#he looks way to happy to be beating he up-

[hyuckmov]

haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | part 3 of 3

wc: 11k (lol) genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), fluff warnings: unprotected sex, making out, creampies, fingering, oral (f recieving), lowkey don't have that dog in me anymore so this is kind of vanilla, dirty talk, aftercare...? needs to be read after part 1 and 2 a/n: fucking finally. so so so sorry for the wait and also this is lowkey probably so BAD because its been a hot minute since i've written for tumblr. because this could be written/ended in so many ways, AN EPILOGUE IS COMING with a 'happy' ending, just not putting it here in this part because i think i should post this out first on it's own. i love you guys so much, thank you to every single person who's read, commented, let me know how much you liked it, and waited so patiently. i cannot express how much it means to me.

—

"whose party is this again?" 

"jaemin's friend chenle," mark says, placing his drink down on one of the tables. "think they should be around here somewhere." 

through the smoke, he can see your eyes shine. you've come even closer now, and it's as if every movement of yours is liquified, rendered in slow-motion – you flick a strand of hair out of your face and it's like he can feel the damp air on your cheeks, a slow smile spreading across your face like sunrise spilling over the horizon, that lovely curl of your lip that he's memorized. he feels his chest cave in when he hears you laugh, feel you take another step closer to him even though your eyes never meet his, even though you never look his way – every memory he has of you threatening to burst through his seams. 

your skin glows under the dizzying lights, and all he can think about is the fact that you’re so close, he could reach out his hand and touch you. but he can’t. you weren't his – and he was the one who had thrown you away.

jisung comes up to you, and haechan can see his friend's shy smile met with your beaming grin as you turn to face him. jisung is saying something to you – a hand gently placed on your shoulder as he speaks into your ear, the other gesturing vaguely towards the upstairs rooms. and then you're nodding, and haechan watches wide-eyed as he takes your hand in his and begins guiding you up the stairs. 

he can't help it – he only waits a beat, enough for you to disappear up the stairs, before he's rushing through the crowd, climbing the stairs two at a time. he rounds the corner just as he sees the flick of your skirt as you disappear into the nearest room, the door clicking shut softly. taking a moment to calm himself down – chest heaving, wringing his hands – he pads softly towards the room, placing both hands on the door, straining to hear anything that might be going on. 

low voices. the rustling of fabric. haechan's imagination spun out of control – jisung's large hands on your skin, his plush lips exploring your neck, your soft sounds, the way you might look under him. he heard a light laugh, and he pressed even closer to try to catch what was being said – what if he had you on his lap? what if you laughed because he'd kissed you behind the ear like haechan did once? it had caught you by surprise, and you'd giggled – burying your face in the crook of his neck. you were sorry. you were just sensitive. haechan had wanted to pull you into his chest and never let you go. 

he knew he was breaking his own heart – over-analyzing each muffled sound that came through, all his thoughts drifting back to memories of you. but he couldn't seem to peel himself away as the party raged on and on downstairs, didn't want to be anywhere else but near you even if you didn't know he was there. he had never felt this way with anyone else before – never needed anyone else like this, never afraid like this – and the realisation roared loud in his ears along with the feverish ghost of your fingerprints all over his skin. 

–

jisung knows haechan's going to talk to him. 

can see it in the way he hangs back after practice, fiddling with his guitar and placing it back on its stand, before picking it back up again for no real reason. there was something off, slightly, about haechan these days. not enough for jeno or mark to comment about it, to hold an intervention, but things had definitely changed – haechan never brought around girls, or showed any interest when jeno and mark would discuss them. he was quiet, and subdued during practice, absorbed in his own guitar, or else discussing new songs with mark in low voices. and strangest of all – jisung mused, slinging his own bass over his shoulder as he ambled to the door – haechan started to seem afraid of jisung. 

jisung – who had for the longest time been the most timid and shy of the group, the least experienced by far. he remembered how haechan would tease him if a girl paid him any slightest bit of attention: half-joking, but half trying to build up his friend's confidence. he remembered how he used to be wary of haechan's attention at after-show parties, because haechan would watch him like a hawk and push him into any girls he showed the vaguest interest in. he remembered his shock at haechan, who had never been mean or vindictive – a pain sometimes yes, but never truly cruel to him –, standing there obstinately in his place on stage, staring down at you in the crowd. 

to the version of haechan now, who could barely look him in the eye. 

"jisung?" 

haechan clears his throat. jisung stops in his tracks, turning back to look at haechan. 

"yeah?" 

haechan's gaze is directed at his shoes. swallowing, he takes a moment before he asks. "uh…how was…um…how've you been?" 

jisung has to stop himself from laughing out loud. "i've been good," he says, amiably. he's not going to let haechan have it easy. 

"nice…nice," haechan mumbles. "uh…seeing anybody?" 

"haechan," he keeps his tone light. "come on." he moves towards where haechan is standing awkwardly, taking a seat down on one of the stools. after a beat, haechan sits down too. 

"how did it go with y/n?" haechan sounds almost timid – like a child asking a question, but scared of knowing the answer. 

"can't you ask her yourself?" he knows he's making things difficult, but he needs haechan to work for it. needs haechan to articulate, because he knows that's the least you deserve. 

"i…i could," haechan says. "but i…i don't want to seem possessive. i already fucked up by wishing her luck on the date and i just…" he buries his face in his hands. jisung doesn't say a thing, waiting for him to finish his sentence. "i don't want to hurt her anymore…but i need to know. i need to know what to expect.…" haechan's voice is so small, like he's disappearing into himself. 

"haechan��" he starts, slowly, but haechan cuts in, hurriedly. 

"if you really love her, jisung, if you're happy together, i'll back off. i won't see her again. it'll be…it'll be too hard to see her with you but that's for me to figure out. you…you should both be happy. she deserves you, ji. you'll be good for each other." 

"what are you even saying…" jisung lets out a nervous laugh. he knows haechan tends to get dramatic – loves blowing moments out of proportion, lingering on stories that were fun to tell and relive. loves to exaggerate – always taking the smallest details too seriously and making light of things that had real consequences. but as he watches haechan – curled in on himself, he sees that this is something else entirely. this haechan was anxious and overthinking, unsure of himself, fractured into a thousand different wants and needs. 

"i'm serious, jisung." haechan, the vocalist he is, keeps his voice as steady as possible. "i'll back off if you tell me to. if i'm making it hard for you in any way…" 

"haechan, it's…it's going to be fine. it's not what you think." 

"you…you're not together now?" a hint of hopefulness. 

jisung chooses to be kind. "we're not," he says, gently. when haechan's lips part, he continues on, interrupting him. "it had nothing to do with you. we're just…not." 

"i'm sorry," haechan murmurs, finally lifting his head. "i know you wanted it to work out." he truly means it.

"i'm happy with the way things are now," jisung says it, and he means it too. "but…but you know she's going to start seeing other people, right?" 

a beat. "yeah…yeah of course." 

"you can't go after all of them and ask them if it's working out or not, you know?" jisung says, wryly. "at some point…you need to just talk to her." 

"i…" haechan break off, a pained expression flitting over his face. "i don't have anything to say. but i really want her to be happy. i just want her to be happy. but it sounds…" he catches the look on jisung's face. "i know it sounds like a guilt-trip. i know what it sounds like." 

"give her space," jisung suggests, quietly. "figure out what you're willing to give. who you can be for her."

"hyuck or haechan." he says it almost spitefully. he had never hated the difference more. 

-

you were in the crowd today. 

it had been a little over a month – 6 days more, to be exact, – since haechan had last seen you in the crowd, each time spotting your face easily, everyone else fading to nothing. each time noting every which way your eyes shimmered under the lights, the ways your pretty lips curved into a smile or a shout, or even each time you looked away, distracted. 

he'd practically rushed into the dressing room after the show ended, anxious hands tugging at his clothes, trying to fix himself up just in case you decided to come find him. questions had spun around in his mind so much during the show, he was afraid he would start singing them in place of mark's carefully written lyrics. he's thought of a thousand ways to bring it up, but he wishes he could just ask — how've you been? have you forgotten me? 

he's still lost in thought when the dressing room door opens softly, the lock turning gently in the door barely louder than a whisper. 

"haechan?" 

he turns, and you're there. you're wearing a new dress, probably the shortest one he's ever seen on you, black glittery fabric barely brushing the tops of your thighs. but he doesn't linger on your body, his eyes seeking out your own, the flush of anticipation and adrenaline in your cheeks, the way your hair falls slightly loose, framing your face. the question is on the tip of his tongue, his lips are parting, his breath catches in his throat –  

" – don't worry," you say, breathlessly, as you catch the look on his face. "no one saw me." 

oh. 

walking towards him, you pull him into a hug, arms wrapping around his neck, so you can brush your lips against his cheek. pulling away, you peer at him, wondering why he's looking at you so lost. like he was wondering something since he laid eyes on you tonight.

you frown. "were you going to ask me something else?" 

his lips part, soundlessly. you've never seen him so speechless. his arms tentatively circle around your waist, fingers brushing the fabric of your dress, and understanding dawns on you. 

"yes, it's a new dress," you smile. 

he swallows, the cloudy look clearing from his eyes as he finally runs his heavy touch down your back, a feeling you've grown used to. 

his tone is slightly darker when he plays along, masking the traces of disappointment. "for me?" 

you nod, letting his hands wander to the zipper, eyes traveling to the mirror to catch the way he fiddles with it, slowly starting to drag it down your spine. 

what you don't catch, is the way he's looking at you – lip caught between his teeth, eyes focused on the side of your face, regret and sadness and a desire he still couldn't shake coursing through his body. you had come back – and maybe that was all that he should care about. 

"come home with me," he blurts out, suddenly. "i have to show you something." 

confused, you look back at him, frowning. "now?" 

he swallows. "yes. we'll still…it's just…" he stammers, confidence draining as he watches you zip your dress back up. "i mean…i just…thought you'd like my bedroom more than this dressing room. you said- you said it was uncomfortable, that last time…" he trails off. his head droops, fingers picking at his nails. 

you place your hands on his chest. his head lifts just slightly, glancing at you through his lashes. "haechan," the ache in your chest making your voice soft – barely above a whisper. "why are you so nervous today?" 

"i'm sorry," he starts, but you shake your head. "it's been awhile."

"that's fine, i'll go home with you," you say, smiling, hoping to reassure him. the words instantly relax him, and he lets out a breath. you can feel his chest move under your palms. 

"i'm sorry," he repeats, softly, but you don't know what he's saying it for. 

–

you don't know how you ended up here. 

one moment, haechan was unlocking his door, one hand fumbling with the keys as he held yours tightly in his other palm. the next, you were pushing him against the door – his plush lips, soft and tasting slightly like honeyed lip balm, finally kissing you deeply in a way you'd craved. and then he was sweeping you up into his arms, your legs locked in around his waist, his bag slumping to the floor as he focused all his attention on you. placing you on the countertop, he takes his time with your lips – his hand first cupping your face, then working its way down your neck, as if he was making sure you were wholly real through touch since his eyes were closed for the kiss. 

"hyuck?" you murmur. 

guilt pricks at your conscience when you feel him falter. you would never admit that you realized the name did something to him – made him more desperate and more tender all at once. you used it sparingly, only in certain moments, and tonight seemed just right for it, what with the way his touch was already so infused with longing. 

he hums in acknowledgement, pausing. a gentle palm tilts your face towards his, and his eyes are wide and patient. 

"what's wrong?" he asks. 

"i want to suck you off," you mumble, your words coming out rushed and careless. you almost think he might not catch it, but haechan goes still. his hands, caressing your face, stop moving.  

"what?"

your mind explodes with a million thoughts. did he not want you to? how many girls had sucked him off before you – did he think you wouldn't be good enough? was he not attracted to you enough? 

he was still just looking at you – something unreadable in his eyes. 

"do you not want me to?" you ask, doubt making your tone come off a little more insecure than you'd have liked. "is it…is it because i've never done it before?" 

he blinks. "what?" he repeats, again. 

you shift, uneasy. "you can teach me," you insist, holding onto his arms, wanting to be closer to him. "i'll practice…" 

"oh god," he whispers. "oh… oh y/n…" his hands barely skim your skin, nervously tucking your hair behind your ear. "don't," he says, quietly. 

"why?"

i don't want to hurt you," he says, voice so tender it wavers under the weight of his feelings for you. "being able to touch you is already everything to me-" he trails off, biting his lip, and then he's weak in the knees, and you melt into his embrace as he holds your body against his. "i don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with." 

"i want to please you like the girls before," you protest, weakly. "i want to…i want you to tell me your fantasies." 

"all that matters to me," he says, slowly, eyes suddenly grave and solemn. "is that i'm here with you. just you." he holds your hands up to his lips and kisses the tips of your fingers. 

you don't know what to say. the charged atmosphere from before has dissolved into the night, leaving a balmy and sweet taste on your tongue. the only thing that feels right is to hold him in your arms and hold him as close as you can. 

he's looking at you, before suddenly pulling you into him as if he could read your mind – arms wrapped protectively around your back, one hand coming up to stroke your hair as you lean into his chest. 

the memory of that first night comes back to you – the first time he rejected you. he hadn't wanted to hurt you then, either. and then he proceeded to in all ways possible – playing with your heart in a terrible back and forth. and then he disappeared from your life, and then he came back and something was different – in the way he touched you, looked for you, looked at you, was careful with you. 

but you moved on – told jaemin, told yourself you weren't waiting. you'd gone on a date with jisung, and then to some more with a few other guys on campus. you didn't hang around the band all the time now – didn't show up for every concert. and even when you did, you rarely stopped by to see haechan – spending more and more time with jisung, who was steadily becoming one of your closest friends. 

you tried to keep things light when you did visit haechan. always easy, relishing in how well he knew how to please you, how he always knew what to say. and for the most part, he was able to play along – a smile always tugging at the corner of his lips, or his tongue poking into his cheek as his eyes turned dark. 

but it was on nights like these – when the moon was a bit too bright and the air between your lips and his dense like honey, your skin heated and his face flushed – when you used the wrong name, or he said things too vulnerable and too intimate. it was on nights like these when you are faced with the reality that he made you feel the way no one else could – even as he was ever-changing, ever showing you a different side of himself. on these nights you plunge your hands deep into the kaleidoscope of him, and its like diving into shattered glass. 

–

"i wanted to show you this," he murmurs, shyly. 

he places a pair of headphones clumsily on your head, his long fingers scrambling to adjust it on your head, trying not to pull at your hair. your hands come up to help, and you shoot him a reassuring smile. 

it was even later in the night. you were both showered and dressed for bed – you in a long-sleeved shirt of his that you liked. when you came into the bedroom, he was fiddling with his laptop – and you could hear snippets of his honey-sweet voice starting and stopping as he tapped at his keyboard. it was natural, to head over to the bed and lean your head on his shoulder, as he started to explain to you what he was doing, eventually grabbing his headphones from the bedside table. his skin smells faintly of baby powder, and his bare face under the dim light is so soft – mellowed curves, the constellation of moles on his cheek ever visible, eyes tired but warm. 

he clicks play, and his voice fills your ears – clean, without any backing vocals or instruments. you try to catch the lyrics, but he mumbles through his words, voice meandering effortlessly around the melodies, drawing beautiful loops. his voice is delicate and gentle, flowing water with a current of electricity running through it, humming and buzzing with dangerous life. 

it ends all too quickly, and haechan – who was watching your face carefully the entire time, clicks on a few more tracks. you can hear his voice, muffled from under the headphones, start to explain. 

"that's…that's my draft for the melody. i made it for this, uh, it's one of mark's demos–" 

a sultry, low beat now plays, low strings filling in the gaps. when his voice leaks in, you feel your cheeks start to heat up. the same melody from before – so innocuous and sweet, maybe something even vulnerable – sounds sinful all of a sudden. you can practically hear the scream of the crowd punctuating each line, and now even the way he mumbles is hazed with a sort of suggestive glow. 

you look at him, wide-eyed. he's still watching your face, this time his lip caught between his teeth, looking up at you through his lashes. when the song ends, you tug the headphones down from your ears, and he takes them from you absentmindedly.

"mark told me to try writing for that. he said it suited my voice —" 

"it does," you respond. your hands reach out to play with his, tracing the way his fingers curved, running your touch along his calloused finger-tips. 

"but i…i don't know. i want to write something…something that feels…" he stumbles over his words, eyes lingering on the way your hands play with his, the gentleness of your touch. "that feels like this," he finishes, softly. 

"like what?" you hum, tracing loops on the back of his hand. 

but he doesn't respond. 

"do you like it?" he asks, quietly. 

you give his hand a squeeze. "sing it for me?" 

his hand trails off to the keyboard again, but you hold it steady in your palm. "no, sing it for me now. here." 

he's still. you almost think he won't do it, but then he's pushing the screen of his laptop shut, and he turns to face you. 

this time, when he sings, he gets all the words out. 

in person, his voice is hushed and soft, like every word is a secret. his eyes flutter shut, and he ducks his head shyly as he continues. when he ends, his voice trails off, and he doesn't turn to look at you, staring at his hands. you stay silent, until it's like he can't bear it, and his head turns to face you, eyes seeking reassurance. 

"i like it just like this," you tell him, softly. 

his smile blooms. 

—

"keep haechan on his toes," jaemin says, leaning back in his chair. the steam from the coffee he made – a 2am jaemin specialty — curled gently in the air, your hands nursing the mug in front of you, sipping just to have something to do. "don't see him for awhile. keep him guessing." 

"that's cruel," you mumble. 

"he's done crueler," he points out. "you know you don't owe him anything, right?"

"i know i don't," you say, slowly. "i just think that it would kill me not to know how he's doing. if he was going on dates with other people…" 

"and would he tell you?" 

no, is your automatic answer, one you can't run from in your head, but jisung cuts in. 

"he wouldn't go on a date with someone else," he shakes his head, leaning back in his chair so he could stretch out his long limbs. blinking sleep from his eyes, he shook his head again to clear his bangs away from his eyes. it had been late already when he showed up, after a show, bringing food, a tired but giddy smile on his face. "you really fucked him up, that's all i'm going to say."

"he may not go on a date, but he'd fuck someone else, probably." jaemin rolls his eyes. 

"we actually haven't fucked in awhile." the realization feels like butterflies in your chest – an uneasy, fluttery feeling. 

"what?" jisung looks at you in disbelief. "sorry," he adds, suddenly sheepish when both you and jaemin stare at him. "i just thought that was the big part of your relationship." 

"it was…" you say, slowly. ignoring how jisung said 'relationship' when it was really never that. "but…but i don't know. recently we always get distracted…or… or he's… i don't know." 

you think of his unmade bed. the careful, tender loop of his arm around your waist. you think of the way his lashes flutter when you lean in to kiss him – 

and yet, there was something bigger bothering you about this, something that tugged at your gut, the words forcing themselves out of you. 

"i hate that it feels like there's nothing more to me than this." 

"y/n, what are you talking about?" jaemin asks, his voice quiet. when you pause, he presses on, urgency in every word. "what did he say to you?" 

"nothing," you shake your head. "he didn't say that to me, it's something i feel. no matter who i'm with…even when i'm alone….i can't run from it." you take a breath. you hated admitting this, but jaemin's eyes were kind as they looked into yours. "even when we weren't talking, i was thinking about him…and tonight…jaemin i don't think anyone should be able to make me feel like this." 

“there's nothing wrong with being in love," he says, carefully. when you don't say a word, he continues on, as gentle as possible. "you know that no amount of attention he gives you will change the way you feel, right?" 

he was right. if you really dared to dream – to use up every last shooting star, count on all of the angel numbers — and haechan, donghyuck, gave himself to you fully like you wanted, you would still be afraid of losing him. a sick flutter beats in your chest at the passing thought of him slipping away again – that all this fight would have been for nothing. 

it was as if jaemin could read your mind. "there was a life before him," he reassures you. "there is so much more without him. you just need to start living like it, to really see it."

you had nodded, but you couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how many shows you skipped, no matter how many times you drove by his apartment or ignored his messages, it wouldn't change a thing: that even though there was a life before him, maybe it wasn't one that you wanted anymore.

—

you're cutting through the park on your way home from class, when you hear a shout of your name. you barely have time to turn before a small girl is launching herself at your legs, standing high on her tip-toes to throw her arms around your waist. 

"slow down!" 

you'd know that voice anywhere. 

haechan looks different. he's dressed in a striped sweater, glasses askew on his small nose. your heart skips a beat – he looks warm, and cozy, and comfortable. behind the frames, his eyes glow when he looks at you, an involuntary smile tugging at his lips. 

the two of you just stand there, looking into each other's eyes. every sense of yours is heightened –  the autumn air cold on your skin. the light catching everything around you. and your heart beating in your chest, speeding up with every moment you continue looking at him. you can't help it: even now you smile looking at his face. 

he raises his eyebrows. 

"what?" you blurt out, caught off-guard. 

he laughs lightly. "what are you doing here?" he asks, like he's explaining a question. 

"just…passing through," you say, slowly. "you?" 

"the…uh…kindergarten's right near here." haechan point vaguely at a point in the distance, you only look at it for a second before you focus back on him. you can't help it. he smiles again. "you're just passing through? can't you stay for awhile? we were going to get ice cream." 

his sister tugs at your sweater, excited at the sound of ice cream. you look down at her face – she has the same nose as her brother, the same bright smile. 

"just for a bit," you concede. haechan pumps his fist, playing up his excitement to make his sister laugh. it makes your heart go still and race all at the same time. 

—

"we need to talk." 

there was something wrong with haechan. 

the smell of rain and cigarettes hung in the alley behind the dingy venue. haechan sits on the steps with his head in his hands, jeno leaning on the wall opposite, jisung against the doorway behind. it's mark who stands directly in front of him, as he rubs his face with his hands, trying to calm down. mark who crouches down, mark's prying hands which make haechan lift his head to look at them. 

"what happened?" he asks, his eyes blazing. 

haechan swallows. "it's been a bad day," he tries, weakly. 

"it's been a bad month," jeno corrects. at haechan's glare, he raises his eyebrows in a silent challenge, and it's jisung who pipes up.

"i think people are starting to notice something's off," he says, softly. "that you play differently, sometimes."

"you mean that he messes up when she's not in the crowd," jeno says, bitterly. 

"i only messed up today," haechan mumbles. "it won't happen again." 

"what about yesterday? it's like you weren't onstage at all." jeno protests. 

haechan opens his mouth, but closes it. he knew this conversation had to happen, that things would lead to this – his fingers faltering, his mind going blank as his solo began. jeno's drums continuing relentlessly, mark's eyes on him, as he shook his head fiercely, trying to clear his mind and focus all at once. unsure of what to keep — the image of you, or the chords he'd worked so hard to get right. 

"hyuck, do you need a break?" mark asked, his words slow and gentle. "we can stop performing for awhile, cancel some of our gigs…"

"no," he breathes.  "don't." he doesn't want to lose all of it – and because he knew that if he stopped performing, he didn't know if he would ever see you again. 

and it's like jeno reads his mind. "she's not going to like you like this," jeno says, his voice impersonal. "she likes the version of you onstage, remember? it's how she first met you, it's what kept her coming back for more." 

"jeno." mark's voice is stern, but haechan looks up right past him, hurt pooling in his eyes. 

"i know," he breathes. "i know that. but i don't know if i can be that around her anymore." 

"not just around her," jisung notes. "you're not haechan anymore. it doesn't make you happy." 

"i know," he repeats, quieter this time. 

"hyuck, listen," mark sighs. "you're not doing yourself any good going onstage like this. i'm canceling the next few shows –" as haechan protests, he cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder. "no. we could all use a break." 

"mark," haechan croaks. "i can't." 

"we'll still have practice," mark says, firmly. "you still have to show up for all of it. and those songs i told you to work on —" 

"you should go home," jisung adds. "take care of your sister." 

there's a pause, as they wait for jeno to chime in. 

"none of it matters if you don't figure it out with her," he says, a tone of finality ringing in his words. he straightens, broad shoulders squared, suddenly much bigger under the lights. "if you need to get over it, you have to. staying like this is hurting everyone." 

haechan's lips part, soundlessly. there's a sharp creak, as jeno stalks back into the venue, followed by mark – who pats haechan gently on the shoulder. vaguely, haechan waits for the sound of jisung's soft steps to fade, but they only shuffle closer, until the lanky boy drops down next to him. his legs stretch out into the dingy alley, as haechan hugs his knees closer to his chest, for the first time perhaps truly afraid of what he was about to hear from his friend.

"sometimes, we meet the right person at the wrong time-" jisung's voice is quiet, almost a murmur, but the words still scrape against haechan's skin, rough like sand. 

"don't say that." he bites his lip harshly, a sudden rush of anger at the pity in jisung's responding sigh. "don't fucking say that." 

"haechan, it's okay. she liked you, but then she moved on after you realised you —" 

"she didn't –" his fist clenches, restless in his lap. "she didn't move on." 

"really? not at all?" jisung's eyes are fixed on haechan's, holding his gaze. "after weeks of telling her you couldn't give her what she wanted…you think she's still waiting for you?" 

"ji-"

"why should she wait for you?" 

haechan swallows. "she shouldn't," he mumbles. "i…i need to really let her go. jeno's right." he truly means it.

jisung hesitates. he's been spending more time with you, as friends – joining on your movie nights with jaemin, or else baking together, or letting you style him for shows and concerts. and the more time he spends with you, really gets to know you, the more he can see why you and haechan seem to need each other. your patience and gentleness matched the soft way he's seen haechan take care of his sister and at times, mark. he watched the way you sometimes falter – worry overtaking your features for a split second when you stop at a red light, or your teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you stand in front of the stove – and instinctively he can imagine haechan's confidence, his natural propensity to make everything seem easy, fitting in with you and taking care of you. 

but he knew that haechan could only give you his attention – not his heart, not until he was brave enough to admit how much you meant to him. 

your resolve to stay friends with him was as flimsy as haechan's promise to let you go. jisung almost wanted to laugh at the insistence both of you had, upon lying to yourselves. 

"be honest," he says, gently. "what do you want?" when haechan doesn't answer, jisung's low voice continues on, coaxingly. "what's your best-case scenario? what do you want to happen?" 

haechan takes a deep breath. "i don't know." 

jisung tries to hide his disappointment. "do you not know, or are you not ready to say it?" 

"i don't know," haechan mumbles again, burying his face in his hands. i don't know if i deserve it. 

the two of them sit there for a long, long, time. 

–

there was something wrong with haechan.

something's different. that's what jeno had said earlier, after the show. exhausted from sleepless nights, screaming fans making him feel nauseous, haechan barely paid attention to anything during his performances except for his own guitar. he hardly looked at the crowd, didn't acknowledge their pleas of his name, as if it wasn't one he recognised at all. 

he'd started missing parties, and was barely there even if he showed — ignoring the way girls swarmed around him, wondering if he was playing a new game, one where they had to work harder to earn his attention. it was a game they never won, his eyes trained on his cup, or else on the door. 

but out of all of haechan's bad habits, this might be the worst of them – sitting in the living room past midnight, sipping down to the last dregs of his alcohol, waiting for the knock on his door. 

it was late now — so late that the hours had bled into the next day. he hadn't seen you at the concert, not at the party, and despite telling himself not to dream, not to hope, he still carried enough desperation in him to stay up again. 

he's relieved he did. 

his hands shake as he opens the door. his hands falling to his sides as he drinks in the sight of you, letting you in. 

"hi," you breathe, and you don't ask before you lean into him, soft lips brushing his plush ones. 

he's at a loss for words, his tongue numb in his mouth, limbs still heavy from how tired he'd been all day. he lets you guide him to the couch, into the cushions. lets you straddle his hips, holding your body close to his with careful arms, as he meets your kisses gently.

something's different, but haechan's not the only one who's changed. on nights like these, all you do is take and take and take. 

"i haven't seen you in a while," he murmurs. quietly, softly, the words almost getting lost between kisses. immediately after he says the words, he slots his lips with yours firmly, as if afraid of what you would say if he let the space between you and him grow. 

"i've been busy." at the crestfallen look on his face, a small smile tugs at your lips, and you lean in to brush your lips with his. "why? did you miss me?" 

"i did," he says, almost timid. "i missed you."

at this, you raise your eyebrows. "you could have had anyone else." 

but he shakes his head. "i missed you," he repeats, hands mapping your skin, as if checking if you were really here, seeking the familiar way you fit into his palms, your slopes and your edges. 

"i missed you too," you say, meaningfully, letting him pull you in for another kiss. but when you push against him, body rocking into his and mouth open and wanting, the glow in your eyes tells him you're talking about something else entirely. 

his mind races. the feeling of you against him wakes him up like nothing else, the way you touch him, your smell and your taste setting fire to all his senses. there's something sweet about your lips tonight, something he wants to savor on his tongue and drown in all at once. 

he doesn't want to waste any of this, because this was the only thing you ever wanted to see him for — and that's what he tells himself as he pulls you into his body, because finally, finally, your attention is all on him, an electric heat simmering over each fibre of his being, the feeling of your body too sweet to be true.

but it's been one too many nights he's waited, a weight on his chest and a drowsiness he can't shake overcoming him like a cloyingly sweet poison. 

"i–" he's cut off by a shuddering inhale as your lips travel down to his neck, your hips grinding against him just right. "baby, i'm sorry," he tries again, his hands now gripping onto your waist, trying to steady you, even as he gives up. "i don't think i can take care of you tonight." 

you still. 

"don't go, please," he begs. "i'm sorry, it's been…it's been a long day and i…" he breaks off. the performance. the fight with the band. the fact that he'd been drinking for hours, the starless sky inky black outside his window, his fingers still stinging from plucking at guitar strings all night. "just give me a second," he stammers, burying his face in his hands, tugging at his features, before looking up at you with tired eyes. "i'll be fine in a minute, then we'll go to the bedroom, i just —" 

your hands slide down the slope of his shoulders. 

"don't go," he repeats, hands fumbling for yours as he brings them up to his lips, like a prayer. "i can take care of you, i promise. just…" 

"donghyuck," you say, softly. again you smile, cupping his face in your palms. his round cheeks, plush lips, the slight flare of his nose. he almost goes cross-eyed staring at you, as you lean in close and kiss him again – this one different from the rest, close-lipped and chaste. 

"hyuck, let me take care of you tonight, okay?" 

caught in a riptide of his own longing, he lets go. 

"you don't have to do anything," he mumbles. his hands tentatively touch your waist, the barest brush of his fingertips, before he's encircling you in his arms, easing you into his chest. slowly, tentatively, he holds you close by the weight of his arms, a large hand reassuringly patting the space right beneath your heart – clumsy, rhythmic thumps that trailed off into a lingering warmth. "i just want to hold you here, like this." 

he can feel the tension that spreads down your spine, your breath caught in your throat. your lips are parted, your eyes looking at his in an unreadable expression. 

"do you not like it?" he asks, his voice small. his hands fall from your waist, nervously tugging his sleeves down over his palms. "i…i'm just…" 

"i do," you say, slowly. and because your faces are so close, the thought is barely crossing your mind before you press your lips against his. it's supposed to be quick, reassuring, but the look on haechan's face when you pull back makes you lean in again right away. 

it was a look that was open and hurt, his hands still tangled in his lap. his eyes stayed open as you kissed him, as if he couldn't dare believe it was real — finally blinking shut when you kissed him again, his slight relief melting on your tongue. his teeth sunk into his bottom lip as you clumsily got up off the couch, and as you straightened, he ducked away from your gaze, staring at his hands. 

"hyuck," you start, but he shakes his head. 

"it's fine." he still wouldn't look at you - fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "you don't have to stay, it's late." 

"hyuck, listen to me." 

"i know," he says, quickly. the slightest trace of fear in his voice. "you don't….you don't have to remind me, i know. it's too…you said we couldn't…"

" — hyuck, i wasn't going to say that." 

his fingers falter, but he stays silent. 

"i can't fall asleep properly in your lap," you explain, slowly. "let's go to bed, okay?" 

he looks up then. "really?" 

"i said i want to take care of you," you repeat, his wide eyes making you feel shy all of a sudden. "i mean it." 

he lets you take his hands, body following pliantly as he stands from the couch, as you lead him to his bedroom, his eyes focused on your intertwined hands. it's both a familiar and unfamiliar feeling — crawling into his bed with his clothes on your body, sinking into the soft sheets and letting the senses of him wash over you. the usual buzz of pleasure isn't there, and its a different tiredness that seeps through your veins, one that comes with feeling safe. 

since when did you start feeling safe with him? 

you feel his weight sink in behind you, the duvet rustling against skin as he turns. an arm curls around your waist. his head lowers into the crook of your neck – you can feel his soft hair, his pouty lips brushing your shoulders in a light kiss. 

"the band is taking a break," he mumbles. "because of me."

"hyuck?" you try to turn in his arms, but his grip only tightens on your waist. he shakes his head. "hyuck, what happened? are you okay?" 

"m'yeah, i'm okay now." he shifts. "just…i just don't know if i like playing in the band anymore." 

there's a pause. 

"are you…are you disappointed?" the thumb drawing circles on your hip stills. "say something," he whispers. "please." 

"why would i be disappointed?" you ask, quietly. placing your hand on his, you turn, facing him as he encircles you in his arms. his eyes are half-lidded, tousled hair falling over his brows, his cheek squished against the pillow into a half-pout. it's almost instinct – the way your hand goes up to his face to brush his hair out of his face, fingers absentmindedly tracing his moles. 

you can feel his lips move against your fingers. "would you still come to see me?" he wonders, softly. "if you didn't have a reason to?" 

you bite your lip. "i would want to…" you say, slowly. "but i don't know if i should. haechan, what's going on? does music not make you happy anymore?" 

his heart aches. your care for him fills his lungs, making his eyes begin to prickle with tears. 

"i don't think the haechan…donghyuck thing is good for me." 

"oh." your thumb brushes over the bridge of his nose. "hyuck…" you start. "i don't…i don't want to overstep." 

his face falls. "sorry," he says, his voice small. "i won't bother you with it…you don't have to…"

"no, i don't mean…hey, listen to me." you wait until he looks up at you through his lashes, nervously. "i think i've gotten to know haechan and donghyuck, you know? i mean…" your heart skips a beat, suddenly shy at your own honesty. but you've already let your guard down – it's no use. "of course i like haechan. haechan's the one who invited me backstage, haechan's the one who made me go on that rooftop…but…" you take a breath. 

the sleep had worn off from haechan's eyes – he was alert as he watched you now,  hanging onto your every word. 

"i've gotten to know donghyuck too, i think. i hope. donghyuck makes the best sandwiches for his baby sister, donghyuck has a bear tattoo because he looks as cute as one, donghyuck is always gentle with me even when i ask him not to be." your thumb traces the constellation of moles he has again, tracing down to his neck. you draw him closer – the way he's looking at you: like you're his entire world, like your words were the only thing keeping him breathing, filling your chest with a tender kind of ache that didn't go away. 

"donghyuck and haechan aren't that different, not really. they're still you. i like them both. i like all of you. if you woke up tomorrow and told me you were someone else, if you were suddenly becoming someone new, i think i'd still want to fall asleep next to you anyway at the end of the day. because i know you –" you breathe in, sharply. "i…i think i do. i…hope i do." 

he doesn't say anything. just leans in, and brushes his lips with yours lightly – once, twice, and finally sealing them in a kiss. he kisses you deeply, intensely – it wakes you up, that familiar feeling stirring in your belly as your hips move of their own accord. a liquid euphoria fills your veins as he pulls you into him – him on his back, you laying on his firm chest, the toned muscles on his chest grounding you, a feeling so familiar, one that you craved for a long time. you've never felt safer, in his arms. he kisses you like with every moment apart, he wonders if you're still there, and each time he sighs into your mouth it's with relief that you're still here, with him. 

"do you want to…?" he asks softly. he's breathing heavily, but he tries to calm himself down. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and it's that act – so innocent, so nervous even though you've both done it a dozen times with each other, that makes your heart beat harder in your chest. 

"it's been awhile," you murmur. 

"i know." he nods, swallowing. "it just…it hasn't felt right. don't…don't get me wrong, i want you all the time-" he practically groans with frustration. "it's just recently i just…i've been really confused. it's so stupid, but i didn't know which version of me you wanted –" 

"just you," you assure him, softly.

"let me make it up to you then." his tone is just as soft. 

you take his hands, and slide them under your shirt. gently, he tugs it off of you, sitting up slightly to take his shirt off as well before focusing back on you. you're giddy with the feeling of his touch again, nostalgia heightening every single sensation. it's not just hyuck tracing his hands over your chest – his lips finding your nipples, tongue darting out to tease them lightly. it's every single time he's touched you before – in the backseat of his car, hands moving urgently. in your bed that first time – so careful because you were extra sensitive. you have to focus to get back to the present moment, where he's watching you carefully again – noticing that you're lost in your thoughts. 

"everything okay?" he murmurs. 

you nod. "i just missed you so much," you whisper, and you can feel his desperation in the kiss that follows. "i need you now." 

"need to prep you, baby." gently, he eases you onto the bed, crawling down your body as you tug off your shorts and panties. your legs spread, needily, as you can feel him inch closer to your core, his hands coming to hold your hips. "stay still for me?" he mumbles, his eyes dazed as he watches you nod, his own head bobbing along absentmindedly, guiding you through it as he encourages you to bend your knees, baring yourself to him. 

the first flick of his tongue on your clit makes you mewl, hands coming down to grip onto his hair. 

"i know, baby," he comforts you, drawing small circles on your thigh as he leans into suckle your clit, making your hips buck up. he holds you still, patiently continuing to circle your entrance and lap at your clit. "fuck…you're getting so wet, angel." he slides in a finger, and the intrusion makes you clench around him in sensitivity, especially as he kitten-licks your clit shyly while easing in another finger. 

"need you now," you whine, voice reaching that pitch only he seems to bring out in you. his fingers pump more urgently, now curling towards the front of your walls, as he applies more force to your clit with his tongue, massaging the sensitive bud. 

"need you-" you choke out. "need you inside." 

"just give me one right now," he says, a slight plea to his voice. "please, angel. cum for me please, –"

"wanna cum with you inside," you sniffle. that gets his attention. he crawls right up your body until you're face to face, kissing you deeply, palms coming up to hold your face, careful to keep his fingers away. it's heated – your hips rolling into his as he finally loses control, hips bucking into yours until he's practically humping you as he kisses down your neck. your hands go to his waist, and he whimpers into your skin, finally tugging down his sweatpants, and you feel a familiar weight against your core. 

"condom-" he gasps, breaking away. the muscles on his body flex as he reaches for his bedside table, you can feel them move against your hands. 

"have you been fucking anyone else?" 

he blinks. "no, not since…" he breaks off. "no. and i'm clean. mark made me check." the sound of your giggle makes him smile momentarily – a goofy, lopsided grin that makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. 

"i want to feel you-" you say, slowly. "please." 

he sucks in a breath. "this…this isn't one of those things you're trying to do to please me, right?" he looks at you, skeptically. "it doesn't make a difference to me, you know that right? i just want you to feel comfortable. and safe…" 

"i am comfortable," you assure him. "i'm on the pill. i really just want to do this with you." 

"because-" he suddenly sits back, running a nervous hand through his hair. "i'm fine with using protection, you know that. i…i love how you feel either way. i never want you to do anything you don't feel absolutely right about…"

"is this about the blowjob?" you raise your eyebrows at him, smiling when you see his eyes widen. "because i'm going to do that too, with you. i want to make you feel good." 

now it's his turn to laugh, tilting his head back. his adam's apple bobs in his throat. "you have no idea-" he murmurs, voice suddenly low and serious. "you have no idea how good you make me feel just by the way you look at me. by the way you say my name." 

"hyuck," you say, patiently. "i need you. don't make me beg." 

"i should be the one begging," he murmurs, and this time when you reach your arms out, he lowers himself right into your arms, letting you wrap your arms around him. he strokes himself a few times, eyelashes fluttering, before slowly easing into you – a soft sound escaping his lips as his eyes went unfocused. it really had been awhile – his length filling you up, stretching you out in a way that was almost painful, but that pain was quickly dulled by pleasure as his body pressed against yours. 

"fuck-" he curses, eyes screwed shut in concentration. "can i…can i please…" 

you rock your hips against him, letting him in even deeper as he bottoms out. "move-" you whimper, "please-" you barely finish your words before he's already drawing back, barely pulling out before fucking himself back in, short intense thursts feeling dizzying. his slender fingers find your clit again, applying a light pressure as the blunt tip of cock perfectly hits the spongy part of your walls, the sound obscene in the quiet room. you were so aroused, you felt that you were making a mess of his thighs – wetness making the scene seem ever more lewd, creaming around his length as he increased his speed, groaning lowly to himself. 

"cum for me, princess," he pleads, lips dipping down to mark the sensitive part of your neck. you were already close from all the teasing – and once again the familiarity of every touch and movement sends your senses into overdrive. your entire body tenses as you climax, and you can hear him hiss out another string of curses, mixed with your name and every term of endearment under the sun. 

"where do you want it?" he all but whimpers, hips still fucking into you like a reflex. 

"inside-" you mumble, ankles loosely hooking behind his back, trying to stop him from moving away. "hyuck, please come inside, fill me up please-" with a soft cry, he pushes in deep – and you can feel him cum inside you, making a mess between your thighs, the feeling so arousing that it awakens something inside you, and your hips begin to move – begging for more. 

"wait-" he pants. "give me a minute, angel-" his eyes are closed again, head lowered, as he pushes through the overstimulation, feeling his soft cock slowly begin to harden again. the sounds falling from his throat now are scratchy, hoarse whines – a sound so dirty it makes your heart beat even faster, a sense of defiled innocence you've only ever heard in his music. the angle in which he's rutting into you stimulating your clit, pushing you closer to your edge as you fuck up onto him. 

"hyuck?" you push his bangs out of his eyes, tracing your hands over his shoulders, his chest. your fingers brush past his nipples and his mouth falls open with need, an achy sound releasing from the back of his throat, his puffy lips parted obscenely. you pinch his nipples again, gently, experimentative, and you feel his body shudder as he cums again, this time going still. it's so fucking arousing, an different side to him that you've never seen, that you feel yourself climax as well, the stimulation overwhelming. 

the both of you lay there for awhile, before he seems to come to his senses — a shaky hand moving the hair out of your face. 

he looks at you, and you look at him. 

and as if he can't help himself, he kisses you again – this time so soft and gentle, almost as if it were the first time all over again. 

"you alright?" he mumbles. 

you nod. 

"let's clean up in a second," he breathes. "just…let's stay like this for awhile." 

you nod again. you don't trust your own voice. something is happening – something tastes different in the air, something in the way you're looking at each other, something in the way he's touching you now – as if you might break or bruise if he even let his fingerprints get onto your skin. in the way he's looking at you now – something urgent in his gaze. 

"are you…are you free tomorrow night?" 

"i am." you sound stronger than you feel. 

"can i take you somewhere?" 

pause. "yeah." you give him a small smile. "i'd like that."

the smile that breaks out across his face is one that you know like the back of your hand. 

–

sitting across from you now, with your plates already cleared away and all that's left is your last few sips of wine, it hits you how that this is the most normal setting you've been in with him, possibly ever. his long legs stretched out under the table over by your chair, gently placing down his wine glass as he looks at you, his expression soft. his face is lit up by candlelight, hair falling over his brows in a hopelessly endearing way. 

"you good?" he murmurs. 

you nod. things feel cozy, and comfortable – it's a feeling so foreign but at the same time so familiar, you have to keep reminding yourself that this is real. 

he bites his lip. "pretend i'm jisung," he says, impulsively. "and…and you're describing how this went to him. how…how did you find it?" 

you give him a look, but he looks so shy, so nervous to be asking you this question, that you decide to play along. 

"well, jisung-" you take a deep breath, smiling when you see him smile too. "haechan picked me up today, that was really nice-" 

"-sounds like the bare minimum," he mumbles back, head bent.

"well, yeah it kind of is. but he doesn't have the best track record." you see him wince, so you let that comment linger for awhile before continuing on. "he's been a gentleman today. he…he took me to a restaurant that he found out i've been meaning to go to for awhile now, because he asked jaemin beforehand." 

"and that's…creepy? doing too much?" 

"it was thoughtful," you mused. "even though he made the reservation for the wrong date…"

"fucker," he shakes his head. 

"...it was nice because we got to go to walk around, and there was this moment, um…" his head darts up. now you can see him break character – something piercingly vulnerable in the way his bambi-brown eyes shine. 

you swallow. "we were crossing the street…and he put his hand on my lower back, just to guide me forward, and when we got to the other side he took my hand in his and just…held it-" 

he's looking at you, slightly confused and a little nervous. 

"yeah?" 

"he…he usually only acts like that when we're alone…when there's no one around." he still looks lost, so you reach forward across the table, taking his hand in yours. as if on instinct, his hand squeezes yours. "it's sweet," you reassure him. "it was really sweet." 

he bites his lip, but nods to show that he understands.

there's silence, for a bit. you think of breaking the silence, of saying anything, when suddenly he clears his throat slightly, sitting up a little straighter.

"hey, mark-" now he's doing the same bit, and it catches you by surprise a little - making you smile. "yeah, i'm still with y/n. i...uh...i fucked up the reservation, you were right, i should've checked again..."

"i really like spending time with her," he says, slowly. "i...i can't stop staring at her - she looks so beautiful tonight. and...and i can't believe she's finally here with me, that i somehow didn't fuck this up. and um...we were in this record store just now...and i was listening to her talk about an album she liked -" a smile plays on his lips as he recalls the memory. you suddenly become aware that your heart is beating hard again, pounding in your ribs. "and she was so excited, and she kept laughing as she talked, and...and i just realised i would do anything to make her that happy, all the time. and that i want it to be me, i want to be the reason she smiles like that."

you swallow.

"haechan..."

"you don't have to say anything-" he rushes to say. "i just...i just wanted you - i mean, uh, mark - to know."

"okay." you take a deep breath. "and um, i want jisung to know that-"

"yeah?"

"i like spending time with him too," you say, faintly.

he nods, but he doesn't smile.

-

as the car pulls up to your driveway, the quiet hum of the engine is silenced – headlights turned off, only the soft glow of streetlights casting their pools of gold over haechan's face. it's so quiet, you hear the shaky breath he takes as he steadies himself. 

"i have something for you," he murmurs. you can feel the warmth radiating off his body as he leans to pick something up from the backseat, the comforting smell of his perfume making your heart warm. but then you hear the crinkle of paper, his hair falling over his face as he sits back into the driver's seat, and your heart falls in a completely different way – your insides rushing with inertia, dizzy and heady – because he's holding a bouquet of dark red roses. they're wrapped sweetly, tied off with a piece of red ribbon to match the blooms, and your eyes linger on the way his fingers tremble as he holds them out to you with both hands. 

his starts to speak, but whatever he falters as he watches you stare at the soft petals, stems completely stripped of their thorns – and he bites his lower lip, breath caught in his throat. 

"too much?" he asks, softly. "i just thought…i just…mark and jisung said it would be a good idea," he stammers, lowering the bouquet as one of his hands falls to his thighs, nervously clenching his fists. "i was supposed to give them to you when i picked you up, but i got scared…you don't have to take them, i just thought…i wasn't thinking-" 

your hand closes around his hand holding the flowers. your other goes to his face, your thumb brushing his cheek as he falls silent, his eyes fixed on yours, caught in the haze of your touch. slowly, so as not to startle him, you lean in and kiss him gently. it's a beat before he kisses you back, as if he couldn't believe it, and when you pull away just slightly with a soft sound, you can see the nervousness in his eyes. and so you lean in to kiss him again – you kiss him until his lashes flutter shut, until you can feel him settle in his seat, sighing into your mouth as he kisses you deeply. you pull the flowers into your lap, his hand giving up control easily, coming up to your face to hold you in his palms. 

"hyuck." 

he pauses, leaning back – but his hands only leave your face when you hold them in your own, guiding them down to rest against the center console, your fingers intertwined. 

"i never want you to feel like i'm ashamed of being seen with you," he blurts out suddenly. 

"what?" 

"i never meant to let it get that far," he continues on, looking at his hands. "when i first met you…i wanted you to be like everyone else. i tried to do what i always do, but i just couldn't. you kept getting in my head, and i kept hurting you, and i didn't know how to stop and i just-" he exhales. "i never want to make you feel like that again." 

"hyuck, was this a date?" 

he swallows. "if you want it to be," he starts, but then he shakes his head. "the truth is, i was afraid you would say no if it was. but i really want it to be. i really really do." 

"hyuck," you take a deep breath. "whatever you're going through, you're not going to find the answer in me." 

"y/n, i love you," he says, quietly, tenderly. he says it like it's the easiest thing in the world. "i want to be a person who deserves to be with you, and love you, and i know you think you can't change me, and it isn't your responsibility to try at all…but you already have, and you can't take it back. when i'm with you i feel like i can see this version of donghyuck that i want to be all the time for the rest of my life." 

"no two people should change to be with each other –" you start, but he shakes his head. 

"we aren't a scenario," he insists. "this isn't a hypothetical. there's no should and shouldn't, because you know me –" he's pleading. "i'm not the same boy you saw onstage that first time you came to our show, and you're not that same girl on the roof," he pleads, voice breaking, tears welling up in the pretty cut of his eyes. "why is it so hard for you to believe that this version of us is meant to be together?" 

there's silence. 

"i can believe it," you start, quietly. "that's what terrifies me." 

you can see him start to lose hope. he can't force you to stay with him when you're not ready, and he doesn't want to be that person either. 

"i…" he hesitates. he wants to say so much more to you – that no one else makes him feel the way you make him feel. that he feels like he'll never love anyone again, not the way he loves you. the fact that you're it for him in a million different ways, a love he never thought he'd find. that he'll never be able to give anyone else a fair chance. 

but he can tell his love makes your shoulders heavy, makes your eyes go foggy with tears. already, you look shattered sitting in the passenger seat of his car, his love a weight on your chest that you don't know what to do with. already he's losing whatever bravery he had before – the bravery his love for you had given him. 

"sometimes-" you start, breaking off, your voice quivering. "when we're together, i feel like i could do it for the rest of my life. that you're the only one i've met to make me feel this way, that i'm the only one who knows you so deep." 

"you are," he breathes. 

"but-" your voice rises, agitated. "you hurt me. again and again. i came back when i wasn't ready, i should've given it more time, i just couldn't stay away. and then you came back into my life, and i forgave you to be with you again, and i tried to give other people a chance but i just…i just couldn't. what if this is too soon again?" 

i'll wait. the words are on the tip of his tongue, but he knows its the wrong thing to say, wrong thing to want. there's nothing romantic about waiting for someone – it's a cruel promise, one that rots each day going by in the wait for the future. 

"do you…" he takes a deep breath. "do you want to let me go?"

you nod, slowly. haechan can feel his heartbeat in his ears. 

"i'm not sorry," you whisper. "it's not right. you…i know you think you know what you want, but i need you to be sure of who you are, and who you want. i can't give you the answers." 

haechan remembers how – and it seems so far away, almost like a dream now – the night you went out with jisung, he dreamed of you. dreamed up the final version of you and him – everything good and always good, coming backstage to you, coming home to you. and some part of him had dared to hope, that despite everything, despite himself, the two of you would make it to that final version. 

but maybe the final version of you and him was this – the sound of the car door shutting as you walk up the steps to your apartment, and him crying all the way home, roses left in the front seat of the car, the ghost of your hands burning on his face.

(EPILOGUE RELEASE SOON)

@neochan, @ahncosette, @18shy @kittydollzz @jenoslutie @pussymode @yyfka @cheolctrl @jaeminsballs @mysummerhyuck @strawberrytyong @rosiejunnie @nctzen4eva @haechskies @wickedrei @sundamariis @liliansun @lanadreamie @nodisdino @angelwonie @foxydumps @manooffline @moonsmias @skzct7 @iscocohere @ficrecnctskz @makiswrld @itskkung @simpforarmihn @aryraaaa @rbf-aceu @laubyrinthine @yujuvly @nctevia @hyuckenjoyer @guhhfgbbj @girlwholoveslpreppyattire @kasperneo @eneiyri @toroufriteh @cauliephays @jisoung @niinjo @wonaoi @yuskitty @strawbabyz @readingisgodly @daegalfangirl @minkyuncutie @feat-sun @chaoticstrawberryland @shawnyle @sofix-hc7 @scftharu @spageddy @adorejaehyn @manooffline @02mrk @tyongspice1 @runahways @neosdaisy @hotmessexpress35 @kim-seungmins-gf @delllllllsstuff @nohunlee @kingsoowolves @enhasrii @fnafgirl87 @imzerozen @toroufriteh @torothecatt

[cathnospam]

Content Warning: College MHA AU, Oral (F! Receiving), Bakugo being Bakugo, Reassurance, SoftDom!Bakugo

You cried during sex and it freaked Bakugo out…

“B-bab—-y/n?!” The soft concerned look on his face in contrast on what he was just doing between your thighs was almost enough to make you break into a chuckle.

Not knowing what personal space is he cupped your chubby tear stained cheeks with his warm sweaty palm and rubbed the wetness away the best he could, “Why didn’t you use the safe word?!”

You blink, you could feel your high slowly wearing off if it wasn’t for his knee rubbing up against your clit. He didn’t even realize he was so close. “Huh?”

“Did I hurt you? Why —why didn’t—“

The tears just flowed naturally from your face, this was your first time with him and this new feeling of passion left you overwhelmed, his kissed, his curious touches, the groans and pants coming from you both as you rolled around in the messed up sheets of his bed.

His mouth was just as curious and intense as his hands, and in Bakugo fashion he gave it his all, looking up over the valley of your pretty breast to take notes of your reactions; to watch your face change when his tongue flicks in a new area, his lips practically made out with your lower ones which drew out a slurry “Katsuki~” and whine, which turned him on so much he kept doing so until he slid his thick muscle inside you, his ego inflated in ways he didn’t think could hearing you whine and moan for him, he grew confident, shaking his head back and fourth, in circles softly groaning while the slick mixture of his drool and your arousal. His forearm holding down your thighs to get a wider view of your his pretty pussy.

Who knew he was such a messy eater.

But he stopped, you started crying.

The blonde would first hurt himself before he ever hurts you, especially after giving him the chance to share such an intimate moment . He panicked.

“Katsuki, it’s okay.” You cut off his stammers, his voice was already cracking, you tend to forget how sensitive he really is under that hard exterior. You rose your back up on the headboard and pulled him down, his arms changing you in on the side of you, “I wasn’t in pain. It was the opposite.”

“How, dumbass you fucking—“

“Shut up.” You try to keep a deadpanned face, but the scent of your pussy on his breath made you subtly bite your lip, it was hot. “Well first off you were overstimulating me. Secondly, sometimes we can instinctively cry when something feels good or overwhelming, kinda like when you see people cry during weddings. They’re…happy tears.”

His face was pouted, small beads of sweats trickling down his forehead, and cheeks so warm and squishy you pinch ‘em to get a reaction out of him, “Tch….i knew that.”

“….I was really making you feel good?”

You smile, landing a slow kiss on his slightly thinner ones and tugging his fattier lower lip, you nod, “You made me feel really good. So good I cried. It’s a compliment.”

Bakugo ponded for a few seconds,finally relaxing his body to let you hold him for a moment, your heart beats laid in sync with each other, enjoying the quiet ambiance of his dorm , naked and comfortable.

“Do you still wanna keep going or wanna try again later?”

“Only…only if you want to—-I mean I do obviously, but I don’t wanna make it weird.”

“You couldn’t make it weird if you tried I wanna keep going….i was close.” You fake pouted at him, a crack of the smile came from Bakugo, he sighed in fake annoyance rising up,

“Then lay back,” He says as he pulls you by your thighs so you can lie flat on your back, “his time don’t cover your mouth when I eat you, okay? ….You sound hot.”

“We won’t hear the end of it in class tomorrow…”

“I don’t give a fuck.” His last words were muffed by his lips pressing against your sticky gooey pussy.

[alygator77]

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 7 ᰔᩚ

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

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

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse » 【note, this chapter contains heavy triggers of domestic abuse and explicit sexual content (dry humping, grinding)】

ꨄ words: 21k (i'm so... so tired guys...)

ꨄ a/n. happy thanksgiving! sorry this took so long—this chapter has a lot in it. i'm laying down a lot of ground work for what's to come so... this is kind of a unique chapter, and it didn't feel right breaking it up. anyways, here ya go! also, happy birthday @gojoslefttoenail ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter → pending

ch 7 // the road ahead

Stepping out of the suite’s bedroom, raindrops cling to the large windows—a warm glow radiating over the common area as each shimmering bead catches delicate streams of morning sunlight, but the only thing that draws your attention is Satoru.

Sitting casually on the plush couch, one of his arms is draped lazily along the backrest, his long legs stretched out as though the world couldn’t faze him. He looks utterly at ease, but as soon as his eyes meet yours, everything shifts. His expression brightens instantly, his features softening into a boyish grin, and those brilliant blue eyes of his twinkle with a warmth that feels like it’s meant for you alone.

“Mornin’ sleepyhead. Ready to get going?”

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze.

He never fails to make your heart skip a beat—every single time. But now, your heart flutters differently. There’s a gentle intimacy in the way he looks at you—something that is much more than casual affection.

Nodding, your fingers absentmindedly tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you begin to cross the room, closing the distance between him.

“Yeah,” you murmur, reaching for your purse on the coffee table, then sliding it around your shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

Stepping out of the suite together, it’s almost like the quiet click of the door feels like the closing of a chapter, and the beginning of something new.

You both begin to make your way down the hallway towards the elevator, and without a word, Satoru reaches for your hand, his fingers threading between yours in a way that feels so natural, so right, like they were always meant to fit together this way.

Looking up at him, he flashes you another one of those disarming smiles while offering your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Your stomach flips—but why? This isn’t the first time you’ve held hands—far from it. You do it all the time in public, in front of others. So why does it feel different now?

Ah…because this is real.

There are no cameras. And there is something different in the way he holds your hand—it’s more deliberate, more certain, as if the invisible wall that once stood between you has finally crumbled.

That realization alone sends a warmth flooding through you, spreading up your chest and into your cheeks, leaving you flushed with a delicate shade of pink. But it’s not just the hand-holding—it’s everything. The look in his eyes, the warmth of his touch, the way his presence makes you feel cherished in a way you’ve never felt before.

For the first time, you know for certain that you’re not just pretending.

And despite being able to walk beside him in comfortable silence, you can’t help but feel a little nervous around him now. Everything is different…and that’s exciting, but also terrifying in its own way.

Familiar, but new.

A subtle tension begins to coil in your chest, and then, your stomach betrays you with a low, unmistakable growl. Its soft rumble breaks the quiet moment—catching Satoru’s attention.

“Hungry?” he teases.

“Yeah… I could really use something to eat…” you mutter, almost to yourself, a faint blush creeping into your cheeks.

Satoru’s eyes glint with amusement, and he hums thoughtfully, his thumb tracing idle patterns on the back of your hand.

“Y’know… I should’ve ordered us breakfast in bed. One call, and we could’ve had pancakes, coffee… the works.” Tilting his head, he lets out a playful sigh. “Just think—pancakes and cuddles.”

The thought sends a shiver of warmth through you. His eyes flicker to yours—meeting you with a smirk, and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face. Nudging him gently with your elbow, you let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Mmm, that does sound tempting…” you pause, letting the image linger, but then your smile fades slightly—tempered by a tug in your heart.

Haru—is she okay? The wind had howled so fiercely through the night, and you weren’t there to comfort her.

“But… we should get home to Haru…” your voice softens as the concern creeps in, despite your best efforts to hide it.

The teasing gleam in Satoru’s eyes soften into something warmer, more tender.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he murmurs, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Can’t keep the little princess waiting.”

Once you approach the elevator, Satoru reaches out to press the button. But as you stand there for a brief moment of silence, he glances at you from the corner of his eye—catching sight of your furrowed brow, your lips pressed together in a thin line. Thoughts of Haru cloud your mind—weighing you down. You’re anxious to get home to her.

He leans back against the wall beside the elevator, and then with a subtle movement, you blink as he gently pulls you into his chest.

As his warmth envelops you like a soft blanket, he intertwines both of your hands, holding them between your bodies.

“So…” he sighs, looking down at you affectionately, “pancakes or waffles when we get back?”

The question, so simple yet so thoughtful, pulls you out of your reverie.

“I could definitely go for pancakes,” he adds with a slight grin, leaning in closer, “but I think Haru’s more of a waffle girl, right?”

His thumbs brush gently over your knuckles—a wordless reassurance—and the tension within you slowly begins to fade as you relax into his warmth. Your heart swells that he has caught onto such a small detail regarding Haru.

“Yeah… definitely waffles,” a slow smile spreads up your lips. “She thinks pancakes are too mushy.”

Satoru’s face immediately falls into an exaggerated frown, his lower lip jutting out in a dramatic pout.

“Seriously? Too mushy? Aww man… what kind of taste does she have?”

You can’t help but giggle at his expression, but before you can respond, he doubles down on the silliness—his voice dropping into an absurdly serious tone.

“Tch… waffles are just pancakes with abs.”

The deadpan delivery of his words catches you completely off guard, and before you know it, a burst of laughter escapes your lips and Satoru’s grin widens, clearly pleased with himself—soaking in the joy he’s managed to spark.

“See?” he teases, soft but triumphant as he unclasps your hands, only to wrap his arms around you. “Can’t be stressed when you’re thinking about pancakes with abs.”

“How do you even come up with these things?” you shake your head, still smiling.

“What? You know it’s true,” he declares.

His fingers absentmindedly rub against your lower back as he leans down to place a tender kiss upon your temple.

“But I’ll win her over one day. Pancakes will prevail.”

As his words settle, you feel a warm realization blooming in your chest.

Was… he trying to cheer you up?

Leaning into his embrace, you feel the last traces of tension melt away, replaced by a quiet gratitude that fills every corner of your chest. For once, you don’t feel the need to hold everything together alone. With him, it’s safe to let go, to simply be.

Suddenly, the soft ding of the elevator breaks your thoughts, pulling you back to the present—and as the door slides open with a quiet swoosh, you both step in together, welcomed by its faint hum.

After pressing the button to descend, Satoru’s arm slips around your waist, drawing you back against the warmth of his chest. Your heart skips a beat as his hands move slowly across you—gliding up your hips until they settle on your stomach—his fingers splayed gently over the fabric of your dress.

He nuzzles into the curve of your neck, and ripples of pleasure course through your body as he exhales deeply—basking in your presence. 

“Satoru…” you whisper, but his name falters on your lips as he dips his head lower, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder and trailing soft, lingering kisses up your neck.

“Mmm?” he hums against your skin, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

A quiet, airy laugh escapes you, and you tilt your head slightly, granting him better access.

“What… what are you doing?” you ask breathlessly.

“Just… enjoying this moment,” he murmurs through kisses—inhaling deeply. “Is that okay?”

Oh… this is new. He’s so… affectionate.

“Um… yeah…” you whisper, “it’s… more than okay.”

A deep, contented groan rumbles from his chest, and you feel his hands slide to your sides, his thumbs brushing slowly over your hips in a rhythm that’s both soothing and exhilarating.

“Good…” he exhales, a hint of tension in his voice. “’Cause… I can’t seem to keep my hands off you today…”

A pleasant shiver runs through you as his warmth surrounds you—the solid press of his body so close that it’s all you can feel, all you can breathe in.

Heat floods your cheeks, and just as you’re about to say something, he lets out a shaky sigh—his forehead coming to rest gently against your shoulder—his arms easing into a softer, more measured hold.

“Fuck… sorry,” he breathes. “See what you do to me?” his words come out in a quiet, almost desperate groan. “You drive me insane…”

Your heart races at his admission, and a light, breathless laugh slips from your lips.

“Do I?” you glance back at him.

The moment you catch that look in his eyes, dark and intense, a slow, deliberate smile curves up his lips—something wild simmering beneath the surface.

“More than you know,” he murmurs.

Tilting your head, you hold his gaze—a spark of mischief lighting your own as you manage a small, daring smile.

“Well… maybe I like driving you a little crazy…”

A low groan rumbles in his chest as his grip on your hips tightens with a restraint that feels as delicate as a thread.

“Oh, you’re trouble,” he murmurs, “I’m trying to be respectful here, but you’re really not making it easy.”

A thrill courses through you at his words—your heart racing in your chest. For a brief, dizzying moment, you wonder what it would be like to let him lose that last bit of control.

But…

“We’re… we’re in an elevator Satoru,” you exhale with a growing smile. “And… there are cameras, you know?”

Drawing in a slow breath, his eyes drift shut for a moment—as if gathering himself. Then, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, soft yet intense—leaving a warmth in its wake.

“I know, I know,” he mutters reluctantly, “I’ll behave...”

You arch a brow, the faintest smirk touching your lips.

“Really?” you tease, tilting your head. “Because you don’t exactly feel like you’re behaving.”

A deep, rich chuckle escapes him, reverberating against your skin as he leans in.

“Believe me,” his tone dips to a hushed promise, “if I wasn’t behaving… you’d know.”

“…is that so?” you challenge, just above a whisper.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he whispers, lips brushing against your ear. “I’d pin you against this wall and kiss you senseless if we weren’t in public…” his fingers trace slow, deliberate circles on your hips. “But for now, I’ll settle for this…”

A flush of warmth spreads up your cheeks—his words unraveling you on the inside. You manage a small, steadying breath, clinging to your composure as best as you can.

“Good to know you have some self-control,” you sigh breathlessly. “Although… I didn’t ask you to hold back… entirely.”

A spark of mischief lights his eyes, and in one smooth motion, he loosens his grip on your hips—pulling back just enough to shift the energy. His hands slide down to capture yours, and he spins you around to face him with a gentle tug—interlacing his fingers with yours.

“Don’t tempt me,” an exasperated laugh slips through his lips. “C’mon now… that’s really not fair. I’m seriously hanging by a thread as it is.”

His laugh is contagious, and it pulls one from you, breaking the tension just enough to leave you both grinning.

“Since when did you become such a risk-taker, Mr. Perfect?”

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly, almost as if he’s surprised himself.

“Since you started driving me out of my mind,” with a soft sigh, his voice lowers as he brings his forehead to rest gently against yours. “You’ve got me breaking all my rules.”

A warmth blossoms in your chest, his quiet admission stirring something deeper within you.

“I guess… I’m breaking my own rules too…” you admit quietly.

ꨄ

As the limo door closes and the car pulls away from the hotel, you let out a deep, satisfied sigh, sinking back into the plush seat. Stretching your legs out, you slip off your heels with a soft groan of relief, wiggling your sore toes and savoring the freedom.

“Finally,” you murmur, leaning your head back against the seat. “I’m so ready to go home.”

Beside you, Satoru watches—a lazy, amused smile tugging at his lips as he crosses his arms and leans back.

“Mmm... I suppose it was a long night, huh?”

You respond with a dramatic groan—tilting your head back against the seat and letting your eyes flutter shut. The exhaustion from the previous night still lingers—a subtle ache in your muscles.

Will these events ever get any easier? You seriously doubt it.

“That’s an understatement,” you sigh. “No more charity galas for a while, please. I need a serious break.”

A low chuckle escapes him, and you feel the warmth of his hand as he reaches over, his fingers finding yours in a gentle squeeze.

“Oh?” his thumb brushes softly against your knuckles. “Well, well… and here I thought you were starting to enjoy the glamorous life, Mrs. Gojo.”

You open your eyes, turning to give him a look of pure disbelief.

“Enjoy?” you scoff, letting out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Satoru, my feet are still killing me from last night, and my face actually hurts from all that forced smiling. I’m serious. Please, no more galas for a bit. I’m begging you.”

Pressing your hands together in a dramatic plea, your exaggerated gesture pulls a small smirk to the corner of his lips.

“So… you’re telling me you didn’t enjoy the endless small talk, the flashing cameras, the unsolicited life advice?” his tone drips with feigned innocence.

You snort, rolling your eyes as you lean your head against his shoulder, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you. With a tired sigh, you murmur,

“If I have to hear one more person ask when we’re expanding our family, I might actually lose it.”

His smirk deepens, a mischievous gleam flickering in his gaze as he leans in a fraction closer.

“Well…” his voice drops to a low, intimate murmur. “I’m more than happy to help with the ‘expanding’ part.”

A flush of warmth rushes to your cheeks—your eyes widening as his words sink in. You lift your head to meet his gaze, but the intensity in his eyes only makes your blush deepen.

“S-Satoru!” you stammer.

He laughs, rich and unrestrained—clearly delighted by your reaction. His eyes glint with mischief as he leans back—stretching his arm along the back of the seat in a languid, confident gesture.

“What?” a wicked grin tugs at his lips. “Just trying to be a supportive husband.”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, still feeling the warmth on your cheeks as you nudge him with your elbow—a reluctant smile creeping onto your face.

After a moment, you clear your throat, shifting the conversation.

“Speaking of which… Mr. ‘Supportive Husband’… you really threw me off during the interview last night, you know that? Changing the script at the last second?”

He crosses his arms, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Oh, come on. You handled it perfectly. I was impressed.”

Raising an eyebrow, you give him a pointed look.

“Impressed or not, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t panicking. I had everything planned out, rehearsed a dozen times, and then you just… decided to go off-script.” Shaking your head, you sigh in exasperation. “I mean… you know how much I practiced those responses.”

His expression softens, the playful edge fading as he meets your gaze.

“I couldn’t help it. I just… wanted to be honest.”

The words come out quietly, and for a moment, the sincerity in his voice makes your breath catch. You swallow, your mind flashing back to last night.

“Well…” you manage—voice softening as you feel the blush return to your cheeks. “A little warning would’ve been nice. I was just standing there, trying to keep it together while you… well…”

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans in closer.

“Oh? Did I make you nervous, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes, though your heart flutters at his infuriating charm.

“Just… try to give me a heads-up next time you decide to profess your feelings in front of an audience.”

He chuckles again, and this time, his hand finds yours—intertwining your fingers in a gentle, reassuring hold.

“Fair enough,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb softly over your knuckles.

But as his fingers linger, his gaze shifts to the window, his expression tightening ever so slightly. You follow his line of sight, noticing the way his eyes narrow, his jaw setting in subtle concentration.

“Satoru?” a touch of concern creeps into your voice. “Is… everything okay?”

Before he can answer, the driver’s voice crackles through the intercom—calm but cautious.

“Mr. Gojo… I believe we have a vehicle following us. They’ve been on our tail since we left the hotel.”

Satoru’s jaw clenches slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his face as he narrows his eyes—focused on the dark car trailing a few lengths behind.

“I’m already aware,” he mutters, almost to himself.

Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes land on the vehicle in question—a sleek, shadowy figure weaving through traffic, keeping pace with the limo’s every turn. A prickle of unease begins to settle in your stomach.

“Who are they?”

“Probably just paparazzi. It’s nothing new, trust me. Annoying, but they usually give up after a while.”

But as he says this, his expression betrays a hint of tension—a subtle tightness around his mouth and eyes that doesn’t quite match his nonchalance.

You shift in your seat, feeling a mixture of curiosity and unease as the car continues to follow behind, relentless in its pursuit—clinging to your trail like a shadow.

“And… if they don’t give up?”

A flicker of amusement dances across Satoru’s face, though there’s a guarded glint in his eyes. He lets out a low chuckle and his smirk returns—something unreadable lurking beneath the surface.

“Then Ichiji gives them a little… tour of the city.”

As if on cue, Satoru leans forward, pressing a button on the console to speak to the driver.

“Ichiji,” he calls, “think you can lose our friend back there?”

“Understood, sir.”

The limo surges forward, weaving through the road as it picks up speed—the cityscape flashing by in streaks of light and shadow—side streets you didn’t even know existed.

Satoru’s hand tightens on yours as you feel the controlled chaos of the limo dipping and swaying with each sharp maneuver—slipping through intersections just before traffic lights change.

Ichiji’s skill is apparent as he navigates the city’s maze. Yet, each time you risk a glance over your shoulder; the dark vehicle remains close, mirroring every twist and turn with an unsettling persistence.

Satoru catches your glance, and despite the tension etched into his features, he offers you a small, reassuring smile, though a flicker of irritation sharpens his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “Ichiji’s handled far worse. It’s just a nuisance—probably some rookie who thinks they’ve found their big break.”

You nod, taking solace in his confidence, but the tension in the car is thick, wrapping around you like a shroud.

After slipping down another narrow street, there’s a fleeting moment where hope blooms—you think you’ve finally lost them, that the shadow has fallen away.

But just as you start to relax, a chill races down your spine. Glancing over your shoulder again, there it is—the dark car, reappearing like a phantom.

Beside you, Satoru’s demeanor shifts, his usual light-hearted smirk fading into something colder, more resolute. He’s not just irritated anymore; he’s assessing, calculating.

“Sir,” the intercom crackles to life—Ichiji’s voice breaking through with a note of frustration. “They’re persistent. I’ve tried several routes, but they’re still on us.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens, though his voice remains calm, almost casual—a stark contrast to the intensity in his gaze.

“Keep going, Ichiji. Let’s see if they’re just stubborn… or genuinely serious.”

The limo surges forward—Ichiji pushing the car into tighter turns.

As the narrow roads and sharp angles blur past, your body sways, and you find yourself slipping into Satoru’s side—his arm instinctively wrapping around you to steady you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of winding detours and narrow escapes, Ichiji makes a bold maneuver—a sudden, sharp left down an alley barely wide enough for the limo, followed by a swift merge onto a bustling main road.

With the limo straightening, he picks up speed as it merges seamlessly with the traffic—the dark vehicle disappearing into the distance—swallowed by the sea of cars.

Relief washes over you as you look back, and the tension in your body slowly unravels as you sink further into your seat, exhaling a shaky breath.

Satoru lets out his own small sigh, his shoulders loosening as the hard edge in his expression softens slightly.

“Persistent, but not persistent enough,” he mutters, casting a final glance out the rear window before finally turning his full attention back to you.

A relieved laugh slips past your lips—a blend of amusement and exasperation. You quirk a brow and give him a wry smile.

“So… is this, like, the VIP experience of being married to you? Complimentary car chases and all?”

Satoru snorts—a smirk breaking through his calm facade as he chuckles.

“Only the deluxe date package, sweetheart. I aim to impress.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes with a grin. “What’s next? Parachuting out of the jet?”

“Not today,” he lets out a dramatic sigh. “But if you ask nicely, I might arrange it for our next outing,” he adds with a wink.

A soft laugh escapes you, but as the humor fades, a comfortable silence settles between you. The adrenaline from the chase lingers, slowly dissipating into a shared quiet that feels strangely intimate.

Settling back into his seat, Satoru’s gaze drifts to the window—watching the city blur past with a distant, almost contemplative expression—absently tracing gentle patterns on the back of your hand.

You take the opportunity to study him, observing the subtle lines that have eased from his face—for although his hand, still entwined with yours, feels relaxed, there’s something lingering in his eyes.

A guarded look, a shadow of vigilance—as though he’s still braced for the next challenge, the next threat lurking around the corner.

You can’t help but feel a pang of empathy, a longing to understand, to somehow lighten the burdens he doesn’t speak of. And as you sit there, your hand in his, the question rises to the surface, soft but insistent.

“Does it ever get… easier?”

He blinks, pulling his gaze from the window to look at you, a faint surprise flickering in his eyes as he considers your question.

“Easier?” his voice lowers, softened by a hint of weariness. “I guess… you learn to live with it,” his gaze drifts again. “The constant attention, the expectations… it just becomes a part of you, like background noise.”

With a subtle pause, a quiet sigh slips from his lips, barely audible.

“Perhaps it only gets easier to pretend it doesn’t bother me.”

As his confession hangs between you, your heart aches for him—for the weight he’s constantly been forced to carry in silence.

Gently, you give his hand a reassuring squeeze, and feeling a surge of tenderness, you shift closer—resting your head against his shoulder in a gesture of quiet support.

“That must have been… hard to grow up with, Satoru.”

A wry smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, his gaze dropping to where your hands are entwined.

“Well… when you grow up in a family like mine, you learn early on that everything comes with a price. Privacy, peace, even… happiness.”

He pauses, the faintest shadow crossing his face. You feel his hand tense slightly in yours.

“My father… he was very clear about what he expected, what he considered acceptable.”

A flicker of vulnerability passes through his gaze, and for a brief moment, he seems to struggle, as if wrestling with the decision to reveal more or to keep his past guarded.

His jaw tightens, as he reluctantly mutters, “…and if something threatened that image?”

Tilting your head slightly, your heart aches as you sense the struggle behind his words.

There’s a part of you that dreads the answer, that fears what he might say, but another part—the part that trusts him, that wants to understand—urges you forward.

“What would he do… if something threatened it?”

The silence feels heavy, and Satoru’s gaze grows distant—his eyes unfocused, as if he’s looking at something far beyond the present.

“He’d… handle it,” he pauses, hesitating. “He had a way of making problems… disappear. It didn’t matter what—or who—got in the way.”

A chill runs down your spine, his words settling over you like a shadow. And then, like a whisper carried in the wind, another voice intrudes, one you’d rather forget—Naoya.

‘The Gojo family isn’t as squeaky clean as they’d like everyone to believe’

Swallowing, the knot in your stomach tightens—uncertainty and unease churning within you.

‘Corporate malpractice. Insider trading. Swept under the rug.’

Your mind races with questions, possibilities—fragments of a puzzle that feel just out of reach.

But as you look at Satoru, his profile softened by the passing streetlights, his expression seemingly relaxed yet shadowed by an inner turmoil—you feel an undeniable urge to understand, to know the truth—not from anyone else’s lips but his.

What’s his side of the story?

You chew on the thought, and the question sits heavy on your tongue—tangled with hesitation and a nagging curiosity that prickles under your skin.

Part of you fears what he may reveal; wonders what will come to light if you dare pull back the curtain. But you’ve already made your choice—you have placed your trust in him, and now, it’s time to act on it.

“Hey… Satoru?”

At the sound of your voice, his expression softens, his gaze shifting from the window to meet yours, a faint smile touching his lips

“Hmm?”

Hesitating for a heartbeat, you gather your courage—finding your words.

“There’s… something Naoya said that’s been bothering me.”

Satoru’s brow knits, his relaxed posture shifting as a flicker of apprehension crosses his face. He leans in, subtly closing the distance between you.

“…what did he say?”

You swallow, steadying yourself.

“He mentioned… a court case. Said it was ‘swept under the rug’ by your family.”

At this, a faint tension settles over him, and he glances away—his gaze clouding as though he’s sifting through memories he’d rather not confront.

“Well… Naoya’s not entirely wrong,” he hesitates, a flicker of something heavy in his eyes. “There was a case… years ago, before my father passed. I… wouldn’t say it was ‘swept under the rug’ though.”

Sensing the reluctance in his words, you shift closer, letting your hand rest lightly on his arm—a quiet reassurance that he doesn’t have to face this alone.

“What happened?” you ask gently.

There is a beat of silence—his eyes flickering to yours as he lets out a deep sigh.

“Look… my father was a powerful man,” he begins, low and guarded. “He would do whatever he thought was necessary to protect our family’s legacy. But… at some point, having power like that attracts attention from people who want to exploit it.”

With a subtle pause, he holds your gaze, gauging your reaction—almost as though he’s afraid of what you might think. You offer an encouraging nod—silently urging him to continue.

“They were… dangerous people,” he continues. “At first, they saw my father’s influence as something they could control—a tool to serve their agenda. But when he refused to play along…” his voice trails off, and his lips press into a hard line. “Well, let’s just say they didn’t take it well. The retaliation started subtly—small threats, quiet warnings—but it didn’t take long before things began to escalate.”

A prickling unease creeps up your spine, the revelation unfolding an image of his family’s past that you’d never envisioned.

The Gojos? Entangled in the underworld?

It seems impossible—absurd even. Yet, as you watch the subtle tension drawing across Satoru’s face, the disbelief gives way to a somber realization. His family’s legacy, so polished and prestigious, carries a dark weight that’s been carefully hidden.

A thousand questions rush through your mind, but one stands out, pressing at the forefront.

“These people…” your fingers brush over his arm in a silent promise of support, “who were they?”

His hesitation stretches, the tension deepening in his face as his eyes darken. Swallowing, his gaze drops for a moment before he finally murmurs,

“The yakuza.”

A soft, involuntary gasp escapes you—your breath catching as the gravity of his words sink in.

“The yakuza?”

You stare at him, searching his face, trying to fully comprehend the magnitude of what he’s revealing—though all he offers is a nod, his expression grim.

“I… I had no idea it was that serious,” you stammer. “I… I thought… maybe it was just business rivals or… or people with grudges. But… the yakuza?”

“Yeah… they approached my father, tried to pull him into their world. He resisted… but with people like them, ‘no’ isn’t an option. So, they went after what he valued most—his reputation. That’s why they took him to court.”

As his words sink in, your heart races, a new fear unfurling in your chest, cold and insistent.

If they were willing to tear Satoru’s father down so publicly, to ruin him in order to make a statement, what would stop them from going after what Satoru values most now? The thought sends a ripple of dread through you, heavy and unsettling.

The memory of the car that had tailed you earlier rises unbidden in your mind. Was it really just… paparazzi? Or could it have been something more sinister? The possibility claws at you, leaving a hollow ache of unease that tightens around your chest, raw and suffocating.

And then, almost as if summoned by that fear, Haru’s innocent face flashes across your mind—her bright eyes, her soft laughter. The mere thought of her being anywhere near this kind of danger wraps around you like a vice, filling you with a terror that threatens to spill over.

“Satoru…” your voice trembles, the panic creeping in as you whisper, “If they were willing to go to those lengths… what does this mean for us? For Haru?”

Noticing the anxiety bubbling within you, Satoru’s expression softens as his hand finds yours—warm and steady, a reassuring grip.

“Hey… you don’t have to worry about that. Not anymore,” his thumb brushes over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “My father… he dealt with them. He put their kanbu—Toji Zenin—in jail. Since then, they’ve kept quiet.”

Toji Zenin…

As the name rolls off his tongue it lingers in your mind, echoing, triggering something faintly familiar.

“Zenin?” you repeat, eyes widening as the realization dawns. “Did you say… Toji Zenin?”

He blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as a faint crease forms between his brows. Nodding slowly, his gaze is steady but laced with quiet concern.

“Yeah… Toji Zenin. Why?”

The pieces fall together in a chilling clarity—a cold, uncomfortable realization settling over you like a shadow. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and your mouth goes dry.

“Satoru…” you inhale sharply. “Naoya’s last name… it’s Zenin.”

A heavy silence fills the car, pressing in from all sides, suffocating in its intensity. Satoru’s eyes widen, a crack in his usual composure—a flicker of shock as he absorbs the implications of your words.

“Naoya… is a Zenin?” he murmurs, barely above a whisper.

Leaning back, he releases a sharp exhale as though the weight of this new knowledge has landed squarely on his shoulders. His gaze shifts, unfocused, as he absorbs the impact.

“Well,” he mutters, almost to himself, “that explains a lot...”

But his reaction only sharpens the tendrils of fear coiling around your heart, constricting until it’s hard to breathe.

Your thoughts spiral, slipping beyond your control—images of Haru’s innocent face, of your family thrown into turmoil, of everything you and Satoru are trying to build, crumbling under the threat that looms over you.

“Satoru… this… this isn’t just some family feud, is it?” you struggle to keep your composure. “If Naoya’s related to Toji, he won’t just… let this go. Oh god… what are we going to do?”

Satoru’s expression softens at the panic rising in your tone, and without a word, he shifts closer, reaching out to anchor you. One hand finds yours, wrapping around it in a steadying grip, while his other rises to cradle your face, grounding you in his touch.

“Hey… shhh, look at me,” his thumb traces a gentle line down your cheek. “I will handle this. I won’t let anything happen to you or to Haru. I promise.”

Searching his face, you are drawn to the quiet intensity of his eyes—the fierce protectiveness simmering beneath his calm demeanor. Despite the fear gnawing at you, there’s a flicker of reassurance, a warmth spreading from his touch—one that eases the tension in your chest.

“I know this feels overwhelming…” he soothes, “but I guarantee you, whatever Naoya or his family think they can do, they won’t succeed. Not while I’m here. I don’t care who Naoya is or what he thinks he’s capable of. He won’t touch you. He won’t come close to Haru. Not now, not ever.”

The calm certainty in his voice wraps around you, dispelling the worst of the shadows lurking in your mind. Drawing a shaky breath, you nod—clinging to his steady presence as his words sink in.

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re safe with me,” his gentle breath fans your face as he caresses your cheek. “No matter what happens, we’ll face it together. I’ll protect you… protect our family. I need you to trust me on this sweetheart.”

You squeeze his hand, finding strength in his resolve, in the steady rhythm of his breathing—and for a moment, enveloped in his warmth and the comfort of his words, you allow yourself to believe—if only for a little while—that you’re safe.

ꨄ

As the door of the Gojo estate clicks shut behind you, the hurried patter of small feet echoes down the hall. Haru rounds the corner, her small frame skidding slightly as she sees you—eyes wide with relief but a little red-rimmed.

“Mama!”

Her bottom lip quivers as she reaches for you, and her little arms are stretched out as far as they can go—desperate and open.

Dropping to your knees just in time, she crashes into you—her small hands clinging desperately to your shoulders as she buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“Oh, sweet girl,” you whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to her head. “I missed you too, baby. It’s okay. Mama’s here.”

It’s all you can do to hold her close, stroking her back in soothing circles as her quiet whimpers are muffled against you. Then, lifting your gaze, you catch the nanny’s gentle, sympathetic smile from where she stands nearby—watching the reunion with soft eyes.

“How was she?” you ask quietly.

The nanny gives a small, reassuring nod.

“She was very brave,” she says kindly. “The storm shook her up a bit, but she’s been a trooper.”

Stepping beside you, Satoru’s comforting hand rests on your shoulder as he listens—his gaze softening as he looks down at Haru nestled against you. He turns to the nanny, and offers a grateful smile.

“Thank you for staying with her through the night. We really appreciate it.”

The nanny smiles, her gaze flickering to Haru, who is now sniffling quietly in your arms.

“Of course, Mr. Gojo. She’s a sweetheart.” Leaning down, she pats Haru’s head gently and whispers, “Bye Haru. Take care, little one.”

With that, she gathers her things and quietly slips out, leaving the three of you in the quiet of the entryway.

But as the door clicks shut, Haru’s small hands cling even tighter to you, showing no signs of letting up. Her hold is firm, as though she’s afraid you’ll slip away the moment she loosens her grip.

Kneeling down beside you, Satoru reaches out a tentative hand, brushing his fingers gently over her hair.

“Hey, Haru,” he clears his throat softly. “I’m… glad you’re safe. You had me and your Mama worried, you know.”

Haru shifts a little but keeps her face buried against your shoulder, her grip on you unwavering, causing Satoru’s hopeful smile to falter just a touch. He glances up at you, searching for reassurance.

Your heart swells at his expression. This is uncharted territory for him, and though his effort is sincere, there’s an unmistakable hint of awkwardness, a subtle vulnerability as he tries to connect.

But you’re grateful he’s trying, grateful for the patience he’s showing even when Haru’s response isn’t what he hoped for.

Offering an encouraging smile, you squeeze his hand briefly before looking down at Haru.

“Haru,” you say softly, rocking her slightly, “Satoru’s here too. And you know what? I think he missed you a lot.”

Haru’s little arms only tighten around you in response, her small face nestled firmly against your neck. There’s a hint of a pout in her expression as she stubbornly clings to you, seemingly unimpressed by Satoru’s efforts to engage.

With a soft sigh, Satoru’s shoulders slump slightly as he scratches the back of his neck.

“Guess I’ll have to work harder to get on her good side today…” he murmurs, trying to mask the slight discouragement in his voice.

“She’s just a little shaken up,” you reassure him, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. “She’ll come around.”

Determined not to give up, Satoru’s expression shifts, a glint of playful determination lighting up his gaze.

Leaning in a little closer, his voice softens, adopting a gentle, almost sing-song tone as he tries again—this time with a different approach.

“Haruuu~” he coaxes, drawing out her name with a gentle smile. “What if we make waffles for breakfast? Would you like that?”

At the mention of waffles, Haru’s grip loosens ever so slightly. Slowly, she peeks out from the safety of your shoulder, her wide eyes darting toward Satoru with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Her little brows knit together as she seems to weigh her options, the slightest glimmer of interest flickering in her gaze.

Satoru notices, his eyes lighting up with a renewed sense of hope. Seizing the moment, he leans in a little closer.

“We can make them together. Extra syrup, extra whipped cream… just how you like it!”

Haru considers this for a moment, still clutching you but her gaze locked on Satoru—deciding whether his offer is worth leaving her safe place. Then, her small voice, barely above a whisper, asks tentatively,

“…with strawberries?”

Satoru’s face brightens, a wide smile breaking across his features as he nods enthusiastically.

“With as many strawberries as you want,” he promises. “We’ll pile them up nice and high. Just for you, princess.”

ꨄ

In the cozy warmth of the kitchen, the scent of waffles and melted butter fills the air. Satoru—who hasn’t spent much time at the stove since his first impromptu cooking session with you—fumbles slightly with the waffle iron, his fingers awkward as he glances over at you for guidance every few seconds.

“Careful,” you murmur, stepping forward just in time to guide his hand as he nearly overfills the iron. “Remember, less is more.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, scratching the back of his head with his free hand.

“Right. I was just… testing the limits.”

Rolling your eyes, you nudge him gently with a grin.

“Uh-huh. Sure you were.”

“I wanna put the toppings on!” Haru chimes in excitedly, bouncing slightly on her toes as she stands beside him on a step stool—a can of whipped cream clutched in one hand and a bowl of sliced strawberries in the other.

“Hold on, little chef,” Satoru grins, gently steadying her, a hand on her back. “We gotta make sure the waffle’s just right first. Can’t rush perfection.”

Puffing her cheeks, Haru lets out an exaggerated huff as the waffle iron starts to hiss and steam.

“It’s taking forever,” she complains. “Mama doesn’t take this long.”

Satoru arches a brow in amusement, and you chuckle softly from the counter where you’ve discreetly started mixing a separate batch of pancake batter.

“That’s because Mama knows what she’s doing,” you tease, glancing over your shoulder at Satoru with a smirk.

Clutching his chest, Satoru gasps in mock offense.

“Wow. Betrayed by my own wife. Right in front of our sous-chef.”

Haru giggles at his exaggerated reaction.

“Mama’s the boss,” she declares confidently—holding up her can of whipped cream like a trophy.

“You know what?” Satoru sighs, his grin softening. “You’re absolutely right. Without her, I’d probably burn this whole kitchen down.”

You chuckle, stepping closer and leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You’re sweet,” you say softly. “But I trust you to handle this. I’m gonna prep something else over there.”

He blinks—a surprised but pleased smile tugging at his lips—eyes glimmering with amusement.

“Wait, you’re leaving me in charge? Bold move, Mrs. Gojo.”

“Very bold,” you reply with a smirk, backing away toward the counter. “But I have faith in you. Just keep an eye on the steam. You’re in charge of waffles and keeping Haru entertained. And don’t let her eat all the toppings before the waffles are done.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies with playful seriousness, saluting you with the ladle.

As the waffles cook, you finish mixing the pancake batter and quietly heat the pan—keeping an ear on their conversation. Satoru is showing Haru how to hold the whipped cream can steady, but Haru protests the second he sneaks a strawberry slice from her pile.

“Hey! Those are mine!” she pouts, reaching out to swat his hand away as she clutches the bowl protectively against her chest.

“Quality control,” he argues, popping the strawberry into his mouth. “Someone’s gotta make sure they’re not poisoned.”

“No stealing!” she declares, shoving her own strawberry into her mouth with an exaggerated defiance.

Shaking your head, a quiet laugh escapes you as you pour pancake batter onto the hot pan. The soft sizzle of batter meeting the heat blends seamlessly with the chatter and laughter filling the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Satoru triumphantly announces, “Waffle’s done!” as he carefully lifts the golden creation from the iron and places it on a plate.

Haru squeals with delight—already reaching for the whipped cream as he sets the plate in front of her.

“Careful, careful,” Satoru warns, steadying the plate with one hand while Haru applies a generous swirl of whipped cream, her tongue sticking out in concentration.

“There we go—masterpiece in the making.”

While they’re distracted, you quietly finish stacking a plate of pancakes, adding a pat of butter and just the right drizzle of syrup—exactly how you know Satoru likes. The warm aroma wafts upward as you carefully carry the plate to the table, setting it down without a word.

Haru, oblivious, is busy adding strawberries to her waffle with a proud grin, but Satoru’s sharp eyes catch the movement—he pauses mid-motion, his attention snapping to the pancakes. As his eyes widen slightly, his expression shifts to one of boyish delight.

“You made those?” he asks, stepping closer to the table.

You smile, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “Well, someone mentioned earlier that they were more in the mood for pancakes.”

A slow grin spreads across his face as he steps toward you, his hands settling on your waist as he pulls you into a gentle hug from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder, and his voice softens.

“You spoil me, you know that?” he murmurs.

Tilting your head slightly, a soft laugh escapes you as you glance at him.

 “Mmm… well, someone has to keep you in line.”

Haru, catching the exchange, glances up from her waffle with a small pout.

“Hey! What about me?” she asks, holding up her masterpiece. “Look at my waffle!”

Satoru straightens up, feigning shock.

“Oh, wow, Haru! That’s the most beautiful waffle I’ve ever seen. Way better than mine, for sure.”

Her pout shifts to a triumphant grin.

“I know,” she says, plopping a strawberry into her mouth.

ꨄ

The sound of the doorbell echoes through the estate just as you’re finishing your last few bites of breakfast. Haru, seated on her highchair, barely glances up from her waffle masterpiece—her tiny hands busy scooping up a dollop of whipped cream.

You glance at Satoru, curious.

“Are we expecting someone?”

He straightens in his chair, casually wiping his mouth before tossing his napkin onto the table with an ease that feels practiced.

“Yeah, I called him first thing this morning.”

Your eyes narrow on him as he rises from his seat.

“Called who?”

But before he can answer, Ichiji steps into the kitchen doorway, his posture as poised as always.

“Mr. Gojo—Mr. Geto is here to see you.”

“Suguru?” you tilt your head, and your fork clinks softly against the plate as you set it down—muttering softly, “I didn’t know he was coming today.”

“Figures,” a familiar, exasperated voice chimes in. “That’s because someone didn’t give you a heads-up.”

Turning towards the kitchen entrance, you spot Suguru Geto stepping into view. He’s every bit as composed as you remember—dressed sharply in a tailored black suit that perfectly complements his tall, lean frame—though his polished appearance doesn’t disguise the easygoing air he carries.

His leather briefcase dangles casually from one hand, and his eyes flicker to you—a polite smile tugging at his lips.

“y/n, nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” you reply, matching his smile with your own.

Then, Suguru’s attention shifts seamlessly to Satoru, his expression sliding into something closer to feigned annoyance.

“Well,” he exhales dramatically, running a hand through his loosely tied-back hair, “I see you’re wasting no time dragging me into your messes, huh?”

“Our messes,” Satoru corrects smoothly, leaning back against the counter with a grin that radiates shamelessness. He gestures toward the table, a silent invitation for Suguru to join you. “I thought we agreed—you’re part of this circus now.”

Arching a brow, Suguru shakes his head in amused resignation as he steps further into the room.

“Oh, is that what we agreed? Must’ve missed the memo.”

As he approaches the table, his gaze slides back to you, softening slightly.

“And how are you holding up, y/n? Still surviving the whirlwind that is Gojo Satoru?”

A chuckle escapes you as you wipe Haru’s syrup-sticky hands with a wet napkin.

“Barely, but I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

Suguru hums thoughtfully, nodding with approval.

“Good,” he says with a wry smile. “You’ll need to keep up that resilience.”

Setting his sleek briefcase down on the counter with a soft thud, his tone shifts ever so slightly, as he steadily says,

“I’ll be representing you in court.”

The weight of his words settles over the room, a sobering reminder of the battle ahead. Yet, as Haru swirls her fork eagerly through her syrup and giggles softly, her blissful innocence seems to lighten the tension just enough.

“Thank you,” you say earnestly, your gaze meeting his. “I… really appreciate it.”

Suguru offers a confident smile, his presence radiating assurance.

“Don’t mention it,” he takes a seat next to you. “We’ll go over everything. There’s a lot to cover, but we’ll take it one step at a time. I’m here to make sure you’re prepared.”

From his spot against the counter, Satoru chimes in, his grin practically glowing.

“See? I told you he’s the best.”

Rolling his eyes, Suguru’s fingers deftly adjust the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Flattery won’t make this any easier, you know,” he quips dryly, though the hint of a grin betrays his amusement. “But I hope you realize you owe me for this. This isn’t exactly light work. Maybe start with some coffee.”

Satoru laughs, stepping over to clap a hand on Suguru’s shoulder with playful force.

“Anything for my favorite lawyer.”

“Favorite?” Suguru deadpans, arching a skeptical brow. “I’m fairly certain I’m your only lawyer.”

“Details,” Satoru quips, his grin widening. “Besides, no one else could handle me.”

Suguru sighs, shaking his head in mock defeat as a small smirk pulls at his lips.

“On that, we agree,” he mutters dryly.

ꨄ

The Gojo study hums with a quiet tension, but the rustle of paper punctuates the stillness as Suguru methodically spreads neatly labeled folders across the polished desk.

In the distance, Haru’s delighted laughter echoes faintly through the halls, a gentle reminder of her presence as Ichiji keeps her entertained—a task assigned by Satoru to ensure your conversation remains undisturbed.

Leaning against the desk, stands Satoru—arms crossed over his chest. But the absence of his trademark smirk is striking, replaced by a rare focus.

His crystalline blue eyes are sharp, intent, as they flit to you, then to Suguru.

“I appreciate you coming on such short notice,” he begins, low and unusually steady. “Look… there’s a lot we need to get ahead of…”

Suguru waves off the gratitude with a flick of his wrist, flipping open a folder.

“No problem. I’m used to you dragging me into your messes, remember?” His lips tug into a faint smirk. “Besides, this one’s actually important.”

Sitting across from Suguru, you shift in your seat, your hands clasped tightly in your lap. The weight of uncertainty presses against your chest as your eyes drift to Satoru, who stands as if bracing himself to deliver a blow.

“Suguru,” he begins, tone sharpening, “we found out something big. About Naoya.”

Suguru’s brow arches in mild curiosity, but he continues thumbing through the documents, waiting for Satoru to continue.

“He’s a Zenin.”

The folder in Suguru’s grasp stills—freezing mid turn. His dark eyes flick up, recognition flaring in his gaze, followed swiftly by something colder, heavier.

“A Zenin?”

“Yup,” pushing off the desk, Satoru leans forward to plant both palms on its polished surface. “He’s got more resources than we thought. We’re not just dealing with some rich, bitter ex—we’re going up against the yakuza.”

Suguru exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair as his fingers rub at his chin. The lines of his face sharpen, his usual easygoing demeanor slipping into something far more calculating.

“Zenin… Naoya Zenin…” he mutters, almost to himself, then, a wry smile ghosts across his lips, void of any warmth. “Of course, it’s him. I knew the name sounded familiar.”

You lean forward slightly, soft but urgent.

“You know him?”

As Suguru’s gaze flickers to you, his expression darkens—he nods.

“We went to the same law school. Different years, but our paths crossed a few times.” Shaking his head, he lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “He’s… not exactly the type you forget.”

Your breath hitches as you glance at Satoru, who straightens slightly—a glimmer of curiosity breaking through the severity in his expression.

“You’re kidding…” his head tilts as he studies Suguru. “What was he like?”

Suguru snorts softly, but the sound carries no humor.

“Arrogant. Ruthless. He’d throw anyone under the bus if it meant getting ahead—professors, classmates, even so-called friends. And he did it with a smile, like it was a game. He was top of his class, but not because he was the smartest. No, Naoya Zenin was the most cutthroat. Every victory he claimed was calculated, every move designed to humiliate someone else.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens at the description, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the edge of the desk.

“Sounds about right,” he mutters under his breath.

But as Suguru’s dark eyes sharpen, a flicker of protectiveness flash within them as he turns to you.

“If he’s tied to the yakuza, we need to be strategic. This isn’t just a custody battle anymore—it’s a power play. He’s going to use every trick in the book to undermine you, y/n.”

The knot in your stomach tightens, your hands clasping harder in your lap as you force yourself to speak.

“…what do we do?”

Leaning forward, Suguru rests his elbows on the desk as he fixes you with a steady gaze.

“We build your case airtight. Document everything—your role in Haru’s life, your finances, your relationship with Satoru. We highlight what’s best for her, and we get ahead of whatever dirt he’s going to try to throw your way.”

Satoru plops down in the seat beside you—a casualness that doesn’t quite match his intensity. As he kicks up his feet, his lips twist into a determined scowl.

“And if he steps out of line,” he grits, “we make sure he regrets it.”

Suguru raises a brow at Satoru’s bluntness but doesn’t refute him. Instead, he turns his attention back to you, his expression softening slightly.

“If Naoya’s involved, he’ll stop at nothing to win. But that also makes him predictable—at least to someone who knows how he operates. And fortunately for you, I do. His yakuza connections might make him dangerous, but they also make him vulnerable if we play this right.”

Nodding slowly, the steady conviction in Suguru’s voice grounds you, even as the gravity of the situation sinks in. But then, as your gaze shifts to Satoru, you catch sight of him, leaning back further—his hands clasped behind his head as a faint smirk tugs at his lips.

“Well,” he exhales with a playful glint, “if anyone can turn this into an advantage, it’s you, Suguru.”

Arching a brow, Suguru’s lips curve into a wry smile.

“More flattery, huh? You must really want me to win this.”

Satoru’s grin widens, his signature charm slipping back into place as he shrugs.

“Hey, I’m just giving credit where credit’s due. Besides, I’m kind of depending on you here.”

Rolling his eyes, the faintest trace of a smirk lingers on Suguru as he settles back in his chair.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures. “By the time I’m done, Naoya won’t know what hit him.”

The moment feels lighter, more hopeful, but it’s short-lived as Suguru turns his attention back to you. The weight of his gaze is discerning, his tone shifting into something sharper, more direct.

“All right, y/n,” he begins, flipping open a folder and grabbing a pen. “Let’s get into it. I need to know everything about your history with Haru—how long you’ve cared for her, the kind of stability you’ve provided. What does your day-to-day with her look like?”

You blink, caught off guard by the abrupt shift in tone, but you clear your throat and nod.

“Right… um, well, I’ve been her primary caregiver since she was born. I—”

Suguru lifts a hand, halting you mid-sentence.

“Actually, let’s start from the very beginning. What were the circumstances that led to Haru? Your relationship with Naoya? The more details, the better.”

As the question lingers in the air, you hesitate—your gaze dropping to your hands while your fingers twist anxiously in your lap.

Talking about Haru is easy—she’s your light, your joy. But the road that brought you to her… that’s where the cracks lie.

With a deep breath, you’re unable to meet Suguru’s steady gaze, so instead, you glance toward Satoru.

He’s leaning forward now—elbows resting on his thighs, watching you intently. There is an unwavering reassurance in his soft expression, urging you to continue.

Holding onto that look for a moment, you let it push you forward.

“Haru wasn’t planned,” you admit quietly, voice trembling slightly. “At first, it was… okay. Naoya was never exactly hands-on, but he wasn’t hostile either. I think… back then, maybe he thought Haru might be useful to him someday.”

Suguru’s pen doesn’t pause as he scribbles notes, his eyes briefly flicking up to meet yours.

“Useful? In what way?”

You shift uncomfortably—your hands continuing to twist in your lap.

“To him, it was always about control,” the words come slower now, as if you’re piecing them together. “Having a child—especially one he thought he could… shape—meant he could use her somehow, like leverage. But when he realized Haru was… more work than he expected, he just… started pulling away.”

Satoru’s jaw sets tightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. Leaning back slightly, his fingers drum sharply against the armrest of the chair as Suguru presses gently.

“Pulling away how?”

You hesitate, your voice quieter now.

“He started coming home less… and when he was home, it was like walking on eggshells. Nothing was ever good enough—how I held her, how I fed her, how I…” Drawing in a shaky breath, your voice wavers slightly. “How I was raising her. He had an opinion about everything. I couldn’t do anything right.”

Suguru’s pen stills, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he listens intently. Across from you, Satoru’s posture stiffens further, and you can see his knuckles whitening where they grip the armrest.

“I was young and scared,” your voice wavers, tinged with a quiet shame. “And I thought… I thought I could change him. That maybe things would get better.”

Your gaze drops to your lap again, your fingers twisting together so tightly it feels like your knuckles might split.

“But… they didn’t. If anything, they got worse. He would question every choice I made as a mother. And when I tried to stand up for myself…”

Trailing off, the memories send a familiar shiver down your spine—your body trembling slightly as you attempt to take in a deep, shaky breath.

“y/n,” Suguru’s voice pulls you back gently, and his gaze is steady, though there’s a slight edge of concern to it. “This is important. Was there ever any… abuse? Emotional or otherwise?”

Unable to look up, you can feel both men’s eyes on you—Suguru’s sharp and calculating, Satoru’s burning with barely restrained anger. Cautiously, you take in another shaky breath.

“It… depends on what you define as abuse. He never hit me, if that’s what you mean. But he didn’t have to,” pausing, your hands twist tighter in your lap. “There were times… when he’d get angry, really angry, and he’d slam things—doors, tables. It was enough to make me… worry about pushing him too far.”

The room is suffocatingly silent as your words hang in the air.

As the pressure builds in your chest, the shame coils tighter with each second that passes. Speaking the truth aloud feels like ripping open an old wound—exposing the raw, aching parts of yourself that you’ve worked so hard to keep hidden.

For a moment, you wish you could take it all back, swallow the words and let them die in your throat. But then you think of Haru—her tiny hands reaching for yours, her laughter echoing faintly through the estate.

This isn’t just about you anymore. It never was.

But as the trembling in your fingers begins to spread to your shoulders, you force yourself to breathe, to focus—though the weight of their stares only crush you further.

Is this what it feels like to be seen? To have someone actually listen?

“Is… is that enough?” you whisper, the question trembling as it leaves your lips.

“Oh, it’s enough,” Satoru’s voice cuts through suddenly, snapping your eyes up to meet his. The restrained rage is radiating off him like heat. But then his gaze softens—just slightly—and when it meets yours, you see something else beneath the anger.

Something quieter, deeper. A promise.

“More than enough…” he murmurs.

Swallowing hard, you’re unsure if the tears welling in your eyes are from relief or the overwhelming vulnerability coursing through you.

You’ve handed them a piece of yourself you’ll never get back, and yet, for the first time, you don’t feel entirely alone in carrying it.

“y/n,” Suguru begins, leaning forward slightly, “what you’re describing… controlling behavior, intimidation, emotional manipulation—that is abuse.”

There’s a quiet emphasis in his words, as if he’s trying to make sure you truly hear him.

“Even if he didn’t put his hands on you, using fear and control to keep you in line is just another way to break someone without leaving a mark.”

His acknowledgement is both freeing and suffocating—and as the truth of his words sink in slowly, for a moment, all you can do is nod—your throat too tight to form a proper response.

“I think we’ve covered enough for today,” Satoru says suddenly, leaving no room for argument. He rises from his seat. “We can pick this back up tomorrow.”

Opening his mouth to protest, the words are poised on the tip of Suguru’s tongue, but Satoru silences him with a single sharp glance and a slight shake of his head—not aggressive, but firm.

“She’s been through enough for one day,” his gaze flickers to you, and the edge of his earlier anger melts away into something gentler as he murmurs, “let her breathe.”

Suguru hesitates, studying Satoru for a moment, before letting out a sigh. He leans back in his chair, snapping his folder shut with a quiet click.

“Alright…” he concedes, “We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

The tension in the room eases slightly as Suguru begins to gather his papers, but your body remains taut—like a string pulled too tightly.

Managing a small nod, gratitude blooms in your chest, though you’re not sure how to voice it. Your lips part to say something to Satoru—anything—but the words refuse to come.

Stepping closer, Satoru reaches your side, and he crouches slightly, bringing himself closer to your eye level. As he lifts his hand, his fingers graze your cheek, softly tucking back a loose strand of your hair.

“Come on,” he whispers, “Let’s get out of here.”

And for the first time since the conversation began, you feel like you can finally exhale.

ꨄ

After Suguru leaves, Satoru doesn’t say much about your conversation in the study. There are no heavy discussions, no probing questions. Instead, his actions do the talking—offering a steadying presence that words could never match.

He eases you into a rhythm that feels unhurried and safe, and at the center of it all is Haru—her bright energy pulling you both into her orbit like a tiny sun—melting away all lingering shadows of worry.

It’s just the three of you—embracing the gentle cadence of togetherness—the hours blurring into a soft haze of tender moments, strung together like beads on a necklace.

Though what surprises you most, is Satoru.

He’s not the detached observer you’ve come to expect but something entirely different—present, engaged, and effortlessly intertwined in the fabric of the day.

Perhaps it’s the shift in your relationship—the silent understanding that this isn’t a charade anymore. Or maybe it’s his resolve to carve out a meaningful connection with Haru, to find his own place in her world.

Whatever the reason, he is there, fully and completely.

When Haru launches into a vivid narration of her stuffed animals’ daring adventures, Satoru listens with rapt attention, as if each word holds the weight of an epic tale.

Later, when she declares it’s time for an impromptu tea party, he folds his tall frame onto the floor without hesitation,

The sight is almost absurd—this man, so completely out of place yet so effortlessly part of it all. And as the day fades into evening, his presence remains constant, even as the tempo slows.

With bedtime arriving, he follows you and Haru to her room, lingering in the warm glow of her nightly routine. It’s the first time he’s joined you, yet there’s something achingly natural about it—him sitting cross-legged on the floor as you read her favorite story—the three of you together in that small, cozy space.

It’s almost as if this is how it’s always been, or perhaps how it was always meant to be—because now that the facade has fallen away, there’s a quiet sincerity in the way Satoru moves through this new dynamic, as though he’s made the deliberate choice to truly belong to it.

But when Haru’s eyelids grow heavier, her small body relaxes in your arms, and Satoru suddenly rises to his feet.

Glancing up at him, a question flickers in your gaze, but he only steps closer, slow and unhurried.

“I have to take care of something,” he whispers quietly, leaning down to brush a featherlight kiss upon your temple. “Finish up here. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Arching a brow, you study how his lips curve into the faintest smirk—but not wanting to disturb Haru’s peaceful state, you simply offer him a subtle nod as he quietly steps out of the room.

The door closes with a soft click, leaving you alone with Haru—and the room feels a touch emptier without him.

Focusing your attention back to her, you hum a quiet lullaby, feeling her breathing grow deeper, steadier, until at last, she’s fully surrendered to sleep.

Slowly, as not to wake her, you rise from your seat and carefully lower her into her bed—smoothing the blanket over her small frame and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her peaceful expression tugs at your heart, and you whisper a soft goodnight before tiptoeing to the door.

Closing the door gently behind you, the soft click of the latch settles into the stillness of the hallway, and for a moment, you linger there, exhaling deeply as you close your eyes briefly—letting the day’s weight slip from your shoulders.

It’s been quite a day… and this is only the beginning…

But once you turn to head down the hallway, something catches your eye—something unexpected.

Just outside Haru’s door, lies a delicate trail of flower petals—soft pinks and whites, scattered purposefully across the floor, stretching out before you like a whispered invitation.

You blink, your brows furrowing in curiosity as you step closer. The petals wind down the hallway, forming a path that seems to beckon you forward.

A small, amused smile tugs at your lips as a thought flickers in your mind.

What on earth is Satoru up to now?

Following the petals, your bare feet pad lightly against the polished wood, and eventually, they lead you to the top of the staircase—cascading down the steps in a soft, scattered rhythm.

You move forward—descending the stairs, pursuing the trail that spills into the expansive space of the Gojo estate. The petals seem to playfully weave through the living area, pulling you deeper into the quiet elegance of the house.

But as the trail leads you through the kitchen, where the petals curve gently around the island in a playful arc, your gaze follows the path to the French doors, slightly ajar at the far end of the kitchen.

The sheer curtains ripple softly, brushing against the doorframe as the night breeze slips through, and with it, the breeze carries a faint crackle of fire—tugging at your curiosity.

Your heart quickens in anticipation as you step closer, nudging the doors open. The cool air greets you first, but as you step out onto the deck, the sight before you takes your breath away.

The space is utterly transformed.

A canopy of fairy lights stretches overhead—draped elegantly between tall, polished beams that frame the space in a way that feels both intimate and magical—as if the stars themselves have been drawn closer just for this moment.

And at the heart of the deck, a sleek fire pit burns steadily—its flames dancing in a quiet symphony of amber and gold. The flickering light spills across the rich wood of the deck, and the plush outdoor seats—casting shadows that sway with the rhythm of the fire.

To your left, the gentle bubbling of a hot tub catches your attention.

Steam rises from its surface, curling into the night air in lazy spirals, before dissolving into the cool breeze. It’s nestled into a private nook, bordered by sculpted planters. Small lanterns are tucked among the foliage, creating halos of warmth—a secluded sanctuary.

To your right, the deck stretches out toward an infinity pool that gleams like liquid glass under the fairy lights.

The water ripples faintly, mirroring the twinkling canopy above the deep indigo sky. And as the pool’s edge vanishes into the darkness, it blends seamlessly with the garden’s manicured hedges and flowerbeds.

But your gaze is inevitably drawn back to the center of the deck—to him.

Satoru.

Illuminated by the flickering firelight, you catch sight of him leaning casually against one of the polished beams—a picture of effortless elegance.

His white hair shimmers under the canopy lights, and beside him, sits a low coffee table. A bottle of champagne rests on the surface, nestled in an ice bucket, and a tray of chocolate truffles lies alongside it, arranged with deliberate care.

With one hand tucked in his pocket, his posture is relaxed—exuding that effortless air of confidence. His other hand cradles a champagne flute, dangling it delicately between his fingers.

Then, as you meet his gaze, his lips tug up into that faint lopsided smile—the one that always seems to hold a thousand meanings—none of which he’ll ever fully explain.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Took ya long enough.”

The hand in his pocket moves toward the champagne—his fingers brushing the neck of the bottle with an idle, almost careless grace. Tilting his head slightly, his eyes catch the light while his smile deepens.

“Was starting to think you got lost.”

The familiar humor in his tone pulls a soft laugh from your lips, but it’s the look in his eyes that makes your breath hitch—soft, unguarded, and entirely yours.

As you step forward, your feet brush against the soft petals, scattered across the deck.

“What’s all this, Satoru?”

His eyes soften, though the playful curve of his grin doesn’t waver. With a smooth motion, he uncorks the champagne—the quiet pop breaking the stillness.

“Mmm… just something you deserve.”

Pouring the champagne into both glasses, his eyes flick up to meet yours, a playful glint sparking in their depths.

“Lately, you’ve been carrying the world on your shoulders. Tonight… let me take a little of that weight.”

You blink, his words settling heavily in your chest as he steps closer, holding the glass out to you. As you take the glass from him, your fingers brush his briefly, and the simple touch sends a shiver skimming across your skin.

“You… didn’t have to do all this.”

His expression softens further, and his free hand reaches for yours—a touch warm and steady as your fingers gently intertwine.

“I know… but I wanted to. You’ve had a hell of a day, sweetheart. You deserve something special.”

Your lips part as if to respond, but the words catch in your throat—stolen by the sincerity in his voice and the way his thumbs brush softly over your knuckles. His gaze makes it impossible to think, let alone speak.

Tilting his head slightly, his grin widens, and that spark of playfulness returns to his expression.

“C’mon now,” he murmurs, a soft drawl, “are you gonna let me spoil you? Or are you planning to argue with me all night?”

A quiet laugh escapes you—breaking through the lump in your throat as you shake your head lightly, bringing the champagne glass to your lips.

“Oh, I don’t know… arguing with you is kind of my favorite pastime…”

His brows lift, amusement flickering across his face as he leans just slightly closer.

“Oh, is that so? Well, sweetheart, I hate to break it to ya, but you’re not winning this one.”

“Fine,” you sigh, smiling. “But… only because you’re impossible to argue with when you look at me like that.”

His grin deepens, a flicker of triumph lighting his expression as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Smart choice,” he winks, tilting his head toward the seating area. “Now, c’mon. Let’s sit.”

Leading you towards the fire pit, the moment you both reach the couch, he releases your hand—gesturing with a playful flourish.

“After you, princess.”

Rolling your eyes, you sink into the cushions. The heat from the firepit warms your skin as he settles beside you, close enough that your knees subtly brush.

For a moment, the world feels smaller—just the two of you, the crackle of the fire, and the faint hum of the night. Sipping your champagne, the bubbles fiz gently on your tongue as you glance sideways at him.

He leans back, draping one arm along the back of the couch, his posture relaxed but his eyes focused solely on you.

“So…” he starts, voice softer now, “I think Haru was warming up to me today. Did you see the way she handed me her Pikachu like it was a peace offering?”

A soft laugh escapes you, and you nod, relaxing further into the cushions as the warmth of the fire wraps around you.

“I did. Pikachu is her most prized possession, you know… she doesn’t hand him over lightly.”

Satoru raises a brow, his grin widening with unmistakable pride as he leans forward to grab a truffle from the platter.

“Ahhh, so I’ve officially been accepted into her inner circle?” He pops it into his mouth, chewing slowly before pointing a playful finger at you. “That’s a big deal, right?”

“Oh, it’s huge,” you tease lightly, swirling your glass as you watch him. “Haru doesn’t trust just anyone with Pikachu. You should consider yourself lucky.”

He chuckles, turning to fully face you now as he shifts his weight, resting his elbow on the back of the couch and propping his chin in his hand.

“I do. But now I’m wondering…” he pauses, his eyes widening dramatically with mock seriousness, “Oh god… have I peaked? What comes after Pikachu? Do I get a spot on her bedtime story roster?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as you lean forward to grab your own truffle, popping it into your mouth with an exaggerated chew.

Swallowing, you mirror his position, your elbow resting against the back of the couch as your fingers absentmindedly toy with the edge of your glass.

“Nonsense, you’re already on it. Didn’t you notice the way she was sneaking glances at you during her book tonight? She was practically daring you to jump in.”

His brow arches in surprise, and his grin softens as he watches you, lingering as though memorizing the curve of your smile.

“Really?” he murmurs, sighing softly, “Damn… missed my chance. I guess next time, I’m doing all the voices for her.”

You share a quiet laugh, and the sound seems to stretch between you, filling the space with a lightness that feels almost fragile. The firelight dances across his face, painting shadows that soften the sharp angles of his features and highlight the lopsided curve of his smile.

As he shifts closer, the fabric of the couch creaks softly, and his knee brushes against yours again, the subtle contact sending a quiet jolt through you. He settles directly next to you now, close enough that the warmth of his presence mingles with the heat of the fire.

For a beat, he just looks at you, his expression unguarded, the teasing edge in his smile replaced by something deeper. The crackle of the fire fills the quiet space between you, and his voice dips lower, softer.

“You know… I think the real challenge isn’t winning over Haru though. It’s keeping up with you.”

You raise an eyebrow, but the weight of his gaze makes your chest tighten, a warmth spreading through you. A shy smile tugs at your lips, and you lower your eyes briefly before meeting his again.

“Oh, stop it…” you murmur, edged with a breathy laugh. “You’re keeping up just fine.”

Tilting his head slightly, he studies you, the firelight casting golden highlights across his face. As his grin softens, the shift in his expression draws you in, your pulse thrumming faintly in your ears.

“I don’t know about that…” he murmurs. “You set the bar pretty high. You’re… really amazing with her, you know that?”

The sincerity in his tone disarms you, stealing the words from your tongue. Glancing down at your glass, your fingers trace the delicate stem in a deliberate motion now.

But the quiet heat of his gaze pulls you back. It always does.

“You make it look so easy,” he continues, quieter now. “The way you handle everything—it’s like… second nature to you.”

You shrug lightly, though the weight of his words stirs something deep within you, curling around the parts of you that often feel worn and stretched too thin.

Exhaling slowly, a faint smile flickers across your lips.

“It’s just… what you do when you’re a parent. You just… figure it out as you go, I guess.”

He watches you for a moment longer, and then his lips curve into a small, lopsided smile.

Lifting his champagne to his lips, he takes a slow sip, his eyes never leaving yours as he leans back slightly.

“Well…” he says, his eyebrows raising as he sets the glass down on the table. “I’m figuring out that bribery works. Waffles for the win, huh? Glad she let me in today. Even if I had to work for it.”

Your laugh comes easily, shaking your head as you set your own glass aside.

“Come on now. It wasn’t just the waffles,” you counter, meeting his gaze fully now. “You’re good with her, Satoru. She sees that. And so do I.”

His grin falters slightly, softening into something quieter, more vulnerable. The playful edge that feels so naturally him gives way to an expression so raw and genuine it almost takes your breath away.

Shifting again, he leans just a little closer, tilting his head as his eyes search yours.

“You… really think so?” he whispers, a quiet thread of uncertainty lacing his tone.

Your chest tightens at the openness in his expression, the way he’s looking at you as though your answer means everything.

Slowly, you reach out, your fingers brushing lightly against his hand as you offer him a small, reassuring smile.

“I know so.”

Your fingers move slowly, languidly against the back of his hand, both deliberate and tender, and he responds with his own subtle movement, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“She doesn’t warm up to people easily, but with you…” you pause, searching his gaze as the firelight casts golden reflections in the depths of his eyes, “I think… she feels safe.”

He exhales softly, his gaze dropping briefly to your joined hands, his thumb brushing against your skin in a slow, thoughtful motion. The quiet crackle of the fire fills the space between you before he finally speaks.

“That’s all I want,” he murmurs, and as he looks back up at you, his expression is raw with sincerity. “For her to feel safe… for both of you to feel safe.”

His words settle over you like a weight, soft but heavy, pulling your thoughts to a place you’ve tried to avoid. The sharp edges of Naoya’s threats resurface—the dangers of the yakuza.

Satoru’s gaze sharpens instantly, as if he can sense the shift, the way your fingers falter against his. His grip tightens slightly, grounding you before the spiral can take hold.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his tone low and steady, pulling your focus back to him. “She’s going to be okay, you know. Haru. She’s got you.” He pauses, his eyes softening as a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “And… she’s got me too.”

The sincerity in his voice pulls at the tight knot in your chest, loosening it just enough to let a quiet breath escape. His hand squeezes yours, gentle but firm, and the steadiness of his presence wraps around you like the fire’s warmth.

“C’mon,” he adds, his tone lightening, playful now, “no worrying tonight, alright? Just… let me take care of you for once. Relax. Let me spoil you.”

The corners of your mouth lift despite yourself, and your gaze shifts toward the bubbling water of the jacuzzi in the corner of the deck, steam curling into the night air like an invitation.

“Well…” your voice lilts teasingly as your eyes flick back to his, “I was eyeing that jacuzzi…”

His grin widens instantly, the familiar spark of mischief returning to his expression.

“Oh, were you now?” he drawls, already standing and tugging you gently to your feet. “Guess I better make good on my promise to spoil you, then.”

Leading you to the edge of the jacuzzi, the bubbling water shimmers under the soft glow of the fairy lights, and the quiet hum of the jets fill the space between you.

But as soon as he releases your hand, his attention shifts to the buttons of his shirt. With deliberate, unhurried movements, he pops the first one open, instantly drawing your gaze like a magnet.

You blink, your breath hitching as his shirt falls open—the fabric slipping off his shoulders, pooling at his feet to reveal the smooth, toned planes of his chest. The firelight catches the lean lines of his frame and the faint gleam of his skin.

Tossing his shirt casually onto a nearby lounge chair, his grin turns devilish as his eyes meet yours.

“What?” he teases, entirely too smug. “Figured I’d lead by example.”

For a moment, he stands there, utterly composed, as though he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you. Which, of course, he does. The subtle curve of his lips, the relaxed angle of his stance—everything about him radiates confidence.

You huff softly, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrays you, and as your gaze flickers to the water, you shuffle slightly—nerves fluttering in your stomach.

Bathing suits hadn’t even crossed your mind tonight, let alone his, and now… now you’re standing there, knowing what comes next but feeling completely unprepared for it.

The thought of stripping down in front of him? Oh god… it makes your stomach flutter with anticipation.

“I-I…” you stammer, biting your lip as your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Um… I wasn’t exactly prepared for this…”

His grin softens, though his playful tone remains.

“What, nervous? It’s just me.” He gestures toward the jacuzzi with a slight tilt of his head. “C’mon, your turn. Unless you’re planning on soaking fully clothed?”

Your lips part to protest, but the words catch in your throat. The warmth creeping down your neck has your pulse thrumming, and you quickly avert your gaze.

“Turn around…” you mutter finally, barely meeting his eyes.

He chuckles, low and warm

“Really? After everything?”

But as you give him a pointed look, his amusement softens into something gentler.

“Alright, alright...” he turns with a mock sigh, hands raised in exaggerated surrender. “I’ll behave.”

True to his word, he faces the firepit, though you catch the playful tilt of his head as he calls over his shoulder, “Just don’t take too long. I’ll be claiming the best spot for myself if you do.”

Rolling your eyes, the faintest laugh escapes your lips despite your nerves. But as soon as you hear the soft clink of his belt buckle, your heart leaps, and you quickly turn your focus to your own clothes.

Your shirt comes off first, followed by the rest, peeling them off piece by piece. But for a moment, your fingers linger at the clasp of your bra, and your gaze flickers to his back, broad and steady in the firelight.

Oh god… should you?

Before sitting on the thought for too long, on a whim, you unhook it—slipping it off and setting it down with the rest of your clothes. The cool air kisses your bare skin, and you cross your arms instinctively over your chest, feeling exposed yet exhilarated.

Left only in your panties, you step toward the edge of the jacuzzi, the steam curling against your skin like a whispered invitation.

As you dip a tentative foot in the water, behind you, Satoru shifts slightly. He’s stripped down to his boxers—an easy confidence radiating even as he waits.

“You okay back there?” he calls, light and teasing. “Not chickening out on me, are you?”

“I-I’m fine,” you reply quickly, the quiver in your voice betraying you. “Just… wait.”

Slowly, you sink into the bubbling water, the warmth melting away your nerves as the jets hum softly against your skin. The water laps at your shoulders as you settle into a corner, your gaze flickering to him nervously.

“Okay… you can look now.”

Satoru turns, his gaze sweeping over you briefly, a triumphant grin curling upon his lips before he steps into the jacuzzi. His broad frame settles into the water with a quiet sigh, and the firelight dances along the droplets clinging to his skin.

Sliding into the spot beside you, he stretches his long arms along the edges of the tub while he sinks back, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he stares at you, one that instantly puts you on guard.

“What…?” you glance at him sideways, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, nothing,” he drawls, his smirk widening into a full grin. “Just wondering how I got so lucky to share a jacuzzi with such esteemed company.”

Rolling your eyes, you exhale with amusement.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter.

“Mm, so I’ve been told,” he quips.

As he leans his head back against the edge of the jacuzzi, the firelight casts golden highlights across the sharp angles of his face. Tilting his head slightly, he lets out a theatrical sigh.

“Well, well… look at you, finally relaxing. Didn’t think I’d ever see the day.”

Your smile softens as you close your eyes briefly, letting the warmth of the water and his teasing words melt away all the lingering tension in your chest.

“Well, the hot tub helps,” you admit, glancing at him again. “Gotta say, this was a good idea.”

The water ripples softly between you as he shifts, leaning closer—his arm sliding along the edge behind you. The proximity makes your pulse stir faintly, though you try not to let it show.

“I’ll take partial credit for that,” his grin widens, triumphant and full of mischief. “After all, this was my idea.”

“Your idea to spoil me, you mean,” you counter, raising an eyebrow. “My idea for the hot tub.”

Satoru hums thoughtfully, tilting his head toward you, feigning consideration.

“Technically,” he begins, holding up a finger, “Who was it that brought you out here, hmm? The petals? The champagne? The fire? You wouldn’t even be in this hot tub if it weren’t for my setup. So, really, it’s all connected to me.”

You scoff, though the laughter bubbling up in your throat betrays you.

“Oh, is that how it works now? You’re just taking full credit for everything?”

“Not taking full credit,” he corrects. “Just… connecting the dots. It’s a chain of events, sweetheart. Genius-level planning, if I do say so myself.”

Shaking your head, you laugh as the water ripples softly around you.

“Careful, Satoru. Your ego’s showing.”

“My ego? Sweetheart, this isn’t ego—it’s confidence.”

“Oh, my god,” you laugh, sending a playful splash of water his way. “You’re absolutely impossible.”

He gasps dramatically, clutching his chest in mock outrage.

“Did you just assault me? In my own jacuzzi? The audacity.”

“Your jacuzzi?” you tease, arching a brow. “Pretty sure it’s our jacuzzi now, buddy.”

“Oho, is that right?” he murmurs, grin widening into something sly. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the one trespassing.”

Before you can retort, his hand dips into the water, sending a small wave your way in retaliation. The warm splash catches you off guard, and you let out a startled laugh, lifting your arms defensively to shield yourself, but careful not to expose your chest.

“Satoru!” you protest, but he’s already closing the distance between you, the playful challenge in his eyes unmistakable.

“You started it,” he teases.

Moving closer with a daring glint, his knee brushes against yours beneath the water. The contact is subtle, but it sends a ripple of warmth through you.

“Satoru…” you warn again, lacking any real bite.

Pressing closer, his arm comes to rest along the edge of the tub behind you, caging you in with a mix of ease and intention. The bubbling water hums softly against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating from him now.

Your pulse quickens and you press your back slightly against the edge. His proximity suddenly becomes overwhelming as he brings his face mere inches from your own.

“Hmm?” his head tilts slightly and the damp strands of his hair fall just over his brow.

Your lips part as his gaze drops briefly—tracing the soft flush in your cheeks and lingering on the delicate curve of your lips—before returning to your eyes.

Suddenly, you feel his hand move beneath the water, brushing lightly against your thigh in a way that feels far too casual to be accidental.

“Something wrong princess?” he murmurs, low, velvety smooth.

Your breath hitches, your throat tightening under the weight of his gaze. The bubbling water ripples softly as you shift, your cheeks burning.

“N-no… nothing’s wrong…”

For a beat, he doesn’t move—his face close enough that you can feel the faint warmth of his breath mingling with the rising steam. His smirk softens slightly, and his eyes darken with something deeper—the tension in the air almost tangible.

Then, as his gaze dips once more, for a moment, you swear he’s about to close the distance entirely—to capture your lips in a kiss that would leave you utterly breathless. But just as quickly, he seems to catch himself.

Pulling back ever so slightly, his jaw clenches faintly and his eyes flicker with restraint.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he sighs, the teasing lilt returning to his tone as he settles into his seat beside you. “I was just enjoying the view.”

Swallowing hard, the tension still hums through your veins as you glance away briefly, focusing on the way the steam curls into the cool night air.

Breaking the silence, his voice is softer this time as he murmurs,

“Speaking of amazing views… look at that.”

Tilting his chin up at the sky, you follow his gaze, your eyes drawn to the endless expanse of stars glittering against the inky blackness. Lifting his hand, water drips from his fingers as he gestures upward.

“See that there?” he murmurs. “That’s Orion. You can tell by the three stars in the middle—Orion’s Belt.”

Your eyes flicker to him, and a boyish smile spreads across his lips as he continues.

“Orion was this great hunter in Greek mythology. A giant, actually. Depending on the version you hear, he was either killed by a jealous goddess or a scorpion—hence why Scorpius, the constellation, is always opposite him in the sky.”

Leaning forward slightly, you trace the constellation with your gaze.

“I… never knew that,” you admit softly.

Shifting again, he leans closer to you. His hand lifts up again—this time pointing to a different part of the sky.

“And there… that’s Cassiopeia. It’s shaped like a ‘W.’ She was a queen, but apparently, she bragged a little too much about how beautiful she and her daughter were. The gods didn’t like that, so they stuck her up there—forced to sit upside-down half the time as punishment.”

You can’t help but laugh quietly at the irony.

“A queen with a bit of an ego, huh? Sounds like someone I know.”

His eyes flick back to yours, his grin widening.

“Hey, if the gods want to immortalize me for my confidence, I wouldn’t say no. But I’d at least negotiate for better seating arrangements.”

Shaking your head, you smile.

“Of course, you would.”

A low chuckle slips through his lips, and as his gaze lingers up again, you catch sight of the shimmer of stars reflecting in his eyes.

“But… you’ve got to admit, she’s got a better view than most.”

His expression softens as he looks back at you—fingers brushing absently along the edge of the hot tub.

“It’s kind of funny, though. These stories… they’ve been passed down for centuries, and they’re still here. Still lighting up the sky.”

The wistfulness in his voice catches your attention as you hold his gaze—a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You really know a lot about this. I didn’t know you were into constellations.”

He smirks faintly, his voice taking on a playful air again.

“What, you think I’m just a pretty face?”

Rolling your eyes, you laugh softly, but the quiet vulnerability lingering in his expression doesn’t escape you.

“Well now… I didn’t say that.”

Leaning back slightly, the bubbling water hums softly against your skin as he looks up at the stars again—his expression becoming retrospective.

“Truth is…” he starts, voice dipping lower, “I used to sneak out on my balcony when I was a kid. We had this old telescope, probably the only thoughtful gift my dad ever gave me, and I’d spend hours just… staring at the stars. Learning their names, their stories.”

Tilting your head slightly, the quiet shift in his tone sparks your curiosity.

“Why the stars?” you ask softly.

He exhales a quiet laugh, though it’s laced with the weight of something long buried—devoid of any true humor.

“Because… they didn’t expect anything from me,” he admits, gaze fixed on the constellations above. “Looking at the stars…. made everything feel smaller. They didn’t care about who I was supposed to be or what I was supposed to accomplish. Up there… it was just space. Quiet. Endless.”

“So… the reminder of something bigger was an escape for you?”

Glancing at you, a small, almost sheepish smile tugs at his lips.

“Maybe. I guess I’ve always been drawn to the idea of infinity… something that can’t be controlled or contained.”

As his words linger, you can’t help but think of how beautifully they echo the person he is now—brilliant, unpredictable, and endlessly complex.

“Well… I never would’ve guessed,” you murmur, your gaze flickering upward to the stars he’d named for you. “But… it also makes sense. You’re always reaching for something bigger, aren’t you?”

His smile softens, a flicker of vulnerability slipping through as he admits,

“Yeah… guess I can’t help myself.”

Nodding quietly, the bubbling water hums between you as a comfortable silence stretches—charged with something unspoken. 

You glance at him, and his profile is softened by the fairy lights—the damp strands of his hair curling against his skin, wet droplets sliding along the line of his jaw.

“Do you still?” the question slips out before you can stop yourself. “Look at the stars, I mean.”

Scratching the back of his head, a wry smile tugs at his lips.

“Mmm… not as often as I used to. Life gets in the way, you know?”

Another quiet pause lingers between you, and your heart aches at the tenderness in his expression—the bittersweet look in his eyes.

For all his teasing confidence and easy smiles, there’s something almost fragile in the way he speaks about this, as if the memory of that boy stargazing on a balcony still lingers—a deeper part within him.

It’s almost unbearable, the way he seems both so close and so far away in this moment, and all you can think about is the need to close that distance. The desire to touch him, to draw him back into the present—it becomes impossible to ignore.

Slowly, your hand moves, almost on its own, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm beneath the water. He looks at you, a flicker of surprise at first, but it softens, quickly giving way to warmth.

“You should,” you whisper. “If it makes you feel that way… then you should make time for it.”

Your fingers trail absently against his arm, the gentle movement sending ripples through the water, and your gaze drops to the curve of his lips before meeting his eyes again.

“Yeah, well…” his voice drops as he shifts closer to you in the water, “now I’ve got something even better to escape to.”

Moving beneath the water, his hand brushes lightly against your thigh—a touch that pulls at something deep within you—soft, deliberate, yet somehow still electric.

“And… it’s not up there.”

As his hand shifts, trailing lightly up your hip, your heart races. His touch urges you to close the distance—pulling you steadily like gravity itself.

Without thinking, your fingers glide up his arm, lifting to his cheek. You brush away a stray droplet of water from his jaw, and his eyes flutter shut briefly at the touch—a soft exhale escaping his lips.

Your breath hitches, and as his eyes slowly open again, they’re filled with something raw and unguarded—a depth that steals your breath away.

Lifting his own hand, it comes up to cover yours, holding it there for a moment as he leans into your touch. And then, slowly, he turns his head, pressing a soft kiss to your palm—so gentle, so reverent, it leaves your chest aching, aching for more.

Your fingers slide further, lacing between the damp locks of his silky hair, and he shifts, leaning in just slightly until his lips ghost yours.

The warmth of his breath mingling with yours is enough to unravel you, and slowly, tentatively, you brush your lips against his—a featherlight touch that sends a spark of pleasure down your spine.

Instinctively, he leans in, deepening the kiss, and his hand slides to the small of your back—steadying you as the water begins to ripple softly around you.

But it’s the faint rasp of his breath that draws you in further. Your own hands move, sliding from his hair to his shoulders, your fingertips tracing the contours of his damp skin.

Suddenly, his lips part slightly—inviting you to explore more.

And the moment his tongue brushes softly against your bottom lip, it flares into something else—the kiss shifts, no longer soft and tentative, but filled with a hunger that neither of you can seem to deny.

Your hands find their way to his chest, and you feel his heartbeat against your palm, strong and steady as he hums in your mouth, breathy moans through each movement of his lips.

Without thinking, you shift in the water. The bubbling warmth ripples against your skin as you move closer—settling your legs on both sides of him, straddling his lap as you press your chest against his.

Everything stills.

His breath stutters, his lips faltering against yours for the briefest second. His eyes flicker open to meet yours, and you see the exact moment it clicks—the moment he feels your bare chest. Freezing slightly, his hands grip your waist with just enough pressure to ground himself.

“You’re not…” he starts, voice hoarse as his gaze dips, taking in the bare skin of your shoulders, the way the water laps teasingly against the curve of your chest.

His throat bobs, swallowing hard, and when his eyes snap back to yours, they’re darkened with desire—flickering with a restraint that’s fraying at the edges.

“Fucking hell…” he mutters under his breath, exhaling heavily as his head tilts back slightly. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

The rough, almost reverent sound of his admission sends a shiver racing through you, emboldening you, and leaning forward, your lips graze the exposed line of his neck.

Groaning softly at the contact, his hands tighten their grip on your hips as you trail tender, deliberate kisses along his skin. Your chest presses closer to him, molding against his as one of your hands slides up to cup his jaw, keeping his head tilted back for your exploration.

“S-shit,” he breathes unsteadily—a quiet, guttural moan escaping him as you brush the base of his throat.

A jolt of heat rushes through you as his hands shift lower, smoothing over the curve of your ass—kneading the flesh as if he can’t help himself.

Instinctively, you shift in his lap, but the moment you feel the firm, unmistakable hardness of his cock pressing against you, a moan slips past your lips—your kisses faltering against his skin.

Your thighs immediately tighten around him, and something snaps in him. A low, desperate groan tears from his throat, and his hands slide back up to your waist—guiding you against him with an increasing boldness.

“God, you’re driving me fucking crazy,” he rasps, thick with desire. “Do you even realize what you do to me? How badly I want you?”

Pulling back to meet his eyes, your breath hitches at the unfiltered need blazing in his gaze.

“Maybe…” your fingers tangle in his damp hair, pulling him closer until your lips hover just above his. “…but why don’t you tell me Satoru?”

His breath stutters, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

“Oh, sweetheart… you’re dangerous,” he mutters, low and wrecked, brushing against your lips with every breath. “Dangerous, and so fucking tempting…”

His mouth crashes against yours, urgent and consuming, his restraint dissolving as his tongue slides against yours with a fervent desperation. You whimper softly into his mouth, your fingers tightening in his hair as your hips continue to shift instinctively against his cock.

Every movement is amplified by the bubbling water, ripping against your skin as his lips claim yours over and over again, but it’s his hands—wandering and deliberate—that make your cunt quiver.

They’re everywhere—sliding up your back, tracing your waist and gliding up to your chest. His palms cup the soft curve of your breast, and when his thumbs roll over the hardened peaks of your nipples, a soft, muffled cry spills from your lips.

Oh, your sound undoes him.

His hips buck up reflexively, grinding his rigid length against your core with a desperation that suddenly sends the water churning around you.

“Fuck… shit—I’m so fucking hard for you,” he groans against your lips, trembling with want. “Baby, I can’t—can’t fucking get enough of you.”

Biting your lip, your hands slide from his hair to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, gasping against his lips while his cock rolls underneath you.

“Been wanting you for so fucking long…” he grunts, dropping his head to drag his lips down your neck.

“Satoru…” you breathe, trembling against him as his tongue flicks against your skin, sucking the sensitive hollow above your collarbone.

“You don’t even fucking know,” he mutters, gripping you with a bruising intensity. “I stood outside our bathroom door…” he rasps, punctuated with another thrust. “…listening to the water, imagining you in there, naked and soaked. Fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

His lips trail up, grazing your ear as his hands drop lower, gripping the curve of your ass and pressing you flush against his throbbing cock.

“Had to touch myself,” he groans, “my hand wrapped around my cock… thinking about pressing you against that tile. F-Fuck… about how fucking tight you’d feel around me.”

A strangled whimper slips from your lips, the filthy image his words paint setting your body on fire.

“God, baby…” he rasps, his lips ghosting along your jawline as his hands guide your hips in perfect rhythm against his. “I came so fucking hard just thinking about you, sweetheart. Fucking my own hand. Thinking about being inside you… stretching your perfect little pussy, making you mine.”

But then something shifts.

His breath stutters against your skin, and suddenly his hands still on your hips. His body is trembling, his head dropping to your shoulder as a low, guttural sound escapes him—half frustration, half restraint.

“Shit…” he mutters, his voice breaking as he shifts beneath you.

Before you can process, his hands grip your waist firmly, guiding you as he adjusts your position, spinning you gently until your back presses against the curved edge of the hot tub.

He cages you there, his arms braced on either side of you, his body hovering so close that the heat radiates between you. For a moment, his head drops, his forehead pressing against yours as he exhales shakily, the tension in his body almost unbearable.

“I can’t…” he starts, voice strained and wrecked. “I—fuck—I’m about to lose it, baby.”

He groans, low and rough, pulling back slightly as his hands slide to your waist—a grip firm but steadying.

“You said…” he mutters, voice softening, “…you said you wanted to take things slow. And it’s been one day, sweetheart. One fucking day, and I’m already losing my goddamn mind.”

His words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable, as his chest heaves with every labored breath. His eyes close briefly, as if trying to gather the strength to pull himself back from the edge.

“I want you so fucking bad,” he admits, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You don’t even know. But… I don’t… I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Hey…” you whisper, cupping his cheeks, your thumbs brushing gently against the rough edge of his jawline. “We’re figuring this out together.”

Leaning into your touch, his eyes slowly open as his breath fans against your face—letting the tension ebb just slightly.

“You’ve got to help me out here,” he murmurs, voice soft but laced with a thread of desperation. “What does ‘taking it slow’ even mean? Because right now… all I can think about is you, and it’s killing me, sweetheart.”

You hesitate for a moment, his question hanging in the air, and the way his eyes search yours—pleading, vulnerable—makes your chest tighten.

“Taking it slow… doesn’t mean I don’t want you, Satoru. I do. So much that it scares me a little...”

His eyes blink open wider, his expression softening as he absorbs your words.

“Scared?” he echoes. “Sweetheart… I’m fucking terrified. I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you. And that terrifies me because honestly, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

His words settle between you like a confession, raw and unguarded, and for a moment, you’re both quiet—the bubbling water lapping gently against your skin as you process the weight of his admission.

With a quiet breath, your fingers brush along his forearm, sliding up to rest lightly against his chest.

“I… don’t want to lose you either,” your voice trembles slightly as you peel back a layer of your own walls. “Satoru… you’re important to me. And maybe that’s why I want this to be different.”

His brows draw together slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as he tilts his head in question.

“Different… how?”

Biting your lip, your gaze drops momentarily to the rippling water as you gather the courage—trying to find the words.

"Different because… it feels like, for once, I’m not rushing into something just to fill a void. I want to savor this… savor you. I’ve never had the chance to do that before."

His gaze softens further, and the vibrant blue of his eyes darkens under the pale glow of moonlight. You allow the steady warmth of his thumbs brushing absentminded circles against your waist, to keep you grounded—letting the words spill out, your own quiet confession.

"I guess… for once… I… want to enjoy every moment of falling for someone instead of wondering when it’s going to fall apart.”

Satoru pulls you closer, his eyes holding your gaze with a quiet tenderness. Then, after a beat, his lips quirk into a soft, lopsided grin, one that makes something flutter in your chest.

“Well shit,” he exhales, a playful edge creeping into his voice. “I think you like me.”

The unexpected shift in tone catches you off guard, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, light and genuine, shaking your head at his ridiculousness.

“Oh, you think?” you tease, rolling your eyes at him.

“I meeean…” he drawls, his teasing grin widening. “All this talk about savoring me? Falling for me? Sounds like you’re pretty smitten, sweetheart.”

Your laugh turns into a wry smile as you shake your head, nudging him lightly.

“Okay, fine. I like you. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he replies smoothly, his grin turning downright triumphant.

As his face softens slightly, he leans forward, brushing the tip of his nose against yours as he murmurs, “You know… I’ve never really had that either.”

“Yeah?” you ask gently, your fingers moving without thought, brushing against the damp strands of his hair.

He nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“I’ve always moved fast, maybe because I didn’t want to feel… too much,” he admits, his tone quieter now.

Tilting your head, your fingers brush along the sharp line of his jaw, encouraging him to go on.

“What’s different now?” you ask softly, the question slipping out before you can stop it.

“With you…” his hand comes up to cup your cheek, tracing a slow, deliberate line. “It’s like… I want to feel everything. Every single moment.”

Your breath hitches at his words, and he leans in closer, lips hovering just above yours. The heat radiating off him mingles with the steam curling around you.

“Hmmm,” you murmur, grinning as you playfully nudge your nose against his. “Well… I think you like me too, Satoru Gojo.”

His brows shoot up in mock indignation, and he huffs out a laugh, his hands tightening slightly on your waist.

“Oh, you think you’re clever, huh?”

Before you can respond, his mouth crashes against yours, cutting off your laugh with a kiss so consuming it makes your head spin. Pulling you flush against him, his lips move in a fervent desperation—his teeth capturing your bottom lip, his tongue stroking against yours in a heated dance.

You gasp softly in his mouth as your hands wrap around him, the bubbling water lapping against you as his hands explore once again—sliding to your breasts, twirling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

A soft whimper escapes you, and he hums in your mouth—pleased and unrestrained—but just as you feel yourself melting completely into him, surrendering to the pull of his touch and the weight of his kiss, he pulls back.

His gaze is heavy-lidded and dark, his pupils blown wide with desire. Yet there’s something maddeningly smug about the way he’s looking at you, his lips curling into a slow, insufferably cocky grin.

“Hmm…” he hums thoughtfully, brushing his thumb against your swollen bottom lip, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I quite enjoy getting you worked up.”

Your cheeks burn as your eyes narrow, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to fire back. He takes full advantage, leaning in close, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispers,

“If you want to take it slow, sweetheart, that’s fine. But I’m turning it into my own personal game.”

You blink, his words swirling in your mind as the heat of his lips shifts to the curve of your neck—pressing open-mouthed kisses against your damp skin. Tipping your head back involuntarily, his lips blaze a trail along your collarbone.

“A game?” you manage, breathlessly.

“Mhmm,” his lips ghost along the line of your jaw. “And I’ll have you begging for me by the end of it. Count on it.”

His voice is dark—rich with confidence and something wickedly seductive, and the heat of his promise sends a jolt of need shooting through you. When he finally pulls back, his insufferably cocky grin is enough to make you want to throttle him—and kiss him senseless all over again.

It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating. It’s Satoru.

With an exaggerated sigh, he settles beside you in the hot tub, the bubbling water rippling against his toned chest as he leans against the curved edge. He’s infuriatingly casual, the image of smug satisfaction as he reaches for his champagne flute resting on the side of the tub.

Taking a slow, deliberate sip, he casts you a sideways glance, his grin widening when he catches the heat in your gaze still lingering.

“What?” he asks innocently. “You look like you’ve got something to say, sweetheart.”

With a pointed look, you roll your eyes—settling beside him.

“Oh, nothing,” you exhale with a smirk, mirroring his casual tone as you reach for your own glass. “I’m just thinking about how funny it’ll be when this little ‘game’ of yours backfires Mr. Gojo.”

His grin widens in amusement as he leans back further against the jets—an arm draping along the edge of the tub behind you.

“We’ll see about that,” he murmurs, lifting a brow and clinking his glass against yours.

But then, his gaze shifts, flicking just past you toward the estate’s edge.

At first, his expression doesn’t change, his teasing grin frozen in place—but as his eyes narrow slightly, for a fleeting moment, his jaw tightens.

“Satoru?” you ask, tilting your head as you take another sip of champagne. “You okay?”

He blinks, his gaze snapping back to you, and his easy smile returns almost instantly.

“Hmm? Sorry, what was that?”

“You… zoned out,” your brow furrows slightly as you study him. “Something on your mind?”

“Oh… just strategizing my next move in our little game,” he says smoothly, his grin turning playful again, though his eyes flick briefly toward the edge of the estate once more. “Gotta keep you on your toes, sweetheart.”

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you sense there’s something he isn’t saying, but before you can press further, he shifts closer, his arm brushing yours as he leans in conspiratorially.

“Speaking of toes,” he murmurs, low and teasing, “I think we’ve spent enough time in here. Don’t want you turning into a prune on me.”

For a moment, you pause—considering whether you should push him further. But instead, you let out a soft sigh.

“Aww, man…” you pout playfully. “I was really enjoying this hot tub, too.”

Satoru’s smile softens, but there's a flicker of something protective in his eyes. He shifts closer, his arm brushing against yours as he gently leans in.

“Well… we can come back again. It is our hot tub, after all. Remember?”

Raising an eyebrow, a half-smile tugs at your lips. Despite the shift in the air, you nod, choosing not to press him.

“Right...” you mutter lightly, “our hot tub.”

Satoru stands, offering his hand to help you out of the water. Pulling you up gently, the cool night air kisses your skin as you step out—the warmth of the hot tub already fading.

He’s quick to wrap a towel over you—his hands gliding across your skin as he subtly dries you off. But the way his gaze flickers towards the trees again, leaves you slightly unsettled. Though, a moment later his smile returns—almost like he’s trying to shake something off.

“Let’s get inside,” he murmurs, carrying an edge that wasn't there before. “It’s getting late.”

As you follow him, you glance back briefly toward the estate’s edge, where the shadows of the trees sway gently in the wind.

But… whatever had drawn Satoru’s attention earlier remains a mystery, tucked away in the dark beyond the gates.

A mystery that perhaps… you’d rather not know the answer to.

ꨄ

The heavy thud of binoculars clatters against the wooden table—Toji slamming them down with a careless flick of his wrist. Catching a dim light, the lenses slide to a stop, and Toji pulls out a chair—leaning back while plopping his feet up.

"Almost blew my cover," he mutters, exhaling in annoyance. "Satoru's more perceptive than I gave him credit for."

Naoya’s eyes flicker toward the binoculars before his gaze settles back on Toji. His fingers drum impatiently on the table—a rhythm quick and sharp.

“What do you mean? He didn’t see you, did he?"

Toji waves a hand dismissively—unfazed, but calculating.

“Nah… didn’t actually spot me. But he kept looking in my direction. I could tell. It’s like he felt me there. That gut feeling, you know?”

“Of course,” Mei-Mei chimes in, smooth and tinged with affection.

Leaning back in her chair, a slow, fond smile curls upon her lips. She twirls her drink languidly in her glass—crossing one leg over the other.

“That’s Satoru for you, isn’t it? Always a step ahead of everyone. It’s honestly incredible how sharp he is.”

Sighing dramatically, she sets her glass down on the table with a soft, deliberate clink. Then, leaning forward, she props her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand.

"He always did have that uncanny ability,” she drawls, dripping with admiration. “It’s just another reason why he’s so... impressive."

Naoya rolls his eyes, his frustration building. His fingers tap a rapid rhythm on the table, betraying his growing impatience.

"Jesus, not this again,” he mutters. “Focus, Mei-Mei. We're here to deal with this situation, not to fawn over Gojo."

Mei-Mei flicks a quick glance toward Naoya, her smile widening just slightly. She runs a finger lazily along the rim of her glass.

“Oh, I am focused, darling,” she purrs, smooth and teasing. “Perhaps this means it’s time to speed things up.”

Shifting to Toji, her voice becomes more calculated—a quiet edge of authority seeping in.

“We’ve played around long enough. Naoya’s plan needs to be put in motion soon. Before Satoru gets… too comfortable.”

Toji chuckles darkly, low and mocking—a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Yeah… well… about that…” he pauses for a moment, glancing towards Naoya. "You sure your intel’s still solid ‘cuz?”

Naoya’s eyes narrow just slightly—his fingers stopping mid-tap on the table. There’s a shift in his posture, a subtle tightening around his jaw.

“What do you mean?”

Toji shrugs nonchalantly, the grin on his face widening.

“After what I saw tonight... I’m wondering if things are a bit more complicated than we thought."

Naoya’s brow furrows, confusion flickering for a moment, before irritation flares up again. He leans forward, his eyes locked onto Toji as his fingers tighten into a fist.

"What the hell are you talking about? What did you see?"

Toji’s smirk stretches—predatory and full of amusement.

“Saw the whole damn thing. They’re not just playing house. I watched them in the hot tub, and I’ll tell ya, that make-out session wasn’t for the cameras. Hell, they almost fucked right there, in front of me. I practically got a show.”

The room falls into an eerie silence. Mei Mei’s expression shifts, her interest piqued, though she masks it with a slight tilt of her head. Naoya’s face twists in frustration, his breathing shallow—the air around him thickening.

"No… no, that can’t be,” Naoya grits, the words slipping from clenched teeth. Leaning forward, his voice trembles with the weight of his disbelief. “She’s just a pawn—he’s using her. There’s no way he’d get attached to her."

Mei-Mei scoffs softly, laced with both frustration and longing. She sets her glass down delicately on the table—her eyes glinting an unsettling mixture of envy and disdain.

"Tch… I never understood why Satoru chose someone like her. He deserves someone who can match him, not... her."

Naoya’s anger erupts, boiling over into a loud, harsh growl. His eyes burn with fury as he slams his fist onto the table again, causing the wood to shudder under the force. His voice cracks with intensity, raw and full of rage.

“This wasn’t part of the plan!” he spits. “I’m not letting that bastard keep her!” His eyes flash with dark intent as he leans forward, hands clutching the edge of the table, knuckles turning white. “He won’t have control over her! I won’t let him.”

Mei-Mei raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling into a wider, almost cruel smirk as she watches Naoya’s outburst. The tension in her body relaxes, but only slightly, as she takes a slow, deliberate sip from her glass.

"Oh… you poor thing," she coos, dripping with sarcasm, "how cute. It looks like you really did lose your toy, didn’t you?”

Naoya’s glare sharpens, his face darkening with even more rage, but before he can snap back at her, Toji clears his throat—cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Alright, alright. Relax. Both of you.”

Leaning back in his chair, the smooth wood creaks beneath him as he stretches his legs out lazily, exhaling slowly through his nose. His expression shifts to one of cold calculation, his eyes locking onto Naoya with an almost imperceptible smirk.

“This just changes the plan, that’s all. No need to get all bent out of shape over it.”

Naoya’s eyes narrow further, the lines around his mouth deepening into a hard, angry frown.

“What do you mean, ‘changes the plan’?” he spits through clenched teeth.

Toji’s grin turns sharp—his tone dropping to something more dangerous

“Common now, ‘cuz… is your toy making you lose your edge?” he pauses, letting his taunt hang before continuing. “Think about it. To bring Satoru Gojo down, we’ve gotta go after what’s most important to him, right?”

The silence is thick—Naoya’s brow furrowing as the meaning of the statement slowly sinks in. His breath hitches slightly, his mind racing as the pieces fall into place.

“Before, we thought it was his precious reputation,” Toji continues, “—his image as the untouchable, perfect heir. But now…” he trails off, a malicious gleam in his eyes. “Now we’ve got a much bigger target.”

Naoya’s eyes narrow even further, a flicker of realization creeping into his expression as the truth starts to dawn on him. His hand moves to rub the back of his neck, the tension in his body building as he mutters under his breath,

“You’re saying… her?”

Toji’s smirk deepens, turning positively devilish as he leans forward.

“Bingo,” he mutters, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Satoru’s attached to her, whether he wants to admit it or not. That’s the leverage we’ve been missing. Forget the public image—if we take y/n out of the equation, he’ll break. His whole world will collapse."

A tense silence falls over the room, everyone holding their breath as Toji’s words sink in. Then, after a moment, Mei-Mei hums softly—sweet but carrying an edge of approval.

“Well, well… not bad, Toji. I suppose jail didn’t take the fight out of you after all.”

Toji’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, the smirk on his lips fades, replaced by a cold, hard edge in his eyes.

“Jail didn’t make me soft. It just made me more… determined,” he growls—dripping with resentment. “The Gojo family—they think they can lock me up and forget about me? Tch… I’ve got a score to settle, and this... this is just the beginning.”

Naoya’s eyes flash with a bitter, twisted smirk—his frustration mixing with simmering excitement as he shifts forward in his seat.

“Great. We go after her. If Satoru thinks he’s got control over her, he’s in for a rude awakening.” His voice drops to a low growl as he mutters, “If I can’t have her… then no one can.”

Mei-Mei smiles serenely—cool and calculating.

“And after we destroy everything he cares about,” she murmurs, “Satoru will have no choice but to fall into my hands."

Toji leans back in his chair, folding his arms with grim satisfaction. His eyes flick between the two, the corners of his mouth curling into a slight smirk—one that speaks of cold, calculated victory.

“That’s right. Once she’s gone, Satoru’s nothing. And when he’s broken, we’ll take him down, piece by piece.”

a/n. oh wowee, hi guys. i wanna thank you all so much for your support with this fic. every kind comment really puts a smile on my face :') i know you all waited a bit longer than usual with this chapter, but thanks for your patience! life is kicking my ass lately, but i'm almost done with this school semester 😭 there's a lot going on in this chapter. the yakuza coming into play—satoru trying to connect more deliberately with haru—suguru joining the battle—and satoru and y/n exploring their new relationship together! a few of my favorite things to write this chapter: satoru and suguru interacting together. i just love their friendship in the canon story, so i always have fun writing it (without suguru going genocide crazy, lol). another scene that was my fav, was in the hot tub, where satoru is talking about the constellations 💕 and when satoru realized y/n didn't have her bra on 🤭 hehe. the scene where y/n is sitting in the study with both satoru and suguru... that scene was really tough to write... very emotional 🥺 if anyone has ever been in a position like y/n, don't hesitate to seek help. emotional manipulation and physical intimation is indeed a form of domestic abuse. i also had a lot of fun writing the last scene, with toji, naoya and mei-mei. it was a nice change up! fyi, ya'll will be getting a satoru pov chapter in the future (soon-ish?) huge thank you as always to my friend @strychnynegirl for helping me immensely with this chapter 🥰 she is literally incredible. anyways, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and i hope you have an amazing thanksgiving 🫶🏻 much love! -aly💕 → you are currently all caught upꨄ

taglist:

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans

[mephisto-reporting]

I Love You: Rafayel Edition

Premise:

Trope: Pure fluff Pairing: Reader x Rafayel Note: Reader and the men are NOT in a relationship. but there is implied mutual attraction.My inbox is open for prompts and requests :)

The door to Rafayel’s art studio creaked open with a low groan, revealing the delightful chaos you’d come to expect from him. The smell of turpentine and drying paint hung in the air, mingling with the faint trace of his cologne, still clinging to the fabric of his draped coats scattered across the furniture. Brushes were strewn across the floor like forgotten soldiers, and streaks of bright reds, blues, and golds marred every surface they could reach. His easel stood near the large bay window, bathed in the warm light of the setting sun, but the canvas was blank—typical.

Your lips curved into a fond smile as you carefully balanced the takeaway bag in your hands, its fragrant contents filling the room with the rich aroma of saffron butter lobster, a delicacy Rafayel adored. You'd made the extra effort to get it from his favorite little corner bistro across town, knowing how particular he was about its preparation. You could almost taste it yourself, though you knew the real joy would come when you saw his face light up in surprise. The food was just the excuse; it was your way of showing you cared, in the only way you knew how.

Everything about this place felt so distinctly him: vibrant, alive, chaotic—and somehow, it always made your heart feel at ease. On days when the world seemed too heavy, when exhaustion clung to your bones like a second skin, or even on days when your heart was full to bursting with happiness, this was where you found yourself.

“Rafayel!” you called, your voice carrying through the disarray.

There was no response at first, just the faint rustling of papers somewhere deeper in the studio. Then, a muffled voice, drowsy and half-hearted: “Mmm… what is it? Just leave it on the counter…”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you. “You know, one of these days, I’m going to walk in and find you buried under all this paint,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, as you set the bag on the counter in the tiny kitchen space, careful not to knock over an open jar of brushes.

You made your way toward his bedroom, following the source of his sleepy mumblings. The door was slightly ajar, and when you pushed it open, your heart stuttered in your chest.

There he was, curled up under a rumpled duvet, his face half-buried in the pillow, soft wavy locks falling haphazardly across his forehead. He looked peaceful, his usual sharp edges smoothed out in the quiet vulnerability of sleep. The rise and fall of his chest was steady, rhythmic, lulling you into a moment of stillness. Your heart gave a little lurch, and your fingers twitched with the need to touch him, to just feel close to him for a second. You slowly crossed the room, the soft creak of the floorboards under your feet the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Rafayel didn’t stir, still lost in the depths of his sleep.

“Rafayel,” you whispered gently, your voice barely above a breath, not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment too harshly. He didn’t respond. Not even a slight shift in his posture. He was deep in sleep, completely oblivious to the world around him.

You crouched beside the bed, your hand hovering above his arm, hesitating for just a moment before you placed it gently on his shoulder. The warmth of his skin radiated beneath the fabric of his shirt, and your heart skipped a beat at the feel of him—so close, so tangible. Your touch was soft, just a light shake, meant to wake him without startling him too much.

But still, he didn’t wake. He just shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent, his voice thick with sleep. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you watched him, your heart swelling in your chest. This was him. Carefree, a little bratty, but so easy to fall for. Even when he was asleep, you could see that side of him that you adored so much—the part of him that no one else saw.

“Rafayel,” you repeated, a little more insistently this time, brushing a strand of his hair away from his face as you leaned down slightly. His features softened in his sleep, and for a moment, you simply watched him, breathing in the quiet, wishing you could keep him here, in this moment, forever.

He remained blissfully unaware, sinking deeper into his cocoon of blankets, a faint sigh escaping his lips. You huffed a quiet laugh, feeling the corners of your eyes prickle with emotion. The intimacy of the scene, the quiet domesticity of it, filled you with an aching sort of joy and longing.

You really were in love with him.

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. The words tangled themselves in your throat, caught between fear and hope. What if he dismissed it with one of his trademark teasing quips? Or worse, what if he didn’t feel the same way?

But as you sat there, watching him sleep so peacefully, you couldn’t help but wonder—what if he did?

Sighing lightly, you shifted closer and sat at the edge of the bed, carefully brushing your fingers along his cheek. The familiar feeling of his soft skin, the heat of his presence even in sleep, made your chest tighten. You found yourself gazing at him, heart aching with the truth you hadn’t yet dared to voice.

This was it, wasn’t it? This was the moment. The moment you had been waiting for, even though it scared you.

You hadn’t planned for it. The words hadn’t been rehearsed in your mind, but they slipped out anyway, so natural and so real, as if they had always been waiting to be said.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible, yet full of every emotion you had kept hidden for so long.

The words hung in the air, soft as the warm glow of the setting sun that filtered through the cracks in the blinds. I love you. The phrase had slipped from your lips almost without thinking, like it was always meant to be said in that moment. But as soon as they left you, your heart thudded in your chest, as if it recognized the enormity of the confession you had just made.

Your breath caught in your throat as a wave of panic washed over you. Had he heard? Had you really just said it out loud? The room suddenly felt too small, too intimate, as if the walls were pressing in, waiting for him to react.

You stood up quickly, a quiet flush creeping up your neck as you considered leaving the room before he could tease you about it—before the reality of your feelings could settle in. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but the last thing you anticipated was the sudden, sharp tug on your wrist.

With a startled yelp, you were pulled back onto the bed, landing softly on the plush duvet. A laugh—half playful, half lazy—escaped from Rafayel’s lips as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against him. His warmth enveloped you instantly, and his body pressed close behind you as he spooned you, his breath hot against your neck.

Your heart raced in your chest, pounding like a drum as your mind scrambled to catch up. He heard.

“I heard that,” he said, his voice low and controlled, a smirk lacing his words. There was no teasing, no mockery, just the barest trace of something... softer. “You… love me.”

You tried to pull away, your chest tightening, but his arm was an unyielding weight, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His fingers tightened around your wrist, holding you gently but firmly against him.

You froze, your heartbeat echoing in your ears as your skin prickled with both warmth and nervousness. You hadn’t thought he had heard it, not with how quiet it had been, how small your voice had been. You swallowed, unsure of what to say.

"Y-you were dreaming," you muttered, though it didn’t sound convincing even to your own ears.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent shivers through you. The next words that left his mouth were not teasing, not playful, but serious—intentional. "Then why does your heart feel like a fish swimming away in a current?"

The question was simple, but it made you freeze, your breath hitching as the truth of your feelings settled like a heavy weight in your chest. You couldn’t deny it. Not to him. Not anymore.

Before you could respond, his arm wrapped around you more tightly, pulling you closer until you could feel the steady beat of his heart against your back. His face pressed into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp as he inhaled deeply, as if memorizing your scent.

He stayed there for a long moment, his body a comforting, grounding presence behind you. Then, with a soft, almost playful command, he spoke again.

“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice a little rough. “Say it again. I want to be sure.”

Your pulse raced. This was real now. There was no going back. His words, his presence, made the room feel smaller, but somehow safer, as if the world outside didn’t matter at this very moment.

You inhaled shakily, turning your head slightly to meet the fabric of the pillow, and in a breathless whisper, you said it again.

“I love you.”

The words felt different this time—stronger, more sure. As soon as they left your lips, you felt his arms tighten around you, pulling you into his chest as if he never wanted to let go. He buried his face in your hair once more, his lips brushing against your ear.

"It took you long enough to admit it,” he teased, his voice laced with a bratty affection. “I’ve been waiting to hear that, you know."

You laughed softly, a nervous, relieved sound that trembled at the edges, but his tone shifted, the playfulness slipping away. His voice dropped to something much softer, much deeper, as he whispered against your ear. "But I've been waiting to hear that... for so long. Waiting to hear you."

Your chest tightened, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his heart steady and strong beneath you. “I love you too, so so much. You have no idea the things I would do for you... to keep you like this., in my arms.” he said, so quietly, as though he hadn’t said it out loud for fear of it being taken away, yet there was no doubt in his voice, no hesitation.

You didn’t know how long the silence stretched between you, but it felt like time itself had slowed to a crawl. The only sound in the room was the rhythm of your breathing, and the sound of your two hearts beating in perfect harmony, as if they had always been meant to beat together.

But you shifted, just a little, as if instinctively trying to move, to pull away—something in you telling you to give him space, even though you didn’t want to. He wasn’t having it.

"I’m not letting you go anywhere, cutie…" Rafayel murmured, his voice low and possessive. You were about to protest, to say something, but before you could, he tugged you even closer, trapping you against him, his arm locking around you like a vice. You felt a surge of warmth sweep through you, a sudden softness, and his voice came again, teasing, but this time with a gentle, almost adoring lilt.

"You can be my plushie for tonight," he said, a playful, lazy grin creeping into his tone, even though the words were laced with the kind of affection you rarely saw from him. "And the next night...and the night after...and forever more."

You didn’t argue. You didn’t want to. For tonight, for as long as this moment lasted, you could stay here, wrapped in his warmth, his scent, his arms.

And as you settled back against his chest, your heart still fluttering, you knew, with complete certainty, that this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[rafescherie]

spoil me softly — rafe cameron

synopsisᝰ.ᐟ gf!reader has a hard time accepting gifts from her boyfriend, rafe cameron.

warningᝰ.ᐟ revised with ai, rafe being a sweetiepie ???

word countᝰ.ᐟ 917

this was unfamiliar territory for rafe—having a girl he desperately adored who didn’t ask for things? that didn’t exist on kildare. not until he met you. so shy and timid, even when he offered—even when he insisted—you’d shake your head and refuse. it was frustrating, honestly. he loved the way your eyes lit up with excitement when you got a surprise, the way your delicate fingers unwrapped the ribbons on gift boxes, and how you’d pepper his face with kisses before snuggling into him after receiving something you’d wanted. your happiness felt like a reward for him too.

“i can buy it for you,” he murmured, his lips curving into a soft smile as his hands rested lightly on your waist. you’d been staring at a pair of black, clunky mary-jane shoes on your laptop for so long it was as though you might burn a hole through the screen. that laptop, of course, was something rafe had already bought for you, much to your protests. he’d hated the inconvenience of you dragging your old one back and forth whenever you stayed over, so in his mind, the solution had been obvious: your own laptop for his house.

you shook your head, quickly clicking away from the page as his head dipped, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “no, i was just looking.”

“come on, pretty girl,” he coaxed, his warm breath brushing against your skin. his hands started to roam, gentle but firm, exploring the curves of your body with the kind of reverence that always made your heart flutter. “you’ve gotta let me spoil you a little. what kind of boyfriend would i be if i didn’t?”

the guilt hit you immediately, settling like a stone in your stomach. you knew rafe had money—he’d mentioned buying his own place in kildare, the once-lively family home now a ghostly relic of the past. he’d talked about locking away most of his inheritance for the future, investing it smartly. you knew he could afford things like this without a second thought, but it didn’t stop you from feeling bad about accepting his generosity.

“‘s’okay, rafe,” you said with a small smile, tilting your head just enough to press a kiss to his temple. his sigh was heavy as he reluctantly let go of you, lingering close, his sharp blue eyes watching you with a mix of frustration and fondness. you were so stubborn sometimes, and he didn’t know what he was going to do with you.

“i’d feel bad, anyway,” you added softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

his brows furrowed, curiosity sparking in his expression. it was rare for you to vocalize these thoughts, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. feel bad? about what? his hands cupped your warm, blushing cheeks, his thumbs brushing gently over your skin as he studied you. the redness blooming there made him smile despite himself. “baby,” he said, his voice soft and steady, “i could buy you hundreds of those shoes, and it wouldn’t even make a dent. if it makes you happy, that’s all that matters.”

your lips formed the smallest pout, and he couldn’t help but grin. that look of yours—so sweet, so innocent—always worked against him. anytime you wanted something, all it took was a little pout like that, and he was done for.

“it’s your money, rafe,” you replied quietly.

“i know, sweet girl,” he said, his gaze locking with yours. the nervousness you often felt in moments like this melted away under the intensity of his eyes. “but i want you to feel special too. i’ve got plenty, trust me.”

before you could respond, he was already digging into his pocket, that familiar mischievous grin spreading across his face. your heart skipped a beat when he pulled out a small, soft velvet pouch. “besides,” he said, his voice tinged with excitement, “i already bought you something.”

the diamond necklace he revealed shimmered as sunlight caught it, the intricate detail immediately taking your breath away. it was stunning, and you didn’t even want to imagine how much it had cost.

“rafe…” you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of awe and exasperation.

“turn around, pretty,” he instructed, his tone gentle but firm. you obeyed, your back pressing against his chest as he clasped the necklace around your neck. the delicate chain settled perfectly, the small diamond-studded “r” pendant resting just above the curve of your chest. he took a moment to admire how it looked on you, sneaking a quick glance downward that made him bite his lip in approval.

“it’s beautiful,” you breathed, your fingers brushing over the pendant. “i love it, rafe. thank you.”

you knew, deep down, that there was no point in protesting anymore. rafe was going to spoil you no matter how much you tried to fight it. you turned to him, pressing your lips to his in a tender, lingering kiss. his hands found your waist again, pulling you closer, and for a moment, it felt like the two of you had been perfectly crafted for each other, made to fit in ways that satisfied every corner of your hearts. you couldn’t help but wonder how you’d gotten so lucky.

when the kiss broke, he pressed his lips to your forehead, his arms wrapping firmly around you. “now,” he murmured, his voice laced with that same mischievous warmth, “put those shoes back in your cart. i’m buying them for you.”

[faylvrs]

secret santa from who ? ✿ jjk multi

﹒postscript : knock knock, you’ve got mail. feat. ɞ‎ megumi, yuji, gojo, geto, yuta ʚ fem reader in gojo’s

megumi could only sit there and watch you enthusiastically shake the box in your hand, not making any effort to hide the frown on his face.

when you asked him to come sit with you on the couch, the last thing he expected was for you to announce you had a secret santa. which, by the way, was not him.

“why are you so excited?” megumi watches you tear open the wrapping. “it’s probably a box of cookies or someth-“

“megs, look!” megumi reluctantly looked down at the box, eyes widening at the sight—is that a plushie of him?

no, wait. it was a poorly done crochet.

“you’re adorable! your forehead is so big.” you heartily laugh, but megumi doesn’t seem to be liking this present.

megumi sends the plushie an immediate glare, that looks nothing like him.

“who…” megumi grumbles. “that idiot..”

so thats why yuji said he was getting into crocheting.

”baby, i don’t want you to open that.” yuji huffs as he attempts to snatch the bag away from you, barely putting in any effort since he knows you’re opening it either way.

yuji wanted to be your first secret santa this year arround, he had the perfect gift planned and everything and yet someone still managed to beat him to it.

“don’t be pouty, yuji.” you push him away, taking out the item from the bag. it’s a box—a ring box.

“oh wow.” you open the box, inside shining a promise ring. “look-“

“give me that.” yuji snatches it away, gazing at the ring with a judgemental look. “green isn’t even that nice of a color. you’re not wearing this.” yuji pouts.

“i wasn’t planning to.” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “looks like i’ve got a secret admirer, huh?”

“heyy! don’t say that.” yuji leans into your embrace—someone else admiring you? give him a break.

“alright, alright, sorry.” you peck his forehead.

satoru stares blankly at the present box laid out at your front door. he’d just came back from a mission, and the last thing he was expecting was a package.

“surely she wouldn’t mind..” satoru picks the present up, reading the note on it. from : your secret santa, winky face.

satoru couldn’t help but scoff. “the hell do they think they are?” satoru rips open the paper, seeing a chocolate box inside.

“woah, guess this was fate afterall…” satoru’s mouth waters, throwing the wrapper away as he opens the chocolate box.

“well well, come to papa-“

“…satoru?”

your eyes wide as you see the wrapper of the present you were about to pick up on the floor, ripped.

“is that-“ you look at the chocolate box in satoru’s hand. “my present?!”

“well you see..” satoru scratches his head nervously.

he was put on a sweets ban. but hey, shoving all the chocolates in his mouth before you could hit him was totally worth it.

suguru was just clearing out the mailbox, not expecting a blue bag to fall out.

he picks up the bag from the ground. secret santa for : you !

suguru couldn’t help his eyes slightly twitch, for you? he wasn’t aware you’re getting secret santa’s.

“this handwriting…. looks familiar.” suguru shakes his head, he’s probably just dizzy.

he walks back inside the house, calling out your name. you leave your room at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice.

“you’ve got mail, pretty.” he watches you approach him, a smile on his face. not as if he was happy right now, though.

“for me?” you take the bag curiously, reaching your hand inside as you take out a letter.

you open the letter, your face morphing into confusion as you read it. get pranked, loser!

there was a chibi drawing of satoru below it.

“that bastard.” suguru lets out a chuckle. oh he is not letting satoru get away with this.

atleast it wasn’t a love confession, poor guy would have another thing coming for him if it was.

you’ve never seen yuta this jealous before.

“you don’t even like roses.” yuta crosses his arms. “do you have to keep them? can’t you throw them away?”

you had just gotten a secret santa from somebody anonymous. you had to explain yuta what a ‘secret santa’ exactly is, but now you wish you didn’t.

he’s usually calm and gentle with you, but he’s been giving you the stink eye the past half an hour.

he can get you flowers too, your favorite infact.

“i don’t wanna throw them away, yu.” you pour some water into the vase. “they’ll die.”

yuta walks towards you, taking your hand. “please? ill buy you better ones later today.” he smiles at you sweetly.

“yuta.” you sigh, knowing you have to comply when he looks at you like that.

“fine.. ill throw them away.”

[docmothra]

Sometimes the generic republican racism is a lead-in to being Actually a Nazi

Like my school was full of people who started off with 'gay people are the devil actually' and then after they established that as a norm they started posting anti-Jew bs

And I think sometimes people are trying to shoot that down before it gets steam

But I think until someone explicitly says something against the Jews it's more effective and accurate to call them a little bitch than to call them a nazi

Cus if u call them a nazi they can say "um actually I didn't literally say hitler was right"

What they gonna do if u call them a little bitch

"um actually I'm not a little bitch"? Mhm sure dude. Sounds like what a little bitch would say

If u take one thing. Like terf shit or anti gay bullying or racism or whatever. And you say 'um technically this is wrong because um (checks notes) hitler would do it'

You are removing the reason the thing is wrong from the thing itself and using the reputation of a different evil to condemn it instead

Which is. In addition to fucking up the language to talk about that different evil. So not compelling at all

Because it's so much easier to argue to an onlooking audience that, say, calling a trans girl slurs is not the same as being hitler. Than to argue to that audience that calling a trans girl slurs is innately a good thing and not bad. So if you hinge the evil of slurs on it's connection to the evil of hitler u give a lever for ur opponent to convince the audience that slurs are not being literally hitler and so slurs must not be that bad.

Like,

This is also how evangelical republicans get caught in weird traps

Because they hinge a lot of arguments on 'well, technically abortion is murder, and technically porn is adultery, and technically forcing me to bake a wedding cake is the same as rounding Christians up and throwing them in the lions den', like

Stop it with the technically!

Is it true that hitler oppressed queer people? Fuck yeah it is use that as a hook or a red flag to question what a little bitch's true motives are all day. 'hey, this guy is a dick to these minorities. I wonder who else he would be a dick to if he had a chance.'

Will it help you in an argument? Fuck no it won't ur gonna look like an apologeticist rehearsing their darn argument on how the planet earth is like a pocketwatch and therefore u shouldn't believe in evolution.

A little bitch is happy to lose a fight if it means u cede implicit ground by fighting in the battlefield they set. The correct answer to "have you stopped beating your wife yet?" Isn't "yes" or "no". It's "fuck you, I never started in the first place". And in the same way, the right answer to "why would trans people deserve respect?" Is not "well, hitler disrespected trans women.......", it's "because all human beings deserve respect by default you absolute jackass".

End rant

Idk much about antisemitism but boy howdy can I get going about rhetoric at least

I know everything that can be said on this topic has been said to death and no one but Jews will ever acknowledge it but it is still absolutely infuriating how every brand of gentile from every part of the political spectrum has collaborated to turn the word "Nazi" into a generic word for "fascist" or "bad person" or "person I don't like." Nazism isn't just fucking fascism and it isn't a synonym for bad person. It's a specific ideology that is centered at its root around blaming Jews for every problem in the world and wanting to exterminate them.

No, generic racist Republicans are not "Nazis." No, TERFs are not "Nazis." No, your crappy corrupt European leader is not a "Nazi." No, cops are not "Nazis." You know why they aren't Nazis? Because their entire ideology and behavior, as harmful as it may be to certain groups, is not centered around hating JEWS.

Nazism is an ideology centered around hating JEWS. Other people and groups may be caught in the crossfire, but ultimately, a Nazi's goal is to exterminate Jews, and you cannot just ignore that! I read a 12 paragraph essay yesterday written by a gentile analyzing the reasons people in Nazi Germany flocked to Nazism, and antisemitism wasn't mentioned as a motivation even once! They thought it was all because of gender norms and sexual repression! Oh my god!

The comfort with which gentiles have near universally divorced Nazism from antisemitism in colloquial speech is a direct precursor to the separation of Nazism from antisemitism in academic discourse. It's a direct predecessor to the rise of institutionalized antisemitism that we are seeing happen in real time now, because you have all gotten so used to appropriating Jewish trauma and Jewish oppression to the extent that you have convinced yourselves it isn't even uniquely real. That antisemitism doesn't exist as a specific bigotry that stands on it's own, that antisemitism is always some kind of footnote tied to some other, more important form of oppression. Do you think that Jews don't see what is happening here, that we don't see the deliberate generalization of Jew hatred and appropriation of the language we can use to refer to it? Jewish trauma becomes everyone's trauma, Jewish oppression becomes everyone's oppression, and soon enough the world at large has stolen the language of Jewish oppression right out of our mouths, until huge swaths of people can say "Jews are the new Nazis" and not see anything absurd about that at all.

Because you won't. Fucking. Acknowledge. What Nazism actually is. You won't fucking acknowledge that any ideology is specifically targeted at JEWS, and not YOU. Stop it!! Stop it! Cut it the fuck out. Nazism cannot be divorced from antisemitism and the insistence that it not only can be but MUST be by gentiles just shows how deeply ignorant and biased against Jews most of you really are.

[cosmicanakin]

quick lil thanksgiving SOLDIER BOY drabble 🍁

YAP SESH! there might be a few mistakes from how fast i was typing this while eating lol & some warnings i might've missed. so, do let me know if you see any <3

WARNING(S)! smut | oral sex (f!receiving) | strong language | table sex | pure filth | overstimulation | DOM!BEN | unprotected sex (stay safe out there yall) | ben throwing his F bombs. ୨ৎ EIGHTEEN PLUS! ADULT CONTENT | minors do NOT interact.

୨ৎ JENSEN'S LIBRARY.

thanksgiving with ben was quiet, just the way he liked it. no family, no friends, no bullshit—just his girl and a bottle of bourbon on the table. he'd insisted on a small dinner, something simple, and you were happy to oblige. but as you're sitting across from him, laughing softly at one of his sarcastic remarks, you notice the way his gaze lingers on you a little too long, a little too hungry.

"what?" you ask, raising a brow, still mid-bite of your food.

he smirks, leaning back in his chair, his thick arms crossed over his chest. "just thinkin' how fuckin' pretty you look tonight. sittin' there in that little dress like you didn't know what was gonna happen."

you roll your eyes, but your heart skips a beat. "ben, it's thanksgiving. can't we just get through dinner for once without you—"

before you can finish, he's already on his feet, rounding the table. you barely have time to react before he grabs you, his large hands sliding under your thighs to lift you out of your chair.

"jesus christ, ben!" you gasp, laughing breathlessly as he sets you down on the dining table, plates clattering as he pushes them aside without a care.

"what?" he mocks you, his voice low, rough, and full of that cocky charm. "can't help it, doll. you're sittin' there lookin' like dessert." his hands are already sliding up your thighs, pushing the hem of your dress higher and higher until it's bunched around your waist.

"ben, the food—"

"fuck the food." his grip tightens as he yanks your panties down your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. "this is what i'm thankful for."

before you can argue, his mouth is on you, hot and wet as his tongue drags through your folds. you suck in a sharp breath, your hands flying to his hair, tugging at it as he buries his face between your thighs. he groans against you, the vibrations making your toes curl as he sucks on your clit, his beard scratching deliciously against your sensitive skin.

"goddamn," he mutters, pulling back just long enough to look up at you, his lips glistening. "you taste s'fuckin' good, baby."

you whimper, your head falling back as his tongue dives back in, licking and teasing until your legs are shaking around his head. but then he growls, low and frustrated, pulling away abruptly.

"fuck this," he mutters, standing up and fumbling with his belt. "these fuckin' pants—" he tugs them down impatiently, his cock springing free, thick and hard and already leaking.

"ben—" you start, but he's already lining himself up, grabbing your hips and pulling you to the edge of the table.

"you got somethin' t'say, sweetheart?" he taunts, his smirk widening as he thrusts into you in one smooth stroke, filling you completely. your gasp turns into a moan, your nails digging into his arms as he sets a bruising pace.

"fuck—you feel so good," he groans, his hands gripping your hips so tight you're sure they'll be bruises tomorrow morning. "been thinkin' about this all fuckin' day. you, laid out like this, takin' me so fuckin' well.”

you're a hot mess beneath him, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room alongside your moans. his thrusts are quick, steady, relentless, leaving you no room to catch your breath as he fucks you hard and deep.

"ben—fuck—too much—" you whimper, trying to push at his hips, but he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand.

"nah, baby," he growls, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "you can take it, like the good girl you are. i know you can."

his free hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles that send you spiraling. you cry out, your back arching off the table as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around him.

"that's it," he groans, his pace faltering as he chases his own release. "fuckin' love watchin' you fall apart f'me."

he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself deep as he comes, his groan low and guttural. for a moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing as he rests his forehead against yours, his grip on your wrists loosening.

"happy fuckin' thanksgiving, babydoll," he mutters, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he kisses you, slow and full of love for you.

you laugh breathlessly, shaking your head. "you're unbelievable."

"yeah," he smirks, pulling out of you and stepping back, "but you love me."

and as you lay there, still trembling from the intensity of it all, you can't exactly argue with that.

[solxamber]

stay w me in this one, kiss cam w the first years 🙂‍↕

Kiss Cam with: The First Years

a/n; anon you brain is so big!! i got so happy??? when i saw this?? i kinda blacked out for a while and ended up writing it

Ace Trappola

The arena was packed, the air buzzing with energy as the Magift team dominated the field. You were sandwiched between Deuce and Ace, the latter chugging a soda while obnoxiously yelling at the players.

“Ace, they can’t hear you,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as he yelled, “PASS THE DISC, YOU IDIOT!”

“I don’t care! They need to know how bad they’re screwing up!” Ace shot back, waving his drink wildly.

Deuce leaned over, clearly mortified. “Can you not embarrass us in front of the whole school?”

Ace just smirked. “What? Embarrassed to be seen with your cooler, more handsome best friend?”

You snorted. “Handsome? In your dreams, Trappola.”

Ace turned to you, feigning offense. “Oh, so I’m not handsome? Guess I’ll have to let the kiss cam settle this one.”

“What does that even mean?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

As if the universe decided to spite you, the lights dimmed, and a giant heart frame appeared on the jumbotron.

You froze. “No. No way.”

Ace leaned forward, his grin turning devious. “Oh yes.”

Deuce, ever the supportive friend, burst into laughter, slapping his knee. “This is the best day of my life.”

Meanwhile, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “This has to be a mistake.”

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Come on, lovebirds! Don’t be shy! Show us some NRC spirit!”

“I’m going to die,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“Not without giving the people what they want,” Ace teased, turning to you with an exaggerated smirk. “Come on, for school pride.”

You glared at him, your cheeks burning. “Ace Trappola, I will—”

Before you could finish, Ace leaned in, his smirk fading into something more genuine. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Relax. It’s just a little kiss, right?”

Your breath hitched. The crowd was chanting louder now, and your heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the embarrassment.

“Just a little kiss,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

And then it happened.

When his lips met yours, the crowd erupted into cheers, whistles, and applause. Time seemed to stop as the noise around you faded into a distant hum.

His lips were warm and surprisingly gentle, and the faint taste of soda lingered as he pulled back, his face flushed but grinning like an idiot.

“Well,” he said, his voice slightly breathless, “that wasn’t so bad, huh?”

You blinked at him, your brain short-circuiting. “You… You just kissed me!”

“You kissed me back,” he shot back, his grin widening.

Deuce, still laughing like a lunatic, clapped Ace on the back. “Congratulations, Trappola. You finally grew a pair.”

Ace turned to the jumbotron, where your kiss was being replayed in slow motion. “Man, we look good together,” he said smugly, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

You shoved him, your face burning hotter than the sun. “Don’t push your luck.”

The rest of the game passed in a blur. Ace was insufferably smug, Deuce wouldn’t stop teasing you, and your heart refused to calm down.

As the crowd filed out of the arena, Ace caught your hand, stopping you just outside the gates.

“Hey,” he said, his usual grin replaced with something softer. “So, uh… about earlier.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I like you. Like, a lot. And this is not just because of the kiss cam thing.”

You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. “Ace…”

“I mean, no pressure or anything!” he added quickly, his face turning red. “But, you know, if you did want to be more than friends, I wouldn’t mind…”

You smiled, stepping closer and leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re such an idiot.”

His jaw dropped. “Wait—does that mean…?”

“It means yes, Ace,” you said, laughing. “But you better not let this go to your head.”

Ace grinned, grabbing your hand. “Too late.”

Spoiler: Ace tells everyone at school, and now half the campus thinks the kiss cam was staged. You’re stuck with him, but honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Deuce Spade

The stadium buzzed with excitement, the crowd alive with cheers as NRC's Magift team scored another point. You sat beside Deuce, who was yelling encouragement so earnestly you swore the players might actually hear him through sheer determination.

“Come on! You’ve got this! Pass it—yes!” he shouted, punching the air.

You couldn’t help but smile. Deuce’s enthusiasm was contagious, even if he had accidentally knocked over your popcorn in his excitement earlier.

“You’re going to lose your voice,” you teased, nudging his arm.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied with a grin. “This is important!”

What wasn’t important, however, was the dreaded kiss cam that appeared on the giant screen moments later.

The heart-shaped frame zoomed in on various couples, each one receiving cheers as they nervously or enthusiastically complied. You laughed, thinking nothing of it—until your own face appeared on the screen.

You froze. “Oh no.”

Deuce, oblivious, kept clapping until the heart frame zoomed out to reveal him beside you. His face turned crimson so fast you worried he might combust.

“W-What?!” he stammered, pointing at the screen as if denying its existence might make it disappear.

The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers, the announcer’s voice booming. “Come on, lovebirds! Let’s see some NRC spirit!”

“Deuce, say something,” you hissed, your face burning.

“I—uh—I—” he stuttered, looking everywhere but at you. “They—uh—made a mistake! Right?!”

The announcer wasn’t letting up. “Looks like someone’s shy! Don’t leave us hanging!”

Deuce looked at you helplessly, his face a mix of panic and mortification. “I-I’m so sorry about this!”

You sighed, your own heart racing. “It’s fine, Deuce. Just a quick kiss, and they’ll move on.”

He nearly choked. “A kiss?!”

“It’s not a marriage proposal!” you shot back, trying to keep your cool despite your own nerves.

He nodded frantically, visibly psyching himself up. “O-Okay! Let’s do this!”

Deuce leaned in slowly, his eyes shut so tightly you thought he might be praying for divine intervention. His lips brushed your cheek in the softest, most hesitant kiss imaginable before he pulled back like he’d just touched a live wire.

The crowd cheered wildly, but Deuce wasn’t done. In his panic, he’d miscalculated the kiss angle, and his forehead accidentally bumped yours as he pulled away.

“Oh no! Are you okay?” he asked, horrified.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your nervousness melting away at his sheer awkwardness. “I’m fine, Deuce.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again, his hands hovering like he wanted to check for injuries.

You smiled and, feeling bold, leaned forward to kiss his cheek in return. The crowd’s cheers doubled, and Deuce looked at you like you’d just announced he’d won the lottery.

“Um,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “That was… uh… nice.”

You laughed. “It’s just a kiss, Deuce.”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just a kiss.”

Deuce spent the rest of the game sneaking glances at you, his face perpetually red. By the time the match ended, you were sure he’d worn a hole in the ground with all his nervous foot-tapping.

As the two of you walked back to the dorms, he finally cleared his throat.

“Hey,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I… I really like you.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden confession. “Deuce—”

“I mean it!” he said quickly, his words tumbling out like he’d been holding them back for ages. “I’ve liked you for a while, but I didn’t know how to tell you, and the kiss cam just kind of—”

You cut him off with a quick kiss to his lips, effectively silencing his rambling.

“Does that answer your question?” you asked, smiling at his stunned expression.

Deuce nodded, his face practically glowing. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Spoiler: Ace finds out and teases Deuce relentlessly, but Deuce doesn’t care. He’s too busy walking you to class and holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Jack Howl

The stadium was alive with energy, the roar of the crowd reverberating through the stands as NRC's Magift team dominated the field. You sat beside Jack, who had insisted you attend because "It's good to support our school." Truthfully, you didn’t mind—watching the game with Jack was its own kind of fun.

He sat rigidly in his seat, tail swishing lightly as his sharp eyes tracked every play on the field. You chuckled at how serious he looked.

"Jack, relax. It's just a game," you teased.

"It's not just a game," he replied, his ears flicking. "This is about teamwork, discipline, and—"

He stopped mid-sentence when the crowd erupted in cheers. You both looked up to the big screen, only to see a giant pink heart frame around… you and Jack.

Cue Panic.

“Wait, what?!” you exclaimed, your face instantly heating up.

Jack’s ears flattened against his head as his eyes widened in sheer panic. “Oh no.”

The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Looks like we’ve got a shy couple! Let’s hear it for them, folks!”

The crowd cheered louder, and you groaned. “Oh, come on…”

Jack was frozen in place, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. His tail puffed up slightly as he asked, “They’ll move on, right? They’ll pick someone else?”

You glanced at the screen, seeing your own mortified expression reflected back at you. “Not unless we do something.”

Jack’s face turned impossibly red. “You mean…?”

“Yes, Jack,” you said, trying to suppress your own embarrassment. “A kiss. Just a small one! It’s no big deal.”

Jack looked at you like you’d just asked him to leap off a cliff. “I can’t! What if it’s weird? Or awkward? Or—”

“Jack,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s just a game. Let’s get it over with.”

His ears twitched nervously as he nodded. “Okay. But, uh… where?”

“Where?” you repeated, confused.

“I mean, do I… your cheek? Your forehead? I—I don’t want to—”

“Jack!” you laughed, despite your own nerves. “Cheek is fine.”

He nodded again, his tail wagging nervously behind him as he leaned in. Just as his lips barely brushed your cheek, the crowd erupted in cheers—only for Jack to try to jerk back so fast that his forehead bumped yours.

“Ow!” you yelped, rubbing your head.

“Are you okay?!” he asked, panicking.

“I’m fine,” you said, trying not to laugh at his flustered expression. “But you might’ve just knocked me into next week.”

The announcer’s voice interrupted. “Let’s hear it for our lovebirds! What a show!”

You both sank further into your seats, faces burning. Jack mumbled an apology, looking like he wanted to crawl under the stadium.

“You know,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “You could’ve just kissed me properly.”

Jack froze, his eyes snapping to yours. “What?”

“Yeah,” you teased, grinning. “You’re already on the big screen. Might as well make it count.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his ears flicking nervously. Then, to your surprise, he leaned in again—this time more confidently—and pressed a quick, warm kiss to your lips.

The crowd lost it, cheering so loudly you could barely hear yourself think.

When Jack pulled back, his face was crimson, but there was a small, shy smile on his lips. “There. Was… was that okay?”

You smiled back, your heart racing. “More than okay.”

Jack spent the rest of the game sitting a little closer to you, his tail wagging uncontrollably. As you left the stadium, he finally cleared his throat.

“So… does this mean we’re—uh… dating?” he asked awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

You laughed, grabbing his hand. “What do you think?”

Jack’s tail wagged even harder. “I think I’m really lucky.”

Spoiler: Ace, Deuce and Epel find out later and tease Jack mercilessly, but he doesn’t care. He’s too busy walking you to class with his hand in yours.

Epel Felmier

The game was electric, with the crowd roaring as NRC held a narrow lead over RSA. You sat near the bench, cheering loudly for one player in particular. Epel was a blur of determination on the field, his every move brimming with adrenaline and a grit that made your heart race just watching him.

During halftime, the players jogged off the field to hydrate and strategize. Epel wiped the sweat from his brow and spotted you by the bench. You held up an electrolyte drink with a proud smile.

“Here, you earned it!” you said, handing him the bottle.

He accepted it with a quick grin, gulping it down like a man dying of thirst. “Thanks. Didja see that shot I made earlier?”

“I did!” you replied enthusiastically. “You’re playing amazing out there!”

Your encouragement had him standing a little taller, his eyes shining with a mix of pride and affection. “Well, I ain’t done yet. Gotta show those RSA guys what we’re made of.”

But before he could head back to the huddle, the crowd’s noise shifted. You both turned toward the massive screen above the field, where a familiar heart-shaped frame surrounded… the two of you.

Epel froze for a fraction of a second, his flushed face turning an even deeper shade of red. You stared at the screen in surprise, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

“Is that… the kiss cam?” you muttered.

Epel glanced back at his team’s huddle, where his teammates were laughing and giving him exaggerated thumbs-ups. The crowd began chanting, egging him on.

In that moment, with the adrenaline from the game still coursing through his veins and the giddy rush of your praise in his chest, Epel made a snap decision.

Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you—hard, fast, and with enough confidence to leave you absolutely stunned.

The crowd erupted into cheers and whistles as Epel pulled back, his violet eyes sparkling mischievously. “Thanks for the drink,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just turned your world upside down.

Then, with one last grin, he jogged back to his team, leaving you standing there, breathless and staring after him.

The rest of the game was a blur. Epel was on fire, scoring two more goals and securing the win for NRC. The crowd was ecstatic, the team celebrating wildly, but your mind was stuck on that kiss.

When the post-game frenzy finally settled, Epel approached you by the bleachers. He was still sweaty and flushed, but his usual nervousness was nowhere to be seen. The adrenaline from the game still seemed to fuel him as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Hey,” he started, his accent thick and his voice a little raspy. “About that kiss earlier…”

You raised an eyebrow, your heart pounding. “What about it?”

Epel took a deep breath, his violet eyes locking onto yours. “I ain’t just kissin’ people for fun, ya know? I… I like you. A lot. And I’ve been wantin’ to say somethin’ for ages, but I didn’t know how. Guess the kiss cam kinda forced my hand.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his honesty. “So what are you saying, Epel?”

“I’m sayin’... would ya go out with me?” he asked, his cheeks turning red again.

You pretended to think for a moment, but the truth was, you already knew your answer. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Epel’s face lit up, his grin wide and genuine. “Really?!”

“Really,” you said, laughing.

He fist-pumped the air triumphantly before quickly trying to play it cool. “Well, uh, that’s great. I’ll, uh, plan somethin’ nice, alright?”

“Looking forward to it,” you replied, your smile as wide as his.

The kiss cam video was all over campus the next day, much to Epel’s embarrassment and your amusement. Still, neither of you could deny how it sparked something wonderful between you.

And yet, every time someone teased him about it, Epel would just grin and shrug. “What can I say? I go for what I want.”

Sebek Zigvolt

The Magift stadium was loud and lively, the crowd cheering wildly as NRC battled RSA in a fierce match. You sat next to Sebek, who was practically vibrating with excitement. Not for the game, mind you, but for the honor of cheering for his young master.

“Do you see that?!” Sebek shouted, practically jumping out of his seat. “The precision! The sheer grace! Lord Malleus is unmatched on the field!”

You smiled, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah, Sebek, I see it. You’ve mentioned it about... ten times now.”

“Only ten?!” He gasped, scandalized. “I must rectify this immediately—”

Before he could continue his speech, the crowd erupted into cheers. Confused, you looked up at the massive screen, only to freeze.

There, framed in a gigantic pink heart, were you and Sebek.

“What… what is this madness?!” Sebek’s voice boomed over the crowd noise, his face quickly turning beet red.

“It’s the kiss cam,” you explained, already feeling the heat creeping up your neck.

Sebek blinked at you, utterly baffled. “Kiss cam? What nonsense is this?!”

The announcer chimed in cheerfully. “Looks like we’ve got a lively one, folks! Give the crowd what they want!”

The audience clapped and whistled, clearly entertained by Sebek’s outburst. Meanwhile, you wished you could melt into the ground.

“Sebek, we’re on the big screen,” you hissed, trying to keep your voice low. “Just a quick kiss, and they’ll move on!”

Sebek recoiled as if you’d suggested dueling Malleus. “What?! A kiss? In public? In front of—of all these people?”

“Yes!” you snapped. “It’s not that big of a deal!”

“But—! But—!” Sebek sputtered, his hands flailing in an uncharacteristically awkward display. “I cannot—this is—HOW DARE THEY IMPOSE SUCH A THING?"

The crowd was relentless, chanting louder as Sebek grew more flustered.

“Sebek,” you sighed, leaning closer to him. “If you don’t just do it, they’ll keep us up there forever.”

His eyes widened, darting between you and the screen. “I—fine! But only to end this nonsense!”

Sebek sat up stiffly, his face as red as his dorm uniform. Slowly, he leaned toward you… only to stop halfway, completely frozen.

“Sebek,” you whispered, trying not to laugh at his deer-in-headlights expression. “You’re overthinking it. Just a little peck.”

He shut his eyes tightly, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “For the honor of the young master.” Then, with the precision of someone about to execute a high-level spell, he leaned in and pressed the briefest kiss imaginable to your cheek.

The crowd erupted into cheers, but Sebek immediately pulled back, clutching his chest like he’d just fought a dragon.

“Well, that was…” You paused, trying to find the right word. “Anticlimactic.”

Sebek glared at you, still blushing furiously. “What more do you want?! I have upheld this ridiculous tradition to the best of my ability!”

You smirked, leaning closer. “Oh, come on. You’re supposed to kiss me on the lips.”

“WHAT?!” Sebek practically shouted, earning another wave of laughter from the crowd.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” you teased, leaning in just a bit more.

Sebek’s brain seemed to short-circuit for a moment, but before you could follow through on your teasing threat, he surprised you by leaning in and kissing you properly.

It was quick and clumsy but sincere, and when he pulled back, the people sitting around you erupted into wild cheers.

Sebek, meanwhile, looked like he was about to faint. “There. Are you satisfied now?!”

You laughed, touching your lips. “Actually, yeah. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

For the rest of the game, Sebek sat ramrod straight, refusing to look at you.

When the match ended and you both walked back to campus, he finally broke the silence. “That… that was purely for practical purposes!”

You grinned. “Sure, Sebek. Whatever you say.”

He glanced at you, his blush returning in full force. “It—it meant nothing!”

But the way his hand brushed against yours—and stayed there—told a very different story.

Masterlist

[insidekatmind]

A sweet Christmas- Jobe Bellingham

It’s Christmas Eve, and the crisp December air fills your house. Outside, snow falls slowly, covering every corner with a soft, white blanket. Inside, the atmosphere is warm and cozy, illuminated by Christmas lights sparkling in every corner of the room. A large Christmas tree is decorated with golden baubles, red ribbons, and a golden star shining at the top. Candles on the table glow gently, and Christmas music plays softly in the background, creating the perfect ambiance.

Jobe Bellingham, your boyfriend, is in the kitchen, busy preparing something special for you. Despite being used to the hectic pace of life between training and matches, today he has decided to spend every moment with you, away from the spotlight, to experience Christmas in a simple and authentic way.

When you enter the kitchen, you find him focused on making gingerbread cookies, but with that concentrated expression, it seems like he's preparing something much more complex.

“What are you doing, love?” you ask, smiling sweetly.

He looks up and smiles back at you with his usual shy yet affectionate grin. "I’m trying to make Christmas cookies. I watched a YouTube video, and it looked easy... but it’s not."

You approach him and take his hand, careful not to get flour all over yourself. "Can I help you?"

Jobe smiles, clearly delighted to have you there with him, even though he's trying to make something simple. "Yes, please. I need help so I don't make a mess."

Together, you start mixing the ingredients, laughing when a little flour ends up on you. Jobe can't stop laughing when a bit of butter gets stuck in your hair. "Look what you made me do," he says, but with such sweetness that you feel loved in every little gesture.

When the cookies are finally ready to bake, he gives you a gentle caress on your cheek. "Thanks for helping me," he murmurs, his gaze speaking volumes about how much he appreciates these small moments you share.

You take a break while the cookies bake, and together you curl up on the couch, wrapped in a warm blanket. Jobe holds you close, and you snuggle against him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. His hand finds yours, and without saying a word, he takes it, a smile on his face that makes your heart flutter.

"I like spending Christmas like this," he says, his voice soft and sincere. "With you, away from everything."

"Me too," you reply, resting your head on his shoulder. "It’s perfect."

The cookies are ready, and when you taste them together, you realize they're delicious, even though they aren’t perfect like the ones you’d find at a bakery. But what makes that moment special is that you’re living it with him.

The evening continues with laughter, gift exchanges, and sweet caresses. Every now and then, Jobe looks at you with a smile he can’t hide, as if trying to memorize every single moment of that night. When the gifts are unwrapped, Jobe looks at you with eyes full of affection and gives you a small but meaningful box.

“Open it,” he says, giving you a playful smile.

Inside, there's a necklace with a star-shaped pendant that sparkles in the candlelight. Your heart tightens as you look at the gift, and then you lift your eyes to him. "Jobe, it's beautiful..."

He smiles, taking your hand. "I wanted to give you something that would remind you how special you are to me. Every star in the sky... is for you."

His words are full of emotion, and you realize that there’s nothing more beautiful than spending Christmas with him. His sweetness, his presence, everything feels perfect.

After dinner, he pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead. "Merry Christmas, my love."

"Merry Christmas, Jobe," you reply, your heart beating faster. And in that moment, all you want is to keep living these small moments of happiness, with him, forever.

[mochiwonz]

― THANK YOU STRANGER s.jaeyun

PAIRING. fem!reader x nonidol bf!jake(sim jaeyun) CONTENT. angst with happy ending , post-breakup , reader is in her self love + healing era WORD COUNT. 1,063 NOTE. this is part 2 of you're just a stranger :3 pls remember that this is all just fiction !! i hope you enjoy ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

Of course. Of course you missed him, Jake. You didn't want to admit it, but you missed him presence. You missed the man who you once loved with all of your heart and soul. The day after he left you in shambles, you just didn't know what to do with yourself.

You still felt completely numb.

It had been 5 days since your guy's breakup, and anyone could tell that you were a fucking mess. You hadn't showered or even gotten out of your room for the past 5 days. Your close friend, sunoo, was the person checking up on you and bringing you food to eat.

And to put it simply, you felt and probably looked like dog shit.

Jake, he was the first guy you ever had any feelings for- of course the breakup affected you. But you were very sure that it wasn't affecting him!

Your brain was about to put more useless thoughts of Jake in your head, but you didn't let it.

Truly, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him anymore.

The y/n 5 days ago would've texted and asked him "oh how are you?" or "i miss you" but the y/n right now has his number blocked. Growth is real, people.

At first, you felt like it was kind-of your fault. Maybe if you cared less he would've still loved you. Maybe if you didn't make him dinner every night and "treat him like a baby" he would still be your boyfriend. But wait-

It wasn't your fault.

It wasn't your fault that your efforts weren't acknowledged. It wasn't your fault that he suddenly stopped loving you. It wasn't your fault that he wasn't communicating his true feelings and thoughts to you.

Fuck, you had to stop this cycle.

Slowly, you sit up from your comfortable laying position and place your feet on the ground. You shiver at the cold feeling of the wooden floor. You feel a little more awake now.

After getting up, you make your way to the bathroom and holy shit, you look like you just got beat up. Well, technically, Jake just beat the shit out of your emotions so...

You brush your teeth and hop in the shower, making sure the water is warm. You wanted to feel warmth, some sort of comfort. You hadn't felt any sort of warmth or comfort in five whole days.

As soon as you feel the first drop of warm water on your skin, your whole body relaxes. Wow, thank god for showers. Like, actually. After 5 minutes of just standing and drowning yourself in the warm water, you freshen up and get out.

You already feel so much better. I mean, you just washed off all the icky germs, right?

You quickly dry your hair and do your skincare and then head to your closet to pick out an outfit. While in the shower, you decided that you wanted to go to the local cafe to get a drink and of course, some fresh air.

After what felt like almost an hour of searching for the best outfit, you ended up choosing a pair of flared jeans, a brown leather jacket, and an off-white cropped top. To accessorize, you put on some chunky earrings and a few rings.

You can't help but smile, you feel so much more alive. Maybe you really didn't need Jake in your life anymore.

Quickly, you grab your purse and keys and walk out of your apartment.

Once you stepped outside, you immediately felt the warm sunlight on your skin. The sun wasn't too bright, and the weather was cool with a slight breeze. You forgot how much you loved being outside, especially during autumn.

While on the way to the cafe, you spot two birds on a traffic light. Past y/n would've definitely went back home and sobbed for two hours straight. But for some reason, you didn't feel like crying. You didn't feel sad. You found the birds cute and just moved on.

After a 15 minute walk to the cafe, you order your vanilla latte and quickly find a seat. You can't lie, that walk was kind-of tiring.

While waiting for your order number to be called, you pull out your phone and headphones that you brought with you in your purse. You unlock your phone and immediately go to spotify and connect your headphones. You quickly put your headphones on and click "play" on your favorite playlist.

Music. Music was so healing for you. Music always made you feel better. Music was the bestfriend you never had.

"Order for number 88!" the worker exclaims.

You get up from your seat and walk over to the counter to get your latte. You turn to head back to your seat and oh.

Jake's here...?

You noticed he dyed his hair back to a dark brown, a color you used to love on him. But, you didn't feel any love for him anymore. All of that love was slowly becoming self love, and you really didn't mind.

Unfortunately, you lock eyes with him for a split second. And he looks...sad? You're confused, but you shrug it off. You just hope he feels better.

You walk to your seat and stay at the cafe for about 10 minutes before heading back home. It felt good to treat yourself. Actually no, not just good- it felt great.

You deserved to show yourself love. What you didn't deserve was being a complete mess over a guy treating you like shit.

*ping!*

Huh?

You quickly grab your phone from your jacket pocket and unlock it.

Wait, what?

Unknown : y/n i'm sorry. please unblock me. i'm sorry y/n please.

Oh, it's Jake.

You don't know what to do, but you end up responding.

not gonna unblock u jake

You smile at your response. You didn't feel the need for Jake in your life anymore. It's like a breath of fresh air.

You turn off your phone and shove it back into your pocket. Instead of thinking more about Jake, you think about what you want to do when you get back to your apartment. Maybe online shop and do a self-care night, or invite your friend sunoo over for a sleepover. It had been forever since your last sleepover with sunoo!

Honestly, you're thankful.

Thankful to Jake for showing you that you didn't need him in your life. Thankful to Jake for showing you that you needed to be showing yourself some more love.

You take out your phone and text him for the very last time.

thank you stranger :)

i hope you enjoyed this pt 2 !! pls reblog if u did :D

[bxnfire]

Passion’s Stage || Toji Fushiguro

✎ synopsis: ever thought of how it’d be like to be toji’s stripper girlfriend?

✎ content/warnings: minors dni, afab!reader, smut, p in v, fingering, masturbation, possessiveness, oral (f. receiving), stripper club, mature themes, established relationship

✎ a/n: i was just thinking of this earlier today and i made a little drabble!! enjoy <3

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏMINORS DNI ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏ

boyfriend!toji who after a long day of work goes into a strip club with shiu kong to unwind, and as soon as he steps into the establishment he makes eye contact with you as you do a split getting off the pole, and his eyes never leave you since

boyfriend!toji who catches your attention, and as a part of the show, you walk towards him and dance on his lap, and he wastes no time in asking for your name and writing his phone number on a $50 bill

boyfriend!toji who gets hard just watching you from afar for the rest of the night, and who waits til you get off to take you home

boyfriend!toji who doesn’t know your last name yet but he knows where your g-spot is after barely making it to your couch. surely after such a successful shift you deserved to get paid by his fingers deliciously and relentlessly curling into you as he sucked your tits

boyfriend!toji who has you bent over and screaming his name from a few strokes, his hand on your neck while his other one is busy against your lower abdomen as his index finger expertly rubs your clit in circles while fucking you rough

boyfriend!toji who fucks you through your orgasm and paints your insides white to make sure you know who you belong to from now on

boyfriend!toji who cleans his cum off your pussy by fingering it out of you, if he ends up eating you out to lick it all clean then just know it was for the best! lapping up your lips, sucking your clit, and shoving his tongue in are only part of the process of course. riding out your orgasm on his tongue replaces his juices with yours just as he wanted

boyfriend!toji who holds you close after tough nights, and always reassures you that he’s proud of you no matter what

boyfriend!toji who beats up anyone who dares disrespect you in any way

boyfriend!toji who still comes in to see your show, happy to see you wear the lingerie he’s carefully picked out for you

boyfriend!toji who gladly boasts to shiu how hot his girlfriend is, knowing he wishes he was in toji’s place

boyfriend!toji who gets private shows at home, promising that he’ll fuck you as you want if he can cum just by watching your performance

boyfriend!toji who masturbates his fat cock watching you dance for him, pretty red tip leaking precum as his hand works himself up quickly, quickly shifting from base to tip while playing with his balls

boyfriend!toji who cums over and over from the mere sight of you and is still rock hard

boyfriend!toji who makes it a goal to cum on your panties before you perform knowing that when you’re being a little “shy” while performing tonight it’s because if you mess up, his cum will roll down your thigh

boyfriend!toji who takes care of your bruises and cramps after work

boyfriend!toji who gets a preview of any new choreography, which, of course, always ends up in you jumping on his dick

boyfriend!toji who doesn’t mind if others look, because in the end, he’s the only one who gets to touch

boyfriend!toji who always supports you no matter what, after all, he knows how to fight!

[hysteria-things]

Reverse countertop scenario where instead of you getting eaten out while seated on the countertop, Matt gets sucked off 🫣

TEMPTATION (part one)

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dilf!matt x babysitter!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: one heated moment crosses between you and forbidden desire.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, slight size kink if you squint, oral (male receiving), subtle face slapping (he taps her on the cheek once), praising

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,766

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first dilf!matt fic of the collection :D

you’ve met matt through one of your mom’s work friends, who was talking about how her son needed a babysitter because of how busy his work has gotten. against your will, your mother gave you the job, saying that it’ll be a fun and new experience.

because you like kids, you genuinely didn’t mind. you’ve only been nannying for a few weeks now, and the routine isn’t that bad.

you drive to his house every weekday, arriving at seven on the dot. you wake up his five-year-old daughter (who is already fond of you) and make her breakfast along with getting her ready to drop her off at school.

she’s a cutie who looks a lot like her father—with his blue eyes and brunette hair—but she has a bubblier personality and is much more talkative. on the other hand, matt keeps to himself, and rarely says more than three sentences to you: “good morning.” “don’t forget to pack her lunch.” “see you later.”

on this particular day, a couple of hours after dropping his little girl off, you realized you had forgotten something at matt’s house. cursing to yourself when you notice, you drive back to sleuth your way into grabbing what you left and leaving.

however, when you walk through the door, a familiar figure is kneeling in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos and grunting as he’s fixing something under the sink.

you pause, genuinely surprised. he always leaves for work when you arrive at his place at your scheduled time. today, he hid from you upstairs the whole morning that you didn’t even acknowledge he was home. you stare at the gruff thirty-year-old for a few beats, not knowing if you should make yourself known or just sneakily retrieve your item and head back out.

so, instead, you swallow a lump in your throat, and start walking slowly to the living room hoping he doesn’t notice you. with the short weeks that you’ve been working for him, you’ve always felt intimidated by his presence. matt doesn't immediately catch on, but as he listens to footsteps getting closer to him, he perks up. he turns around, just in time to see you starting to walk toward the living room.

he raises a brow, his arms now crossed. “i thought you left already.”

jolting from his voice, you turn around to see him still in the kitchen by the island, but he’s gotten closer to you. “i-i forgot my wallet.” you stutter, scratching the back of your neck. “i’m sorry. i’ll get out of your hair when i grab it, i just didn’t know you stayed home today.”

he eyes you, looking up and down in silence for a second. he lets out a groan, not exactly happy that you're back here, but he's not angry. just… annoyed. “when did you realize you forgot your wallet?”

your face burns up when he looks at you like that, his eyes mesmerizing but also frightening at the same time. your anxiety rushes through your veins, fingers playing with the necklace around your neck to try and calm your nerves.

he’s just so intimidating.

“after i dropped evelyn off at school, but i didn’t have time to grab it until now.” you start, trying to not sound shaky. “she had a rough morning getting ready today, so i was scattering my stuff everywhere trying to help her get back on her little feet. i’m sorry again. i’ll leave the moment i grab it.”

matt lets out a frustrated sigh when he hears about his daughter having a morning like that. “i thought i heard the commotion from upstairs…” he trails off. he takes a moment to breathe and to think, looking you up and down again, trying to figure out why you're shaking. “you're nervous.”

“it was a weird morning.” you still fiddle with your necklace. “other than her tantrum, she was good.”

a huff escapes from his nose, still looking at your figure as he thinks. you’re so damn small compared to him. it's almost adorable in a way he won't admit to himself. “she had a tantrum this morning? why? what started it?”

looking around the room, you shrug. “it was typical friday stuff.” you say, still nervous that you’re talking to matt rather than hearing three sentences from him. “she didn’t want to get out of bed, then she didn’t like the clothes i picked, whined about how she didn’t want to go to school, then she started crying when i carried her backpack to the car when she wanted to carry it.” you think back to this morning before continuing. “we were also running late and that makes my brain a mess, hence why i forgot my wallet, but after a small pep talk when i strapped her into her car seat, she got better.”

the man nods as you explain the events from earlier. you were pretty, in his opinion—he was looking at you from head to toe. a thought seems to hit him, and he bites the inside of his cheek. his next sentence comes out in a much more gruff tone. “come here.”

your eyes grow wide as you blink at him, your heart rate picking up from nerves. “w-what?” you stammer.

letting out a soft sigh, he repeats himself. “you heard me. come. here.”

when you slowly start to walk over to him, you rub the sweat from your palms onto your jeans. you don’t get too close, but you’re not too far, either. he watches as you walk over, his eyes not leaving your body. the thought that he could easily pick you up with one arm in an instant makes him laugh internally. you stop about a foot or so in front of him, standing there with wide eyes. “closer.”

you put your shaky hands behind your back, shuffling even closer to him with a million thoughts running through your brain. did you do something wrong with evelyn? did you forget something important that you needed to bring to school for her? are you going to be fired for forgetting your stupid wallet?

matt’s eyes dart all over your face as you step closer, his jaw clenching for a moment as his eyes linger on yours, then your hair, your nose, your mouth, then your body again. you are so small. it’s very clear with the way you’re shaking and the anxiety clear on your face that you are nervous. “closer.” he says again, his eyes flicking to your necklace for a moment.

smirk tugs at his lips as you step closer, his eyes locked onto you. you’re now standing directly in front of him as he leans on the counter, his height is much more intimidating up close, but you can’t make yourself pull away. it’s like he has a magnetic pull, causing you to stare at him with awe.

he watches your every move and the way you tremble. “you’re shaking.”

“i-i just want to grab my wallet. if i interrupted something important, i’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

the chuckle in his throat is ticklish as you struggle to get any words out. “take a deep breath. calm down.”

surprised by what he said, you somehow listen and take a couple of deep breaths. well, he is the father to a toddler, after all. you’re sure he deals with a lot of temper tantrums that involve guidance in breathing. after a few inhales and exhales, you calm down just a smidge. “i’m sorry.”

matt watches as you finally start calming down, a slight sense of satisfaction washing over him as you do. he’s not exactly sure why, but he liked watching your shaky body slowly come together again. “you don’t need to keep apologizing, y/n.”

“sorry.” you reply, mentally punching yourself in the face when you say the word. “it’s a habit.”

although, your name rolling off of his tongue has between your legs tingle, but you try to blink away the dirty thoughts and ignore it.

he scoffs. you are so damn polite; it’s almost cute. “stop apologizing.” he orders, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek, his brows furrowing as his thumb grazes your lip. “how old did you say you are again?”

your breath hitches when he touches you, but instead of backing away, you stay put. your lashes bat in his direction as he continues to rub on your bottom lip. “twenty-one.” you exhale, as if you were holding your breath this entire time.

“you’re such a pretty young thing.” he whispers, hand moving down to your throat as he gently kneads at the flesh. “you must be so innocent still.”

grunting when he squeezes at your neck, you subconsciously glance down at his groin, where you can see his growing hard-on. your eyes widen, chest heaving and licking your lips. the pooling in the middle of your thighs only escalates, clenching them together.

this is your boss, y/n. stop.

“do you trust me?” he blurts out, a smirk growing wider once he notices you staring. he has you right where he wants you: at his mercy.

“yes.” and that’s true.

he grabs your hips and pulls you closer, leaning into where your noses are touching. “lift your leg.”

complying, his hand reaches under your thigh when you raise your leg to rest on his hips. you gasp, feeling his bulge rub against your clothed clit. he grinds against you swiftly. “you feel that? that’s what you do to me; every single time i see you.”

“fuck.” you exhale, subconsciously rutting your hips more into him to feel more friction.

“dirty girl.” he whispers, one of his hands reaching up to squeeze your breast while the other that’s resting on your thigh moves to the waistband of your pants. “do you want me to touch you here?”

you throw your head back, nipples peeking at his touch. “please.”

matt groans, leaning down to nip at that spot below your ear. a high-pitched whine leaves your lips, his fingers slipping under your panties. the pad of his pointer rubs at your bud, and you moan softly. he keeps leaving wet kisses on your jaw, toying at your clit. “so fucking wet.”

you keep moaning, clenching around nothing when he plays with you faster. this plus the rubbing of his dick against you makes you want more, but you fight it off. he removes his hand after a few seconds, leaving you aching before bringing his fingers to his lips. he laps at your juices, humming approvingly.

then, his eyes darken, voice extra demanding. “get on your knees.”

while you’re getting on your knees, the pumping of your heart is the only thing you seem to hear, matt starting to unbuckle the belt of his jeans. as you patiently wait, he unloosens it and his pants drop to his ankles along with his boxers. your mouth waters at what’s in front of you, being put under matt’s make-believe spell. he’s big—really big—and you can’t help but stare at it longingly.

tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he smiles a genuine smile. “open your mouth; good girl.” he cups both of your cheeks, sliding his cock agonizingly slow between your lips. he lets out a long groan the more his inches fill your mouth until you gag once his tip nudges at the back of your throat.

“awe.” he coos, wiping some drool at the sides of your lips with his thumb. “that’s not even all of it.”

you bob your head, moaning around his length at how good he feels in your mouth. slurps and gags continue when you go faster.

he grunts and hisses at your sudden change of speed. “ah, slow, slow.” he fists your hair and taps you on the cheek, causing you to wince and stop. “i said slow.”

matt hasn’t had his dick sucked since his ex, which had to have been over a year ago. hell, he hasn’t had sex since her. he was getting sick of his hand doing the pleasure for him, but the warmth of your mouth is a reminder that you’re here.

your eyes tear up when he lets go of your hair, the stinging there for a few seconds before you move again, this time at the slow pace he requested. he nudges your head up, forcing you to look at him through your lashes as you resume to suck him off.

“that’s it.” he exhales with a moan, back pinned against the countertop. “good girl, listening to everything i say.”

he licks his teeth as he stares down at you, your doe eyes going into his soul as you’re stuffed full with his cock. if only he had his phone nearby, he would take a picture of this.

it’s quiet, except for his groaning and the wet sounds. his mouth is agape, his dick disappearing in and out of those plump lips. deep down, he thinks he’s using you to get off, but little does he know, you wanted this as much as he did. it’s like he wants this image engraved into his mind forever.

without even realizing it, you start to bob your head faster again, gulping more of his cock in the process.

“mmph, fuck, wait.” he pants, voice getting higher when his dick twitches. “s-slow down. slow, slow—” he lets out a long groan, grabbing the back of your head to move it down to his pelvis. you gag for the last time, his cum shooting down your throat all at once. you relax your jaw, making his seed easier to swallow. “so fucking good. such a good girl.” he pants again.

when he pushes you off, you cough as you try to catch your breath from being able to breathe again. matt’s still looking at you, but this time with his original stone-cold demeanor. his eyes flick over to the stove clock. “it’s 2:45 now. you should probably start getting ready to grab evelyn soon.”

with that, he pulls up his undergarments, zips them, and walks away.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

matt’s seen walking towards the front door through the window of the white picket-fenced home when you park the car, and you take a shaky exhale. seeing him after what happened makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand, but you don’t know if it’s in a good or bad way.

because, well, you enjoyed what you two did. a lot.

after another short breath, you get out of the driver's seat to open the back door. avoiding matt forever is impossible, so you’ll just have to toughen up and deal with it.

evelyn’s kicking excitedly, the top straps unbuckled already when you reach to undo the bottom half of her car seat. just as she hops down onto the driveway, the front door opens as if on queue.

of course, she leaves her backpack and the little mermaid water bottle behind as she bolts to her father. “daddy! daddy!” you hear her squeal excitedly, closing and locking the car doors once you grab her school stuff.

matt scoops up evelyn with ease and kisses her on the head. he smiles down at his daughter, asking her a whole bunch of questions about the school day. he nods and pipes in here and there to keep the conversation flowing as his little girl rambles on. you notice how matt gets when he sees evelyn, and his demeanor completely changes. he’s happy and engaged, eyes showing the love he has for her. it’s so fucking adorable.

“what do you want for dinner, missy?” matt asks, adjusting her in his arms when she starts to slip.

you silently watch the interaction, not wanting to ruin their moment as evelyn brings her finger up to her chin to think. it takes her a few seconds, but she says something along the lines of ‘the dinner of champions.’

“dino nuggets and mac and cheese?” he questions with a quirked brow. “but you had that last night.”

evelyn puts her hands together and pouts, giving him the best puppy dog eyes she can muster. unfortunately for her father, that trick will always work on him.

he sighs, setting her down. “i suppose so…”

“can y/n stay for dinner?” evelyn tugs at matt’s pants as she pleads. “pretty please?”

you hesitate with your answer, because you don’t know what’s in store if you stay longer than usual. “oh, i don’t—”

“you should.” matt quirks a brow, turning to face you. “it will be fun, yeah?”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @mattgirl4lyfe @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @freshsturns @etershine @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws @hoes4matthew @sturnsmadl @starz4star

[tinydefector]

Hooray!!! Omg i’m so happy lol. I’m definitely going to be smiling for the rest of my day. I finally had time to think about it and how about a platonic familial scenario with mtmte magnus and the ambassador on break and casually chatting, fluff please. let me know if you need more details, and take your time <3

(i’ve been having data problems so hopefully this ask sends through 😅)

Out of the bag - human effects

I had so much fun writing this Buddee and I hope you like it!.

Word count 1.6k

Ultra Magnus x human reader

Fic Masterlist

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________________

The ambassador sat quietly working through files while on the desk, fingers pinching their temple as they re-read the text. A hot drink beside them as they worked. Ultra Magnus sat at the desk as he too worked. It would have been rather funny to look at, A large alien robot sitting at his desk working while his co-worker who was much smaller sat on the same desk on their own seat with a desk. They looked almost like they were a toy figure. 

They take a sip of their drink and roll their shoulders slightly. "Please tell me I don't have to fix another 15 files of Rodimus getting side tracked again and typing out random words like Chinchilla?" They mumble almost like a pray.

Ultra Magnus cycled a weary ex-vent, field rippling with long-suffering patience. "I'm afraid so, Ambassador. The captain seems...incapable of submitting forms in any semblance of proper order." He pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor, nearly the same pose as them. an unmistakably human mannerism picked up from long acquaintance. "At this rate, reconciling his haphazard paperwork will occupy the majority of your work cycle."

Magnus observed the ambassador's flagging energy levels with mild concern. "Perhaps you should take a brief respite. Overexerting yourself serves no purpose - I can handle the captain's responsibilities for the time being."

His tone, while stern, held an undercurrent of genuine care. Despite their differences, he cared deeply for the ambassador; their well-being remained in everyone's best interests. 

"The schedules can wait. I suspect you've had enough excitement for one orn already." A hint of dryly amused. "I'll be alright Magnus, Just got a headache and sore. Really wasn't planning on dealing with reports, but it beats having to do holovids with Prowl, I want to strangle that mech some times." They reply leaning back in their seat, bringing their drink up and holding it in their hands as they close their eyes for a moment.

Prowl's combative nature makes diplomatic discourse a...trial, to say the least." He cycled another heavy ex-vent. "Though I must say, your own entanglements have proven equally...taxing, of late." Magnus leveled them with a pointed look, with a hint of mild disapproval.

"I trust you understand the risks involved, consorting so closely with the crew. Propriety and protocol exist for good reason - to maintain order and prevent compromising our mission." 

Yet beneath the stern admonishment, a thread of genuine concern shone through. "I only caution you to tread carefully, little one. The games played aboard this ship can be...treacherous, for those caught unawares."

His gaze softened marginally. "I would not see you come to harm, simply for wishing to find companionship in these trying times. Despite what you and others may think i do care about you" 

Embarrassment slowly works its way into their system as they look down as if they were a child who just got caught stealing something. "How.. how did you" they start not knowing how to continue talking. "Come now, Ambassador - did you truly think your...activities would escape my notice?" Magnus replied, a hint of wryness in tone.

He shook his helm slightly. "I may be strict, but I'm not blind. The signs were...quite evident.” Leaning back in his chair, Magnus fixed the ambassador with a measured look. "I'll not lecture you on proper conduct - Primus knows life aboard this ship is complicated enough as it is." Attempting to soothe their clear discomfort. "However, I must urge caution. Entanglements with subordinates."

They continue to look down for a moment processing his words. "I know, I wasn't planning on getting involved with anyone, it just sort of happened. Told Ratchet that it was to stay on the down low, and Ratchet had the same concern about risk, he wanted to make sure if something did happen with other bots outside of him and Drift that i had someone to trust if something happened. I was just worried that if you, Rodimus or Megatron found out. My job was gone" they mumble, they were filled with so much anxiety and panic over the situation only for the mech they feared the most about it to just say he knew. 

Magnus cycled a heavy vent. "I see. That...explains certain observations, I must admit." He rubbed a servo over his faceplate. "Ratchet and Drift, of all mechs. I confess, I had not anticipated that particular entanglement."

Fixing the ambassador with a level stare, Magnus continued, "However, you needn't fear repercussions from myself or the others." A hint of wryness entered his tone. " We've all been there, at one point or another." 

They let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you Magnus, and I'm making sure to look after myself. Woah just wasn't expecting to be having this conversation with you is all. You have no idea how much fear I had about you finding out about my um.. 'activities'. You bots aren't exactly subtle about your 'human fucker' content  " they state before slowly having another mouthful of their drink.

He nodded in acknowledgement. "I understand your concern. confess, even I am not entirely immune to the temptations that arise. However, I endeavor to maintain strict protocols."  Magnus continued solemnly, "I cannot - and will not - control the personal affairs of my crew. That is a burden I do not wish to bear."

A hint of wryness entered his tone. "Though I must admit, the antics of Megatron and Rodimus have certainly tested my patience on more than one occasion. They are both very fond of you"

“I had a feeling they were. Magnus you being tempted, now that's new to me, I'm sorry they are causing you trouble” they chuckle, smiling up at him, enjoying the banter.  

"Ratchet and Drift both know I'm not interested in a relationship, it's mainly just stress relief, and i think Sunstreaker just has a bjt of a kink for someone who isn't going to scratch his paint" they confirm, making him aware of yet another bot involved. Magnus's optics widened fractionally at the mention of Sunstreaker - another unexpected development in this tangled web. "I see. So Sunstreaker as well, hmm?"

”It would appear you...ambassador has been quite diligent in cultivating a support network aboard this ship." Fixing the human with a measured look, Magnus continued, "And you are certain this...arrangement suits you? Entanglements with the crew, regardless of intent, can prove...complicated."

The nod. “Yes, I'm content and want to keep this on the down low, I don't need it getting back to my superiors on earth, nor do I need Prowl making issues of it.” They explain. In truth they were very happy with the arrangement, and felt less guilty now that they were talking with Ultra Magnus over the situation. 

"I merely wish to ensure you are not inadvertently placing yourself in jeopardy, little one." Magnus paused, considering his next words carefully. "However, if this provides you the stress relief you require, then I shall refrain from further commentary." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Though I must admit, I'm somewhat impressed by your...resilience, in the face of such formidable suitors."

It makes their face fluster as they look away from him quickly. “That's not funny and you know it” they huff under their breath only for him to let out a soft rumbled noise. Shaking his helm ruefully, the Autobot commander returned his attention to the ever-present datapads. "Very well. You have my discretion and, should you need, my counsel as well."

"They have all been good to me, very respectful and accommodating. They mainly have been dead quiet about involvement because of you actually." They hum. "Well technically you, Megatron and Rodimus. You three I do look up to alot, and your opinion means alot to me. I was just worried you would have me court martialled and shipped back to earth for fraternization "

Magnus's field rippled with a mix of surprise and begrudging respect. "I see." 

"While I cannot condone such...personal entanglements, I confess I am impressed by your discretion thus far. It speaks to a level of maturity and pragmatism I had not anticipated." Magnus met their gaze steadily. "You have proven yourself a valuable asset to this ship. I would not see that jeopardized, simply due to youthful indiscretions." 

With that now out of the way they sit there quietly before looking up at ultra Magnus from their spot sitting on the desk. "Could I have a hug, at the moment I can feel myself shaking from the fear and anxiety " they try to joke and make light of how afraid they were of him finding out. 

Magnus regarded the ambassador with a soft expression, field pulsing understanding. "Of course." He gently scooped them up, cradling their small frame against his chest in a rare display of tenderness. "There is no need to fear, Ambassador." His deep voice rumbled with reassurance as he lightly stroked their back.

They lean their head against his plating, relaxing against him.  "Thank you, you're a real one Magnus. No one will ever change that" Magnus rumbled softly, the vibration soothing against the ambassador's frame. "You are most welcome. I am merely doing what I believe is right."

He gently adjusted his hold, ensuring their comfort as they leaned into him. A rare, small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You have earned my trust, Ambassador. That is no small feat."

With that, Magnus simply held the ambassador, allowing them the chance to find solace in the steadiness of his frame. And in truth he rather enjoyed holding them close. 

_______________

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[allthingsfangirl101]

Not Hangman To Her – Jake "Hangman" Seresin

"We are about to embark on an emergency rescue mission," Maverick said. Instantly, all of the pilots straightened up as he continued. "The U.S.S. Reynolds set off three days ago. Their mission was supposed to be simple but it took a bad turn. After a dogfight, three out of their four pilots were killed."

"What about the fourth?" Rooster asked.

"She's MIA," Maverick sighed. "We are close to her last known coordinates. We've been asked to complete a search and rescue."

"Who's the pilot?" Phoenix asked.

"Her name is Lieutenant Y/F/N Y/L/N."

Hangman's heart jumped into his throat when Maverick put the pilot's picture on the screen. His mind raced as his eyes and thoughts were glued to the girl he met in training.

Y/N? There's no way she would be mixed up in all this. She's the best pilot. Whatever happened was not pilot error. Y/N didn't do anything to put her in this position. She's too. . . perfect to make a mistake that would cost her her life or the lives of her team.

"Hangman."

Hangman jumped when Rooster walked by, kicking his shoe. "You good?"

"I'm fine," Hangman said, clearing his throat.

"You sure?" Payback scoffed. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Do you know someone on the U.S.S. Reynolds?" Phoenix asked.

"No," he said a little too quickly. "Why would I know anyone on the U.S.S. Reynolds?"

Before his team could tell he was lying, he left the room. He went back to his bunk and slammed the door shut behind him. Hangman frantically searched through his stuff, and at the very bottom, finally found the picture of him and Y/N in training.

~ • ~

"Keep up, Seresin!" Y/N laughed as she ran ahead of me.

As fast as I pumped my legs, I could never outrun Y/N. Then again, I didn't try to. I couldn't help but like the feeling I got when she bragged about being the better pilot. I loved how happy she got as she excitedly jumped around after beating me. I liked that it made her so happy.

"I win again!" Y/N giggled as she jumped and spun around. "Say it. Say that I am faster than you, Seresin. Say it. Say it. Say it."

I pretended to be angry as she jogged around me and chanted for me to say it. I didn't mind saying it but she expected me to push back, so I did.

"If I say it, will you stop circling me?"

Y/N stopped right in front of me. She smiled cheekily at me as she bounced on her toes. "Did you have something to say to me, Seresin?"

"You are the faster runner, Y/L/N," I recited just for her. "You're better than me."

"And don't you forget it!" She giggled as she went back to jumping up and down. Suddenly, her ankle gave out. I instantly caught her and pulled her close to my chest.

"You okay?" I asked, my voice soft.

"I think so," she said slowly.

"Are you sure?" I asked, starting to panic. "Maybe I should take a look at it. Here, sit down and I will. . ."

"I'm fine, Jake," Y/N chuckled as she patted my shoulder.

She turned away from me and stretched her legs as I overthought the last 2 minutes. The thought of Y/N in pain made me want to do anything I could to make sure she wasn't in it anymore.

I'd do anything to make sure Y/N was happy, healthy, and safe.

~ • ~

Hangman snapped out of the memory, his hands shaking as he held the picture. The idea that Y/N was out there somewhere, lost and alone, filled him with more fear than he knew what to do with.

"She's okay," he mumbled to himself. "She's safe. We are going to find her. We are going to find her. I will find you, Y/N, I promise."

* * * * *

The next few hours went by in a blur for Hangman. The ship changed course toward Y/N's last known location. When they got there, Hangman and a few others took off in their planes and began searching the water for any sign of Y/N or her plane.

As he searched, all Hangman could do was think of the worst-case scenarios.

What if they're looking in the wrong area? What if they find her plan but not her? What if they find her but it's too late? What if they find her and get her back to the ship, but can't save her? What if he never finds her? What if he loses her? What if he loses her before he gets a chance to tell her how he feels?

"We got her!" Rooster yelled, pulling Hangman out of his spiral.

"Well, we got pieces of her plane," Payback sighed.

Hangman quickly turned around and flew to them. He started searching the sea for any sign of the girl he was crazy about. Finally, his eyes landed on something that instantly burned into his brain - Y/N unconscious on a piece of her plane.

"I got her," he said, his voice not nearly loud enough. He cleared his throat and tried again but louder this time. "She's over here!"

"Maverick, we got her! We need a search and rescue party now!"

"Stay there," Maverick instructed through their headsets. "We're sending one to your coordinates now."

Hangman didn't move his plane an inch. Instead, he stayed right where he was and kept a close eye on Y/N's unconscious body. He wanted nothing more than to dive into that water and swim to her. Instead, he hovered close enough to keep an eye on her as the ship sent a medical boat to their location. Hangman watched as the divers pulled her out of the water and safely onto the boat.

Once they had her, Hangman sped back to the ship. He landed and instantly jumped out of his plane and ran as fast as he could to the infirmary. When he got there, they were just bringing her in.

"Y/N?" Hangman panicked. His heart jumped into his throat when he caught a glimpse of her unconscious and pale body.

"Woah, stop," Maverick said as he grabbed Hangman before he could run into the exam room. "The doctors have her. They will do whatever they can to help her."

Hangman looked behind Maverick to see the exam doors close, separating him from the girl of his dreams.

"They will come get us as soon as they have any news about Lieutenant Y/L/N's status," he said with a knowing look in his eyes. Maverick wasn't sure how Hangman and Y/N were connected, but one look at the worry in his eyes and Maverick knew there was something.

"I just want to. . . I wish there was. . ." Hangman stuttered. "I just want to help her, Mav."

"All we can do now is relax and wait," Maverick said gently. Maverick studied him briefly before finally asking, "How well do you know Lieutenant Y/L/N?"

"Y/N and I were in training camp together," Hangman sighed as he sat in a nearby chair. "Some guys in our group were giving her a hard time. I defended her and after that, we got close. We ran together, trained together, studied together. We did everything together until we got our orders to ship out. We were sent to different ships and. . . I haven't talked to her since she shipped out. I tried to keep track of her but. . ."

Maverick waited for him to continue, but Hangman got distracted by his memories. Maverick sat next to him and gently patted his shoulder. "The good news is we found her," Maverick tried to comfort him. "The doctor told me that he thinks we got to her just in time."

"That's good," Hangman said numbly, "I guess."

The rest of their team slowly trickled in as they waited. Two hours later, the doctor finally came out.

"How is she?" Hangman panicked as he jumped up and met the doctor.

"She's okay," the doctor reassured. "She's dehydrated, a little sunburned, and has a slight concussion from the crash. Honestly, she should be way worse. She's extremely lucky."

"So, she's going to be okay?" Hangman double-checked.

"She's going to be fine," he nodded. "All she needs is a couple of good nights' sleep and some healthy meals. She should be back on her feet in a few days. I would, however, recommend that she not return to her ship just yet."

"Why not?" Bob asked.

"Well," the doctor sighed, "if we send her back to her ship, they will most likely put her back in a plane. She may be physically alright, but we have no idea how she is mentally. And that's something we can't check or test until she wakes up."

"Thank you," Maverick said, shaking the doctor's hand before he went back to Y/N.

"Wait," Hangman said, jogging to catch up to the doctor. "Is there. . . I was just wondering. . . I know her and. . . I was hoping. . ."

"She's not awake," the doctor said gently, "but you can sit by her bed until she does."

Hangman took that invitation and instantly went into Y/N's room. When he saw her asleep in the bed, his heart broke. He numbly walked over and collapsed into the chair next to the bed. He scanned her, searching for any injuries. She had a pretty big gash on her forehead, pieces of glass were taken out of her face, and she had bruises across her chest from her harness.

With shaking hands, Hangman reached over and gently grabbed Y/N's hand. "I'm right here, Y/N," he whispered. "And I'm not going anywhere until you wake up."

* * * * *

Y/N was unconscious for the next 14 hours. Hangman stayed by her side the entire time. His crew tried to get him to leave, but he refused. He barely ate and didn't sleep as he waited for her to wake up. He was starting to fall asleep when he felt her hand tighten around his.

"Y/N?" He whispered.

"Jake?" Hangman instantly leaned forward when he heard her beautiful voice whisper his name. "What are we. . . I thought you were. . . Where am I?"

"It's okay," he instantly soothed. "What matters is that you're safe. What do you remember?"

"I don't know," she said, shakily. "It was supposed to be a simple mission. But. . . I was shot down."

Hangman tightened his grip on her hand and scooted closer to her. He watched, his heart breaking as she remembered what happened. When the tears started streaming down her face, he gently caught one with his thumb. He kept his hand on her face as he tried to comfort her.

"Y/N," he said gently, "everything's okay. You're safe, okay? We found you and we are going to take care of you."

"Jake?" Her voice broke. He moved his hand from her face and scooted closer to her.

"Yeah?"

"Were you the one that found me?"

"Well," he cleared his throat, "I just. . . My whole team was there."

"But you found me," she said, already knowing the answer. "Right?"

Hangman laughed awkwardly as he reached up and scratched the back of his neck.

"I knew it," she chuckled weakly. Hangman felt his face burn as she smiled at him.

"How'd you know?" He chuckled.

"I like to think I know you pretty well, Seresin."

Hangman smiled when he remembered why she never liked calling him Hangman. She actually hated his callsign. She always said it didn't fit him. And when it came to her, she was right. He'd never hang her out to dry.

"Because," she continued, "You always find me when I'm in trouble."

"I would've searched the entire ocean for you," Hangman mumbled. Y/N's face softened when she saw the seriousness in his eyes.

"Jack," she whispered as she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her. He didn't fight her as she pulled him down so he was lying next to her.

"I'm really glad you found me," she whispered, cuddling into his chest.

"Me too," he mumbled as he looked down and saw the exhaustion in her eyes. "I promise I won't let you out of my sight this time."

She let out a small giggle causing him to tighten his arms around her.

"I've really missed you, Seresin."

He looked at her and watched her eyes flutter closed. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"I've really missed you too, Y/L/N."

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for @silverslutsposts

Request: Sooo I'm thinking possessive demon.. submissive fem reader.... but the demon is confused why he feels these unknown emotions for reader (love obvi 🤪) the smuttier the better imo Maybe he tries to do some hate fucking with reader to rid himself of the odd fluffy feelings? But it doesn't work 🤭🫠 I'd like to think reader is a plump, thicccc thing with a love for Monster romances

A/N: Hi there! This turned out to be a lot more love-love than hate-love for some reason, hope you like it, tho!

Bring it

Demon x chubby fem!reader || dom/sub, dirty talk, praise kink, tail play, impact play (light)

You starting hanging out with demons was almost a surprise.

You worked at the monster bar as a bartender, so it made sense you started to know some of the clientele that was there every other day. Some of them were really friendly, and some of them were jackasses. Especially the demons.

The demons were usually stupid as fuck to everyone… everyone but you. You didn’t know why, but the demons treated you so nicely you became their waitress even thought it wasn’t your job. But none of the other’s would take their orders because they were mean, and after watching the third person crying because of it, you had enough. You marched to their table and called them out, which made them laugh, but somehow, you became their favorite human.

Later, you would discover it was because of the leader, the big red demon that always stared at you across the bar as you talked with everyone. His eyes never left you as you moved around, and it felt nice… You felt seen and desired in a way that should have been creepy, but it wasn’t. So little by little you became friends with them, and developed some kind of tension with the big red leader that had you pressing your thighs together more than once. He was hot as hell (pun intended) and you were a bit thirsty for demon cock. But who could blame you? But apparently he didn’t feel the same. (Or so you thought.)

The bar is closing and you are cleaning the tables absently as he talks about something. Everyone already left, but he insisted on hanging around to accompany you home, which you find as charming as his smile full of pointy teeth.

You turn around to look at him, nodding along and laughing at him when you see his scrunched up nose and the look of disgust when you pick up a half eaten sandwich. He stares at your mouth, and then he quiets down and glares, not saying anything.

You stop laughing, worried you offended him in some way. “What?” You ask, confused by the sudden tension in the air.

“Why do I feel like this?” He asks you, rubbing his chest as if it’s your fault he has some kind of ache.

You are even more confused after his response. “Like what?”

“Like my insides are going to be ripped apart if I don’t get closer to you soon,” he explains, making your heart skip a beat. You know he realizes it skips a beat, because his eyes fixate on your chest when he keeps talking: “Like every breath I take is thanks to you. Like every twitch of my body is a response of you being alive,” his words make your heart beat skyrocket. There’s no way he means what you think he means. But then he breaks the bubble of blooming happiness. “It’s infuriating, I need to get it out of my system. Now.”

“Wha- what does that mean?” You question as he approaches you fast, like you are his prey about to be devoured. You can feel your pussy tingling with that idea.

You walk backwards as he takes step after step getting closer to you. When the back of your thighs hits the edge of a table, you know you can’t run anymore. His eyes are burning with something unknown and you can feel your juices soaking through your panties.

You round the table, getting away from him just in time. “Come here,” he orders, an edge of danger in his voice. You shake your head, playing with him. “Come here little morsel, you wouldn’t like what would happen if I have to go to you.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” you tell him trusting totally on your words. He would never.

And you are enjoying way too much driving him a little bit insane, giving him one taste of the way you’ve felt since you started to know him, since you realized he might be a demon but he was the best monster you’ve ever known. You aren’t ready to use the L word, but maybe… maybe you already felt it.

He sighs, and agrees. “I wouldn’t. But pain is not the only way to make you submit to me,” he teases. You whine low in your throat, making him stop in his tracks as he stares at you like you just grew a second head.

“Bring it.” You smirk at him, your brain going a thousand miles per minute was your brain pictures all the monster romance stories you’ve read over the years. You are so ready to be devoured by a demon… so, so ready.

Suddenly, he’s moving faster than your eyes can process. He grabs you by the hair, your neck pulled back almost uncomfortably as he launches to suck a mark on your neck. You squirm against him, your hands grabbing his hair with equal force as you whimper. He’s biting and licking the soft spot under your ear that makes you see stars and your knees start to feel like jelly. Fuck. He drives you crazy.

“Are you going to be good for me, honey?” He whispers against your ear, his tail wrapping around your middle and making you shiver. His hands are everywhere, your body is pliant under his traveling fingers as you whine at him, unable to form words to answer. “Of course you are, you are so good to me,” he purrs and you blush. You don’t know why, but hearing his praises is doing it for you big time.

He grabs your ass with both hands and sits you over a table, squeezing your soft hips as he does so. He’s groping you everywhere he can and it’s driving you slowly insane. You’ve never felt arousal like that, it’s like burning inside of you and you know he’s the only one who can put out that fire.

“I need you, please,” you beg.

“You beg so beautifully, such a good human for me.” His words are making your head fuzzy, the desire so high you can only think about his dick inside of you. ASAP.

He rips your clothes off your body, leaving you naked in the middle of the bar. That shouldn’t make you as hot as it does, but you are desperate for him. His hands are frantically touching every centimeter exposed until you are screaming his name and begging for him to keep going, to touch you where you want him most, but he does nothing like that.

He opens your legs wide and stares at your pussy. You try to close your legs, embarrassed, but he only chuckles, his tail coming around him and landing a slap against your open center. You scream his name again, this time full of fire and pent up sexual frustration. He laughs and does it again. And again. And again. You’ve never been so turned on.

“Are you going to take my tail like a good human fleshlight?” You whine. “Is that a yes, my little morsel?” He teases and you groan, unable to form words. “I will let you act like this just once because it’s our first time. But next time I’ll make you say it out loud, are we clear?” You nod vehemently, making grabby hands at him and making him laugh.

You feel the tip of his pointy tail at the same time you feel a gush of juices coming out of you. You are almost embarrassed of the sounds your pussy makes when he starts to enter you slowly. You are so wet you can feel it traveling down your ass, forming a pool under you as he fucks you shallowly. His tail is entering you enough to touch your G-spot but not enough to stimulate it. You don’t know who you are anymore, you can only focus on that pointy appendage playing with your aching core.

“Please, please, please…” You chant as he chuckles, his face buried in your neck as he kisses your throat softly.

“What do you need? Do you want my cock?” You nod, grabbing his hair and pulling him back so he’s looking at your eyes. His pupils are blown wide and he’s mirroring your desperation. “Okay, I’ve tortured you enough… for now.”

The last words send a shiver running down your spine and you moan his name softly, making him smile at you openly, his fangs on full display. He’s so fucking handsome you can’t control yourself from moving your hips and fucking you against his tail still in you. He pulls back his tail and you cry out, begging over and over for more, and he gives it to you.

You feel the tip of his cock against your entrance, your pussy quivering at the first intrusion. He’s so big and wide you can barely fit him inside, but when he passes the first tight muscle you both groan in unison. You wrap your legs around his middle and press your heels on his ass, urging him to go deeper, faster, harder. And he complies, his whole body surrendering to the pleasure as he tells you how tight you are, how warm and wet and perfect.

It’s exhilarating to have a demon so desperate for you that he can’t stop telling you how good you are, and it’s driving you completely insane. And when your orgasm hits and you start convulsing against him, he growls and fucks you harder. The frantic pace drives you higher and higher, a train of orgasms hitting your body until you are exhausted and can’t hold your legs or arms around him anymore. But he keeps going, fucking you like a flashlight.

By the time he comes inside of you and his hot seed fills your insides, you are nothing more but a limp body against him, his hands around you as he thrusts a couple more times and a big smile on your lips. You’ve never felt so satisfied in your life, and you have enough energy to tell him that. He chuckles.

And then you pass out.