#he’d just expect you to know when foods ready

[reidphobic]

crashing into him tonight (he’s a paradox) - s. r.

in which your lessons continue, and you want to be more than spencer’s teacher. 4004 words. part two to the neighbor!au.

inexperienced!sub!spencer x dom!fem reader, jealousy, mommy kink, mutual masturbation, fingering, praise, very very mild degradation, brief cumplay? i guess? no use of y/n, reader is still super condescending but it’s still hot

It starts to become a routine for Spencer to knock on your door late at night, wearing a nervous smile and offering a quiet plea for another lesson. It’s not every night he’s home, but it’s enough that you start to notice his absence after a couple of days. You try not to read too far into it, remind yourself that the two of you just have fun, that Spencer is just your little plaything, and it doesn’t matter if he’s away somewhere using tricks you taught him on other women. And, besides, you’re hardly celibate yourself.

But after three nights of silence, you hear something so unfamiliar you almost don’t recognise it at first. A second voice in Spencer’s apartment — in his bedroom. You can’t quite make out any words, but you can tell exactly what’s happening, low murmurs giving way to soft moans, the shape of his name reaching your ear in a high, pitchy, voice. You scowl, huff. You know Spencer knows the walls are paper-thin. Has he even noticed that you haven’t brought anyone home when he’s there since you started sleeping together?

You lie awake, listening, until you can’t take the hurt any longer. You storm out of your apartment, drown the ugly feeling in the pit of your stomach in cheap, sour liquor. It’s not long before you’re leaving the bar again, head spinning, and back in your apartment with a willing body between your thighs. The guy — whose name you’ve already forgotten — is perfectly eager, all the right words, praises, moans as he touches you. His kiss is perfect on paper, just enough tongue and teeth and wandering hands, and you moan and stretch and purr when he fucks into you.

But it’s still all wrong. There’s too much of him; square shoulders and broad chest where you crave a slim, slight body. He praises where you want pleas, calls you baby instead of Mommy. The prospect of waking up to him in your bed makes your skin crawl, and you bundle the guy out of the door practically before he’s finished cumming. Sobered up and unpleasantly sticky, you stumble into the shower and try to scrub off the night’s sins. It doesn’t feel like it works.

Trying not to think about Spencer doesn’t work either. It doesn’t work as you toss and turn in bed, or when you’re getting ready for work, not even while your shift drags on and on and your mind is filled with a billion other things. You can half-feel the ghost of his presence, his favourite of your mugs undrank-from on the counter, one of his ties slung across a dining chair, a book he’d thought you might like resting on your coffee table.

It’s worse that he’s gone for so long — he’s been away on a case for ten days, and your lasting memory is the noise of him fucking someone else. The sound is still rattling dimly around your head as you stare aimlessly at the TV, your whole body sore after a long, late shift, when there’s a knock at your door. Unthinking, you open it, expecting your food delivery guy and instead coming face to face with Spencer.

You’re half-convinced you’ve fallen asleep, that he’s a cruel trick of your subconscious, and it must show on your face because Spencer’s face screws up in concern as he speaks. “Hi,” he murmurs. He’s disheveled in a way you’ve never seen him, bleary-eyed and shirt untucked, like he’s been sleeping in his clothes. “I, uh. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I came straight here, which sounds kind of stupid, ‘cause I live here, too, but, uh… I haven’t been inside my apartment yet.” You keep your face cool, impassive. “What… I guess what I’m trying to say is that I missed you.” Never mind that he fucked someone else the night before he left.

“Is that all?” you say, folding your arms across your chest. His face crumples, and you feel guilty all over again.

“Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?” he asks, innocent and forlorn, and, God, you just want to sink your teeth into him right then and there.

But if you bite too hard, he’ll bleed. “I don’t know, Spencer. Did you? Or did you have fun?” you snap. “Did you use what I taught you?” The words taste bitter as they spill free, but you can’t swallow them back down. Spencer’s mouth opens and closes, but he stays silent. “Or, what, she wasn’t happy with you? You after one last practice run before you give the real thing another shot?”

“I… What?” He pauses. “This is because I… slept with someone else?”

You roll your eyes. “Wow. That 187 IQ really works wonders for you, huh?” You move to shut the door in his face, but he blocks you deftly, steps past you into your apartment so quickly you barely realise what happened. Right. FBI agent.

Spencer crosses the room, sits down at your dining table, motions for you to do the same. Your feet carry you into the chair without your permission. “So, you’re angry with me for sleeping with another girl, despite never communicating or agreeing on any kind of exclusivity. After… this.” He gestures vaguely to the space between you. “All started because I don’t know what I’m doing and you wanted to teach me?”

You sigh, turn his words over in your head. When he puts it that way, you sound ridiculous. And his saying I don’t know what I’m doing isn’t lost on you either. “I don’t think I knew, honey. I thought, this is just fun, just friends helping friends. And then I heard you, and I got so… possessive, I guess. And I couldn’t talk to you, because you were gone, so I just got more and more bitter.”

Reaching a hand across the table, Spencer gives you a tentative glance before taking hold of yours, running his thumb soothingly across your knuckles. “So, that night, the guy you were with, that was…”

“Fucking awful,” you joke, but he just looks concerned, doesn’t pick up on it. “No, it was… retaliation. God, that’s so embarrassing. The sex was fine, but he wasn’t you, honey.” At that, he finally smiles, and you feel it warm you from the inside out.

“And that’s what you want?” He licks his lips, touches his hair. His particular brand of skittish nervousness looks so good on him that it’s almost unfair. “Me?”

The disbelieving look on his face, frankly, is criminal. “Spencer, sweetheart, I can’t think of anything I’ve ever wanted more.” Your chairs scrape against the floor as you scramble up, grab at him everywhere you can reach, crash your lips into his. It’s sweet, soft, and you fight to hold your hunger at bay, trace his lips with gentle affection.

You work your way through the room, bumping into every possible piece of furniture and giggling into Spencer’s open mouth until you land on the couch in his lap. “This is familiar,” he says, smirking a little. Grabbing his jaw, you scowl playfully, leaning in to peck him on the lips.

Experimentally, you roll your hips down, find him deliciously eager under you. “It’s so cute how hard you get just from making out, sweetheart. So needy, baby.” You lean down, kiss his neck, suck a bruise into his soft skin. “What’d you think about?”

“Huh?” he murmurs, eyes glossy and lips swollen, wearing a pretty, dazed face. He’s oh-so gorgeous when you’ve kissed all the thoughts out of his head, operating on pure impulse, uninhibited.

Your fingers creep up to loosen his tie. “You said I couldn’t stop thinking about you. What were you thinking about?” You pull his tie off, untuck his shirt, start working on his buttons. “Was it dirty? Details, honey, c’mon.”

Spencer smiles up at you, angelic. “Not all of it,” he says, tracing delicate little patterns across the small of your back. “Thought about kissing you. A lot. About you laying in my lap, and we’re supposed to be watching a movie, but I’m just looking at you.” Your chest clenches. “How you listen when I talk… I don’t— People think I can’t tell, if they just nod in the right places, but I know.”

“Spencer, honey,” you say softly, kissing and nipping gently at his chest as you unbutton his shirt, exposing inches of silken skin with each movement. “God, you’re perfect.” You sigh, resting your head in the crook of his neck. Spencer brings his hand up to pet your hair, blunt nails scratching soothingly over your scalp.

“But… I, uh. That’s not all I thought about.” He’s nervous, now, the embarrassment that always comes when he wants to voice his desires; you’ve been trying to train it out of him, but it’s achingly slow going.

You smile encouragingly, kissing at his chest and gazing up at him with your best fuck-me eyes. “S’alright, baby. Tell Mommy, okay?”

“Thought about you on top of me. Your pretty… How pretty you look up there.”

You grin wickedly. “My tits, is that what you mean to say? You love your Mommy’s tits, don’t you, honey?” Spencer nods, head falling forward to bury his face in your chest. You let him hide for a moment, collect himself, before you nudge him to speak again.

Spencer’s eyes are glossy, his mouth red and bruised. He looks so sweet, your pretty, pliant little toy, perfectly ready for you to sink your claws into. “Mhmm. Love your tits, Mommy. Thought about you touching me, n’when you’re all mean and you don’t touch me.” He pouts, just a little, and you can’t resist shifting your hips and dragging a thumb across his swollen bottom lip.

“You like it when I’m mean, sweetheart?” He nods, dazed. “You want me to be a little meaner?” Spencer freezes under you, suddenly seeming tense and afraid. Damn. And you’d just gotten him to relax. You stroke his face with the back of your hand to soothe him. “You can say no, honey, it’s okay, I won’t be mad. Just wanna find out what makes you feel good, alright, pretty?”

“No, I… I want it. But just a little. Please.”

“Yeah, honey, that’s alright. But you gotta tell me if it’s ever too much, okay?” Spencer nods, and you raise an eyebrow. “Words, baby.”

It seems to take him a minute to find the words, spit-slick lips parted as he stares at you with lust-blown eyes. “Yes, Mommy. I will. I’ll tell you.”

You grind your hips down in reward, let Spencer roll his up to meet you. Pressing your lips to his, you swallow his whimper. “Good boy,” you murmur, and he beams. “Love it when you get all dumb like this. S’good for you, honey, not to be the clever one all the time.” You pull off his shirt, slide off his lap to admire him from a distance. Before he can whine at the loss, you cut him off. “Did you touch yourself?” Spencer tilts his head. “Sweetheart, did you masturbate thinking about me?”

Spencer’s mouth drops in a soft ‘o’ of understanding, cheeks flushing ruby-woo red. “Yes,” he admits, avoiding your gaze until you force his eyes back to you.

“God, you really are just clueless, huh? C’mon, show Mommy, baby. Show me how you touch yourself.” Spencer blinks dumbly. God, he must be worse off than you thought. “Spencer, honey, I know you jerk off. I heard you every damn night. S’what made me decide I had to get you all to myself.”

At that, the corner of his lip quirks. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was smirking at you. “Is that why you had a box of lingerie delivered to my apartment?” It’s your turn to be speechless. “Profiler,” he adds with a shrug.

“Alright, smartass. It worked, didn’t it?” you scoff. “And stop distracting me.” You set to work on what’s left of his clothes, unbuttoning his pants and palming his cock through his boxers. “Do you take off all your clothes first? Or do you keep ‘em on, make a mess of yourself?”

“No, I… I take them off,” he says. You raise an eyebrow as if to say go on. “Oh, y- you want me to..? Oh, o-okay.” With shaking hands, he slips out of his pants, then his boxers, stained with precum; the evidence of his desire has you practically drooling. His pretty dick springs free, thuds sickly against his stomach with a wet smack.

You can’t help the pulse of arousal that throbs through you at the sight of him. “Good boys don’t keep Mommy waiting, Spencer,” you chide, careful to avoid touching him. It’s clear how acutely he feels the lack of a pet name, the implication of your words, and he babbles out an apology.

Eagerly, you watch Spencer curl his hand around his cock, but he doesn’t move. “I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s hard— Don’t,” he interrupts himself when you smirk. “It’s difficult… with you watching me like this.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” you croon. “You like to think about my tits, right?” You pull off your shirt, flick it across the room. As if magnetised, Spencer’s eyes fall to your chest as you grab your tits, roll a nipple between two fingers. “There you go, honey. S’just you and your fantasy, okay? Now show me what you do when you think of me, okay?”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, takes a steadying breath. He’s endlessly fascinating; he’ll stare down killers without so much as flinching, but a willing girl with her boobs out is just too much for him. Slowly, he starts to pump his cock, spreading precum down his length. You watch him speed up until he’s jacking himself furiously, hand flying along his dick so hard and fast he must be giving himself friction burn. He bites down on his lower lip, whimpers through his teeth, the sound familiar and erotic. “Mommy,” he whines, high and breathy, hips jerking up into his hand. You can’t watch this much longer.

Placing a palm on his thigh to still him, you slowly cover his hand with your free one. “Honey, is that how you get yourself off?” Brow scrunched in confusion, he nods. God, the poor boy is hopeless. “And that feels good?”

“It makes me orgasm quickly,” Spencer answers, as if that’s remotely the same thing. “I- I have trouble sleeping, and an orgasm releases endorphins that relax both the mind and the body. It helps,” he says placidly.

You nod slowly. “And when you make yourself come like that, does that feel the same as when I make you come?” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t, right? It feels better when I do it?”

“So much,” he breathes. “You’re so much better.”

You smile indulgently down at him. “Oh, honey. That’s because you’re doing it all wrong,” you say, syrupy and condescending. “When you get off, it makes you feel better, right? Yeah. And you’re so focused on that, you forget to make yourself feel good. That genius mind of yours’d be blown finding out how long I could spend getting myself off.” You pat his cheek. “Maybe I’ll show you someday.

A punched-out whimper slips from his lips, the sound falling straight between your legs. “What am I doing wrong?” Spencer asks, low and feeble.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Mommy’s gonna show you, okay?” He nods eagerly. Sure, you’ve jerked him off before, but this feels different. You’re not just giving him pleasure, you’re showing him how to take it for himself. “Show me again, but slow, okay?” Obediently, Spencer curls his hand again, pumps his cock. “See, honey, feel that drag? Hurts, right? And not in the good way,” you add with a grin, and Spencer gulps. A slightly wicked idea crosses your mind. “We’re gonna go to bed now, okay?”

Like a lost little puppy, Spencer trails after you, joins you on the bed. You let him kiss you again, until his whines get too needy and his hips start to twitch. “Will you open that top drawer for me, sweetheart? Got something in there that’ll help you, okay?” Obediently, he rolls over, tugs the drawer open. You study his face carefully, watch his jaw go slack as he realises what you’re showing him. Your collection of sex toys stares up at him, and he gapes like a fucking fish. An adorable fish, but a fish all the same.

“What do you… you want me to..?” he says, still staring like he couldn’t possibly compute what you’re asking of him.

You laugh, only a little meanly. “Don’t worry, honey,” you say, padding around the bed to help him out. “You’re not ready for that stuff. Not yet, anyway. You’re such a good boy for Mommy, Spencer, such a quick learner. Pretty soon I’ll have you begging for ‘em. But not tonight, alright?” You lean down to pluck a small plastic bottle from the drawer. “This is all we need tonight. Do you know what that is, baby?”

Squinting his eyes, Spencer inspects the bottle. “Lubricant?” he says, mouth forming the word into a question.

“Such a clever boy,” you croon, settling yourself between his legs and taking his hand. You turn it palm up and squint a generous amount of lube into Spencer’s hand. “Spread that on your pretty dick for me, okay, baby?” The slick sound of it fills your ears, pulses in your cunt, and you can see on his face how much better he feels even from a scant touch. Eyes fluttering shut, he groans, but waits obediently for another instruction. “That’s it. That’s Mommy’s good boy, huh? Alright, honey. Now stroke yourself for me. You wanna start nice and slow, okay?”

You’re transfixed as he begins to touch himself, cock wet and glistening as it disappears into his fist. Lube drips out across his fingers, slick noises filling your room. “Feels so good, Mommy,” he whimpers, free hand fisting in your sheets.

“Oh, honey, I know,” you murmur, sitting up and sliding your hand into your panties. You moan as you brush your clit, collect your wetness on your fingertips. “Okay, I want you to just draw some little circles across the head, yeah? Like you do on my clit. Just try it out, see what feels good.” The sight is fucking mesmerising, and from the sounds spilling from his lips and the flush in his cheeks, it’s a miracle he hasn’t cum all over himself yet. “Alright, baby. Doing so good. You can make yourself cum now, alright? Just keep doin’ what feels good.”

Your lips part around a moan as you watch him. He speeds up, slows a little, experimenting with pace and pressure. You’re strangely proud even as you rub frantic little circles into your clit, slowly start to fuck yourself on your fingers. Desire pools at the base of your spine, and you moan his name as you speed up, cunt pulsing around your fingers. It seems like that’s what does Spencer in, a pathetic whimper of Mommy, yes spilling from his lips as ropes of cum splash up against his chest. His body convulses, gasping and moaning incoherently as his orgasm takes over.

Still panting as you finger yourself, you smile blithely over at him. “Still with me, pretty? How was that?”

Gasping, Spencer blinks helplessly at you for a moment. “Thank you.” Suddenly dismayed, he looks down at himself. “Gross,” he mutters.

Your grin widens. “All messy, aren’t you? You want Mommy to get you cleaned up?” He nods, expecting you to get up and fetch a washcloth. Instead, you press him down until he’s lying supine, lean over him so your boobs hang in his face. Like he can’t resist, Spencer licks a stripe along your chest. You giggle softly, press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, start to work your way down. Carefully, you lap up the mess dripping across his chest, and he moans brokenly. Your eyes flutter closed as his taste hits your tongue, a needy ache burning between your thighs the longer you lick him clean.

He chokes on a breath when you wrap your lips around his head, clean up the last drops of cum beaded on his tip. “I can’t-” he clears his throat. “I can’t… go again… yet,” he says, cheeks pinking up adorably.

You pull off, lick your lips exaggeratedly. “S’okay, honey. I don’t need you to. Yet,” you add with a wink. “Just wanted to get you cleaned up.” Still desperately horny, you crawl up his body, kiss him furiously. “Spencer,” you moan against his lips. “I want you to make me cum. Do you wanna make Mommy cum, baby?”

“Mhmm. Yeah, I want to. What do you…? Can I, uh… Eat you out?” he asks timidly, the final few words unfamiliar on his tongue and belying his desperation.

God above, where did you find this boy? “Another time, honey. Later tonight, if you’re lucky. But I’m planning on keeping your mouth nice and busy for now, okay?” You grab his hand, slide it around to the front of your panties, grind your clit against the heel of his palm through the lace. “Want you to fuck me with your fingers, okay, sweetheart?”

Nodding frantically, Spencer tugs your panties down just enough that he can fit his hand against your cunt. You cup his jaw, kiss him hard as he slips a finger inside you. “You’re so warm,” he breathes, rubbing delicate circles into your clit as your cunt pulses around him.

“That’s it, pretty. Such a good boy. Just like Mommy taught you, alright?” you moan, arching your back as hot pleasure twists under your skin. Spencer slides another finger in, curls then expertly, as if he’s been practicing. Then, a blinding spark of pure ecstasy flashes through you. “Oh, my fucking God! There, baby, right there. Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you babble, your kiss more spit and moans than tongue and lips. Spencer doesn’t let up, hits your g-spot over and over, still rubbing soft circles into your clit. You were already close before he started, and his glorious, frankly brutal assault on the most sensitive places in your body leaves you powerless.

You surrender to it willingly, pure pleasure wiping your mind clean. It’s so forceful you almost black out, gasping into Spencer’s mouth and writhing against him. Ecstasy floods every inch of you, pulse roaring in your ears and hammering in your chest. Spencer’s fingers are still deep inside you when you come to, and he’s staring down at the point they disappear into your cunt. “Sorry,” he murmurs, gently pulling them out. “I just really like being… inside you.”

God, you can’t wait to teach him about cockwarming. “So sweet,” you coo. He lifts his hand, sucks your arousal off his fingers, and you groan. “I think we need to have a little talk, honey,” you murmur, brushing sweat-soaked hair out of his face. He nods.

“I didn’t enjoy it,” he says quickly. “The other night. I mean, it was… It wasn’t… I don’t know. All I could think about was that she wasn’t you. I was, uh… Sort of afraid?” he says with a humorless laugh.

You make a soft, concerned noise. “What do you mean, honey?” Your fists clench at your sides, head pounding furiously all of a sudden.

“Just that… I feel so safe with you. And it wasn’t that she made me feel bad, or unsafe, or anything. But I was so worried about doing something wrong, and I never felt that with you, and all I wanted was you instead.” Spencer curls his body into yours as you hook a leg over his waist.

Brushing your thumb over his cheek softly, you gaze into his sweet, long-lashed eyes. “You have me, sweetheart. I promise.”

[sil-te-plait-tue-moi]

i know my food service job has fried my brain because i was calling out food for four fucking Christmas parties and all i was thinking was holy shit imagine scary 2002 rust cohle as a fucking chef, i would cry

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Doting

Tags: jjk men as dads, tooth-rotting fluff, comfort drabbles

Synopsis: How the JJK men treat you while pregnant (spoiler warning- they dote on you.)

An: This is my formal apology for writing Nanami angst on the “Baby’s first words” post 😔 it will never happen again (can we stop with the death threats now?)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

Oh, your loving husband is all over you while you’re pregnant. He genuinely has such a cute fascination with all the changes your body is going through. He seriously thinks you’re so strong for carrying his heir.

He loves rubbing your bump. In fact, he will always be touching it in some form or fashion while you two are together. When he’s away on missions, he has you send him pictures and updates on your pregnancy as if anything major has changed in a couple of days.

You best believe he is ready to indulge you on your every craving, no matter how strange. It’s three a.m and you’re crying because you need that specific brand of chicken wings and a can of whip cream? He’s heading to the store immediately to fetch whatever you tell him to.

He genuinely worries about being a good dad. Many nights he lays his head on your bump and talks to you about how teaching didn’t come naturally to him. He wasn’t born knowing how to meet people where they’re at. He use to expect people to be able to meet him on his level. He worries that he may inadvertently put a lot of pressure on his kid, and that’s the last thing he wants due to how he was raised. He just wants his kid to be a kid.

He’s the best, most loving and compassionate dad to your baby, more than you could ever hope for. Even if teaching didn’t come to him naturally, being a father did.

SUGURU

He’s such a “sit down and let me do it for you” while you’re pregnant. He cooks, cleans, works, and tends to you completely throughout your pregnancy.

Suguru gets hyper fixated on your health during pregnancy. He only feeds you the yummiest and healthiest foods while you’re pregnant. He encourages for you to sit on the yoga ball and do (very) light exercises. He just wants the best for you and his baby.

Whenever I said he tends to you, I genuinely mean he tends to you. He’ll gently brush your hair at night time, rub your back when your belly is becoming heavy to carry around, serve your breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed, carries around emesis bags and breath mints for if you get morning sickness while you two are out.

This man is the king of enforcing your boundaries to people when they don’t listen. That really annoying family member that insists on being there for the birth even though you’ve already explained to them that you want this to be an experience for just you and Geto? Yeah, he’s made it very clear to them that they will not be at the birth if they want to be in your kid’s life.

He is absolutely not afraid to hurt feelings if it means his wife and future child are safe and cared for. He really don’t give a fuck who anyone else is. You and his child are first priority.

TOJI

Toji is definitely the type to express his love and devotion for you in other ways than the most conventional methods.

He is so incredibly gentle while you’re pregnant. He doesn’t rile you up as much or play fight with you anymore. He constantly reminds himself that you’re carrying another life inside you and that you have enough on your plate.

This man… whew does he love seeing you pregnant. Toji’s the type of man to feel so feral when he looks at you heavily pregnant with his kid.

He adores your body. He’ll rub lotion all over you and oils to help your skin accommodate to the stretch of carrying a kid. He massages your body and absolutely worships it while he’s rubbing the lotion and oil on you.

Your breasts are sore? He’ll gently massage them until they feel better. Your back hurts? He’d be the type to lift your bump up and take the weight off you for as long as you ask him to so you can feel relaxed for a few minutes.

And look this is probably TMI but like, if you got a clogged milk duct due to breastfeeding, Toji would unfortunately be the type of man to fix that issue with his mouth. i’m sorry but he would.

Final thing is, you better believe that he doesn’t allow anyone to get too close to you. He is so unbelievably protective over you while you’re pregnant. If he could, he’d lock you up at home to prevent anyone from getting close to you.

SUKUNA

On the outside, he acts very nonchalant and unbothered by your pregnancy. On the inside, he is constantly plagued by the thought that your body may not be able to carry his heir. The thought of losing you or his child haunts him.

He will secretly observe and take notes on your body and how it is changing. If he catches you expressing any sort of short windedness, he will immediately send you off to bed rest. Though, you’re usually able to convince him to take you off of it by the next day.

The only servant he trusts to tend to you is Uraume. No one else in his court is allowed to be anywhere near you unless he gives specific instructions. Still, he hates leaving you in the care of Uraume. He trusts them, but he wants to be the one to take care of you.

He loves holding your body close to him at night. All four arms are wrapped around you and holding you closely. Since he doesn’t need much sleep, he will stay awake rubbing on your tummy all night long. One time, he felt the baby moving in your stomach while you were asleep. He was so intrigued that he woke you up and told you to “make them do it again”.

Now, he will randomly approach you at any given time while you’re heavily pregnant and hold his hand out so he can feel his baby moving around inside of you. It soothes his worry.

During birth, Sukuna was a complete mess. The amount of blood lost during birth fucking terrified him. He was panicking and yelling at anyone to do something to save you, even while everyone was assuring him that you’re okay and this was natural.

After 9 long excruciating months of extreme worry and constant fear, he finally feels peace when he’s cradling a newborn in his arm and a sleeping wife in the other arm. All of his hard work to protect you paid off he thinks.

NANAMI

Oh, to be pregnant by the king of domestic love himself.

Nanami is the type of man to immediately start working on a nursery for you as soon as you reveal to him that you’re pregnant. He immediately changes the guest bedroom into a nursery that you design for your little baby.

He reads up on all the parenting books and articles. He’s constantly compiling things to either do or to not do during pregnancy and even while raising a kid.

Like Geto, he tends to your every need. He is a total house husband all while working 40 hours a week. When he’s at work, he is constantly calling and texting you to make sure that you’re okay and taking care of yourself, but let’s be fr he literally did everything for you before he even left for work (meal prepped for you, set out your clothes for you, put out all your self care items in case you want to bathe).

When you express concerns of your body getting bigger to him, he does everything in his power to show you that he loves and respects your body for creating life. He literally cherishes and worships your body for hours if you let him.

Like Toji, Nanami is protective over you. He constantly has an arm around you if you two are in public, and he watches everyone who dares to get close to you like a hawk. If he gets a bad vibe about anyone, he’s immediately stepping in front of you and taking over the conversation.

Nanami is the best partner to have during birth. His reading of articles during your pregnancy really paid off. He is supportive without being overbearing. He listens to your needs and tends to you without question. Constant praise and encouragement while you’re giving birth. The moment he gets to snuggle with you and the baby is the moment he realizes that he cultivated the life of his dreams. He has the family he always wanted.

[classyrbf]

ᯓ★ YOU TURN ME ON! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...what turns the jjk men on? Don’t worry, I’m here to tell you!

INFO...jjk men (geto, gojo, nanami, toji, choso, higuruma, sukuna) x fem!reader, sexual and non sexual turn ons (kinda), whispering, eye contact, tight clothing, shower sex, p in v, hair pulling, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), pheromones (?), mention of glasses (sukuna), facial (sukuna), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

GOJO

gojo loves when you whisper in his ear. Something about you being so close to him, feeling your breath on his skin just does something to him. He gets immediate chills up his body and a small little smirk on his face. It doesn’t even have to be sexual either, you could whisper the most basic shit and he’d be giggling like a school girl cause he just loves hearing your voice in that tone. Now, when it is sexual…that man will nut inside of you without warning. You’re moaning and whispering in his ear? He’s a goner, quite literally on another planet. Nibble on his ear a little and his eyes will roll back. Sometimes you’ll do it in purpose while you two are out in public and he gives you the biggest pout ever. “Baby, don’t do that to me c’mon,” he whines. He damn near dragged you to the car and fucked you in the backseat…

NANAMI

nanami loves eyes contact a little too much. Sometimes it’s intimidating because he’s such a stoic man and doesn’t show very much emotion in his face, so he will just stare at you. But overtime you’ve grown to be comfortable with making eye contact with him, just staring lovingly while he talks about work or whatever. He stares into your eyes so much that he can tell what you’re thinking and feeling. More specifically, he knows when you’re in the mood, the little glint in your eye while you smile at him, looking at him up and down like he’s a piece of meat. In that case, expect eye contact during sex! Nanami loves missionary just looking at you, forehead pressed against yours, and he can’t get over that pleading look, batting your pretty lashes at him while you moan his name. “Yes, right here, baby. Keep looking at me. There’s my girl,” he softly sighs.

TOJI

toji loves tight clothes (no surprise). He genuinely thinks you look good in anything, but something about seeing the outline of your body makes him a crazed man. He will nonstop be touching you, handing on your ass, waist, titties, thighs…he does not give a damn. You could be wearing your pajamas and he will still find you sexy. You bend over in something tight? He’s now hard and has to fix the problem, not that he minds. He bends you over right there on the couch with your shorts around your ankles. It’s date night? He’s excited because you’re gonna wear that new dress he bought you—the one that hugs your body so well, showing off all your curves. Wandering eyes follow your every movement while you get ready and be chews on his bottom lip while he thinks of everything he wants to do to you. “Yeah, doll, I don’t think we’ll be making it to dinner tonight,” he chuckles.

GETO

geto loves soapy titties. Now I know that’s like very specific…but I just see him getting turned on by soapy tits for some reason (I don’t make the rules). He doesn’t care what size they are, what they look like, just throw some soap and water on them bad boys and he’s a satisfied man. Bonus points if you send him an unexpected photo in the shower while he’s away. He almost drops his phone while waiting in line for food because he can’t believe his eyes—your perky nipples and soap cascading down your entire body. Expect shower sex…a lot of shower sex. He will go out of his way to help you wash up, trying to be all nice and polite but minutes later his hands are groping your chest and playing with your nipples, soap running between his fingers while he fucks you against the shower wall. “They look so pretty in my hands, baby. I love ‘em.” He lazily smiles.

CHOSO

choso loves when his hair gets pulled or when you play with his hair. He only discovered this when you were doing his hair and accidentally pulled it and to his surprise (and yours) he let out a small whimper. Now you go out of your way to tease him, tugging at his hair whenever you walk by, giggling when he huffs in annoyance. He likes laying on your chest and you just run your fingers through his hair, he immediately melts into your touch. Oh but Choso definitely likes it when you tug at his hair when he’s eating you out…why wouldn’t he? It makes him so hard when he feels your fingers entangle in his hair, pulling and tugging at it while you basically ride his face for your pleasure. You only tug harder when you get closer and closer to your orgasm and his dick is throbbing. “Yes, yes, pull on my hair, please, please,” he begs.

HIGURUMA

higuruma gets turned on when you smell good, whether it’s your natural smell or your perfume, conditioner, lotion, whatever you use. You’d walk by him one day in the kitchen, greeting him when came home from work and he stops in his tracks and sniffs the air a couple of times because you smell so good…??? Like really good to the point he just wants to devour you, hold you, do whatever to you. He’ll hold you close and just smell your hair, your skin, kissing you over and over while his hands roam your body. And if you wear a scent that evokes memories of you two, like a first date or something like that…he pounces on you like a tiger. “How do you smell so fucking good? God, I could just eat you up right now…would you let me?”

SUKUNA

sukuna loves glasses. Yes I said it. Modern sukuna more specifically cause yk…But he will see a woman with glasses and think about how cute her face looks, how smart she looks…the innocent thoughts at first, and then his evil, horny ass would think about what they would look like when he’s fucking you. He can never be wholesome. Will they fog up? Will you let him cum on them? Do you even keep them on? Will they break if he fucks you too hard? All questions that need to be answered. So yes, he eventually fucks a woman with glasses and god does he love it. He finds it adorable when you push up your glasses every ten seconds cause he’s pounding into you too hard. He loves it when you look over them while giving him head. And yes, they do fog up. “Gonna let me cum all over your face? Yeah..? No, no, keep them on for me,” he devilishly smirks, licking his lips.

taglist (comment to be added):

@valleydoli @zxnxy @screechingbasementprincess @lexluthorbutnotbald @lynxslokley @briyah0 @levisjinchuriki @maiiluvs @levizonlywife @xllizs @sm8th0p @waterfal-ling @bonneyzsk @ventila98

[blkkizzat]

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟸........... THE SORCERER KILLER ......filed under the that's not my jjk man series

visitor log: an extra toji fushiguro should be double the trouble and double the fun but neither likes to share, you know for sure which ones your toji—but do you really even care?

classifications: bratty!reader, brat taming, breeding, baby trapping, hair pulling, spit play + creampies, jealousy, grump!toji, daddy kink

incidents: 4.8k

*bam-bam*

Your favorite playlist pulses through the speakers as you occasionally stir the creamy mac and cheese simmering that’s almost ready for dinner, the rich aroma of melted cheddar and butter fills the kitchen.

Using the spatula as a microphone you’re filming a cute lil reel for all your IG followers. So absorbed in the tasks the unexpected knock at the door pulls you from your groove.

“Toji—Daddy, I’m still cooking. Can you get the door?”

Urgh, you’d have to edit this out.

*bam-bam*

“Baby, there’s someone at the door!”

*bam-bam*

“TOJI! ANSWER THE DAMN DOOR NOW!”

Irritated, you stop recording and storm out of the kitchen. 

To be honest you are already at your wits’ end as Toji had been gone all week and had promised to take you out tonight—quarantine be damned—after being stuck in the house for so long. However, he showed up much earlier than expected, looking like a stray dog who hadn’t seen shelter in days and grumbling about being hungry. 

He frankly didn’t look like he’d be in any condition to take you out later but you weren’t about to let him weasel out of this so easily. So you drew him a bath, sat him in front of the TV with some beers and were now cooking him food like the good little domesticated girlfriend you were proving to be—ensuring he had no excuse not to take you out tonight.

You wanted date night and new content to post after so long in isolation!

Stomping into the living room, ready to tell him off, you find Toji completely knocked out on the sofa, sound asleep snoring, with a UFC match playing on the TV.

“Ugh, you’re lucky you’re kinda cute when you sleep, old man…”

You shake your head, yet the pounding at the door interrupts your musings. 

*bam-bam-bam*

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming! Keep it in your pants.”

Rolling your eyes, you mumble the last part under your breath.

Wiping your hands on your apron, you peep through the window only to see that your impatient visitor was—huh?!

TOJI!? 

“Hey, been waitin’ out ‘ere forever doll, lower the barrier. C’mon, mamas.”

You freeze before slowly backing away from the door.

Fuck! A doppelgänger …? 

Or wait…surely your Toji is already inside, right?

RIGHT?!

Quietly, you creep back down the hall into the living room to find Toji still passed out on the couch. His head tilts back, mouth opened wide enough to catch flies as he continues to snore, legs sprawled out in a manspread. In one of Toji’s hands he holds a scratched-off lottery ticket (he won 2000 yen), while the other lazily scratches his balls in his sleep. 

Empty, crushed beer cans are scattered across your coffee table, while the crumbs from your brand new, yet now-demolished, bag of wasabi peas linger on his chest.

Yeah… *sighs* ...this was definitely your Toji alright. 

It also dawns on you that with his heavenly restriction, any barrier is pretty much nullified. 

Toji didn’t need you to lower it for him. He could waltz right in himself like it wasn’t there—like he’d done earlier too—completely surprising you as he didn’t even bother to knock or call ahead. 

Okay, well, yay—your first dopplegänger encounter and you correctly identified it. 

That was simple enough.

Now to actually deal with the doppelgänger  at your door was a different matter entirely. 

You sure as fuck weren’t letting them in. 

But you also weren’t so sure it would just go away on its own as they’ve been reported to be pretty persistent.

Tsk, should you wake Toji up then? 

You knew Toji to be a big grumpy ol’ man bear after a nap and you didn’t want to deal with that. Plus, you’d barely seen him all week with an increase in his contracts from Shiu due to the doppelgänger  appearances, it’s why he’s passed out so hard in the first place.

Toji would be even more disgruntled to see a doppelgänger  of himself of all people, effectively ruining the night you’ve been waiting all week for.

So you would just have to get rid of this fraud Toji yourself…somehow.

Easier said than done though as it’s not like you could kill the thing yourself, being the low grade sorcerer you are, especially if it mimicked Toji’s strength too.

You lightly chew your nail in contemplation, unsure of what to do exactly when you hear the knocking again, this time more urgent. 

*bam-bam-bam-bam-bam*

Shit at this rate the real Toji would wake up.

With a huff you return to the foyer. You were more quiet this time in your approach but the doppelgänger  curse senses you regardless as he speaks to you through the door. 

“C’mon on baby, I’m so sorry for not being around as much. Please lower the barrier, alrite? I’ll make it up t’ya mamas.”

Cautiously peeking out the window again you frown as doppelgänger Toji is still parked outside your door, clearly not going anywhere. The copy was pretty convincing too you have to admit, looking every bit as delectable as the real thing—maybe even a bit more—given the actual Toji’s current sloppy couch potato status.

BUT—’So sorry?!’  

Since when did Toji ever so willingly apologize for anything—and the ‘please’?! 

Yeah, please is right, as it’s something Toji would never say this easily—this creature was definitely not your Toji!

Even if you had been moved ever-so-slightly by the tinge of genuine contrition in its voice, this thing had Toji’s personality all wrong.

You had to admit it was a pretty good ploy though. 

The curse even sounded just like Toji and used similar lingo, it was almost flawless—but—the flaw it did have was huge. 

“Listen, I’m gonna level with you. It’s not worth it buddy, turn into someone else. He's sleeping now but he'll literally rip you apart if he wakes up and I don’t wanna deal with the ‘tude he’s gonna have after. It will ruin our whole date night and I never get date night!”

You harshly whispered through the door. 

Although, to be honest you were a little embarrassed you let that last part slip out like that. However your frustrations from the isolation were boiling over and this Toji looked just like the real one, you couldn’t help but take it out a little bit on them.

“Besides, I know for a fact you aren’t the real Toji.”

Pulling away from the window, you check the barrier again as you silently hope the doppelgänger  will just get the hint and leave. 

Standing in the foyer, you don’t hear anything for a minute and you think it might have actually left—although you wouldn’t know without looking again as the thing seemingly also mimicked heavenly restriction to a certain extent as you weren’t able to sense him either. However, thankfully the limitations of the fraud Toji appeared to be keeping it from freely passing through barriers apparently—one thing thankfully that could not be mimicked. 

“Ya know ma…I already know—that you know, that is. Tsk, wouldn't be hard to figure out, given his abilities alone.”

Toji’s smooth voice comes through the door. Well, not your Toji, Toji #2, the doppelgänger. 

You had a sassy remark ready to throw at him but the doppelgänger’s next words give you pause.

“But it wasn’t the abilities that gave me away, right? He doesn't apologize as much as he needs to, eh ma?” 

Silence.

“N’ ya really think y’er going out somewhere tonight, mamas? That old man ain’t waking up for a while.” 

You're not sure how exactly to respond to copycat Toji. 

Thoroughly stunned, you know his words ring true, yet they manage to sound just as condescending as the real Toji does sometimes when he's certain he's right.

Scoffing, you know you remaining quiet is an answer all on its own. 

“You know you don’t deserve that, mamas… You could do better. Someone who could actually be around more, eh?”

Spot-on in his assessment, doppelgänger Toji doesn’t need to see you chewing on your lip to know he has you hooked. You are too caught up in your own head, left isolated for too long to think rationally at the moment. 

However, had you taken the time to peek out of the side window again, you would have seen the self-satisfied smirk on the clone’s face knowing he had slightly hooked you.

“Don’t think of me as a copy mamas—consider me an upgrade.”

ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩

When Toji—the real Toji—finally wakes up, he’s practically ravenous. 

The wasabi peas did little to satisfy him, waiting for you to finish cooking your famous mac and cheese and drinking all that beer had amplified his hunger even more. 

Although overall, it had left him tired. He hadn’t been on this many jobs in literal years. Though he had turned down many contracts in the past out of disinterest or sheer laziness, the money these clowns were offering to eliminate wayward copies was pure insanity

Upwards of 150 million yen for some light-weight level one & two curses?

Toji would be a fool to turn down that easy money. 

And while certainly easy, the jobs had been tedious, feeling near endless. 

Nearly every bastard in Tokyo had a copy running around—if not multiple and after a week of non-stop work with barely any sleep, it finally caught up to Toji.

With a yawn more similar to a light roar, Toji looks around, cracking his stiff neck. He isn’t sure how much time has passed but he’s a little annoyed. Most of the lights are off and you are nowhere to be found, usually he’d hear you in the kitchen or you’d be curled up beside him, molded into his side body. 

His eyes briefly narrowing, Toji knows he was supposed to take you out tonight so you can finally get some air after being cooped up so long. But knowing how big a brat you could be, you’d better not have disobeyed him and gone outside yourself just because he’d overslept—it was still too dangerous.

Yet any remnants of sleep instantly dissipates when Toji hears your soft flirtatious laughter coming from the foyer. 

Rising up from his hibernation spot on your sofa and following the sound of your voice to the front of the house, Toji’s annoyance grows with every step. He can sense something’s off—his innate senses are screaming at him.

When Toji lays eyes on you he realizes there’s actually something that leaves him even more irritated than you speaking with your coworker, Gojo Satoru.

Much worse. 

You were talking, no—flirting with Toji’s own doppelgänger at that!

Not only had you made yourself comfortable, chatting with him through the screen door from a cozy chair while he sat on a stool he’d scooched over on the porch, but you’d even lowered the barrier long enough to give the lousy clone a plate of food—a plate Toji instantly recognized as the mac and cheese you were supposed to make for him.

You fed that fucker his food too?!

Toji’s patience dwindles rapidly as you fail to notice him right away—too deep in conversation, happily entertaining a version of Toji that, for once, actually listens to all the topics the real Toji dismisses as ‘girly shit.’ The clone lavishing praises of your dancing skills and how cute all your photos look as you show off your IG and TikTok. 

Even though you are genuinely clueless, it's apparent that his doppelgänger notices Toji. The subtle smirk and twitch of his clone's scarred lip mocks the real Toji as the doppelgänger leans into the barrier, trying to get closer to you. If Toji were the introspective type, he might have realized in that moment how insufferable he sometimes appeared to you, seeing as how much his own expression had just pissed him off—but the murderous intent boiling in his veins seared away any such thoughts.

“THE FUCK?!”

Hearing Toji’s roar starles you so bad you almost fall out of your chair. 

Snapping back to reality you had nearly forgotten you’d spent the last 3 hours or so chatting with DT—short Doppel Toji—as you dubbed him. Unlike your real block-headed oaf of a boyfriend you have, Doppel Toji was so easy to talk to—about anything! 

Wanting to learn more of human culture and customs, Doppel-Toji hung on to your every word as you explained the details of being a new breakout influencer and how hard it was seeing as the real Toji wanted you to block nearly every man who commented on any of your posts.  

“Oh, Toji, you’re finally up? It’s only been 3 hours and the restaurant is likely closing down by now!” 

You roll your eyes.

“Anyway while you were napping, Doppel-Toji, DT here, has been keeping me company.”

Doppel-Toji nodded in approval of the nickname, the same smarmy smirk on his face that the real Toji was itching to rip off.

You turn back to the real Toji, seemingly unaware of just how close he was to losing his entire shit. 

“Babe, these doppelgänger ’s aren’t that bad at all! Some, like DT here, just want to live normal lives as doubles! DT here wants to be a milkman, isn't that right?”

Doppel-Toji gives you a wide smile that reached into his eyes, one that creeped Toji out to see on his own face, especially as you were even smiling back at him foolishly not even realizing how the doppelgänger ’s gaze had since drifted onto your jiggly tits and then even lower to see how your dress had ridden damn near past your supple thighs. 

Wearing only your cute, thin, cotton-ribbed lil pj dress with cherries printed on it you were practically naked as the sheer material teases the color of your nipples and shows the outline of the thong straps digging into the swell of your thick hips.

Yeah, by the way his doppel is looking at you the real Toji is certain the only milkman job his freak of a doppel wants is to be one turning your succulent fat cunt into heavy cream.

Heh, over the Toji’s dead fucking body though—well the copy of it at least that's for sure.

“Mamas, c’mon you can’t be this bird-brained…”

The real Toji crossed his arms leaning on the wall trying to keep his cool so you'd realize on your own just how silly you were being but he unintentionally made you lose yours.

“A bird?! Did you just call me a fuckin’ bird Toji Fushiguro!?”

You turn back to Doppel-Toji, whose smirk shifts to an understanding expression by the time you meet his gaze again.

“See this is exactly what I was talking about!”

Pointing an accusing finger at the real Toji and DT nods sympathetically, shooting eyes over to the real Toji who didn’t need his enhanced senses of heavenly restrict to sniff-out this nice-guy act was all a fuckin’ farce from a mile away. 

Voicing your frustrations, you're still griping as you once again face the real Toji who was just about fuckin’ fed up with this stupid-ass charade. 

“Listen, Toji we need to talk… DT says you don’t appreciate me enough! You haven’t been around at all lately and I know you’ve been busy but you could at least call—”

The real Toji closes his eyes, unraveling his arms and cracking his neck as you continue to prattle on. He’s at his limit and he ain’t about to sit through a nagging lecture all while a phony ass version of himself sat there ridiculing him too.

Furthermore, despite there being truth to Toji not being around lately, he’d actually tried to make up for it the best he could. Toji had venmo’d you money to cover your groceries and bills—something he hadn’t done for a woman since his late wife!

Overindulging you, Toji even bought you the newly released iphone you wanted (even though you still have last year’s model and its working just fine). However, according to you— ‘you need the latest new camera for your reels! And what else were you supposed to do but take fire selfies for all your followers if you’re stuck inside all day!’ 

Rolling his eyes at the memory, Toji wasn’t exactly sure when you had domesticated him. Nevertheless, somehow he’d gone from asking you to ‘hold 4000 yen for the week’ to sending you large chunks of his payouts to keep you happy—all before he realized he’d cared enough about you to even go this far. 

If you being a materialistic attention-seeking slutty lil’ thing wasn’t enough, you were also greedy too—still not satisfied and pouting until he was home again to bend your legs back over your head while he ruined your greedy lil' pussy.

As a result of the real Toji spoiling you sour, you’d turned into the nag before him now. Acting like he cared nothing for you whenever you didn’t get your way exactly when and how you wanted it.

“—and that’s why DT says you better act right before you lose me!”

Heh…

Your clingy lil ass wasn’t going nowhere—you were a fuckin’ brat and Toji should have known it would come to this.

Opening his eyes with a chillingly murderous grin, Toji’s demeanor sends shivers down both you and the doppelgänger’s back. 

“S’that right ma?—Is that what he says, eh?”

From there it all happened so fast you weren’t sure what exactly even happened.

You think Toji had ripped the screen door off its hinges, destroying it and shattering the barrier while seemingly producing inverted spear of heaven out of thin air to take the doppelgänger's head right off his body. 

But you weren’t sure.

Where were you? Still in the foyer?

In fact, you can’t really be sure of anything at the moment as Toji has your nighty rolled up past your tits that bounce wildly in his face as his big brawny hands around forcibly slide you up and down on his girthy cock. 

You didn’t know where your panties had even gone, Toji likely tore them off, shredding them to bits, for all you know. 

Your thoughts and current timelines are utterly jumbled as Toji completely hollows out your insides, molding your poor abused hole to the shape of his cock. His brawny grip imprints into your flesh, slamming your hips flush to his while allowing his bulbous cockhead to roughly kiss your cervix with every breath-stopping thrust down on his length. Shivers furiously ripple through your body as your clit is continuously assaulted over and over by the unkept pubes at his base. 

The rough treatment—just how you like it—releases waves of sublime ecstasy sizzling in your brain. Toji is effectively lobotomizing you with his mean fat cock, the relentless drilling thrusts liquifying your consciousness.

Fuck��wait—um, what was your name again even? 

The only name, thing, place you can think of right now begins and ends with Toji as he continues to bully himself inside your body, rippling shockwaves through your cunt that shift your organs around just to his liking.

“Tojiiiiiii, d-dahddy puh-leaseeee!!”

Your slurs are near intelligible but Toji can still make out his name as drool spills over your lips almost as fast as your babbles, thoughts of his doppel completely wiped from your slutty lil’ head. 

Yet even with the now decapitated clone, it wasn’t fully dead just yet. It was a stronger one, near special grade, severing its body parts wouldn't be enough to destroy them. The effects of the inverted spear made RCT impossible for it though as it withered on the ground.

It lay helplessly, dying slowly as Toji fucked the dogshit out of you on the comfy chair you had once been in. Proving to you and the curse that no copy could ever hope to have you falling apart like this—completely dumb for his cock only.  

So easily getting cockdrunk anytime Toji stirs up your guts is why you don’t even register the raspy words Toji practically growls as you—

“You hear that, baby?”

Smacking your ass hard, your flesh ripples against Toji’s palm.

“Answer me slut!”

His insatiable plundering of your cunt as you so blissed-out that the sting of your sore redding ass startles you.

“T-T-Tojsshii!!!”

You whine, sobbing as tears pour down your face, soaking your nighty that was damn near pushed up to your neck now. Toji knowing how big he was usually let you have the reins while in cowgirl but not this time—this was your punishment for being such a bitchy lil’ brat thinking he could be swayed behind some empty fuckin' threats of being replaced.

“Nuh-uh, slutty mamas.”

Toji mercilessly delivers another opened palmed smack that sizzles the nerve ends on your reddening bottom.

“Ya fed that discount version of me my dinner—so I’mma have to make my own—mmm ya hear that?  My version of mac n’ cheese s’almost ready.” Of course, the mac and cheese Toji is referring to his none other than your ooey gooey cunt. Your pussy lips stretch to their limits, yet desperately swallowing his thick girth with a series of wet squelches, glops, and bubbles. The milky fluids that are pushed out of you make an awful mess, running down Toji’s heavy balls and soiling your expensive comfy velvet chair. 

“Now this—this is how you make mac n’ cheese ma, hear that creaminess? You thought that fuckin’ loser ass fake was gonna make a freak-nasty pussy like yours sing like this?”

You can only gasp in response, trying to hang onto him and your own sanity while you dig your nails into Toji’s biceps for leverage as he drills you down on him within an inch of your sanity—the acoustics of your cunt ringing salaciously in your ears. 

“Tsk, look at ya ma, actin’ like you can’t take it when this is what ya really fuckin' wanted all week.”

PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-PLAP!

You’re really going to have to speak up now to get Toji to hear you over the sordid sounds of your cheeks being clapped to hell and back. 

"HMPH! MMM—N-No! AHHH—I-I want… SHIIIIIIT S’GUD—ahhh ahhh—d-date!!”

Another slap stings your ass as you pathetically pout, making Toji smack your jiggly flesh once more for good measure. Your cute lil’ expressions only fuel his mean streak.

“Now mamas, ya know we were never gonna go on that date—n’ I know, ya know why.”

Blushing, you bite your lip, shaking your head as you feign ignorance. holding back your sobs—not wanting to own up to what you and Toji both already know to be facts.

“C’mon slut, don’t act all shy now. Ya know the reason why we never go on dates—because this filthy leaky cunt of yours can’t be ‘round me for too long without wanting to get filled up—at the movies *smack* —in the back of the bar *smack* —heh, didn’t ya even make me fuck ya horny lil ass dirty in the filthy-ass stall at the park? *smack* Bratty lil cunt not being able to wait the 5 minute drive home…”

Your pussy flutters tighter around Toji, answering for you as he continues to chuckle at your embarrassment. You were a shameless lil' whore for his dick, and you were at your worst level of brat when you didn’t get it for even a short period of time.

“Whaddya say then? Ya don’t think I appreciate ya ma? Even though I fuck ya, whenever and however your pretty pussy begs for it? Heh. Well then, let me show this pretty cunny how much she's appreciated.” 

Further sliding down the chair, Toji plants his feet firmly on the ground so he can pump himself into you harder. The new angle has his cock pounding deliciously against your g-spot. You bounce wildly for a few pumps before your core muscles, fatigued and screaming at you, have you falling forward onto him. Nuzzling your head into his well-sculpted chest to smother your wails, you're unable to do anything but just take it. 

“Ya hear that, mamas? That's your pussy saying thank you to my cock. She’s always so grateful t'me mamas, better behaved than you anyday.”

Biting into one of his large pectorals Toji chuckles at your feeble attempt to still rebel against him. Your bites feel more akin to a soft tickle—yet the indents your teeth leave spark a feral urge in Toji, who in turn, ramps up the voracity a few levels. 

Sliding his hands from your waist he grips your cheeks, spreading them while you sink down further a few millimeters that almost seemed impossible, already being so full of him. 

“I know she knows how much I care about ‘er by the way she’s gushin’ on me, squeezing me like she’s begging me make her cum, she deserves it even if ya don’t.”

Cheeks cracked-open wide, your puckered rear exposed, Toji smirks as he presses his middle finger against your ridges to toy with the entrance of your asshole. When Toji starts rimming the tight ring of muscle in a furious circular motion, the finger already so slick n’ sticky from your juices—you can already feel just how fuckin hard your about to cum.

“Tsk—shame that mouth of yours you always gettin’ her and your lil’ ass in trouble, eh?”

Soundless moans leave you, your throat raw from the straining of your vocals—that is until Toji sinks his burly finger deeper into your hole, hooking and pressing against the thin wall to the point he can feel how hard he is coring-out your cunt from even the tight insides of your ass.

OH FUCK! 

Too much! 

Too good!

The intrusive and unexpected assault on your back hole is what finally does it for you. Toes curling to the point of cramps your bision blacks out and you think you lost consciousness completely but its your own vocals croaking out cries as you cum—hard that grounds you back to reality. Shivers take over your body and your clenching around Toji so ferally he lets out his own string of curses and he bites into your neck, filling you up—his hefty load overstuffing your pussy as it squelches out and down the sides of his cock.

You don’t know how much time has passed but you’re still trembling in the afterglow of your orgasm. Weakly look up at Toji, all teary-eyed and dazed, in pout so adorable it only makes him want to ruin you more in the most animalistic way possible.

You honestly had him wrapped around your finger like no woman had before and he was going to fuck that knowledge into you, preventing this situation from happening again.

Better yet—Toji was gonna fuck a baby into you to prove it. 

Sear his cum directly into your walls, painting you with his scent and effectively turn your womb into a pretty lil' dump over n’ over—until he finally planted his kid in you.

You wouldn’t be able to complain to him about being lonely then and fuck knows how long this doppelgänger shit was gonna last. 

Fuck tho.

The thought of you fully pregnant and round with his child got his dick back up n’ jumpin’ just from picturing you n'your cute round lil' belly waddling around. So much so that when Toji pulls you off of him to manhandle you into the next position he doesn’t even notice your brand new phone on the ground next to his feet until— 

*CRUNCH*

“Tojiiii my new phone! I still have reels that haven’t been posted!!!”

You’re coughing out your complaints, dizzy and out of breath from being fucked so hard. Scanning the ground for your phone you can barely support yourself as you bend forward to access the damage, until you feel Toji snatch you back up.

“Heh, fuck that phone and fuck ya IG ma. I’mma about to give ya something to put on a sonogram instead—now drape ya fine self over the back of this chair n’ toot that pretty peach of an ass up.”

The slap to your backside this time is so loud the force causes your ears to ring along with the rest of your body to tingle, your tongue lolling out of your mouth drooling from the force rocking into your overstimmed cunt. 

“N’ m’not asking ya!”

You would have surely collapsed to the ground if Toji, fed up, hadn’t just taken matters into his own hands and positioned your limp, ragdoll-like body over the chair himself.

Ass up and out on display, Toji parts your swollen folds with his thumbs. Admiring his cum plugging your gaping slit, Toji gifts a wad of spit into your hole adding to the fluids before he rubs his dick, now even harder than before, through your ruined folds. 

Grabbing your hair and yanking your head back Toji’s words send shivers down your spine as he bullies himself into your core once more—all in one go, taking him in so nicely like a slutty lil glove.

“Listen ma, the only DT I ever wanna hear you say is ‘Daddy Toji’. Now scream it for me, baby. Loudly. Tell the whole neighborhood, eh? They're already lookin’. ”

Huh? What was he…Fuck, the front door was wide open this entire time?!?!

Struggling to keep your bleary eyes open, your body keenly jolts from the backshots Toji is ruthlessly gifting your cunt. Losing yourself to pleasure again you see another doppelgänger on the approaching from the street—

This time it’s a perfect copy of—you! 

However your copy freezes on the lawn once it catches sight of your state caused by the giant bear of a man recklessly pummeling into your limp body from behind and his nearly dead doppel, whose limbs still miraculously twitch while scattered over the porch. 

Your doppel’s face twists in horror before she quickly flees the scene, smart enough to have more self-preservation than Toji’s as she wisely decides against engaging in any of these fuckin’ problems.

......RESULT: FAILED. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚞 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛—𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎.

that's not my jjk man series (visit series page for full animation)

comment and reblog! next up geto, already finished posting 10/21.

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

[dabisbratz]

𝑀𝐸𝑅𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒰𝐸 𝒟𝒪𝐿𝐿 — kento nanami x male!reader

himbo!reader , farmer!au , strangers/friends/lovers , meet - cute , inaccurate farming techniques , lawyer!nanami , slow burn , depictions of injury ( minor burns ) , check - ins , dumbification , vaguely implied age gap (~5 years) , hand kink , inexperienced reader , light feminization , blowjobs , anal , mating press , fingering , hand-holding , praise , degradation , slut - calling , dirty talk , spit / drool , under-negotiated kink , aftercare

w.c; ~ 13.8k

sonny says. . . naaamiiii !!! {cry} {cry} mbaby :c can ybelieve s’is mfirst nami fic ?!?! just tbe clear, the reader’s size or height isn’t explicitly stated, but he’s vaguely hinted toward bein/appearin physical stronger than nanami.

‘ Next stop: Sekichiku ’

When he wakes up, Kento expects sunlight peeking through greenery— warm, yellow rays of light that dance and flicker across his eyelids. Warm, yellow beams that caress his cheek like the knuckles of someone tender, the palms of someone sweeter. It’ll overwhelm him at first, so bright and unapologetic as his eyes adjust and focus, but he’ll quickly crash, pupils constricting as the disturbance dwindles. And, suddenly, the star’s saturation will be comforting. It’ll be like a second. Just slower paced, peaceful. He expects the rustle of leaves, connected to strong branches and even stronger roots that dig into deep, rich soil. He expects to roll over in his temporary bed, breathing gently beneath shade, shielding his eyes from the welcoming invasion and blanketing him in a seamless flow of cool air.

When he wakes, Kento expects to hear the chirping of birds. It’s never quite enough to hear them in Tokyo. The strum of wind as it tickles his nose and pushes him forward. The swaying of grass— the smell is still so freshly imprinted in his brain, as it makes his head swim while crystal drops glide across its surface — a coarse underfoot of greenery that prickles the souls of his feet.

Tranquility by his side, urging him to get out of bed, chirping in an excited voice as it tugs on his wrist. He expects solitude, rolling its tangerine eyes and tapping its foot impatiently, “This is the break you’ve waited twenty-seven years for.”

But, instead, he finds himself clutching his chest, his heart beating with an unfamiliar pace that isn’t so calm. His body feels cold, like he’s been submerged in the deepest part of the ocean, unrelenting and ruthless as wave after wave crashes into his ribcage. The static in his ears grows louder and louder, ready to combust and burst his eardrums. Instead of the rustle of leaves, the cruel hustle and bustle of city life storms forward against his chest, shoving him back and forth. Back and forth, to and fro, against his body as his knuckles turn white and his vision starts to spot. Back and forth, as he comes undone.

It’s been so long, he’s not quite sure just how to unwind.

He starts off slow, swallowing air in desperate heaps until his legs relax, spreading toward the cushion arms of his faux-velvet chair. Then he flexes his fingers, draws them into tight fists and releases the digits until the shaking has stopped. Sips his complimentary white-wine with newfound steadiness, and tries not to choke when the intercoms ring,

‘Now approaching: Sekichiku.’

It’s a quaint little village, your district, where everyone knows everyone and the news is always, no matter where you are, city-wide. Stone-clad pavement and moss decalled windows, there’s a small blanket of achroous fog further north of town square. Yet, despite that, there’s an ever growing city of greenery and agriculture. With a small population and himself being the only passenger to unload at the station, it seems to be a lot busier than he’d originally thought. Street-food stalls and vendors, selling freshly baked goods and syrupy, savory sweets. It’s not like Tokyo, no, there’s no rush. No pushing or shoving, no overcrowded lines, no smells of smoke and burnt coal.

In fact, the air is rather crisp— the further his legs take him, the more apparent. No longer are his lungs breathing in the stench of sickness or body odors, no longer is he pushing past the fortunate, just to shove the unfortunate. And, admittedly, it’s a bit of a culture shock— but it’s not unwelcome. Regardless, Kento keeps his suitcase close, pushes it forward, sidestepping polite smiles and local shop owners.

He basks in it. The genuine nature to it all, the healthy glow of the atmosphere despite the steam, the fog, the chill to the air. He considers this a luxury— the closest to a vacation he’ll get, even if he’s technically ‘on the clock.’ Still— he soaks in the sights of hugging trees, of mossy roads and cobblestone streets. The colorful banners that jump with life, the lanterns and yellow-lighting that illuminates the day— he’s sure at night they’re even more wondrous. And, oh, the smells. Not at all like tokyo— there isn’t an overwhelming mixture of perfumes and colognes, no fast-food chains competing through aromatic smells, no heavy scents of tobacco littering the air. It's crisp, it’s ripe.

He almost takes no offense to the collision against his side— nor the screeching sound of surfaces grinding against each other, nor the loud and abrasive cry of the man bumping into him, accompanied by the crack of an apple’s core against the ground.

“Woah,” Warm breaths pan down the base of his neck, even warmer hands wrapping around his bicep with strength Nanami is sure shouldn’t be normal for a typical, everyday civilian. He involuntarily grunts, a deep sound that rumbles in his throat and earns an eager, yet apologetic chuckle. “You alright? Y’almost went flyin’!”

His brows furrow quizzically at that. First— he’s certain it’s the latter who nearly lost an arm and a leg with his tumble. Second, he hadn’t expected such a youthful, bouncy voice from the very stature shadowing acast him. Not even a bit, it doesn’t match the muscle straining through thermal clothing at all, let alone the sheer square feet of area being taken up by one person. Blocking his vision almost completely, standing straight— at an angle— that blocks a stall for fresh produce and flaky, steaming bread. The goods speak for themselves, crusted over in golden brown mountains and cloud-like, moist cross-sections.

Swallowing, Kento nods, eyeing the poorly drawn sign for fresh bread. Drawn in sharpie, the prices are written in big, bold, red letters. Endearing, almost, the curve and loop of each letter and number— the lines of each to-scale doodle of bread. Nothing like Tokyo, not nearly as artificial, not perfectly clean-cut. Not so cookie-cutter. There’s some personality in it, as juvenile as it may be. And it’s a shame, really, how promising the stand looks. Apples that shine a golden shade of red, bread that’s glazed in a sweet, sticky layer of yellow molasses and savory honey. And though he’d love to indulge, Kento has yet to label himself as the type. “Great, thank you.” Is all he says, pulling his suitcase along the perimeter of the stand.

Some other time, then.

The days are long as they are hard. The sun has yet to fully set, and still, the Earth pulls and pulls to weigh it down onto your shoulders. The sky is painted in hues of orange and purple, strokes of tangerine and lavender roaming past your bird's eye view. Your back pops as you stretch, arms tensing against the woven basket of leftover harvest, shiny red fruits aligned with the horizon and reaching toward the tiny glimpse of departing stars.

Where blossoms grow from tiny seeds, and orchids dance in gentle breeze— beds upon beds of farmland and agriculture drape the outskirts of the farmstead. Though the weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up its seasonal chill, and the clouds have begun to dissipate into the sky. . . The well-received proof of your hard work is still something to behold.

“—ome any minute, now,” You’ve heard it all before, your mother gossiping to her farmer-wife friends as she nurses sweet teas and tangerine tiramisu under her calloused, warm hands. You’d been a mere two steps away from where she sits at the open-island kitchen, shoes tipped in the illuminated speckle of celadon clearing just adjacent to the sliding, front, cedarwood door. “Said so, at least. Did you hear. . . ” Windchimes sing in welcome, soft and mellow as the door opens and shuts behind you, socked feet slipping from boots to warm, fuzzy slippers.

“M’back, Mama,” You mumble, half-humming along to the tune of muffled windchimes the further you walk, arms hoisting the overflowing basket up to your chest. A sweet sigh, then pitter-patter of fleece against parquetry, and the discovery of a sweet, cherry-red ladybug walking along your knuckles, leads to the basket securely placed on a free countertop. There’s a quirk of her brow, something of a gentle question— more of a suggestion— not completely committed to keeping two conversations at once. How’d it go?

“No luck sellin’ today,” your voice buds, small and soft as your eyes trail the curves of a particularly large waste of an apple. An evident pout on your lips, then a quiet huff of air.

Farming has been your whole life, really. It’s what you’re best at, good at. Ever since you were young, barely tall enough to push away tall-grass— barely strong enough to pull out weeds, you knew it was yours. Something special, gravel crumbling and breaking beneath heavy, solid boots and rubber tires. The remnants of small, flying rocks, pelting into each other and leaving behind white, gray smoke as your tractor comes to a slow, gradual halt.

“But I met someone new!” That peaks her attention, nothing short of a gasp coming from a pair of lips—identical to your own— and here come the questions. Was he blond? Oh, I knew it! Did he buy anything? Well, why not? Was he tall? Thought so. . . How about handsome? Come on, now. .

“He was . . hmm, pretty.” Is how you’d like to put it, raising a finger to the air in finality. Truth be told you don’t remember much about his appearance— it was more so his demeanor. He’d bumped into you— you think— and yet, there was something so smooth about him. Not even his slicked hair, wavy at the end and curved just right to frame his face and bleed into the bristles of his blond undercut. He’d carried on like it was nothing, still polite, even admired your handiwork on your stall’s banner. A sweet thing of a stranger.

“You’re so easily impressed,” The smile dusting your lips curls into a wee, nasty little frown. That’s just not true. “A good thing, too, you’ll have to like our new neighbor.”

Her voice melting through one ear and out the other like freshly harvested honey has your throat tied into a thick knot, stuck right at the base of your neck and only growing in size. Hands thrumming against the granite countertop, your body leans inward.

“Neighbor?”

“Mm,” She hums, landline trapped between her ear and sweater-clad shoulder. You’re not entirely sure if it’s toward you or her friend, either way, her conversation stays ambiguous. “I heard he’s some fancy lawyer. You think he’s defendin’ the Hasaba girls from last year?”

That’s something to think about. Two little girls who’d been found locked away by some sort of— police officer, was he? Perhaps something more authoritative, and taken into his personal care. You wouldn’t be surprised if it became legalized— you’d only met that man (Suguru Geto, was it?) in passing, but his stature seemed dead-set on protecting those girls.

There’s a muffled gasp on the other line, crackly with static as a finger twirls around the phone’s coiled, mint wire. The rest of the conversation goes unheard, slippered feet carrying you to the large, alcove window that displays just enough equal farmland and neighborhood housing. And, sure enough, as if on cue, it’s not hard to make out the lines and shadows of the ‘ fancy ’ lawyer, his fluid silhouette effortlessly carrying luggage and— what looks to be— a box of books. Documents, perhaps.

“You didn’t— how come you didn’t say nothin’ ?!” Your excitement has you toppling over, limbs every which way as your face presses into the glass window. When you’re stuck in a place where everyone knows everyone, there’s something exhilarating about having a new neighbor. And he knows nothing.

There’s a quiet mumble that roughly translates to: ‘You didn’t ask.’, but it’s filtered out by the sound of your full-footed stomps. You opt to keep your slippers, racing toward the neglected basket, mind completely set. “I’ll be back, Ma!”

The path along your house isn’t dangerous, but it is harsh on bare feet— inured by heavy boots and pick-up trucks.. Still, it goes completely ignored as you carry the heaviest basket of goods you own, anxiety twisting and turning in your stomach— bunny hops into your chest and stomps and stomps and stomps. You’ve carried yourself past the intersection of the cobblestone path, a lot more smooth the closer it gets to the large, usually untouched, rental home. The lights are off— save for the dim, yellow glow of a small porch lamp resting above an unsullied, sleek and wooden rocking-chair. When there’s no one to inhabit the home, it’s always been comforting to look at— but now? .

Cold would be one way to put it. Your feet are cold, your arms are cold, your hands are cold, and you’re stood at his front door— frozen. Scared is another.

Even so, you’ve always been told you’re the ‘bravest boy’ in your whole district. Cry-baby habits and all.

The door opens before you can knock, and all you can register is brown. Brown wallpaper— the beige type, just barely meeting the requirement. Patterned with old, vintage looking floral prints. Brown, sleek wood of a bannister— steps that lead down into the living room, but are visible from the front door. Brown eyes, such a specific shade. When exposed to the light they almost look gray— green?— but as he stands before you, there’s nothing but molten chocolate and burnt honey-candy. A brown leather belt, securing crisp slacks and an equally crisp button up. You expect to see brown loafers, but—

Fuzzy slippers, brown and soft and cute. Little black buttons for eyes, and two floppy, fluffy ears— reminiscent of a bunny.

“Oh. . . Can I help you?” You’ve heard it before, his voice, but it’s even more striking than ever. It’s easy to forget the voice of someone you’d just met, but there’s something so. . distinct about it. He’s got a slight accent, too, something Tokyo-adjacent— you’ve always wanted to visit for longer than the feeble four hours of a busy work-trip.

“Mhm!” Pretty lips spread to their best grin, pulling at your cheeks until the babyfat wells up. “Well, no— um, actually. .” Brown eyes are expectant, but calm and patient as they watch you fumble over your words. Your fingers tremor as the basket is thrusted forward, heat blooming in your cheeks. “These— This is for you!”

“Ah. . .” Pink lips part, cupid’s bow prominent. There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of his front door closing with a slight click— right in your face. For a moment all you can do is stare, eyes boring into the dark, chestnut wood of the rustic front door. Staring until it’s gone blurry, eyes bubbling with fresh, unshed tears. And, nearly spilling over like an overflowing faucet, they gather before you can blink them away— fat and thick and embarrassing.

“Um. . I like your sli—slippers.” Fully aware you’re speaking to an unmoving door, you can’t behind yourself to walk back the moss-decalled path home. It’s not so cold anymore, your bones having rung out in the, metaphorical, hot sun until they’ve dried completely and— now it’s warm. Warmth in your nose, stinging as you sniffle and bite down a hiccup.

“Sorry for the wait,” Mahogany shifts, offset by a deep rumble of a voice, smooth like velvet in comparison to the sharp, slow creak of door hinges, “Here.”

Dam rebuilt almost immediately, your body straightens. Him again, this time his eyes trained on what he holds in his hand. Brown and gold like sweet honey and, by God, it’s the most crisp set of yen you’ve ever held in your life. His fingers dance with fluidity you’ve never seen before, counting through each slip until he’s deemed an amount satisfactory— there’s a slight patch of hair on each of his knuckles, an array of veins that cascade into his forearm. His fingertips look a bit rough, but his nails are glossy and clipped. Even his cuticles are pushed back, just enough to look healthy and natural.

“Oh! I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know it’s rude to tip, so I left the exact change,” You blink. Once, twice— again, lips parted like a fish, fresh out of water. Then he’s hoisting the basket from your trembling hands, eyes downcast. “Next time, don’t give out things you worked for, for free,” Right where his eyes dip, his monolid, there’s a small mole— cute and circular, and had you not been studying the curves of his face you wouldn’t have noticed it. “You should wear a coat, too.” And, like a schoolboy, you can’t help the flurry of butterflies catching flight in your stomach.

“Yes, Sir,” Pearly whites biting at the fleshy, pink insides of your cheek have your lips puckered, pensive and sweet as you clutch the money to your chest. “Sorry about earlier— um, if it’s okay, I could help with your boxes?”

He leans forward, careful enough to keep the respective bubble of space between the two of your bodies, glancing at heavy, book-piled boxes labeled ‘N.K.’ The woven basket creaks under the weight of his chest, but it stays in one place nonetheless. “That?” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s fine, just mail. Must’ve arrived before I did.”

It’s a bit awkward, really. Anticipation nips at your fingertips— you’ve never really had to work so hard to continue a conversation. You’ve never had to think about it either, if the words were coming out correct, if anyone was comfortable with your presence.

“Oh,” You breathe, subconsciously leaning closer. Perhaps it’s a miracle he hasn’t actually shut the door in your face, and— right. Your hands move to wipe away any streaks from your cheeks, a small sniffle ringing in the air. “Sorry f’I bothered you. I live, um, closest to the windmill. Yknow, just up the path from here. . . ?”

You haven’t known him for long, but you just can’t consider him comparable. Maybe it’s your heart speed-running past any other rational thought, maybe it’s the blooming heat in your chest, maybe it’s the shiver of winter trailing down your spine. You find yourself desperately hanging onto his every breath, only ever beaming when he shakes his head.

“Kento Nanami,” Tense shoulders relax with a deep inhale, the sweet smell of chocolate stuffed bread filling his nostrils. All that trepidation washes away, hushed under the breeze of Kento’s slow breaths. “Did you make these yourself?”

The door creaks, quiet and welcoming as Nanami extends an arm, stepping aside. Once his eyes finally settle on you they harden, just for a moment, as if he’s finally noticed the pull of your eyes— the crystalline seam tightlined around your waterline, the bright red strain of veins peeking behind your lids. Still, he says nothing, until you’ve introduce yourself with watery tremors.

“It’s cold, and you came all this way without a jacket?” Your eyes trace the vapor floating into the air as he sighs, irises dancing along the edge of your bare forearms. “Come in.”

Your muscles straighten up under his gaze, rippling until rigid as you eagerly nod, “Y’don’t think we could share some of that bread, d’you?”

The best time to farm, you’ve learned, is just after sunrise. The sun rests her head on grassy hills, still groggy and not quite awake yet, herself. But you are, suited up in your boots and overalls, not a single lantern in hand. That’s the first plus, natural lighting of the rising sun. The sweet, dim bath of light that paints the path from your home to your plantation in molten gold.

Then there’s Kento. You’d think he never sleeps, but you’ve seen it. Ritualistic, in a way. For the last two weeks, you’ve watched him go about his day. See, the window of your bedroom leads straight into his study, where he prefers a dimly lit lamp over the bright fluorescents. It’s almost hard to tell when he comes and goes, seeing as whenever you look, there he is. Sat in a swiveling chair and hunched over his desk, writing something in a notepad and skimming through— what looks to be— more documents on his computer.

You can only tell he’s going to bed once there’s a sigh, a pinch to the bridge of his nose before smoothing out his eyebrows, then the discarding of silver-frame, rectangular reading glasses. The lamp stays on, as if he knows he’ll be back in less than seven sleeping hours— which you think, for him, translates to roughly thirty minutes.

And, though he can’t see you, you always make an extra effort to wave up at his study, just before starting up your tractor.

You never expected him to wave back. You never expect his eyes to trail from your face to your supplies. And you, most certainly, never expect him to join you. Two thermal mugs in hand as he makes it over the small hill from his home to your own, past the thorn bushes and vacant tangerine trees. Hot chocolate— piping and rich, it coats your tongue in its sweetness and splashes against your lips with comforting warmth.

“Mm!” You hum, blowing through the small gap between the thermos and its sealed lid. You’d assumed your scarf, wrapped snug around your neck, would do the trick— keep you warm enough — but this seems to actually hit the spot. Sticky accents from remnants of unmelted marshmallows, its fluff clings to the corner of your lips. And Kento, nursing his own mug— though it contains tea— looks up to watch you grin, shards of tiny sugar crystals clinging to your pouty bottom lip.

“Hold still,” all but purring, his thumb swipes at your lip, wipes away the stickiness until they’ve parted— breathless. His eyebrows furrow with concentration, as if it’s a practiced habit, absentmindedly licking his thumb clean with one smooth, quick dart of his tongue.

“Sweet.”

Your breath circulates into the air, a swirl of white that dispels almost immediately. Your thoughts are cut short, breath stuck in your throat, eyes wide and glazed over with astonishment. “It’s— huh?”

“Sweet,” he chimes, lips curling around each letter. He’s beside himself, nearly forgetting who he is until the clear of his throat and a resigned grumble. “I can’t fathom how you manage to drink. . . radioactive waste from a cup.”

His humor is dry— something you have to think over for a moment before smiling against the lid of your cup. Kento notes how you smile— with your whole body— eyes closed tight and teeth on display, shoulders bunched and your stride much more bouncy. He tries not to smile when you giggle, hiding the lower half of your face behind the piping mug as your shoulders brush against his own. With each step the closer you get— to both the blond and your truck.

“It’s good,” Your voice lifts at the end of the statement, feigning offense as you lick your lips. Soft tongue against soft lips, Nanami partly wonders if you naturally taste as sweet as your preference for drinks. “M’not bein’ mean about yours!”

“I'm not being mean,” He corrects, a silent apology laced in his tone— just in case — and your knowing gaze lifts from his cup to his eyes, blazing bright and beautiful. He basks in your attention for a moment, like the gentle rays of a sun-swept island. Had this really been a vacation— no carry-on cases— he would’ve considered booking a flight to Malaysia.

First, he’s buckling you into your seat— it seems you’d forgotten, then he’s reminding you to put on your gloves, despite having bare hands of his own.

“You do this for a living,” is his justification, though you deemed it more a reason for him to wear the protective gear. “You wear them.”

And, now, he’s listening intently as you explain the mild inconvenience that is the technicalities that come with farming. He learns of your affinity to animals. Your slight, biased preference for gardening. The way your nose wrinkles when you think too hard, and the way you often forget what you were saying as you say it.

Though the scenery outside the passenger seat window is beautiful— valleys of faded green and brown, a light fog dusting the air. The symphony of crickets and cicadas, and of course, the sunset making its round up the horizon, teetering along the age of the Earth as it paints each and every blade of grass in its light.

He helps you out of the car as if you haven’t done it yourself a million times, careful not to spill your drink in his other hand. He’s awfully tender, too, his thumb absentmindedly circling the glove-clad skin of your knuckles as your hand squeezes his own. The door slams shut, and he doesn’t miss your expression twist as you whisper a small ‘oops, sorry!’ to your precious truck before unloading supplies.

Kento can’t name a thing— he’s out of his depths, here, but he helps anyway. He carries it down the never-ending row of cabbage and radish, watches his step despite nearly dismantling at least three dozen budding vegetables simultaneously. And you don’t yell at him once, instead offering words of sweet encouragement until you’ve found the place to start, dropping your assortment of tools and buckets.

“M’kay, ‘Nami,” He watches you drop to a crouch, warmth blooming in the apples of his cheeks. It’s not just the suggestive position, nor the way your pretty eyes look up at him from there— but it’s how sweet you say his name. . going as far as to give him a nickname, too.

Still, it manifests through the twitch of his eye, which you don’t catch onto, as he kneels alongside you.

“‘Nami—”

“No. It’s pronounced Nanami.” He interjects, his grip tight along the base of unsavory, frostbitten weeds— at least, that’s what he sees you doing anyway. Almost too tight, heavy and thick hands flexing, you can see the bend of his knuckles as his fingers dig into the roots.

“Na,”And, the smell of dirt, it’s so strong, the earthy undertones invade your nostrils and have no intent on stopping. . . “—na,” Raw, natural. His palms press in at the sides, thumbs stroking at the soil as he feels around for growing stems. For a moment it’s silent, save for the crackling radio beside you. Your pretty lips part, and sweetly, you’ve sounded out his name. “—mi.”

A puff of air leaves his lips, a scoff of a chuckle, and he’s giving a slight nod, quietly whispering the syllables of your name in acknowledgment. “Mhm?”

He doesn’t miss the way your lips split into a wide grin, weeds absentmindedly disregarded for a moment as you giggle, “I already knew that— I just said it!”

“Mm,” He agrees, though he’s not entirely sure you did. Then his heavy fingers tap your wrist— gentle, barely even a tap, but it gets you back on track— picking up the dead weeds. Kento watches, your hands gingerly plucking them free from the root, mastered and effortless.

Your fingertips dig into the soil, palms sticky and damp, littered with defrosting grass along each ridge and defining line. There’s so much care in your fingertips, and with every successful pull your eyes ignite. Like a cute, overgrown puppy. “Good. You’re a smart boy.”

“Y’think m’smart?” And, though your shoulders bunch up— a bit more bashful, you’re shaking your head. “I mean— I knew that already, too,” and it washes away as fast as it arrives, replaced with genuine exuberance. “I tell m’self everyday!”

The blond catches it anyway, gaze unwavering, even as your own struggles to keep contact. Nanami’s eyes are remarkably intimidating despite belonging to someone who’s positioned so utterly relaxed. . Crouching just as you are, but with smooth shoulders and lax biceps. Still, they’re visible through the silk fabric of his button-up, but he seems used to it. Tufts of blonde hair, slightly unruly and disheveled— swept back with gel, yet still set off in a flurry of gold by the back of his head, as if he’d rolled around in bed and decided to lounge about instead of retouching it.

Cozy.

“I do,” The sun dawns down through thick, gray clouds, framing his bronze locks— and with his lips slightly parted and his skin picking up a peachy glow, he looks almost seraphic. “What were you saying?”

“Um,” You pause to rethink through the last hour, warmth blowing past your cheeks as a particularly nippy gust of wind rushes by. “. . We sell ‘em, the weeds! That won’t be for a few days, sometimes we keep ‘em for cookin’, but . . . these aren’t any good.”

“Too many?” He asks, as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s learned in his vacation here, by far, despite having learned that just a few days ago.

“Too many!” Pretty lips part into a wide grin, and perhaps that’s the conclusion to Kento’s sightseeing.

౨ৎ

Kento tries not to lie— not unless he absolutely needs to.

With your black on black attire— a large, knitted sweater, a black bomber atop it, dark jeans to match, a hand-woven gray scarf wrapped around your neck, and white sneakers that carry a cream-colored accent in its threading— it’s hard to keep his mouth shut.

“Where are we going?” Is his first question— but there’s so much more he means to ask. Since when do you dress so nicely? Do your parents know you spent extra farm money on those shoes? Is it bad to feel the urge to hold you closer, just so no one gets any ideas?

Nonetheless, checking the silver-plated Rolex along his wrist with the slight tussle of his lapel-collared trench coat, just before popping open the passenger’s seat of your truck, he ignores the growing thought.

“You’re always locked up in your house,” Twisting your keychain covered keys into the ignition, the truck starts up with a gradual rumble. You’ve figured something was wrong with the oil for quite some time now, but it’s never been enough to start any problems. “Don’t y’wanna have fun?”

That doesn’t entirely answer his question, nor does it ease his mind— a vacation this is, yes. But it’s also paid, and he’s technically on the clock whilst being here. Still, he nods just once, the clench of his jaw apparent in the faint valleys of muscle just below his ear. Though, he supposes he could say the same about you. Every day you wake up, harvest, water crops, feed your animals, clean out troths and shovel up feces. He’s not even entirely sure if that’s your idea of fun— but he hopes not.

Kento doesn’t expect you to be such a great driver. Smooth turns and a gentle ride— even with cobblestone streets and gravel trails. You get carried away when you talk, too, hands moving about and your gaze trailing to his eyes every few seconds. He has to remind you— “Don’t take your hands off the wheel,” “Don’t look at me, look at the road,” — but Kento would be lying if he said it weren’t endearing.

It’s almost like you can barely function without basking in his presence.

“If it were warmer,” You swallow, finally stopping to catch your breath after the last fifteen minutes of rambling. The car slows down to a halt, an overhead traffic-light flashing a bright, crisp shade of red. “We could’ve went apple-pickin’ . . . or even oranges!”

You take the time to fully face him, eyes trailing up his dark trousers and gray turtleneck— it bunches at his chest, and you’re sure without his trench coat it’d be just as strained around his biceps.

“What do you do when it’s cold?” He muses, ducking his head to watch the passing of trees and inner city shops.

“Hm?” You hum, but before he can repeat the question you beat him to it. “Uh, we have this lake— it’s the first to freeze over when it’s cold. . ” So quaint, his eyes gloss over pedestrians as they live amongst themselves. Walking their dogs, sharing a drink at an outdoor bar, couples huddled close together for warmth. The sidewalks are clean and clear, there’s a polite, happy bounce to everyone’s step. Fairy lights blink in every other window, casting a sweet, bright hue along the streets below it. Kento understands it all, despite it being much more. . comfortable. . than Sendai. “And, when it’s completely frozen, we skate on it!”

It feels like home. A gentler, cozier version of it.

“I’m sorry—” The blond clears his throat as he turns to actually look at you, having fully processed your words. “Skating?”

“Are y’scared?” Nanami tries to ignore the burning of his throat when you laugh at his silence— a pretty, featherlight thing of a giggle that only progressively makes it harder for him to catch his breath.

“No,” He grumbles. He’s actually done it before— his younger, studying ‘coworkers’ had a knack for dragging him around outside of work hours— and he wasn’t free from it, even in winter. Yuji, Megumi, and Nobora, perhaps the three only people who could have him willingly risking a fractured disc.

“Don’t be scared, ‘Nami!” The car turns into a short trail, decalled in various signs and brightly colored symbols. “I can help you, m‘kay?”

Four people.

He nods anyway, save you the meltdown, and lets you drag him out the car once you’ve found a good place to park. He’d think it was illegal had there not been a sign for it, let alone communal skates in varying sizes. They’re in good condition, too. A small wooden bench— decorated with moss along its sides, he brushed his fingertips against it by accident— keeps him steady, but when he looks over to you, you’re already walking around with untied skates.

“Come here,” He beckons, voice soft and fond as he quirks a finger in your direction. He watches you fumble, nearly tripping over your own legs as opposed to your laces, but you make it over to him anyway, thigh against thigh. You brace yourself when he pulls your legs over his lap, shifts in his seat and tightens them just enough— “It’s not hurting you, is it?”— to fit comfortably.

“Thank you, ‘Nami,” He can hear the sincerity in your voice— as if he’d saved your life. Your breath pans across his face, warm and minty as you shake your head, “Doesn’t hurt. . .”

He offers a gentle pat to your knees once you’re fully set, softly dropping them back down as he leans to tie his own. It’s a quick process— not as tedious as the knotted up, tattered ones back home— a much more nice change of pace.

The ice, though, is considerably worse. He surmises it’s because it’s relatively untouched— if the whole village of Sekichiku had done two laps over it still wouldn’t have been enough to leave a noticeable dent in the ice— so his skates have nowhere to grip. You, though. . .

You’re much more graceful on ice than on land. A slow turn here, a quick twirl there, you could skate laps around him if you so choose. But you don’t, instead holding onto his wrists as he stiffly skates forward. Kento’s nose is nipped with pink, matching the particular shade of his lips as they part in concentration. The shade dispels down his cheeks, and you’ve never seen his face so. . . soft.

“Say, ‘Nami?” You huff, holding his wrists as you move in a slow, clockwise circle, turning you both. “When’re you leavin’?”

The truth bubbles in his throat, tougher to swallow than he’d originally thought it’d be. He clears his throat, avoids the question, and instead of freeing his wrists altogether, he holds your hand. You’re pouting when you slowly swivel to his side, his heart somersaulting almost painfully at the cute, wee frown to your lips. “Hey,” you whine, caught off guard but still pleasantly surprised, squeezing your palms against his own. “What’re you doin’?”

You’ve always been undeniably sweet. Kento thinks back to your basket of goods. The sweet, savory, aromatic flavors of bread, meats, cheeses, chocolates. How you have it to him so sweetly, no questions asked. There’s no ulterior motive to your demeanor, either. It’s peculiar to have someone so. . dependable. Someone to easily lean on, someone so— hospitable.

You’re perfect.

“I've never—“ He pauses, watching smoke dispel form your lips. An intimate position, he’s in— close enough to hear your breaths, holding on tight enough to feel your pulse through your fingertips. “Noone has ever done this for me. Thank you.”

“What, take you skatin’?”

“Support me unconditionally.” He pulls away before you can say anything in response, relishing in the thought of your pulse speeding against his knuckles as he stiffly skates back toward regular land.

The ride home is smooth, but quiet. And once you get there, hunger overrides your hospitality.

You like Kento’s rental— its kitchen is spacious and just big enough to support the mess of pots and pans that come with baking. It’s warm and inviting, the stove works great and the oven even better. Its heat burns a little brighter, but nothing you can’t handle.

Pain au chocolat — chocolatine — and meringue cookies; they’re a pain in Kento’s ass. Not even something he’d try to attempt without you there— he’s happy to watch you whisk away and laugh at his disgruntled faces. A “taste-tester”, you’d called him, scooping one sugary accessory after another onto the pad of your fingertip and asking him to try.

You weren’t lying. You really do know how to bake— flour dusted skin and all. Twisting raw dough into pretty sculptures of bows and braids, scored surfaces of x’s and o’s, light layers of warm butter that seep into soft, risen dough. And when it bakes, oh, how sweet the smell of aromatic bread is to Nanami’s stomach.

Studying the contours of a pretty face— baby fat rounding your cheeks as they pool into a sweet smile, pearly whites displayed brighter than the moonlight leaking through the floral curtains. Your laughter is wholehearted, hands gripping the hem of Nanami’s fleece shirt, body tipping toward his chest as your giggles dispel into the warm, brown-sugar baked air. For a moment he mentally swoons, something of a comforting coo, eyelids heavy and blanketed with the same baking powder littering your handsome face. He relishes the warmth, which leaves just as fast as it arrives, and suddenly you’re reaching into the oven without your cute, fluffy puppy-patterned mittens protecting your hands.

“Wait,” His tone is harsher than intended, solid and thick, and you— the sweet, softheaded boy that you are, don’t entirely deserve the worried look on your face that melts into sharp, hot pain.

“Ouch!” Your elbow smacks into Nanami’s calf as you flinch, fingertips raw and numb— still pulsing from the fresh burn. The man crouches down, knee to ceramic, palm to your warm shoulder, and suddenly your wide eyes are glittering and gleaming. Had the smile from your face not been growing, he’d have been appalled. “‘Nami, did you see that?!”

“Silly boy,” He sucks his teeth, pulling your clasped hands from your chest. Gingerly, he plucks out each finger one by one, runs the pad of his thumb along the burn sites. “You have to be more gentle with yourself.”

And, as if he’d declared to destroy your favorite equipment, your shoulders deflate. Hazel watches as tears well in your eyes in real time— with award winning speed, really— glassy and wet and oh, you’re so cute. It was just a small reminder, nothing too harsh— it could barely be considered scolding. Yet here you are, sniffling and averting your gaze. Eyes glossed over while your fingers instinctively curl over his own for comfort. Then a small, petulant, “M’sorry, ‘Nami.”

“None of that,” Soothing, it's gentle and soft as his thumb travels along the numb pads of your fingertips. And though it was already a faint sensation, you can tell his touches are deliberately featherlight and calculated, cautious. “Nothing to cry about.”

“I’m not crying,” You grumble, though his ears register the sound as a wet sniffle as you rub at your cheek with the back of your free hand. “I don’t do that.”

“Of course not,” The breathy lilt tongue voice gives it all away, a tiny smile dotting the man’s lips. They’re entirely too enticing, a sweet shade of pink that dispels into the milky tan of his skin. Sheen and glazed with what could be spit, your lips part to mirror the same smile. Though yours is larger, his isn’t any less exuberant— luring you in one centimeter at a time until, inevitably, his breath ghosts along the expanse of your jaw— you can almost taste him.

His voice breaks through the thickened silence, “But it’s okay if you do.”

The next two hours should go by just fine.

౨ৎ

“What does ‘default-judgment’ mean?”

Floorboards creak beneath Kento’s feet, dimly lit ambient lighting placed around the office keeps it lit just enough to see ever so clearly— a small lamp angled above an open file, then the remaining trickle of light cascading over photos. Labeled, dated, clipped, and shipped to his front door just a couple weeks ago. Soon to be released, relinquished, deadlined.

His hair drips with cold water, tiny drops dripping down to the floor while others slither down his neck, and pool where his back dips, just slightly. He doesn’t tense when he sees you— his muscles remain just as relaxed as they were in the shower— and his eyes barely widen past the tired, lidded expression that paints his face every night, before he gets his studying done. But you—

You’re the opposite. Your shoulders raise to your ears, eyes wide and unblinking as they stare at the towel wrapped around his thick, slightly hairy forearm— it’s navy blue, with a brown, horizontal stripe across its fabric, and embroidered letters you can’t quite make out. An intelligible sound, then an unexplainable expression, and— there you are, tripping over your own tongue as your hands shoot to cover your eyes. Only unclothed from the waist up, Kento can’t help the amusement blooming in his chest.

“It’s a deduction based on a defendant’s failure to answer. . or appear, in some cases, to a lawsuit or court.” Nanami’s eyes trace the part of your lips behind your palm as your brain processes (though, he doesn’t think that’d be the correct word for it) his words. They purse, quickly, tight lined, until parting again— once more, with less confidence. With each step he takes (long strides that make him appear as if he’s almost floating) he grows closer, strands of freshly washed angel hair sticking to his forehead.

“. S. . ure!” You smile and nod in faux understanding, fingers curling toward the dip of your hairline, eyes peeking through cracked fingers. From there, beneath your palms, an uncomfortable warmth blossoms from your throat up, settling in your cheeks and sprinkling across your nose— sweltering and tingly.

Kento tuts, a soft noise, and you watch as he inhales a deep breath, pine eyes perusing through the space between your fingers for eye contact. “. . . Don’t worry about all that.” And, as if he can feel the high voltages slamming against your heart, his tongue darts out to moisturize his lips, and his eyes fall to your chest. He sits aslant to you, legs spread wide with the occasional sway of his knee— but nothing too sudden. You’re made all too aware of his half-naked proximity, purportedly close enough to feel the warmth of his body radiating through the room— to smell the sweet undertones of vanilla, musk, and earl gray tea residing in his skin. In a low rumble he speaks, pulling lotion free from the drawer to your left. “Silver lining is: I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Even as he leans forward, closer and closer, he doesn’t cage you in— even if your chest aches at the loss.

Your heart demands the conversation die after that. Beating so rapidly you assume it’s stopped, silence freezes the air as your hands slowly drop to your lap. Lips pulled with woe, darling eyes low and sodden in an instant. Shoulders dropped just enough to sound a sharp creak in the swiveling chair you’re sat in, your lashes clump with fresh, unshed tears. And, in a lapse moment of murkiness, Kento’s lips twitch into a frown of their own.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, as if afraid your response will confirm it— he’s what’s wrong. His choice of words— wrong. Thin brows furrowed, the dip of his chin has his lips ghosting your cheek.

“. . . Nothin’.” It’s worse. He’d expected tears— maybe even an exchange of fiery words— but instead you’ve shut down, hands balled up in the fabric of your flowy pants, denim bunched up and draped over your thighs. Completely silent, staring at nothing and everything— all in between— all at once.

“Nothing?” He echoes, a silent suggestion for more. The rumble in your ear is almost too much, for a moment you assume you’d conjured it up with your imagination. Too close, too bare, too blunt, too warm— too fleeting.

“Mhm,” When your gaze meets, his heart plummets to his stomach. “Nothin’.” Words rush to his tongue before they can catch up to his brain, and. . you look so . . sad. He’s never seen you so defected— nor had he thought the concept of giving up existed for you. So headstrong, determined to make things work, gears always shifting into overdrive when you can’t make something out. You’ve gone as far as to create your own definition— this isn’t you.

“It’s. . . inevitable,” Kento’s voice softens, dropping to a quiet whisper between just the two of you. “But not for a while,” Then shifts his weight back, pulling away as he speaks in some sick sort of oxymoron, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will.” Grumbling, you’ve always been an open-book.

“Not forever.”

“. . . Ever,” You grunt, choosing to ignore the stern quirk of his thin brow. You’re a bit of a brat— Kento sees that now— behind the pouty lips and soft eyes, behind the large smiles and intimidating prowess. “When are you goin’?”

Nanami treads carefully, fingers wrapped around the closed bottle of lotion. With a snap it clicks open, and a generous amount is pumped into his palms. The smell is neutral and muted, but clean and fresh.

Kento tries not to lie— not unless he absolutely needs to. An unexplainable feeling, adjacent to panic, rises in his stomach as he lies, “Six weeks, at least.”

“Nami…” Ignoring the deadline he’d just given you, you ask, “D’you like your job?”

You watch his posture relax, as if the previous conversation was just as emotionally taxing as it was for you, for him. He sighs, pauses to think for a mere second, then shrugs. “I like its structure.”

“Oh.”

“I like helping people, too.” He adds, much more sincere. Your eyes trail the lotion as it’s rubbed into his biceps, his shoulders, his forearms. His fingers flex and muscles ripple, skin bouncing beneath his fingertips, and light traces of hair at his knuckles raising.

“Oh.” You breathe, eyes locked on his veiny hands. You suppose, in a way, your jobs are similar. You, too, help people out— you provide fresh food and crops, you herd cattle and brush the hair of healthy horses. A very hands-on job— it’s rewarding. “Me too. I— I like helping too. And. . .”

His fingers twitch, almost as if they can feel your gaze, but Kento makes no effort to move them.

Six weeks. Time is fleeting.

“I—” With trembling hands you lean forward, clasping Kento’s smooth knuckles against your palm. He’s just as warm as he looks, skin soft and sheen. His fingers flicker in your hold, straining as they tense— silently, asking, ‘what?’ as an increasingly overwhelming urge to keep Kento close washes over you.

It’s moments like these you’d wish you were better with words. To weave them together into something pretty, like a basket made for carrying fresh harvest. To pull apart and braid together an amalgamation of just the right phrases— ones that sound pretty and roll off the tongue. Some that sound soulful and genuine, yet effortless and forthwith at the same time.

Moments like these, where your breath is stuck in your throat and with every rise and fall of his chest you think you’ve lost some more— he’s taken it all from you— you wish you knew just what to say, to do, to bring that air back.

To have him melt at your words the way you do at his actions, to have him feel the same exact thing when your heart clenches in your chest like a rag that’s been wrung out to dry. Without trying, without straining. You wish you were smarter— better at this, as you lean so far from the chair it begins to squeak in protest.

You’re sure there’s better people in Tokyo. With better educational backgrounds, with cleaner jobs. People who have it all together, who have different skills and assets— who don’t stick to one thing simply because they have a natural born talent for it. People who are prettier, more handsome— perhaps more his type. People who have aligning career goals and paths— more accomplishments.

Sweeter, kinder. With softer hands and an easier understanding of city life.

People who are better with words. Who can weave them together into something pretty, like a closed case with no loose ends or dead leads. Who can pull apart and braid together an amalgamation of just the right phrases— ones that sound pretty and roll off the tongue. Who can make their confessions sound soulful and genuine, effortless and forthwith at the same time. All within the heart of Tokyo.

People who aren’t you.

Nanami stands, shuffling over to fix the documents you’d ruined— of course you did— but his face hasn’t changed from his usual tight-lipped expression. Sometimes it’s hard to read him, and it’s times like these you really wish you could.

“I like you,‘Nami.” You whisper to yourself, quietly pouring your heart out with each spoken letter.

And, with a snap, your world goes crumbling down. Increasingly silent, the world stops as you hit the floor and Kento’s chest stills— the soft, quiet beat of his breaths gone quiet, as if it were a mere memory to begin with. The backing of his swiveling chair falls with you, right to the floor, clattering much louder than the sound of your tense body, and—

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I think you have the wrong idea.” His voice is strained. Uncomfortable.

You’ve never felt more humiliated.

౨ৎ

Despite your humiliating attempt to hold onto it, time flies by. Locked away in your room— your only source of comfort being an occasional knock on the door from your mother and the weight of your blanket as it remains overhead. You’ve counted the seconds— tripped over your thoughts after reaching 1,633– started over again. You’ve listened to the pitter-patter of rain against your windowsill, peeked out from your cocoon to bet on a race between the raindrops.

You’ve thought about Kento, of course. So much it plagued you, made your chest uncomfortably tight— until all you could do was let out a humiliated groan all over again. It’s a timeless cycle, and yet, it grows closer to his leaving date.

You haven’t spared a glance toward the actual outside, even when your window overlooks his own study. You’re sure everything’s out of sorts now— weeds overtaking the farm, plants dried out or overwatered, any blooming vegetation snipped at the bud before it could bloom. Tough luck, they’ll get over it.

And, God, has your family tried. Through gentle words and offers of food, through soft praises that fell on deaf ears. Through frustration, too, anger laced in the sweetest yell of ‘where’d my smart boy go?’

Your eyelids feel heavy and thick. No longer swollen with tears or bloodshot with dejection— just heavy, simply tired. Sleep is all you’ve done these days, yet it feels like your body can’t get enough. Fifteen hours a day leave you straining for more, three hours a day leave you exhausted. You can barely remember when you last left your bed— for the bathroom, never for a drink— and even when your frown deepens as you think about it, you can’t bring yourself to fix it.

You can’t bring yourself to fix anything as of late, if it can even be fixed.

You were stupid for thinking he’d feel the same, anyway. A man like ‘Nami— a man like Nanami— so smart and so distinguished. So. . opposite of you, to think you’d fall anywhere near the same line as him. . is laughable, really. Even more so when you consider his upbringing. He doesn’t mention it much, and you try not to pry, but you consider his lifestyle quite traditional and cookie-cutter. You hadn’t even asked if he liked men.

“I think you have the wrong idea.”

His rejection physically pains you, a quiet sniffle and suppressed whine straining your vocal cords. Your nails dig into the fleshy, cushiony part of your palm. You can hear the pitch of his voice — rumbling and deep, you hear the shakiness of his breath—so deeply uncomfortable, cold with disgust. “I think you have the wrong idea.”

A knock to your door startles you awake, eyes wide open as your cocooned body flops around in bed. Still, you barely make an effort to respond, dry lips parting to form a garbled groan.

“Your. . . friend was at the door,” It’s your mother’s voice, but softer and pleading. For a moment your heart twists, eyebrows pinched as you suck in a sharp breath through your teeth— you can’t remember the last time you’d seen her face without slamming a door in it. “Looked tired, so I gave him some coffee. . .”

A bitter, disconcerting ‘so?’ nearly leaves your mouth— something so unlike your usual self, it makes you want to borrow deeper into your sheets and never leave. Shame. She doesn’t expect you to crack the door open. You shake your head, even if she can’t see you, only breaking your stubborn resolve when knocks once more, and slowly, you scuttle around the mess of your bedroom to unlock the door. Your eyes carry dark circles and heavy bags as your gaze pierces straight through her. Then, a shaky breath and barely audible whisper, “. . . S’it Nanami?”

Her aged smile is soft and thoughtful as she leans into the doorframe— something you haven’t seen in a while, and your eyes prickle with warm tears once more. “Between you ‘n me, you’re in much better shape.”

Cracking a smile nearly takes all your energy from you.

You don’t bother changing from your pajamas— they’ve always been so baggy to support the muscle you’ve grown over years of lifting heavy produce and working with truckloads— and now you’re grateful for it. Something to hide behind if you need it, and your fingers subconsciously curl into the fabric of your long sleeves for comfort. Once you get downstairs the two of you depart, and a gentle rub to your shoulder blades is all your mother offers before finding solitude on her own, just a few rooms away if you need her.

And— she was wrong. Of course, he looks tired. You can see it in his shoulders— they’re all wound up and tense, like they’d been when you first met. Sure, his jaw is tightened and you can hear the grind of his teeth against one another despite keeping your distance— but he still seems put together, albeit lacking his usual combover or corporate style of clothing.

It hurts to know he does well without you, as selfish as it may sound.

“Hi,” You mumble, rubbing at your face with the palm of your hand. Your voice crackles with disuse, rumbling and garbled in your throat. “Nanami. .”

“Hi,” He echoes, your name heavy on his tongue as he stands, leveling out the shared eye contact. Just Nanami. For a moment he’s at a loss for words— and it’s odd, typically he has an answer for everything. You remember asking why he’d buckle your seatbelt before his own, and his answer was always the same. You remember asking why he likes what he does— and they’d all circle back to enjoying the small things in life. His Kento’s lips part, taken aback by the loss of his nickname, but they close into a tight line with registration. Perhaps you’re just. . too much.

“I lied to you,” He begins, and your heart leaps to your throat. He clasps his hands together, resting soundly by his thighs as his head tilts downward, a silent plea. “And, for that . . . I’m sorry,” Kento releases a breath, hands coming undone to swipe away stray, gold strands of hair. “Don’t feel obliged to accept, I just— I like y— I want to show you something.”

It’s odd. The look on your face makes him want to scoop you up, to cradle you in his arms and hold you tight. And yet, he can see the cogs turning in your brain, the gradual loss of your frown and faux steel in your eyes as you shrug— he can’t even distinguish if you’re being reluctant or stubborn. Nonetheless, Kento smoothens the fabric of his coat, and makes a small, polite gesture to the door.

“Okay.” Your fist rubs sleep from your eyes, steps heavy and dragging along the floor as you slide your feet into brown bunny slippers— the same ones he’d worn when you officially met.

Stepping into the cold, crisp winter air, you both ignore the tremor to your bottom lip, “What were you gonna. . ?”

Not at all hard to spot, set alight by the glow or orange lanterns, it’s your farm. Oh, it’s much prettier than you could’ve ever imagined it. So clean, with pristine rows and neat placements of fresh soils. You can actually walk through it, as opposed to tip-toeing around like you used to. The air is crisp and fresh, just like you’d remembered it— but it feels better than before. And, dotting the horizon, fireflies dance into the night sky and blend into the twinkling stars. You don’t remember the last time you’d seen them— vision occupied by tall grass or obstructed by rusty tools. You could almost cry. Your breath catches in your throat, a gentle breeze brushing along your forehead and digging into the fabric of your clothes— yet you feel light and warm.

He did all this for you?

“Are you cold?” You blink hard, vision blurred with tears as Kento’s hand grasps your shoulder. “You’re shivering.” He’s quick to shrug off his coat, barely even flinching when the fabric dips into fresh mud, and loops it around your form with steady hands.

“M’okay. .” He frowns, barely visible, and the slight protests of being strong enough to tough it out die on your tongue. But it’s true, you don’t feel cold— not internally, at least. You feel light yet heavy, warm and airy. Heat pokes at your skin, ignites in the apples of your cheeks and trails down your throat. “. . . Thank you, ‘Nami. . . For everythin’.”

‘Why're you saying it like that?’ He wants to ask. As if it’s some sort of sick, roundabout way of saying goodbye. His movement stutters, lips curled into a small ‘o’ before reverting back to its usual, thin line; and he speaks, “I don’t just like you.”

Your fist tightens in his coat, fabric twisting to accommodate your grip.

“I. . admire you. Your strength, your weakness. Your baking. . Your smile, too,” He sighs, quiet and cautious. “Your laugh. I regret not telling you before. At first, I thought you were impulsive, and somehow abrasive, bu—”

You’ve never been one to hide from your feelings— you laugh when you’re happy, scowl when you’re angry, mope when you’re sad. So it’s no surprise to feel you smile; wide and unapologetic. It’s no surprise to feel the tremble of your fingers as they release his coat and land on his biceps. To feel the slow, shaking breath of air he releases at your silence— hearing his own slight sniffle at the nippy, cold breeze. You’re nervous, lips twitching as his chin dips, bashful as his lips intertwine with your own.

A kiss.

"’Nami," Laughing into his mouth, it meets the sound of your lips continuously meeting in breathless, heavy harmony. His lips are plush, soft and sweet, hungry and hasty, everything and nothing and all things in between. “I like you. I like you, I like you, I like you.”

You feel it now— the warmth enveloping his chest, the hard hammering of his heart against his ribcage. "Shit," He whispers, incredulous, and before slowly pulling away, cradles your handsome face between his calloused “I like you too.”

౨ৎ

Kento owns silk pillows. You can tell they’re imported from home— as they disturb the uniform colors of the crisp, cream comforter set blanketing his bed. It’s the first thing you notice, head sinking into the fabric as your eyes flutter closed, thoughts and breaths stolen with each wet, heavy kiss being pressed against your lips. His breath is hot and heavy, small groans and grunts leaving his parted lips, and— he tastes of chocolate.

“Kenny—” You gasp, but the sound of his name on your lips only eggs him on. Hot heat blooms in your stomach, tingling down to your tummy, so deep, something you’ve never really felt before. It tingles, almost, right through your thighs and straight to your cock, plumping up with each passing second. And his hands, god, are so quick and skilled— shedding you of your clothing as if he’s done it a million times before.

“Kenny,” You repeat, much whinier than before, tiny sounds leaving your lips as you squirm in his hold. “Mm, wait,” and his response is barely committal, a low hum that melts into a breathy sigh as your bare skin is exposed and your leaking cock springs free against your tummy. He coos, peeling the sticky fabric of your underwear free. Cute.

“Use your words,” Kento mumbles against your skin, running his hands along the silky smooth skin of the back of your thighs. “I know you can, you’re a smart boy.” You squirm with every touch, plush skin bouncy as you press your thighs together, cock sliding by your navel. And, even when you hide, he can see the precum smearing against your stomach, the tightening of your balls, and, now, your exposed hole winking back at him.

Fuck.

“Mm, don’t look,” You’ve barely convinced yourself, a choked out moan leaving your lips as his big, warm hand wraps around your cock and pumps. “That’s— oh, embarrassin’!” Slow, at first, trailing up the sensitive shaft and rubbing circles into the overly-sensitive head. Until his hand is slick with precum and his own spit, until your thighs are convulsing and you’re close to covering yourself in your own cum. Until you’re sobbing, pulling at his wrist with weak, clammy hands.

“I know, sugar. I know,” And the stifled cry you've been hearing belongs to you. “Feels good, hm?” His free hand grazes down your waist, thumbing at the dip between your hip and your thigh, then cupping the soft, plush skin of your pecs. “Feels better than your own hand, doesn’t it?” Kneading until your nipples harden against his palm, soft skin swelling around his fingers. And, oh, how pretty you are when you cry, overstimulated tears rolling down your cheeks and incoherent babbles leaving your swollen lips.

“Uh— huh, yeah,” Is barely breathed out, and Kento watches pre leak over his knuckles. Creamy and thick, sticky and sweet as your hips rock back and forth, to and fro. You just can’t help yourself, greedy boy, fucking into his fist like it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt and— oh.

It is.

“Messy boy,” He huffs, pressing his forehead against your own— damp and sticky. Your hand, preoccupied with fisting his sheets, is grabbed, and all you can feel is slick, hot heat. “Fuck your fist for me.”

“Wh- Huh?” It takes a moment for your brain to catch up to your hands, wrapped tightly around your cock as your hips buck— whines high and loud in your throat, keening like a puppy. It’s not at all paced, not like Kento, just pure desperation and need as your toes curl and your eyes roll back into your skull. Warmth rises in your face as your legs instinctively part, tingles spreading through your body and needy moans filling the air. Wet and sloppy, your hand is slick and soaked.

He travels lower, lips trailing down your throat, your collarbones— pausing at your chest. He watches the rise and fall, the slight bounce of your pecs as you pant like a dog. Pretty buds hard and sensitive, a gentle suckle is enough to make you arch from the sheets and keen.

“Good boy, that’s it,” You have the urge to get on your knees, to present all your holes to him, to spread yourself open with your fingers- fucking them in and out, in and out, just for Kento. It’s all too much, thinking of what’s next, what’s happening now, what’ll happen later.

Nanami lifts his shirt over his chest, the fabric bunching under your armpits as he keeps it pinned between his teeth, and you have no other choice but to flutter your lashes, watching as his pants are loosened and his cock springs free. Big. Thick and long— and, it seems his tan has traveled to his cock, too. Blushing at the tip, the sweet color of mocha, it disappears the further you look down. Curved, too, slightly past his belly-button and heavy against his navel. It's humiliating, the way your mouth waters almost immediately.

It’d feel so good weighing down on your tongue, fucking your throat fast and rough, making you gag and sputter— choking on your own tears and groans.

“Wanna. . I want. . .” You squirm where you lay, whining high in your throat as you find nowhere to hide— nothing to put your face against, nowhere to bury the drunk, hazy expression on your face.

“Want what?” He murmurs, pretty eyes trailing along the curves of your face before he places a sweet, soft kiss along the edge of your jaw. You take the grip on your waist as a slight indication— Kento’s patience is slowly waning.

“V’never. .” Your lips part into a gasp, eyes fluttering closed as his large hands travel along the expanse of your chest. “I wanna. . . feel you in my throat.”

The smart man he is, Nanami, never misses a beat. Pink lips splitting into a small smile, his thumb rubs circles against your skin. Still, you can feel the throb and twitch of his cock against your thigh, hard and almost leaking. “That’s ambitious, sugar.”

You don’t register scrambling up by your elbows, nor the amount of time it takes for your fingers to fail at wrapping around his cock. Your thoughts are muffled and hazy until a quiet chuckle sounds above you— rumbly and deep, and— ah, Kento’s hand is guiding your head back as he pulls your hands free. You’re panting for it now, mouth dropped open as the slurp and slick noise of his cock tapping against your tongue drops straight to your stomach. You could cum from this alone, without even a single glance toward the ache between your thighs.

"M'gonna be so good, promise, know I can do it! Want it, Sir," A clear habit of rambling when you’re nervous, a soothing coo leaves Kento’s throat. His tip smears along your pillowy lips, sticky and salty as pre paints your chin.

“Shit,” He groans under his breath, fisting his cock to ease the ache in his balls. “Slow. I don’t want to hurt you. Gentle, remember?”

You don’t. You can barely think, let alone recall something from another day. But you nod anyway, eyes glued to his cock as it bobs to and fro— pretty and weeping. You bet it’ll feel so heavy, weighing down on your tongue and nearly crushing your throat as you gag around it. He’ll taste good, too, salty and sweet as he buries his cock down your throat. With your nose pressed into the blond of his pubes, and his balls slick against your chin as they tighten and clench.

Yeah, you want him to cum on your face.

With a whiny nod you take his tip into your mouth, pink tongue over your teeth. In your head, it’s much easier— you can sink down to the base no problem— but in practice. . . You sputter and gurgle, leaning into the gentle touch caressing your cheek as your tongue traces the pulsing, thick vein cascading down his shaft. Through your pathetic whimpers and whines he mumbles— but it falls on deaf ears.

You stick out your tongue, cute and pink, latches onto your bottom lip, slicking his slit as he blinks down at you, pupils blown and wide as he praises you, voice smooth and buttery.

Through your own jittery, inexperienced suckling, his tip is smeared along your lips, slowly tracing your cupid's bow and bottom lip until a thin layer of pre has them glazed over and sticky. Your lips part, carrying a thin trail of creamy pre between them, as his dick slides in and out your hot, wet mouth. Spreading heavy along your tongue, swallowing around the head as his thighs tense, muscles flexing and rippling as they strain to keep still.

“‘Nami’s dick is heavy, sweetheart,” He’s gasping before you can fully take in the stretch of his cock, hips twisting as his eyes flutter closed. It’s been a while, you can tell, with the way his balls are clenched tight, his hand morphed into a fist— careful not to grip your hair. Your spit bubbles and pools around his cock, slick and wet, sliding between the seams of your lips and dripping down your throat, down your sternum, down his thighs. “And you’re taking it so well.”

Running your tongue along his big, veiny cock, his head falls forward— adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out a pleased moan. His cock fills your empty mouth, stuffing it full like a pre-lubed fleshlight, his balls slapping against your chin in sticky, wet plaps. Collecting drool, it froths between your lips and his cock, bubbly and white until your noises are sloppy and loud. “That’s it, good boy, take this load down your pretty little throat. . .”

Gasping on his cock, Kento’s hand holds you close, until you’re buried against his pubes, until your throat is squeezing and contracting and wrapped plush around the thick shaft of his dick. You can feel it, each and every twitch and throb, each hit, sticky rope that paints your mouth as he cums down your throat, ropes shooting down your tongue and sticking to the roof of your mouth. You’ve done so good, such a good boy, marked for Sir, offering a few hollow sucks to his spasming cock before he pulls you off.

You’d rather he paint your face, but you trust him, swallowing the bitter, salty cream as he whispers gentle praises.

“You’re perfect,” Kento mumbles through heavy gasps, rubbing away the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. Such a sweet, pliant boy, leaning into his touch as he gently pushes you back down, off your knees.

Now he’s got you folded, knees bent back in such a slutty, shameless display. The blond squeezes at his cock, his large hand sliding into a fist that clamps down around his beading, shiny slit, then slowly back down to the thick, veiny shaft. Yeah, that’s good, how it slips and slides with rhythmatic pumps. You’d like to imagine that’s how it’ll be when his cock is inside, stretching past your rim and splitting you open, sliding against your velvety walls until he fills you up with his hot, sticky cum.

“Spit,” he says, gentle at first, but hardening as your poor, pitiful attempt at spitting down your own cock turns into gurgles of drool and incoherent moans. He grips your jaw, angling it just right— till you’re resting back on your elbows and have enough space to land a warm, wet glob right down the slit. “Good boy. Look at me, pretty. Like this.”

You watch as he spits down onto his own cock, runny and wet, which stands as a reminder of its own. His fist is so big, but it’s not nearly enough to swallow his cock down. You watch it pop free from his tight grip, loud squelches with each and every movement. Every time he throbs, pulses, shifts— you hear it all.

“That’s it, atta boy, my good little cocksleeve,” You— it must be you, there’s no one else he’s speaking to. Still, with your hand squeezing your throbbing shaft there’s not much you can say, airy little moans and sweet, high gasps leaving your pouty lips as you buck— up, up, up. A thin trail of drool slips down your chin, warm and wet and— oh, that’s nice— trailing down your cock. “That’s it, stick your tongue out.”

You really do play the part, tongue on display as you fuck your fist silly, bumping slits with the blond. Soft and sticky, loud and wet squelching until his own large, warm palm envelops both your cocks, bumping and grinding and sliding so messy. You nearly burst into hysterics when the warmth is gone, and Nanami’s gaze tears away from the pre oozing between your shafts. “Ask Sir for more, angel.”

“Mm, waitwaitwait, don’t— don’t stop,” You keen, stumbling over your tongue. Your brows pinch, eyes glazed over with unshed tears. “Kenny— Sir, please.”

“Good boy,” All but purring, his hands roam along the plush, round mounds of your ass. “Yeah,” His dick slips between the slick skin of your perineum, dragging along the sensitive skin— the head of his cock catching on your rim when his thrusts turn too eager. “You’re a good boy, asking like that.”

“You like grinding on Sir's cock don’t you? Getting me all wet. . .” Just as warm and wet as he’d thought, cooped up in his office and fucking into his fist, lube gushes and trickles out with every deliberate, shallow rut forward. Your balls bounce and twitch, slick and shiny with a mixture of pre. Your moans, so pretty, high and nasally— incoherent and blabbering. The slurp of his cock goes straight to your balls, tightening as you whine like a bitch for it. And his grip, once gentle and steady, leads down to your ass, keeping it spread as he slides the big head of his cock along your pretty little rim, again, and again, and again. It’s more menuevering than bouncing, through your fucked out haze you try to think; you want him to ruin you.

A knot tightens in your tummy, tingling in your balls as your thighs tighten and your legs tremble— fuck, you’re cumming, hard and all at once, it catches you off guard and a choked squeal is knocked from your throat, rope after rope spraying along your own chest.

“I—” You sob, cock convulsing against your tummy as Kento groans. “I didn’t mean to— didn’t know, m’sor—”

He hushes you, a low growl in his throat as his eyes roam up your tummy, past your hard nipples and land on the splatter of cum collecting between the plush hills of your pecs. “S’okay, it just felt too good, mhm? I bet your pussy feels so good, baby— perfect, pretty little pussy swallowing up my cock.”

You don’t expect him to say that— that’s the last thing you expect, eyes rolling back in your skull as you moan, wholehearted and slutty. With the wet squeeze of lube along your bottom half, slicker and sloppier than ever before, your hole winks back at him. Your perfect, pretty little pussy. “That okay, sweetheart? Can Sir pound this hole till it aches for him?”

Your response is barely coherent, garbled sounds and babbling that roughly translates to ‘please’ as thick fingers prod at your tight, puckered hole. Your loud moans are hushed as Kento leans down, close to your ear. His fingers slide against your entrance, sticky lube sliding along with them and connecting to your puffy rim. They feel so big, so long and thick when he taps them against your hole, barely breaching the tiny gape of your rim. “Gonna get you ready for Sir’s dick, gonna finger that cunt nice and slow, get that sweet boy-hole stretched out.”

“Kenny,” You hiccup, uncontrollable tears streaming down your face as you reach forward to press his fingers closer, a tiny gasp leaving your lips as your entrance is breached. You don’t miss the groan you earn in return, deep and shaky as the man takes the opportunity to slip his fingers right in, past the burning stretch of your fluttering ‘cunt’ that sucks the digits deeper and deeper into your gummy walls. “Can take it, pound it, Sir.”

“Look at me, watch me, sugar. Watch Sir fuck this little hole full.” You squeeze your eyes shut for as long as the reluctant, bratty little part of your brain lets you before staring down into hazel. Until his fingers have you seeing stars and rocking back into them like a cock hungry slut, you’ve never felt more full until his cock kisses your insides, leaving you sloppy and open and full.

Your voice isn’t nearly as loud as the wet squelch and slap of skin against skin, his cock sliding in and out your puffy hole as lube gushes out around his dick in white ringlets. Like you’ve creamed on his cock, he can see it slip back inside with each thrust. Your knees over his shoulders, Kento hauls your body up, and with a tiny, wee and pathetic ‘ah!’ you follow suit, your cute little hole clenching and fluttering around his thick, leaking cock.

“Give me a little more, just a little more of this pussy,” You can’t contain the squeals and squeaks that leave your mouth when the blond pistons his hips, a bruising grip on your waist that only gets harder as he grinds his cock down into you. He’s filling you up so good, his balls slapping against your ass with each rushed, rough thrust that has your mind scrambled just as much as your guts. You can’t take it, hands scrambling to grab at something, anything that’ll keep you from screaming.

Pounding into you, your head falls back as you take it, nice and slow, stretching you out— fast and rough, steady and patient— Kento groans above you, bullying his cock inside, grinding while your hips squirm. Mouth open with an unending stream of moans, he breaks you in, turns you into his good boy— his perfect fleshlight. Wet little hole clenching and spasming, his weight pins you down as your greedy hole milks him for all he’s worth.

“Cummin’, Nami, s’too much— M’can’t—” Whining and crying, his touches go right to your head as much as they do your puffy hole."Kenny," you whine, long and pitiful, a pout of a noise that hits him right where you want it to, just as his cock does inside of you. You whine again when your rocking turns into frantic overstimulated grinding, reveling in the stretch of his cock and the rub of your prostate. He groans, thick and gravelly, hands coming up to squeeze at your chest.

“I’ve got you, c’mere, hold Sir’s hand,” He chokes out, feeling it too. The tightening of his balls, the way his dick aches and pulses inside you, the way his cum is starting to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are hard and deep, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. “So good for me,” You never want it to stop, not the pump of his cock, not the drag of his tip against your entrance, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move. Your grip on his knuckles is tight, nails digging into the skin of his hands. “That’s it, such a pretty boy, cumming on my cock.”

A searing knot of pressure grows in your stomach, filling as you bear down on his cock and sob on your whimpers. For a minute you think you’re going to pass out, everything going dark as you spurt all over yourself, globs of cum spraying hard onto your chin and splashing back on the blond. He makes you ride it out, offering hard, shallow thrusts to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, and places a few sweet, tender kisses to your sweaty jaw.

౨ৎ

You wake with a small moan, limbs racked in small aches as your body melts into silk sheets. It smells like him: warm, cozy, and comforting, like a hug. Grateful for the dim, ambient lighting of his bedroom, your eyelids flutter open slowly, and there’s not much to adjust to. You’re clean— its the first thing you notice, a faint scent of soap lingering on your skin as your aching body scrambles for Kento’s warmth.

“I’m here,” He says behind you, hairs on your neck standing straight as you blink at him. Carrying a glass of ice water and a plate of meringue cookies— whisked perfectly. Cute, cloud-like spirals that sit on a porcelain plate— the same ones he watched you make, a smile pulls at your cheeks. “Hungry?” The muscles of your biceps flex as you push yourself up, body subconsciously leaning toward the blond until he’s sat next to you, his touches gentle and fleeting.

He feeds you a cookie, watches your teeth sink into the sweet, then wipes away the remnants of sugar from your lips. So tender, your heart flutters when he takes a bite after you— an indirect kiss.

He swallows, throat bobbing, lashes batting against his high cheekbones, before parting his lips, “I was thinking of extending my stay.”

The room feels ten times brighter, ten times louder, and yet, your heartbeat overpowers it all.

“I like you,” The words tumble from your mouth, almost as if he hadn’t just spent the last hour taking you apart and building you back up. You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. “I more-than-like you, Kenny.”

And, without missing a beat, Kento answers truthfully this time.

“I love you too.”

[synthetickitsune]

svt ot13 + when you're sick

Seungcheol ❧ This is why he drives an expensive car. The engine can barely be heard, and so at least Seungcheol doesn’t worry (so much) about the noise disturbing you. He steals a glance at your picture on his phone screen. You look miserable, tired, even as you’re sleeping. He can faintly make out the steady rise and fall of your chest. He takes a turn when the navigation tells him to, and he hopes the info online was correct and the pharmacy is still open. If you weren’t so sick he’d scold you about not being more careful about running out of medicine, but for now he will settle on restocking them for you. He takes another look at you, catching the exact moment you open your eyes and call his name. He reassures you he’s still there, just parking the car. Seungcheol takes the phone with him to the store that’s thankfully indeed open. He ignores your weak cries of embarrassed protest when he asks the person behind the counter how high does a temperature need to be to warrant a visit to the ER.

Jeonghan ❧ Your eyes water behind your closed eyelids and you want it to be just because of the headache, you will say it is because of it. Jeonghan will believe you anyway, even though you doubt he’d laugh right now even if he knew it might actually be because of the tender way he’s stroking your hair, your head held safely to his chest, and his soft voice quietly cooing praises and reassurances to you. You were pushing him away until you couldn’t anymore. He insists he’s always sick anyway, so it doesn’t matter. His arm is starting to get sore, but he won’t stop for as long as the action brings you comfort. In his head he keeps a checklist with no deadline in particular. He needs to make sure you eat, he needs to get some water in you too, he should get you to tell him everything that’s wrong. But that can wait until the painkillers kick in. Jeonghan knows you tried to be strong, and he’s proud - as he told you many times - but he’s prouder that you let him help. He kisses the top of your head and checks in with you. The silence is enough to tell him to keep going. So he does with a small smile.

Joshua ❧ No matter how many times you tell him that your condition isn’t so bad you’d need constant supervision, Joshua has none of it. He will make short trips outside your bedroom if necessary but otherwise he’s staying. You need him, he insists. You’re vulnerable and need his protection. He playfully punches the air that made you sick. Then he protectively squeezes you to his chest when your body is wrecked with chills. And he will take your approval of that as a sign he should continue with the silliness. He pretends to sneeze at you - to scare your germs away, he says. He reminds you that he’s at your beck and call. Ready to make you something to eat, ready to give you the medicine, always willing to provide cuddles and kisses. He will even softly sing to you if you need help falling asleep. Although for now it seems you’re happy enough to sleepily watch him and listen to his soothing voice. It makes Joshua's chest tight, the way you trust him, how lovingly you watch him, how you seem to thrive just because he’s near. Compared to when he spoke to you on the phone… Yeah, he’s not leaving the bedroom until you’re well.

Jun ❧ Jun is stubborn. You can insist, you can threaten him, you can plead with him to leave before he gets sick too but he won’t. He’s going to nurse you back to health just like you’d do for him. He wants to show off how well he can care for you - like cook you delicious meals. Only the nausea makes it hard to enjoy them. Again, though, he is stubborn and he will figure it out. There are other ways he can prove himself to be the best boyfriend. He can tell you’re as disappointed as he is that his cooking isn’t helping, but cheering you up is his other specialty. Never in his life did he expect he’d wake up his partner for food and pills by meowing in their face, but here he is. And if it gets you to move, to smile, to kiss his cheek, he’ll keep doing it. He doesn’t act cute too often for you, which makes these moments rare. It makes him shy, but it brings life back into your eyes. If you’re so tired and incoherent that you can only have full conversation in the cat language with Jun, so be it. His heart might be a little closer to bursting with every soft meow from your lips, but he’s stubborn. He’ll make it until you’re healthy.

Soonyoung ❧ You smile through the pain, fondly. Soonyoung is trying to be quiet but you’re too sensitive right now. He lists off all your symptoms to his mother on the phone and asks what could help. He asks for recipes, tips. You might be hyperaware of every sound, but you do end up falling asleep, his voice a distant lullaby. When you wake up, there’s a bowl of fruit cut into small pieces and small piles of various pills - medicine and vitamins, your boyfriend explains, hugging you tightly. He asks if you feel like eating, and then encourages you to try the fruit anyway. He starts telling you a story, but only continues for every little piece you eat. His joy at his idea working as he imagined makes you smile too. He goes through all of his mother’s suggestions at once. There’s a bag of frozen veggies on your forehead and more, making you look ridiculous. Some of it is working, some of it not. Soonyoung is trying to cook though, so that’s far more concerning. Love only does so much for a meal. When he asks if you think delivery will work as well as a home-cooked meal, you reassure him any healing you do will be thanks to the fruit he cut for you. 

Wonwoo ❧ He closes the blinds and pulls the curtains closed as well. Despite the midday sun’s best attempts, the room is dark. Wonwoo returns your smile, but still checks if there’s anything more he can do. He pushes the hair away from your face and pulls the blanket all the way to your chin. A pointless action, really, when you just sneak your hand out to hold his. He must admit you’re quite cute when the sickness makes you this needy. He expects you to ask him to stay when everything is prepared and he has yet to decide if he’ll agree straight away or tease you first. His own necessities are ready - his phone, book, console, anything he might need to entertain himself while he keeps you company and serves as your personal heater. He puts the medicine, already separated into individual doses, and water on the bedside table. He’ll order food later, having already learned the hard way you feel better with him close instead of trying to burn down the kitchen. You’re already half asleep when Wonwoo brings some snacks, so it makes the choice easy when you reach for him - silently he stays.

Jihoon ❧ It’s not the first time he’s grateful to be used to sleep deprivation, but it might be the first time he doesn’t feel any bitterness towards the fact. This once, Jihoon only feels bitter towards the AC in your office and the frailty of the human body. He can’t make out your face in the complete darkness, but the dark bags under your reddish eyes and the lethargy so unlike you haunt him still. His hand moves with your every raspy breath, following the movement of your chest. His legs have gone numb a long time ago, but he refuses to get up from the floor. If you turn away, then he’ll consider getting on the bed, but for the time being, he needs to stay here. If you wake up and want to hold his hand, he needs to be ready. If you’re too weak and too in pain to wait until the morning for the medicine, he needs to be ready. You stir in your sleep and he isn’t ready for the pained noise you make, your sleep disturbed by discomfort. So Jihoon starts humming a slow, comforting melody. It must be an instinct that your body relaxes immediately.

Minghao ❧ It’s nothing short of a herculean task to keep you in bed, especially when you’re sticky with sweat and feel like you’re boiling alive. The only thing that helps, Minghao discovered, is his voice. So he reads to you. He needs to keep at it at least until the latest dose of pills starts working. You squirm and whimper much less, reassured by his soothing presence. His voice is calm; his whole demeanor is. It’s not like he needs to freak out for you to know he’s worried. First he helps you feel more comfortable by gently cleaning your face with a cold wet towel. Then you gladly snuggle into his side. He holds the book open with one hand and the other he uses to gently massage your sore shoulder. You groan softly whenever he applies more pressure. You insist it helps though, and seeing as you like to lay on your side, he’s glad to help to make it bearable. He’ll continue until the fever subsides and the pain eases with it. He knows you’ll ask him to continue reading to you even then, and maybe he will if you’re good.

Mingyu ❧ His lips are better and more reliable than any thermometer. Mingyu can tell by a forehead kiss alone that you’re a bit feverish, and pouts when you don’t trust him. Like a machine would know your body better than him. When you wake up, it’s morning already. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you’re drenched with cold sweat and near delirious with fever. Your boyfriend diligently helps you sit up and take the medicine he has prepared already - after forcing you to eat a few crackers so the medicine doesn’t upset your stomach. He calls your boss for you after making sure you’re asleep again, having already turned off your alarm. He opens the window and cuddles you under the blanket to make up for the cold air. He knows you won’t like it, so he tries to make up for the necessary evil. He will clean up later when your sleep is deeper - he doesn’t want you to feel like you’re behind on chores. Every bitterness he makes up for with sweetness, anything you crave. His arms are opened for you, his lips always available. Mingyu isn’t afraid of getting sick himself if it means being there for you.

Seokmin ❧ He’s at a loss for words, so he just smiles and nods. You don’t seem to mind, babbling on, sulkily, about why urchins would be cute pets, about the little hats you’d put on them. Seokmin knows better than to argue with you when you’re sick. The last thing he wants to do is to make you upset. He suggests a miniature of his whale hat and he finally gets to see you smile. You squirm in excitement at finally being heard, so he has to remind you to stay still. Your nose is all red and cracked, rubbed raw by the dozens of tissues. He helps you apply lotion on it now that it seems like your nose stopped running. You finally settle when he promises he’ll figure out a way to get all the small hats you came up with, even though you’ll forget about your great plans for your army of urchins once you take a nap. He’ll write it down later, however, to laugh about it with you when you’re feeling well again. The list is ever growing. Naming your future pets misspelled names of his friends. Deep frying ice cream… Maybe he’ll try that one with you as a celebration when you beat the sickness.

Seungkwan ❧ He tsks again and immediately follows up with an apology in a much softer tone when you wince in pain. Seungkwan might have underestimated how sick you were and now he blames himself for it, but then again you sounded fine on the phone. You’re anything but fine, actually, and he drops the spoon back into the bowl in defeat. The silver lining is that all the three meals you can hold down are simple enough for him to prepare. What’s worse is that you’re eating nowhere near enough to get your strength back. He pleads with you for just five more spoons, just that. You look like he’s forcing the food down your throat. Four and the vitamins, then. It’s a tough bargain, but he wins eventually. For every spoon he makes sure to kiss and praise you, slipping the vitamin pills one by one on the top of each bite to be efficient. You seem like you’ll fall right asleep once he lets you lie down. He still isn’t satisfied with you not finishing your meal, but he knows you’re trying. Seungkwan remains sitting on the bed, watching over you until you wake up.

Vernon ❧ Nothing really makes sense but Vernon’s voice. The world must be spinning at a breakneck speed, but you’re well anchored with your head on his lap. He knew it was bad when you asked if he could stay somewhere else, and so he’s glad he came. Just like anything else, getting better is a process made easy if you follow instructions, and he will make sure you do. He keeps track of it for you, because he isn’t even sure if you realize it’s been hours since he came and it’s already dark outside. And you’re not complaining that you don’t understand what he’s saying at all - which he does on purpose to test you. So he asks you a trick question, you’d pick the bear over me right?, and laughs when you happily hum a yes. Maybe he should take some videos of you to laugh at later. You’d appreciate it you too, he thinks. But he really can’t when you look so pathetic, curled to stay as close to him as you can. Vernon is really fine with it even if it’s inconvenient. Even if you don’t really listen to him. It helps him sort out the mess in his head to just keep rambling. If you overhear and remember, that’s also fine. Everything is okay if it’s you.

Chan ❧ It’s not funny when you tell him that the flowers look half-dead just like you. Not funny at all, and he reminds you that you’re just suffering from a bad cold - you’re not dying. You muster your remaining strength to smile and reassure him that indeed, you’ll be fine. He puts the flowers next to your bed. They no longer carry scent so they don’t overwhelm your senses and you know that’s what Chan was going for. Despite your joke, they’re still very beautiful. You thank him for them when he comes back with soup, feeding you spoon after spoon while doing his best to pretend like you’re on a first date, getting to know each other. The fever makes it easier to fall for the illusion, but you know the love is real. Acting like he’s pulling out a box of chocolates, Chan pops the medicine into your hand. He treats tucking you in after you take them like you’re parting in front of your door, settling for a chaste kiss to your forehead. He stays until you fall asleep, as if waiting for you to disappear into the safety of your home.

[housecow]

it’s so bad but. ruination is one of the hottest parts of feedism for me... i’ve set myself up well so far. i’ve made good decisions that’ve paid off—but i want all of that to mean nothing eventually.

does it even matter that i’m a published academic when i can’t get myself off the couch without help? unread emails from colleagues i haven’t seen in years. inquiries about a database i poured my soul into developing for grad school, unread and untouched for months because i can’t bother to reach over and pull the laptop onto my massive belly. maybe i’d figure out a way to forward them to someone else, removing any potential responsibility. why keep up with those connections when it’s so much easier to keep shoveling food into my mouth?

i can’t wait for all of my accomplishments to pale in comparison with the hundreds of pounds i’ve put on. my world will narrow—my feeder and the piles of food he supplies will be the only things that matter. his careful and strong hands, massaging the rolls and folds he so lovingly made sure were our priority. it started with a simple, “close the laptop and come sit, i got the shake ready”

one day i just won’t open it ever again. the tv remote is right there, my phone is tucked somewhere under the flab. there’s a few pizzas on the way. premade shakes are in the mini fridge next to the couch i fill up almost entirely by myself. my mind is finally blank—no one would expect i was ever more than a useless cow

the occasional trip to the fridge is the most i’d accomplish in a day, maybe even a week. my feeder figures out he can lace the shakes with thc and keep my mind numb, just like i told him i needed. no more documentaries. shitty reality tv keeps me entranced and distracted, thousands of calories devoured each hour. after work he finds me where he left me, surrounded by wrappers and working on a tub of ice cream. “babe, how many has it been?”

can i even count at that point? “i don’t know, can you get me another?” he’d pop it in the microwave first because spoons are getting hard to hold in my pudgy hands. sticky sausage fingers grasp the tub as he hands it to me and he slides onto the couch next to my massive figure.

this is the best part of the day. he rubs my belly in circles, pressing deeply into the soft and dimpled fat as i desperately gulp down the slurry of melted ice cream. he grips a roll and gives it a shake, making me groan a bit—in a good way, it freed up a bit more room. not like i would’ve stopped eating anyways. he shakes his head and tuts: “you still have room?”

i don’t say anything but i smile and lazily look at him, slow and dumb but knowing what that disapproval means. he reaches to the table and pulls the funnel mask out, slipping it over my face. “good girls can barely breathe by the time i get home.”

god, at one point in time people thought i actually had potential. i can’t wait to ruin it all

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Diasomnia with “who hurt you” trope

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia doesn’t feel like himself when he sees you, your eyes closed, your body impossibly still - he can feel his heart hammering in his chest as he approached you, fingers desperately searching your skin for a sign of life. It seemed his touch brought you back, even briefly, eyes finding his alongside a weak smile. He whispered his question with an intensity you’d never heard from him before, flinching as he almost yelled it in his next breath. He had to know who did this to assure they never did it again. When he sees fear reflected in your eyes he calmed himself, a hand delicately caressing your cheek as he asked again in a gentler tone and leaned down so you wouldn’t have to strain yourself or your voice. He hummed thoughtfully at the description and seared it into his head, hiding the eerie look on his face as he pressed a kiss to your head and promised you’d be okay soon.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus had always been observant of the people he cared about, especially when there was a comfortable routine to be found. He had found such a routine with you, where your classes were right next to each other and you had the same lunch; you would often walk to the cafeteria together, getting your food and finding a much quieter spot to eat or enjoy each other’s company. He can’t say he hadn’t been curious about how long this might last until you forgot, when this wouldn’t just be a daily pleasantry to you but like an appointment you were expected to keep to appease the dragon. He tastes bile in the back of his throat the one day you don’t appear, a lingering disappointment though he tried not to let it show as his emotions tended to cause disasters. It’s only when he sees you again, your eyes looking lifeless and your body language closed off, that he realized something must have happened. He wants to pry, to ask a million questions to get to the bottom of this so things could return to normal, but his experiences had taught him many things, so he chose to wait beside you until you were ready to confide in him. He was confident he’d find out who hurt you regardless, and that he could handle it swiftly.

Sebek Zigvolt:

Sebek doesn’t immediately notice any odd behavior, going about the conversation regarding your schoolwork as normal. It’s when tear drops began to stain the paper in front of you that he’s rendered speechless, knowing you weren’t weak enough to cry over something like potion ingredients. He’s incredibly clumsy in his attempts to understand what upset you, who upset you — it wasn’t him, right? As brash as he could be he had learned the proper way to act without pushing you away, so he’s confident it wasn’t that. He’s meant to be a fighter and if someone had physically hurt you, he’d know exactly how to restore your honor. However, with only figurative bruises on your heart he’s struggling, twice as much as he would with a regular friend due to the depth of his feelings for you. You can at least find some amusement in Sebek’s ever changing facial expressions as he used all his brain power to remedy the situation.

Silver:

Silvers steps were steady as he approached, stealthily following the trail of blood and hoping it didn’t lead to an unfortunate prize. He broke out into a sprint when he sees your form curled up on the ground, a much larger puddle of blood gathered nearby to hint he had found the main source behind the trail. He’s fighting not to panic as he kneeled over your body, hands holding your face as he begged for you to wake up, to just look at him. When you do it brings him enough relief that he could cry, forehead pressed to yours as he asked who did this to you. He doesn’t know what his next course of action is, frown plastered to his face as your eyes slid shut again; he could see your chest moving now, in the familiar way it did when you slept, leaving him a little more at ease. Silver felt like he might not sleep for another hundred years, not until the person who hurt you was thoroughly punished.

[tojisglazer]

🌟Random JJK Men Headcanons!🌟

Creds to @cafekitsune for all dividers!!

Masterlist

NSFW CONTENT UP AHEAD!!

Includes: Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Shiu Kong (Maybe more characters in the future! Recommend some n’ they might be up here next!…just no minors pls unless it’s for fluff 😭😭)

Not rlly proofread so I’m sorry for any mistakes!!!

Kento Nanami

• Would definitely be a whiner, especially when it’s time to get up in the morning, “Mmm..darlinggg…”, his grip on your waist becoming tighter. “Just five more minutes.. pretty please…?”, how could you possibly deny your sweet husband?

• Kento will always help you with your hair if needed and is always good at it (You don’t know this, but every night while your sleeping, he watches YouTube videos on how to style curly hair in cute styles he knows you’d like).

• Rarely ever cries to you since he doesn’t want you stressing out over him. When he did cry, however, you’d be sure to have him lay on your lap and softly coo at him until he falls asleep.

• Will be the cook of the house. Sure, he’d let you cook a few meals from time to time, but he would prefer cooking for you instead of vice versa. (His food ALWAYS ended up delicious)

“Kento let me cook for tonight please! You cook all the timeee!” You whine as you’re being dragged back to the living room by your husband.

“Please, my love, sit down. I want you to relax this evening.” Kento kisses you on your forehead as he sits you down on the couch. “Dinner will be ready in a few, okay?”

“Tomorrow night Kento, I will be cooking.” You say with a pout on your face, and Kento can’t help but let out a chuckle.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

• When one of your favorite songs of all time play on the car radio, you’d scream the lyrics, eventually luring Kento in to sing with you. He probably wouldn’t know half of the songs you listen to, but he’ll still sing with you if it makes you happy.

• Never calls you by your name unless something serious is going on. Will always call you baby, sweetheart, darling, love, or honey. (Ex. “Love, if you don’t mind, could you get me a sandwich from that bakery I always go to?” “Honey, you’re always so good to me, I love you so much.”)

• Speaking of which, he loves it when you call him sweetie, Ken, or even if you refer to him as “your man”. He gets hard just thinking about it.

• He’s definitely a little pervert. Whenever you’re out the house for a lengthened period of time, he’d use the opportunity to steal multiple pairs a pair of your used underwear and jack off to it in your shared bedroom, making sure to leave his cum right in the center of your panties. Little did he know, however, the cameras in your house caught every second of it.

• Kento would absolutely love to be dominated by you. Just the thought of you riding him and fucking him with your strap until there’s tears rolling down his face just does something to him.

• He’ll beg and whimper to you at any point during sex, the way he looks so pathetic as soon as you have him in your grasp is something indescribable and makes you want more. “Mmh—babyyyy—haah—oh goddd—I’m gonna cumm-”

“L-Love please—please let me—”

“Ooohhhh—can’t hold it b-back, d-darling-“

• We all know this man is an absolute king when it comes to aftercare. Giving you a minute to rest, he goes to your kitchen and brews up some chamomile tea. Afterwards, he runs a warm bath with some rose petals which he knows you like.

Toji Fushiguro

• Isn’t very good at communication due to being raised in nothing but an abusive household. Knowing this, you help him every step of the way, and he can’t help but look at you with hearts in his eyes.

•He’ll hit you with a dad joke at the most random and unexpected times. You could both be showering together and he’d be talking about some, “What do you call two ducks and a cow? Quackers and milk.” They’ll always make you laugh, though.

• Expect Toji to tease you 24/7. For example, if you’re wearing a bonnet, best believe he’s snatching it off as soon as you walk past him, laughing and holding it over his head as you’re trying to take it back.

-SWOOP- All you feel now is a breeze on the top of your head instead of your trusty bonnet. “Toji I swear to God if you don’t stop snatching my bonnet there’s gonna be problems.” You turn to face the man who now has your leopard print bonnet in his big hand.

“Oh please girl,” you hated the way he mirrored your sass. (You didn’t) “Y’r not gonna do a thing to me.” He chuckled, now putting your bonnet on his head.

“Tojiiiii you’re gonna stretch it outtt!” You groaned and hit his chest, yet Toji doesn’t pay you any mind.

“Babyyyyy,” He mimics you, “I’ll give it back under one condition.”

You sigh, knowing the exact condition.

“Jus’ gimmie a kiss, and the bonnet is all yours.”

• His usual go-to of pet names would include: Doll, babe, baby, ma, brat, and princess (Ex. “Babe, you wanna come to this new restaurant with me? Heard they had some good steak.” “Quit bein’ such a little brat.” “Y’look so damn pretty, doll.”).

• Toji brags to his best friend Shiu all about you, much to his annoyance. He boasts about how pretty you are, how smart you are, how big your ass is, and how lucky he is to have you.

• He absolutely loves the way you treat his five year old son, Megumi. You treat the boy as if he’s your own, and Toji can’t help but smile until his cheeks are sore, and even then he wouldn’t stop smiling.

• This man cannot cook for shit. The only cooking he’s doing would be making toast with butter or ordering takeout.

• He’d definitely eat you out of a house and home and take a fat nap afterwards, though. His portions of food would be enough to feed three people. Living with him, you’d have to go food shopping every two days.

• Though he’d never admit it, Toji loves hugs and how you smother him will all kinds of affection. He’d act all annoyed and tough and claim he doesn’t like it, but deep down you both know he eats it up every single time.

•Expect to see dirty gym socks and other clothing attire scattered across your shared bedroom. You’ll tell him to stop acting like a pig and clean up after himself, but it’ll go in one ear and straight out the other.

• Toji has such a praise kink. Whenever the words “good boy” or any other compliment leaves your pretty lips, it’s like he can’t think for himself anymore.

• He loves, loves, loves, having sex in missionary position with you. He loves being so close to you, being able to smell your special scent, and whisper in your ears, “Look how—fuck—look how messy this pretty pussy is for me, ma.”

“Y’r taking my cock so fucking well, baby.”

“Love ya so fucking much, y’know that? Hah—shit—Yeah, y’know that.” while he’s absolutely demolishing your insides. Don’t get him wrong, the man loves tons of sex positions, but missionary will always be his first pick.

• He may not look the part, but Toji whimpers and moans like crazy when he’s about to cum. “Hnghh—ooohhhh—fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—“

• When he cums, expect a bunch of it. It’s so much that it leaks out of your throbbing cunt and onto the light pink bed sheets, leaving a puddle.

• His kind of aftercare would be licking your clit, ridding it of any leftover cum. Afterwards, he’d give you a water bottle and massage any aching body parts. He’d then order some of your favorite take out and you’d both eat it together while watching some corny dad show he found on tv.

Shiu Kong

• You have this man wrapped around your pretty finger. He’ll spoil you rotten. He couldn’t possibly think of saying no to his princess, especially when he has the money to get you whatever you want.

• You will never find yourself in a position where you need to lift a finger whenever he’s around. You’ll get nothing but royalty treatment.

• Shiu absolutely hates it whenever you’re around Toji. He knows Toji wouldn’t do anything, but seeing you even look at him gets on his nerves.

• You wake up to the smell of some freshly cooked bacon and eggs (or whatever else you’d favor) due to him. His day will literally be ruined if he isn’t able to cook for you.

• Whenever you want your hair and nails done, Shiu will give you the money, plus a little extra so you can get yourself something nice.

• Your car will definitely end up smelling like his cigarettes mixed with his signature cologne after a while.

• You practically beg him to teach you a few words in Korean (mostly curse words) since you claims he sounds so sexy speaking it.

“Come onnnnnn,” you whine, following Shiu around the house as he carries the clean laundry in a basket. “Just one word, please?”

“I’ve already said a word, princess, don’t you remember that?” He stops in his tracks and turns to face you.

“Okay—well—one more!” you pout and cross your arms.

“Don’t do that,” Shiu chuckles, then sighs contently. “How could I ever say no to you, beautiful?” Your eyes light up and a big smile is displayed on your face.

“사랑해요, 예쁜.” He whispers in your ear and leaves a kiss on your cheek.

“What’s that mean??”

“It means I love you, pretty.” He cups your face with two hands. You can’t help but giggle and leave a kiss on his lips.

• Like Kento, Shiu wouldn’t call you by your name at all. He hasn’t called you by your name ever since you two first met. Sometimes you wonder if he even knows your name (he does). The names he calls you are: Doll face, love, princess, pretty, beautiful, bunny (Ex. “Did y’want this necklace, princess?” “Let’s go out to eat, doll face.” “You can take it, bunny, can’t you? Yes you can.”).

• Every morning, his head is found in between your legs, licking and sucking at your clit. Every time you try to push his head away due to overstimulation, he says “Come on, pretty, m’just eating some breakfast, gimmie a minute.”

• This man is extremely weak for head. His breathy moans only get louder as he’s getting closer and closer to his climax. “Ohh f-fuck—my love—s-s’close—”

“Y’r sucking s’good pretty—mmh—so fucking good-”

• He’ll immediately return the favor by stuffing your sobbing pussy with his fat cock, thrusting in an unforgiving pace. “H-Hah—you h-hear that? Y’hear how she’s—shit—purring for me l-love?”

“I know you can take it bunny, I know you can—ooohhh ffffuckkkk-”

• After he’s done with you, he kisses your forehead and wipes you down with a warm damp towel. He then massages your plump thighs and kisses your face a bit more. When you’re finally asleep, he goes out to your balcony for a quick smoke.

[neocitylights]

SUMMARY: Giving in to your boss relentless matchmaking attempts, you’re not sure what to expect upon agreeing to finally meet her son, Donghyuck, at the company’s upcoming Halloween party. Unsure if you’re even ready for a relationship, you also might still be a little too caught up by Haechan, an insufferable but charming one-night fling that keeps asking you out despite your refusals. There’s one thing you’re sure about—life is a funny thing, but yours definitely feels like a cosmic joke sometimes. GENRE: Romance, fluff, non-idol au, one night stand au, strangers to lovers WORD COUNT: 12k WARNINGS: Cursing, suggestive themes, implied sexual content

NOTES: Omg hi neocitylights second fic!! Please let me know what you think!! It’s gonna make my day!!

At first, it reads off as a simple, innocent email from your boss.

As you’d volunteered to help Mrs. Lee organize the company’s annual Halloween party, the first few paragraphs seem harmless enough—reading through the details of potential venues, catering options and decoration palettes selected by her, it truly is a simple, innocent email from your boss… until it isn’t. 

Scanning the words for one last time, a sigh escapes from your lips as you hit her last lines.

Also, don’t forget that I can’t wait for you to finally meet my son at the party! I’m sure that he’ll be delighted to meet you.  

You’ve been working for Mrs. Lee for a little over a year by now and for the best part of it, her persistent matchmaking attempts for her son, Donghyuck, have been targeting you. It’s become a running joke around the small office, especially since every other week Mrs. Lee makes it a point to note how ‘absolutely perfect’ her son would be for you, and how he ‘knows all about you already’. 

Though you’ve always taken it with stride, laughing it off whenever she mentions him, Mrs. Lee never wavered from her scheme.

Besides the fact that Donghyuck is absolutely adored by his mother, you don’t know much about him other than his name and a few bits and pieces of information very purposefully provided by your boss. 

Oh, he’s a very smart boy. Yes, Donghyuck is a little ambitious, you know. He’s been single for a while.

Admittedly, the idea of dating your boss’ son seems like a ticking bomb waiting to explode, but since Mrs. Lee is one of the sweetest people you’ve met in life, it’s only fair to at least assume that she’s raised a decent guy.

Now that the party’s coming up, there’s no real way out of it. 

If you’re being honest, your love life has been a little lacking lately. Given work and your busy routine, there hasn’t been much time to think about anything but crossing off the next item of your daily to-do list. Apart from the monthly team meeting with your co-workers and an occasional dinner out with your roommate or uni friends, the most action you’ve gotten recently is Haechan’s casual, annoyingly charming texts.

It’s funny to think about it now—the guy was supposed to be a one-time thing, just a night to blow off some steam after a long week. 

In a way, he still is. 

You hadn’t expected much after exchanging numbers at the doorstep of his apartment the next morning. 

Not being a stranger as to how one night stands work, you couldn’t help the surprise when his first text came through just a few hours later. Haechan still is a one-time thing, but he’d somehow turned out to be funny and entertaining enough to convince you to stay in touch with him despite the casualness of your encounter.

Toying with each other in a flirty, playful game, sometimes Haechan leaves you a little intrigued and maybe too willing for a second round… if only you didn’t have your work life to worry about, that is.

So for now, your work and love life are on completely separate tracks, even if Mrs. Lee’s been working a little too hard to blur the lines in between.

As you get home a few hours later than usual, brain scrambled in a mess of food menus and guest names, you give in to collapsing on the couch with Alia, who’s already halfway through a pint of ice cream and an episode of Sex Lives of College Girls.

“How was work?” Alia asks, a smirk creeping onto her face. “No offense, but you kinda look… rough.”

“No more than usual, I guess,” you sigh, side-eyeing your roommate for a second as you kick your heels off. “I mean, other than Mrs. Lee being over the moon that her son’s finally meeting me, it was just another day.”

Alia raises her eyebrows, a spoonful of ice cream hovering midway through her mouth. “Wait, is this really a thing? I thought you were joking whenever you mentioned her hyping up her son for you.”

“Donghyuck is very real, very single and apparently the perfect match for me.” You roll your eyes, a chuckle escaping from your lips. “He’s going to the party and she’s been mentioning it every single time she spots me around the office.”

“Damn,” Alia snorts, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she playfully nudges you. “Who would’ve thought you’d be your own boss’ daughter-in-law, huh?”

“Shut up,” you groan, cheeks instantly warming up at your roommate’s laugh. “I love Mrs. Lee to bits but I don’t even know the guy.”

“But you will,” Alia says, giving you a knowing look. “It could be fun, you know? Maybe he is all she’s made him up to be and he’ll be your soulmate or something.” 

You sigh, offering a pat to your friend’s thigh with an amused smile growing on your lips. “You’ve been reading too much booktok literature, Alia.”

As she grins in return, little did you know how stupidly right your roommate’s next words were.

“And you’ll live one, trust me.” 

The following weeks flew by, keeping you busy enough with last minute plan changes and impromptu hunts for a work function appropriate Halloween costume. Much to your concern and Alia’s amusement, Mrs. Lee’s enthusiasm over your potential meeting with her son didn’t falter, instead leaving all of your co-workers in a similar buzz as the party approached.

Now, as you adjust the pink vest of your Barbie costume under the orange lights currently decorating the venue, you can’t help but feel a little antsy. 

Especially after Mrs. Lee’s voice cuts through the crowd when calling your name.

Bracing yourself, you turn to find your boss striding towards you with a very familiar, eager gleam in her eyes. “Oh, there you are! Come on, I want to introduce you to someone!”

Mrs. Lee—who’s adorably dressed as Princess Leia—takes your arm, walking you through the crowd with such firm steps that you’d think that she’s waited her entire life for this exact moment. As fast as she guides you, your boss quickly comes to a stop by a group of her personal guests, who greet both of you with amused smiles. 

“Darling, he’s just over there speaking with a few family friends,” Mrs. Lee murmurs, her arm still intertwined with yours. “Go grab yourself a drink and I’ll bring him over in a moment, hm?”

“Sure thing,” you say, trying to sound casual enough to mask how dazed you are watching her disappear into the crowd again. 

A glass of wine later, the knot of expectation still sits in your stomach as you wait for them at the bar. Your eyes have been discreetly drifting over the room, anxiously anticipating the whirlwind that your boss will probably create for Donghyuck as soon as you’re within their sight. 

On top of the bar’s counter, your phone buzzes.

Haechan 9:34PM Tonight is the naughtiest night of the year Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want to see me today

Reading the texts, you couldn’t help laughing at his cheekiness. Sometimes it feels like Haechan has a knack for knowing the exact, most inappropriate moment to make himself known. Being as insufferable as he is, it’s truly a wonder how the guy still manages to be so attractive even through texts that can rival a frat boy.

Momentarily ignoring your nerves, you start typing a quick response. 

As you’re about to hit send, Mrs. Lee laugh hits your ears and you look up—

You blink, fingers hovering over the screen of your phone.

He’s standing right next to your boss, who has her arm around his and a smile as big as the sun on her face, clearly introducing him with an adoration you could feel from across the room. 

He as in freaking Haechan, the guy you were just about to text and the guy you have been texting ever since a one-night at his place months ago. Haechan as in Mrs. Lee’s infamous, perfect for you, son. 

Mrs. Lee finally catches your eyes, her face lighting up as she excitedly waves you over, the thrill of the moment thankfully leaving her oblivious to any signs of distress on your face. Heart drumming against your ears, you walk towards them with hesitant steps, still in disbelief over how absurd the entire situation is. 

With a hand on your back, Mrs. Lee pulls you closer with an expression that can only be described as triumphant. “Oh darling, I’d like you to meet my son, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck finally turns to you, his eyes immediately flickering in recognition as he takes in your entire figure, from the stupid white cowboy hat on your head to the high-heeled pointed boots. 

His face shifts, the brief flicker of surprise quickly getting replaced with amusement as he steps to stand by his mother’s side. 

“So this is my Donghyuck, like I told you all about,” your boss continues, a hand on his shoulder as she tells him your name, positively beaming. “You two will get along wonderfully, I just know it.”

Unbeknownst to Mrs. Lee, Donghyuck is clearly suppressing his own reaction as extends a hand out, lips twitching and eyes alight with mischief upon you. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he starts smoothly. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Mrs. Lee here.”

“Oh, likewise,” you respond, gaze narrowed as you take his hand in a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, Donghyuck.”

Despite the clear amusement on his face as you discreetly stress his apparent real name, Haechan still doesn’t seem to give any other reaction away to your boss. It’s infuriating how good he seems to be at… whatever ridiculous situation this is. Poor Mrs. Lee, still riding on the high of her most awaited matchmaking accomplishment, stays unaware of the simmering tension between you and her son. 

“I’ll leave you two to know each other, then,” she says, offering a cute wink before swiftly disappearing into the crowd as she’s done all night. 

As soon as his mother is out of earshot, Haechan drops the act, his face instantly breaking into a slow grin as he steps closer. “So my mom was right about knowing a girl who’s just perfect for me.”

“And of course that out of billions of people on this Earth, you’d be my boss’ son.” You roll your eyes, arms crossing over your chest as a scoff escapes from your lips. “Because this is exactly how insane my life actually is.”

Donghyuck just laughs, clearly enjoying the situation despite your indignation. “Well, this isn’t exactly how I pictured seeing you again but you don’t see me complaining, do you?”

At the implication of your first and last meeting, you can’t help taking a second to actually see him. 

It actually hasn’t been long, so Haechan still looks pretty much the same… and maybe that’s the problem. The racer jacket he’s wearing as costume makes him look so effortlessly cool, suiting him in a way that feels almost too fitting. From the black hair, now purple tipped and perfectly styled, to the tan skin and endearing moles on his cheeks, you realize that you might’ve daydreamed about him more than you’d like to admit.

It’s only when Haechan clears his throat, looking nothing but pleased, that you snap out of your trance.

You feel warmth creeping up on your neck but refuse to give him the satisfaction, frowning at his smug expression. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’re still just a random guy who’s been obnoxiously texting me weird stuff.”

“That’s mean, Barbie,” he teases, voice lowering just enough that only you can hear. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who gave me your number.”

“Because you asked,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t exactly plan on seeing you again.”

“Are you sure about that?” Haechan leans closer, the playful glint in his eyes growing stronger as he clicks his tongue. “Ah, it didn’t seem like it when you were begging—”

As your pulse quickens, body growing even warmer, you don’t think twice before impulsively covering his mouth with your hand. “I’m technically at work and your mother is my boss, so please shut your mouth.”

Haechan smiles against your palm, pressing his lips to your hand before you pull it away in panic, dreadfully searching the room for Mrs. Lee’s potential prying eyes. If you know your boss as well as you think, then you’d bet that she’s been watching every second of your interaction with her son with laser focus attention. 

Quick to catch you, his grin only widens. “If you don’t want her to see then let’s get out of here.”

If you were to suddenly disappear with her son, Mrs. Lee sure wouldn’t mind. 

Truthfully, you are ridiculously taken by the guy. After all, you have slept with him and it was one of the best nights you’d had in a long while. Haechan is witty, fun to talk to, and he doesn’t seem to hide who he really is. Unfortunately, he just also happens to be your boss’ son.

No matter how attractive and good at sex Haechan might be, you’re most definitely staying away from the ticking bomb. 

You must stay away from the ticking bomb.

“Only in your dreams,” you finally retort, hoping that your face doesn’t expose your agitation as you finally turn around to leave.

Just as you move past him, Haechan leans over your shoulder, the whisper as loud as a scream to your ears.

“That’s exactly where I’ve been seeing you.”

You’d spent the rest of the party in a daze.

Trying your best to steer clear of both Mrs. Lee and her beloved son, you thoroughly focused on supervising every little corner of the venue. Maneuvering your way through the guests, you’d quietly made your escape a few hours later so nobody would notice your sudden absence. 

If only Mrs. Lee hadn’t texted about your whereabouts halfway through your Uber ride, it’d have been a win. 

Now finally at home, you barely step through the door before Alia appears from the kitchen, a mug in her hands as she snickers at your frazzled expression.

“I can’t tell if the party was a bust or not,” she says, taking a sip from her tea as she raises a curious eyebrow. “I’m scared of your answer but how was Mrs. Lee’s long-awaited party?” 

Taking a few steps to slump onto the couch, you drop the cowboy hat and your bag to the floor, pressing a hand to your aching forehead as a sigh escapes from your mouth. 

“The party itself was great, everything went according to the plan,” you start, pausing for a moment to brace yourself. “I also finally met Donghyuck.”

Alia’s eyes immediately light up with interest, fully invested in your ongoing drama. “The Donghyuck? Mrs. Lee’s son Donghyuck?”

You hum. As the exhaustion catches on, you can’t help a deadpan summary of your night. “You can also call him Haechan, I guess.”

Alia almost chokes on her tea, scrambling to put the mug down before she spills it rushing to sit beside you on the couch. “You’ve got to be shitting me!” she exclaims, eyes wide with disbelief. “Haechan as in that cute little guy you’ve been texting since that rooftop bar?”

“The one and only.” You sigh in exasperation, glaring at your friend as she suddenly bursts into a laugh. “I can’t believe you’re laughing. The universe is playing a cosmic sick joke on me and you’re laughing.”

“This is totally your booktok plot!” she beams, voice laced with amusement. “Turns out Mrs. Lee was right about you being perfect for her son.”

“Oh my God, don’t even start,” you groan, feeling your cheeks warm up for the millionth time of the day. “It was embarrassing. I had to pretend that we didn’t know each other while he was looking at me like this is the funniest thing in the world.”

“Are you for real?” Alia scoffs, frowning as if you’d grown two heads. “You were so into him that night. The fact that he has your number right now gives you away, girl.”

“I didn’t think I’d see him again,” you protest, still timid over the memory of your first meeting. “Besides, he’s my boss’ son, and—”

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, Haechan’s name bright and clear on the screen. 

You hate his impeccable timing. You hate it so much.

Before you can even think, Alia quickly grabs the phone instead, mischief all over her face as she stands up to keep it away from you. 

“I’m on my knees, Barbie—” She starts reading, comically pausing as she shoots you a wide-eyed look. “Oh my God, what the fuck—”

You sink further into the couch, feeling as if your body is ready to combust. “Stop it!”

“I’m on my knees, Barbie,” Alia repeats, purposefully highlighting every word as she continues with a grin curling on her lips. “Where am I taking you for our date? I’m free when you’re free.”

As your roommate drops the phone on your lap, you block the screen with a glare at her. “Don’t say a word.”

“I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours but this guy is down bad for you,” she points out, her face softening before she sits by your side again. “And you like him, so what’s up with the long face?”

There’s a brief pause in the conversation before you sigh, firmly shaking your head. “It’s too complicated,” you say, offering a meek shrug under Alia’s knowing eyes. “Plus, I really like my job. If anything happens, it might fuck things up, you know.”

Alia watches you for a second that feels way too long, then only nods in response with a quiet chuckle. “Alright. If you’re convinced.”

The thing is, you’re not convinced.

Something tells you that your friend knows that too.

It starts on a Monday after the fateful Halloween party.

Arriving at the office in the aftermath of your meeting with Haechan—or Donghyuck, as you know now—had your nerves hyping up the most dreadful scenarios that played in your head during the weekend.

While it’s true that Mrs. Lee is one of the kindest humans you’ve met, you’d be lying if her reaction to your interaction with her son didn’t worry you a little. Though she was none the wiser back at the party, you did wonder if Haechan actually told her anything or even if she noticed how absurd the conversation played out to be after the very polite introduction.

On top of that, you… kinda also left Haechan on read. 

After an internal battle on whether you should simply reply and decline his invitation or downright just ignore him, you’d postponed an answer long enough to make it useless by now. 

So it’s no wonder that you’re at the edge of your seat now, annoyingly aware of every person that passes by your little corner office, even after a few of your nosy co-workers stop by to ask if you really did meet Mrs. Lee’s handsome and smart son, Donghyuck.

Still, nothing could’ve prepared you to see Haechan in your office, leather jacket, black thick-rimmed glasses and a coffee tray in hand, entering the place as if he’s always been around. 

“Good morning, Barbie,” he greets, flashing a cheeky smile at the apparent surprise on your face. “Don’t look so shocked. I’m just passing by to drop a little pick-me-up.”

Haechan hands one of the coffee cups and you cautiously accept with a sheepish nod, clearly taken aback by the gesture. “Thank you?” 

As quick as he gets in, he’s immediately turning around to leave. You’re taking it as a secret to your grave, but you can’t help but feel a tip of disappointment as he walks to exit your office, though not without a last lingering glance over his shoulder.

You silently pray to every deity existent that Haechan doesn’t realize how feverish you suddenly feel.

Just before he leaves, a small laugh escapes from his lips as he shakes his head, an expression you can’t quite read on his face. “You’re really fucking cute, Barbie.”

On Wednesday, he does it again. 

You’re conveniently on your way to drop a few documents for Mrs. Lee to sign when you catch sight of Haechan in the hallway, chatting animatedly with his mom as she’s returning from a business lunch with a few investors. It takes you a second to swiftly turn around, ready to rush back into your office when he spots you, calling out your name loud enough that half of the office must’ve heard. 

“Finally a familiar face around here, huh?” He smiles, subtly taunting you despite the friendly facade. “You’ve got the best people working here, don’t you, Mrs. Lee?”

Mrs. Lee’s eyes immediately sparkled, glancing between the both of you with interest. “Oh, I certainly do.”

The interaction feels awfully similar to your meeting at the party. Standing beside your boss with the same mischievous gaze, Haechan’s eyes run through every little detail of your figure, visibly pleased with the turn of events. 

“It's nice to see you again, Donghyuck,” you start, politely nodding at them as you hesitantly approach. “I’ve got some papers for you to sign, Mrs. Lee. I'll leave them on your desk, if you want?”

“No need, darling! Hand it over to Donghyuck, please,” your boss says, oblivious to your confusion if her grin is anything to go by.

Once with the folder in hands, Haechan flashes you a quick wink. “Thank you.”

You’re already racking your brain for a getaway excuse when Mrs. Lee huffs, playfully slapping her son’s arm. “You’re going to scare her away,” she chides, turning her attention to you as she sighs. “I know you’re always busy, darling, so we’ll let you go.”

“Right.” You smile tentatively, briefly clearing your throat. “Let me know if you need anything else, Mrs. Lee.”

Feeling his eyes on your back as you hurry back to the safety of your office, you secretly battle against a sudden need to reciprocate his attitude.

By Thursday, you’re kind of already expecting him.

Since his excuses have been a little too convenient to be coincidences, it doesn’t really surprise you to spot Haechan lingering around the office again, especially as he casually happens to bump into you at your lunchtime. 

He manages to follow right behind you on the elevator, his cordial demeanor visibly shifting to the usual sassy one as soon as the doors close. With the thick-rimmed glasses and messy hair adding a nerdy touch to his confidence, you might have watched him a little more attentively today—at least, enough to notice that he’s wearing the same denim jacket from the night you met.

As he steps by your side, shoulders brushing against yours, Haechan sighs. “You haven’t told me where we’re going yet, Barbie,” he starts, a touch dramatic. “I’m in the mood for some sushi but I’ll go wherever you wanna go.”

You glance up at him, eyebrows raised in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Our date,” Haechan argues, clearly holding back a grin despite the deadpan tone lacing his voice. “You can pick the restaurant, I don’t mind.”

Feeling the proximity a little too much, his words send your brain into haywire. You’re still… very much aware of the unanswered texts on your phone, especially the most recent one sent just the night before. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here again,” you lie, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible by rolling your eyes. “What brings you around this time?”

“I may or may not have left my laptop in Mrs. Lee’s office.” He shrugs, face breaking to a smirk. “Can you believe it? Good thing that I remembered about it.”

Taken by his casualness, you can’t hold back a chuckle. “Very convenient, if you ask me.”

“Are you implying something here, Barbie?” Haechan gasps, giving you a wide-eyed look as he leans over you. “I’m offended, you know. You make it sound like I’m taking advantage of the situation just to see you.”

You scoff, giving in to his attitude as a small smile breaks into your face. “That sounds unlikely.”

“Why didn’t you answer me last night, hm?” he mumbles, close enough that you can clearly see the little dots on his neck. 

Your brain takes a turn at the sight, immediately betraying you with very vivid memories of your lips trailing through Haechan’s moles, all the way down to his chest—

The elevator’s chime saves you from a spiral.

As the smallest sigh leaves your mouth, Haechan’s question hangs in the air as you take a step back from him, now ready to hurry out of the cubicle. There’s a satisfied glint in his eyes, almost as if he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you, most definitely aware that he’s probably wearing you down. 

Once the doors slide open, you’re quick to rush ahead of him, completely missing the weight of his gaze following you. 

Almost as if to trick you, he makes a rather late appearance on Friday.

You spent most of the day sneaking glances around the office, frustration growing in your chest by each passing hour. 

In a brief lapse of your sanity, you almost texted him during your lunch break, having briefly convinced yourself that it’d be mostly out of worry than anything else. Then, as Mrs. Lee bid you an early goodbye before leaving for one of her high-end club reunions, you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking about him.

Too focused on giving Yangyang a detailed explanation of his next errand, you don’t even notice when Haechan finally stops by your office, an entire box of your favorite bakery in hands as he waits for your attention. 

As your intern recognizes him first, he briefly glances between you and Haechan with a knowing look before hurriedly making an escape with a lousy excuse. 

“I think he knows something I don’t,” Haechan teases, casually taking your co-worker’s seat with a feigned innocent smile. “What’s up with the face, Barbie? Did you miss me?”

“You’re late,” you huff, a tip of irritation lacing your voice. “I thought you weren’t coming today.”

Faltering for a second as he processes your words, Haechan blinks in surprise. “Oh, you did miss me,” he says amusedly, leaning forward as his typical grin returns. “I bet you were waiting for me all day, weren’t you?”

Curiously pointing at the box to avoid the question, a smile slips through despite your efforts to keep it cool. “If this is not for me then you can leave right now.”

“I’m hurt you think I’d do this for anyone else but you.” He frowns, glaring at you in feigned offense. “You’re the only one for me, Barbie, you know that.”

You give him a playful eye roll, finally opening the lid to find an array of cupcakes that conveniently also happen to be your favorite flavors. “Who told you I liked these?” you ask, picking one up in delight. “I don’t think anyone here would know my usual bakery order.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Haechan scoffs, watching a little too attentively as you take a bite of a chocolate fudge cupcake. “I just happened to pass by this place and thought I could bring you a treat after a busy week.”

Raising an eyebrow, you pause in between a second bite. “The bakery is all the way across town.” 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” he argues, a smirk soon growing on his face again. “We have more important things to discuss right now. How does tomorrow night sound for our date?”

“Tomorrow’s good,” you answer promptly, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible waiting for his reaction. 

With his usual confidence flickering to genuine surprise, Haechan stares at you for a moment, looking so stunned that you can’t help but find pleasure in finally catching him off guard. Reaching out for another cupcake, you swipe a finger at the strawberry frosting, bringing it to your mouth with a knowing smile at him. 

Haechan just laughs, a hint of disbelief in his eyes as he closes them in feigned agony. “You’re really driving me crazy, Barbie.”

“If that’s all you came here for, you can go now.” You gesture towards the door, avoiding his gaze as you mindlessly shuffle through some papers on your desk. “I still have work to do and you already scared my intern away.”

“I love it when you’re mean to me,” he sighs, grinning at your exasperated scoff with a hand over his heart. “I’ll only leave because you can’t seem to concentrate if I’m around.”

Sneaking a glance at him as he stands up, you can’t suppress a small smile. “Thank you for the cupcakes.”

“Promise me you’ll reply when I text you later,” Haechan presses, his playful demeanor sobering just enough to feel distinctively stubborn. “If you don’t, I’ll keep calling you until you pick up.”

You feign a tired sigh, trying to play off your amusement. “I promise, Donghyuck.” 

For a second, Haechan doesn’t move, still standing in front of your desk—and over you—as the cheeky glint returns to his eyes. “I love it when you say my name.”

The remark makes your chest tighten, heart speeding up because you know exactly what he means with that. Shaking your head, you shoo him away with a frown. “Just go already!”

Walking backwards towards the exit of your office, Haechan laughs, pausing just at the doorway to shoot you one last wink. “See you tomorrow, Barbie.”

Once he’s gone, you take a breath and reach out for another cupcake. 

Yeah, apparently staying away from the ticking bomb doesn’t seem like a solid plan anymore, you guess.

Haechan’s restaurant choice isn’t what you expect for a first date. 

Tucked deep into a quiet street, the hole-in-the-wall place is cozy and small enough to feel oddly intimate. There’s a nice handful of people around and as soon as you step in, a grandma quickly ushers you to a corner table, a glimmer of recognition taking over her eyes when Haechan greets her with a warm smile. 

Wearing a black shirt that fits him ridiculously nice, you can’t help your gaze from lingering on his frame for a little longer than usual today. 

As Haechan talks animatedly with the restaurant’s grandma, the only thing you can seem to focus on is the three little open buttons over his chest—

The click of his tongue calls your attention, your eyes finally meeting as Haechan leans closer to your ear, a cheeky grin tugging at his mouth. “I said you should introduce yourself, Barbie.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you apologize, offering the grandma a regretful look before you bow politely, giving her your name. “I’m… Donghyuck’s date. It’s nice to meet you, grandma.”

The older woman hums, a hand reaching for your chin while thoroughly regarding you with curious eyes. “She’s really pretty, oh my,” she mutters after a second, soon offering Haechan a pointed look with a smile on her face. “Alright, I believe you now, Haechannie.”

Confused by their interaction as she leaves, you can only obey her orders to sit down. When Haechan picks up the worn-out menu, you blink. “What… was that?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he says smoothly, shaking his head as he winks. “I’ve been here a lot, do you trust me to order for you?”

At your agreement, Haechan waves for a waiter, smartly starting to list a rather hefty order while you take a second look around the place.

Aesthetically speaking, the restaurant doesn’t feel very promising. Despite being obviously family-owned with a very homey vibe to it, it does look a little run down with the faded pictures on the walls, peeled painting and worn-out, outdated furniture. Still, given its location and appearance, it’s surprisingly pretty packed with all kinds of people—and you do spot a few couples here and there too.

Choosing to trust Haechan either way, you’re still intrigued about how he’s become a regular in a place so off-the-grid.

“You just listed half of the menu without a single look,” you start, staring at him with a funny look once the waiter leaves. “You really must come here a lot.”

“I’d say at least a couple of times a month,” he answers, resting his forearms on the small table as he leans forward. “This grandma’s kimchi stew really changed my life.”

Amused by the sincerity of his voice, you chuckle. “Is that why she seems to love you so much? She was so happy to see you.”

Haechan grins, shrugging casually. “I used to work around this neighborhood, so she’s known me for a long time,” he explains, eyes narrowing playfully as he notes the sudden change on your face. “What’s with the look, Barbie?”

You shake your head, resting your chin on a hand as you study him with newfound attentiveness. “I’m just realizing that I’ve heard a lot about you, but I don’t know what you do for a living.”

“Wow, I thought Mrs. Lee did a better job pitching me to you,” he says, feigning indignation as you roll your eyes. “I own a record label with my friends. It’s an independent thing and not super big but we’re really good, so…”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, most definitely not expecting such an unusual answer. “Oh, that’s… actually very cool,” you admit, leaning just a tiny bit forward with a curious smile at him. “Any artist that I might know?”

As a dramatic sigh escapes from his mouth, Haechan locks a steady gaze on you, his voice genuine despite a playful touch. “I sincerely hope not because if you know him then I don’t stand a single chance with you.”

You can’t help bursting into a laugh at how serious he looks, leaning back against your seat as you shoot him a look. “Aren’t we on a date?”

“We are.” He nods, a soft but unmistakable intensity flickering on his face. “This is probably a good time to let you know that I’m not giving up on this, alright? Now that you’re in, you can’t get out.”

Your lips twitch, a smirk soon tugging at the corner of your mouth. “That sounds terrifying,” you tease, amused. “I think I’ll take my chances this time, though.”

The food arrives just in time to interrupt him, though the smirk that grows on his face is enough of an answer to you. 

As the waiter unloads a loaded tray onto your table, dishes looking as delicious as it smells, your excitement grows with the warmth that fills the space between you. Haechan is quick to reach around the plates once the waiter’s gone, relying on your vote of confidence as he places a few dishes for you. 

“Alright,” he says, seemingly satisfied with the full table. “We’ve got this, Barbie.” 

“I don’t think we do,” you counter, eyes taking one last curious glance around before focusing on him. “Which one should I go for first?”

“Is that even a question?” Haechan clicks his tongue, offering you a bowl of rice before pointing to the biggest pot on the table. “The kimchi stew, baby. Go ahead and take a few bites with the rice.”

Following his instructions, you don’t know if the heat spreading through your body is solely from the food’s spiciness, the casualness of his new nickname for you or the deliberate, effortless confidence laced to his rather gentle command. 

With his expectant eyes watching for a reaction, you pause in between a second bite, grinning fondly at him. “Don’t look so worried, it’s really good.”

“You’re really a woman after my own heart,” he says, sounding as if he’d just had an epiphany. “Oh, my mom really knew what she was doing…”

“Considering we already knew each other, I think we can take the credit for this.” You shrug, feeling suddenly shy over the whole ordeal with Mrs. Lee. “Have you ever told her? That we’ve met before the party?”

“No, but I have a feeling that she knows. My mom always knows everything.” Haechan chuckles, eyes shining with mischief as he raises an eyebrow, leaning back on his seat. “Have you told her?”

“Are you kidding me?” you ask, voice dropping into a whisper as if the entire restaurant might overhear. “How am I supposed to tell my boss that I had a one night stand with her son without knowing it was actually her son?”

Giving a full laugh, there’s a hint of delight on his face as he smirks. “I mean, it was only a one night stand because you wanted it to be,” Haechan argues, a little too smug. “I have been trying, you know.”

“Let’s just not talk about that,” you cut off, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a flustered reaction as you chuckle nervously. “Since you already know what I do, you should tell me more about your label, please.”

Despite Haechan’s playful glare, making sure you know that he’s aware of your not-so-subtle deflection, the conversation quickly shifts to his job. Much like the night you first met at the bar, you’re completely entertained by his little anecdotes, taken by the humorous way he recounts his friendship stories and work mishaps with Mark, Johnny and Jaehyun. 

It almost feels like he’s cracking the edges of your hesitance, his personality disarming you so easily that you can’t help but wonder why you’ve spent so much time keeping him at arm’s length—or if you ever did in the first place.

As the evening flies by, only leftovers forgotten around the table now, silence lulls between you for a moment. 

Maybe you’re a little too aware of him, but noticing the sleeves of Haechan’s shirt starting to slide down his arms as he piles up a few empty bowls, you act before your brain can stop you.

“Wait,” you call softly, reaching out to hold his forearm. “Hold still for me?”

Haechan freezes mid-reach, something you can’t quite read in his eyes as he watches you push one sleeve back up, your fingers brushing against his skin by folding the fabric neatly into place. He willingly extends his arm when you move to the other sleeve, straightening it with the same care as you try to disregard his steady gaze locked on your figure.

When you let him go, Haechan slumps into his seat with a bemused chuckle. “You’re really making things harder for me, Barbie.”

As grandma’s loud and cheerful voice suddenly cuts through the restaurant, you’re saved by the bell seeing her approach your table, her face shifting to a frown as she looks between both of you. “Why did you eat so little?” 

Though she doesn’t seem to notice the weirdly tense mood, your cheeks are still burning over his words as Haechan silently nods at you to lead the conversation.

“I ate quite a lot, grandma,” you start, reassuring her with a timid smile. “It was really, really delicious. The best food I’ve ever had.”

She coos at you for a second, quickly moving on to playfully swat Haechan’s shoulder with a glare. “Why did you take so long to bring your girlfriend here? That’s not something a nice boy like you should do.”

A grin takes over his face, Haechan giving you a knowing look before he nods eagerly at the older woman. “I promise to bring my girlfriend more often now, grandma.”

“You should leave if you’re done already,” she reprimands lightly, starting to set the empty dishes on a tray with a click of her tongue. “Don’t keep hogging my table like you always do with those friends of yours.”

After resisting your several attempts of help, the restaurant’s grandma soon walks you to the door, bidding goodbye with a kiss to both yours and Haechan’s cheeks as she makes him promise to come back soon again. 

Stepping outside, the silence between you is filled with a strange mix of both ease and anticipation. 

Save from a few partygoers coming and going, the street is mostly quiet, lights casting a warm glow around you despite the evening’s chill. With the realization that the night’s finally over, you aren’t quite sure what to expect of Haechan now—given that most of your interactions were built through a game of push-and-pull, it almost feels like you’ve reached the climax of a story that’s just started.

Completely unaware of your skepticism, he falls into step beside you with a dramatic sigh. “I think you should let me take you home.” 

“You’re walking me to my car right now,” you say, rolling your eyes as an amused smile grows on your face. “I already told you a million times that I drove here.”

Haechan sighs again, his shoulders slumping for added effect. “Actually, I think you should take me to your home.”

You give him a look, ignoring the warmth spreading through your neck by feigning exasperation. “You also drove here, Donghyuck.”

“You’re really missing the big picture here, Barbie,” he groans, throwing his head back in feigned frustration. “Are you really going to reject me again? When are you going to stop pretending you don’t like me?”

As you shake your head, a smirk threatens to break your facade. “You said you like it when I’m mean to you.”

“I do,” Haechan says without missing a beat, sobering up to a serious expression despite the mischievous glint in his eyes. “I like it so much you can be the mean one this time.”

The implication behind his words make you pause for a second, feeling a little flustered despite the scoff that escapes from your mouth. “You’re unbelievable.” 

Approaching your car soon enough, Haechan just watches as you unlock the doors and slide into the driver’s seat, quickly stepping forward to block you from closing yet. Looking up at him, you hope that the dim lights of the parking spot are enough to disguise your agitation.

With a hand on the roof of the car, he leans down just enough to meet your eyes. “Remember you promised to reply to my texts now,” Haechan insists, a smug smile growing on his face. “What’s gonna happen if you don’t reply?”

You give him a small, challenging grin. “You’re going to keep calling me until I pick up.”

“That’s right.” He nods, giving a satisfied chuckle. “You’ll let me know when you get home safe, won’t you?”

With a half-hearted snort, you nod back. “Yes, Donghyuck.”

Instead of answering, Haechan regards you for a second before extending a hand out, pushing the fallen strap of your top back in place with a feather-like touch to your upper arm. 

As quick as it happens, he taps the roof of the car and closes the door for you, offering one last grin. “I’ll talk to you later, Barbie.”

Well, he did try to—which didn’t mean you let him.

At home, you reveled in watching Haechan’s name blowing up your phone, just for the sake of keeping him on his toes.

Barbie 10:44AM If you’re in a meeting then STOP texting me

Haechan grins at your message, his attention completely absorbed by his phone while Johnny and Mark debate something about winter releases in the back of his mind. 

Gathered in Johnny’s office for a monthly meeting, the scene was familiar enough to allow him to zone out in your favor—while Mark was running his mouth away about a few potential songs, Johnny occasionally interjecting every now and then, Haechan quietly focused on pestering a few texts out of you. 

In the following days of your date, he couldn’t seem to get enough of the familiar sharp, flirty back-and-forth between you, especially now knowing that you secretly enjoy it. So much that he takes a backseat in his friends’ conversation, unaware of his oldest friend’s reprimand until Mark waves a hand to his face, snapping his fingers as to pull him back to reality.

Haechan looks around Johnny’s office for a second, putting his phone down with a dismayed sigh. “I already said I’ll agree with whatever you guys decide.”

Mark and Johnny exchange amused looks, the latter raising an eyebrow at his friend with a mischievous chuckle. “Sure, so you do agree to leaving the higher percentage to Mark and I, right?”

At the youngest’s guilty grimace, Mark bursts a laugh before swatting his shoulder. “Dude, you’ve been grinning at your phone like an idiot for like, 30 minutes now,” he teases, a hint of confusion laced to his humorous tone. “You never shut up during our meetings, what’s going on?”

With a dramatic pause, Haechan looks between his two friends, a smirk soon growing on his face. “Alright, if you guys want to know so badly—”

Johnny snorts, immediately cutting him off with a playful look. “I didn’t ask anything.”

“If you guys want to know so badly,” he repeats pointedly, rolling his eyes at Johnny’s laugh. “You know that girl from the bar I’ve been talking to? Well, she’s the girl my mom tried to set me up with at the Halloween party.”

Haechan can’t help laughing at his friends’ reactions, both of them visibly puzzled by the half-assed burst of information. Johnny’s the one to break the silence first, an amused scoff escaping from his mouth.

“One of these days your mouth’s gonna get you in trouble,” he says, seemingly processing his friend’s words before leaning forward on his desk. “Let me see if I got this right—the girl from the bar is your mother’s employee… is that it?”

Mark raises an eyebrow, pausing for a second before his jaw drops. “Wait—what?”

“Ding ding ding! Points for Johnny!” Haechan jokes, unable to hide the amusement in his voice. “Turns out she works for my mom all this time and I just didn’t know.”

Johnny chuckles, shaking his head at the youngest’s antics. “You know what? That does sound like something that would only happen to you.” 

“So basically, you’re telling us you hooked up with your mom’s employee?” Mark insists, a mix of amazement and shock on his face as Haechan proudly grins in response. “Man, that’s crazy. What are the odds?”

“How did she take it?” Johnny asks, narrowing his eyes. “Knowing you, I bet you were insufferable and freaked her out.”

Trying to play it cool with a nonchalant shrug, a very clear image of your Barbie dressed self pops in his mind as he chuckles. “I mean, she did pretend to not know me, but it was fun.”

The oldest hums, his curiosity peaked despite the careful approach. “So… what now? You guys are dating or what?” 

Haechan falters, the smile on his face slipping for a second before catching himself. “We’re not dating… yet,” he admits, dragging out the words as if to make them believable. “We went on a date a few days ago but she’s still… a little skeptical, you know.”

Mark snorts, rolling his eyes. “Skeptical of you? What a surprise.”

“Shut up, she’s just figuring out if I’m serious or just messing around,” Haechan groans, shooting his friend a peeved look. “I mean, I’m obviously serious but she might think I’m just playing games or something.”

“She’s not wrong, though,” Johnny points, a teasing smirk on his face. “Again, if I know you, you are probably playing games.”

“Yeah, but not like that!” he whines, huffing loudly as he slumps against the chair. “This is just me being charming. There’s a difference.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, grimacing. “Is there, though?”

Haechan pauses, opening his mouth to reply but quickly closing it again as a comeback escapes him. For a brief moment, he feels and looks genuinely dumbfounded, which is definitely a rare and mildly entertaining sight for his two older friends. Though he’d never admit it, there’s no denying that Mark and Johnny planted a little seed of uncertainty in his head.

Crossing his arms, Johnny can’t help but laugh at his sullen expression. “Have we finally broken you?”

“No, you haven’t,” he fires back, voice remarkably resembling a bratty child. “I’m just… plotting.”

“Can I give you one last word of advice?” Johnny asks, toning the conversation down to a more serious note with a knowing glance at the youngest. “You should probably put yourself in her shoes. I know it must’ve been fun for you to find out who she is, but she does work for your mom. Do you get it?”

After a brief moment of silence between them, Mark lets out a low whistle, visibly impressed at the words. “Damn, that was a good thought.”

“Ugh, alright, I get it,” Haechan concedes, the corner of his mouth threatening a grin. “I’ll try to play it cool… for her.”

The conversation is cut short by the buzz of his phone against the desk, drawing everyone’s attention as it lights up with a familiar nickname. 

Barbie 10:56AM I can’t believe you actually listened to what I said

Mark and Johnny exchange a second look watching Haechan’s grin widen, a look on his face that’s enough to tell them that he’s far from playing it cool like promised.

It just happens to be one of those weeks.

As you walk through the lobby, leaving the office much later than usual for a Friday, you feel your shoulders heavy with exhaustion. After days of nonstop meetings, tight deadlines and constant phone calls due to an unexpected slip of your co-workers, all you want is to go home, kick your heels off and forget about the existence of numbers and currencies for a while.

Still, despite how worn-out you feel, the sight of Haechan standing by his car just outside the building rises a hint of excitement in your chest. 

With your surprise taken by anticipation—especially after the few days where your interaction had been limited to his insufferable messages—you can’t help but feel relieved to see him. Though there hadn’t been time for much else, you’d still caught yourself thinking about him more often than you cared to admit. 

You’re also not admitting any time soon that Haechan’s the easiest, most fun part of your routine too. 

In the stupor of your fatigue, you take in his fluffy brown jacket and the squared glasses on his face, making him look so warm and cuddly that you don’t even think twice before throwing your arms around his shoulders in a hug.

Feeling Haechan’s confusion through his hesitation to hold you back, a sigh escapes from your mouth as you tighten the hold and bury your face against his neck, seemingly enough to tell him something. 

“You’re being too nice to me, I’m worried,” he jokes lightheartedly, a contrast to his frown as he attempts a look at your face. “Come look at me, please?”

His hands are still running up and down your back in the gentle embrace as you glance up, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Haechan greets, his usual teasing tone softened with concern. “What’s wrong? I was expecting a long face and maybe an insult, not the best hug I’ve had in my entire life.”

“I’m just… really tired.” You chuckle humorlessly, too quiet. “This week was hell and my brain’s completely fried, I’m sorry.”

As his face shifts to something you can’t read, Haechan hums. “I was thinking about putting some food in you,” he starts, his hands moving to your arms almost soothingly. “But if you’re too tired, then I can take you ho—”

“No,” you interrupt right away, shaking your head as a familiar warmth heats your cheeks. “I’m starving and… I wanted to see you.”

He blinks, a slow grin growing on his face as he clutches his chest in the usual dramatic fashion. “The things I’d do for you, Barbie…” Haechan groans, back to his playful nature. “I know just the place. Do you trust me?”

You watch as he extends a hand, huffing a laugh before taking his hold. “Yeah.”

There’s something unexpectedly tender in the way Haechan takes the lead then, effortlessly building the conversation with a touch of softness you hadn’t witnessed before with him. Though the drive is fairly quick, his smart quips slipping every now and then to still tease you, the feeling that maybe this moment holds a whole different meaning to your heart doesn’t escape you.

The ramen stand is nestled just by the river, people scattered around under the yellow lights as the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses mingles with the faint rush of water nearby. 

As both of you weave through the crowd, Haechan still holding tight to your hand as he leads the way, the air gets warmer enough to make you salivate at the lingering aroma of broth and grilled meat. With a perfect view of the river, he’s quick to spot an empty table, moving around before gesturing for you to take the stool first. 

Eyeing the table for a second, you hesitate for a second before speaking up. “Can’t I sit beside you?”

Haechan pauses, still holding the stool as he glances up at you, his furrowed eyebrows instantly melting to a knowing smile. “You love me, don’t you?”

You scoff, brushing past him to take the seat with a grin betraying you. “Don’t bother, then.”

“No, no, no,” he counters, quickly sliding his own stool next to yours before dropping into the seat with a chuckle. “Are you kidding? Who am I to deny you something?”

As you pretend to ignore him, focusing on the vendor for the moment, Haechan doesn’t seem phased by it as he leans closer, sneaking glances at you while casually placing the order under another vote of confidence.

Once you’re alone again, he sighs with a feigned glare at your direction. “So… do I have to talk with Mrs. Lee for overworking you?”

You laugh, the sound coming off a little worn out despite your amusement. “It’s not your mother’s fault,” you reply, shaking your head with a deep breath. “I don’t think she even knows what happened. If she did, she’d definitely scold me for working so late.”

“As she should,” Haechan argues, eyes suddenly turning a little too serious. “If whatever’s happening is giving you too much trouble, you should tell her.”

Tilting your head as you lean forward, a smile tugs at your mouth. “Are you worried about me?”

“Yeah, actually,” he admits, grinning mischievously unlike his deadpan tone. “I am obsessed with you for a reason, after all.”

“You really are crazy,” you joke, not resisting a laugh as you quickly place a finger over his mouth just as he’s about to speak. “Please, don’t say you’re crazy for me.”

With a dramatic sigh, Haechan pulls back from you with a dirty look. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“I know you’re not.” You smile, faltering for a second as the moment seems to suddenly shift with the softness laced to your voice. “I mean, I’m starting to believe you’re not. I… hope you’re not, so…”

A mix of emotions seem to flicker through his face at your words, enough to visibly leave Haechan a little floored while the vendor approaches with the food, the timing for an answer lost as the man places the steaming bowls of ramen and grilled skewers between you. 

He clears his throat as the vendor leaves, shifting his attention to the food for a second. “Let’s make a bet,” Haechan suddenly starts, resting his elbows on the table as he leans forward. “This is going to be the best ramen you’ve ever had so you’ll let me take you as my plus one to my mom’s Holiday dinner.”

You frown confusedly at his impromptu offer, unsure if he’s actually serious about it. “What?”

“You heard me,” he counters, sounding firmer now as a mischievous smile brightens his face. “If this is the best ramen you’ve ever had, we’ll go to Mrs. Lee’s Holiday dinner together.”

If Mrs. Lee’s annual Halloween party is already highly anticipated by her employees and associates alike, you can safely say that Mrs. Lee’s annual Holiday dinner is an experience of its own. Having attended your first one the year before, just a few months after you’d been hired, it made you wonder if you’d actually last in the job. 

First, because it officially marked the start of your boss’ matchmaking attempts—specifically after Haechan bailed on her at the last minute—and second, because it’s kind of… a big deal.

The Holiday dinner is quite fancy, packed with the corporate A-list Mrs. Lee works with.

So you can’t help but hesitate, raising a doubtful eyebrow at him. “That’s silly! Aren’t you going either way?”

Haechan clicks his tongue, voice flat as if he’s stating the obvious. “If it’s not with you, not really.”

“Well, considering you bailed last year, you should probably attend this one,” you argue, pursing your lips to hold back a smile. “Besides, what makes you think I wouldn’t lie just to get out of this?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Haechan grins, leaning closer with a challenging look at your direction. “If you truly want me at this boring dinner, you won’t lie.”

As you shake your head, a laugh escapes before you can stop it. “Are you really placing your cards on a bowl of ramen right now?”

“This is not just a bowl of ramen, Barbie,” he says, gesturing dramatically at the bowl. “It’s the bowl of ramen. You should’ve learned by now that I don’t mess around with good food.”

You pick up the chopsticks, the corner of your mouth twitching from holding back your amusement. “I’ll try it with one condition,” you offer, narrowing your eyes. “If I don’t like it, you owe me something.”

Haechan snorts, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Just name it and I’ll do it even if you like it.”

“I’ll tell you later,” you reply, pausing before you take a first bite, dragging the moment out just to spite him. 

Even if you were a good liar, it most definitely wouldn’t be worth it—it almost feels like the taste explodes in your mouth and if Haechan’s reaction says anything, a smirk slowly growing on his face by each second, your expression is probably gives you away. 

As he chuckles to himself, Haechan looks nothing but satisfied while stirring his own bowl. “I told you so, baby.”

The river’s gentle waves sound like background music as the conversation eases between you, the meal wrapping up in no time with Haechan feeding a few remaining pieces of meat to a curious kitty that sneaks around your feet under the table.

Taken by the warmth of a full stomach and the exhaustion of your hellish week, you scoot closer to him, enough to lean against Haechan’s side as your head falls on his shoulder. 

Quick to welcome you, he wraps an arm around your back before pulling you even closer. “Tired?”

“A little,” you mumble, closing your eyes for a second before chuckling. “Can I ask you a stupid question?”

He nods, hands running up and down your back now. “Yeah, baby.”

“How come you’ve got two names?” you ask, giving him a funny look as he laughs. “I mean, if your real name is Donghyuck, where did Haechan come from?”

“When we started the label, I used to sing some of the guide tracks of our projects,” Haechan explains, smiling at the surprise on your face. “I didn’t want to use my real name if someone ended up using it, so I made one up.”

“It fits you,” you say, sighing as you close your eyes again. “I love your real name, too.”

Despite the small grin curling his lips, there’s a flicker of something more serious in Haechan’s eyes. “You love me too?”

Instead of indulging his teasing, you glance up at him with a knowing smile. “Thank you for tonight, Donghyuck,” you start, using his real name with a touch of softness that feels a little different. “I really needed this.”

Haechan regards you for a second, quietly watching for a second before he chuckles fondly. “Anytime, Barbie,” he murmurs, squeezing you against his side with a hum. “You know that, don’t you?”

As you look out at the river, cozy and warm in his hold as the yellow lights shimmer against the water, the answer comes as quickly as the waves crashing nearby. 

You know now.

Barbie 9:26PM Are you busy?

9:26PM Look who it is Never busy for you What do I owe the pleasure baby

Barbie 9:27PM Hi Hyuck I hope I’m not interrupting anything

9:27PM I’m Hyuck now??? 😀

Barbie 9:27PM Don’t be insufferable about it I was just wondering if you’re free tomorrow night?

9:29PM Are you asking me on a date? Am I dreaming right now??

Barbie 9:29PM You should probably pinch yourself then Maybe you could come over for dinner? I’ll even cook for you this time

9:30PM You’re so lucky my schedule is clear baby I’m all yours if you want it

Barbie 9:30PM I do want it

9:30PM You do??

9:31PM I’ll call until you pick up Barbie

9:35PM You want me???

Outside your apartment, Haechan doesn’t realize how antsy he feels until the bottle of wine nearly slips from his fingers, fidgeting impatiently while waiting for you to open the door. With the faint sound of music slipping through, a song he doesn’t really recognize playing inside, the entire situation feels like a ridiculous, senseless fever dream. 

At this point, he doesn’t know what to expect. 

Thinking back from the first night you’d spent together to the absurd twist of events that followed at his mother’s Halloween party, he’s strangely unsure of… well, whatever today can possibly mean. 

So much that Haechan swears his brain short-circuits as soon as the door opens—wearing a dress he’s very much familiar with, looking like the perfect picture of his wildest, most vivid memories, you smile knowingly at him, taking the surprise on his face with a hint of satisfaction.

“You must take pleasure in my suffering,” he starts solemnly, his dramatic sigh earning a laugh from you. “I’m having full flashbacks right now.”

Rolling your eyes, you step aside to let him in. “Good evening, Donghyuck.”

A few steps into your apartment, he looks over his shoulder as you follow him to the living room. “Are you trying to tell me something?” Haechan pauses, the question soon followed by a coy smile. “Baby, all you need to do is ask. I’ve told you—”

“Get your mind off the gutter,” you cut off, attempting to hide your amusement with a scoff. “I invited you for dinner, didn’t I?”

He chuckles, setting the wine bottle on the coffee table with a quick glance around your place. “You didn’t specify what kind of dinner, though.”

At the subtle suggestion in his voice, you shoot him a withering look. “The kind that involves food, Donghyuck,” you argue, a snicker escaping from your lips. “Unless you want to starve tonight, then I can—”

“Alright, alright,” Haechan interrupts, holding his hands up in surrender with a smirk. “I promise to behave from now on.”

You huff, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

While you head into the kitchen, Haechan lingers around your living room for a moment, taking in the little details of your apartment. From a collection of candles by the TV, packed bookshelves to an array of pictures on the walls, the small place feels very cozy, somehow so unmistakably you.

It’s only when he follows you into the kitchen, leaning against the counter, that Haechan remembers your roommate—eyes immediately spotting a polaroid glued to the fridge, the image showing you in a birthday hat, squeezed in a hug between the girl and a lanky, tall guy. 

He chuckles at the picture, your name paired with a + Alia & Jungwoo on the bottom. “Where’s your roommate, by the way?”

“She’s in Vegas with her boyfriend,” you explain, glancing over your shoulder with an amused laugh. “Apparently they got married by Elvis last night? They sent me pictures and everything.”

Haechan gapes for a second, a playful whistle following. “Damn, we’ll have to step up the game in our wedding, then.”

“I’d have to accept it first, which I’m not planning to do,” you snort, giving him a look. “Set the table for me, would you? The plates are in the cabinet on your right.”

As you finally sit down to eat, settled at the coffee table instead in a similar set-up to your ramen date, Haechan can’t help stealing a few glances at you. There’s something about the moment that feels too natural, an ease between you that sends his mind to places he still isn’t sure you’re at. 

Watching you take a sip of the wine a little too attentively, a hum pleased hum escaping from your lips, the words slip before Haechan can stop them. “I told my mom that we already knew each other before the Halloween party.”

You choke with the wine, falling into a coughing fit as your eyes widen at him. “What? Why would you do that?”

“She’s known for a while,” Haechan continues, smiling lightly at your reaction. “Remember the day I started visiting the office to see you?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you scoff, somehow looking caught between confusion and shock. “It’s been like… almost a month by now. Are you telling me she’s known this entire time?”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his own glass. “You’re so clueless, Barbie,” Haechan teases, bumping his shoulder against yours. “I thought you’d notice the day you met both of us at the office. She wasn’t being very subtle about it.”

With a defeated groan, you shoot him a timid glance. “How much does she know?”

“Who do you think I am? I’m not disclosing my sex life to my mother,” he protests, frowning dreadfully as you burst into a laugh. “I only told her we met at a bar, exchanged numbers, and that we talked every once in a while.”

“She didn’t mention anything,” you start, looking a little apprehensive. “Like, she tried to set me up with you for so long. I would’ve thought she’d say something about it knowing that we… you know.”

“That might have been on me? I asked her to not say anything,” Haechan answers hesitantly, a half apologetic smile curling on his lips. “I didn’t want to put you in trouble at work because we had something going on—and I know you were a little hesitant because of it, so…”

You watch him for a brief second, long enough for his mind to overdrive. “We should eat before the food gets cold.”

Despite feeling completely enamored by your sudden little spiel, Haechan swallows a groan of frustration when you start listing the impromptu menu, the moment now broken as the conversation takes another route.

The food’s cleared when the mood subtly shifts again, half of the wine bottle gone while your playlist comes down to softer, slower songs. 

As you shift closer to him, both still sitting on the floor of your living room, he can’t help but savor how shy you look. “So… how did you like it?”

Haechan tilts his head to take a better look at your face, his grin widening at your eye roll at his antics. “I was wondering if you’re open for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“It depends,” you answer, voice a tone cheekier despite how quiet it sounds. “I’ve got tomorrow off. Are you staying or leaving after breakfast?”

He exhales a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re driving me crazy for real, Barbie.” 

On your knees, you move closer just enough to cup Haechan’s face, pressing a tentative, soft kiss to his lips. Taken by surprise, it takes a second for the pin to drop in his brain, warmth spreading through his body like wildfire as soon his arms close around your waist, pulling you closer until you’re settled on his lap. 

As he leans into your touch, breaking the kiss with a sigh from you, Haechan can’t help a grin. Catching your breath with your forehead resting against his, you laugh at his dazed expression, pressing a smooch to his cheek. 

With a blink, he groans playfully. “Oh, I’m definitely staying for breakfast now.”

You smile softly, shaking your head but not pulling away from him. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” Haechan murmurs, hands brushing down your back as he tilts his head up, lips just barely touching yours. “Another one, please?”

Giving him another quick kiss, you smile against his mouth, lingering closer for a second. “I think Jungwoo’s got a few t-shirts here that should fit you.”

“You have another man’s clothes in your home?” he asks, feigning an irked frown as his head falls back in a dramatic fashion. “Oh, I’m going to be sick.”

Though the smile on your face gives you away, you still don’t resist rolling your eyes at his antics. “Are you done?”

Shaking his head, Haechan offers you his habitual grin. “I’m never done.”

When you don’t immediately respond, the silence shifts the atmosphere for a bit. Watching as your gaze softens, you take him by surprise brushing your fingers against his cheek, purposefully over the moles on his face.

Your voice is quieter now, almost warm with sincerity as you speak up. “Thank you for coming over, Hyuck.”

Trying to play it off as best as he can, heart pounding against his chest, Haechan chuckles fondly. “I guess that means you’re stuck with me now.” 

“I guess so.” You laugh, eyes sparkling at the unspoken promise. “You don’t seem too upset about it, though.” 

As he tightens the hold around your frame, bringing you closer again, Haechan feels you relax into his embrace. The agreement settles between you as easily as the evening ends, his lips pressing a final kiss to your forehead without much words—just your shared understanding and quiet certainty. 

“Can’t be upset when I’m exactly where I want to be, Barbie.”

The car rolls to a stop outside the beautifully decorated venue, Christmas lights casting a soft glow at the grand entrance of Mrs. Lee’s lavish Holiday dinner.

As he turns off the engine, Hyuck still seems a little taken by the vibrant pink of your gown, glancing over at you with a very familiar look. 

“Once we walk through that door, it’s over for you,” he jokes, though a hint of something else betrays the playfulness of his voice. “Are you sure about this?”

Leaning over the console, you kiss him a little too forcefully, a sound of protest escaping from Haechan’s lips when you pull back. “I’m sure, Hyuckie,” you answer, giggling at the look on his face. “We should go before someone thinks we’re doing something in here.”

A grin takes over his face, looking a little too invested in your scenario. “Baby, that’s the greatest idea you’ve had—” Haechan stops himself at the slap on his arm, laughing as he unlocks the doors. “Alright, I got it, I’m sorry.”

Outside, he helps you adjust the straps at the back of your dress, pressing a last kiss to your shoulder before sliding his hand into yours. “Let’s go, Barbie.”

Together, you head towards whatever surprises the night might hold.

[smileysuh]

comfort cuisine

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, breast worship/massaging, big dick Johnny, fingering, pussy stretching prep, 'it's finger licking good,' praise, dirty talk, masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, cumming together, creampie, soft sex, longing, fluff, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.8k

🍭 aus. aged up/widower dad!John, best friends to lovers, Chef!John, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I'm so happy that people loved Line Chef Mark in my fic Real Talk, I received so many messages about giving Head Chef John his own love story, and this is what I came up with in the past four months :) it's a little different from what I normally do, but I wanted to continue with that 'slice of life' theme and venture into a plot line I've never tried before with widower/single dad John :)

Prologue

“I’m so sorry about this,” Johnny’s voice distracts you from the breakfast you’re making, and you turn around from the bacon to look at your friend. “I really wish I didn’t have to keep calling you and asking for favours like this-”

“Johnny,” you shut his rambling up with a pointed expression, “stop, it’s okay.”

“It’s not-”

“John,” you repeat, “seriously, we’re good. Given… the circumstances, I honestly don’t mind.”

The circumstances… neither of you can bring yourselves to say it. You know that if you say it… if you say ‘I don’t mind helping out since the death of your wife’ Johnny will just about break down, and he doesn’t have time to do that, not when he’s got to be at work for seven am, prepping the kitchen and getting ready for the day.

Even by calling this situation a ‘circumstance,’ you can see a half glazed expression overtake Johnny’s face. He’s frozen for a moment, and you take the time to study him.

You think it’s safe to say neither of you expected any of this to happen. 

You’d met him in culinary school- he’d been a young guy, a new dad who’d had a daughter at nineteen, with dreams of opening his own sandwich food truck, ‘like Subway, but gourmet,’ he’d always explained. 

Now, he’s a twenty four year old wreck, doing his best to climb the ladder in the food service industry, mourning the loss of his late wife, struggling to take care of his daughter, his dreams of a food truck long since forgotten in favour of chasing a head chef status to earn him enough of a salary to pay for everything in a one income household-

“Seriously,” your words snap the single dad back from his zone out, “we’re good. I’m making breakfast for Soonbok, I’ve got her lunch packed, I’ll take her to kindergarten, pick her up after- you just have to remember I have a night shift, gotta be at my own restaurant by five at the latest.”

“Five, yeah,” Johnny nods, swallowing thickly and toying with his daughters small pink backpack. “One day, I’ll be higher up on the food chain, and I’ll have better hours- I promise this isn’t a forever thing.”

“It’s an ‘as long as it needs to happen’ thing, okay? Don’t sweat it,” you assure him. “Here,” you take some of the crispy bacon out of the pan, putting it onto a scrambled egg bagel you’d prepared, “you need breakfast too.”

Johnny just about melts looking at the food. “You’re so good to me.”

You offer him a smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

One

Johnny swears his age is catching up to him. It’s not even four oclock and he’s feeling tired, letting out a groan as he says goodbye to the nightshift guys and heads to change out of his head chef attire in the staff bathroom. He’d turned thirty this year, and as he looks at his face in the mirror, he thinks he’s starting to see it.

On his way out of the back door, Johnny bumps into one of his line cooks. Mark Lee is pressed to the wall where people usually lean to smoke, his girlfriend closing him in with her hands on either side of his head. Back when she was expo, everyone used to call her Sunshine, but in her dealings with Mark Lee, Johnny’s come to realize that he’s the angel, not her. 

“Aren’t you two on the clock?” Johnny jokes as he walks past.

Sunshine pulls away from Mark, offering the head chef a grin. “We’re on a vape break.”

“Sure you are,” Johnny laughs, shaking his head.  “See you two back in there, better only be five more minutes.”

“Aren’t you done for the day?” Mark asks, confusion written on his face, along with lipstick marks that he’s hurrying to wipe off.

“Grabbing happy hour with a friend, but be careful Mark Lee, I’m always watching. Just because I’m sitting at the bar doesn’t mean I’m not judging you.”

Johnny can hear Mark mutter something under his breath, and Sunshine is quick to try to calm him down, but as Johnny turns the corner to head to the front entrance of the restaurant, he hears the back door open and close, signaling the end of the little ‘vape break.’

When Johnny joins you at the bar, you’re chatting with Jeno, and the sight makes an unexplainable emotion tingle up his spine. Out of all the front of house staff here, Jeno might just be the biggest manwhore, and he’s had a thing for cougars for a while, although there’s only a handful of years difference between the two of you-

“What are you guys talking about?” John asks, taking a seat on the dark green leather hightop stools surrounding the bar.

“Which virgin drinks are the best,” you respond casually. “I was going to get an iced tea, but Jeno convinced me to try one of your new virgin lemon ginger fizzes.”

“That’s called upselling, honey, you should know that, seeing as you’re in the industry,” Johnny grins.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who invited me here, so I figured you’d be paying.” You take a sip of your straw, looking at Johnny with a smirk, a playful glint in your eyes. 

“Are we getting food?” Johnny asks. “I might as well take care of that for you too.”

“I’ve got time,” you respond casually. “Don’t work for an hour, lets get our ‘nosh’ on.”

Johnny can only laugh at your antics, turning to Jeno, who’s watching with an amused grin. Everyone here knows you and Johnny are close, you come here often enough to see him, the two of you catching each other for a half an hour here or there between his day shifts and your night commitments. 

Johnny orders three appetizers off the happy hour menu, two things he knows you like, and one that’s more up his alley. “Make sure Yuta isn’t back there slacking off,” Johnny warns Jeno, knowing that two of the items will be coming from the ‘bottom end’ of the expo line, which is where Yuta runs the show after Johnny’s off.

“I’m sure he’ll pull out all the stops for our MVP,” Jeno grins, typing the order into an ipad. “Do you want a beer? We’ve got new rotators.”

“Don’t bother trying to upsell me,” Johnny scoffs. “House Lager, and don’t fuck around with the foam.”

“You run a tight ship here, captain,” you tease, bumping Johnny’s elbow.

“Speaking of-”

“Don’t try to recruit me to work here again,” you’re quick to warn.

“Damn it,” Johnny shakes his head, pretending to be quite upset about your rejection. He does feel it- he does think you’d be a great member of the team, and he’d love to offer you a dual head chef position, but it’s not in his power to do so, and that fact haunts him every day. Working for a company limits what he’s able to do, and sometimes, even at age thirty, Johnny still thinks about his dream to open a food truck, with you by his side. “No, in all seriousness, I wanted to talk to you about Soonie’s birthday.”

“Right, she’s turning eleven soon, that’s quite the milestone,” you grin, playing with your straw.

“I asked Doyoung if I could open early for her birthday, it’s a Sunday, I was thinking some of her friends and their parents could come in for a brunch an hour before we’re open for the public.”

“That’s a great idea!”

“Here’s the catch, Soonie was raised on your breakfast food. As much as I try to make things for her, and I hate to admit this, by the way, she always says your cooking is better. So I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come in that day and help me out with all of this. With your skills, I wouldn’t need Hyuck and Mark, it could be just us, and I’m sure we could make a birthday breakfast Soonbok would never forget. It would be like old times, like back when we were in culinary school.”

He loves the way you’re smiling at him, giving him space to rant. 

When he’s done, you cock your head to the side, only wasting one beat before you say, “I’ll do it.”

“Really? I don’t have to bribe you with money or anything?”

“Jeeze, have I ever asked you for money, John?” You smack at his arm, clearly slightly offended. “I’m doing this for Soonie… and maybe a little for you too.”

“Don’t go soft on me, killer,” Johnny teases. “Everyone around here’s too soft these days.”

“Says the softest dad I know,” you roll your eyes. 

“Shh,” he warns, “don’t say that loud enough for Jeno to hear.”

“As if everyone doesn’t already know.”

The two of you continue to chat and joke, a short while later, the head manager, Doyoung, shows up carrying food. It’s funny for Johnny to see Doyoung balancing two items on one arm, the third in the palm of his hand, but he supposes Doyoung started somewhere too, the same way John had. 

“VIP happy hour appetizers,” Doyoung sighs, setting the food down. 

“As opposed to regular happy hour appetizers?” you grin, immediately reaching for a fry.

“These are special,” Doyoung insists, “pretty sure Yuta spit in them.”

Doyoung is a pretty regal man, he’s not one to joke around- but for some reason, when Doyoung is in your vicinity, he loosens up a little. Everyone loosens up around you, you radiate a safe space kind of energy, the kind of energy that makes Johnny’s tense shoulders relax, his smile softening.

“Then I’ll be sure to eat all of this,” you respond. “Tell Yuta more spit.”

Doyoung shakes his head at you. “I’m sure Johnny’s tried to poach you already, but if you ever want a job, you can have his.”

“Hey!” Johnny laughs.

“I’ll consider it,” you grin.

“And I expect a plate of food for this brunch thing,” Doyoung continues. “I’ve heard nothing beats your breakfasts, even though you work nights.”

“Someone has been talking about me again,” you muse, eyes shifting to John.

“What can I say?” He holds his hands up in defense. “I speak only the truth.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Doyoung insists. “Anyways, have fun you two, I’ve got food to run, our new expo girl isn’t filling Sunshine’s shoes too well.”

There’s a glint in Doyoung’s eye before he scurries away, and Johnny turns to watch the new expo girl practically short circuiting with take out orders on the line. 

“Poor girl,” you sigh. “It takes a certain kind of person to work in a restaurant.”

And an even more specific type to do what the two of you do as chefs.

Two

You’ve been on a few first dates this year, and this one is definitely a bottom three. You’ve had one drink, and you already feel like finding a way to slip out early. 

Initially, you’d been intrigued by dating a man in finance, but it’s clear now that you’re in two completely different worlds- and to make matters worse, he mostly talks about himself. He’s oozing this obnoxious confidence that makes you grimace every time you sip your drink, and not from the alcohol.

Your date is in the bathroom when Johnny calls.

“Hello?”

“Hey, you!” His voice warms your heart. “So Soonie is at a sleep over tonight, and I was thinking about making a Soonbok style menu for her birthday, all Soonie style names for food and such, planning a menu just for her- are you up to anything? Can I go through it with you?”

“Actually…” your gaze shifts to the bathrooms, “I’m on a date.”

“Oh.”

“It’s going so bad, and planning Soonie’s birthday would be such a better use of my evening. Listen, can you come pick me up? I’ll text you the address, you can come and call me when you’re outside, pretend it’s a family emergency or something-”

“You got it, I’ll be there right away.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re hopping into Johnny’s car, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

“That bad, huh?” he asks.

“I don’t even want to talk about it right now,” you groan. 

“Here, distract yourself,” Johnny hands you a piece of paper, and you realize it’s a mock up menu for Soonbok’s birthday. “This is just a prototype, I was messing around with styles on some fucking site called Canva-”

“I didn’t know you were good at this sort of thing,” you gasp, taking in the intricate fonts and colouring.

“The site did all the work, trust me,” Johnny scoffs, pulling out into traffic. “Read it over and let me know what you think.”

You begin to scan the menu. There’s Soonie Side Up Eggs, and Boken Avocado Bennies, Soonbok Style Slapjacks and Suh Family Breakfast Sammies. 

“I’m shocked you came up with this many names related to Soonie and Suh,” you say.

“I spent my entire shift thinking about them in the back of my mind while I worked,” Johnny admits. “They’re not cheesy or anything, right?”

“They’re definitely cheesy,” you confirm, “but Soonie is going to love them. You’ve always been cheesy, John, and she adores you for it.”

You notice Johnny’s skin turning a little red, and it’s not just from the reflection of the traffic light illuminating the inside of his car while you wait for it to go green. 

You continue to study the menu, thinking hard the entire way back to Johnny’s house.

He’s got a modest three bedroom townhouse, with his and Soonbok’s rooms on the top floor, and the guest bedroom on the main floor with the kitchen and living room. The kitchen is, without a doubt, the heart of the home, and the two of you make your way there as soon as you’re past the threshold.

“I have some thoughts,” you admit, setting the menu down and pointing at one of the items. “Soonbok toast,” you announce, a twist on french toast, “it says here that it comes with a berry compote. I can tell that this is one of the dishes more geared toward others, because if this was really for Soonie, you’d know that your daughter doesn't even touch berry or apple crisps. She picks at the oat brown sugar on top, but doesn’t like cooked berries or fruits.”

“Yeah…” Johnny leans next to you, scratching the back of his neck. “That was the only one I wasn’t sure on, but for brunch, you have to have a french toast option, right?”

“We can still do french toast, but I think every menu item should be something she’d actually love, don’t you agree?”

“A hundred percent.” 

“What if, instead of berry compote, we do an brown sugar glaze type sauce?”

“That could be doable,” Johnny admits. “Should we try to make one now?”

“Can we do it in the morning?” you ask. “Honestly, I had one drink at the bar, I’m tired after a long shift, and I’m ready to have a few more drinks then pass out.”

“Drinks are a good idea,” Johnny grins, already heading to the fridge. “It will give me more time to think about how to make the brown sugar glaze, and I’ll get on top of that in the morning.”

“Exactly. Chef hours are over, we can just relax,” you insist, heading to collapse on his couch.

“Chef hours are never over,” Johnny reminds you, cracking open a beer and approaching so he can hand it to you.

“It’s one of the reasons dating is so hard in our profession,” you sigh, taking a swig of your drink.

“The hours make it tough,” Johnny nods. 

“So does the mentality,” you remind him. “We just… we think a little differently than others. We’re all a little too committed to our work.”

“That’s not always a bad thing, you’ve just gotta find someone you’re compatible with, someone who will appreciate that about you.” 

“Says one single chef to the other,” you laugh.

Johnny clinks his bottle against your own before taking a large gulp. “Touche.”

Three

Johnny is doing his best to work quietly, aware that the guest bedroom is just a short distance from the kitchen as he whips up eggs for the french toast batter. 

He manages to get all the way through to the cooking before you sleepily putter into the kitchen, adorned in one of his spare shirts for when you sleep over unexpectedly. You look adorable, but Johnny can’t bring himself to focus on you as he perfects the brown sugar glaze, careful not to burn it.

“Almost done,” he calls over his shoulder, “take a seat then try this with me?”

“It smells good,” you tell him, pulling out a chair at the island kitchen counter. 

“Thanks, honey, I was up last night thinking about it- had to wake up early to try it out.” He lifts the french toast onto a plate, dipping a spoon into the glaze to coat the breakfast. “I hope I didn’t wake you up?”

“The smell did,” you muse, grinning as he brings the french toast toward you, setting it down and opening a drawer to retrieve two sets of utensils.

The two of you cut into the toast, and you lift your fork. “Cheers,” you grin, and Johnny touches his food to your own before you both go in for a bite. 

The french toast is cooked to perfection, and although the brown sugar glaze is a little sweet for his liking, Johnny knows Soonie’s sweettooth will appreciate this adjustment to the recipe.

But when Johnny lifts his gaze to you, he sees apprehension in your eyes. “Did you like it?” he enquires.

“It’s really good, don’t get me wrong,” you assure him quickly, “I just think… maybe it’s missing one or two things.”

“Like what?”

“Mmm…” you cock your head to the side, “we both know Soonbok is a fan of nuts, peanut butter is her usual go to but she likes others too- what if we finely chop some pecan or walnut and add that in somehow?”

“That could work,” Johnny nods. 

“Do you mind if I take a crack at it?” you ask. 

Johnny laughs. There are very few people he’ll allow to use his kitchen, and luckily you’re the one at the top. You’ve been cooking here for so many years that he doesn’t have to guide you to anything, you stand up and immediately go in search of details to make your french toast masterpiece come to life, and Johnny happily takes a back seat while he finishes his own creation.

You go for a bag of pecans, dumping a small amount onto a cutting board before you begin to finally chop, leaving an array of different sizes of chunks. Soonie has always been a texture specific child, and Johnny loves how you incorporate all the little quirks of his daughter into your cooking like this.

In a pan with some butter, you begin to toast the nuts, getting prepped on your bread by using the already made batter he’d created earlier. As you put the toast into the pan and check the nuts, you cock your head to the side again, an endearing trait you do when you’re thinking.

“What about oats?” you suggest. 

“Do whatever you think is best,” Johnny encourages you, heading to the fridge to grab some orange juice and a nearly empty bottle of prosecco he’d opened for a recipe two nights ago.

Johnny watches you add oats to the browning pecans while he makes mimosas, and in no time at all, you’re plating the french toast, with a spoonful of the newly toasted additions, and a few spoonfuls of brown sugar glaze.

“There,” you announce, bringing the food to the table. “I added a bit of cinnamon and brown sugar to the buttered nuts and oats while you were making drinks.”

“Cheers,” Johnny grins, lifting a forkful of your creation to gently touch it to your own.

As soon as he bites into it, Johnny knows that this is a winner. The crunch of the nuts, and the oats- the added fats of the butter- the slight taste of cinnamon on the toppings- 

“Wow,” he breathes, leaning back in his chair. “Soonie really wasn’t joking when she said you’re the best breakfast chef in town.”

“Stop it,” you laugh. “You made the glaze! We did this together!”

Johnny goes for a second bite. “This is the stuff that will stick to your ribs,” he muses, not caring that the calorie content was just inflated by the addition of butter and nuts, “Good ol’ comfort food.”

“No, John, you’re a head chef now, this is comfort cuisine,” you correct him with a grin. 

Johnny swears your eyes are sparkling as you smile at him, and it makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. It’s times like these that he realizes just how smitten he is with you. You’ve been there for him, through thick and thin. There’s no way he’d be where he is now without you, and he’s not even sure if you know the full extent of it.

But at the same time, because you’re his rock, Johnny doesn’t want to overstep. He can’t lose you, not now, not ever. Soonie lost her mom to a car crash when she was three, and there’s no way in hell Johnny’s going to do something that could potentially make her lose you too.

Four

“Hey, you,” you grin, finishing pouring your glass of wine while you put your favourite chef on speaker.

“Hey, yourself,” Johnny responds, and you can practically hear the smile in his own voice. “Listen, uh, I need to ask you for a favour.”

“Shoot.”

“Two of my line chefs called in today before dinner- pretty sure they’re both hungover or something. Anyways, I’m staying, and it’s a busier night than projected- Soonie is done Girl Guides at seven, and I know it’s your night off, so if you’re busy I can find someone else, but-”

“I’ve got you,” you interrupt him. “Girls night with my favourite girl is a better plan than I had.”

“Really? You sure?”

“A hundred percent.”

“I’d say I owe you one, but at this point, I probably owe you more like a thousand.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you laugh, pouring your wine back into the bottle. “Take care of work, and I’ll take care of our girl.”

A couple hours later, you’re in Johnny’s familiar kitchen, making spiced popcorn and virgin cocktails. Soonie wants to be a chef, just like her dad, and she’s getting better every day. You love giving her soft instructions and lending a helping hand on bigger jugs of juice that her tiny fingers can’t quite hold.

Soonbok has a love for all things disney and music, and although this is probably the third time you’re watching it with her, the two of you settle in for the live action Ariel.

While Johnny is primarily a chef, back when you were in culinary school, he used to sing to himself when he was working. He was always quiet, but loud enough for you to listen to his beautiful voice. Like her father, Soonbok has a way with music, and you adore watching the eleven year old belt out Ariel songs.

She’s tuckered out from Girl Guides however, and about halfway into the movie she cuddles up next to you, her eyelids beginning to droop.

When Johnny comes home as the film is ending, Soonie is fast asleep, and you quickly motion at him to be quiet as he steps through the door.

Johnny is careful as he sets his keys and bag down, kicking off his shoes and putting away his jacket. He tiptoes toward the two of you. “How long has she been out?” he whispers.

“Half an hour or so,” you respond in a hushed tone. “How was work?”

He lets out a sigh. “Could have been better, but I’m home now. Should I get this little one to bed?”

You nod, watching the way Johnny bends down to gently lift his daughter off the couch. She stirs in his arms. “Daddy?”

“Hi, Soonie,” he beams down at her. “Did you have a good girls night?”

“Can y/n stay longer?”

Johnny’s eyes shift to you, and a smile forms on your lips. “I guess I can’t say no to Soonie, can I?”

“Here’s the deal, Soonie, y/n can stay longer, but I’ve gotta put you to bed. You had a long day, didn’t you, sweet girl?”

“Uh huh.” Soonie yawns, cuddling closer to Johnny’s chest, and the sight makes you melt.

Johnny carries her out of the living room and up to the second level. He takes some time tucking her in, and then he comes back down to join you, holding two beers in his hands. 

“So two line chefs called in, huh?” you prompt, tucking your legs up and making room for the large man on the sofa.

“I expected it from Haechan, but Mark’s generally pretty reliable. His girlfriend was on shift today, so I know he wasn’t skipping to be with her- I’m guessing they got pretty messed up last night.”

“They’re young,” you point out, accepting a beer from him. “We used to be young.”

“Used to be,” Johnny laughs, taking a swig of his drink. 

Looking at this man- this father, you realize maybe he never really got the chance to be young. At twenty five, he had a six year old, he wasn't running around blacking out and getting hung over, he was working his way up the employment ladder, dreaming about a better future for his daughter.

“You mentioned Mark has a girlfriend, I think I’ve heard about her a few times now, it’s interesting that she was in and he wasn’t.”

“I’m going to be honest, I love Mark, he’s a great kid- but, he can sometimes be peer pressured into things. Haechan has a hold on Mark unlike any I’ve seen, they bring out… interesting sides of each other.”

You laugh at the description, and it’s clear there’s more on Johnny’s mind, so you wait for him to continue. 

“It’s nice that Mark is young and in love, I can understand that- but at the same time, I just hope he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did. Not that Soonbok is a mistake, of course- I just mean that… life is fragile. You think you’re going to be with someone forever, and then you’re reminded of how frail things can be.”

You frown at his words. Even after all of these years, Johnny still holds so much pain about his lost wife. You want to do your best to help Johnny in every aspect of his life, especially emotional, but this is a topic you never know how to approach. He’s right for grieving, his ex was his first love, his true love- how is there anything you could ever say to make him feel better about her passing?

You open your mouth, only to close it, and Johnny watches you intently. Sometimes he looks at you, the way he’s looking at you right now, and you wonder if he feels the same level of connection with you that you feel with him. You wonder if he wants you to kiss him, if a kiss would make him feel better, if it would - if even for a moment - help him forget about the pains he’s faced in his life.

But it’s because of the pains he’s faced that neither of you can close the distance, you’d like to think about it that way at least. Even after all these years, it’s still too early, so you simply reach out and gently squeeze his hand.

Johnny offers you a smile, and you’re glad that in some small way, maybe you’ve helped him.

Five

It’s a pretty slow day after the lunch rush, so Johnny is sitting in the back office with Doyoung while they pick at their food. They often eat together once things settle down, and today is no different. 

What is different, however, is the topic of conversation Doyoung brings up. “How’s y/n doing?” he asks, taking a bite of his salad.

“She’s good. She helped me lock in a french toast recipe for Soonie’s birthday, so that was pretty helpful.”

“That’s nice,” Doyoung nods, “but I’m more interested in what’s going on between the two of you.”

“What do you mean?” Johnny asks, looking up from his schezwan beef noodle bowl. 

“I mean, you two have been friends for a long time. There’s a lot of history there.”

Johnny’s shocked that Doyoung is bringing this up. Out of all of the chef’s coworkers, he had not pegged Doyoung as being the man to bring up relationship gossip, and the whole thing takes him off guard for a moment. 

“We’re good friends,” Johnny says finally.

“I know that,” Doyoung rolls his eyes. “What’s holding you back from being more? It’s clear how much you two care about each other.”

Johnny looks down at his food, using his chopsticks to play around with a red pepper. “We do care about each other,” he confirms. “She was there for me with Soonie when no one else was, and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“So why don’t you tell her how you really feel about her?” Doyoung presses. “It’s obvious in the way you look at each other- a smart woman like y/n, I’m shocked she hasn’t figured it out for herself by now.”

“I think, because of our history, there’s this… invisible line,” Johnny tries to explain. “Things are good the way they are now, if I try to mess with that… I could lose everything. And I wouldn’t just be losing it for myself, I’d be losing it for Soonie too.”

Doyoung lets out a breath, turning to face Johnny. “I get that it’s hard, but, you’ve got two paths ahead of you. If you give it a try, it could either end well, or badly. But if you keep yourself in this weird middle friend zone place, it’s like you’ve created a house at the crossroads, and that will never lead you anywhere.”

“When did you become so wise about love?” Johnny scoffs.

“Sumi has helped me with it,” Doyoung admits. “I met her here, we started off as friends. I’m her manager, so I had my own reasons for never taking the leap. I had my own house at the crossroads.”

“What made you finally give it a try?”

“She was there for me when my dad died,” Doyoung frowns. “Anyone can be there for you when things go badly, but when a woman truly gives her all to making things easier on you- it’s not something that should be ignored. After everything you and y/n have been through, you both deserve to give it a try.”

“How are you so sure she’d want to give it a try?”

“Because she looks at you the way you look at her.”

Six

Cooking with Johnny might just be the easiest thing in the world. You’d thought that, due to it being Soonie’s birthday, maybe tensions would be high, but as the two of you collaborate in the kitchen, bumping hips and easily communicating, things feel as they always have: easy. 

Within fifteen minutes, the two of you have seamlessly cooked thirteen breakfasts for yourselves, Soonie, her four friends, and six adults… well, seven, if you include the Boken Avocado Bennies you’d whipped up for Doyoung.

While there are a number of staff puttering around doing pre-opening tasks, it’s Doyoung who takes the time to help you and Johnny bring all the food to the table. You love watching the stoic manager announce the Soonie-inspired brunch food names, and it’s clear that Soonbok is also enamoured by the shift in Doyoung’s countenance. 

Before everyone begins to eat, you take a group picture on Johnny’s phone, loving the massive smile on Soonie’s face.

As you’re about to sit down, Johnny asks one of the other moms to take a picture of just you, him and Soonie. With the two of you on either side of the birthday girl, you can’t help but think that this feels like a family picture. 

In a way, Johnny and Soonie are your family- but in the same breath, you’re cognisant of the fact that - had circumstances been different - it would be Soonbok’s mom in this picture right now, and not you. These are shoes that can simply never be filled, no matter how much you wish you could.

The thought isn’t one you like to hold on to, and it’s a thought that’s popped into your head innumerable times throughout the years. Taking your seat next to the birthday girl, you watch her try the french toast, her eyes lighting up.

On top of her own food, Soonie picks at yours and Johnny’s. Both of you are more than happy to share so she can taste more than just one of the special items Johnny had concocted for her. 

Brunch is full of laughter and girlish giggles that light up the deserted restaurant. It’s clear how important Johnny has made Soonie feel today, and that brings you more joy than you could ever express out loud. 

As things wind down, you and Johnny begin clearing plates to the dishpit. The two of you are shoulder to shoulder, and you’re overwhelmed by an odd sense of longing that you can’t quite describe.

Johnny turns to you, mouth opening as if he’s about to say something- but as servers pass behind you, it’s clear that there’s no room for him to say whatever it is that he wanted to say to you.

You clear your throat, watching a line chef pop up next to Johnny to stack the dishes for dishwasher prep. “You should go back to Soonie,” you tell him, “I’ll finish up with the cleanup.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Of course, it’s Soonie’s day, go be with her.” You offer him a smile, and Johnny reacts by reaching out to squeeze your hand.

Without another word, he leaves you to your thoughts, and the feeling of need that’s growing steadier and steadier in your chest.

Seven

Johnny doesn’t know quite what to do with himself. Soonie’s birthday was yesterday, and today's day shift had been quite slow. He’s feeling restless with Soonie over at a friend’s place tonight, and he tries to drown himself in liquor- whether it be to chase away the loneliness or to gain courage, he’s not sure, but by nine oclock, Johnny finds himself dialing up your number.

“Hey, you,” you answer.

“Hey, yourself,” he grins. “Watcha up to?”

There’s a pause, and Johnny can hear people in the background. “I’m out actually.”

“Oh?” Johnny’s spirits dampen. “Out on another hot date?”

“Not so hot actually.”

Johnny bites at his lip. “I’ll let you go anyways.”

“It’s alright, I stepped out when you called. Do you need something?”

“I guess…” Johnny takes a breath. “I got into the liquor-”

“Say no more, I’ll be right over.”

Eight

“So…” Johnny grins as the two of you head into his kitchen, “how did the date go?”

You scoff, watching him pour a glass of wine. “How do you think it went? I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“I mean… I am pretty hard to compete with,” Johnny flashes you a sexy grin… and proceeds to knock over the glass of wine. “Shit- fuck!”

“Listen, you go take a seat, and I’ll clean this up,” you laugh, watching him lumber toward the sofa. You make quick work of the mess, and when you’re done, you approach him in the living room.

“Come sit,” he prompts, patting the spot right next to him.

“Someone’s feeling awfully cuddly today,” you giggle when he grabs your hand to pull you down where he wants you, leaving no space between the two of you.

“What can I say? I’m a cuddly drunk.” 

“I can see that,” you note, assessing him.

His gaze dips to your lips, and your skin tingles. 

“Thank you for yesterday,” he says quietly.

“I told you, I was happy to help for Soonie’s special day.”

“It’s not just that,” he insists, “you’re always happy to help. I seriously-” he swallows thickly, “I seriously couldn’t have done anything I’ve done without you.”

“Don’t be so self deprecating,” you warn him, gently pushing his shoulder. “You’d have gotten anywhere you wanted, with or without me.”

“I still don’t have a food truck,” Johnny pouts.

You’d thought maybe he’d given up on that dream- although you’ve held onto hope for Johnny, more than he knows. “Now that you mention it, actually,” you say, pulling out your phone, “I’ve been looking at food trucks for sale online for a minute, and-”

Johnny’s gaze softens. “You’ve been researching for me?”

“Just a little,” you brush it off, trying to find the listing that you’d saved three days ago. “I found this decent looking one at a good price-”

“I think I love you.”

“Huh?” you freeze.

“I didn’t mean it,” Johnny says immediately, and your heart sinks. “I don’t think I love you, I know I do.”

“John, please, that’s the liquor talking.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he insists. “Look, you’ve always been there for me. We work together- and not just because we’re both chefs. Something about this,” Johnny gestures between the two of you, “it just works, and I know I’m not the only one who sees it.”

“Yeah?” You decide to play a little coy, seeing as this confession is coming from a drunk man. “And who else sees it?”

“Doyoung, for one.”

“Doyoung?” You let out a laugh. “Have you been gossiping about me with him?”

“I swear I didn’t bring it up,” Johnny defends himself. “Doyoung said I look at you with love, and that… that you look at me the same way.”

“Well… maybe Doyoung needs to get his eyes checked?”

“Don’t play with me,” Johnny begs, pulling you closer. “There’s always been a line between us, one we’ve both been too scared to cross… but, I think-”

“Now you’re crossing it,” you finish for him. “What made you want to do that?”

“Soonie’s birthday,” Johnny admits. “Our little family picture.”

“Our family picture,” you repeat, melting inside at the fact that he’d viewed the photo in the same light you had.

“Yeah.” Johnny nods. “Our family. Mine, and yours.” 

His hand finds your thigh, and you can’t help but reach out to cup his cheek, stroking your thumb across his angular bones. “I’m not sure what to say,” you admit.

“We don’t have to say anything,” Johnny assures you. “Just kiss me, and we can forget about the world for a minute.”

Your heart is racing in your chest as you hesitantly close the distance between your lips. It’s a gentle first kiss, but it soon grows hungry, and you’re not sure if that’s due to his appetite or your own.

His tongue swipes across your lip, and you open your mouth for him, letting out a soft sigh as you get lost in the feeling of the man who’s been your best friend for years.

His hand on your thigh squeezes, and before you know it, he’s pulling you onto his lap. Your knees dig into the sofa on either side of him, and you’re hesitant to fully sit down- a kiss is a kiss, but grinding on Johnny is something else entirely.

“Johnny,” you whisper, throwing your head back to look at the ceiling, wondering how you got into this situation.

“Yes, honey?” He presses kisses along your throat that have tingles shooting up your spine.

“You’re drunk,” you say finally.

“If I’d known you liked me too, I would have done this ages ago.”

“It’s not about that,” you laugh. “It’s about the fact that you’re drunk, and I want you sober when we do this.”

“Do what?” he teases, squeezing your hips, his tongue grazing over your jugular.

“You know what,” you retort with a huff. “Look, you’re right about the line neither of us wanted to cross.”

Johnny pulls away from your throat, looking up at you. “Huh?”

“The line. The unspoken line. All these years, something has been there, between us- but, we both respect your wife, we respect Soonie- I think… I think the time is right for this now, well, not right now, but, once you’re sober again.”

“You’re right,” Johnny concedes. 

“How about we watch a movie, then we can go to sleep.”

“You’ll stay over?” There’s a boyish excitement in his voice and it makes you melt.

“Uh huh.”

“Will you stay in my bed with me?”

“Just for cuddles, but only if you promise to drink a bunch of water before we sleep, I don’t want you hung over in the morning.”

Johnny grins. “You got it, honey.”

Nine

Johnny wakes up next to a warm body, and it’s the first time in years. Your presence is the only thing that proves to him that last night wasn’t a dream, some twisted fantasy- No, you’re real, and you’re here, and you’d kissed him back-

He stays cuddled with you for a while, basking in the glow of being in love, truly in love, and finally able to admit it to himself. It’s been so long since his wife, and part of him had forgotten the feeling- maybe that’s why it had taken years for him to realize how much he adores you.

After a while, Johnny decides he needs some water- and he wants to make breakfast for you. He wants to spoil you the way you spoil him.

Johnny is careful as he exits the bed, taking one last look at your peaceful face before heading down to the kitchen.

It’s easy for Johnny to get lost in the act of cooking, focusing on bacon at first before switching to eggs. As it was a few days ago, the smell of food wakes you up, and soon you’re joining him by the stove.

“Watcha making?” you ask, wrapping your body around his.

God, the feeling of you is- fuck, he can’t even describe how good it is.

“Wanted to make you breakfast,” he tells you, plating your food first. Once he has you settled and sitting, he quickly throws together a breakfast sandwich for himself.

“You and your sandwiches,” you laugh, digging into your bacon and eggs.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, coming to join you.

“So well,” you tell him, bumping your knee against his own, “even if someone snores.” 

Johnny can only laugh, he’s dealt with Soonbok complaining about his loud snoring for years. “How are the eggs?”

“Good!” 

You’re so chipper this morning, and he loves it. Johnny takes a bite of his sandwich- you’d cooked the eggs at the brunch birthday two days ago, and he realizes Soonie was right. “Your eggs are better,” he muses.  

“I’d planned on making breakfast for you, but you jumped the gun, big guy.”

“I wanted to pamper you for a change.”

“Cooking is my love language,” you tell him. “I’m excited to make you breakfast more often.”

“I like the sound of that,” he smiles.

“When’s Soonie come home?”

Johnny checks the clock on the stove. “In an hour or so.”

“As much as I’d love to see her, I think maybe it’s better if I’m not here when she gets home,” you say thoughtfully. “She’s a smart girl, I bet she’d be able to tell that something is up.”

“She definitely would,” Johnny confirms. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you that much if you stick around.”

You giggle, reaching over to squeeze his knee.

“How are you feeling about last night?” Johnny asks.

“I’m feeling good, how about you? Still remember all of it?”

“In perfect detail,” he breathes. “Although… a little reminder wouldn’t hurt.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t?” you tease as he leans in, cupping your face so he can press his lips to your own. 

God, you’re such a good kisser. It just works. It’s hard for him to even pull away, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you.

“Take me out on a date,” you say.

“Hmm?”

“A date,” you repeat. “Just because we’ve known each other for years doesn’t mean we can skip steps.”

“I respect that,” Johnny nods. “I’ve got a busy week, and it will have to be a night where Soonie is out, but… we’ll make it work.”

Johnny’s so certain it will work, because things between you have always worked, and he can’t wait to see where this takes you. 

Ten

It’s been a week, but finally Johnny found time for that date night. Soonie is out with friends again, so it’s the perfect opportunity to get some alone time with the man who’s been on your mind constantly.

He picks you up in his old Dodge truck, compliments your outfit, and refuses to tell you where you’re going or what the plan is.

When you arrive back at his place, you’re honestly not even surprised. “Let me guess, you took me to the best chef in town?”

“You know all my lines, honey,” he grins. 

“So, chef, what’s on the menu?”

“I thought maybe you’d take a seat and let me cook for you.”

“As if I’d take a back seat,” you scoff. “What are we making?”

Johnny had made hand made fettucini before he’d come to pick you up. You let him take lead in making a white wine, garlic cream sauce with button mushrooms, spinach and crispy prosciutto, but you insist on being his sous chef and taking care of the chicken.

The smell is heavenly, and as he finishes it all off with fresh herbs, you think you start to drool a little.

“For a guy who claims to specialize in sandwiches of all things, you’re pretty good with italian,” you muse as you take your first bite and nearly moan.

“I’m pretty good with a lot of things,” Johnny laughs. 

“Look at you being all cocky.”

“You love it.”

He’s so right.

The two of you chat and laugh together while eating. It’s one of the best meals you’ve had in a very long time. When dinner is over, Johnny suggests a movie. As the two of you settle on the couch, he prompts you to come closer, and soon, the two of you are cuddled together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He’s so warm and comforting- you find yourself dozing off a little, although, maybe it’s something of a food coma from all the pasta.

Johnny brings his lips to your ear, and you shiver when he asks, “Should I carry you to bed, honey?” 

Part of you wants to tell him you’re not Soonie and you won’t be calling him daddy any time soon- but another part of you wants to lean into this. It’s been so long since you felt like you could be babied, and if anyone is going to bring out that side of you, it’s going to be Johnny.

“Won’t I be too heavy?” you ask, cognizant of the stairs he’ll have to climb.

“Have you seen my arms? I won’t drop you, honey, I promise.”

You allow him to scoop you up, and you feel like a giggling school girl again as he takes you up to his room. “Do you have a shirt I could wear to sleep?” 

“Choose anything,” he tells you. “When you’re changed, you can join me in the bathroom, I went and got a toothbrush for you.”

Before you know it, you’re cuddled in Johnny’s bed, wearing panties and one of his big shirts. He’s pressed to your back, his mint tinged breath warm on the nape of your neck. There’s no pressure for sex, no pressure for anything other than the situation at hand, and you can tell you’re both very content with it. 

Soon, you’re drifting off to sleep in the arms of a man who’s been a cornerstone of your life.

It’s a deep, dreamless sleep, and it passes in the blink of an eye. You awaken to light beaming through his window, a warm body behind you, and something hard pressed against your ass.

You laugh to yourself- morning wood isn’t something men can help. Even so, you stir a little, adjusting to get more comfortable.

Johnny releases a sleepy groan.

You stay still, not wanting to wake him, but it feels like the damage is already done when he wraps you tighter in his embrace. “Morning,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Hi,” you respond lightly.

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to shift, and you feel his body tense when he does so. “Fuck,” he goes to pull away, “sorry, I uh-”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, grabbing his forearm so he can’t move away, “keep cuddling me.”

Johnny returns, flush against your back, his hard cock pressing even more firmly to your ass.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” he asks.

“More than okay with it.”

“Yeah?” He leans forward, pressing his lips to your throat. “Are you okay with this, too?” Johnny mumbles, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

“Uh huh,” you sigh, wiggling your bum back against him and arching your neck to give him better access.

His hand finds your hip, gently squeezing you through the shirt you’re wearing. His lips are soft against you, but there’s a need in his motions too, and he begins to grind against your ass.

You let out a groan when he finds the sweet spot just below your ear, and he licks at it, making you moan louder.

“Are we going to do this?” he asks, nipping at your earlobe.

“Fuck it, yes.” You can’t hold back anymore, you turn in his embrace, quickly mounting him and smashing your lips to his own.

Johnny grins into the kiss, holding your hips while you settle on top of him, grinding down against his clothed cock while your tongues begin to clash.

His kisses have you seeing stars, your mind going blank except for him.

Soon, his hands slip under your shirt, slowly grazing up your sides. “Can I take this off of you?” he asks.

You open your eyes to look down at him, studying his pretty lips and his chocolate eyes. 

Instead of responding, you sit up, grabbing the hem of the oversized T and lifting it over your head, tossing it to the side and baring yourself to your best friend for the first time.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, gaze falling to your tits. His hands stay at a respectable location on your hips, and you grab one to lift it to your breast, adding pressure so he knows he’s allowed to give you a test squeeze.

Johnny begins to massage you, and you throw your head back, releasing a groan, swiveling your hips against him.

His thumb brushes over your hardened nipple and you mewl loudly, core throbbing from the stimulus.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, propping himself up so he can take your nipple into his mouth.

You cup the back of his head, keeping him on your chest while he worships you. His other hand finds your neglected breast, gently pinching and massaging while he sucks on your sensitive bud.

“John-” You don’t even know what to say, you’re entirely wrapped up in him. 

You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. 

Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more. 

Johnny pulls away from your breasts, cupping the back of your head and drawing your lips to his again. “We should take our clothes off,” he suggests.

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all week,” you laugh. 

He helps you off of him, and you lay next to each other for a moment, both fumbling to get naked. As soon as you’re fully nude, Johnny rolls on top of you, slotting between your thighs. His lips find yours again, and his free hand trails down your body, teasing through your pussy lips.

“You’re already so wet,” he muses.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” you admit.

“Me too,” he assures you, capturing your mouth with his own while he teases a finger into your hole. You push your hips up, wanting more, and you latch onto his strong shoulders, moaning into the kiss.

Johnny’s a big man, and his finger is enough to have you wriggling below him. “Easy, honey,” he grins, looking down at you with eyes full of adoration. “Gotta stretch you open.”

“Fuck,” you groan- does this man read erotica in his spare time? How is a thirty year old, single dad, this well versed in dirty talk even though you’re pretty sure he hasn’t been laid in forever?

He adds a second finger, curling them to find your gspot. As he pumps his hand, lips pressed to yours in a mad frenzy, you can hear your wetness with each motion. 

It feels unreal- have fingers alone ever done a number like this on you?

Johnny twists his hand a little, knuckles dragging along your sensitive inner walls. It’s like he’s trying to carve out a space for his cock, although, you know now that this won’t be enough. He’s thick and throbbing on your hip, his length so large you think he might just blow your entire back out when he slips it into you.

Even though you’re eager to be - for lack of a better word - impaled on him, Johnny takes his time kissing you, his fingers continuing their motions. “Wanna rub your clit for me?” he asks, moving his mouth to your neck. “I want to watch you cum.”

Your toes curl at his words, and you bring your hand to your pussy, drawing circles on the sensitive bud while he continues to stroke your inner walls.

Your core throbs around him, whimpers of pleasure escaping you. 

“You’re being so good for me, honey,” Johnny tells you, making your insides flutter even more from the sincere words of praise.

Cumming hasn’t always been the easiest thing in the world for you. There are many partners you’ve had who never had the wherewithal to get you there- but somehow, Johnny just knows you. Or maybe, it’s because he knows you- because you feel safe with him, that you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

It also helps that it’s your own fingers on your clit, you know exactly what you like, what pressure, what motions- the digits working you open are just an added bonus that have you seeing stars as you make your way to your peak.

“John,” you gasp, tits pushing up toward his chest when your back arches. “I’m gonna-”

“Let it out for me,” he encourages you softly. “You deserve it.”

“I deserve your cock,” you whine, shocked at your own blatant neediness.

Johnny only laughs. “After,” he assures you, “I promise.”

A few more circles of your clit has the cord in your stomach snapping, your orgasm washing over your like warm summer waves. Your entire body tingles with delight, gasps leaving you as your pussy fully throbs around his fingers, your clit pulsing with desire.

“So pretty,” he whispers, bringing his lips to yours.

From the way he smiles against your mouth, you can tell he doesn’t care that you’re moaning so much he can hardly kiss you.

It’s a closeness you’ve never felt before, and he helps you through your orgasm until you’re pulling your hand away in favour of grabbing his shoulders.

Johnny takes his fingers out of your core, and you watch under hooded eyelids as he brings them to his lips, sucking them clean and releasing a groan. “Everything you do tastes better than what I bring to the table.”

You laugh. He’s such a fucking chef.

“Some might even say it’s…” you stifle a giggle, “Finger licking good.” 

Johnny lets out a laugh, eyes lighting up. God, you love this soft, laughter infused sex- you’ve never experienced anything like it.

You grab the back of his neck, drawing his mouth to your own. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and there’s something so erotic about it. He moans loudly, rubbing his cock between your wet pussy lips.

The tip of his cock is stimulating your clit and it sends jitters through you. You can feel how soaked you are, and you wouldn’t be surprised if this ended with a wet patch on his bed from how turned on you’ve been throughout this whole experience.

Johnny seems intent with grinding against you, but you’re lacking patience today, and you reach between your bodies to grab his cock.

Johnny breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours and looking down at where you’re gripping him. He doesn’t say anything, his gaze shifting back to your own. There’s a question in his eyes, and you’re both aware that this is the final line. Once you cross this, there’s no going back.

You bring his cock to your wet hole, and with very little effort, you help guide the head of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans immediately, fists bunching at the pillow on either side of your head. “You’re so tight- are you sure you’re good with this?”

“You’re just- fuck,” you whimper as another inch sinks into you, “you’re just big!”

“Maybe you’ll have to get used to it,” he grins, pushing deeper.

You moan loudly, clawing at his shoulders. “Maybe I will,” you gasp. 

He brings his mouth close to your own, until your lips are just brushing, eyes meeting when he says, “I’m looking forward to it.”

As he kisses you, he pushes fully into your warm, wet, throbbing core. His hips are flush to your own, and you swear no one’s ever been this deep inside of you.

Your legs shake on either side of his hips, body suspended in this odd purgatory-like place between extreme pleasure, and an uncomfortable feeling of being stretched more than you’ve ever been stretched before.

“Are you good?” he asks, lips moving to your cheek while you struggle to aclimatize to his cock.

“Yeah,” you nod quickly. “Just- fuck me, it will be easier.”

“If you say so, honey.”

The first thrust has your toes curling, eyes clenching shut with pleasure. A sound that’s never come from you before leaves your lips- a sound you’ve heard in porn, but always thought was an overexpression.

Your fingers dig into Johnny’s shoulders, and he holds you close, mouth finding your neck while he begins to fuck you.

Although, would this be called fucking?

The fluidity of his motions- the way you’re clinging to each other- it feels more like making love, and your skin tingles with the realization.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me you love me again, like you did when you were drunk.”

“I love you,” he says immediately, holding you even tighter. “I love you so much that sometimes it hurts.”

Your entire body both relaxes and is set on fire by his words, your core throbbing desperately around his massive cock. 

“Johnny-” you whimper.

“Tell me you love me too,” he pleads.

“I love you too,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair and bringing his face close to yours so you can look up into his eyes. “I love you too.” 

Johnny’s hand finds your thigh, hiking it higher on his hip. Somehow, he hits even deeper now, and you wriggle below him, more sounds of pleasure escaping you and filling the room.

“You sound so good, honey- I won’t last if you keep squeezing me and moaning-”

“Then don’t last,” you gasp. “Want you to cum.”

“Where should I cum?”

“Inside- I’m on birth control, just- fuck, Johnny, cum inside.”

He groans, pressing his mouth firmly to your own, his tongue dancing along yours as his motions get even faster.

You’re clinging to him for dear life at this point, and when he slips a hand between your bodies to rub your clit, you nearly begin to cry from how good it feels.

“Love the way your pussy sucks me in when we play with your clit,” he tells you. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

“Do you think you can cum for me again? I don’t want to be the only one cumming.”

“Yeah, yeah- fuck, yeah, I can cum again,” you whimper desperately.

“Let me know when,” he instructs, adjusting his motions ever so slightly so each thrust has his cock dragging against your gspot.

You let out a squeal of delight, your thighs shaking around his hips, stomach muscles clenching almost painfully-

“Fuck, John, I’m there- shit, fuck-”

Johnny shuts you up with his lips against your own, and for a second time, your orgasm hits you.

Your core clamps down incredibly hard on his cock, and Johnny groans deeply above you, fingers twitching on your clit. He keeps his pace, and a moment later, you feel his cum filling you up, coating your walls with warmth.

The feeling of his large length throbbing in your own oversensitive hole has your entire mind going fuzzy, and you kiss him like a woman lost, like a woman so completely in love that nothing else matters.

You ride out your orgasms together, until you’re both shaking. Only then does Johnny come to a stop on top of you, kisses turning to a more gentle nature as he holds you close. 

“I love you,” he tells you again.

You smile, blinking up at your best friend. “And I love you.”

Epilogue

The two of you are in the kitchen cooking brunch. Johnny is pressed to your back, watching intently, asking all sorts of questions about how you cook eggs to make them so delicious and superior to his own.

“The secret ingredient is love,” you tease.

Johnny can only laugh, holding you tighter.

He’s so lost in you, that he loses track of time, and as the two of you are sitting down to eat, Soonbok walks through the front door. She stops in her tracks when she sees you, letting her little overnight bag slip to the ground.

“Oh, hi, baby,” Johnny stands up immediately.

“Hi, daddy,” Soonie says, allowing her dad to pick her up for a hug while her eyes shift to you.

“Did Sabrina’s mom drop you off?” Johnny asks, looking out the door to wave at Soonie’s friend’s mom as she drives away.

“As always, daddy,” Soonie laughs. “I didn’t know y/n was coming over.”

“Surprise,” you grin, also standing so that when Johnny sets his daughter to the ground, she can run to give you a hug of your own.

Once Soonie is done squeezing you as tight as her little arms can muster, she looks between you and Johnny. For some reason, Johnny feels his heart beginning to race, there’s a knowing in his daughters eyes.

“What’s going on?” Soonie asks finally.

“Y/N and I just had a little sleep over,” Johnny tries to explain, and the concept isn’t a new one, you sleep over frequently… in the guest bedroom.

“So…” a wicked grin appears on Soonbok’s face, “Does this mean you’ll stop trying to get me to call her auntie now?”

“What?” Johnny lets out a surprised laugh.

“You heard me, daddy,” Soonbok’s smile widens. “Does this… does this mean we’ll be a real family now?”

Johnny lets out a shuddery breath. In the years you’ve been helping raise Soonbok, Johnny has broached the idea of her calling you Auntie Y/N, as a respect thing, and his daughter has always refused. Had she seen the connection this whole time? Has this been something Soonbok has wanted ever since she was a five year old with an inquisitive mind and an even more discerning eye?

Johnny’s gaze shifts to you, and you flash him a warm smile.

“Yeah, baby,” Johnny picks up his daughter. “We can be a real family now.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! This was such a fun project for me, thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me to write for Chef John, he deserved his happy ending :)

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🔮 preview. The man ordering can’t see you lying on the floor of the food truck. He has no idea what’s going on- and you feel like tempting fate a little. You bring your hand to your pussy, beginning to rub yourself through your pants, adjusting the vibrator ever so slightly as it buzzes inside you. Johnny nearly drops the tomato he’s holding, quickly tearing his gaze from yours. You’ve never seen him trying to focus this hard- and failing. What had been your torture initially, has just become his own, and you kind of love it.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (fucking in a food truck), use of vibrator while helping a customer, vibrator as a makeshift gag ball, breast worship, fucking with half your clothes on, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, big dick Johnny, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink, etc…   I petnames. (hers) honey

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 230

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

You love working with Johnny. Sure, it had been rough at first, getting his food truck on its feet, but it’s been two years, and with some insanely good marketing, you’re now running one of the top trucks in the city.

It’s a joy to watch Johnny fulfill his dreams every day- his odd obsession with sandwiches of all things has only added to your connection. Watching him smile and charm guests makes your heart swell with joy, and on the rare occasion Soonie comes to do the register and take orders, it feels like you’re just one happy family.

Today, however, is a weather disaster. The forcast had mentioned light sprinkles, but cuddled next to Johnny looking out at the torrential downpour, you both feel a little bamboozled.

“You know what would make this more fun?” Johnny asks.

“Customers?” you suggest.

“Yes, but also… I got you something.” The chef flashes you a sly smirk, and you pull away from his shoulder to asses him.

“Am I going to like where this is going?” you ask.

He was single for so long- and there’d been so many sexual things he’d missed out on during that time, but the two of you are making up for it every moment you have alone. You suppose this is a moment alone, so you’re not really shocked that his mind is in the gutter.

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[amiableness]

Hockey!James Potter x Lupin!Reader ❆ 663 words

thank you to @moonpascal for reading this and giving me ideas! hockey!james is dedicated to you, babes <3 series masterlist ; main masterlist

“Put a shirt on—my sister’s coming over.” Remus calls out, smacking the back of the couch behind Sirius’ head. Sirius barely flinches, too absorbed in the video game to care. James glances up from where he’s sitting, his gaze casually following Remus as he walks into the living room. But then, as the words register, his head snaps back for a double take.

“Your sister’s coming over?” James sits up straighter, his interest piqued. “When?”

Remus glances at his phone as he settles into the chair next to the couch, “Pretty soon.”

“He’s one shot away from dead, James,” Sirius mutters through gritted teeth, his fingers flying over the buttons, laser-focused on the screen. “Get on that. Now.”  

Silence.  

Sirius darts a quick, panicked glance to his right, expecting to see James ready for action, only to find him staring intently at Remus instead, his controller slack in his hands.  

“Pretty soon? What does that mean? Ten minutes? Thirty?” James asks, his thoughts drifting to the state he’s in—his hair a disheveled mess from repeatedly running his hands through as he played games for half the day. Not to mention, he’s still lounging in his pajama pants, a consequence of having no classes and a rare night off from hockey practice. 

If he’d known you were coming over today, he would’ve made an effort—fixed his hair, changed out of his lazy clothes, maybe even tidied up the place a bit.

“James!” Sirius barks, his frustration mounting. “I said get on him, not play twenty questions!”  

Remus shrugs as he strides further into the room, completely unfazed by the chaos. “Again—I don’t know, mate. She just said, ‘pretty soon.’”

James frowns, his brow furrowing. “Do I have time to shower?”  

The high-pitched sound of a game-over screen fills the room, and Sirius throws his controller down with a groan. “Oh, bloody hell! We could’ve won that!” 

James glances over at the screen with a slight wince, “Shit, sorry.”

“Remus, you’re up,” Sirius announces, grabbing the controller James has abandoned and tossing it to Remus, who barely catches it. A disappointed look is shot in James’ direction as Sirius sets up the new game. “You’ve lost your privileges.”

Remus takes the controller, his eyes flicking to James as he stands and begins collecting the forgotten cans and empty food containers scattered around. Sirius glances over with an amused smirk, his gaze lingering on James’ frantic tidying.

“Should I be concerned that you’re cleaning up for my sister?” Remus asks, raising an eyebrow. James turns to face him, a guilty and uncertain expression crossing his face.

“Uh, I do—” James stammers, clearly unsure how to respond without annoying Remus. 

“If you’re gonna change, you might as well throw on a backwards hat,” Remus says, interrupting casually, his eyes glued to the screen as his fingers hover over the buttons. “She finds it hot on guys.” He catches James out of the corner of his eye—sees him straighten, the words sinking in as he nods slowly. Without a word, James turns and heads for the kitchen, muttering to himself, like he’s trying to remember where he’s got a baseball hat lying around.

“Wait, does she really?” Sirius asks, raising an eyebrow. Remus mutters a distracted “yeah.”

“Noted,” He nods, a sly grin creeping across his face. “I’ll be sure to wear one around her next time.”

Remus turns and shoots him a warning look, making Sirius pause. “Seriously? You’re handing him tips, but I can’t even joke about using them?”

“No, because he’s actually interested in being with her. You’re just interested in flirting with her.” Remus says, shooting Sirius a look of warning and protectiveness— the kind only a brother could deliver.

Sirius rolls his eyes, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, fully aware that Remus is right. James had fallen for you the moment Remus introduced you four years ago—his feelings for you were real, and somehow, everyone but you could see it.

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[sleep-0-deprived]

Gyomei Himejima x Male Reader who's a demon who was rehabilitated by Tamayo and one day met Gyomei and it was like love at first sight? And M/N has like a rope/belt like power similar to Daki's? And they wanna experiment with that?🤭

Experiments~ (Gyomei Himijima x demon male reader)~ ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა

WC:. 2.2k

Tags binding, praises riding, no protection, soft sex (firm believer in Gyomei being a gentle giant), anal sex, size differences, belly bulging, creampies ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

A/N I’ve never written for a blind character so please excuse any errors! Sorry it took so long to write I hope you enjoy though <33

────────────୨ৎ─────────────

You were a demon. You favored Nezuko and Tamayo in the fact you didn’t follow nor submit to Muzan’s cruel plans and you still kept contact with your human side. That was what led you to meeting lady Tamayo and by default she managed to rehabilitate you over time. You eventually make yourself known to the core, wanting to help the greater cause by fighting against muzan and his demons with them.

The demon slayer corp didn’t trust you at all at first, I mean why would a demon of high status, no- one of Muzan’s most loyal switch sides and come to them and offer himself over?…well you did and master thought the only person fit to handle and keep tabs on you was none other than the stone Hashira Gyomei.

You were forced to stay in the stone estate with Gyomei, and occasionally Genya when he stopped by. Genya was more accepting of you than Gyomei at first being that Genya’s fighting style was him temporarily turning into a demon he was understanding

Genya was more open to the thought not all demons were bad. Gyomei on the other hand was still skeptical keeping his senses strong listening to you at night walking around the estate.

Gyomei would sense your blood demon art at night, he’d expect you to sneak off maybe hunt for food or run back to your master but you never did. You would use your blood demon art to grab things doing the most laziest things with them like opening doors grabbing a pillow that was too far out of reach,

he could tell what you were doing by the sounds of your belts and pillows ruffling. The large man might not have any sight but his other senses were heightened in every way.

Slowly over the months he’d ease his guard and stop holding his body ready like you were about to betray the core, he’d even swoon for you almost when he first heard your voice it made him question if you were really a demon because you sounded just like an angel to him.

Sadly your scent betrayed you showing to him you really were the demon that did such horrific crimes. The rehabilitation brought you close to Gyomei, and you spent most of your days together in the empty estate.

Present day the two of you have been together going close to a month and shockingly you two do have sex, one might think a religious and traditional man like Gyomei would wait for sex until marriage but nothing about his relationship with you was traditional I mean you were a demon and the two of you were both men but he didn’t seem to care.

“I’m bored Gyo?” You’d grumble all sprawled around in his lap like you were a king on a tanned flesh throne “must you lay like that on me [name]?” He’d sigh just reaching one hand down firm on your hip, his voice holding no true disdain having you in his lap

“yes I must!…and you know we could always pass time in other ways Gyomei?” You’d lean close standing on your knees in his lap now leaning into his ear whispering using your thumb to wipe the tears running down his cheeks with his eyes open glossed over as always unblinking and pale white.

“Always insisting sinful things to me, you really can be a from [name] pulling me into temptations with your binds..”his slightly red beneath his skin tracing his hands to your waistband with you straddling his lap in his room of the stone estate.

“Speaking of my binds….wanna use mine on you when you’re stretching me out. Bind you against me skin to skin while I ride you” you speak shamelessly nearly confident in his lap but he was totally flabbergasted, his body tense you could see red on the tips of his ears with a few hot tears pricking back down his cheek right where your thumb pressed wiping his cheek off again.

His large hands felt your pants around tracing and guiding them to the zipper making due with his lack of sight while you on the other hand let go of his cheek taking your hand down to his pants undoing his fly as he sits under you. With your belts coming out of your back wrapping around his waistband pulling them off softly before turning to blades cutting his boxers up to get his cock out

“you are such an eager demon [name]” his voice rang in the cool night of the estate with his cock hard pressed to his shirt with a pearl like bead of pre cum sitting on his tip, clearly sensitive pulsing eager for touch— which you were happy to give.

“You’re eager too Gyomei, don’t bother telling me different I feel it” you murmur retracting your binds for a moment to Scoot closer lifting your shirt over your head with your cock springing free when he can finally get your boxers off.

You crawl further in his lap sitting down on his cock with it pressed between your cheeks reaching above your crack making a sticky mess in your laps

“always feel so good, boy” he groans grabbing your hips with his teary eyes white and wide as always grinding his cock between your cheeks easily lifting you around like a boy toy in his lap making your binds react wrapping around his back tearing through his haori leaving marks in his skin unintentionally.

“Shit- didn’t mean to Gyo—“ you let out a sharp gasp hushed by him taking one hand off your hip keeping you firmly pressed to his cock reaching his hand up to the back of your head and shoving your face upwards leaning down eagerly kissing you into silence “it’s fine, not worried about it [name]”

He murmurs his tongue pushing past your lips into your mouth running against your cheeks pressing to your tongue making you huff using your binds to fully get his haori and shirt off with the sound of his golden buttons hitting the floor with your chest pressed to his leaving your cock weeping between your thighs pressing all leaky between your stomachs.

“Prep me already gyo..” you muffle out guiding his hand off your hip pulling your mouth off of his panting trying to catch your breadth before shoving two of his fingers down your throat “so warm baby” he speaks his teary face all red and flushed at the lewdly of what was happening with him only being sad his prayer beads weren’t around we hike his cock throbs between your cheeks producing more precum.

“I’m going, be patient or you aren’t getting anything but your own fingers” he finally broke away with a string of saliva his voice booming making a shiver run down your spine pouting pressing more to him feeling his large hand snake out of your mouth using the hand on your hip to lift you off his lap enough to push one finger inside you.

“Hm, you can’t do that to me” you shriek a little panicking with your rim puckering staying still in attempt to adjust to the feeling looking up at the blind Hashira with your binds all sharp and from wrapped around his muscular back holding his larger body to yours while your jaw slacks a little feeling him thrusting his finger in and out massaging your walls curling against your prostate before trying to prod his second finger in you.

“I can, and I will if you don’t get it together in my lap” he hums now scissoring your rim open using the mix of spit on his fingers and precum from where his cock rested between your cheeks to open you up. His fingers rub against your bundle of nerves building up a hot pit in your stomach and you think he knew that too because right as your cock perked up against his stomach he pulled his fingers back out.

“Want you to cum from me, need to know my cock was what pushed you over” his hands trail lifting you up by your hips making your binds lose grip on his back with your hands holding his muscular shoulders while he nudges his cock head against your rim. “Feels like you’re ripping me in half Gyo~” your air fled your lungs leaving you exhaling harshly feeling a burn shoot through your body but any tears quickly heal from your regeneration sealing yourself around him bottoming out inside you leaving a outline in your stomach.

“I bet you look so beautiful sitting on me like this, wish I could see your body. I’d kiss it up in every way” his large arms move on your body grabbing around your waist holding you slowly starting to jerk his hips upwards from beneath you making your rim stretch further and engulf his full length feeling his balls pressed firmly to your cheeks while you dig your nails into his shoulders straddling his large lap.

“I- know you would gyo-mei~” you squeak out, your muscles tensing reaching forward kissing him nearly eating his face off moving your lips against his slipping your hand off his shoulder wrapping around the back of his neck with your binds all slithered around the two of you holding you two skin to skin. His hands hold onto hour hips bouncing you in time with his movements with your thighs on either sides of his hips filling the room with small plap’s of your asscheeks smushing to his balls getting stretched with your cock bobbing back and forth tapping your stomach with your tip an angry red.

“Mh- [name] you’re clenching me so tight, boy” a soft strained sigh leaves his lips starting to pick his pace up holding your hips down firmly groaning against your lips pulling back only to suck in air before smushing his lips back on yours rutting his hips upwards driving into you with his cock stretching you out, his veins dragging along your inner walls while you hold your arms around his neck pulling your mouth off his and shoving his face in your pecs gripping his black hair.

“Just suck em” you moan your Adam’s apple bobbing like your cock while your binds dig at the skin in his back leaving marks from how tight you hold him to you. Gyomei’s cock pushing and nudging into your sweet spot over and over practically bullying your prostate making you feel its pulse while his face buries into your pecs biting at one of your nipples rotating between sucking and biting with his tears dampening your s/c skin.

“I can tell you’re getting close [name], you’re clenching up more- cum for me baby” he murmurs pressing sloppy kisses over your perked up buds holding your hips tighter making the bulge in your tummy bigger feeling a burning pain build up inside you from being fucked and spread open on him so long. One hand in Gyomei’s hair and the other holding his shoulder firm rocking your hips downwards into his thrusts trying your hardest to feel him deeper and deeper inside you with your belts tightening even more erupting a moan from the larger man.

“Oh fuck-oh I’m gonna—! I’m cumming~!” You mewl out shoving his face in your pecs harder arching your back up straight with your hips rolling erratically clenching and clamping as tight as you can around him breaking his skin with your other hand digging nails in his shoulder with your cock stiffening nearly jumping forward shooting sperm in its own groaning dropping your head forward on top of his when your cock shots a final rope of cum onto his stomach.

“That’s a good boy, gonna make me cum won’t you?” His chin resting on your rib cage blowing on your sensitive peaks rocking his hips forwards into you slowing down going in deeper and longer thrusts trying to let your rim milk him while he hits his own climax, the muscles under your hand tensing up letting you know the fire in his loin is bursting hot feeling the first spurt enter you making you shiver your eyes half lidded getting filled up.

“So warm” you coo out in his lap feeling your bulging tummy bloat up some with your binds slowly loosing around him letting him go as they retract back inside your back with your regeneration healing up your once broken skin. “Did I go over board [name]?.. how are you feeling?” He’d murmur lifting his head from your chest with a serious expression on his face needing to hear your verbal words not being able to see your reaction.

His tears flow freely down his cheeks making you sigh in his lap reaching your hand up from his hair and off his shoulder wiping his cheeks mumbling “I’m great Gyo, you were great.” Leaning in with a kiss on his cheek sitting still on his cock letting out a little hiss when you lift yourself off his cock feeling his semen slipping from your now loosened rim leaving your cheeks all slick when he grabs your waist and lays back pulling you right on top of his chest holding you laying on his mat in his personal bedroom of the stone estate letting you pull a blanket up.

“In the morning I’ll make sure to draw you a bath inside the estate, I know your beautiful skin is sensitive to the sunlight” he spoke in a soft tone to you holding you to him in a comfortingly tight regard rubbing at the back of your head and if it wasn’t for you being a demon he’d personally take you to the saunas but he knew that wasn’t possible with your inability to stand in the sun, doesn’t mean he still won’t give you the great aftercare you deserve.

[beloveds-embrace]

your omega simon idea makes me both soft for him and salivating at the thought of protecting such a big strong guy, urgh i love it. Giving Si and you a big forehead smooch, i love your brain😩 Very much hoping that your brain keeps thinking about omega simon so we get to feast on this damn good food too

Omega simon does unbelievable things to me 😩 and I am giving you a very big and loud smooch back!! <3 have this little Drabble that i wrote fast (so pls excuse any rushedness and mistakes 😔)

The hangar was buzzing with activity as they finally touched down on base, but neither you nor Ghost paid it any mind. The moment your boots hit the concrete, exhaustion weighed heavier than any gear strapped to your bodies. Without a word, without even glancing back at the others, the two of you slipped away like smoke. Silent, deliberate, and entirely focused on one thing: rest.

Price, Gaz, and Soap barely had tme to finish unloading before they noticed your absence.

“Where the hell did they go?” Soap asked, looking around like the two of you might reappear from thin air.

Price’s eyes scanned the hangar for a sharp second before he sighed, already putting the pieces together. If anything, he’d expected this. “Probably holed up somewhere to rest.”

Gaz groaned, though he couldn’t hide the fond smile that cracks on his face. “They could’ve at least told us first.”

“They didn’t have to,” Price said knowingly. “You saw the state they were in.”

And they had. Weeks of back-to-back missions, constant stress, and frayed nerves had worn everyone thin, but you and Simon had carried it differently. Instincts that screamed for comfort, security, and stability, but the battlefield offered none of that. Now that you were finally safe, it made perfect sense for the two of you to disappear and soothe those raw, overworked instincts.

It took them almost an hour to track you down, and when they did, it was clear why you hadn’t wanted to be found.

The room was dimly lit, smelling faintly of detergent and something softer- vanilla and Simon’s deeper cedarwood scent. Blankets, pillows, and their clothes had been piled high, creating a warm cocoon against the outside world. You were curled up in the center, tucked against Simon’s broad chest, your breathing slow and steady for the first time in days. He had one arm wrapped protectively around you, his mask discarded, revealing a rare look of peace on his face- what part of it that wasn’t buried in your hair.

Soap hesitated at the door, lowering his voice instinctively. “They look…”

“Content.” Gaz supplied, leaning against the frame.

Price crossed his arms, face softening the longer he looked at the two of you. “They needed this.”

It was rare to see Ghost so unguarded, but here- with you- he looked safe, grounded in a way the others knew only you could manage. Your hand was fisted lightly in the fabric of his shirt, and his nose rested in your hair like he’d been breathing you in for hours.

“They’ll come out when they’re ready, let’s leave them to rest.” Price murmured, already turning to shepherd the others away.

“Should we leave food out for them?”

Gaz snorted, rolling his eyes, and gave Soap an amused look. “They’re not strays, Johnny.”

But the idea stuck, and before long, supplies were quietly left at the edge of the nest- water bottles, snacks, and extra blankets. None of them entered the space, knowing better than to disturb their omegas when they were finally at rest.

And when the two of you eventually emerged, bleary-eyed and loose-limbed, the pack was waiting- ready to gather you both into steady, grounding embraces. No words were needed. Just their presence was enough to reassure you that everything was okay.

You and Simon had each other, but you also had them. And in a world that demanded too much, that was enough.

[hiraethwrote]

Been thinking a lot lately about how Satoru doesn’t really cook.

Growing up the way he did, everyone was pulling from every direction, unloading immense responsibility on him because of the Six Eyes. So normalcy wasn’t in the cards for him.

From a young age, his schedule was packed from dusk to dawn with all kinds of tasks embedded on him. And so, dinner was simply a time of day for him more than anything else. He was served a mediocre dish, then he had to return to his responsibilities.

And then he moved to Tokyo, and was finally blessed with some newfound freedom. But he didn’t want to waste this spare time learning how to cook, especially when Jujutsu Tech served him perfectly okay meals three times a day. Who was he to not take advantage of such privilege?

Any interest of developing some culinary skills was also smothered by his insane sweet tooth. Something he’d picked up as a way to help him, quickly evolved into never ending munching — forget proper food.

Sadly for him, the number of responsibilities didn’t decrease as he entered adulthood — rather the opposite. And now, as he was technically a grown up, there was a lot less tolerance for nonsense. People expected things from him now.

Yet again, cooking dinner was deprioritised. He also didn’t see a reason to devote time to cook when it was so much easier to just have it delivered right on his doorstep. He had the means to support such an expensive luxury, so why not?

Sitting down by the dining table after a long day of duties, a warm meal welcoming him with delightful smells never even became something he missed, seeing as he didn’t know what it was he had sacrificed for choosing the easy path.

Then you came creeping into his life.

You in general, had been a surprise to say the least. After everything, pursuing anything romantic wasn’t something that had been on his list of priorities either. But once he met you, he couldn’t not try to make you his.

Everything escalated pretty quickly, and it was fairly early on that you decided you wanted to cook for him for the first time.

“I got some insane pasta cravings. You down for that tonight?” You had your phone resting between your shoulder and your cheek while you scanned the grocery isles for what you needed.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he answered on the other end of the line. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

You couldn’t help but giggle a little at his comment, a tiny bit confused by what he meant. “Well, duh. I’m not making two separate pasta dishes.”

“Oh,” a moment of silence from your boyfriend as the reality set in. “Yeah, no, of course. Just habit I guess,” smearing on with his usual, charismatic voice to play off his little slip.

Because poor Satoru had only assumed you would be ordering in, since it was all he really knew. The concept of prepping and cooking a dish from scratch hadn’t even crossed his mind.

A few hours later, the same usual comfort that came from your company, welcomed him along with an assortment of the most delicious smells once he arrived at your apartment.

“Ah, perfect timing,” you smiled, rushing to give him a small peck on the lips when he joined you in the kitchen before quickly hopping back to putting the finishing touches on dinner.

A small sensation of worry filled you, because this was the first time you had witnessed Satoru completely silent. Taking the time to turn your head over your shoulder to make sure he was alright, you saw his eyes just taking in the scenery of the set table and the somewhat messy kitchen.

“Just take a seat, Satoru,” you chuckled nervously, nodding in the direction of what had become his designated chair. “It’s almost ready.”

You saw a weak nod before he slowly shuffled over to the table and sat down. He swallowed the small lump in his throat when you put the casserole on the table in front of him.

“Dinner is served. But it’s hot, so just, be careful.”

When he didn’t move a muscle, you tried to act as if things were normal and served yourself first, hoping he would eventually tell you whatever it was that had gotten into him.

“Satoru?”

Your soft voice of concern snapped him back to reality, his familiar smile finding its way back to his expression — though he wasn’t truly himself quite yet.

“Looks absolutely delicious!” He gushed and finally filled his plate.

You continued to eye him with some suspicion as he started to dig in. Something you couldn’t put your finger on, washed over him when he took the first bite. Then another, and another, and another — then he was suddenly ogling you with the widest eyes you could remember seeing on him.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten!”

You pursed your lips to choke back the exaggerated laugh that was about to burst out at his statement, that you were convinced had to be a lie.

“Is that so?” You teased, carefully stepping deeper into the topic to see if he was actually being truthful.

“Babe, this-“ he cut himself off, awe overtaking him. “Where did you learn this?”

You shrugged casually. “I’ve just picked up a few things over the years, I guess.”

“What else can you make?”

“Uhm, I don’t know,” you stuttered, a little taken aback by his surprising enthusiasm to what you considered to just be a simple pasta dish. “Several things.”

“Could you please cook for me tomorrow? And whenever you have the time?”

“Of course,” you smiled, shoulders resting when he now seemed to be totally fine, finishing his first portion only to take yet another huge serving.

Because to Satoru, it was more than just dinner.

Dinner and eating had always just been yet another task he did simply because he knew he had to eat. Never had there been any deeper meaning to it — but you showed him it could definitely be more.

To him, it also became a sign of devotion. You were willing to put in the time and the work to make him something nice, then you would get to enjoy it together. No one had really done that for him before.

Finally it was Satoru's turn to enjoy the domesticity of something as mundane as a home cooked dinner.

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