved it and she couldn’t believe she had denied herself of something so amazing for so long.

“deeper…more…” she moaned out as her eyes flutter shut and she gripped his intertwined hand beside her head. he almost growled against her lips, but not denying her, not for one second.

he lifts her legs, putting them around his hips and he grabs a pillow off of her bed, slipping it under her hips and then resuming his movements, only this time it was deeper and harder and he was hitting the spot her own fingers could never reach.

“leon!” she whined as she tilted her head back, he growled into her neck, pressing a kiss on her jaw as he groaned and slapped his hips repeatedly against hers. she’d be so sore tomorrow but it’d be so worth it.

“good…doing so good for me princess.” he says lowly in a whisper against her ear, goosebumps that shattered and battled with the climax rising in her belly. it had never felt like this before, felt so overwhelming and consuming.

she was so full of him, so drunk on his cock and the way it was hitting her g-spot every single time. god, she would build an alter for him after this or give him a raise. he deserved it.

the praise melted her brain and her pussy as she kept her eyes fluttering open and shut, her back arching into his. her hard nipples brushing against his chest as he pumped into her ruthlessly.

“fuck, so fucking…” he groaned into her ear and snapped his hips as if it would kill him if he didn’t make her cum, like it was his life’s mission. she whined, “cum…gonna cum…yes…” she cried loudly as he paused his movements and moved back, letting go of her hand and putting her thighs back until they were flush against her abdomen.

he hooked her ankles over his shoulders, putting her in a mating press and nailing her against the mattress. she almost screamed in pleasure, her skin was hot and she felt like she could burst into flames.

this angle…it was so delicious and she felt her climax get closer and closer…until…

“yes…” she moaned out loudly in a whine, her pussy clamping around his cock and cumming with a shudder, small pitiful noises that sounded nothing like her. he groaned and licked around her jaw and nipped, fucking her through her orgasm to chase his own.

“where do you want me to come baby?” he mumbles into her ear, a low drawl that made her pussy clench more. “inside…” she needed him too, she needed to feel it, just once. just one time.

he nipped at her jaw near her ear, “dirty little princess.” he drawls and she clenched the sheets between her hands beneath her. she whined, he just kept pumping into her, her trembling and shaking body was trying to hold onto the feeling.

“shh, im almost there sweet girl.” he says softly in a rasp as he pumps more and more until finally, he comes inside of her, his body slackening a little bit as if the last bit of his energy has been drained from him.

she can feel the warmth of his cum invading her womb and her pussy, it feels like heaven and she don’t know how she could not want to feel that. she saw him move back, pressing a kiss to her cheek, then her forehead and then her panting and flushed lips. his blue eyes drew back and he brushed some hair out of her face, gentle and tender she leaned into it.

“your all sweaty.” he says with a soft voice as his blue eyes rake over her face and her neck, to her bare collarbones. “here, hold on baby.” he says gently as he leans up onto his knees, carefully pulling his cock out of her entrance with a small pop.

“fuck me…” he mumbled as he looks down at his cum leaking out of her, their combined fluids leaking onto the crevice of her ass. he gently moved the pillow back from under her hips, causing her to mumble a groan.

“shhh, i got you, princess.” he says softly as he moves her legs back down to be comfortable and not pressed against her abdomen anymore. she smiles softly, her body melting into her sheets and comforter.

he gets up and grabs his boxers from the floor, pulling them over his stuff and depleting erection. he walks towards what she assumed was her bathroom attached to her bedroom. he grabbed a washcloth on the side of her sink, wetting it and coming back in.

he just sees her on the bed, her skin flushed and her naked contours against the sheets. she looks so heavenly with that blissed out expression on her face. he smiles and rounds the bed, crawling and bending her legs for her. he wipes the mess they made in between her legs. rubbing over her clit, causing her to hiss an attempt at smacking his hand.

“don’t. i’m just helping clean you up.” he says softly with some small reprimand. she sighs and blinks tiredly, “am i supposed to be so tired?” she asks in a grumble.

he chuckles and nods, “it’s normal.” he says with a small smile in her direction. he grabs the cloth in his hands, grabbing there discarded clothes off the floor, throwing them in her dirty clothes hamper, along with the cloth.

he then goes over to her dresser, pulling it open and one after another until he finds her pj drawer. he grabs her some underwear in the process, walking back over to the bed.

“sit up, baby.” he says gently as he taps her calf, she slowly follows his demand and sits up groggily. she’s pouty now and cute when she’s like this, he finds.

he slips the underwear onto her legs, letting her lift herself into it and putting them on her hips. he dresses her, putting a nightgown over her body. “come on,” he gestures towards the pillows at the head of the bed. she lazily sighs and moves her body until her head is resting on her pillows. he crawls in beside her ontop of the covers, pulling her so she’s half draped over him.

her lazy eyes closing and opening against his bare chest, “are you sore?” he whispers against her head. she shakes her head against his bare chest, “no, just tired.” she mumbles.

he nods and presses a kiss to the top of her head, rubbing a hand up and down her bare arm of the nightgown. “was i good?” she asks after a beat of silence, so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

“you were beyond good, sweet girl. you were spectacular.” he whispers sweetly in a comforting timbre, his lips hovering over her head. she smiles and nuzzles her head more into his chest, speaking again. “i’m so glad i chose you.” she says before her eyes drift closed against his chest.

something bloomed in his heart, something that he had ignored so many times before in the month and a half he had been working for her.

it was love? wasn’t it? it wasn’t lust. it was something deeper and rawer and it went beyond his comprehension. but as he held her in his arms, he thought one thing: he was happy she had chosen him too.

an: y’all know the drill, reblog and like. my masterlist and my taglist are linked above at the beginning. pls follow for more, i love you all and i hope this oneshot made up for me taking so long to finally post something. i’m working slowly to get all my oneshots and requests out. i promise. just bear with me <33 i love you all so much, hope you guys enjoyed it all. sorry it’s so long (im not), love u all sm, kisses xx.

taglist: @heartsforvin @elihii @argreion @sqiim (let me know in my dms if u wanna join and it’s linked above as well)

[joonsytip]

Withering for You || Seungcheol - Epilogue

Pairings: Seungcheol x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, CEO! Seungcheol au, Husband! Seungcheol au, Wife! Reader au, Music Teacher! Reader au, Arranged Marriage au, College Sweetheart au, Exes to Lovers au

Synopsis: When you are arranged married to the man, whose heart you had broken years ago, even dreaming about mending things seems next to impossible when he has been holding grudge for all these only to return it to you tenfold.

Warnings (specific to this part): tears, profanities, everyone is hurt and sad, mention of alcohol consumption, lovesickness, healing, friendly threats, suggestive

Word Count: 5.7k

Banner credits to my baby @hoeforhao <3

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

You're enjoying the peace and calmness that moving to a different country has brought within. It has been half a year since your divorce with Seungcheol had been settled, been four months of you making a decision seemingly best for you by moving out.

Both you and Seungkwan had wanted to open several branches of your academy all around the world because you both believed that music transcends barriers and connects souls.

Though your motive while shifting was a break from everything but it also resoluted to build another branch rooted to Melodease.

You are busy nowadays, given you've to overlook the purchase and legal matters, start taking care of the design, contract and staffing. Seungkwan has offered to come over and share the workload but you're always the one to brush it off. Because keeping yourself busy is the only way to not overthink about that one person whom you wanted to spend the rest of life but apparently it was too much of an ask.

The divorce, you had tried everything to withdraw it but you should have known, it was Seungcheol who wanted for it to happen at any cost. So eventually you succumbed to his stubbornness. He wasn't even willing to face you, making it impossible for you to reach out to him so you couldn't quite recollect when was the last time you saw him. All you could remember is he never again made an eye contact with you, since he left your house that fateful night.

A rift has been created between you and your friends. You were so mad at all of them for making Seungcheol aware of the bitter past that you've been hiding. They got earfuls from you whenever they breathed in your direction. You had stopped humouring them, even going as far as to inform them about your departure just two days before. A huge fuss was caused by Mingyu and Eunsoo while Seungkwan and Wonwoo blamed themselves quietly.

When Wonwoo had arrived at your doorstep the night before your departure to apologise and ask you to reconsider your decision, you in turn had assigned him a task which you couldn't do yourself.

Your parents visit you from time to time and it's your brother who crashes at your place the most because though everyone hesitates, he's the only one who doesn't lend an ear to your protests.

"It's been half a year, don't you think you should let loose and forgive those four.", Chan voices out distressed as he once again sees the string of texts and voice messages he received in the group chat he was suddenly added to one day just so your friends could get updates of you.

"You don't understand Chan. It was not their decision to make. You don't think I could have told Seungcheol if I wanted to?", you sit down frowning, "We did end up getting divorced after all. And even though I'd have dealt with my career, I don't know how he is doing on his own because now he would neither even confide in his family and nor he has many friends. It has become a fight against his family, against the people he cherished the most."

Chan understands your friends but most importantly he understands you, he nods and sighs, "There's something I haven't told you."

"Did Seungcheol come and apologize to you, mom and dad after I left?", you say giving a small smile.

Chan is flabbergasted, "How did you know?"

"I just guessed. I knew he'd come someday, it's only after I left. Wish I could have just gotten a glimpse of him before coming here. Why do I miss him?", you say suddenly fanning your face and look up trying to blink away the tears. Chan observes you silently.

Your heart still beats for Seungcheol.

Seungcheol rubs the wedding band which sits on his finger, lost in thoughts he then proceeds to caress the other wedding band the one he wears in a chain, which is also yours.

In the last few months, he solely focused on destroying Jiah. He went on to dig her past and accumulate every malicious deed, hurtful comments or poor gestures done by her throughout her life including all her flings. If it would have been earlier he would have had a hard time believing it all but not anymore. After gathering every possible bit, he made his PR team to work overtime to destroy her image. Each day new articles would resurface by random journalists on several platforms.

"I'm sorry, Cheol", Jiah cries at his feet, hands clasped, begging, "Please please just stop, I'm ruined."

Seungcheol laughs completely apathetic, "This has just begun. I'll bring you on the streets. I make you cry tears of blood."

Jiah looks him at horrified, "I'm begging you, we are best friends Cheol--"

Seungcheol burns at her words, "Since you showed me how best of a friend you are, it's my turn to show how great I can be. I won't stop until you dread hearing my name, until you regret what you've done. Hell, you've just heard of it, I'll make you live in it."

"I'll do anything you want, I'll apologise to Y/N please spare me.", Jiah continues to beg.

"Don't you dare utter her name with your filthy mouth. For the tears you made her cry, I'll make you cry tenfold. If you think there's gonna be an end to it, no, you'd suffer till your consciousness stays with you."

Then he makes the security drag her out of the building, onto the road.

Using her now completely ruined image, he pulled all cards to ruin off her father's company. Though he felt bad for her parents but they should have raised their daughter well and since they didn't it fell on their plate as well. That's what he had said to her father when he had the business go bankrupt.

Seungcheol doesn't stop here, he's still finding ways to put Jiah behind the bars, and if concrete proof doesn't knock on his door, he has his mind set on creating a whole new room of miseries for his said best friend.

But nothing he does gives him a sense of fulfillment. He's empty, heartbroken and a looser in love. Every time he remembers the way he had treated you, the schemes he had plotted against you, the venomous words he had said to you and the hatred he harboured towards you, they make him wanna disappear from the face of earth.

His parents don't get to see him, there's no monthly family dinner at the Choi's anymore.

Seungcheol who wanted to have you as his in all of the lifetimes, doesn't dare to make such a wish anymore. He has failed you, so he accepts the fact that you deserve the best. Someone who's not him. Someone who gives you all the smiles and none of the tears.

The wedding gown which you left untouched in his closet when you had moved out, Seungcheol walks in every night just to hold the garment. He imagines you in it and hugs it to his chest pouring his heart out. Each night  the empty house echoes his cries. The composition you had gifted him on his birthday, he plays it everyday while reminiscing the times he has got to spend with you.

His heart only beats for you.

"You are in love with your ex husband who's in love with you as well? I still don't get why you both are divorced."

You roll your eyes and walk past Jihoon who doesn't bother to follow behind because you'd be able to hear him anyways.

"Make it make sense, from what I heard...", his brows quirk up and nods at himself, "The bigshot Choi Seungcheol is being unnecessarily dramatic when you both can now live happily ever after."

You throw him a glare, "Don't you dare call him dramatic. He's in a rough spot and going through hell. But since he's stubborn and won't listen to anyone, we'll both keep wallowing in pity."

Jihoon gives you a look, "At least you're sensible. Anyways, you'd always see a DND board on my cabin's door. So please don't hesitate to get lost and not show your face to me."

You're neither surprised nor disappointed.

Lee Jihoon is a prodigal producer who's renowned around the world for his compositions. He can play every instrument in and out (claimed by people) specialising in Violin. You and Seungkwan had been eyeing him since long for managing your academy and it took you a lot of effort and determination to be able to rope him in. The man is always snappy and unfiltered. He knows he ain't people pleaser thus, he likes his space and doesn't allow interference. You just have to trust and leave the rest up to him and it'll be all taken care of.

Surprisingly, he knew you as well and though he would never admit, you're guessing the only reason he agreed to manage the new branch because as an artist he felt violated with your supposed plagiarism case. That he empathizes with you.

You don't usually go around sharing your personal life with everyone but with Jihoon it came in candid. Gradually, he came to know about you and you about him. The man is a feline who can differentiate good from bad. So after pulling many late nights and over many drinks, you both have become comfortable with each other. So comfortable that he treats you as his errand woman and every time you dare to protest he threatens to breach the contract because as he brags he has money. That annoying mf--

Jihoon knows he shouldn't be nosy but also he couldn't turn a blind eye to how you cry every time you get wasted. How whenever you bring up your husband there's an abyss of longing in your eyes. Though you're diligent and pushing yourself hard, your mind always reels back to him.

"It's your birthday next week, what do you want?", Jihoon asks and tuts instantly, "Except for Seungcheol, I can't give you him."

"Nothing.", you state blatantly, "Just stay with the academy."

"Nevermind, trying to give you Seungcheol sounds easier.", Jihoon jokes and the cushion he receives on his face isn't uncalled for.

Nobody is as distressed as Mingyu. He hasn't seen you in months, you don't talk to him like before. He feels guilty. He shouldn't have involved himself in your matters when he knew why you tried so hard to cover the truth. He regrets urging Eunsoo to confess to Wonwoo because even though she presses that she's fine and masters at hiding her feelings whenever in the same room as Wonwoo, he knows she isn't exactly doing well. It's been quite a time and neither you nor Eunsoo are doing well. Not like Wonwoo or Seungcheol are doing any better.

So he thinks it's only the doable, he needs to take the matters into his hands, if not alone atleast with Chan and Seungkwan. It might try to fix things one last time, with no expectations, no agendas of his own.

When Chan asked Mingyu to accompany him somewhere, he found it odd but agreed nonetheless.

His face changes when he finds himself infront of Seungcheol's house.

"If you see any tendencies of violence in my speech or body language just hold me back. I don't wanna beat Seungcheol but actually I do wanna beat him.", Chan says as they enter the house.

Mingyu is already breaking in cold sweat and the only accountable relief is Wonwoo's presence. When they see Seungcheol, both Chan and Mingyu are shocked at his state. He looks sick and tired.

"Are you okay?", Mingyu asks and Seungcheol nods. That's when his eyes falls behind and he sees the large wedding picture frame hung on the wall. His eyes linger further and he sees how on every wall there are pictures of you, or you and him.

Chan witnesses that Seungcheol's doing as bad as you, maybe worse. Seungcheol has not been able to meet his eyes since he knew about the past like now, his eyes are down in shame.

"Look at me", Chan says calmly, "You don't have to be ashamed of something you have never taken part in."

"But my father did.", Seungcheol whispers, "I can't forgive myself about how I treated you all and her when all you did was protect me."

"You are not doing fine neither she is.", Mingyu adds, "What's the point of seperation when you both love each other?"

"She cries everyday because of you. Regrets wanting to be selfish and marry you because you're suffering. She blames herself for everything to the point that she isolated herself from her family, friends and her academy. She's alone off to a faraway place where if an emergency occurs the fastest we can get to her would be after a 10 hour journey.", Chan doesn't usually breaks but his voice cracks, "It's so hard to see her being hard on herself. The breakup in the past must have been hard on you, but for her it was worst. I shouldn't be disclosing this but it took her a lot of therapy sessions to get out of depression. It was arduous for all of us because as you know she's the life of our family, the academy and her friends circle."

Seungcheol listens to your brother wide, teary eyed. He feels as if he's in a whirlwind.

"When I don't have any grudge against you, Y/N wants to be with you the why are you making all of our lives miserable?", Chan speaks with frustration, "You still have chamce to make things right. Don't choose to be a victim to the circumstances once again and let the love of your life go. You both have defied the odds and been together so why complicate things when there could be happily ever after waiting for you both."

"Do I deserve--"

Seungcheol haults in track, scared when he sees Mingyu seething and fisting his hands.

"Stop being a crybaby and own up. You caused a lot of damage to Y/N and you should make it up to her.", Mingyu says through his gritted teeth, "Stop trying to run away. That woman has been suffering for years just because of your family and you. She's a saint for being so understanding and patient, always putting everyone above herself. Though she'd never admit, we all know that she went away just not to be a bother for anyone, specially you. I'll beat you to a pulp if you suck up one more time. Fucking coward!"

Tables turned, now it's Chan and Wonwoo who are holding Mingyu back because Mingyu himself has the patience of Saint so when he gets worked up, things get out of control.

In the midst of all this, Mingyu throws a glare at Wonwoo as well and that's when the later unhands him and steps back.

"Do you lack common sense? What's the point of hanging her pictures and playing her compositions when after all this, she's waiting with her hands open but you won't go.", Mingyu keeps on scolding, "Why do we have to come and speak sense into your mind when you're an adult with much developed brain, developed enough to plot things to ruin someone's career?"

Six pairs of wide eyes falls on Mingyu. Seungcheol thinks hell has come in form of the buff guy infront of him. Chan thinks it's so cool of the same buff guy. Wonwoo thinks in near future he'll be facing the same fate as Seungcheol's facing today.

When Chan and Mingyu leave, Wonwoo stays behind. He quietly places a box on the table.

Before Seungcheol could enquire, he answers, "Y/N had requested me to give you this box on her birthday. Though I don't know what it contains but I do have a feeling that there won't be any more appropriate time to hand this over. I should have given it to you earlier."

After Wonwoo leaves, Seungcheol exhales sharply as his hands gently caress the box and carefully opens it.

There's a letter that sits atop. He opens the thread tied around it and starts reading.

Hey Cherry,

I couldn't help but call you that, sorry if it made you uncomfortable. If you're reading this, then it's probably my birthday today. I'll make my birthday wishes later but here's a return gift for you. This box is an ode to you, to commemorate your love because enough we didn't get our happy ending, I could live the rest of my life reminiscing the moments we spent, the love we shared together.

Now let me show you what our love meant through my eyes. There should be a sweater inside the box, take that out.

Seungcheol immediately takes out the red crochet sweater and traces over the garment and the wordings on it. He then goes back reading the letter.

Remember when we were dating, I had grown an interest on crocheting and took classes. I had woven this sweater for you. It says "Mon Amour", which means my love in French another outcome of the music lessons I was taking from the French teacher. Never got a chance to give you this and now that you've grown big muscles, it won't fit you. You can give it or throw it.

Now you'd see a pile of vinyls. Since you've always encouraged me to pursue my passion, you became the source of my inspiration. There are 26 vinyls and each of those compositions were inspired by you. Some were composed when we were dating, some after our breakup, throughout the span of seven years and some while we were still married. I thought of returning these to their owner in true sense. These came straight out of my vault. You can keep them or burn all of them.

Seungcheol takes out the vinyls and rearranges all of them in the order of the dates written on them. He notices each Vinyl cover had a colour of it's own and each one was addressed to his name in your handwriting.

You've always loved Tulips. Remember each time I bought you those, how you'd end up getting sad because they'd wilt? So I gathered every colour I could and preserved it for you. There's a flap in which I've kept the Tulips. Don't get sad anymore, they'll stay with you now.

The rest are random things I had brought on whim either because I thought you'd like them or it reminded me of you and they may not make any sense to you.

Seungcheol notices the spilled ink in many places, blurring the words, as the letter reaches it's end because of the tears those fell down while you wrote the letter.

Nostalgic isn't it? So now that we're closing in, I'd like to say a few things to you. I don't blame you for happened in the past, nor does my family. As things turned out, we didn't end up together. But I don't want you to become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere. Let's not be that (only if you're comfortable enough to acknowledge me if we ever cross paths again).

As I said, even though it's my birthday I'll make a wish for you, make sure to fulfil it. Not request but it's a demand from your ex-wife. I wish you would move on from all the sufferings and pain. You should move on from me, from us. I wish for you to fall in love again with someone who'd keep you happy and bring back the liveliness in you. I admit it would hurt me, a lot but it'd mean nothing if you'd be well.

Never hesitate to come and find me, even if it's just for a brief moment. I'm always available for you. Also, just to remind you, don't you feel lonely, remember my friends are yours as well. Do disturb them at your will, most they'll do is throw tantrums but they're nice I promise. I love you, will always do. But you, move on okay? So that's all I guess. Sorry took too much of your time. Take care of yourself.

From,

Your Cherry (for one last time, promise)

Seungcheol is bawling his eyes out, screaming in pain as he reads your letter again and again, occasionally holding it close to his chest.

There's only one question that reels in his mind. How could you love him so selflessly?

You didn't expect much on your birthday but with all your friends and family travelling hours long, jamming up your place just to celebrate your day, it feels nice.

"Jihoon arranged the cake, but since Y/N wanted the party to be held in here he cancelled the venue.", Seungkwan states as a matter of fact, "Thank God, he's here otherwise my lifeline would have receded to half worrying about her."

All of your friends look at you happily chatting with your parents.

"Thanks Jihoon.", Eunsoo expresses her sincere gratitude, "I'm so relieved that she has you. She still hasn't forgiven us and knowing how private she tends to be, it's nice that she at least has you."

"We all feel the same.", Wonwoo assures and Eunsoo side eyes him as she shifts further away from him, changing seats.

Jihoon smiles genuinely, "Y/N is a great person to have around you so gradually you'd be willing to reciprocate the efforts."

"Good things, happen to good people but why is she suffering?", Mingyu sighs, chugging the can of bear, "She says she's mad at me, but she bought me my favourite limited edition watch when I was still recovering from the ligament injury."

"Yeah same, she checks on me throughout the day and night whenever I am going through a rough patch.", Eunsoo adds, "Even asked me to come and stay with her to take my mind off", she looks at Wonwoo, "things."

"Yeah, we may not always talk like we did before but she still cares the same.", Seungkwan says, "It's her nature, she can't do anything about it."

"Something good should happen to her soon.", Jihoon implies as he twirls the can in his hands.

The night goes on with you spending time with your dearest ones and catching up with everyone.

"Thanks for coming everyone.", you say making a toast, "I haven't felt this good lately. Y'all made my day really special."

At some point it's a mess, you're chasing Mingyu, who's screaming for his life because he smashed a big chunk of cake on your face. Eunsoo is eating off Jihoon's ears because she wants to hear him play Violin. Wonwoo doesn't like it a bit but there's nothing he can do apart from glaring at Jihoon. Seungkwan and Chan are debating over something useless, everyone is sure that next they're gonna fight each other to impose their point. Your parents look at all of you with a fond smile on their faces.

It's an hour till midnight when everyone decides to leave for the hotel they've been staying in. Though your friends and brother offer you help but you send them all away knowing they're still tired from such long journey.

You clean up the place and check the time before jogging down to throw the Dustin bags. All you could think of was if Seungcheol had read your letter. Doesn't matter if not today, as long as he reads it, any day is fine.

It's chilly outside as the full moon shines brightly. You stand outside not entering the gate and close your eyes to feel the breeze. It's calming, you think.

When you open your eyes after staying out for good amount of time, you think you had drunk a little too much.

"I shouldn't have drunk so much, now I'm seeing you.", you shake your head, slap your cheeks and look ahead again, "Why are you still here? Just vanish.', then you turn back to go inside the house.

"Y/N..."

You halt and say, "Now I'm hearing things also, great."

Suddenly you're being back hugged, "You're not hallucinating.", that's when you freeze, realisation gnawing on you.

Seungcheol has really come, he's physically present.

"W-What are you doing here?", you asked in your choked voice.

"I think we should have this conversation inside, only if you'll allow me to.", Seungcheol says and loosens his grip.

"Y-Yeah sure.", you don't look back, at him and walk straight into the house with him following you.

As Seungcheol takes a seat, you kick away the balloons, "Sorry, it's a mess right now.", and you flee to the kitchen to bring some slices of cake, "Have them, it's your favourite flavour."

"Happy Birthday, Y/N", he wishes you, taking the plate and you smile at him fondly.

"Have you eaten dinner?", you ask him and he shakes his head, "Came here straight from the airport."

While he eats the cake, you serve him all the dishes saying, "You should have told me that you'd come. I would have waited and we could have had the dinner together."

Seungcheol looks at you, wordless. So do you, observe him, the black hair that falls on his forehead, thick eyebrows, his brown orbs, dimpled cheeks, the small nose and stubbled chin, all of it. There's a soothing silence and you don't wanna break it.

"Y/N, there's a reason to why I came today."

You are calm, willing to listen to anything he has to offer because nothing worse can happen than what has already happened.

"I am not well without you.", he gives a small smile not meeting your gaze, "People are saying I look like a ghost nowadays, you can see it as well.", there's a pause before he looks at you and continues, "Your friends and brother have been trying hard to speak some senses into my mind. And I received the box you left for me, last week."

"But you were supposed to receive it today", you say calmly, "If my friends and family are pestering you, I'm sorry. I'd tell them to stop."

Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head. He grabs both of your hands, "The problem isn't about me being unwell without you. The problem lies with you being more heartbroken and pained without me. You have suffered enough, you shouldn't be suffering anymore."

His hands trail gently upto your face, "And I'm here today to solve that."

You habitually lean into his touch, "Don't say something that would break my heart again, on my birthday."

"I know even without trying or repenting if I ask you to take me back, you'd do it in a heartbeat.", tears prick at his eyes as he speaks, "And now that there're no more secrets, though it's selfish of me but I want us to be together again, to live and to love forever. I want to love you right, treat you like you deserve to be treated."

You break down in tears, hiding your face in your palms, sobbing as you say, "This feels unreal. What if I'm dreaming and you'd be gone when I wake up?"

Seungcheol sniffles as he hugs you tightly, "I'm here, love. I won't go anywhere, I promise."

You snuggle closer to him, he embraces you tighter.

There are few taps on your back and you pull back only to Seungcheol making you stand up. You eyes questions him as he pecks your forehead quickly and kneels on his left knee.

Your eyes go wide as saucers as you watch him unfasten his chain and take out the ring, which you recognise is yours. He holds the ring saying, "I want to spend all of my tomorrows with you because you taught me the real meaning of love. Would you please with cherries on top, marry me?"

Not trusting your voice and with a frantic nod of head, you extend your hand towards him, onto which Seungcheol slides in the ring. You put the other ring on his finger and pull him into a fervent kiss.

Before he could take you to the bed and have you, you're pushing him away, "You haven't eaten, dinner first."

Seungcheol groans, his lips finding it's way back on your neck as he whispers, "I wanna eat you out. You're my meal, you're my dessert to devour."

You give up knowing, he's not going to listen because he's stripping you down to nothing, kissing and sucking everywhere.

"I love you, love you so much.", he keeps on murmuring, "You're mine, only mine."

Carrying you inside, he slams the bedroom door shut. All you could remember is his name and the way he worked on your whole body diligently through the night, till the morning.

"I wanna meet Lee Jihoon.", Seungcheol says during lunch, because that's when you both finally left the bed after long long sessions of love making.

But he makes you sit on his lap, "Because along with the plane ticket that I found on my office table, he had sent a card with the instructions to give it to you."

He takes out the card from his coat which was hung on the chair and gives it to you.

'Here's your birthday gift, Y/N. Told ya, giving you Seungcheol would be much easier.'

You are grinning ear to ear, "Definitely, he seems snappy but is actually quite a nice guy."

Seungcheol gulps when he remembers the other note which contained nothing but the pure threat of kidnapping, smuggling and dumping him to your house if he doesn't come here voluntarily, "Y-Yeah sure, he must be a nice guy..."

The nation is in uproar because it was such a sight to see Choi Seungcheol carrying his ex-wife in bridal style, smooching her throughout, in front of the media, till they're seen out of the airport.

Another shock comes from the musical prodigy, Lee Jihoon who returns to his roots posing as a bodyguard to the couple.

The media doesn't get to rest when a month later, both the Choi's and Lee's publish articles about your wedding to Seungcheol along with some glamourous shots from the private wedding that took place with limited guests consisting mostly closed friends and family.

Some are confused, some are shocked but more or less everyone is curious. No matter how hard the paparazzi are trying they're unable to pull tabs on what actually happened. You both are the trending topic and though all tabloids are based on pure speculations, it also shows the upper hand The Choi's have on protecting their matters.

"I have the sent the data as an anonymous to the police.", Wonwoo informs, "I'm sure it'll be concrete enough to put Jiah behind the bars."

"Great.", Seungcheol smiles, "Keep on digging, make sure once she's in, she never gets out of the prison."

Wonwoo gives a nod and leaves.

"Are you sure he like Eunsoo back?", Seungcheol turns to ask you.

"You should notice how stone cold poker faced Wonwoo starts to show emotions whenever he sees Eunsoo with Jihoon. I have caught him stealing glances at our Soo as well.", you sigh, "I know it must be hard for him, but I wish he could just be honest with his feelings."

"I'll talk to him", Seungcheol assures and as if a switch flips he pouts saying, "Why'd you have to go? We just got married."

"I'll have to look over the academy until it's fully functional.", you tell him, "Jihoon can take over after that but till then I'll have keep going back and forth. But hey, I'll be here for a month before I go, let's utilize it to the fullest."

"Of course, baby. Don't worry I'll manage my schedule so that I can be there with you for most of the time.", he pecks your lips, "I'm so proud of you. I love you."

"Love you too, Cherry.", you smile looking at him.

"Let's plan for our honeymoon--"

"Cheol, I was thinking that...", your lips purse into a line, "instead of touring, can we spend some time alone without work, just the two of us, somewhere cozy. Only if you're okay with it, I know you're busy and to take time completely off--"

You're cut off by his lips on yours. He kisses you for a good amount of time and says, "If you want it then I'll manage. Anything for you baby."

You smile pushing him away, "You're down bad.", ypj tease, "I'll have to drop by the academy, Seungkwan is waiting."

"I'll take you.", Seungcheol gets up grabbing the car keys, "I'm sure everyone is there specially Jihoon, I'm a fan."

You roll your eyes, "Yeah everyone is saying so but he's a plain pain in ass to me. Let's take Wonwoo with us.", grabbing your clutch, "I'm planning to visit Wonseok, let's go together this weekend. Also, I've informed Ms. Oh that we'd be eating out tonight."

As Seungcheol drives, your mind reels back to everything that happened over the month. Your husband proposing to you, you coming back and accepting things with his parents as they offer their earnest apologies. Though Seungcheol is still not on talking terms with them and you're yet to entirely let go of what they've done, you think time will mend the relationships.

Getting married again but this time just out of pure love. Discussions about having family, bearing his children in future comes often and you don't miss the gleam in your husband's eyes when you both talk over it casually nowadays, him always assuring that he's ready whenever you're ready. Your friends now becoming more of Seungcheol's group as they pick each other's habit and throw unfiltered banter, Jihoon included.

If years of suffering have led you to witness these days then you're content because it's all worth it.

Even though Seungcheol is engaged in a conversation with the group, he sweeps a quick glance at you, smiling fondly and mouthing a 'I Love you' before diving back just to sulk at something Mingyu claimed.

You say those words right back to him in your heart, a thousand times more as you make a wish you have him as yours in all lifetimes.

To be fully seen by somebody and be loved anyhow is a human offering that can border on miraculous. Having withered for each other and falling back in love, lucky you both to be spending the rest of your lives together.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

[erikawrites13]

Masterlist- Multi part reads

Requstes here

Done star requstes

Op 81

CL 16

"What the Cameras Miss" Part 1. At the 2025 Monaco GP, Oscar Piastri shares a quiet moment with Y/N, away from the cameras. Their love reminds him what really matters beyond the race.

“Where the Cameras Don’t Reach” Part 2. Y/N and Oscar fight to keep the truth behind his public image. They find stolen moments But in this city of lights and shadows, can their hidden passion survive the spotlight?

Another part? Commet if you like another part!

"Chasing Dreams Under Monaco's Lights: The Burden of Glory" Part 1. Charles Leclerc x Y/N- At his home race in Monaco, Charles feels the weight of expectations and pressure. A quiet moment with Y/N reminds him he's not alone.

"Racing Shadows in Monte Carlo: The Price of Legacy Part 2 Charles Leclerc feels the weight of defeat in Monaco, but Y/N's quiet love reminds him he's still enough. Finished

Just for Show- Info- Charles Leclerc is invited to a glamorous F1 off-season gala. To fix his “too serious” image, Ferrari insists he bring a date. But Charles doesn’t do romance—so he asks you to pretend for the night. Just one night, simple. Until it doesn’t feel fake anymore.

“For One Night Only” Part 1 of "Just for show" Charles Leclerc x Reader (longtime friend)

Under the Gala Lights" Part 2 of "Just for show" Charles Leclerc x Reader (longtime friend)

After the Lights Fade” Part 3 of "Just for show" Charles Leclerc x Reader (longtime friend)

“What We Pretend, What We Feel” Part 4 of "Just for show" Charles Leclerc x Reader (longtime friend)

“After the Silence” Part 5 of "Just for show" Charles Leclerc x Reader (longtime friend) Smut, angst

“What Breaks, What Heals” Part 6 of "Just for show" Charles Leclerc x Reader (longtime friend) Smut, angst

Velvet Cage Part 1. Info Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc. Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Mafia AU, Power imbalance and manipulation.

Velvet Cage - The First Crack. Part 2

Velvet Cage - The Cage Tightens Part 3

Velvet Cage- Echoes of Control Part 4

Velvet Cage- Bound by Command Part 5

Velvet Cage - Quiet Submission Part 6

Part 7? comment if you want!

"Fast Tracks and Hidden Truths" Info- Young Sebastian Vettel x journalist (reader). Enemies to Lovers and Slow Burn. Smut.

" Live on Air" Part 1.

“Crossing the Line”. Part 2

“Drenched in Tension” Part 3

“Love and Thunder” Part 4

.“When Rain Meets Fire” Part 5

“Tension Beneath the Storm” Part 6

Next part out soon!

Love in Contract - Lando Norris x Oscar Piastri. Free use clause - Romance, Angst, Rivalry, Mature Themes, slowburn

Part 1- Racing Hearts Down Under.

Part 2 "The Invitation"

Part 3 The Terms of Play

Lewis Hamilton x y/n angst -

Part 1 -"Burnt Rubber and Broken Promises" Lewis struggles with anger pushing Y/N away as his world unravels at Ferrari. But her love trieds fights through his walls

Part Two- "Smoldering Doubts and Silent Fears"- Lewis Hamilton x Y/N. Relationship conflict,slow burn romance, intimate but gentle make-out scene. Mental/emotional struggles (implied)

More coming soon!