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gallusrostromegalus · 2 years ago

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The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

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I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

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If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

youtube

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

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So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

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#Family Lore #Dogs #It's Halloween babey #friday the 13th #blood mention #I hope that kid had a good night and at least one of his friends believed him #Long post #Video

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blkkizzat · 3 months ago

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PU$$Y GOT MORE M⛧RDERS THAN SHIBUYA.ᐟ 𝐌⛧𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑#𝟔 — 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢, 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

⛧ 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: nov 28th, 5:47 pm ⛧ 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡: thanksgiving speech + heavy innuendo + dirty talk + bathroom sex + fellatio/blow job + backshots + pussy smacks + brat taming + brat!reader + dom!nanami + nanami has a lil' sadistic streak when it comes to payback ⛧ 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬: 9078 (5k of it is pure smut khfjhdrfrdgjhf)

𝐧𝐧𝐧 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

How does the saying go again? Play with fire, get burned?

Well, when it came to mischief, you weren’t just playing with fire—you were a regular pyromaniac.

And poor Nanami?

He was the one whose patience kept getting scorched time and again.

Case in point: right now.

With feigned innocence, you stretch across the dining room table to set down a china plate. A mundane act by anyone else's standards—except you’re braless under your loose sweater dress, and the moment you lean forward, your pert nipples peek through the gaping neckline, jiggling carelessly right in Nanami’s direct line of sight.

Nanami, of course, pretends not to notice. Attempting to hold himself to his signature stoicism as to not reward your slutty antics. Yet, Nanami’s hands give him away, hesitating mid-fold as the napkin fumbles through his fingers.

The result: a sagging, lopsided swan.

A far cry from the pristine little flock he’d already created.

With a sharp exhale, Nanami quietly undoes his work and begins again, a clear scowl tugging at his lips.

He should by all accounts be happy, it’s Thanksgiving.

Yet today also makes it Day 28 of the cursed No Nut November bet.

All month, your playful taunts, pretty pouts and cutesy whines have been tortuously chipping away at Nanami’s resolution to remain firm in not fucking you. Although it’s really no surprise to Nanami how bratty you could get when you went too long without a good dicking to remind you to behave—and for that, Nanami continues to lament letting Gojo rope him into the bet in the first place.

Not that Nanami particularly cared for any bets, he did however have a petty streak towards Gojo’s antics. Nanami couldn’t resist this particular challenge. After all, if there was one thing Nanami could undoubtedly best the so-called infinite strongest in—it was self-restraint.

Something Gojo has in laughably short supply, so it would be an easy win.

And it had been. Gojo folded within the first 72 hrs.

The satisfaction that came with besting Gojo had been short-lived. What really had kept Nanami going all this time is his more sadistic side relishing in how desperate you’ve been for him all month.

You, his perfect lil’ slut—you had zero false illusions of pride, especially when it came to getting your sweet lil’ pussy pounded. At the mere mention of your involuntary participation in the month you quickly unraveled like an addict from just the thought of having dick withdrawals. As such, dealing with your horny desperation has been a whole other beast of its own.

A few times Nanami had nearly caved too as he found himself fighting against his more debased animalistic urges that would arise.

You’re his weakness after all and it’s far too easy to be enamored by you.

Especially when you would rub your thick thighs together—your plush skin sliding against whatever scandalous lingerie you’d be wearing, splayed out on whatever surface was the closest—bed, counter, sofa, floor— wet pussy on display and all while cooing for him to reconsider.

You would beg so sweetly for Nanami to touch you, to stretch your pretty pussy out just a little bit with the fat head of his tip—yet to his own maddening torment, Nanami held firmly and refused.

Your charms had finally met their match.

For every ounce of brat you possess, Nanami has pounds of stubbornness to counter. Nanami would have thought though as the end of the month drew closer, you’d be able to hold on knowing you’d made it this far.

Yet contrary to his hopes, you’d only ramped up your teasing to practically insufferable levels.

All of which is particularly bothersome to Nanami right now seeing as your entire family is in Japan to visit you for Thanksgiving this year.

Much to Nanami’s chagrin, even your family’s presence is not enough to deter your lewd stunts—if anything you take it up a notch, slyly using your family as a shield from his reprimand.

Your family, of course, doesn’t think of you as anything less than an angel, your shameless behaviors going undetected to all but him.

Like the time you insisted on stopping for ice cream crepes after taking your family out for lunch despite the near-freezing temperatures. The chill didn’t faze you one bit as you messily devoured the treat. When your relatives weren’t looking, you made a show of deep throating your pristinely manicured fingers—in slow, exaggerated motions, like you were devouring something far filthier than just the frozen sweet cream flavor you had purposely let drip down to your palms.

The bitter chill also never stopped you from flouncing around the city in the shortest of mini skirts. Your legs would be comfortably wrapped in thick, form-hugging thigh-highs—another one of Nanami’s undeniable weaknesses.

You knew that though, and as expected you made sure to tease him whenever you got the tiniest chance. Exampled by your flashing him glimpses of your crotchless panties during a casual family trip to the local Daiso for souvenirs.

Despite the warmth indoors, Nanami was forced to uncomfortably pull his thick wool coat tighter around himself. The last thing he needed was to be seen with his arousal leading ahead of him because you feigned sudden interest in every item on the lower shelves. Every time something new caught your eye you’d bend over just enough to offer him, and only him, the perfect view of your smooth, bare cunt— the glistening flesh plumping out between your thighs as if your pussy lips would have blown him a wet kiss at any moment.

The sight almost broke him.

Nanami had to dig for newfound strength in order not to push you up against the shelves that day. Public indecency charges be damned, Nanami would have given almost anything in that moment to spank your naughty cunny red for rebelling against him to these extremes. Then of course, he’d bury his aching cock into that tight lil’ cunt of yours, already pulsing and soaked, just so ready to be punished.

Worst of all though, was the constant weight of his arousal resting heavy between his thick, muscular thighs, growing unbearable with each one of your taunts. Nonetheless Nanami endured it—and his blue balls—if only to teach you that haughty lil’ brats couldn’t get their way.

Now it was deeper than the bet with Gojo even, this was on principle.

Two more days.

In just two more days it be December, your family would be gone and Nanami could finally fuck you into the slobbery, sated stupor you’d been fiending for all month.

Nanami sighs again, looking up to see you already staring at him, smiling sweetly like you weren’t the embodiment of Lilith herself.

You only giggle at him.

Patience is Nanami’s virtue, not yours. Surely destined for the naughty list this year, you and those venus like curves of yours are driving him to insanity—and you knew that.

All according to plan!

“Ken~to~~”

Your sing-song lilt not only grabs his attention but the attention of his cock as well, to his utter dismay the dull throb in Nanami’s pants responds before he can.

“Whatcha thinking so hard about, babe…?”

Well, he certainly couldn’t answer honestly.

No way in hell Nanami was going to admit he was vividly picturing how satisfying it would be to rip your sweater dress down the middle in two. He’d spread you out until your thighs trembled from the ache, plating your sassy lil’ pussy right next to the crystal centerpiece in the middle of the table before devouring you whole.

That’s the true feast Nanami wanted—fuck the turkey.

Instead, Nanami tiredly shakes his head as if to say ‘not much at all’.

“I meannnnn, it must be something pretty intense because you’re ignoring the timer for the turkey right now, it's been going off for over a minute.”

Oh fuck—the actual turkey!

Nanami couldn’t burn it, not the turkey he’d spent 10 hours basting with meticulous care. Nanami being the amazing partner he is, followed your Nana’s recipe to the letter so your family could spend the little time they had visiting Tokyo sightseeing and not in the kitchen.

You smirk as you bide your time, all while listening to Nanami quietly cursing as he fusses to himself the entire way to the kitchen.

Breaking Nanami before the end of the month has become your personal mission and you took that seriously. Even with all his saintly restraint you reasoned that Nanami was still just a man of flesh and blood.

He had to have a breaking point somewhere.

And when he finally snapped… well, you weren’t dumb, knew that wouldn’t bode well for you.

But wasn’t that the thrill?

The anticipation of pushing him off the very edge of his limits, of coaxing out the strict, authoritative side to him—the side he only let loose when he was truly fed up with you?

You’d wind your A-type boyfriend up so much today that the second your family left back to their hotel for the night he’d have no choice but to release all his frustrations out on your ass—literally.

For now, you return to setting the table. Your parents and older family members would be back from their shopping trip and your cousins back from the walk—and then, your little plan could finally unfold.

Sure enough, it isn’t long before the front door swings open, laughter and the crinkle of shopping bags flooding in to announce their return. Your cousins also return, eyes a bit redder but thanks to raiding your bathroom cabinets for eye drops, your family none the wiser. In no time, the dining table is brimming with your Thanksgiving favorites.

And unlike the wonky napkin swans, Nanami executes each dish with the precision of a seasoned chef, as if these recipes had been his own all along. The rich aroma of roasted turkey, buttery stuffing, and stewed collards lures the rest of your family into the dining room as everyone settles to eat.

Out of respect, you let your parents take the seats at the heads of the table and intentionally save the seat beside you for Nanami. But when he pointedly chooses the chair diagonally across from you instead, your pout is impossible to hide.

Nanami’s gaze snaps to yours, and he offers the faintest smirk—as if to say he knows better.

At best?

If he sat across from you you’d tease him under the table, playing footsie. Your delicate feet gliding along the rim of his socks, tickling his ankle and testing just how composed he could really be.

At worst?

Well, if he sat next to you and your shamelessness got the better of you, you might just get bold enough to slip your hand into his lap and onto his cock—breaking any boundaries of your already reckless antics.

The idea of being jerked off under the table, in front of your entire family, just because you were too much of a cock-hungry slut to wait?

Nanami refuses to entertain it.

Because knowing you?

The likelihood of getting caught wasn’t an "if." It was a "when" and there simply isn’t enough therapy or meditative prayer in the world for Nanami to be able to recover from that.

Nanami tries to hold back his glower, while you flash him a saccharine smile musing at how this works in your favor.

This time your stubbornly patient boyfriend needed to think a little bigger if he wanted to stop you.

Footsie and grabbing at him? Ha! That was child’s play.

Far too predictable and too much of a risk with your family here, even for you.

To be honest, with what you did have planned though you could savor his expressions better across from him than next to him. Nanami actually did exactly what you wanted him too—he didn’t need to know that though.

Thus, enacting your grand plan begins when you speak up once everyone is seated, cheerfully announcing that you’d be the one giving the Thanksgiving speech this year.

Your family of course delightfully agrees.

Ever composed, Nanami remains stoic—yet the slightest twitch of his brow betrays his exasperation.

He’s not stupid. He knows you are up to something. But here? Now?

The unspoken reprimand of ‘this is not the time’ radiates off him in controlled waves, but that only fuels your misbehavior.

Clearing your throat, your smile curls just sweetly as the marshmallow fluffed candied-yams that are steaming on the table.

“I just want to say how thankful I am for us all to be here—Mom, Dad, Grandma, Auntie, Uncle, all my dear cousins. I'm so thankful you all could finally make it to Japan! And of course, I’m so very thankful my sweet Kento could finally get away from his busy job this year to celebrate with us!”

Shooting Nanami a demure look, your eyes dance with devilment yet your tone is angelic.

Nanami’s gaze sharpens just a fraction, his jaw tightening in silent warning although his lips are composed into a polite smile that says ‘you wouldn’t dare’.

Oh, but you absolutely would!

You revel in the tension, in the silent promise that later tonight—when your family is safely back at their hotel—you’ll be paying for this in full.

All according to plan of course~!

"Again, thanks are due to my Kento, for volunteering to cook most of the dishes and for following Nana's recipes so closely! The dressing smells divine, and honestly, I’m amazed by how much you managed to stuff into that bird. But then again, you’ve always been so good at making things fit, Ken.”

Your parents, aunts, and uncles remain blissfully unaware of the roguish double meaning laced in your words, offering nothing but approving smiles and nods.

Your cousins, however—the ones closest to your age—are all high off their asses and catch on instantly. Some have to bite their lips to suppress giggles, while others shake their heads in mock disapproval, faint smirks betraying their amusement.

Nanami’s fingers flex subtly around the armrest of his dining chair, his smile dips ever-so-slightly as his dark cocoa eyes meet yours, piercing and questioning.

Are you seriously doing this to him right now—and are your cousins actually high!?

Dear God.

Your lashes flutter innocently at Nanami, like butter wouldn’t melt in that hot sinful little mouth of yours as you continue.

“Speaking of the turkey, you really took your time preparing her and so thoroughly. Just basting her in her juices for hours! She looks so good—sooo succulent and moist… She’s just dripping."

Nanami’s hand lifts to adjust his glasses—a calculated effort to distract from the faint flush creeping up his neck. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose briefly, trying to quietly suffer through the absolute depravity spilling from you.

Across the table, one of your cousins bites down on their lips, muzzling their laughter. Another abruptly ducks under the table, allegedly retrieving a dropped napkin, though it’s painfully obvious to everyone in the know they’re just extra baked and trying not to completely lose their cool.

Nanami sends a pointed, pleading glance at each one of your cousins, his cocoa eyes practically screaming at them to keep their shit together.

But that only makes it worse, their sniggers becoming audible and earning reprimanding glances from the elders at the table who thought it was rude they were interrupting your lovely speech.

"Oh, and let’s not forget the mac and cheese—the true star of the table! Kento baby, you really outdid yourself. It looks so rich, so creamy… has that perfect gooey squelch when you stir it up."

You hum, deliberately dragging out each syllable before shifting your attention elsewhere on the table.

"Mmm, and the ham? Perfectly pink, with that honey glaze oozing so invitingly between the folds. Doesn’t it just make you want to slide your *ahem* fork, right in?"

Nanami exhales slowly, the tension carved into his handsome features intensifying.

Around the table, your high ass cousins are seconds away from crumbling, somehow though holding it in for Nanami’s sake.

The youngest one cracks first as they start violently choking on their water they took a sip of, prompting your aunt to firmly pat their back.

And you?

Oh, you're reveling in every second of this masterpiece—the scandalous spectacle you've written, directed, and are now starring as the lead slut yourself as you prepare for your finale.

"Anyway, I’m rambling now. Wouldn’t want all the yummy food Ken cooked to get cold…"

Wrapping up your x-rated Thanksgiving speech, you decide to end it with a bang.

"So I’ll just end it by saying that Kento has such a knack for taking care of everything, as you all can see. He always spoils me, and he cooks for me regularly too which is why I had so much faith he could pull this off in the first place…"

Turning towards Nanami you smile brightly.

“...Kento always keeps me full with his yummy meals—and hopefully with his kids someday too!"

That last remark sends your cousins over the edge, howling their laughter bursts out now that they finally have an excuse to do so openly.

To the rest of your family, it’s cheeky fun—oh just you playfully pressuring Nanami, your boyfriend of 3 years into starting a family.

Your parents and older relatives even chuckle along too.

“Sweetie! Don’t embarrass poor Nanami like that, let him take his time—oh, look, now you’ve got his ears all red!”

Your mom softly chides you and you’re giggling innocently as if you’ve hadn’t just turned Thanksgiving grace into an impromptu smut reading.

“Poor mans, looks like he’s about to pass out.”

Your uncle shakes his head, clearly unimpressed with your brazen attempt to push kids on Nanami—especially when you’re both still unmarried. He casts Nanami a knowing, sympathetic look, the kind that silently says, ‘I’ve been there, brother.’

Nanami, ever composed, simply returns a curt nod in acknowledgment.

To his credit, Nanami isn’t anywhere close to losing consciousness, but his anger?

The tension radiating off of him?

That’s a different story entirely.

Nanami’s cursed energy fluctuates in restrained waves, betraying the quiet storm beneath his civil smiles. His sanity is hanging by a thread, and though he maintains perfect decorum, as he diligently carves and serves the turkey, you—and only you—can sense the static hum of his furry crackling just beneath the surface.

While the mood quickly settles for your family as dinner is served, the hairs on the back of your neck remain standing at full attention.

The food is, of course, delicious—Nanami never misses when it comes to executing a perfect meal. But you barely taste anything, too on edge from the weight of his stifled fury pressing against your senses to fully enjoy your plate.

On one hand you’re positively ecstatic, you know you’ve succeeded in pushing Nanami past his limits—yet on the other, you still can’t help but feel a chill for the utter bloodlust you sense in his energy.

Such malice you’d only felt him direct at curses before.

And so as your cousins gossip beside you, spilling all the tea about the drama and happenings back home, their words don’t register over the buzzing tension sitting right across from you.

However, by the time dinner winds down, Nanami at least outwardly appears much more at ease.

His posture has relaxed, his tone is as smooth as ever, and even his cursed energy has seemingly leveled out. Nanami engages effortlessly with your family, charming your parents with thoughtful anecdotes eliciting genuine laughter from them—because of course he does.

Nanami is the perfect partner after all.

But you know Kento too well.

The minuscule, erratic twitch in his fingers, the hardly perceptible grind of his teeth—it’s enough to tell you the truth.

He’s still pissed. Livid, even.

And later tonight?

You’re so getting fucked for this!

Perfect right?

Your plan went off without a hitch!

Then why do you still feel like you took it too far and your impending doom is at hand?

You’d never seen him this irritated at anything before, even after he had a week long mission with Gojo.

Fuck…Did your cousins have any weed left over? Likely not…

On second thought, maybe you should go back to the hotel with your family tonight.

You’d never pulled a stunt quite like that before, so it could give Nanami a chance to cool off and you could spend more time with your family. Sure, you wanted him to fuck you but you also needed to be able to get out of bed tomorrow as you still had to play tour guide to your family.

Avoiding being alone with Nanami seemed like a solid plan.

However, the universe is clearly working against you, wanting you to lay in the smutty bed of trouble you made for yourself.

“Sweetie, go help Nanami put the pies in the oven.”

Your mother’s voice disrupts the chatter of your thoughts like a bucket of cold water to the face.

Shit.

You gulp, dropping your fork to clatter onto your plate as your eyes flicker toward Nanami.

You knew he wouldn’t try anything with your family in the house, but the idea of facing his simmering rage in the kitchen?

Yeah, that’s far from ideal.

“Oh, Momma, I’m still catching up with my cousins though! Ken doesn’t need my help!”

You plaster on your cutest pout, puffing your cheeks as you loop arms with your favorite cousin—your shameless co-conspirator, the one who gave you the idea for your lewd monologue in the first place.

Your mother arches a brow, unimpressed.

“Young lady, I wasn’t asking, now was I?”

You deflate, instantly resigning to your mother.

“No, ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought! Now, help your man if you want that ring and babies, sweetie—Nanami doesn’t want a lazy wife! G’on!”

You sigh, defeated. You should have known the cute puppy-dog pout wouldn’t work on the very person you learned it from.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Nanami chuckles, clearly entertained.

No matter how much of a brat you are with him, your mother has you in check with a single look.

Still, Nanami clearly did have some authority over you as you visibly flinch the moment he stands and walks around the table to you. Taking your hand firmly, he pulls you to your feet with an air of finality as you try not to gulp.

“Of course, we’re on it, ma’am—or should I call you ‘mom’ now?”

Nanami’s voice is welcoming and warm—endearing enough to make your family chuckle again as he clearly has them eating out of the palm of his hand.

But the pressure tightening around your wrist?

That promises a very different Nanami once you’re alone.

Your stomach twists. The short walk to the kitchen suddenly feels like you’re being led to a firing squad.

Yet, once inside, Nanami does something unexpected.

He ignores you entirely.

Somehow the silence is worse.

Sulking, you plop onto one of the stools at the kitchen island as Nanami moves around his kitchen like you aren’t even there.

Like a child in time out.

You both know damn well he doesn’t need your help. The pies are already prepped, perfectly assembled—apple, pecan, and sweet potato, each looking like they belong on the cover of Southern Living magazine.

Worse still, you can’t leave—not unless you want to risk another tongue lashing from your mother.

Sighing, cross your arms as you pout and you kick your feet impatiently like an actual toddler would.

This sucks!

After a few more agonizing minutes you can’t stand the tension any longer as you push off the stool in a huff.

“I’m going to the bathroom!”

Breaking unbearable silence with your announcement you bristle slightly as Nanami doesn’t even acknowledge you.

Not a glance, not a nod—nothing.

Rolling your eyes, you slip out of the kitchen. You’re careful to avoid the dining room and your family as you make your way to the hallway bathroom. At least here you can breathe without the thick tension suffocating you.

Humming a soft tune, you scroll through your socials with one hand while the other carefully touches up your mascara in the mirror. The bathroom—really more of a powder room without so much as a shower—was small, but just secluded enough to serve as your personal hideout for now.

Fixing your makeup and catching up on the latest celeb drama blogs, it’s a decent escape.

For all of three minutes until the door knob twists.

“It’s occupied! Geez, can’t a girl get some privac—”

Your complaints are cut short as you choke over your words.

“K-K-Kento!”

You’d expected it to be one of your cousins barging in or maybe even your nosey ass aunt, who had zero respect for boundaries.

But Nanami?!

Nanami’s broad imposing frame fills the doorway before he moves inside, shutting it behind him without a word.

Click.

The sound of the lock clicking in place is synchronous to your audible gulp.

“K-Ken! W-What are yo—”

But Nanami moves faster than you can finish speaking.

His hand clamps firmly over your mouth as his other muscular arm bands around your waist, pinning you between him and the sink.

Nanami has you in his grasp now, ironclad and inescapable.

"Shhhhh, just shut those filthy little lips of yours for once, my love…"

Nanami's deep, velvety baritone drips with sinister intent.

"...you've already said more than fucking enough tonight, yes?"

A shiver rolls down your spine.

Oh, you’re so fucked!

You freeze up entirely as you are caught in a state of panic and growing arousal.

You wanted this—you had begged for this treatment all month.

But not here and certainly not right now!

Especially not while your entire family is just in earshot across the hall!

Yet your body is never fully yours when Nanami touches you. Despite your mind's protest, your back arches instinctively as Nanami—completely indifferent to anyone else in his home—smashes himself even closer against you.

That's when you feel it—his stiff, heavy erection, nudging petulantly against the swell of your ass.

Even through Nanami’s thick wool of his slacks, you can feel the fiery heat radiating from him. The outline of his cock is thick and unforgiving as it nestles between your rear cheeks.

This was all happening so fast?!

Your eyes widen, tears dusting your lashes when you meet his own in the mirror, pleading with him.

But if you thought your feminine appeals would soften him this time, you were sorely mistaken.

If anything, it only spurs Nanami on, wanting to punish you for that manipulative nature of yours that had subdued him more often that he wanted to admit.

“You’re such a good girl for your mother, sweetheart…”

Nanami purrs, his lips dragging down the column of your neck.

“...and yet so disobedient for Daddy.”

Your small, helpless whimpers are muffled into Nanami’s hand as your thighs squeeze together. Heat simmers low in your belly, ignited by Nanami’s weighted words overflowing with authority as he’s clearly not referring to your actual father—just mere feet away in the next room.

Nanami’s arm around your waist slackens just enough to let his brawny hand roam free, his fingers splaying possessively over your body and drawing out more submissive whines from you.

Head swimming, your shaky breaths draw in Nanami’s scent—his natural musk tangled with the rich notes of his woody cologne. Cedar, myrrh, and a faint whisper of smoked vanilla saturate your senses, leaving you lightheaded, dizzy with need, and aching for more despite the dangerous proximity of your family just beyond the door.

“All because this troublesome lil’ pussy can’t even go a mere month without my cock inside her, hm?”

Nanami’s smirks at your quivering under the weight of his wicked words as his fingers graze the waistband of your panties.

To be honest he was surprised given your antics you’d even bothered to put them on today.

You really must not have thought he’d be the one to escalate the situation.

Yet, a man could only be pushed so far…

“You were a virgin when we met, remember? Who knew I would unleash such a greedy n’ spoiled lil’ slut.”

You don't even get the chance to protest—not that you even had a leg to stand on—before Nanami’s hand presses his thumb past your plush lips, pinning your tongue down and robbing you of any ability to speak. Your moist, wriggling tongue squirms helplessly against his digit, a low hiss escaping him as the pressure of his cock grinds harder into the curve of your ass through the strained fabric of his slacks.

At the same time, Nanami’s other hand dips beneath the fabric of your panties, his skilled fingers parting the moist swampy folds of your cunt.

The goan that escapes Nanami is visceral when he feels the slippery evidence of just how fucking drenched you are for him.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Before you can even process what’s happening your dress is bunched around your hips as his thick thigh slots between your legs. Writhing, you shake your head frantically as Nanami forces you to ride his thigh.

"S-Stowp! Mmfph—muh fampfy, K-Kem!"

Your garbled protest earns you a sadistic chuckle from him.

"Your family? You want me to stop because of your family, princess?"

Nanami hums thoughtfully, as if weighing the idea—yet still grinds his thigh harder against your damp core. He swaps the thumb silencing you for three thick fingers, stuffing them past your lips to muffle the desperate sounds spilling from your throat.

"No, that vulgar mouth up here didn’t mind being such a shameless cockteasing slut in front of your family. She’s racked up quite the tab of misbehavior. Why should this one down here—"

Nanami’s fingertips glide past your fluttering entrance, submerging into your soaked heat, stroking against that spongy spot that never fails to curl your toes.

“—mind finally cashing me out?”

A broken moan dies in your throat, gagged by Nanami’s thick fingers in your mouth all due to his fingers in your pussy methodically dragging along your soppy, pulsing walls to gather every trace of your need before finally withdrawing his hand.

"See, my love? How she's unabashedly drooling…"

Strings of your silky gossamer arousal web between his fingers, glistening even in the dull bathroom light as he displays them before your face.

"This is exactly what your naughty lil’ pussy has been begging for all month."

Your mind drifts into a hazy abyss, the raw need between your thighs consuming you entirely.

Everything else—the scandal of your family being in the house, the risk of them hearing you and getting caught, even your own better judgment—it all begins to fade away.

“Sorry, my dear…I’m afraid you can’t have your slutty cake and eat it too this time.”

Nanami husks the words against your skin, inhaling deeply to bask in the scent of your arousal lingering on his fingers before daring to taste it himself—consuming every sinful, decadent drop.

“My sweet girl has been a fucking cockteasing menace all month. You’ve succeeded in breaking me, now it’s time to reap your consequences…”

Your protests are audible even through his slobber coated fingers as his words ignite goosebumps over your skin.

“Aht-Aht-Aht…”

Nanami admonishes you.

“...you begged, manipulated and schemed for this. You’ll take Daddy’s cock now, exactly how he gives it to you or you will go another week without it. Your choice, love.”

The muffled cry you release is loud and needy. Your eyes are like saucers and your body trembles at Nanami’s very real threat. Yet Nanami just brings his face down to smoosh against your cheek, piercing you with those unwavering cocoa eyes of his that meet yours in the mirror once more.

“This silly month might be over in two days but that doesn’t mean your naughty lil’ pussy will get fucked anytime soon, sweet girl. Not if she doesn’t take it for Daddy now…”

Thick tears spill down your cheeks, wetting Nanami’s hand as the oppressive tension in the tiny powder room grows suffocating. You'd get what you wanted, alright—

Nanami would break No Nut November and fuck you stupid—

—but only on his terms.

Anticipation and dread knot tighter in your belly, a dizzying cocktail of fear and excitement. You’re in no position to stall now, and Nanami’s patience has long since rotted away.

"Can’t decide?"

Nanami drawls, voice dark with amusement.

"Then we'll defer to the lewd lil’ brat between your legs, hm?"

Without another word, Nanami hooks two fingers into the gusset of your soaked panties. The lace gives a pitiful snap as he rips them clean off, stuffing the ruined fabric into his pocket like a prize. Before you can catch your breath from the shock of it, his hand slaps harshly against your drenched pussy—an obscene, wet crack that ricochets off the cramped bathroom walls.

You jolt forward with a sharp, broken whimper, your thighs quivering as the sting melts deliciously into heat. Nanami just watches in the mirror, his lips curling into a wicked smirk as he drinks in the sight of you coming undone from just a single strike.

Now bare, the cool air brings a chill to your exposed, leaking cunt.

SMACK

Another sharp slap lands against your throbbing cunt and your knees almost buckle from the pleasureful sting.

Nanami hums in satisfaction, his fingers dipping lower to ghost over the sticky mess leaking out from your twitching hole.

“Looks like she’s already made the decision for you, princess. That’s two against one.”

You flinch as you feel his cock pulse in between your cheeks—impatient, demanding, aching to be acknowledged.

Nanami’s own body is thrumming with need, to bury himself to the hilt, to fuck you so deep his cock kisses your cervix, the force of his hips so powerful they’d leave their imprint on your skin soft skin even the next day.

“…I stand corrected, make that three against one.”

And so your fate is sealed—which is how you ended up in this position now—squatting before Nanami on the bathroom floor, staring up at him as he looms above you. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth in nervous anticipation as you watch his practiced fingers work his belt open, the slow, torturous pace makes your pussy clench.

“I really should put you over my knee for a proper spanking, princess.”

Namani’s belt buckle clinks, as he undoes his zipper and he slides his slacks down just enough that his cock springs free—flushed red, and already dribbling beads of pre down his large veiny shaft.

“But we can save that for after your family leaves—at the very least.”

The metaphorical hearts in your eyes drown out the implications of any further punishment later. You just nod dumbly, too transfixed by the primal scent wafting off his cock as it stands proudly, heavy and imposing, bobbing directly above your face.

Oh, you’ve missed it bad.

You don’t know how you survived this entire time without it.

“Open.”

Finally obedient for the first time all month, you don’t protest or pout. You simply part your lips wide, presenting your tongue without hesitation.

Three times—Nanami’s weepy tip taps against your tongue, smearing precum across the soft bumpy surface and you are keening at the familiar, salty taste.

Biting back a groan, Nanami’s eyes momentarily flutter shut.

Reveling in the comforting pleasure of your tongue against his sensitive tip.

When Nanami finally opens his eyes again it takes everything in him not to spill himself right there, utterly ruin that pretty face of yours before he even gets started. Nanami tightens his grip around the base of his shaft because fuck—you look absolutely destroyed already, your glazed-over eyes locked onto his cock as though it were a holy relic.

Awe-stricken, mesmerized, your mouth opens wider, wordlessly inviting him to sheath himself inside fully and return to the cozy confines of your throat—a place he’d been aching to bury himself in for weeks.

My God, you’d really be the end of him one of these days.

“We don’t have much time to spare. Be a good girl and prep her for me, won’t you sweetheart?”

The raw desperation bleeding into Nanami’s voice goes unnoticed by you, too lost in your own pleasure to realize just how close he is to completely snapping. Your plump lips closing around his swollen cockhead as your tongue flicks sharply before flattening over the tender slit.

Of course, you don’t neglect yourself either—one hand wrapping around his girth to guide him deeper into your mouth’s wet molten cavern—the other snakes between your legs to your exposed pussy that is already eagerly leaking droplets onto the tiled floor.

Your fingers feel good of course, but they aren’t enough—truly, nothing has been since Nanami put you through the trials of NNN this month. But now with his cock cradled between your lips, knowing he’d soon be inside your pussy causes her to tingle even from your own touch this time. You don’t hesitate to sink them deeper inside your slippery cunt, pumping yourself frantically, so riled up by the sounds of Nanami’s suppressed hisses and the vulgar slurps of you sucking him off.

It’s been a whole month since you’ve had him in your mouth and thankfully, you haven’t lost your touch or your practically non-existent gag reflex—not by a longshot.

As a further testament to your skill, Nanami threads his fingers through your hair, guiding your movements as he rolls his hips forward in a slow, greedy thrust. His lust-darkened eyes remain locked onto your lips, transfixed by the way they stretch obscenely to accommodate him.

The salacious sight driving him past limits for the nth time tonight, Nanami presses your head down until your nose nestles into the neatly trimmed hairs at his base. He’s so deep in your throat his length is nudging past your tonsils.

You moan wantonly, throat stretched out so obediently around his cock as Nanami’s palm closes firmly around your neck. His fingers flex, savoring the way he can feel the thick outline of himself bulging through your tender skin, the vibrations of your desperate whimpers rippling straight up his shaft.

Instinctively, your throat tightens even more, eliciting another sharp hiss of approval from him. You feel the heavy, pulsing vein along the underside of his shaft pressing deliciously against your vocal cords—a clear reminder of how badly he's missed this.

Yet before you can fully appreciate the exquisite stretch, Nanami’s composure shatters completely.

Using your mouth as a fleshlight, Nanami tips his head back, letting go.

Who the fuck cares that he technically caved to your bratty whims?

That this wouldn’t teach your slutty lil’ cunt a single lesson about behaving in the long run?

If anything, it only meant he’d have to keep fucking you nice and sweet all over again, something that he’d gladly do over again if the delayed release felt this good everytime.

"Such a good little slut for Daddy, aren’t you? You can’t help but to crave my cock, hm princess?"

More groaning pulsations around his cock are the only answers you are capable of at the moment and of course that encourages more hushed curses to roll off Nanami’s tongue. The tight, punishing hold he has on you, keeps you in place.

Fortunately, this allows you to lower the hand that isn’t feverishly scissoring your pussy, loosening your tight walls for her long awaited turn, to rub your neglected lil’ clit. Your thighs shake from the burn of squatting and your tear smeared mascara burns your vision—but you don’t care. For the first time in a month you were about to be successful in making yourself cum.

So close m’gawd—m’gonna cum!

You can nearly taste the suffocating pleasure building, hurling you steadily to your peak—and yet abruptly, Nanami pulls out—because he can’t afford to cum now.

Not in your throat at least.

The action leaves you choking, gasping for air as spit and pre-cum are splattered across your chin. Your hands instinctively ripped away from your pussy, thwarting your impending orgasm as you have to catch yourself from completely falling over.

"Hands on the sink."

The command is gruff, the strain evident in Nanami’s voice—but you’re still the bigger mess by far.

You nod obediently, though your legs tremble so badly they nearly give out beneath you. Nanami has no patience left to spare. Gripping you roughly, he yanks you upright, a resounding smack landing on your ass before he turns you toward the mirror with a force that leaves your head spinning. You collapse against the sink, elbows bracing against the cold porcelain, panting and gasping as your chest heaves—desperately trying to catch up with the ruthless pace he’s setting.

“No, absolutely not—."

Nanami lifts you upright against him again, grabbing your jaw and tilting your flushed, tear-streaked face up to the mirror.

"—you must look at me while I fuck you, my sweet girl. Look at whose cock you’ve been dying to slut yourself for.”

Nanami’s girth prods against your soaked entrance that’s already fluttering, hungry to have him plunged inside you. Yet you still can’t help as your heart races knowing that after nearly a month of waiting, you’d be lucky to be able to walk after this—fuck you really didn’t think this through when you deviously planned to break his ‘No Nut November’!

Yet there's no more time for thinking as with a snap of Nanami’s hips, the stretch is instant, intrusively overwhelming as Nanami bottoms out with one sharp thrust into your guts. Your lungs deflate, all the air pushed out as you can feel his cursed energy tentatively radiating off of him.

You’re so full your tummy can’t even flex and this time it’s your own hands this time that have to fly to your mouth to keep your cries in as Nanami does not give you a single moment to adjust, his hard length ripping through you and smashing against your womb.

“My girl thought she was being cute out there, hm? Showing off like that?”

Nanami growls through gritted teeth, his hips slapping against yours with an unforgiving force bolstered ever so slightly by his cursed energy. The rhythmic slaps of skin meeting skin and wet squeaks from your oozing core echo off the walls like a drumline.

You can hardly see Nanami now through your bleary, tear-filled eyes but he looks more like a wild animal than your perfectly composed boyfriend in this state. Nanami had never fucked you with this curse energy activated so the feeling was sensational as you felt his cock pierce through every nerve of your body.

“C’mon, my sweet slutty girl, no words now that Daddy is stuffing you better than the Thanksgiving turkey?”

Nanami’s fingers dig into your shoulder keeping you upright as he pistons into you harder, deeper—right against the sweet spot that has your eyes rolling back into your head and you forgetting your very name. His other palm slides to your stomach to feel the thick bulge of his cock filling you and press down forcibly moving your hips back to meet his bruising thrusts when your body can no longer do anything more but take it.

You can feel the sensuous pressure building quickly within you, so full, so ready to explode and gush all over Namani’s length drilling into you.

Mmmm, good god yessss!

You are finally getting your nut.

Nothing else mattered. Your face contorts in your aching pleasure behind your hands.

You’re almost there.

Nanami is growling into your neck, feeling your imminent release.

“Don’t tell me my slutty girl is already abou—”

“Huh, Is this the bathroom? Sweetie, are you in there? Where’s Nanami?”

Your mom’s voice crashes through the filthy haze like a gunshot, and pure panic rockets up your spine. The tiny bathroom spins around you, Nanami still buried deep inside, your heart lurching so violently you almost faint.

Approaching the door, she hastily knocks.

Fuck!

Your eyes widen in horror but Nanami doesn’t flinch.

This was your punishment after all and your consequence to bear.

Though Nanami does slow the feverish pace, that mere moments ago had the sounds of your flesh ringing off the walls, his hips never still completely.

Instead, his movements grow more deliberate, more precise.

With a commanding grip on your waist and hips, his cock grinds methodically against your cervix, each rotation of his pelvis powerful and calculated.

God, you swear you can feel his cock grinding up into your fucking ribs…

“Go on, answer her…”

Nanami goads you with low raspy whispers. Once he guides your body into a rhythm, his hands lazily wander up to pull your sweater dress completely down in the front and tweak your nipples.

Damn him! But— FUCK, if it doesn’t feel so, so good.

The well of drool you were holding in spills through your hands to dribble down your wrists

“These naughty fuckin’ lips had no problem mouthing off at the dinner table, whats wrong now sweetheart?”

What was wrong was Nanami slowly churning your core into liquified mush with his torturous strokes scraping against your womb.

This pace was somehow even more brutal than before.

But your mom now jiggling the door knob snaps your attention back to the urgent reality of the situation.

“Are you okay in there, honey?”

No you weren’t okay!

Nanami was driving you to insanity. You needed more.

This wasn't enough to make you cum, only keep you dangerously on the edge of it while your body screamed for release.

But you had to answer your mother, she is totally the type to beat down the door and then your dad might force Nanami into a shotgun wedding right here and now, roping your uncle in to officiate. (That idea did make you giggle but that ultimately was NOT how you wanted to get married to Nanami!)

“Umm, er—AH! Hah, I, uh, um… jus’ ate t-too much momma, m’s-sick…shiiiit.”

You nearly bite a chunk out of your tongue as Nanami's hand leaves your waist to draw slow agonizing circles around your clit in perfect sync with his grinding while the other lazily flicks your nipples.

“Oh no sweetie, you need me to come in there to help you, pooh?”

“N-NO! Nnngh!”

You said that a bit hastily, trying to recover.

You had to convince your mom you were fine. Well fine enough she'd be persuaded to leave you alone.

“Mmm, n-no, Momma, m-ma’am, I-I just need a minute…I-I’ll be out!”

“Okay, well I’m just a holler away, if you do…”

Thank fuck…

“Oh, and one more thing?”

God what now?! Let it end please...

Rolling your eyes in exasperation you exhale through your teeth, keeping your shit together somehow. The irony was not lost on you—now knowing exactly how Nanami felt at the dinner table.

“Y-Yes m-ma’am?”

“You never told me where Nanami ran off too, I couldn’t find him in the kitchen.”

Gnawing on your inner cheek you suppress a needy moan as Nanami takes to placing nuzzling kisses into the crook of your neck.

“The s-store! I t-think he went to the store, Mom… U-Uh, for the pies. Y-Yeah, um, to make w-whipped cream!”

It was the first excuse that popped into your head—and thankfully, it was enough. With not much more fuss from her, you finally hear your mom’s footsteps retreating back down the hall, her worries laid to rest for now.

Moreover, your lies also earn you dark chuckles from Nanami, who couldn’t help but breathe filthy praises in your ear. Relentlessly taunting you with what your mother might say if she knew she'd raised such a naughty, deceitful lil’ slut.

“Whipped cream, hm? When did my sweet girl turn into such an underhanded brat?”

You manage to twist just enough to throw a pout over your shoulder at Nanami—only to find him watching you with a rare shit-eating grin stretching across his usually stoic features.

“Something wrong, my love?”

You can't take this teasing any longer—it's downright villainous—and with a sob of frustration, you snap, squirming and cooing for him to finally give you what you want.

“Pwease, K-Ken, m’sorry, *sniff* I won’t act up anymore. *sniff* I promise.”

There she is.

There’s his good girl that’s been hiding all along under that slutty Hyde-like brat.

Nanami hums, pleased with the turn of events. All the sass in you temporarily melting away.

“F-Forgive me…please, s-sir?”

Sir.

Oh you little minx.

If hearing you call him Daddy thrilled the dom in Nanami, then hearing you whimper sir—so soft, so desperate—nearly drove him feral. He knew he'd broken you the moment the brat in you crumbled enough to say it without a hint of defiance or sarcasm.

“If I finally make this slutty lil’ cunt cum...are you going to take all of Daddy’s in your pretty pussy like a good girl?”

You nod whispering through your sniffles.

“And when we return to the living room you will continue to act like the respectable young lady that Daddy trained you to be?”

You’re bobbing your head in affirmation but Nanami needs to hear it again, hear you call him that delicious little word from your lips once more.

“Words, babydoll.”

“Y-Yes, sir! I-I’ll be so good for you… I-I’ll—”

However, Nanami hushes you with a soft murmur, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek, his voice smoothing into a warm, calming lull.

“I know you will doll. I want you to let it all go, everything you've been holding for me all month—I’ve got you sweetheart.”

And it hasn’t been just you holding it, not by a long shot.

Nanami’s brow prespires as his muscles tremble from the sheer restraint he’s been holding onto all month—restraint he’s finally ready to cast aside. He delights in the way your body quivers, hunched and pliant beneath him, before snapping his hips forward and resuming the merciless pace that had you falling apart earlier.

You sob in raw relief, the sound abruptly cut off as Nanami’s hand tightens around your throat—firm but careful—silencing you while your fingers scramble for purchase against the sink, clinging to it like a lifeline as the rough pads of his fingers feverishly strum over your clit.

“I thought my sweet girl wanted to cum, hm? So then cum for me.”

Nanami’s voice is all silk and sin, his cock pulsing deep inside your creamy cunt.

However, twice now you’ve been edged and you think you might just combust on the spot if for some godforsaken reason it happens a third time.

You can’t even form a coherent sound to respond to him though—your body strung so tightly—buzzing with a frantic cocktail of need, paranoia, and overstimulation.

You wanna let go so bad.

When the coil inside you finally snaps, your sweet, celestial orgasm crashes down in violent, shuddering waves, that has Nanami’s hand returning to your mouth in order to suppress it enough not to draw attention.

When the coil inside you finally snaps, pleasure detonates through your body in wild, celestial bursts—so fierce Nanami has to slap his hand back over your mouth to smother the desperate, lewd sounds lest you draw more attention.

Growling in response to your convulsing grip on his cock, Nanami, drives one more hard slam of his hips into your ass as thick, molten ropes of cum spill into you, painting your insides white.He doesn’t stop—rubbing cruelly slow circles into your swollen clit with the pads of his fingers, forcing every last aftershock to wrack your body while he stays sheathed inside you.

A feral growl rumbles from Nanami's chest as your spasming walls clamp down around him. With a final, punishing thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, spilling thick, molten ropes of cum deep inside you—painting your insides completely white. He doesn’t relent there, the rough pads of his fingers working merciless circles over your swollen clit, wringing every last shudder and twitch from your overstimulated body as he stays locked inside you, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

Nanami is claiming you from the inside out—filling you so completely it almost hurts—and fuck, if the way your abused, sloppy pussy kept milking him didn’t make him want to start all over again.

The urgency of your current situation is momentarily forgotten as Nanami relishes every helpless flutter of your cunt around him—along every obscene, wet squelch of his cum sloshing inside your womb.

It's addicting. Dangerously so.

Nanami almost regrets having nearly spent an entire month without it. Yet now that he’d broken ‘No Nut November’ he wasn’t about to let up on you anytime soon—you were still owed that spanking later tonight after all.

Nevertheless after a minute Nanami does pull out, albeit reluctantly.

Grabbing a spare hand towel, he dampens it with cool water, and gives you a few through swipes—dragging it over your trembling thighs, sticky tummy, and the flushed rise of your chest.

Nanami doesn’t bother wiping between your legs, letting the thick mess of his cum drip down your inner thighs unchecked, hidden under the hem of your dress as he tugs it roughly back into place.

Also part of your punishment. By the time he’s done, you almost look innocent—if not for the way your frizzy hair clings to your temples and the slightly dazed flush about your face.

It would have to be good enough—for now at least—especially since Nanami is always the one stuck covering for your half-baked lies.

“Now, quickly grab your shoes and we’ll slip out the back.”

You simply blink at him, still a bit out of it from the first actually satisfying orgasm you had all month.

“Huh? Why?”

Nanami’s smirk is devious as he clicks his belt into place.

“Darling, you told your mother I went to the store to buy whipped cream for the pies.”

“So?”

Nanami’s grin turns wolfish, clearly amused as the brat he spent so long fucking into submission claws her way right back to the surface.

“So sweet girl, we can’t exactly serve them the cream I just made inside of you, now can we, princess?”

Goddamnit. You’re pouting, realizing how your mouth has talked you into all sorts of problems today.

“Now hurry along, my love. Oh, and you better keep those thighs of yours closed tight—I don’t think aisle 5 is equipped to clean up that kind of creamy spill.”

𝐚/𝐧: so is nanami more out of pocket here for nnn than otaku!gojo was? lmfao, you decide 🤭.

comment and reblog to let me know how you liked it~~

idk why but it took me forever to get this fic in a place where I like it. I still may go back and edit it a bit again, fix any remaining errors. (I wrote so many paragraphs like 3x over that there might be repeating lines im so sorry I tried to delete them all).

last up but definitely not least is Higuruma, Hiromi (comment on m.list for tag). not sure when i will get his part out. I want to go back and work on like a handful of things but it's also like 70% done so we will see lol.

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saltandlavenderblog · 8 months ago

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Roasted sweet potatoes

#recipe #cooking #easy recipes #homemade #sweet potatoes #thanksgiving #thanksgiving side dishes #holiday recipes #fall recipes #winter recipes #healthy recipes

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inafieldofstarflowers · 5 months ago

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So you’re in college and one day this student athlete who’s in your improv class asks you to be his date at an event for his team. It’s nothing serious—everyone knows he’s in a committed relationship, but it’s also a long-distance relationship, and he explains that they’ve decided to keep it at least semi-open while apart, so you could totally hook up with him—and he’s nice and easy to talk to, and so you overlook the fact that his team is consistently wrapped up in some scandal or another (especially the new guy). The drive there is pretty chill, except as soon as you get there, the coach gives the star player (who’s also famous) a bottle of vodka and he just goes to town on it, which is weird, but whatever. And then you go inside and find your seats, which are across from the team’s rivals (which—really? who planned this?), and the world’s tensest, most confusing conversation devolves into the new guy ripping into the other team’s captain (who, by the way, is also famous), and you all get moved to sit with the coaches, which is weird but fine. After eating, things are good—you dance with your date, some people have a volleyball game going, and other than some altercation happening off to the side of the room (you’re pretty sure the guy’s team captain just hit a guy in the balls with her heels), everything is normal, and eventually the coach rounds you up and you head back to campus, and after that you don’t really do anything with the guy again, but around thanksgiving one of his cousins kills a guy, and then the new guy comes back from winter break with one of the face tattoos the two famous guy and their friend have, and then a few months later he gets kidnapped by his dad (who was apparently a serial killer he was running from?) and even with all of that they somehow not only make it to finals but are the first team to ever beat their rivals out—and for the championship trophy, no less—and the other team’s captain maybe tries to kill the new guy on live tv but the guy from improv’s other cousin stops him by breaking his arm, and shortly after the game the news breaks that the other team’s captain killed himself after losing, after which his coach steps down and a bunch of information starts leaking suggesting that the rival team was some kind of cult. Your name is Jim, and you kind of think you should quit improv and maybe transfer schools.

#like katelyn has some idea of what’s happening with the foxes but jim has no context for all that #he MUST have walked out of that winter banquet a changed man #aftg #all for the game #jim from improv #nicky hemmick #neil josten

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d-z20 · 8 months ago

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Neighbourly Care part 3 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You go home for Thanksgiving and who else joins your family but none other than their wonderful neighbours Agatha and Rio

-OR-

You struggle to make it through the meal and so does Agatha, but she "accidentally" spills her drink which means you fuck in the bathroom :)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, top Agatha, top Rio, fingering, oral, mention of humiliation kink

Words: 3.5k

A/N: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE AND KUDOS!!! to celebrate here is a bonus seasonal chapter :D Happy Thanksgiving to those that celebrate, and to those who don't: enjoy the chapter anyway ;)

AO3 | Part 1 | 2 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | Masterlist

A Thanksgiving To Remember

As the morning light filters through the blinds, the hotel room is dim and quiet. You wake up slowly, feeling warm and content, your body still tingling from last night. You shift slightly, realising that Rio is already awake. She’s sprawled comfortably on her side, her head resting on the pillow, her hand absently stroking your arm. Her eyes flicker open as she senses you waking, and she smiles at you lazily.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Rio hums, stretching and running a hand through her hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Good thanks, how about you?" You smile, feeling the pull of her easy, bright energy. Was she always so upbeat in the mornings?

“I’m great. But she,” Rio gestures toward Agatha with a playful smirk, “isn’t a morning person.”

Behind you, Agatha just grumbles in response, muffling her face into the pillow and pulling you closer into her. Rio leans over, a mischievous grin on her face as she brushes Agatha’s hair from her face. “C’mon, darling, I’ll make you coffee,” she offers sweetly, but you can hear the hint of a challenge in her tone.

Agatha groans again but finally starts to sit up, stretching with an audible crack in her spine. “Fine, fine,” Agatha mutters. “But it better be good, or I’ll go back to sleep.”

Rio laughs and gets up to make coffee, leaving Agatha to rub her eyes before looking at you. You share a quiet moment, the lingering energy from the night before making the air between you feel heavy with unspoken thoughts.

As Rio busies herself in the kitchenette in the corner of the room, Agatha grabs her phone and starts swiping through it. Not wanting to bother her, you reach for your phone too. You’re happily scrolling when a notification pops up

MILF 1 has added you to the group chat.

MILF 1 named the group chat Check-In Group

MILF 1: There. You can’t ignore us now, sweetheart.

You’re smiling at your phone when you feel Rio standing next to you, coffee in hand

“What are you smiling at? Not another potential date, I hope." She meant it as a tease, but you can hear the hint of jealousy in her voice.

“No,” you chuckle. “In fact, it’s just the opposite; Agatha is making sure that never happens again.” You tilt your phone to show Rio the notifications.

She looks down at your phone, her eyes narrowing slightly at the screen. “Why do you have Agatha saved as MILF 1?” she asks, raising her voice loud enough so Agatha hears.

You laugh nervously and quickly glance at Agatha, who’s sitting up now and lazily sipping her coffee, her attention on the two of you. She raises an eyebrow at you, her eyes glinting with something more than just curiosity.

“Well?” Rio prompts, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

You squirm under their combined gazes, feeling both flustered and slightly turned on. “It’s just the truth,” you admit sheepishly, your voice dropping as you fidget with the comforter. “She is a mom, and, well, I do want to f—” You stop yourself just in time, your cheeks heating as you look anywhere but at them.

Rio raises an eyebrow, a wicked grin curling on her lips. “Oh? And what am I saved as?” she teases, voice low and playful. “Please tell me it’s not just MILF 2.”

Your face goes hot, and you start fiddling with the comforter in your lap. “It might be.”

Rio bursts into laughter. “You really couldn’t think of something more creative?” she asks, shaking her head in mock disapproval.

Agatha’s smile never fades, but her eyes darken, and she stands up, stretching slowly. “Okay, on that note, I’m going to go shower,” she says, cutting through the playful moment. She gives Rio a brief kiss on the cheek before heading toward the bathroom. “You two behave while I’m gone.”

As Agatha disappears into the bathroom, Rio sets her coffee cup on the nightstand and leans closer to you, her expression shifting. There’s an undeniable heat in her eyes as her lips brush against yours in a kiss that’s possessive and urgent. “So you like to fuck us, hmm?” she whispers against your lips, her breath warm as it fans over your skin.

Your breath catches as her words sink in, and your body reacts almost instantly, a tingling warmth pooling low in your belly.

When the bathroom door clicks shut behind Agatha, Rio doesn’t waste a second. She pushes you back against the pillows, her touch both gentle and commanding. The electricity in the air is palpable as her lips find yours again, her kiss deepening with every passing second.

You moan softly when her hand trails down your side, grazing your hip before slipping under your waistband. She pauses just long enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re already so excited for me. Do you like it that much when I humiliate you?” Her tone is teasing, but there’s an edge to it that makes you shiver.

Before you can answer, Rio presses her lips to yours again, cutting off any reply as her hand moves with a confidence that leaves you breathless. Her touch is slow at first, teasing, as though she’s savouring every little sound you make in response. The tension between you builds rapidly, and the air is charged with unspoken need.

Somewhere in the background, you faintly register the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. Rio pulls back just enough to mutter against your lips, her voice low and dripping with desire. “I’ve got about ten minutes until she's done showering.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, the hunger in her tone unmistakable. You swallow hard, your pulse racing as you meet her gaze. “I don’t think we’ll need that long anyway,” you admit softly, your voice trembling slightly under the weight of her intensity.

Rio smirks, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction at your answer. She wets her fingers with your arousal before burying two of them inside you, igniting a fire in your core that threatens to consume you completely. “So eager for me already,” she murmurs, her voice both teasing and utterly dominating. Her words make your breath hitch, the hint of humiliation in her tone only heightening your anticipation as she begins to fuck you.

There is no slow buildup, and Rio is mercilessly fucking you in seconds, pulling sounds out of you that you didn’t even know you could make; you’re pretty sure that the whole floor can hear you now.

She starts to pump her fingers faster, and you can hear how wet you are. She takes your bottom lip between her teeth and bites down before soothing it with a quick swipe of her tongue. "Shhhhh, baby, try and keep quiet for me; Aggie can’t know what I’m doing.”

The idea that this sex was potentially forbidden pushes you over the edge, and you grip on to her shoulders for dear life as your orgasm comes crashing over you. You pull Rio into a messy kiss to try and dampen your moans as you wind down. She pulls her fingers out, humming with pleasure as she sucks them clean.

“Fucking hell,” you pant.

Rio looks at you with a devilish grin.

The sound of the bathroom door opening jolts you out of the haze. Agatha steps into the room, towel-wrapped and hair damp, her expression calm as she surveys the scene. Rio immediately freezes, her eyes widening slightly like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

But Agatha doesn’t say a word. She simply raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips, before turning back to the closet to finish getting ready. Her calm, collected demeanour somehow leaves you even more flustered than being caught outright.

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. After Agatha and Rio get you dressed, they drive you back to your college apartment; their voices light and playful. “Remember to actually text us this time,” Rio teases as she pulls up to the curb. “We’re not just for weekends, you know.”

“Yeah, text us, sweetheart,” Agatha adds with a soft smile. “We like hearing from you.”

“I will,” you promise, glancing at your phone, already thinking of what you were going to text them.

—

Later that evening, you’re mindlessly scrolling on your phone when you notice a new notification in your group chat with Agatha and Rio.

Check-In Group

MILF 2 changed the name to MILFs Anonymous

MILF 1: Rio!

MILF 2: Come on, just let me have this one thing :(

MILF 1: Fine, but Y/N, change our contact names now please

You roll your eyes at Rio’s antics but do as you’re told, not wanting to dissapoint Agatha; you still feel a bit guilty for having sex with Rio this morning.

—

Over the next few days, you find yourself texting with them more and more. The conversations flow easily—Agatha constantly checking in on you, always asking if you’ve eaten or if you’re doing alright. It’s sweet, in a way you didn’t expect, but it’s comforting. Rio, on the other hand, can’t resist sending her terrible dad jokes, which, despite your best efforts, always make you laugh.

MILFS Anonymous

~ 15:48

Rio: What do you call a group of crows that stick together?

You: Oh God, please stop

Agatha: Seriously. You’re not funny

Rio: VelCrows :)))

Agatha: Sometimes I wonder how I fell in love with you

Rio: It’s because I fuck you like there’s no tomorrow ;)

~ 21:17

Agatha: *click to open image*

Agatha: Huh, you don’t look like you’re doing much fucking to me

You drop your phone with a loud clatter. You were not expecting to see a picture of a Rio naked and tied to the bed with a vibrator pressed against her clit and by the looks of it, she had been like that for some time. You spend the rest of your evening fucking yourself to that image. Each time you think you’re done and can't cum any more, the image pops into your mind again, and you start to imagine all the things they would do if you were with them, and before you know it, your hand is back between your legs.

—

Thanksgiving break arrives faster than expected, and the familiar comfort of your parents' home feels like a welcome change from the chaos of college life. You arrive in the early afternoon, greeted by the warm aroma of roasted turkey and spiced pies wafting from the kitchen. It’s a little odd being home after everything that’s happened with Rio and Agatha, knowing they live just next door. You wonder if you’ll see them during your visit.

It turns out you don’t have to wonder for long.

A knock at the front door pulls you from your thoughts, and your dad answers with a cheerful, “Agatha! Rio! Happy Thanksgiving!”

Your stomach flips.

You appear in the hallway just in time to see them stepping inside, Agatha holding a neatly wrapped gift basket and Rio carrying what looks like a bottle of wine. They’re dressed casually but still look effortlessly gorgeous; Rio is dressed in a breezy striped blue shirt that’s half tucked into her jeans. The loose fit of the shirt somehow adds to her charm, her confident movements making it clear she’s completely at ease. Agatha, on the other hand, is the picture of sophistication, her fitted blazer in a warm mustard hue paired with a turtleneck and slacks giving her a commanding presence that turns heads—even in such a casual setting.

“We just wanted to drop this off,” Agatha says, her usual polished tone soft and warm. “A little something for the holiday.”

“Oh, nonsense, you’re not just dropping it off,” your mom insists, appearing behind your dad. “You’re staying for dinner. It’s the least we can do after everything you did for this one when they got locked out in the rain.”

Your heart nearly stops. You glance at Agatha, who meets your wide-eyed look with a calm, knowing smile.

“Really, it wasn’t any trouble,” Agatha says smoothly, a teasing lilt in her voice. “I mean, we could’ve just let them in with the spare key you gave us, but... well, we thought they might prefer a warm bed and some company at ours instead.”

Your cheeks burn as Rio chimes in, her grin bordering on wicked. “And they didn’t seem to mind one bit.”

Your parents laugh, completely oblivious to the deeper meaning behind the exchange, but you feel like you’re about to combust. Agatha and Rio both throw you brief, pointed glances before following your mom into the dining room, leaving you standing there trying to steady your racing heart.

—

Dinner starts off innocently enough, but the air feels charged in a way you can’t quite explain. You’re hyper-aware of Rio sitting across from you and Agatha beside you, their presence consuming all your focus.

Rio’s long fingers wrap elegantly around her wine glass as she listens to your dad talk, but her gaze keeps drifting to you, her lips curving into a faint smirk every time your eyes meet. Meanwhile, Agatha takes every opportunity to lean close, brushing her arm against yours under the guise of reaching for the breadbasket or whispering a sly comment in your ear that sends a jolt of heat straight to your core.

“You look a little flushed, sweetheart,” Agatha purrs at one point, her tone dripping with amusement. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, biting your lip to keep from saying something that would give you away. Rio catches the exchange and arches an eyebrow, her gaze flickering between the two of you knowingly.

It only gets worse as the meal progresses. Rio’s foot grazes yours under the table, lingering just long enough to send a thrill up your spine.

When Agatha pours herself another glass of wine, she tilts the bottle toward you with a raised brow, silently asking if you’d like more. You nod, not trusting your voice. As she leans over to fill your glass, her lips brush your ear so faintly it feels like a whisper of air. “Behave, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice so low and intimate that a shiver runs down your spine.

You clench your thighs and glance up at her wide-eyed, but she only pulls back with that same subtle smile, her expression calm and unreadable.

You do your best to stay composed, but your mind is spinning. Every touch, every look, and every smirk makes it harder to focus on anything else.

Then, as if the universe wants to test your resolve further, Agatha “accidentally” spills a bit of wine on her sweater.

“Oh, shoot,” she says, dabbing at the stain with her napkin.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” your mom says quickly. “Y/N, show Agatha where the bathroom is, and grab her a clean top from the laundry room, will you?”

You nod, your pulse quickening as you rise from the table. Agatha follows you down the hall, her calm exterior betraying nothing, but you can feel the tension radiating off her like heat. You scurry off to grab Agatha a clean top and quickly show her to the bathroom.

The moment you’re alone in the room, she closes the door behind you with a soft click and turns to face you, her expression shifting from composed to utterly predatory.

“Finally,” she murmurs, stepping closer, her voice low and thick with desire. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you all evening?”

Your breath catches as she backs you against the counter, her hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against her. Her lips are on yours before you can respond, the kiss hungry and demanding, igniting a fire in your chest that spreads through your entire body.

“Agatha, we—” you start to protest, your voice a shaky whisper, but she silences you with another kiss, her hands sliding up your sides to cup your face.

“They’re none the wiser,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice sending shivers down your spine. “Now, let me have you for just a moment.”

Before you can respond, Agatha’s hands drift lower, deftly removing anything on your bottom half that will get in the way of her goal and letting the fabric fall to the tiled floor. Her gaze darkens as she sinks to her knees in front of you, her palms sliding down your thighs, leaving trails of heat in their wake.

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, full of lust and mischief, as she leans in closer. “Dripping everywhere,” she murmurs, her voice husky and teasing, her lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Just like the first time we were in a bathroom together. Seems I have a knack for this, don’t I?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as her words hang in the air, her presence between your legs sending a surge of electricity through you.

It might be Thanksgiving, but your body feels like the Fourth of July when she drags her tongue from your entrance to your clit. She sucks it into her mouth and flicks lightly with the tip of her tongue before releasing it and going back to push her tongue inside you. The woman is on a mission and wastes no time in bringing you close to your climax in record time.

Her hand clamps over your mouth, not willing to risk you letting the whole street know that you’re going to cum, and then, with a final flick of her tongue, you’re glad she did because the orgasm hits you like a fucking 18-wheeler truck, your legs start to shake, and you have to grip on to the sink to stop yourself from collapsing.

Your breathing comes in ragged gasps as the world tilts back into focus, your body still trembling from the intensity of what just happened. Agatha stands, her movements unhurried and precise as she grabs a tissue and delicately wipes the corner of her mouth, her expression one of calm satisfaction.

"Still as sweet as I remember," she murmurs, her voice low and teasing as she crumples the tissue and tosses it into the small trash can by the sink.

You blink at her, still clinging to the edge of the sink for balance, your legs shaky and your mind a hazy blur of aftershocks. Agatha’s hands are steady as she helps you straighten your clothes, her touch lingering just a moment too long, her fingers grazing the small of your back before she steps away.

She smooths the fresh top you fetched for her, giving herself a quick once-over in the mirror. Perfectly put together, not a single hair out of place. You can’t help but marvel at her composure, especially when you feel like you’ve just been turned inside out.

Agatha turns back to you, a soft, almost maternal smile on her lips as she gives your ass a light pat. “Go on, darling,” she says, her tone playful but firm. “Head back out there before they start to wonder. I’ll be right behind you.”

You swallow hard, willing your legs to cooperate, and make your way back to the dining room, still trying to regain your composure.

The two of you return to the dining room during dessert, the scent of sweet pies and coffee wafting in the air. Agatha looks completely composed now, her clean top fitting snugly as she takes her seat next to you. She even stops for a moment to dab a napkin at the corner of her mouth—the perfect picture of elegance considering she was wiping away the last remnants of your cum. You, however, can feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you settle down, trying not to meet anyone’s gaze too directly.

From the other side of the table, Rio watches the two of you with a smirk that’s far too knowing for comfort. She raises her glass in a small toast, the corner of her lips quirking in amusement before she takes a slow sip.

“So,” she says casually, her tone light but her eyes sparkling with mischief, “did the mess get sorted out?”

Agatha doesn’t miss a beat, shooting her a calm, collected smile. “All taken care of. They were very helpful.” She says, draping an arm around the back of your chair.

Your mother beams, none the wiser. “Well, that’s sweet. Always good to know you’ve got a helping hand.”

Rio stifles a laugh behind her hand, her eyes meeting yours briefly. The heat simmering beneath your skin refuses to let up, and you can only hope that dessert wraps up soon—before someone else catches on.

-----

"we could’ve just let them in with the spare key"

*humming* it was Agatha all along

⚠️Remember⚠️validation saves lives (this fic dies when I believe nobody likes it anymore because I have imposter syndrome)

READ PART 4

-----

taglist: @aceday @valarmorghuli @ctrlamira @lezbean-with-a-side-of-dilfs @noturlondonboy @darkangelchronicles @4theluvofsapphos

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riesread · 10 months ago

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First Glimpse - Jude Bellingham

— REQUEST status OPEN

— pairing • jude bellingham x fem!reader

— summary • In Jude Bellingham’s much-anticipated documentary series, fans are given an intimate look into the football star’s life, with a special feature introducing his long-time girlfriend—you. Known for keeping a low profile despite dating one of football’s brightest stars, this marks your first public appearance. During a heartwarming interview, you open up about how you and Jude met, even though you already knew who he was, and how you never expected to become his girlfriend. The episode includes candid moments with Jude’s family, particularly his parents and younger brother, Jobe, with a special Thanksgiving Eve gathering where you all share laughter, love, and togetherness. Through your eyes, fans get to see a more personal side of Jude and his close-knit family.

— warnings • none :)

— note • i’ve got like 7-8 request about to write a one-shot with reader featuring in one of jude’s document series. so here it is, i hope you enjoy, happy reading!!

The camera focuses in on a familiar setting for those who follow Jude Bellingham’s career: the cozy, welcoming living room of the Bellingham family home. The walls are adorned with family photos, mementos from Jude’s rise in football, and hints of his personality—trophies and framed jerseys alongside warm family portraits.

But today, the focus is on you. You sit on the sofa, the soft cushions surrounding you as the camera captures your slight nervousness. A small, warm smile crosses your face, and you shift in your seat, unused to the spotlight.

A voice from behind the camera breaks the silence. The interviewer. “So, this is your first time on camera. How are you feeling?”

You chuckle, glancing off-screen for a moment as if looking for support before turning back. “Yeah, it’s definitely new for me. I’m more of a private person, so this is... different, but I’m excited to be part of this.”

There’s an understanding laugh from the interviewer. “For everyone watching, could you introduce yourself?”

You nod and give a small wave. “Hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I’m Jude’s girlfriend, and, um... yeah, I’m usually not in front of the camera, so this is a bit out of my comfort zone,” you say, your voice laced with both nerves and humor.

The interviewer continues smoothly, keeping the tone light. “So, let’s jump into the good stuff. How did you and Jude meet?”

You pause for a moment, your eyes softening as you think back to the day. “Well, I actually knew who Jude was,” you begin with a smile. “I mean, he’s Jude Bellingham. Anyone who follows football knows who he is. But I never imagined I’d actually end up dating him. That wasn’t even on my radar.”

The camera cuts to a shot of Jude laughing in an earlier part of the documentary, as if he’s recounting the same story, though from his perspective. His grin is wide, and there’s a glint in his eyes that shows how much he enjoys this memory.

You continue, your voice a little more relaxed now as you find your rhythm. “We met through mutual friends at a small gathering. I’d seen him play on TV and heard about him through the grapevine, but when we met in person, he was just... Jude. Not the football star. Just this really laid-back, funny guy.”

“So, did you know right away that you liked him?” the interviewer asks, intrigued.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not at all. I was definitely attracted to him—he’s handsome, obviously—but I didn’t expect anything more than just a friendly conversation that night. I thought it’d be a ‘Hey, nice to meet you,’ and that’d be it.”

There’s a brief pause, and the interviewer presses gently. “So what changed?”

You smile, eyes twinkling with the memory. “Jude changed. We ended up talking the whole night. It was so easy with him, and I realized he wasn’t just this football prodigy everyone sees on the pitch. He’s so much more. Kind, funny, and really grounded. But it was his persistence that surprised me the most. After that night, he didn’t just let it end there. He reached out, wanted to spend time with me, and honestly? I couldn’t resist his charm.”

The camera switches to a series of candid clips, showing you and Jude out and about—him pulling faces to make you laugh, you playfully pushing him away before being pulled into a hug. It’s the kind of chemistry that makes it clear this relationship runs deep, full of mutual adoration and comfort.

“So, how long have you two been together now?” the interviewer asks off-screen.

You think for a second, tilting your head slightly as you calculate. “A little over two years now. Time flies, honestly. It’s been an incredible ride.”

“And what’s it been like, dating someone as high-profile as Jude?”

You take a deep breath, nodding. “It’s definitely been an adjustment. At first, it was a bit overwhelming, especially with how much attention he gets. But we had a conversation early on about keeping our relationship private, at least until we were ready. Jude’s been really protective of that—he’s always made sure I feel comfortable, and I love that about him. But I also understand that he’s a public figure, and being with him means that sometimes, I’ll be seen too. This,” you gesture around at the cameras, “is one of those times.”

The camera cuts to another moment—this time, Jude and you are walking through a park, your hands loosely clasped together. He swings your arm playfully, then stops to pull you into his side, whispering something in your ear that makes you laugh. It’s easy, intimate, and full of warmth.

“Speaking of being seen,” the interviewer continues, “how does it feel to finally share a bit of your relationship with the world?”

You laugh softly. “It’s exciting, I guess. People have always been curious, but I’ve been pretty firm about staying out of the spotlight. I’m not someone who thrives on attention like Jude does. But it’s nice to be able to show this part of his life. People know him as the footballer, but they don’t really see the person behind all of that. I’m happy to share a little bit of what we have, because it’s special.”

The camera pans across the Bellingham household, warm and inviting with the sounds of family chatter filling the air. Thanksgiving Eve at the Bellingham’s is a full house. Jude’s dad, Mark, is in the living room, laughing loudly with Jobe and Jude as they discuss football, while his mom, Denise, is in the kitchen, bustling about as she prepares the family meal.

The lens of the camera focuses on you for a moment. You’re helping Denise chop vegetables, your hands moving a little slower than hers but with focus, and you share a comfortable conversation. A nervous laugh escapes you as you attempt to cut the vegetables to her standard.

“Are you sure I’m doing this right?” you ask, holding up an unevenly chopped carrot with a teasing smile. “It doesn’t look quite like yours.”

Denise glances over and laughs softly, reaching out to gently touch your arm in reassurance. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re doing just fine,” she says, her voice full of warmth. “Trust me, my first Thanksgiving wasn’t perfect either. And honestly, even if it’s a bit wonky, it’s still going to taste amazing.”

Her words, her tone—there’s something deeply maternal in the way Denise speaks to you. It’s as if you’re already a part of the family, not just Jude’s girlfriend, but someone she holds close to her heart. You smile at her gratefully, feeling that familiar warmth whenever you’re around her.

Denise’s attention turns fully to you now, setting down her wooden spoon and wiping her hands on a towel before stepping closer. “You know,” she begins, her voice soft and kind, “I’ve always thought of you like a daughter. You’re such a big part of Jude’s life, but you’ve also become such an important part of ours too.”

You look at her, slightly taken aback by the depth of her words. Your heart swells in your chest, not expecting the surge of emotion. “That means the world to me, Denise,” you say, your voice quiet but sincere. “I’ve always felt so welcomed here. You and Mark, and even Jobe—you’ve all made me feel like part of the family from day one.”

Denise steps forward, enveloping you in a gentle but tight hug, the kind that only a mother could give. “That’s because you are family,” she whispers against your shoulder. “We love you like one of our own.”

You close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to sink into her embrace, feeling a wave of comfort wash over you. In this family, you’ve found something special—something you didn’t expect to have when you first started dating Jude. It’s not just a relationship with him; it’s a bond with the people who raised him, who made him the person you love so deeply.

As you pull away, Denise gives you a warm smile, her eyes soft with affection. “Jude’s a lucky man,” she says, glancing toward the living room where Jude is seated. “But then again, I think we’re all lucky to have you around.”

You chuckle softly, still holding onto the warm feeling in your chest. “I’m the lucky one. Jude’s incredible, and you’ve all been nothing but wonderful.”

Denise’s eyes twinkle as she leans in conspiratorially. “He’s a handful sometimes, though, isn’t he?”

You laugh, nodding in agreement. “Oh, definitely. But I love him all the more for it.”

Denise shakes her head, her smile growing wider. “Good, because he needs someone like you to keep him in check.”

There’s a shared understanding between the two of you, the kind that goes beyond words. Denise pats your hand and returns to stirring the pot, the air between you filled with warmth and affection. It’s a small moment, but one that fills your heart, making you realize just how deeply connected you’ve become to Jude’s family.

The scene transitions to the dining room, where the entire family is gathered around the table. Mark is telling a story, his booming laugh punctuating the conversation as Jobe makes a playful remark. Jude sits beside you, his arm draped over the back of your chair, his fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder as he smiles and laughs along with his family.

“Jobe, pass the bread,” Jude says, reaching across the table with a grin.

Jobe rolls his eyes dramatically but tosses the basket of bread to his brother. “There you go, Mr. Superstar.”

You nudge Jude with your elbow as he catches the bread. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t start charging for autographs at family dinners.”

Jude grins, leaning in closer to you. “Oh, I’d give you an autograph for free,” he teases, his voice low and playful.

You roll your eyes but smile, and as Jude reaches for his plate, Denise catches your eye from across the table. She gives you a wink, as if to say, See what I mean? A handful.

The love and ease that fills the room is palpable. You can’t help but feel overwhelmed with gratitude. This family has welcomed you, loved you, and made you one of their own, and tonight is a perfect reflection of that.

The camera lingers on the scene—Jude’s hand resting on your shoulder, Denise watching her sons with pride, and you laughing along with them, fully immersed in the warmth of their family dynamic.

As the evening winds down, and dessert is served, Jude’s dad, Mark, stands up, raising a glass. “I think we all know what I’m about to say,” he begins with a grin. “But this Thanksgiving, I just want to take a moment to say how grateful we all are. Grateful for family, for good health, and, of course, for the wonderful woman who’s come into our lives and made our son the happiest he’s ever been.”

You blink, taken aback by the sudden toast, your eyes glancing around the table. Denise smiles warmly at you, her eyes filled with affection, and Jude leans closer, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze under the table.

“To Y/N,” Mark says, raising his glass higher. “Welcome to the family. Officially.”

There’s a soft murmur of agreement as everyone raises their glasses, and you feel your throat tighten with emotion. It’s not just words—it’s a promise. A declaration that you belong here, with them.

As everyone takes a sip, Jude leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, whispering, “I told you they love you.”

You turn to him, your heart full. “And I love them.”

The camera captures the final moments of the evening—the plates scattered with crumbs, the soft murmur of conversation as everyone winds down, and the love that fills the room. The bond between you and Jude has always been special, but tonight, it’s clear that your relationship extends beyond just the two of you. You’ve found a home with his family, and they’ve found a place in your heart.

As the screen fades to black, the soft hum of background music plays, leaving the viewers with a sense of warmth and love, the credits rolling as the final glimpse of your story is shared with the world.

#jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham smau #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #football imagines #football fanfic #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham series

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 4 months ago

Text

the after party

fratboy!Jaehyun x f!reader

summary: Jaehyun realizes he's going to need to put some real work in to try to win you back. What, he didn't really think it would be easy to win you back, did he?

word count: 6.7k

warnings: profanity, angst, hurt, violence (a fight), drinking alcohol

a/n: THIS IS A PART 2! Read part 1, when the party's over, for context and catch up on more of my fratboy!Jae au!

dividers from strangergraphics <3

taglist! @chishiyapologist @hyunniebuns @cryingforjae @myfavoritedelusion @urlocalbeaner5 @ynzyy @seoksoop @ive-cool

Jung Jaehyun never thought he was stupid before this break up— could he even call it that? He always just figured he had one of those brains that wasn’t quite meant for academics and his strengths laid elsewhere. For a while he was able to convince himself that this was true. But then everything with you happened…

He’d gone and effectively ruined what could have possibly been the best, healthiest, most wonderful, most amazing relationship of his life just because he was a fucking idiot who didn’t know how to properly handle his feelings. Well, no, not an idiot for that reason alone, but more of an idiot because he said horrendous thing to you as a shit defense mechanism. He couldn’t chase after you, he couldn’t watch you leave, he couldn’t reach out, now, he could barely hear your name being said. He watched helplessly as the pictures of the two of you disappeared from your instagram, how one by one your friends all removed him from their following, how you blocked him, how soon enough he was like a ghost who had never even been a part of your life at all. A cautionary tale you’d one day share with your kids when you met the right man. He hated it. He hated it so much.

Every night he laid in bed, staring at his ceiling with a torturous pain in his chest that didn’t subside no matter how hard he cried, how loud he screamed into a pillow, no matter how much he drank, or how much he wrote about it. His actions, his words, the look of absolute pain and betrayal on your face haunted him unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. Every time he laid down to clear his mind, there were your tear filled eyes staring at him in horror as his own voice echoed in his head, “what the fuck makes you think you’re so special?” How could he have asked you that?! How could he have spoken to you like that?! You’re the most special girl on campus, in the country, in his life, on the face of this planet! He hates himself for saying that!

Six weeks have passed of feeling like this. Six long weeks that pass by in a very numb, dull manner. Every day without you is bleak. He misses hearing you talk, he misses kissing you, he misses just being near you. It’s too much for him. Sometimes he’ll catch glimpses of you across campus and go running over to you, ready to fall to your feet and beg for your forgiveness, but one of your friends always sends him a glare that scares him to his core. It’s enough to keep him away from you.

It’s not just your friends that don’t let him forget. Haechan doesn’t make himself shy to drunkenly shout, “Jaehyun, I hate you!” It happens at every frat party Nu Chi hosts. It’s the only time Haechan even looks in Jaehyun’s direction since everything went down. It’s the only time he talks to him or yells at him or acknowledges him. Haechan has made it very obvious whose side he took in the breakup and it’s very obviously not Jaehyun. The other guys are at least more subtle with their disappointment and disapproval. They can pretend to have conversations with him in front of his face while also simultaneously talking about him behind his back. He’s caught Johnny and Taeyong doing that multiple times.

After 6 weeks of feeling like shit, Jaehyun decides it’s time to at least try to talk to you seriously. Maybe he doesn’t go about it the best way, scratch that, he absolutely does not, but he’s ready to try. He doesn’t want to go home for Thanksgiving break and explain to his family that he fucked up the best relationship he ever had. He’s determined to get you back if it’s the last think he does.

Jaehyun remembers your schedule for the semester and walks over to your dorm when he knows you’ll be home. In one hand he’s got a bundle of flowers, and in the other he’s got a box of your stuff that you’d left behind. Right, so… maybe returning your stuff wasn’t the best move, but maybe it would open the door to conversation somehow. At least, that’s what he was banking on.

He knocks, his heart pounding in his chest as he hears shuffling behind the door. There’s quick stomping behind the door and then Ari opens it. He feels disappointment just flood his body, but he keeps his smile on his face. “Hey Ari, is she uh, is she here?”

He can hear you whisper angrily, “tell him I’m not here!”

Ari recites robotically, “she’s not here.”

Jaehyun nods slowly, shame flooding his body. You don’t even want to see him. That stings like a damn smack to the face. He clears his throat, “well, I brought her things back. I brought her some flowers too. Could you… could you tell her that I’m really sorry? I know I fucked up, but I’d really just like her to know that I didn’t mean anything I said. I would never.”

He can hear you scoff, it sounds close, you must be standing on the other side of the door and he feels his heart pound in his chest. He’s never felt like this before, so nervous and anxious of what someone might think of him. Being around you has never made him feel anxious, yet here you are, 2 feet away and he feels like a kid with a crush all over again.

“Tell him he can fuck off and that I never want to see his stupid fucking face ever again,” comes your harsh whisper. A black garbage bag lands beside Ari’s leg, “and tell him to take his shit too.” Fuck… it was one thing to imagine the level of anger you held toward him, but to hear it hurt unlike anything else.

Ari grabs the bag and thrusts it toward Jaehyun, “she said this is for you.”

Jaehyun takes the bag, feeling a sense of desperation. You’re so close, he’s right here. All he wants to do is talk. He just wants to talk to you and apologize, that’s it. He wants you to know that he didn’t mean anything he said and he would always have a special place in his heart for you. Always.

“Sweetheart, I— please,” Jaehyun tries.

Ari’s face pulls into what he assumes to be is a somewhat sympathetic frown, jerking the garbage bag in his direction once more, “this is your stuff.”

The painful feeling in his chest returns. A tight, burning sensation that steals the breath from his lungs and brings a pressure to his eyes. He nods silently, setting the box beside Ari’s feet before taking the bag from her hands. Very weakly he manages to get out, “these are for her.”

Ari takes the flowers, sending Jaehyun a tiny smile before he makes his way down the hall like he has many times before. He hears your door open and he turns with a feeling of bright hope. You’re going to come to him. Everything is going to be ok. He’ll get to apologize, you’ll take him back, and everything will be fine. It’s not you though, it’s just your arm tossing the bouquet of flowers down the hall in his direction.

His heart drops.

But he’s not giving up yet.

The next time he tries to talk to you admittedly, isn’t his best work, but it was spur of the moment! He decides to wait outside one of the buildings where your class is being held after one of his lectures ended early. He’s not proud to admit that he’s been studying the schedule of your classes that you sent him before everything went down. Actually, he’s been religiously poring over every interaction the two of you shared. He’s rereading texts, listening to songs you shared, and staring at pictures. He knows that this isn’t a class that you share with any of your friends and on these you walk home alone. It’s the perfect opportunity for him to act.

Luckily, he’s better prepared this time. He’s been thinking about his apology to you on a regular basis. He thinks about it when he showers, when he eats, before bed, during chapter meetings, in class. Every chance he gets to think about what he’s going to say, he uses to practice his words over and over again. By now, he knows the exact words he wants to say, he knows what he wants to apologize for, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that he wants you.

He sits on a bench just a couple yards away from your building, anxiously twiddling his thumbs and biting his bottom lip. He thinks he must look crazy. His hair is unkempt, bags under his eyes, and his knee is bouncing anxiously,.The class starts to pour out, but Jaehyun knows well enough that you won’t be one of the first ones out of the class. You like to stay behind to clear up any amount of confusion you had, even if it was just a word you thought you misheard. He finds himself wishing it was last semester all over again when the two of you had that child development class together. God, he’d do anything to go back and do it all over again, but better this time. He wouldn’t let you slip away if he could do it again.

He wipes his sweaty palms on the front of his jeans and stands. His heart starts to race in his chest when he sees you. You look beautiful, radiant even. The warm sun illuminates your hair, making you look like an angel right from heaven. You’re looking down at a piece of paper as you walk down the steps, right in his direction. He hates that he find himself thinking that you look even too pretty, too calm. It doesn’t look like you got your heartbroken just a month ago. You look normal, too normal while he looks like shit.

He clears his throat and shakes that thought out of his head, exhaling to calm himself before he calls out, “Sweetheart, hey.”

Your head snaps up like someone just scared you. Your eyes are wide, spine straight, and whole body tensed. Jaehyun notices immediately that your body language tells him that you’re uncomfortable. It makes him feel sick.

Your eyes flick up to meet his but you immediately begin walking away from him. Not a word. Not more than a second of eye contact. Just walking away right away.

He starts following you, reaching out to lightly grasp your wrist, “Sweets I just want to talk. You don’t even have to respond-”

You wrench your arm from his touch and his breath catches in his throat. Your gaze is fiery and angry, but your voice is calm, “what the hell makes you think that I would allow you to speak to me again?” Your voice is angry, as is your gaze, but fuck, your eyes look so pretty. The beautiful, deep pools of what he’s discovered is his favorite color to have ever existed. His mind knows it, and his heart certainly knows it too. There’s still a connection between the two of you. Something just clicks when he looks you in the eye.

“I just want to apologize,” Jaehyun stutters, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

“And you can continue wanting to do so. Maybe I’ll let you wait and stew around for four months feeling like a total dumbass like you did to me,” you bite at him.

“Sweetheart, I’m just sorry, alright?” Jaehyun tries again, feeling desperate. It feels like he’s trying to grasp at slippery grains of sand that just keep slipping through his fingers. Why is this so difficult?

“I am too.” You reply shortly, turning on your heel and walking away before he can say anything else. He knows you don’t mean that you’re sorry about what you said during the fight. He knows that your sorry means that you’re sorry you ever wasted your time with him.

His throat feels tight, his eyes burn with unshed tears as he watches you walk away. Nothing has ever hurt as badly as this does. He doesn’t care that past hook-ups could walk by and see him about to cry, he doesn’t care that he’ll look uncool. He cares that he feels helpless, that he won’t get you back. He feels like he fucked up so badly that you might never even look in his direction again.

But still he refuses to give up until he can actually give you the apology you deserve. He just hates that the mere sight of you makes him clam up and forget everything he had planned to say.

After the last try he starts to go a little crazy. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he had created an extra Instagram account to watch your friend’s Instagram stories. He sees how you practically glow on the screen. You look so ethereal. Like a goddess straight from Mount Olympus. He spends countless nights tapping away through countless friends’ Instagram stories. He sees how they all rally around you with dinner parties, movie nights, partying, and clubbing. In every picture, he can only focus on your face. Your beautiful face smiling so brightly at the camera like nothing horrible has happened to you. Like some dumbass with a 2.0 GPA (barely hanging on by a thread) hasn’t broken your heart and likely made you wary of any romantic interactions to come in the future. Every picture of you, every version of your smiling face, obscured with a plastic cup, covered with a sheet mask, eyes looking elsewhere, is burned into the deep recesses of his mind. How could he have ever hurt someone so beautiful, inside and out?

It’s one of the reasons why he knows you’re at a fucking Alpha Sig party tonight… looking hot as hell in a cute little crop top and your tightest jeans. He sends a mental thank you to Ari for posting a short clip of you guys taking a shot together before you dance off the burning sensation in your throat. It’s the same reason he manages to convince a handful of his own Nu Chi brothers into going to the same party with some weak excuse of fraternity relations.

That’s how he finds himself here, pressed against the wall of the Alpa Sig frat house, hoodie over his head, dead sober as he watches you dance happily with your friends. You look so happy, so carefree, like a love interest right from one of the romance movies you’d made him watch what feels like 100 years ago. Nights where he grumbled about not wanting to watch a stupid romance movie but ended up more invested than you were.

He watched you like he was stuck in some kind of trance. The colored lights flashed and strobed across the crowd of gyrating bodies in what he assumed was the living room when they weren’t partying. He watched as your hips swayed, arms raised as you move to the bone-shaking beat of the house music. He watches as Kira joins you and Ari, watches as she pushes another plastic cup into your hand, he sees how your eyes clench shut at the taste, but you don’t stop drinking whatever you have in your cup. He can’t help the way his eyes track every enticing sway of your hips, how your crop top lifts just a few inches which makes his mouth water. You don’t look inhibited by any kind of break up or broken heart like he does. He looks like some kind of sick and tired ghost summoned to ruin the vibe of the party. Where he used to attract girls like flies to a pot of sweet honey, his frankly off-putting vibe radiates off him so that the only people that can stand to be around him are his brothers that he dragged here. None of them would have ever been found dead at an Alpha Sig party if it weren’t for Jaehyun, and he would have never been found here it it weren’t for you.

He drags his tired eyes away from Yuta and Johnny’s faces, back to you. You and… who the fuck is that touching you?! There’s a random guy pressed to your back with one hand on your hip and the other on your waist, rising slowly until his hand is completely concealed by the tiny t-shirt you wear. He can see the guy dip his head down, whispering something into your ear before his lips begin to press against the slope of your neck.

Jaehyun is moving before he can even register what he’s feeling. He’s pushing through people until he has his hands on the neck of this asshole who had the guts to touch you. And then Jaehyun’s fist is hitting this guy’s jaw. Then, the punching doesn’t stop. Not when you start to scream and beg Jaehyun to stop. Not when Jaehyun has this guy on the floor beneath him. Not when the broken skin on his knuckles starts to sting. Not when the music stops. He can’t help it, he can’t stop himself. “She’s mine you fucking asshole! How dare you?!” He yells and it feels euphoric. It feels like the only way he can get out any fraction of the pain he’s been feeling for a month and a half now.

Four hands haul Jaehyun off the douchebag. A panting douchebag who sits up and smiles smugly at Jaehyun before calling out, “you punch like a bitch!”

Johnny and Yuta grunt while they drag Jaehyun out of the house, where the cold air of the night feels like a splash of ice cold water against his face. A refreshing feeling that lasts for only a second before you’re storming down the stairs with tears streaming down your cheeks before you’re coming at him and roughly shoving his chest. He shouldn’t feel his heart skip a beat when your hands touch him, but he does.

You shove him again, “who the fuck do you think you are?! Huh?”

“Sweetheart, he was touching all up on you. I wasn’t going to just stand and watch it happen,” he explains while he holds his hands up in mock defense.

Your tears don’t stop, your breathing quickens, “and what if I wanted him to touch me? What makes you the all knowing genius for what I want and don’t want? Why the fuck does that matter?!”

His breath catches in his throat and the harsh feel of your hands on his chest makes him take a faltering step back, “b-but that’s not you. You don’t… you don’t do stuff like that.” He knows you don’t. You made it very clear to him when you first met that his flirting wasn’t going to get him into your pants and even when he genuinely tried, it took him weeks to get you to see that he had real feelings for you.

“Yeah?” You breathe out, using the back of your hand to wipe away your mascara-mixed tears, “how well did my normal work out for me with you? God forbid a girl just wants to have a good time.”

He feels his ears ring, eyes widen, had he hurt you so badly that you were just going to go around and do whatever with random men? Not even random men, a fucking Alpha Sig brother?! That’s lower than low. That’s even lower than the bar he had set in hell for you.

His voice sounds broken, “have a good time with me!”

You scoff, your face twisting into one of disgust, “you’re a piece of shit, Jung Jaehyun.”

You’re turning on your heel and practically running away from him before he can respond, but this time he doesn’t just let you walk away. He’s made that mistake twice before and only idiots let the same mistake happen three times.

He’s moving after you quickly, desperately calling out, “I’m sorry!”

Johnny is in front of him before he can get too far, too close to you. His hand is gripping the back of Jaehyun’s hoodie, preventing him from running any further. “You have to let her go right now, dude,” Johnny tells him calmly.

Jaehyun sidesteps to get around his taller best friend but Johnny won’t let that slide. He anticipates every single one of Jaehyn’s moves. Jaehyn feels his breathing speed up, he’s clutching at the front of his hoodie like the fabric is suffocating him, “Johnny, please. I have to apologize.”

“She doesn't want to hear it right now. Nothing good would come of a conversation between the two of you right now,” Taeyong adds quietly.

Jaehyun’s eyes widen as he turns to face his friends surround him with a wild look in his eyes, “do you guys want me to be fucking miserable forever? I need her back!”

“You fucked up, Jaehyun! Do you know that?” Johnny yells, stepping forward to shove Jaehyun roughly until he’s stumbling back. A swift smack to the back of his head follows the harsh shove.

“I know that! You don’t think that I don’t think about that afternoon on a daily basis?!” Jaehyun screams back, while rubbing the back of his head.

Haechan steps in now, who knows where the hell this kid came from, “no! You need to sit here and really think about what the hell you’ve made her go through. You let her enter a relationship with you under the pretense that you would some day become her boyfriend. The second you heard that word you became some kind of mega asshole and broke her heart.” Jaehyun goes to argue, but Haechan stops him with a hand held up, “I’m not done, dumb fuck. This apology, this little search for forgiveness to make yourself feel better doesn’t happen on your time. It will happen when and if she’s ready. You don’t get to keep cornering her and constantly fucking reminding her of the pain you’ve put her through.”

The group around them is silent, everyone listening and waiting with bated breath to hear what their suddenly-super-wise younger brother will say next, “if you choose to pull some kind of stupid shit like this on one of my best friends again, I pray that some higher power has some mercy on you, because I won’t stop beating the shit out of you until I feel like it, and I have a lot of anger I need to take out on you.”

“I’ve been there for the handful of phone calls where she cried herself to sleep, the nights where she screamed and cursed your name, and the days when finally, she started feeling better and had the strength to haul herself out of bed after you broke her heart. So yeah, I have a lot of anger toward you so if that means I whale on you for more than a day, then it happens,” Haechan shrugs as if he just said the most casual thing on the planet, “so get your head out of your ass. Stop being selfish and leave her the fuck alone.”

The group that stands on the sidewalk outside the Alpha Sig house is still and quiet, probably more than they ever have been. The weight of Haechan’s words sit heavily in the air between all of them. They know it’s true, they know Haechan is right. It’s just that none of them have had the strength to say anything because Jaehyun has been so clearly distraught after the break up. Even Jaehyun knows he needed to hear it. Haechan is right… Jaehyun hasn’t even considered if you want to see him. He’s only been acting on what he feels.

Doyoung clears his throat, breaking the silence with, “I just thought I’d let you guys know that the Alpha Sig guys aren’t going to report Jaehyun. I convinced them not to make a complaint to the dean when I reminded them how often they’re brothers have been thrown out for preying on people at our parties. You’re just banned from any Alpha Sig events for a lifetime.”

Jaehyun nods numbly, letting out a weak, “thanks, bro.” Fuck, he hadn’t even considered that he could have gotten thrown out of school or even thrown in jail! He just fucking assaulted someone! He acted on his anger and his instincts the second he saw that asshole’s hands and lips on you.

He breaks down then, he falls to his knees with his shoulders shaking and his head in his hands. Everything is such a fucking mess! He hasn’t made any progress with you. In fact, he’s probably pushed you even further away from him. He’s basically failing all his classes because the only thing that can stay in his mind is you. You and how he hurt you and how good he had it and good he could have been having it now if he just hadn’t been a goddamn idiot! And now he just beat up one of his peers and could have been sent to jail, because once again, he acted without thinking properly!

His hands feel numb, a strange tingling sensation that spreads all the way up his fingers and into his brain as he pushes his palms against his eyelids. His shoulders shake with the force of his crying, deep, pained sobs escape his throat. He knows he has no one to blame but himself. It just hurts so damn bad.

He recognizes Johnny’s cologne and when he pries his swollen, tear-filled eyes open he looks up to see his best friend holding him. It’s comforting, like the hug of an actual older brother. An overwhelming stench of sweat, alcohol, and strong cologne engulfs Jaehyun next. A group hug. He let’s out a watery laugh.

Johnny squeezes his shoulder, shaking him lightly, “everything is gonna work out, bro. You just gotta give it some time. Thanksgiving break is just a few days away, and a week at home will give you some time to clear your head.”

Jaehyun wipes his eyes, “you think so?”

“We know so. Just be patient, be forgiving to yourself. Be patient and let yourself process your emotions,” Taeyong adds with a gentle smile.

It’s a week until the end of the semester when Jaehyun sees you again. Two weeks since he last saw you. 9 weeks since everything went to shit.

It’s finals week and Jaehyun has decided to refocus himself and get his grades up so he doesn't flunk out of school. He finds that his breath still hitches but his steps don’t falter like they did before. His instincts scream at him to go up to you and try to apologize again, but he doesn’t. He won’t admit that he’s genuinely scared of Haechan’s threat to beat his ass… but he is. It also helps that he got some very sage advice from his parents when he got home and poured his heart out to them.

He sits in a chair, with his back to you as he pulls his laptop open. A half done study guide fills his screen and he finds himself smiling. A study guide, the library, you. This is how it all began. He doesn’t think he believed in signs before, but this has to be one.

Nothing happens that day, but he finds that he’s finally alright with that.

It’s the last night before Jaehyun leaves for winter break when there’s a knock on the door of his room. He’s in his room packing his bags to head home for the holidays. Johnny knocks on his open bedroom door, “hey bro, there’s uh- there’s someone here to see you.”

“Me?” Jaehyun asks, looking up from the clothes he’s been haphazardly stuffing in his duffel bag.

From behind Johnny, you step out and Jaehyun’s heart skips a beat. Your eyes flicker up from the hardwood floor to meet his and there’s that familiar click of just… universal correctness. You clear your throat, hands nervously fiddling in front of your body, “hey.”

“Hey,” he breathes out, the cotton in his hands dropping onto the mess of his bag.

Johnny backs away slowly, leaving the two of you alone.

It’s strange having you here in his room again. It’s not a bad strange, it feels right, but he also knows that this room holds a lot of memories for the two of you, not all of them good. The room where everything happened. The room where everything ended.

“How are you?” You ask slowly.

Jaehyun nods, a little too eagerly, “good, I’m good. You?”

“Same,” you breathe out awkwardly. The room is tense. You shake your head, before exhaling quickly, “look, I came because I don’t want to start the new year on bad terms with anybody. I owe you an apology, Jaehyun. I’m sorry I drudged up my insecurities and basically slut-shamed you again. I know we fixed it one time, so we shouldn't have had to do it twice. I was insecure and hurt I should have thought about what I said before I spoke. Even though things between us didn’t work out, I didn’t want either of us, especially you, to go into the new year thinking that I was ashamed of what you decided to do with your own body and your own time before we were even together.”

Jaehyun nods, he’s stunned. He doesn’t think you have anything to apologize for. “Th-thanks,” he stammers out.

You nod to yourself, “well, that’s all I had to say. Have a good break, Jaehyun.”

Before you turn to leave, Jaehyun’s voice comes out quietly, “can I get my apology out too, please? I’ve been needing to do this for over two months. You don’t have to accept it, you can say no, but I need to do this.”

Your eyes are wide, your body language tells him you’re clearly stunned, and nervous. Despite that, you nod, “yeah, yeah that’s fine.”

He closes his eyes and lets out a long breath, giving himself a mental pep talk before his eyes are on you again. Comfort floods his system and he begins his apology that he’s been practicing for weeks now. “You deserve better than what I gave you. No girl deserves to go through how I treated you and how I spoke to you.”

You nod silently and he continues, “it’s not an excuse but I owe you an explanation. It’s no secret that I haven’t been in a committed relationship in a long time. It’s something that I guess I’ve forgotten how to handle. I’ve never been with anyone that made me want to be in anything committed until you. I’d been feeling nervous and insecure for months, but I didn’t know how to say that to you. I didn’t know how to tell you, the most amazing girl I’ve ever met, that I was scared that I wasn’t good enough for you. I got into my head about it, the thought had been plaguing me for weeks and the day everything went to shit… I just gave up. I didn’t try to say exactly what I was feeling and I let old habits take over. I didn’t mean anything I said and I hate that I said all of that. When it was happening I just felt like I was watching myself act like a dick and I couldn’t stop myself.”

He pauses, taking a beat to calm himself down before he starts to get anxious again, “I should have chased after you. I should have told you that it was alright for your friend to come party with us, but I was scared. I meant it when I said I haven’t been a boyfriend in a long time. I’ve been acting like the total opposite for most of my college experience. I’m the guy that girls warn their friends not to get attached to. I didn’t want that to be how we ended up. I wanted to be better for you. I still do. I should have given you time to process what happened instead of cornering you and forcing you to listen to my groveling and I sure as hell shouldn’t have resorted to violence when you weren’t doing anything wrong. Actually, I shouldn’t have resorted to violence at all.”

“I really miss who I was with you. I miss the way you made me feel. You made me feel giddy and warm and loved in a way I have never felt. What I feel for you isn’t some kind of puppy love like I felt for Hana. It’s real and I’ll be kicking my ass for the rest of my life for not telling you how I really feel. I love you and that is so fucking scary for me to admit because it’s never felt this strong or this real. I’m not saying this to try to sway you in my direction. I won’t blame you for moving on or leaving right now, but I owed you this apology. I’ve owed you this apology for months now. I’ll completely understand if you don't forgive me, I don’t think I would,” his shoulders drop, feeling an immense weight off of his shoulders, “that’s it. I’ll let you on your way now, I’ve stolen enough of your time.”

“How do you know?” He hears you ask and it’s then that he really looks at you, not just the spot over your head so he didn’t lose his train of thought. You have tears lining your eyes, shining in the overcast light that streams in through his blinds.

He fights his every instinct to drop at your feet and comfort you. His brows pinch softly, “how do I know what?”

“How do you know that you love me?” Comes your reply, voice thick with emotion and followed by a sniffle.

“Because no one makes me feel the way you do. Whether it’s good or bad, it’s invigorating. You’re on my mind with everything I do. I put extra effort in everything I do because I want to be better for you. Because your laugh has become my favorite sound, the color of your eyes is my favorite color, your shampoo is my favorite scent. Because my bed has felt lonely without you in it and my heart has a you shaped hole in it. When I picture my future, it’s you by my side in every single scenario that I imagine. I imagine myself cheering you on at graduation. I imagine us in our own apartment someday and I even think about stupid shit like you and I someday studying together again. You make loving seem like something less anxiety inducing like I once thought and instead make it something I regret ever fighting. Being in love with you is so damn easy because you’re the most lovely, lovable, loving person on the face of the planet and I have been lucky to discover this feeling with you.”

You cover your mouth with your hand to suppress a sob, moving across the small space between the two of you to hug Jaehyun tightly. Your tears soak his sweats and he just holds you, letting you let out your emotions while he rubs a warm hand up and down your back. With a shuddering breath you pull away from his hold to look him in the eye, his thumbs swipe away the tears under your eyes as his hands move up to gently cup your face. “I accept your apology, Jaehyun. I…” you stop yourself, your eyes clearly reflecting the whirlwind of emotions you’re feeling, “I was going to tell you that I loved you too that week when everything happened. For a week I convinced myself that I hated you but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I hated myself for still loving you even after everything you said. Love doesn’t go away easily.”

His heart soars. A life of pure joy escaping his lips as he fighting his arms around you and tuck his face into the crook of your neck, “holy shit, you mean it?”

He can feel you nod, “I do. I do mean it. But Jaehyun… I’m not going to give you a second chance if there’s any doubt in your mind about me or us. Be honest with me and tell me if you think there’s any chance that you think we won’t last.”

He meets your gaze, leaning in until his forehead meets your own. His voice is low but there’s not a shred of doubt in his voice, “I know I hurt you. I know I fucked up. I will regret it until the day I die, but I also know that I am yours, completely and utterly yours until you get tired of me. I will work every day, harder than the last to earn back your trust and not only tell you, but show you how much I love you and care for you.”

“I can’t do this again if we can’t commit to each other. I won’t put myself in that position again.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to put you in that position. I want you and you alone. Give me any title you want, boyfriend, husband, fiancé. If you want me to get down on one knee in the middle of the student union if you want me to. You could call me your son for all I care. I just don’t want you to have any sliver of doubt in your mind that I don’t want this, us, to work out. I want this for this long run. I want us to be like Noah and Ally in the old folks home and the only thing we remember is each other. I want you forever,” he tells you with a bright smile.

You laugh and his heart skips a beat, “they die at the end Jae.”

“By the time we’re old, science will have discovered a way to get us to live forever and get us to work because every government are capitalistic machines. That’s beside the point— our love is going to last forever.”

Your smile gentles, wariness still swims in the depths of your eyes, “you know, just because you confess that you love me and apologize doesn’t mean that you’re completely off the hook. Like I need you to understand that my trust has to be earned and you have to work for it.”

Jaehyun feels a wave of relief, “I absolutely understand you loud and clear. It’s clearer than crystal.”

“Don’t make me regret giving you a second chance,” you whisper quietly, “please, don’t make me regret this, Jaehyun.”

“I promise. I swear. I swear on my own life, and if I let you down, then I’ll let Haechan go apeshit on me like he threatened,” Jaehyun’s thumbs gently rub at the fullness of your cheeks, “so please, will you please be mine officially? Will you be my girlfriend, please?”

“Yes. Yes, I will,” you smile up at him.

His lips are on yours in the blink of an eye. Jaehyun feels like he’s going to cry, hands gently clutching at the soft skin of your jaw as he kisses you with a tender passion. His lips move against your own in a way that just feels natural, like he was made to do it. It’s never felt like this with anyone else, he doesn’t need to try it with anyone else, because he knows this is what is right.

He pulls back with his chest heaving, a smile on his face, “I think I owe you about a million more kisses to make up for lost time and to win your trust back.”

“We have time,” you reply with a sweet smile. Fuck, he’s missed seeing that smile up close.

“No, a million kisses today. I’ve already lost like 12 hours. Let’s stop talking.”

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