#i don’t trust myself at all why should you trust me!
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stormz369 · 2 days ago
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☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 24
Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader
written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!
warnings/labels: little bit of trauma talk, but otherwise a light chapter!
wc: 2.1k
Chapter Selection
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Damian handed me a large manilla envelope as he came through my door. “Father said to give this to you.”
I frowned, opening it. The first page was an employment agreement. For ‘services to the Wayne family' I was being offered a salary of $120,000 a year for the duration of my education, and a signing bonus of an additional $10,000 up front. Under that was a paper with the name and number of a friend of Bruce's on the board at Gotham University's medical program, and a scribbled note that he was expecting my call. And under that was a pile of pamphlets and booklets on the medical program at GU, with specific details and classes highlighted.
“... Well, he's nothing if not thorough.” I shrugged, setting everything aside and pulling out the ingredients to start on dinner.
“What is all that?” Damian grabbed a snack from the fridge. 
“Just some paperwork; I’m thinking about going back to school.”
He nodded, getting set up at the table to work on his homework. “... Father also mentioned you're going to be the primary contact at my school?”
I nodded; “is that ok with you?”
Damian looked over at me. “... Yes, that’s fine. … Do I bring you the papers they send home then?”
“Yeah, I can take anything they send home.”
He nodded, pulled out a flier for spring semester PTA sign-ups. I took it, reading it over. “Looks like PTA meets on the first Monday of every month during last period. Maybe we can make a day of it!”
“... Do what?” He frowned.
“I'll come for the PTA meeting, and then Jason could pick the both of us up, and we'll get dinner before we take you home.”
“... You're joining the PTA?”
“Yes, I am.” I smiled brightly.
Damian frowned, eying me suspiciously. “... Why?”
I shrugged. “Why not?”
He watched me for a minute; “... You just … want to spend an hour a month with the parents and teachers at my school?”
“Let’s just say I’ve learned not to trust those people to treat their students right. I want to make sure they remember who they’re dealing with.”
“... Alright.” He nodded once, going back to his work.
I prepared dinner, humming softly to myself. Eventually, Jason knocked on the door, and I went to let him in. He smiled softly, kissing my forehead, and took a seat at the table. “... Babe, what's this?”
I looked over, he was looking through the paperwork Damian had brought. “Ah, I was gonna talk to you about that tonight. … I'm thinking about going back to school.”
“... Medical school? … And what's this about ‘services rendered to the Wayne family'? What services?” He frowned, looking up at me. I popped dinner in the oven and went to the table.
“... Should we go into my room to talk?” I looked over at Damian, who was staring at us.
“... Ok?...” He frowned a bit and I offered Jason my hand. He took it, following me to my room.
We sat on my bed, Jason still holding the paperwork. He looked through them, a confused frown on his face; “... What's going on?”
“... You said you were more comfortable than usual when I took the blood sample. Right?” He nodded slowly; “well, that night I was thinking about it … about your scars. … Bruce said you don't let anyone treat you unless you’re brought in unconscious?”
Jason nodded again, frowning deeply. “... I … I have a hard time trusting strangers with medical equipment … and I don’t like going to the Batcave for treatment either … they’re … they know what they’re doing, but … I don’t like the look on their faces when they have to treat me … makes me feel … ill.”
I nodded. “Well, I know some of your scars bother you, … and they wouldn't be so prominent if you were able to get proper treatment when you get wounded. So, I was thinking I could get the training to be able to do that for you, if you think you’d be comfortable enough for that?”
He blinked a bit, frowning. “... You … you want to get trained to- … why?”
I gently squeezed his hand, stroking his knuckles with my thumb. “Because you need someone you feel safe getting medical treatment from. You deserve to feel safe. And if I can help you with that, I will. … I don’t want you bleeding out in an alley somewhere, or trying to dig a bullet out of your own shoulder, or who knows what else, you know? … I love you, Jason, I want to help you.”
He frowned, squeezing my hand tightly. “... I … I don't know what to say…”
“You don't have to say anything right now. We don't have to decide this today, it's just something to think about.”
“... What about the ‘services rendered' part?”
“Well, if I get this training, I'll be able to act as an emergency clinic for the others too.”
“Oh. So, Bruce is going to pay you to be our medic?”
“Basically. That way I'll never be at the diner when you guys need care. I'm also joining the family's Thursday afternoon training sessions.”
Jason nodded slowly, pulling me into a tight hug. He sniffled softly, mumbling; “... I … I didn't want to pull you into this world…”
“If you’re in this world, I’m in this world.” I cupped his cheek gently, kissing his forehead. “I want to be able to protect myself, and I want to be able to help you, and Damian, and the others. I will not be dead weight, and I will not watch you suffer needlessly.”
“You wouldn't need to be able to defend yourself if it weren't for me…”
“It's Gotham, my love. Self-defense classes are probably the most popular type of extra-curricular activity in the entire city for every age group.” I stroked his hair, holding him close.
“... I guess … but I hate that you're in extra danger because of me…”
“I think it balances out; I'm also extra secure because of you. Who'd be stupid enough to knowingly fuck with Red Hood's girl?” I smirked a bit, running my hands through his hair.
He frowned, holding me closer. “... Only the worst of them.”
“And they'd fuck with anyone for any reason anyway. So it doesn't matter.” I cupped his cheek, rubbing the tips of our noses together. “I'm happiest and safest with you, and we'll deal with the consequences together.”
“... I wish things were different. … I wish loving me didn't come with consequences…” 
I sighed softly; “well, we could always leave Gotham. Start over somewhere else…”
“... Can't do that…”
“I know you can't. So, we'll just have to play the cards we've been dealt, right?”
He sighed softly and nodded, kissing my shoulder. “... Not gonna let anyone hurt you, baby. Promise.”
“I know you won't.” I hugged him tightly. “I know you wanna take care of me. And I wanna take care of you too.”
He nodded slowly, wrapping his arms tighter around my waist. “... Ok. … Th- thank you, baby… thank you…” I nodded, hugging him tightly. He sighed softly, kissing my jaw softly. “... Wait a minute, how much is Bruce offering you? …”
He picked up the paperwork, frowning deeply. “Oh hell no. Don't sign anything yet, I’m gonna renegotiate this for you.”
I giggled, kissing his neck. “It’s more than I make now.”
“It’s insulting. $120,000 for an on-call doctor? Is he trying to piss me off? No, if he’s gonna pay for this, he’s gonna  pay you a fair fucking wage!”
“Well, I’m probably not going to get a full doctorate; I only need to know enough to take care of your day-to-day medical care. More like … a field medic. He's also funding my education, is going to pay for any supplies I need, and has the connections to get me into the medical program with no questions asked. I think it's fair.”
Jason groaned, pulling me closer. “... I get to renegotiate after you're done with school.”
“Deal.”
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Mrs. Webster frowned deeply as I took a seat in the auditorium at Damian's school. She slowly approached, holding a clipboard. “... What are you doing here?”
I smiled brightly; “this is where PTA sign ups are happening, isn't it?”
“You're not a parent.”
“Ah, no. But I am one of Damian's adults, and Bruce has made me the primary contact for school related concerns, so I thought I might as well get involved. I'm very … passionate about Damian's education, after all. As I'm sure you remember.” I smirked, watching her nose wrinkle. Eventually, she thrust the clipboard into my hands, and I signed up, providing an email address and phone number.
“... You won't be able to bully the PTA into doing things your way. I hope you know that.” She frowned.
“Fortunately I have no intentions to bully anyone. I do have a habit of calling out any bigotry I run across, but that shouldn't be a problem anymore. Right, Mrs. Webster?”
She very nearly growled as she stormed away. A few of the moms that were mulling around stared at me, but that quickly stopped when I waved to them. I thought I’d be left to my own devices, but soon enough, an older couple made their way over, sitting near me.
They introduced themselves, shaking my hand; “Which one is yours, dear?”
“Damian Wayne.” I smiled softly.
The woman blinked a bit. “You're Damian Wayne's mother? … Oh, forgive me, but I thought …”
“No, no! I'm a big sister.” I chuckled softly. “I don't even know who or where his mother is, I'm kind of a new addition to the family.”
“I see. Well, it will be nice for him to have someone getting involved. Our Sarah is in many of the same art classes as Damian, and it's always so sad to see him on his own at the after school events.”
I nodded. “That's exactly why I'm here. He was so pleased when I offered to come to the art show last semester, I want to see him happy like that more often.”
“Oh, that was quite the event! Did you hear? We didn't see it, but apparently someone threatened Mrs. Webster!” The woman cackled softly. “Such an unpleasant woman…”
“I wouldn't say I threatened her, just made her aware of certain facts. Including the fact that I am one of Damian's adults now, and she isn't going to get away with spewing passive aggressive microaggressions towards him while I'm around.”
The man chuckled; “that was you? She's been in a tizzy ever since!”
I smirked a bit; “What kind of tizzy?”
“Just insufferable. Our Sarah says she's been more harsh than ever in class.”
“I'm so sorry. I wasn't trying to make things worse for anyone…” I frowned deeply.
“Oh, you aren't responsible for her behavior, dearie. She's always been a rude one…” the woman gently patted my hand.
“Sarah has her troubles. You know, mental health stuff. All the kids seem to nowadays…”
“And Mrs. Webster, well … she doesn't ‘abide by that nonsense’.” She scoffed.
“And of course there was the instance with the lesbians.” Her husband frowned slightly.
“The lesbians?” I frowned deeply.
“This sweet little girl with lesbian parents last year. Mrs. Webster met her mothers at a parent-teacher conference and apparently started treating the girl … well, different. … They moved over the summer, I do hope they're doing better now…”
I frowned deeply, watching Mrs. Webster on the other side of the room. “Hm… so she's not just racist, she's ableist and homophobic too. Gross….”
“She's never said anything overt about anything, nothing worth bringing up with the administration. But she's a … vexing woman.” the woman sighed.
“Well, … maybe individually they're not big things worth mentioning, but together they make up a big pile of nasty. … Do you know anyone else who has ‘small’ problems with Mrs. Webster?”
“Oh, maybe a few people… it's really not worth bringing up though.” She waved her hand dismissively.
“Yes, it is. We should bring the numerous ‘little things' to the administration. Establishing the pattern of behavior will be important to getting justice if they know about anything bigger. And no matter what comes of it, it's important that the kids see that their adults will stand up for them.” I frowned.
“Well … I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to talk to the other parents at least …” The husband frowned, looking to his wife. She nodded slowly.
“We’ll talk to the other parents.”
I nodded; “here, let me give you my phone number. Feel free to share that with any parents who have a problem with Mrs. Webster; I have no problem being the squeaky wheel with the admin.”
They nodded, putting my number in their phones. Mrs. Webster and a few other teachers started the meeting a few minutes later, and I sat back to observe.
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Divider by: @saradika-graphics
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treason-and-plot · 24 hours ago
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Roy scratches his head in a cliched effort to kick-start his brain, which feels as if it’s been paralysed. Anya sits with raised eyebrows, coolly waiting for his response.
“Of course I don’t think it’s okay for married men to visit prostitutes,” he says. “I was just…expressing an opinion, that’s all.”
“And what was that opinion, exactly?”
Roy feels as if he’s free-falling. The sensation isn’t the intoxicating adrenaline rush he would have expected, though. Instead it’s nauseating. He forces himself to take a breath.  
“Well, obviously it was a spectacularly ill-conceived one, but I was basing it on the idea that visiting a prostitute is primarily a…a commercial transaction. There’s no emotional component.”
“Why the hell should that matter when there’s an undeniable physical component?” says Anya.
“Look, I’ve already admitted it was an ill-conceived opinion,” says Roy. “Of course there is. I wasn’t thinking straight, okay? Like I said, I was upset about Sonia, and….”
“My father had sex with multiple women outside his marriage,” says Anya. “That’s cheating, Roy. How can it possibly not be?”
“You’re right,” says Roy. “Of course you’re right. It’s just that…”  
“It’s just what?”
“Your father might have tried to rationalise it differently. He might have told himself that it wasn’t so bad ethically if there was no emotional intimacy. That’s all I’m saying.”
“That’s bullshit, Roy. My father would have been well aware that he was breaching my mother’s trust. Why are you defending him? You don’t even like him!”
“It’s not about whether I like him or not. I’m just trying to make you feel better by looking at his behaviour from a different perspective, alright?”
“There is no different perspective here, Roy. There are no grey areas. My Dad cheated on my mother. End of story.”
A tremor has appeared in her voice. Roy slowly nods. He can’t have even another sip of beer or he’s sure he’d vomit. He places the bottle on the floor.
“I know that,” he says. “I get that. And just in case you still need reassurance, I want to state for the record that I’d never, ever visit a prostitute myself. I’d never betray your trust like that. Okay? Never. Swear to God.”
Anya’s eyes are shiny.
“Okay,” she whispers. Then, “I need a hug.” She lays on top of him and closes her eyes, her breath warm on his neck. He can feel her heart beating next to his chest, the clean citrusy scent of her hair filling his nostrils. He grips her as tightly as he can, just in case she might yet slip away.
"I'm not my mother, Roy," she says, her hushed voice filling his ear. "I would kill you if you ever cheated on me. Swear to God."
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astrobei · 1 year ago
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i think we as a society are criminally underlooking the potential of detonate by charli xcx as a mike wheeler song
(lyrics under the read more)
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crossbackpoke-check · 3 months ago
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the pics of morgan and joel are from travis sanheim's wedding this weekend!
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^^^me experiencing the one-two knockout punch of “oh they WERE each other’s wedding date” followed by the realization that sanny finally got married 🥹😭 cheers indeed!!!
#have i ever told you all how i have the best anons in the world because i do. you’re all so nice to me and whenever i just. yell things#you come here and answer my questions and i love you for that thank you anon. i love you. 💕💕💕#also yes i KNOW i said finally and sanny’s like what twenty five however that is a) an old bachelor by most hockey standards b) he and alex#are high school sweethearts/been together forever and are disgustingly in love thank you they’ve been married in spirit if not reality#for years now. this has no bearing on my actual personal opinions on when you should or if you should be married or how long it should take#anyway. truly deeply madly obsessed with the joel/morgan of it all now because did they have to conform to a blue suit theme and if so#joelle why were u not wearing a belt. were all the flyers in blue suit uniform because that’s what our beautiful sensible sanny could trust#them to do &if so which ones were at the wedding i WILL be investigating post-haste. i have to update my tags 1st bc i’m the future me rn#who is currently dealing with them potentially being matching wedding dates & dunking my head in tinfoil to say morgan broke up with his gf#and ohhhhh if i don’t have a five weddings fic floating around SOMEWHERE for them. god knows i have the comment marriage fic AND fantastic!#liv in the replies#travis sanheim#<- in spirit i guess because it’s about his wedding so i felt like he should be included#philadelphia flyers#joel farabee#morgan frost#<- for my own sorting purposes#ANYWAY CONGRATS SANNY HAPPY MARRIAGE WE <3 U (do have to mention that i laugh so hard every time about that post calling him a rpf void i-)#also also bc i keep adding p.s. to this i was very pleased with myself to have flat fuck tk in the reply so that the travii were present 🫶
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ivyithink · 2 years ago
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some tired lads in the modern university au
+ some details))
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phantom-does-a-thing · 7 months ago
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It’s almost worse knowing they hurt me unintentionally because I don’t have any right to hate them. It was an accident, they didn’t know, but still I have breakdowns at the mention of them and they don’t even know.
#I haven’t talked to them in months#and by god I don’t want to talk to them again#because it hurts So Bad#and I’m not even in the right to hate them bc they didn’t do it on purpose#I’d rather them do it on purpose because then I could hate them#because I’m angry and upset and I had a panic attack last night about it#this person who probably doesn’t even think about me for a second#and they’re constantly in my mind making me feel like crap#that’s not fair#I hope my name is never in their thoughts again and I hope they always wonder why I stopped talking to them#I wanted closure before but it’s too late for that because it’s been long enough that#wtf would I even say?#you hurt me. you abandoned me? but I’m the one that stopped talking#it felt like you abandoned me and I didn’t have the energy to keep up a one sided talk#when I know there were people who would talk to me#I know you’re busy. but at least something would be nice#I’m needy. and clingy. and I KNOW that#but still. it hurts because it’s like everything I always get left behind and they’re the PRIME example of that#I don’t even know why they hurt me so bad#maybe it was because it was someone I trusted completely#someone that I was closest to above all else above everyone else#I trusted them. I loved them. we talked about getting to meet up one day#but I hope that when they come up here I am Long Gone and they never think of me again#I trusted them enough they knew my state. I trusted them with parts of myself I barely trusted anyone else with#and the absence hurt like hell#and there wasn’t even one big event to break it off#just a slow deterioration in anxiety and stress that sometimes bubbled up in a message#but I always kneecapped the conversation because never was a good time to have it#and then just no more messages#I should block them. but I don’t want to ruin all the messages we had
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tohokuu · 1 year ago
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my girl advice is so nicki minaj coded and these bitches don’t like it 😒
BASICALLY- i said this
tw : suicide mention
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AND THEY GOT MAD
“money isn’t everything” yes it is 😟 i know that bc look at the way i run to these gojo/toji sugar daddy fics 💀💀💀
idc if he’s toxic as fuck as long as i get the key to the benz and a birkin. why? bc i’m toxic too 💀
“baby i’ll kill myself if you leave.” “okay then do it” WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO NOW ???
boohoo, baby. gimme the keys.
and the whole argument about “if he has a good character and no money, i’d stay with him rather than a rich asshole.” i want the rich asshole. how the fuck are you gonna survive ????
“i don’t need expensive trips and expensive restaurants.” huh- well i do 🤣
OH AND- if he’s giving you that BLUE BOX THAT SAY TIFFANY but he’s toxic as fuck, i know id be running back 😭😭 i am willing to get stuck in that cycle of this shitty man who spoils me so good. like yeah baby, i’ll leave unless you buy me that purse.
i’ve had my experience with a broke nice guy and lemme tell you- it’s NOT it. i tried to go for personality and kept telling myself that him being broke wasn’t that bad BUT IT IS 😃 i wasted 5 months of my life like that.
smd if you disagree bro 😭 mmm i’m probably much less compassionate but i know i don’t deserve any less 😹 and if you come in my inbox abt this suck my fat brown balls bitch
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insanechayne · 3 months ago
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~ ~ ~
#every time I call someone my best friend they turn into a fucking problem that just hurts me and makes me sick#is it me? am I doing something wrong? am I not supposed to have close friends?#or am I just such a fuckup that by being myself it’s inevitable that I’ll ruin my friendships?#kissed my bro on the cheek last week when he wasn’t doing too great and in my mind I was doing it just as an extra way to be encouraging#and show my support and that I’m here for him cause tbh I’ve done that with plenty of other friends and it ain’t no thing#but after a week of wondering why he’s been distant and not wanting to be around me when I’m saying I just need some time with a friend he#finally admits that he thought that was weird and out of line. so I gotta backtrack and try to explain myself but now all the stupid little#pieces be fitting and I realize that he’s probably been misconstruing me wanting time with him as thinking I’m gonna try to flirt with him#or something else fucking dumb like that. despite the fact that that has never been the case and he knows me fundamentally as a person and#should know I wouldn’t ever do anything that could make either of us cheaters even incidentally. plus he’s basically like a brother to me#and I have an AFAB partner so it’s not like I’m trolling for cock anyway and he knows that too. but now I gotta go back through every#interaction we’ve had since that happened and analyze whether or not I was weird or awkward or inappropriate in some way that he could be#upset about at all. and also act like everything is fine and keep it pushing like normal and police every future action to be safe too#because of course he can’t just be straight up about anything or tell me if something bothered him no I gotta play a whole ass fucking#guessing game. and now I also can’t trust that my best friend who is supposed to know me so well won’t take things I say/do the wrong way.#can’t trust that my best friend won’t see me in a poor light now because it’s clearly been affecting the friendship#and like totally that’s my bad I overstepped a boundary I didn’t realize was there but you should have just fucking told me at the time#instead of pulling this shit and giving me anxiety and blowing me off and making me feel like shit#can’t rely on him or trust him or anything and what’s the fucking point of even having a best friend if this is what happens? I’m at the end#of my fucking rope right now so stressed and anxious and no matter how much I try to talk to him or anything he just brushes me off and#won’t let me explain or get my feelings out or anything else. but hey at least I was around for him the other day when he needed somebody#good thing I was there to keep him from going back to drinking or something else stupid and could help him out. cause that’s what really#matters right just being able to help somebody else when they need it even if they don’t reciprocate and are actively hurting me instead of#just being there for me as a friend. guess we try again tomorrow huh? what else can be done I suppose. just get to suffer and be riddled#with anxiety and stress and depression eating away at me and ruining my fucking life. can’t even enjoy the Olympics or anything else because#I’m stuck overthinking this dumb shit. just want this to be over and things to be back to normal. wanna stop being upset about this shit and#be able to let it go but I don’t fucking know how and I can’t keep losing friends because it’s killing me#personal
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fingertipsmp3 · 1 year ago
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Like yeah I can absolutely be charming and personable when I need to be, but I have to be in the correct headspace first. Like I have to not be catatonically depressed about my dog dying and my sister dying and winter in the north being so bleak!!! Can we talk about it
#like believe it or not i was actually such a good barista#i was bright; energetic; kind; funny; i had a good rapport with my colleagues and the customers#i used to sing orders & totals and i’d do a little boogie whenever i was on hot drinks (my favourite station. and i didn’t boogie#with drinks in my hand; promise)#but that was in the summer when i had an alive dog and two functioning knees!!!!!#okay honestly. my right knee is damn near fully functioning again. i mean yeah i still have a level of stiffness but it’s rare i’m actually#in pain with it. the inflammation only really flares up if i do too much or on very cold and wet days#my physio plans to discharge me in two weeks. it’s good!#but i’m still just like. i know what it is now; to have chronic pain for months on end & to recover from a long term injury#and to not trust a part of my body. and i don’t even know why it happened!!!#the working theory is that my knee at the time of the injury was a ticking time bomb because i had a weak shitty vmo (holds the kneecap in#the socket) and i have hypermobile knees (they bend backwards quite dramatically)#but why i dislocated it so hard that i overextended two ligaments and tore a bunch of muscle fibres is still beyond comprehension#all i was trying to do was approach the counter and ring up a customer order. like#so forgive me if i’m not exactly chirpy#like shit is a vicious cycle atm because the sadder i am the shittier everything seems and the worse things go in life#which just makes me increasingly more upset#i should seek therapy. i feel like when i requested therapy back in october and then cancelled it i cursed myself lol#my sister died like… a few days after that? and okay we were never close. we were estranged actually. hadn’t seen each other or spoken#in 12 years. but there’s this thing that happens where you start wondering what might’ve been. and you feel guilty that you weren’t close#like what Could we have been to each other. what if we had been close. what could i have helped her with. what could we both have learned#what if i’d met her kids. etc#and i’m so upset about mabel that i feel like throwing up. i just wish she was still here. i want to fight whoever invented canine dementia#i just wish everyone would leave me alone for a bit. let me cocoon myself until i’ve figured out my grief and the evenings are lighter#and everything seems less pointless. maybe then i’ll be able to fake being happy for long enough that someone will give me a fucking job#personal
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kethabali · 1 year ago
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when you’re in a group of 3+ and 2 people decide it’s the perfect time to have a private conversation i fucking hate that shit it makes the third person feel so outcasted or no good reason save that shit for when you’re alone if it’s so fuckjng private
#they will be like ‘umm idk if we should talk ab this rn’#and proceed to talk about it and even worse somwtimes in coded language#why do y’all enjoy making people feel bad ?#this is the number one deal breaker for me in friends#happened today i came back w my food and i was like what are y’all talking about#ignored first time so i ask again#ignored again#and then finally one of them goes it’s a private conversation#okay u could’ve said the first time i asked and maybe i wouldn’t have found it so rude#2nd of all you invite me to come here and then kick me out of the convo to talk ab smth i’m not invited to#you could’ve waited until the event was over or even stepped outside but nah#y’all just don’t have that experience of being constantly outcasted and it’s shows#i will stop talking to them over this idc#bc why should i be invested when u can’t even bother to consider such a simple thing#we were gonna go to a beach event saturday but nvm#if i wanna go to the beach i’ll go by myself not with disrespectful ass people#some part of me is relieved this friendship has hit a rough spot at least esrly on#met them in july so#i would rather see things i don’t like early and not waste my time#also trauma makes jt hard to trust people in the first place#so i am always lowkey relieved when smth ends and i can go back to my comfort (although lonely) zone#i know i have to keep trying but i’m burned out rn#i need a break#i got so pissed off i put my headphones in and did busy work till they left#idc if they feel bad they should#i should’ve told them right there how rude that was#i’m not good at confrontation or being open about my feelings#if i still had my therapist i would’ve handled that better#but oh well poverty will do that#🧃
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zentraex · 8 months ago
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Summary: You made a lot mistakes in your new job, but do you regret them? Nope, not a bit. But who can blame you for it? If you wouldn't have done them, you never would have met this pretty boy.
Remember: German Grammar is a lot different then English grammar. I apologize for any mistakes.
Pairing: Francis Mosses (doppelganger) x gn! Reader
(A/N): I usually write for mha, but this men dominates my fyp on TikTok and I can't stop grinning like an idiot about all this fanarts. My men is just too attractive for his own good. Nevertheless, Tumblr has too few fanfictions for him, so I had to do it myself. Still, I am not that proud about how it turned out. It certainly sounded better in my head, but I don't care. One shitty fanficion is better than none.
Art by @asteriscks on TikTok
This game is not mine, but Ignacio Alvarado. I also used phrases from the game.
Mistakes? Yes, but no regrets.
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It's been a week since you started working for D.D.D as a doorman. 
You can remember your first day so well, it could have been yesterday. 
Well... probably because your life is constantly at stake. 
_
It started with a mistake that you ended up here. It was completely unexpected since you always made sure, that you sent your rent to the right account. 
Surely no one can blame you for a small typo, right?
Well, your landlord, who kept pounding on your door until you woke up, surely did.
"What?" you asked, annoyed, as you opened the door.
"When do you plan to finally pay your bill? The date has already been overdue for two weeks!" he complains. 
What?
"Sorry, but I've already transferred my money to you."
"Well, I didn't get anything. Do you still have the receipt for the transfer?"
"No..."
You already knew what that meant: double payment.
"Look, today, I'll transfer it to your account again, okay? If it doesn't work this time, it's not my fault."
You were about to close the door, but your landlord had other plans when he held the door open with his foot.
 "No no no. You will give me the money now. I don’t trust you. Why would you transfer it to me today, when it should have happened two weeks ago. You will give it to me now."
Your eyes widened. 
Now?
"But I don't have that much money in my hand? Who's got that?"
"Then I'll have to kick you out for now. But don't worry, no one is going to buy an apartment here anytime soon, so you can move right back in as soon as you give me the money."
Staring stunned at his smiling face you could have sworn you were about to hit him. 
"The keys?" 
With watery eyes, you grabbed your keys, placed them in his outstretched hand, and frowned.
What kind of person had such sharp fingernails as he does?  
You were sure that he could definitely have stabbed someone with them.
Thank God, I didn't hit him. 
"When do you plan to give me the money? I've heard that all banks closed today. Some kind of holiday among them, I've heard."
What!?
How were you going to get through the day today? You intentionally left everything in your apartment since you were so sure that you could have given the money to your landlord in a matter of minutes. 
"You’re telling me this now!?"
"If you had paid, you wouldn’t need to know." 
That filthy bastard.
No matter how angry you were at that moment, your panic was overweighting.  
What were you going to do now? 
Shit.
"Man, I really wouldn't want to be in your situation...", the landlord murmured.
Fuck the nails- This guy deserves a punch.
Just as you raised your fist, he speaks again.
"But maybe we can agree on something.
Then you stopped. 
"The D.D.D., which is responsible for the safety of all residents in this area, is looking for doormans. Ours has recently...quitted, which is why we are urgently looking for one. They pay three times the amount of your rent in a week. If you take the job, I can overlook your sloppiness this time."
Three times your rent? In a week? And for what? To sit there and check a few documents. You'd be crazy not to take the offer! 
"Okay. I'll do it. Where can I apply?"
"Don't worry, I'll sort it out for you. Tomorrow, you can start”
_
Looking back, it should have been clear to you that something was wrong. Starting with the sudden his sudden threat, the fingernails and this stupid story about the holiday of the banks. 
Maybe it was just because you were too panicked at that moment to think rationally.
But let’s be true here: when are you thinking rationally? If you did, you would certainly have quitted after your first day.
_
"Welcome and congratulations on your new job."
After watching the short video, a man in the yellow suit came to your window. You are so shocked that you can’t even answer.
I'm going to die today!
After all, you know it yourself: you're too gullible for the job. There's no chance you'll unmask a doppelganger who copies someone well.
“As you could see on the introductory film, your job is to verify the entry of the neighbors of your building. Each day there will be a list of individuals who will request entry to the building. It is possible that there are individuals who request entry and aren’t on the list. In which case you will mark on the checklist that they are not on the list and proceed to question the individual. Also, you must verify that the ID and the entry reqest are correct and have the respective D.D.D. logo. Don’t forget to also check the expiration on the IDs. Remember it’s Febuary 1955."
Your gaze wanders to the note that was stuck to the wall. 
Arnold Schmicht F02 – 01
Anastacha Mikaelys F02 – 04
Robertsky Peachman F01 – 02
Steven Rudboys F03 – 03 
Mia Stone F03 – 01
Rafttellyn Cappuccin F03 – 04
Admittedly, you don't know any of your neighbors, neither by character nor really by sight. You were never the type to care about your neighbors. 
"I wish you good luck."
C’mon Reader, be like Henry…
But better.
The first inhabitant was Mia Stone and you already started to sweat.
"Good evening."
Was she real? Was she a doppelganger? 
With shaky hands, you reached for her ID and entry pass, only to find that everything was fine. She was also on today's list and her appearance doesn't show any deviations either, right?
Just to be sure, you looked into the folder that described her appearance: 
Long hair
Small round nose
She has freckles
...
...
...
Freckles?
Your eyes wandered again to the woman in front of you, who was waiting patiently behind the window. 
You narrowed your eyes a little and leaned forward to get a better view of her.
No matter how long you stared at her, you didn't see them, her freckles. 
"You look different...", you murmur after a while.
"What's wrong with my appearance? I think everything is fine with my appearance."
Her photo on her ID and Entry Pass both have no freckles. 
Perhaps a mistake on the part of the D.D.D.? 
You're about to press the green button, but then you see her grinning slightly out of the corner of your eye. 
Shit. 
She almost had you. You're really not made for this job.
Your hand slammed hard against the red button, causing the siren to blare and the metal window to crash down. 
"3312," you murmur to yourself.
"You have contacted the D.D.D.. A group of agents has been sent to your building. Please wait for the cleaning protocol to run."
Cleaning protocol? 
What happens to those who were cleaned? They certainly won't be killed, will they? 
What if they will?
What if your judgment was wrong?
What if...
Your thoughts were interrupted as the siren fell silent and the metal window went up, only to reveal the yellow man.
"Cleaning protocol completed. You can continue your job."
It took a while until someone finally came again. 
This time, your heart was pounding faster. Significantly faster. And this time, you can't even say for sure that it's all out of fear. 
Milkman...
You definitely can't deny it: he's probably one of the most attractive men you've ever seen. 
You don't even have to look at today's checklist to tell he's not on it – a face like his would have caught your eye right away. 
"Francis Mosses, huh?" you murmured to yourself as you looked at his ID. "You're not on today's list."
"I’m not on today’s list because I had to leave due to an emergency."
Long nose
Thin chin
Tired eyes
Short hair
Wears a hat
It all fit. The only thing left now was a call. 
Just as you began to spin the wheel of the phone, he said, "You're new here, aren't you? I've never seen you here before."
"Yes, today is my first day."
"Must be hard, huh? I've heard that more and more doppelgangers are appearing and they are becoming more and more error-free. It would be a shame if such a pretty face as yours were to disappear forever."
Your cheeks turn red and suddenly you feel shyer than you actually are.
"B-But your job has to be hard as well. I didn't think that being a milkman would rob you so much sleep."
Francis smiles a little. So little that you almost didn't see it at all.
"It's not. I just stay up for a very long time. If you like, I can bring you some milk sometime. It's refreshing, calms the nerves."
You bite your lip slightly when you have to refrain from a question.
What milk do you mean exactly?
My God, why were you just such a sucker for handsome men?
"I'd be delighted, Francis."
You talked to him for a while and you quickly forgot that you were actually going to call someone. 
"I'd like to talk to you more, but I don't want to stop you from your work. I'll see you tomorrow, right, Reader?"
And you quickly forgot that you never told him your name. 
You pressed the green button.
_
"Shh," whispered the voice of Francis next to your ear. 
It was your third day, your third time to change shift.
Well, it usually would have been.
Your vision and mouth were blocked by the bloody hands of the doppelganger who claimed to be Francis.
He had killed the doorman, that should have taken over your shift.
You had to admit, that you were more than inconsiderate. After all, you didn't ask for his entry pass, nor the reason why he wasn't on today's list.  
"I'll let you go now, yeah? No wrong move, okay?"
He laughed softly as he released his hands from you and turned your chair, so you were facing him. 
"We don't want to hurt you, do we, Reader?"
The sentence shouldn't have given you hope, because after all, you were more than sure that you were going to die one way or another.
Maybe you should have shown a little resistance. For your honor, but....
Oh?
He is so close to you that you can practically feel his body heat. Or was it your own? Your face, despite your situation, was burning. 
Even though he said he was letting you go, his hands ran over your body and you couldn't deny that it did something to you. 
Were you so shameful?
"Actually, I wanted to wait, but I couldn't take it anymore.  I've been patient long enough, haven't I? It was so much work for me, to let you get this job."
You didn't know what to say. Honestly, you didn't know if you would even be able to answer him. 
His breath touched your throat as he spoke, "I think I deserve this, don't I? What do you say, Reader? Do I deserve my reward?”
If you were going to die anyway, why not enjoy the last few minutes?
Regardless of whether he was a doppelganger, he had lived up to his title as "Mlikman" that night.
_
"You killed the real Francis Mosses?" you asked the next day. 
Francis grins, almost so much so that his real form was threatening to show itself.
"Yes, of course. What would have happened if he had come before me? You would have sent the D.D.D. after me."
Well, he had a point, huh?
No matter how wrong it was, you were glad it didn't come to that. 
You didn't know the real Francis Mosses. That's probably why his death was so insignificant to you.
"Have you killed more people?"
"Just more doppelgangers you let through."
Your eyes widened. 
You were so sure you caught them all. The false success was the reason why you didn't quit…well, it was one of the reasons.
"How many have I let through?"
Francis just continues to wear his smirk as he gives you a kiss on the forehead.
"Don't rack your pretty head over it, okay?"
You just nod, smiling.
"Are you going to kill others...?
You don't know why you added your next question. Probably because you wanted to feel special. 
"Would you kill for me?"
"Hooooonn"
When you turn your gaze to his face, two white pupils stared at you and his grin is inhumanly wide and black. 
You don't know if it's joyful or sadistic, but it definitely made you feel special.
_
Looking back, you made more than a few mistakes. 
But honestly? 
You don't regret a single one of them. After all, all of them have led to an all-too-familiar knock on your window.
When you look up, he waves, the milkman. 
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courviknight · 1 year ago
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huh.
#i can’t believe my mom never told me abt my diagnosis on anxiety#how funny for me to find out while the insurance agent asked me and noted i had it on my record#like i’m surprised i got the minor diagnosis in the first place but also#it just upsets me that like. if i did have that they would deny it and refuse treatment in favor of not making me a liability#and the way they talk abt it too… the need for them to make excuses like the pandemic fucking everyone (it’s true and it fucked me over)#but it’s like. all this time you knew i could need help and they’re more concerned abt how it would look for insurance#and not really believing the diagnosis?? like idk. ik i am doing a lot better than i was last year and it was trial by fire#and i also don’t really think i should rationalize my behavior or who i am#but that anxiety diagnosis would make so much sense and why it was so hard#like there were so many things i didn’t or couldn’t do because i held myself back?#and maybe it’s anxiety. maybe it’s depression (i thought it was depression up until now and ik#doctors are capable of getting things wrong but. idk it just feels like#something like a betrayal? like not to the severity betrayal portrays but#a break of trust between my parents and i#but idk. like i’m in this scenario i would have expected this from them but also#but i’m surprised it happened in the first place and that i have the diagnosis (like maybe it’s bc#ik so many ppl who have anxiety so much worse thag the possibility of mine in comparison seems like. a joke i think)#but idk it’s not really supposed to be a competition right?#caw.txt#vent
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rebelfell · 2 months ago
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rub one out┃(for your viewing pleasure-verse)
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pornstar!eddie x director!reader
a cheeky (pun intended) bit of filth based on part of my blurb series. I was trying to keep the snippets short, but this just kinda poured out of me over the past couple days.
cw: sex work, simulated adultery, oral (fem receiving)
18+, MDNI┃2.8k
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Maybe this was a bad idea.
You couldn’t escape the nagging thought as you stepped outside, tightening the belt on your fluffy white bathrobe, tugging at the terrycloth tail and twisting it in your fingers. Your eyes flitted to each member of your crew, all of them in position waiting to get this show on the road.
Why were you so nervous? You’d certainly done this enough times before not to get stage fright. So why did your stomach feel more tangled than the box of electrical cords in Lenny’s truck?
Part of you almost wished it would rain, or the ground would open up and swallow you whole so you didn’t have to go through with this. But the concrete remained solid under your feet, and the sky overhead showed no signs of altering its radiant blue color. Perfect.
It’s gonna be fine, you thought in an attempt to soothe yourself. It’s all gonna be fine.
And you almost believed it would be.
Sammy, who was barely a step up from an intern, had swiftly been promoted once the plan for you to replace your no-show leading lady was set in motion. You weren’t worried about her, though—she was smart and a quick study; she knew all the shots you needed, and she had a good eye.
If you couldn’t be behind the camera yourself, she was pretty much the only one you trusted.
Well…maybe not the only one.
Eddie’s eyes met yours as soon as you stepped out of the trailer. The sunlight hit his deep brown irises, making them glow the color of rich honey. But behind the liquid gold, you could see his own nerves and it made your stomach flip, wondering what he could possibly be nervous about.
“Hey,” he said quietly as he came up next to you. “You good?”
For a moment, you considered lying. Flashing him a thumbs up or shooting him finger guns like one of those tools you used to do this with. But you knew better by now when it came to Eddie.
“Nope,” you chuckled. “I’m kinda shitting myself.”
“Well, that’s just what the guy about to fuck you wants to hear,” he chuckled back.
A real smile breaks through your tense, fake one and a genuine laugh bubbles up out of your chest. Eddie’s eyes shine when he hears it and the sight makes your chest feel all warm inside.
“No, you’re right,” you said. “I’m okay, I just…don’t know why I’m so nervous.”
His plush pink lips pressed into a straight line, his tongue poking out as he licked them. He reached out a reassuring hand and placed it on your shoulder, rubbing it through your robe.
“You’re gonna be great,” he assured, sounding a lot more certain than you felt.
Easy for him to say. He’s a fucking natural.
Even on your best day doing this, you never felt like you were great at it—competent, sure. Maybe even above average. But not great. Not at all the way you felt since getting behind the camera.
You nodded tightly, your hesitation still written all over your face. His eyes scanned over you and he swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. He then leaned in and placed his lips beside your ear.
“You look…really beautiful,” he said.
His warm breath rushed across your neck, the heat coming off his skin making your ears buzz. An explosion of fluttering began in your stomach, like there were butterfly cocoons in your cereal that morning and now they were all hatching.
“We should get moving,” you said, pulling back. “Burning daylight.”
Eddie straightened. He nodded and you nodded back, sliding past him to do final checks before you started rolling. Telling yourself he must have pumped or popped a Viagra to explain away that bulge in his pants that definitely wasn’t there before he came over to talk to you.
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The nerves didn’t disappear once you started working, but your body and brain did snap into a kind of performance mode you remembered well.
You started with some still photography for the VHS box art—shots of you in progressing states of undress, your robe dropping off your shoulder, Eddie pulling it open to reveal your body, his hand running up your thigh in a slow caress.
He let it trail all the way up your stomach and chest until he curled his finger under your chin and tipped your face toward his, letting his lips hover just inches away from yours. Your eyes fluttered closed and your heart raced, thinking he might close the gap and actually kiss you—
But after the shutter snapped, he simply let his hand drop and backed away. 
The loss of his body heat sent a chill down your spine and you shivered despite the blazing sun overhead. Eddie’s eyes caught yours, the nearly imperceptible lift of his brow asking, ‘you okay?’ You nodded and another shiver skittered across your skin as you pulled your robe back up.
For the next shot, you climbed up on the massage table and he got into position behind you. His body pressed yours down, your back arching under him as he dipped his head low to take the lobe of your ear between his teeth, palming your exposed breast with his large, strong hand. 
You let your mouth hang open, not even needing to fake the look of desperation on your face. And let yourself believe Eddie’s excitement you could feel digging into the fat of your ass was real too. The little grunts and whines he let out when you wriggled against him certainly didn’t sound fake.
After the photos, there was nothing left to do but move on to the main event. 
You and Eddie reset—him standing in frame, you just outside of it. Sammy panned the camera around, establishing the setting, zooming in on the fountain feature in the pool and then coming around to film Eddie as he snapped a fresh towel and laid it out on the massage table.
From your spot off-camera, it’s impossible not to be mesmerized by the sight. Biceps rippling, tendons in his arms flexing as he smoothed the towel flat. His tattoos stood out even more than normal with him in white slacks and a white polo meant to give the impression of him being an employee of the resort. And the little twist your hair and make-up girl Jael did is something new that only further accentuates the thick column of his neck and his angular jaw.
He’d left off his rings and bracelets, as was typical when he was filming, and you couldn’t help but think about that day in the editing suite. When he’d touched your knee, and you felt the silver ridges press into your flesh. It had jarred you somewhat, how right it felt to have his hand there and how you’d nearly leaned in to meet his lips when you saw his face getting closer.
You hadn’t kissed him that day—promptly removing yourself from temptation in an attempt to salvage some shred of your professionalism. And you (mostly) felt good about that decision. It would have been reckless and destructive and your entire working relationship might have been compromised. You’d made the right call that day, you were sure of it. Mostly…
But today was different. Today, it wasn’t going to derail your career. If anything, your career was mandating you give in to those urges that had plagued you so relentlessly. And that was when it hit you all at once—the realization about as subtle as a train crashing through a wall.
You were going to fuck Eddie.
You’re going to feel firsthand what it’s like to have his face and cock buried between your legs; what it’s like to suck on his fingers and soak them with your spit before he presses them to your clit; what he sounds like when he comes all over your stomach or tits (you can’t quite recall what the script specifies, you just know it’s meant to be outside so he can dotingly clean you up after). 
The barrage of thoughts that storm through your mind are so consuming, you nearly miss your cue to enter the scene. But once you do, you’re rather grateful for the distraction of the set-up dialogue:
“It’ll just be me, today. My husband has a meeting he couldn’t get out of.”
“No, no, it’s not his fault. I got it as a surprise for our anniversary—I should have known better than to book it without checking his schedule.”
“I’m afraid I never know how much to take off for a massage…what do you suggest?”
Eddie answered your last question with a smooth, “Whatever makes you most comfortable,” and a smile so warm it would melt the ice caps.
Giving him a smile of your own, you slowly pulled at the tie of your robe. It fell to the ground in a heap at your feet and Eddie’s dark eyes roved over you hungrily. Now revealed to be completely naked, you feigned some degree of shyness: ducking your head low, looking up at him from underneath your lashes, brushing your hand over your stomach as though to hide it while really drawing his eyes to its plush softness.
“Is this alright?” you asked him with a coy smirk. Eddie grinned, still drinking you in.
“Absolutely,” he breathed. And the raptness in his eyes almost had you believing him.
You took your time getting up on the table, propping yourself up on all fours, letting him (and the camera) take a good, long look at the fullness of your hips before you settled in place. Arms at your side, you took a deep breath as you laid flat on your stomach, relieved there wouldn’t be much dialogue needed for this next part.
Through the little donut headrest at the end of the table, you saw Sammy’s feet as she moved in close—filming tight on Eddie’s hands while he pumped massage oil onto them and warmed it by spreading it between his palms.
Your chest tightened, nerves coiling in your stomach as you anticipated his touch, forcing your body to keep still so you didn’t pull focus.
He smoothed some oil over your skin, starting at the ankles and thoroughly coating your calves. The smell of clary sage filled the air, earthy and warm. And underneath it, a clean and woodsy scent you recognized as Eddie’s soap wafted up to your nose when he leaned in closer.
His fingertips began to knead your muscles, slipping and sliding easily over your skin that was slick with the oil. He made tiny circles with his thumbs, alternating back and forth as they moved in a steady pattern up your calf.
Oh, that’s right…
In all the hubbub, you’d forgotten the whole concept for this shoot was borne on the fact that Eddie went to massage school for real. He’d told you before, after he left his hometown (shit, what was it again? Hawk-something…) that he started collecting different jobs like merit badges.
Just bounced from thing to thing, trying his hand (sometimes both) at whatever life presented. And that included porn. He’d said he only auditioned for that first film he did because someone he’d slept with a handful of times knew a casting director and suggested he’d be good at it.
“He certainly had the dick for it” were her exact words, if you recalled. Strange to think in a way, you might owe that girl your career.
Through the pleasurable haze your mind dipped into having Eddie’s capable hands erasing every ounce of stress you carried in your muscles, you realized he was moving the scene right along while you just lay there humming and moaning with relief at his practiced touch.
He’d lowered his voice to that deep, rumbly register he always used when he was building towards the next phase. His DM voice, as he so affectionately dubbed it. Rough and gravely, yet even and tempered, guiding both you and the audience along on the journey of this fuck.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying…but your husband’s a jackass for missings out on this.”
Your heartbeat picked up in your chest as he moved to your thighs. His fingertips dug into your flesh, kneading it like dough, letting his thumbs swerve dangerously close to your center.
“You deserve someone who puts you first…who knows what he has and worships you…”
One of his thumbs swiped briefly over your puffy lips, and you knew he felt how wet you were.
“You know, I’d never let you out of my sight if you were mine…”
His words dripped slowly and intentionally past his lips, his hands creeping higher and higher up your legs. At last, they slid over the globes of your ass and he groaned as he squeezed one in each hand, spreading you apart to see your center, soaked with arousal that had been pooling there, truth be told, from the moment Eddie had told you how beautiful you looked. 
You heard Eddie’s next line in your head before he said it, “If you really want to relax, I can try a very special technique. I don’t do it for just anyone. It’s a little bit…unorthodox…”
And you were more than ready to take him up on his offer once he delivered the line. 
But Eddie went off script.
Instead of hearing words, you felt the wet heat of his tongue glide through your folds as he buried his face between your spread ass cheeks. Your head popped out of the headrest, letting out a breathy moan of surprise and delight.
The shock on your face was evident as Sammy pushed in close to capture your expression, but so was your pure and utter elation. You’d never felt anything so good in your life…
And it seemed you weren’t the only one.
Eddie groaned loudly as he lapped messily at your folds, his spit mixing with your slick that covered the bottom half of his face. And it was only after a few blissful seconds of eager licking that he even realize what he’d done.
“I’m—mmph—sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” He panted out in between sinful swirls of his tongue, his he words muffled by your ass cheeks because he couldn’t stand to pull away even a little, even long enough to speak. “I had to taste you…”
”It’s okay,” you answered, voice already wrecked beyond belief. “It’s okay, just keep going—”
The command is directed at him as much as it is the crew, who only panicked slightly. Eddie never did stuff like this and they just weren’t ready.
They got back on track quickly enough, Sammy signaling the boom mic to get as close as he can without dipping into frame in order to pick up every lurid slurp and suck of Eddie’s mouth.
After no more than a few minutes, the fluffy towel under you was bunched in your fists and your hips squirmed as Eddie continued to eat you out like a mad man. His tight grip on your ass cheeks held fast, spreading you wider still so his tongue could probe deeper. The sounds he pulled out of you didn’t even sound human to your ears, let alone recognizable as your own voice. 
But you didn’t care.
However you sounded, however you looked, it was superfluous to what Eddie was doing and the precipice he brought you to. Your orgasm hit harder than any drug, than any physical blow. It had you shaking uncontrollably, reaching back to grip the hair at the crown of his head as your hips pushed back to meet every thrust of his tongue while you rode out your exceptional high.
You felt its tingling sensation spread to every inconsequential inch of your body, like an ocean of fire that crashed over you in wave after wave of scorching pleasure. Drowning you in it.
When you finally found the strength in your limp limbs to roll over onto your back, Eddie’s eyes were waiting to meet yours. You could see on his face how sorry he was, how worried he was he’d fucked up. And you tried to communicate with him in that mind-melding, wordless sort of way you and he always did that it was fine—that people were going to love it.
Cocking your brow at him, dipping into a more salacious tone to really sell the transformation from demure housewife to lusty adulterer, you threw in a little adlib of your own.
“That’s some technique you’ve got there,” you teased him, propping yourself up on your elbows. “My husband’s certainly never done that before.”
Eddie’s sly smile returned, his lips curling as he reached out to grip your waist. He hauled you closer with one jerk, bringing you to the edge of the table so your hips were flush with his. The bulge in his white pants was harder than ever when it pressed against your cunt, and he grinned wickedly when he felt just how ready you were for more. He yanked up the shirttail of his polo and whipped it off his body, tossing it behind him where it landed half in the pool.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he tutted softly, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
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Tysm for reading! 🛸 comments and reblogs keep your skin clear and your crops watered 🫶🏻
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DP x DC prompt. Dead on main. AU with giant true ghost form of Danny.
In Gotham, strange things happened quite often.  But only now did Dick really want Constantine or Zatanna around.
Cult leader: We hope the first victim will be tasty enough for you.
Jason finally frees himself from the gag. What is he going to do? Distract the attention of this thing on himself?
Red Hood: Eat him! Eat him!
Dick stared in horror. He knew that Damian didn’t yet get along with all the family members but he didn’t expect the outright hatred from Jason.
The creature’s movement is too fast. Dick blinks. Where is his brother? Did he fail him again?
Robin: Open your fucking jaw, you ghostly freak, or I’ll start knocking your teeth out and trust me, no dental coverage will cover it.
The face of the ghost takes a thoughtful expression.Nightwing can see as it is moving its tongue.
Just don’t swallow. Please. Don’t swallow.
The ghost finally spits out Robin. Then it wipes its lips.
Danny: Ew, do you wash at all, bird? My poor taste buds.
Robin: I’m in my work suit. Taste the dust and garbage of Gotham, big jerk. Why did you even lick me?
Danny:Hey, it was dangerous in here.
Damian lifts eyebrow.
Danny:..
Danny: And they smeared on you concentrated ectoplasm. I couldn’t control myself. Well, until I tasted Gotham on you. It killed the mood.
Robin:...
Danny: Sorry. But I was hungry, okay? And this stuff is toxic to people. You should thank me.
Damian: You’re just gross, disgusting..
Jason: Hey, don’t talk to my boyfriend like that!
Boyfriend?!!
Damian: Got the cult members? Good. Now shut your mouth, Hood.
Damian: But first untie Nightwing and tell your monster to apologize for almost make him have a heart attack.
Dick: Already did it myself. Thanks for the care.Then...
Dick: What the actual hell?! You two! No. You three owe me an explanation. Now!
Danny: Um. You must be Dick. Your brothers have told only good things about you.
Jason: Lie.
Damian: Total lie. I haven’t said one good thing about you.
Danny: He loves your hugs.
Damian: Get back to where you came from! Vicious lying creature! *aggressively erases the pentogram* I did not say this!
Dick: Stop it, both of you!
Dick: You!*points at Danny* Stop talking so loud! I have a headache.
Danny *nods*.
Dick: You! *points at Damian* Give me a hug!
Damian: But I’m covered in saliva, Grayson.
Dick: I said hug me!
Dick: You! *points at Jason* bring your boyfriend to the family reunion.
Jason: What? Again? For what?
Dick: What do you mean again? Who else knows?
Damian *frees his hands and starts counting*.
Damian: By my calculations, you’re the only one
Dick *exhales calmly*
Damian: who didn’t know it yet.
Dick: What the hell? Even Bruce?
Danny: Even Bruce.
Dick: Why am I always the last to know?
Damian: Because you don’t live in Gotham, Richard.
2K notes · View notes
thelostconsultant · 3 months ago
Text
Soft launch vs. hard launch
pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader
type: smau
summary: Oscar and Logan are very protective of you, so you and Charles have to get through them before making your relationship public.
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liked by logansargeant, charles_leclerc and 35,133 others
yourusername: I wanted to start the day at the gym, but someone knows the way to my heart ☕ logansargeant ❤️
view all comments
user1: You’re in Belgium? On an F1 race weekend?
↳ user2: Can’t wait for the posts about her shenanigans with Logan. 
oscarpiastri: And where’s my coffee?
↳ logansargeant: Get your own.
↳ oscarpiastri: Good to know I can count on my friend.
↳ yourusername: Stop flirting under my post! It will be flooded with shippers in seconds. 
↳ logansargeant: Shhhh, don’t tell him.
↳ oscarpiastri: Tell me what?
↳ yourusername: Nothing. 
↳ oscarpiastri: I hate you both.
↳ oscarpiastri: And see you at the track.
user3: I love these three. They should do a podcast together during the break. 
user4: I wonder who’s dating who. 
↳ user5: It’s a poly relationship, I’m calling it now. 
↳ yourusername: Wrong. 
↳ user4: Then what’s the truth? The suspense is killing us!!!!
↳ yourusername: 🤷‍♀️
charles_leclerc: Photos I can taste in my mouth...
↳ oscarpiastri: What?
↳ charles_leclerc: Her coffee.
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liked by oscarpiastri, vancityreynolds and 673,677 others
yourusername: So you wanna know what’s my favorite position? Here, now you know (credit to Debbie Ridpath Ohi)
view all comments
logansargeant: Look, there’s Oscar! 😼
↳ oscarpiastri: Haha…
user6: Sometimes I look at her weird posts and I have to remind myself what an amazing fashion model she is beside everything else she does.
user7: You should have taken a photo of yourself doing that. Preferably in a short skirt. 
↳ user8: Dude, gross, fuck off!
↳ logansargeant: Yeah, fuck off.
↳ user9: I love how Logan always shows up to tell assholes off. 
charles_leclerc: Guess the interview didn’t go as planned.
↳ yourusername: Never again. You were right.
↳ oscarpiastri: Wait, what interview?
↳ logansargeant: Hello? Care to answer your phone? 
↳ yourusername: Chill, boys, it’s ok. Already had my rant session with someone. 
↳ charles_leclerc: Anytime.
user10: When did this happen? Can’t remember Charles ever commenting under her posts. 
↳ user11: He has left comments before, but I gotta agree that he’s been suspiciously active lately.
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liked by yourusername, heidiklum and 291,329 others
charles_leclerc: Thank you for having me, verawang, I had a good time. Anyway, what do you think, would this one look good on me?
view all comments
user12: Considering how often he interacts with yourusername on social media, I'm not even surprised to see he happened to pick her photo.
logansargeant: You're talking about the clothes, right? Because if you're not talking about the clothes, we will have to talk.
↳ charles_leclerc: Am I in trouble?
↳ oscarpiastri: After writing, "would this one look good on me?" Yeah, you are. Pervert.
↳ charles_leclerc: I'll send you to your room, son.
↳ logansargeant: Pulling the adoption card? Tsk, you can't pull that on me. Confess.
yourusername: *pulls out the popcorn*
↳ logansargeant: Put that down, I sent you a message.
↳ yourusername: No.
↳ user13: LOL, I love that she's only here for the chaos.
user14: Charles, what's going on between the two of you? This is suspicious.
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liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 1,754 others
charles_leclerc: Our first kiss captured by the one and only danielricciardo. #tbt
view all comments
user15: Soft launch on this average Thursday? Who is she?
user16: HOLY SHIT IS THIS YOURUSERNAME??????
↳ user17: This photo is so dark, how could you possibly tell?
↳ user16: Trust me, I'd recognize her anywhere. (Don't ask how.)
↳ oscarpiastri: I'd like to ask though.
↳ logansargeant: It's definitely concerning.
danielricciardo: You're welcome.
↳ logansargeant: Why are you randomly taking photos of other people making out?
↳ danielricciardo: I have a natural talent to recognize historical moments.
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liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 1,932 others
yourusername: Someone came home from the party with a fake beard and fell asleep with it still on his face. No kiss for you until you get rid of it.
tagged: charles_leclerc
view all comments
user18: Are you a "soft launch by Charles" son or a "hard launch by Y/N" daughter?
↳ user19: And she hard launched it with this? She's so chaotic, I love her. She could've chosen some sweet photo, but instead she chose this.
user16: I told you all it's her. I knew it!
logansargeant: If you ever want to complain about him, you know where to find me.
↳ oscarpiastri: And me. I'm ready to trash talk my father.
↳ charles_leclerc: Thanks for the vote of confidence.
user20: Not Max liking this. Dude, just follow Charles!
oscarpiastri: Okay, reacting to Charles's photo now that you made this public: Keep it PG!
↳ yourusername: Osc, don't freak out, that's just a kiss.
↳ logansargeant: Yeah, but the rules.
↳ charles_leclerc: That's a photo, it's not happening in front of you.
↳ oscarpiastri: It was on my screen, so now it's burned into my brain.
1K notes · View notes
gojonanami · 1 year ago
Text
ALL'S FAIR (IN LOVE AND MERGERS) ✩ SATORU GOJO
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✴︎ summary: you're not sure what's worse -- being an arranged marriage or being an arranged marriage with the person who used to be your best friend. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, nsfw, arranged marriage au, gojo and reader are both heirs to large companies, childhood best friends to enemies to lovers, lots of fluff + banter, gojo is down bad, geto makes an appearance, handjobs (f!+m! receiving), oral (f!+m! receiving), creampie, unprotected sex, dom! + sub!gojo, degradation (slut), breeding kink, gojo has a praise kink, semi public sex, office sex, tiny amount of sexting, under the desk oral (m!receiving), pet names (sweetheart, princess, baby), pregnancy mentions ✴︎ wc: 16,381 (why do i do this to myself?)
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“Why do you look so down, Princess?” Your eyes flicker up from your book, forcing your expression to stay disinterested — the one emotion Satoru hated, “shouldn’t you share your feelings with your fiancé?” 
“Don’t call yourself that,” you snap, and his lips curl at your reaction, “what are you so smug about? You’re stuck in the same position as me,” 
“And what’s that?” You close your book, glaring daggers at his all too perfect face. 
“Marrying your worst enemy.” 
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It wasn’t always like this. 
Satoru Gojo used to be your friend — your best friend in fact. The fact your families’ companies were rivals often meant you ran in the same social circles more often than not. And it meant more than one boring adult party that the two of you were stuck with each other.
The two of you had become inseparable — attending the same prestigious schools with the most pretentious children, though the two of you were no exceptions. But you liked to think you were. 
And you didn’t realize your feelings for Satoru, until someone else had. 
“Do you want to hang out on Friday?” You ask, flipping through the channels as the two of you watched TV, looking for something other than the second half of movies and the reruns of shows you didn’t care for. 
“I can’t, I’m going to the formal,” he replies, not looking up from his phone, and you pause. 
“You’re going to that?” You raise an eyebrow, “we’ve never went,” 
“Well I never had someone ask me who I wanted to go with,” his eyes flicker up from his phone, a smirk on his lips, “you jealous?” 
Your reply leaves your lips like whiplash, “You wish,” you cross your arms, but you can’t help ask the question burning on your lips, “who are you going with?” 
“Akari,” and you scoff, “what?” 
“That girl goes out with a new guy every week,” you shake your head, “you’re better off staying at home with me,” 
“So you are jealous,” he hums, leaning back on the couch, “if you wanted to go with me, all you had to do was ask, Princess,” 
Your cheeks flush, which you make up for in indignancy and sharp words, “Don’t call me that,” the nickname your family affectionately had called you had become Satoru’s favorite thing to call you, “I’m just telling you to be careful — that girl isn’t someone you should trust with your feelings,” 
“I think I’ll use my own judgment instead of someone who hasn’t even been on a single date before,” his tone is far too biting and his accuracy is far too sharp — and you can’t stop your face from dropping, and his lips part - regret flashing across his features, “princess—“ 
“Go home, Satoru,” you rise, brushing past him, “you know the way out,” 
“Princess—“ he tries to reach for your hand, but you slap it away. His hand retracts like he’d been burned. 
“Please, go,” you open the door for him, and he does, and little do you know that would be one of the last times you spoke. 
The day of the formal arrives, the two of you hadn’t seen each other outside of class since that day. But Satoru did see you at the dance that night - on the arm of his former best friend, Suguru — the same one he had a falling out with a year ago. He doesn’t say a word to you, but you don’t miss the hurt in his eyes - but you wonder why it was there in the first place - and why he was acting like you put it there. 
It all goes to hell after. 
The Gojo Corporation poaches one of your family’s biggest clients in a shady backroom deal, breaking their truce and your family’s trust. Arguments and stress reach a peak over the phone and lines are drawn and metaphorical guns are drawn. 
And you and Satoru are caught in the crossfire. 
Not that you weren’t firing shots yourself. 
It wasn’t until you pulled Satoru into a secluded classroom, and you shut the door behind the two of you. Even with the sunglasses perched on his nose as always, he flinches in the bright light of the sun setting behind you, dipping the classroom in a blazing orange  — light sensitivity nearly required him to wear his sunglasses out, but he certainly made a statement in them — though what didn’t he make a statement in?  
“What are we going to do about our families?” you chew your lip — you had listened this morning to your father rant about the Gojo family — unkind words to say about them all, even Satoru himself, who your father had treated as a second son — and now he was grilling you about what you had told him about the family business. 
“What can we do?” His arms are crossed and his gaze is upwards, “they are going to do what they want,” 
You stare at him, your heart cracks, blood rushing in your ears, “Satoru, if this gets worse, we won’t be able to be friends,” you refuse to let your voice break. 
“So what? I know the way out, don’t I?” But your heart did break, “I’m sure Suguru could comfort you,” 
Your eyes burn, but you can’t, you can’t let him see you cry, “Why are you so upset? You had a date—“ 
“And mine wasn’t the person who backstabbed me,” he bites back, “what my family did is done, and so are we,” and he doesn’t look back when he leaves. 
And it was good — because he didn’t see you cry. 
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And now you sat with him in your living room, trying to process the fact you would be legally married soon enough. 
“Worst enemy? I know you liked to embellish princess, but that seems excessive,” he snorts, “glad to know I haven’t escaped your thoughts these years,” 
“Don’t flatter yourself,” and he grins his shit eating grin, and it’s almost as if no time has passed, except the person who sits before you isn’t a seventeen year old with an attitude of a shithead — it’s an adult man (albeit with the same attitude). 
“Don’t need to - you already do that for me, baby,” he winks, and you don’t know whether you want to slap him or strangle him. Either way, you wanted him to shut up, “shouldn’t we at least try to make the best of this?” 
“The best of what?” You scoff, ready for your veins to burst out of your head, if only to spare you the agony of this conversation, “Gojo, we were best friends a million years ago and then we weren’t and now we’re getting married - all on the whims of our families, so how do we make the best of it?” 
He pauses a moment, almost thoughtfully, “I was your best friend?” 
And you rise to your feet, “this is impossible,” you brush past him, but he catches you by your wrist, his thumb grazing your pulse. 
“Princess, I’m sorry,” he says, and you stop, meeting his gaze reluctantly, his lips part, “that you were so annoying in high school—“ 
“Fuck you,” and you storm off as he cackles, but you don’t notice the small smile on his lips that stays as he watches you. 
And nor do you hear him say, “God, I missed you.” 
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“This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath, as you place back the millionth dress you looked at, “we’re hardly celebrities but we have to make a public appearance?” 
Your families wanted the marriage to be portrayed as a love marriage in the media - childhood friends falling in love after reconnecting - the thing of love stories. The thing that would circle the drain on social media on cute threads of meetcutes and what ifs. When in fact, you were being forced on a shopping date with an already well paid and positioned paparazzi ready to take pictures of this charade. 
“You may not be, Princess, but I am quite the catch,” Satoru takes the attention in stride, not only of the paparazzi, but the passersby who gawked at the two of you. It was true, Satoru was nearly always listed as an eligible bachelor in far too many of these lists that existed, if not the eligible bachelor, and yet here you were, glued to his side like some taudry accessory. 
“So does that mean if I just toss you away, someone else will catch you?” You grumble, and he looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses. 
“Like it or not, you caught me,” he flashes you those pearly whites, and you supposed he blinded you as you stumble forward, tripping. But you don’t kiss the pavement — but you almost wish you do. He catches you, his arm around your waist, the other on your shoulder, and his eyes graze over you in a flash of concern, and then amusement, “and I’m not going anywhere this time,” 
And you flush, the clicks of cameras in the distance snapping you back to reality, as you right yourself with a fake smile plastered on your lips. You brush his shirt off as lovingly as you can, “And if I go?” 
His lips only curl into his obnoxiously charming smile, as he gestures for you to walk on, “I’ll follow, Princess,” 
Finally the trip is over, and Satoru is driving the both of you back, “I’m surprised you took a day off for this,” he remarks, “usually you work all week,” 
“Well I wasn’t given much of a choice, now was I?” And then you glance at him, furrowing your brow, “how do you know how often I work?” 
“What’s the phrase? Keep your enemies close, and your lovers closer?” He gives a wry grin as you scowl at him, “you’re not surprised I kept tabs on you, are you?” 
“Well, no,” because you did the exact same. You pinned the blame on late nights and doom scrolling on social media — curiosity killed the cat. 
“And now I know you kept tabs on me,” he looks far too satisfied with himself, “I’m flattered,” 
“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, “it’s not like you’re that interesting to begin with,” 
“Sure,” he smirks, and then you glance outside, noticing you were getting further out from home rather than closer. 
“Where are we going?” You sit up, glancing around — you didn’t recognize the area. 
“Oh, you didn’t think our date was over yet, did you?” his lips curl, his eyes still on the road, “we are just going to a more private location,” 
“If you take me to a hotel, I will slap you,” you murmur, and he laughs, a sound that makes your stomach flip. 
“I didn’t know a princess’s mind could be in the gutter,” he remarks, his fingers flexing on the wheel, a small infinity tattoo on his ring finger, and your mind really then all but fled to the gutter as you thought what else he could use those fingers for. 
“Oh my mind goes a lot of places,” this was growing more dangerous — for your tongue and for your heart. 
And he notices your gaze flickering to his hands, and his lips curl, “I think I’d like to familiarize myself with the places your mind goes, Princess,” You flush, “but that’s for a different day.” 
“Where are you taking me anyway?” 
“We’re almost there, just enjoy the ride,” you eventually pull up to a park, and he leaves the car, opening the door for you, “after you, my lady,” 
You slide out of the car, as he shuts the door behind you, and then pulls a basket out of the back, “Is there tape and rope in there?” You raise an eyebrow. 
“Didn’t know you were into that,” he winks, as you glare at him, “it’s a picnic basket - this is a nice spot to watch the sunset,” 
“You watch sunsets?” 
“Only with you,” you roll your eyes. 
“Such a dork - are these the lines you use on all your dates? And don’t say only with me,” you add quickly, and he snorts. 
“You catch on quick,” and he takes your hand, leading you along, “come on,” 
His hand envelops yours, his fingers eventually intertwining with yours, his warmth flooding your body, but you can’t urge yourself to pull away. 
A bottle of sparkling cider and a charcuterie board later, the two of you watch the sun begin its descent, blazing colors bleeding into one another. 
“Why are you doing this?” You ask, looking over your glass as you sip, “even when we used to hang out, I was the one to bring the snacks,” 
“Well times change,” he replies, “plus you’re the one who always stopped me from buying snacks,” 
“You always bought only sweets — it was always chocolate, sugar, and desserts,” you roll your eyes, “I see you got over that,” 
“Nah, I just decided to buy things I know you like,” and your heart traitorously squeezes, but then he points, “look,” and your gaze falls onto the sunset and you gasp softly. 
“It’s beautiful,” you sigh, and you don’t notice Satoru’s gaze on your face, a small smile on his lips. 
“It is,” and you look back at him, his eyes shifting to you again. 
“You never answered my question,” you say, “why are we doing this?” 
“Why wouldn’t we? We’re getting married, Princess, did you forget?” He expertly dodges the question, swiftly leaping over a landmine, but you weren’t one to mince words or hesitate to do a direct assault. 
“We’re getting married, it doesn’t mean we have to date,” you tilt your head, “Gojo, tell me—“
“Call me Satoru,” his words are so soft, hesitant even, as if his words could break apart any second if he had spoken them any quieter. 
It’s a fragility he doesn’t often grace you with - that’s he’s maybe never given to you, and you don’t wish to break it.
But you’re also scared - scared that this will break yours. 
“Satoru,” you whisper, and he smiles — the same smile he’d greet you with when you would meet up after school, the same smile when he’d beat you at whatever game you guys were playing, and the same smile you hadn’t seen in so long, “why are you doing all of this?” 
“Is it not obvious?” He’s leaning closer and you only realize that you’re doing the same when your wrist hurts from leaning on your hand. 
“Nothing is obvious when it comes to you, Satoru,” his lips warm yours with his breath, and the sun has set - there’s no other explanation for the warmth blooming on your skin other than him— 
Ring. Ring. Ring. 
His phone ringing sends both of you flinching apart, but his eyes don’t leave you for a lingering moment, before he picks up. 
“Hello,” his voice is unwavering even after the moment you shared, you barely hear what he says over the blood thundering in your ears, “yes, we’ll be home shortly. Ok. Bye,” 
He turns to look back at you, “My parents were wondering where we went,” and you nod, “we should get back,” and he begins to pack away the things, 
“Satoru—“ you start, but he grabs your hands, tugging you forward. 
“What?” he smiles, “not ready to part with me yet, princess?” 
You scowl, pushing him away, brushing past him to the car, “Forget it,” 
And he catches you by your wrist and pulls you back to him, your back against his front, “I don’t want to forget it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “I—” 
And his phone rings again, and he sighs, showing you that it was your father this time, putting his phone on silent, “Our parents have impeccable timing,” and the moment is broken, as the two of you walk back to the car in relative silence, the sun long sunk below the horizon, and the moment along with it. 
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The wedding comes and goes without much ado — it was a private ceremony done with only your families and a few close family friends. And aside from a photo shoot that was to be “leaked” of the two of you looking far too lovey dovey that wound up circulating the media drain and ended up causing you and Satoru to keep a low profile for a week or two, not much of your life changed. The only thing being that you and Satoru slowly start to move in together, each moving your things into separate bedrooms, not that you’re around enough to even notice a shift as the work piled on due to the merger, only accumulates, and as do your late nights. 
You come home again, back to your shared apartment, late at night, shutting the door softly behind you. You slip your shoes off, along with your jacket by the door, before setting your things down. You stretch your sore muscles, your stomach crying for mercy of the deprivation you had put it through today, and you allow it to lead you to the kitchen. 
Satoru was surprisingly neat, aside from his own room that was a disaster zone not worth entering. The living spaces were always clean, as was the kitchen (though you had a sneaking suspicion he had hired a cleaning service to specifically tidy up when you were gone (due to the lingering lemony scent every surface had at times). You rummage through the refrigerator as quietly as you could, but not quietly enough as the lights flick on, and you feel akin to a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. 
“I feel like I’ve seen the mailman more than my own wife this week,” Satoru stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame of the door, a small grin on his lips, but a hint of something else in his eyes — concern? You don’t have the time to decipher the feeling, as your mind chooses to replay the phrase “my wife” on repeat. 
“The merger has been killer to deal with — all the diligence requests has buried us,” you grumble, as you grab a box of cereal off the top of the refrigerator and the milk from the inside, and he’s holding a bowl and a spoon, “thanks,” as you reach for it, he holds it away from you. 
“You know there’s something called delegating that you should try sometime, princess,” he says, tilting his head, “otherwise, you’re likely to run yourself into the ground,” 
“It sounds like you care,” he puts down the bowl and spoon, grabbing the cereal and milk from you, and fixing a bowl for you, as you rub your eyes, sitting on the stool by the island. 
His lips curl, “Who said I didn’t?” 
You lay on the counter, staring up at him, “Didn’t know my husband could be anything but annoying,” and you enjoy the way his eyebrows shoot up, and it may have been your tired eyes, but you swore a small pink flush settled his way onto his cheeks, “cute,” you mumble, the word escaping you before you could stop it. 
“What?” his eyes snap to yours, but he only finds them closed, the soft snores from your lips told him you weren’t pretending, as he stares at you, biting his lip, before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, “what are you doing to me, princess?” he murmurs. 
And the next morning when you wake, you find yourself tucked into bed, as you roll over, to find your alarms had been turned off, and you were far too late to several meetings you had that morning. 
You jolt up, before you find a note stuck to your shirt, you pause in your panic, to peel it off and read it:
Canceled your meetings for today and had your staff handle the ones they could deal with. You’re taking a break. You need it. - Satoru. 
You wanted to protest, but even as you willed yourself to try and check your email, your body was screaming in agreement with Satoru, and you sighed, lying back down in bed, as you drifted into a dreamless sleep, with the note still in your hand. 
~~~~~
“Gojo, get back in bed,” you cross your arms in front of his doorway, “you’re sick,” 
“I’m fine,” he pouts, his normally pale skin flushed with a red tinge that gave away his fever, his eyes bloodshot from a restless night, and yet he still looked as perfect as ever, if not a bit rumpled from his askew hair and ruffled clothes, “I have to—” 
“Rest,” you say, gently pushing him backwards towards his bed, “you need rest. You made me rest, and now it’s your turn,” 
“But—” 
“Satoru,” and the use of his name stops him in his tracks, as his knees buckle as his legs hit the end of his bed, “please?” 
His resistance crumbles, “Princess, I’m fine—” and you press your forehead to his, making his breath catch, your face far too close far too fast. 
“You’re burning up,” you ease him back into bed, as you roll your sleeves up, “will you be okay? I’m going to run out and get some supplies - have you taken any medicine?” 
He shakes his head, “You can send out someone,” he says, reaching for his phone, but you grab it, “Princess-“ 
“I’m texting everyone that you’re sick and that you can’t make it in for the next two days while you recover,” you pocket his phone, putting it on silent, “consider this payback,” and you’re pulling on your jacket, “and I’m going to get you some things. I don’t need to send someone out. Do you want anything? I can’t get anything sweet because it will make your cough worse, but is there anything that you want?” 
He shakes his head, as you snap your fingers and head out of the room, before returning with cold medicine, “I’ll give you this for now, and then I’ll grab some more while I’m out,” 
You pour the medicine into the cup, and he sits up as best he could, reaching for the medicine cup, but you cup his chin, feeding it to him. He feels like his body is burning hotter from your touch than it is the fever,  “I have to make sure you drink all of it, you can’t leave half of it in the cup like you did when we were kids,” 
“You remember that?” he mumbles, as you help him lie down again, your hands gentle as you help lean back, and you tilt your head. 
“I remember every ridiculous thing you did,” you snort, as you check to make sure you got everything — phone, wallet, keys — “just rest here, and call me if you need anything, ok?” his eyes are already starting to droop, heavy with sleep, and he gives a small nod. 
And he catches you by your wrist, “Do you have to go?” he mumbles, pulling your hand close to his face, “I don’t want you to go,” his words slur, and he’s asleep in a moment, his hand still clutching yours to his face, lips brushing against your palm. 
Heat flares up your cheeks, as you stand, motionless, his soft snores filling the room, as you manage to tug your hand away, and you stand over him, his mouth in an adorable pout, as sweat glistened on his forehead, white locks sticking to the damp skin. You leave for a moment to grab a cold compress for his forehead, and you come back, brushing his hair back to place the compress on. He shivers ever so slightly, but you just rub his head slowly, and he drifts back into sleep. 
“I’ll be right back,” you whisper, and you wonder, how often has Satoru been cared for by maids or employees rather than his family? How often had they passed the buck of caring for their son to others as if it was more of a chore than a privilege to take care of someone they loved. 
You leave his phone on video call with yours so you can keep an eye on him as he sleeps, even if you were going down the street, you didn’t want to leave him alone completely. Instead of music, you listened to the cacophony of his soft snores and shifting of his sheets. You grabbed the things you needed - medicine, supply for meals, vitamin water, vitamin c supplements, and anything else you could think of. 
You return, door shutting softly behind you as you hang up the call, and set everything down on the counter. You poke your head into Satoru’s room to find him still fast asleep, and you remove the cold compress, going to replace it with a new one, but his hand catches yours as it brushes your forehead, and he mumbles your name. 
And you flush — were you sure you weren’t getting sick at this point? 
You sigh, running your fingers through his hair, “You’re as touchy as you were when we were kids,” and he was — there wasn’t a moment that Satoru wasn’t all over you before the ages of puberty — holding hands, hugging, even laying on top of you — but it was innocent. But even as you got older, it was poking, it was a leg over yours, it was grabbing your wrist instead of your hand. 
And now, your hand was dwarfed by his, consuming your wrist and hand with his own, and it was so warm — though exacerbated by his fever. And you couldn’t help but want to lace your fingers through his. But — you pulled your hand away and replace his cold compress — you couldn’t afford thoughts like that. 
Not now. 
You cooked soup for him, filled with vegetables and nutrients that he clearly did not get enough of, made freshly squeezed orange juice, and put the supplements you wanted him to take on the tray you had found in the kitchen. 
You washed your hands, as you start to clean up, your back to his room, and you hear Satoru say your name. 
You turn and see him in the doorway, “What are you doing?” 
“I should be asking you that,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes, “what’s all this?” 
“Lunch,” you walk over, waving him back into bed, “you need to rest,” 
“Did you make me lunch?” he asks slowly, and you help him back into bed, as he frowns, “you didn’t have—” 
“You’re my husband, Satoru,” you say, tilting your head, “I’m going to take care of you and not let you work yourself to the bone while you have a cold,” 
And his lips curl at the words slowly, “Your husband,” he repeats, as if the words were foreign to him, and your cheeks flush as your words that were embarrassing enough to say linger in the air, “thank you,” he mumbles, as you nod, trying to calm your utterly burning cheeks before entering with the tray. 
Satoru sits in bed still, more coherent than a few minutes before, a small smile on his lips as you enter his view, and you place the tray carefully on his bed, “Will you feed me?” And your eyes flit up to his innocent baby blues full of skies that you couldn’t say no to — and he knew that, “please?” 
And now you’re feeding him, your lips carefully blowing on the hot soup as you spoon fed him, and he takes each one, “is it good?” 
He nods, “It is, I didn’t know you could cook. The last thing I remember you making me was a microwave brownie that you burned,” and you rolled your eyes. 
“That was because you told me to microwave it for too long,” you pout, and he laughs, sending him into a coughing fit, “karma,” and he scowls at you, before his lips split into a grin, “what?” 
“Must have been pretty good in my past life,” he says, as you blow on another spoonful, “to end up with a pretty little wife like you, Princess,” 
And you nearly drop the spoon, a few droplets slipping from the utensil, as he makes you flustered for the eighteenth time today — “Satoru,” you chide, and you’re not even sure what you are chiding him for — his word on a loop in your mind, “i think you’re high on cold medicine, or your fever,”
You don’t think he had ever called you pretty before. 
And he leans forward pressing his forehead to yours, “I have no fever right now,” he whispers, his eyes glancing at the tray, “and I haven’t taken my cold medicine yet,” 
Your words catch in your throat, and you’re swallowing thickly, as your eyes drift to his lips and back again, “Toru,” and you can’t lean away from him, he’s pulling you in, like he always did. 
But then he pulls back, his cheeks flushed, “I think I should lie down,” and you blink, as you nod hastily. 
“Of course,” you grab the tray and flee, leaving his medicine and water on the bedside table, heart thumping against your ribs and blood rushing to your cheeks. 
And you don’t hear him grumble, “If only I wasn’t sick.” 
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After Satoru gets better, you barely see him. It feels empty in the house without his presence. You had grown accustomed to his loud, obtrusive presence, the clothes half thrown in the laundry basket, his snacks stacked up in the pantry and sometimes on the counters, and his cologne wafting through the halls. It seems all of that has faded with time, as he does his best to spend his time at work, and away from you. 
After the billionth time of this, you get a phone call from his colleague, Nanami, asking for you to come and fetch him. You furrow your brow as he texts you the address of a bar near his work, and you arrive to find him passed out at a table, drink glasses and small plates littered the tabletop, his pale skin flushed, as he snored slightly as he slept. 
His colleague too was flushed, but still sat with drink in hand looking utterly irritated and bemused, “How much did he drink?” 
“Maybe two drinks?” and you raise an eyebrow, “he’s a lightweight, but he likes to pretend he isn’t,” he snorts, shaking his head, “did you two have a fight?” 
You tilt your head, as you check on him, fingers brushing over his skin — he was so warm from the alcohol, “No, why do you ask?” 
And Satoru is mumbling your name, again and again, pouting, “Is that you, my wife?” you flush, and that was your cue to get him out of there. Nanami helps you get him to his work car, luckily that came equipped with a driver, and you slide in beside him, as he dozes, his head drifting to your shoulder. His breath is warm against your neck, as he nestles into the soft skin of your nape, and you can feel his lips move, only catching your name between soft sighs and snores. 
“Satoru,” you mutter, brushing his hair from his eyes, “what did you do?” 
The driver helps you get him inside, and you’re left with him, his body leaning against yours on the couch, as you rouse him, “Satoru, wake up,” your hands cup his cheeks, and his eyes flutter open blearily. 
You can still smell the scent of alcohol on his breath — and you know it’s sweet from the scent that drifts from him. Sometimes you wonder if he would taste sweet with how much sugar he consumes, but you brush that thought to the back of your head, as he finally speaks. 
“Are you a dream?” he murmurs, and you have to suppress your laugh at his puppy dog stare. 
“Don’t think so, Satoru,” you pinch his cheek lightly, “see? I’m real,” 
He smiles, so gentle that it almost takes you aback, “Too real,” his hand slides over yours, flattening it against his cheek, “your hand is so soft, just like when we were kids, and we’d always hold hands anywhere we went,” 
You swallow thickly, wondering if your cheeks were hotter than his were from the alcohol, “Well my family hasn’t sold me into manual labor yet, so they’ll stay that way,” and his eyes widen almost comically. 
“I wouldn’t let them do that,” he says, almost every other word slurred, “can’t do that to my wife,” and your traitorous heart squeezes, despite itself, despite everything telling you that it didn’t mean anything — that he was drunk — and the million other reasons to brush it away, your heart does what it does best — takes it to heart, “I missed you so much,” 
And he’s burying his face in your shoulder, warm breath against your skin making you shiver as you hold him gently, “then why have you been avoiding me?” He’s mumbling into your shoulder now, as you can’t help but laugh, “Stop, you’re tickling me.”
And his stare lifts and settles upon you, stopping your breath in its tracks, “I didn’t want to avoid you, I just was…” he mumbles something incoherent, “I couldn’t face you,” 
“Why?” and it’s objectively cute the way he pouts, his face scrunching up like a child, his brow adorably furrowed, as he mutters under his breath slurred words you can’t make out, “let’s get you to bed — if you promise not to avoid me anymore,” you hold up a finger to his face. 
He nods, lips still in the same pout, “promise,” he murmurs, as you help him into bed, but as you do, he grabs you, tugging you into bed with him with a yelp, his arms trapped you against him, as his face snuggles into your back, “stay,”
Your skin burns at his touch, his face buried into your back, his arms wrapped impossibly around you, “Satoru—” 
“Please?” and the resistance you have crumbles, as you sigh, relaxing as best you could into his touch, “thank you, Princess,” he mumbles something else you can’t make out, before falling asleep. 
And you bite your lip, ignoring how your skin feels under his touch — how were you ever going to sleep now? 
But you do. 
Satoru wakes with a slightly pounding head, a small groan caught in the back of his throat, as he stirs at the bright sunlight streaming in, his eyes fluttering awake to find you. His breath catches, as he stares at you. Your mouth slightly ajar, you softly snore as you sleep, your head resting against his arm, and he swallows thickly, as memories of last night trickle in.
And he nearly groans. He had avoided you to stop himself, to hold himself back from embarrassing himself, and he had gone and pulled you into bed with him after getting drunk. How pathetic was it that it only took you referring to him as your husband for all his walls to come crumbling down? Not that those walls ever stood a chance against you — it was easy for him to pull away from everyone, as if he had a barrier around him, stopping anything from coming near. But you — you were one thing that could penetrate his infinity — and the one thing he wanted to be infinite, if only for him. 
His cheeks burn at his revelations and he can only be thankful you’re still asleep as he stares at you — god, he had almost let it slip twice last night. He had mumbled it twice, but from what he remembered, you hadn’t made out the words. 
His cheeks burned, god he had said the words twice, and you didn’t even hear him, but the words had left his lips. And how many years had he been waiting to say them?
His fingers caress your cheek, making sure you were still asleep before he said them for a third time, “I love you.” 
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“How many social events must be inflicted upon us?” you mutter, pressed next to Satoru at the bar, as Satoru sips a soda instead of the alcohol they offered — if only to avoid the disaster that was the last time. But still, the lack of alcohol only makes your touch worse without its dulling effects, “and why did we need to go to this?” 
“C’mon sweetheart, it’s not so bad,” Satoru smiles, his eyes skimming over your new suit that you had donned for the occasion, “I like seeing you all dressed up,” 
“Well I rather be dressed down at home,” and he raises an eyebrow and you flush, “i mean in a t-shirt and shorts, you absolute perv,” 
“Whatever you say, princess,” and you’re too busy elbowing him to notice who's walking over, until you hear your name. 
You spot Satoru’s eyes narrow, his lips pursed, as you spot Suguru holding a hand up in greeting, patented grin on his lips, “Yo!” 
“Suguru, it’s good to see you,” you greet, as he sweeps you up in a hug, and you shoot a look at Satoru, nudging him to be polite at the very least. 
“Satoru, long time no see,” Suguru says, and Satoru plasters a fake smile on his lips. 
“It has been,” and the three of you make pleasant small talk about your work — Suguru’s family was in a business adjacent to the work your families did. 
“I heard about the merger your companies are doing, how have preparations been?” you open your mouth to answer, but Satoru gets to it first, his arm curling around your waist. 
“It’s been going well, our marriage was the first step after all, wasn’t it, baby?” and you flush as Satoru does, doing your best not to glare at him. 
“It was,” you smile, as Suguru raises his eyebrows. 
“I hadn’t heard you both had married — congratulations,” 
And then you’re beckoned by your family, and you slip away for a moment, going to speak to them about one thing or another, leaving Satoru and Suguru alone. 
“It’s too bad we lost touch all these years,” Satoru sips at his drink. 
“You don’t have to say that, Satoru,” Suguru replies, his grin melting away, “I know part of the reason was the business with our families companies, but I also know that it was personal,” and Satoru follows his eyes to you, as you laugh at something your mother said, “how has married life been treating you both?” 
And Satoru glares, his grip tight around his glass, “Is your interest personal?” 
“It’s not, but I see that you still haven’t been honest with each other,” he smiles over the lip of his drink, “was this marriage arranged by your families?” and Satoru’s silence was enough to confirm it, “well you should be careful, a marriage is a fragile thing, especially without love,” 
“Is that a threat?” and Suguru’s dark irises meet his, full of mirth. 
“No, just an observation, Satoru,” and you make your re-appearance, looking between the pair, sensing the tension, as your hand curls around Satoru’s, “It was lovely seeing you both. I hope to see more of you.” 
And with that he’s gone, “What was that about?” you ask slowly, and Satoru can’t meet your gaze, only sipping his soda, “Satoru?” 
“It’s nothing, princess, don’t worry about it,” and you tilt your head, your brow furrowed. 
“That’s it,” you sigh, as you glance between the two of them, Suguru’s gaze still lingering on the two of you, “I know what this is about,” you declare, stepping ever closer to Satoru, your fingers brushing at his shoulder, sending his heart into a gallop. 
“Princess—” your hand is sliding up his neck, brushing at his undercut, and your lips curl. 
“I didn’t know you had an undercut,” and he can’t form words to respond to you, as you tug him closer, your lips were so close now, “it’s kind of hot,” and his mouth is so dry, his eyes can’t help but flicker down to your lips again, as you lean forward, pulling his head closer, closer, closer—
And you kiss him, it's barely a brush at first, but then you pull him in again, and he can taste the wine on your lips now, as your lips meet, his eyes fluttering shut as his hand slides to cup your face, the other around your waist. And finally you part, small pants leaving your lips, as your fingers toy with the hair resting on the back of his neck, smiling at him, as if you had done this a million times before. 
And he wanted to do it a million times more. His fingers trace the length of your jaw, delighting in the shiver you give as he touches you, and wondering what other noises he could pull from you. 
“Is he still watching?” you whisper, as you smooth over his collar, and he blinks, his eyes following yours to Suguru, who glances at the two of you before looking away, “think we convinced him?” 
And his heart sinks just as high as it had soared, “what?” he murmurs, confused. 
“He suspected us, right?” you continue with the phony smile on your lips, the heated lust in your gaze, and your soft touches — and it was all enough to break him. 
But he doesn’t. He’s Satoru Gojo — he can’t be allowed to break. 
So he gives a smile instead, “Yeah, I think we convinced him.” 
He can’t help be quiet on the drive home, and he senses your unease, fidgeting in the seat beside him, your attempts to fill the silence falling on deaf ears, and you eventually stop trying, settling to look out of the window instead, until the two of you pull inside your driveway. 
You both head inside, and the door shuts behind you, and he watches you struggle to take off your heels, the buckle not cooperating, as you lift your leg to undo it. 
But then he’s kneeling before you, undoing your heels for you, as you stammer, “No, Gojo, you don’t have to—”
But his touch is gentle as he helps you out of your heels, one by one, his fingers brushing against your ankles, and then he rises, and for a split second, you forgot how tall he really was. 
“No, I want to, because you’re my wife,” and his fingers brush against your jaw. “And I want your thoughts to be of me when I touch you, and not of someone else,” and he tilts your chin up, thumb dragging against your lips before he kisses you. 
It was gentle but insistent — and far, far too fleeting, as he pulls away, “and I’ve told you before — I’m your husband, call me Satoru.” 
And with that he’s gone, leaving you speechless and alone in your entryway. 
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You can’t sleep. For several nights. 
You replay the moment over and over, the kiss, his words, and all of it. 
What the fuck. Were you really up all night because of Satoru Gojo? You lay on your stomach, kicking your feet in frustration as you bury your hot face in your pillow. Your husband was going to be the death of you. 
And especially with tomorrow. 
Satoru’s family was hosting an event to announce the merger, and you stood in your bathroom, getting ready. You had opted for a baby blue dress that Satoru had picked for you when he had insisted on taking you shopping. He had winked and said you could wear his gaze this way. And you had only rolled your eyes at the time, but now it felt you could feel his eyes upon you. 
“You look beautiful,” and you whirl around to find him standing in your doorway, a small smile on your lips, and you flush. It doesn’t go unnoticed, “is that all it takes to embarrass you now, Princess? I used to have to work a lot harder,” 
You glare at him, “Shut up,” and your eyes flick to his untied tie, and it’s unspoken, as you walk over to tie his tie for him, “how did you even tie this the day of the formal if you don’t know how to?” 
“I didn’t wear one,” he shrugs, his attention making you mess up the knot twice, “I only went to make you jealous anyway,” 
Your fingers pause, as your eyes meet, “What?” 
“I don’t want to play games anymore, Princess,” the back of his fingers brush against your cheek, “or at least, if I’m going to play, I’m going to play to win,” and you continue tying his tie, if only to distract yourself from your stomach doing flips, “do you know how it feels to want someone for so long only to end up married, but it’s not either of your choice?” And you swallow, not daring to look at him, “because I do.” 
“Satoru,” your hands are shaking now, “I-“
“I don’t expect an answer, I don’t expect anything to change,” he adjusts his tie as you finish, turning his collar down, his blue button up matching your dress perfectly, “but I wanted you to know where I stood, and know wherever you are,” his gaze rakes over your form, the same color as the dress than clung to your skin, “I’ll always be here for you,” 
“Satoru—“ but he gets a call — as always with impeccable timing, his parents were asking when they would be arriving. He hangs up shortly after, offering his arm with a smile. 
“Shall we?” And you take his arm, ignoring the flip your heart does when his arm curls around yours. 
The drive over is uneventful, but not the same can be said for the event itself. The merger event was being held at Satoru’s childhood home — the home Satoru had grown up in and around — and never wanted to be at. 
“Are you okay?” you ask, your arm still curled around Satoru’s arm, as you glance at him, his shoulders tense and lips tight, before your concern makes the tension melt away a moment, rolling off his shoulders like snow on a spring day. 
“I’m fine,” and you’re unconvinced, “just this place is like time has stood still,” he chuckles, his eyes finding the place where the two of you had cracked the chandelier fucking around with a ball inside, “look, still there,” 
You snort, “I’m surprised your mother never noticed,” 
“She did, she gave me hell for it,” he sips his drink, “I just didn’t tell you,” 
“Why?” 
“There was a lot I didn’t tell you,” his eyes snap to yours, his pain almost too visceral as he glances around the room he had grown up in — and you could feel him in this room, the ghost of his past roaming the halls, “why do you think I spent so much time at your house?” 
“Because of my incredible company?” you half-joke, lips forced into a small smile, but he laughs, rolling his eyes. 
“That too,” he hums, his fingers tracing up and down against your wrist sending a wave of heat down your spine. 
“Well, you always have an escape now, don’t you?” you intertwine your fingers, “our home is always graced with the presence of your wife,” 
He grins, the first actual smile you had seen all evening, “How lucky for you that it’s also graced with the presence of your incredibly handsome husband,”
And you open your mouth to respond, before Satoru’s father interrupts, his hand on Satoru’s shoulder, making him stiffen, “Son,” and his icy blue eyes slide to you, “and my daughter, would you mind if I steal my son for a moment?” it always struck you how different his eyes were from Satoru — the coldness as opposed to the warmth. 
You glance at Satoru, and he gives a slight nod, “No, of course not,” you step away, as he pulls Satoru into a side room, and you linger nearby for him, mingling as best you can, when Satoru emerges, eyes downcast and fists clenched, “Satoru-“ 
“I’m okay,” he plasters on an easy smile, “it’s fine—“ 
“We’re leaving,” you grab his hand, “let’s go,” and he’s staring at you, as you drag him from the party, wordless. 
“But your parents, my parents—” 
“Have done enough for us already,” you say, and the two of you walk to the car in silence, “I can drive—” 
“It’s ok, I got it,” and you both shut the doors, as he begins to drive. The ride home is quiet, and you glance at him here and there, but you hold your tongue, “you’re not going to ask?” 
“It’s your dad - do I need to ask?” You scoff, “It may has been years but I know he’s nothing but a bully — especially to you,” 
You may have been young, but you remembered the phone calls Satoru would get, the lectures about his potential and responsibilities as the next heir, the scoldings he’d get for anything less than perfect. And you remembered the look he had the next day — the same one he had when he had come out of that room. 
And you couldn’t protect him then, but you could do it now. 
He sighs as he pulls the car into the driveway, “You don’t deserve that, Toru,” 
“Then what do I deserve?” And he meets your gaze with glassy eyes, and you give a small smile, your fingers reaching for him, brushing along his jaw. 
“Love,” and you lean across the gap of the console, across the line you had drawn, across the misunderstandings you had, and you chose him. Your fingers cup his cheek, drawing him close, as you hear his breathe hitch, “can I—” 
“You don’t need to ask me even once, Princess,” and you kiss him, your lips grazing his again and again, until your lips finally slide against each other, deepening it as he presses himself against you, hand bearing against the armrest between the two of you. And you can taste the sweet taste of the strawberry dessert that he all but inhaled at the party, the hint of the soda he drank instead of wine, and something that tasted utterly and perfectly of him. 
“Toru,” you murmur, but his lips keep finding yours, and you can’t breathe much less think, “I—” 
He silences you with another kiss, his fingers finding purchase on the back of your neck as he tugs you impossibly closer, before his lips are tracing a path down your jaw. 
“What was that, sweetheart?” he smiles against your skin, “you what?” 
“You’re insufferable, you’re endlessly frustrating, and I swear I want to murder you at least twice a day,” and he smiles, as you gasp as his teeth graze your pulse, “but you’re also my best friend, and I—“ you make him meet your eyes, fingers cupping his chin, ocean blue eyes drowning you with their gaze,  “I love you,” 
And he blinks ever so slowly, before his lips curl into the most beautiful smile you had seen, before he’s kissing you again, as you gasp, “Toru—” 
“I’m never going to stop now, Princess,” he grins endlessly, as he presses his forehead to yours, dragging a thumb down your kiss ruined lips, “waited too long for you, but I’d wait a million years to do that again,” 
“So should I make you wait?” you tease, and he’s looking like a kicked puppy, pouting and wide eyed, before he’s pressing butterfly kisses to your face, and you’re laughing, “I’m just kidding, baby—” 
And he pauses, “‘Baby?’” and his grin is a million watt, as he kisses you again, “never thought I’d see the day you’d call me a pet name,” 
Your noses brush as you both laugh, “Well, you are a big baby,” and he pouts again, and you kiss them, “but you’re my baby,” 
And you barely remember how you manage to stumble into your home. Frantic touches and hurried kisses and fumbling keys. As soon as the door slams shut, he has you pressed against it, fingers busy with undoing your buttons, as he grins against your mouth. 
“Know how long I wanted you? How long I dreamt of this?” he bites your bottom lip, “had to call you my wife before i could call you mine — thought about you dating Suguru, about all the times I wanted to lean over during our movie nights as kids and just kiss you — and how much I regretted it,” 
“So you admit you’ve been pining for me,” you gasp as his teeth drag against your neck now, biting and sucking, as your fingers thread through his white locks, “Satoru,” you moan, biting your lip. 
“Judging by that moan, I’m not the only one,” he smiles cheekily, his hands sliding down your back to rest at the back of your thighs, large palms and thick fingers pressing through the all too thin tulle of your dress, “can’t wait to see how fuckin’ wet you are for me, Princess.” 
You gasp at his vulgar words, a rush of heat that leaves your legs shaking under his touch, “Now whose mind is the gutter?” You tease, your fingers tugging at his tie, unfurling the knot. 
“Always has been when it’s come to you, want to make this perfect princess filthy,” he coos, and he’s pulling you up against the door, your hands wrapped around his neck, “wanna make my beautiful little wife scream my name, don’t I?” 
“Toru—“ you gasp as his teeth graze along your chest, tugging the neckline of your dress impossibly low, “you’re going to rip it—“ and he does, pulling the fabric apart with ease, “what the fu—“ and he’s swallowing your swears with his tongue. 
“I’ll buy you another,” he grins, “in fact I’ll buy you any amount you want, as long as you keep letting me do this,” 
And he’s peeling the dress off of you, dress falling to the floor in a shamble of tulle, and your skin flushes at the air hitting your bare skin, and shivers at the feeling of his sharp breath against your neck. 
“How are you so fucking perfect?” he sighs, burying his face in the nape of your neck, pressing butterfly kisses down your collarbone, “I should get an award for patience — not being able to touch you, to kiss you, but living with you?” 
His fingers are skimming down your underwear now, snapping the waistband against your skin, you gasp, “Fuck, Toru,” you whimper, “thought you’d talk less during this,” your fingers are undoing his shirt now. 
“Oh I can think of a few things that could shut me up,” his lips curl deviously, and you’re slipping his shirt off his shoulders, your lips pressing to his collarbone. 
“I don’t think you’d even shut up from that,” as he shivers when your teeth graze his soft skin, “I think you’ll only whine more,” 
And his gaze is hot as his eyes meet yours again, as he grasps at your thighs and picks you up, “let’s see who’s the one whining at the end of this,” you squeal, grasping into his shoulders, as he carries you into his bedroom, as he settles you down on his bed. His eyes raking over you, panting and disheveled, he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, “can’t believe you’re all mine, Princess,” 
“Satoru,” you’re reaching for him, but he pins your hand to the bed, “wha—“ 
“Patience, baby,” he purrs, as he presses his lips to your wrist, “let me enjoy you,”
He’s so pretty it’s unfair - the way his breath hits your skin steals yours, pretty pink lips parted as he runs his tongue over them, the same ache between your legs longing for that tongue between them. But it leaves you with so little of the patience he asks you to have — especially after over a decade of this in the making. 
And your impatience is evident, you suppose, by the pout on your lips, and he laughs, “Want a kiss, baby?” 
You don’t have the time to say you want much more than a kiss, as he humors you with a kiss, lips teasing you with their sweet taste, and you don’t fail to notice his smile as you lean up into his touch. And suddenly his hands brush down your bare sides, squeezing your hips, and you’re gasping, “Feel good, Princess? We’ve barely started—“ 
“You keep teasing me and I’ll make you regret it,” you grumble, between breathless kisses, the bite of your words dampened by the soft pants that leave your lips, “Toru, I swear—“ 
And his thumb presses against the wet patch on your underwear, flimsy layer of soaked fabric barely doing a thing to hide your arousal, “Not acting like a good little girl for me,” he tuts, as you keen against his touch, gasping as you throw your head back as he grinds his fingers  against your puffy clit, “all it took was one touch to have you so pliant, huh? Should’ve done this a long time ago,” 
“Stop,” you whine, and his grin only grows larger with such self satisfaction, you don’t know if your lust addled brain wants you to strangle his neck or his cock, “please, just—“ 
“Just what?” And his fingers are breaching past your underwear, just barely touching the outer lips of your cunt, “come on, Princess, use your big girl words, or are you already fucked stupid before I’ve barely touched you?” 
“Motherfuck—“ 
“I will be one once I get my needy little wife pregnant, won’t I?” And his long fingers finally tug down your underwear — the wet schlick of the sticky fabric hitting the floor make him drag his teeth over those beautiful lips, “but we got plenty of time for that, after all,” his fingers tease the outer lips of your throbbing pussy, “practice makes perfect,” 
And he sinks a long finger knuckle deep — and a whine crawls its way out of your throat, his fingers were thicker than yours were — and so much better. His thumb teases your clit in tight circles as he begins to tease your walls, reaching deep, deep, deeper, your slick starting to drip onto his palm, “God, you’re soaking me, Princess,” and your hips can’t resist the urge to grind against his touch, “oh, and where’s that mouth now?” you can barely see much less talk, words failing as he begins to stretch you out - his other large palm rested against your thigh, keeping your legs nice and spread for him. 
He’s grinning, he sinks another finger into you, teasing your walls apart, beginning to finger fuck you in earnest, “my mouthy girl just needed to be fucked right? Didn’t she?” And all you can hear are the filthy sounds of your cunt, as his fingers piston in and out, “nothing to say, Princess?” And he spanks your pussy, making you yelp, a whine leaving your throat, “and you thought I’d be whiny, look at you now, baby,” his fingers cup your chin to force your glassy eyes to meet his darkened blues, “such a good fucked out wife for me,” 
And a third finger joining right as he brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars as his thumb bullied your clit, eyes rolling back as he did, and he’s grinning, “my perfect princess and her perfect little pussy,” 
You came with his name on your lips, panting and shaking as he held you steady, his fingers dripping with your release, as he pulled away, watching your cunt twitch around nothing, aching for his fingers. 
You're coming down from your high, chest rising and falling, as you watch him gather your release on his fingers, toying with your cunt, before he sucks them clean, “Fuck,” you whimper, as he licks and cleans himself of your cum, “Toru-“
“Fuck, baby, how’ve I resisted tasting you for so long?” And he’s bending down as he noses your thighs, making your hips jolt, still sensitive from your orgasm as he deeply inhaled, tip of his tongue darting out to lick your release from your thighs, “smell as sweet as you taste,” he hums, your legs trying to close, but his palms keep them spread, “can’t keep a man from his vices, can we baby?” 
And his tongue teases your cum that pooled from your orgasm, the tip hot and wet as it tastes it, “tastes when better coming from this filthy princess cunt,” he grins against your thigh, teeth grazing your skin, making you lurch. 
“T-Toru, please,” fuck you hated how needy you sounded, but you needed more — but he’s leaning away, pressing his cheek against the soft plush of your thigh. 
“Need you to do something me first, sweetheart,” and his fingers are drawing teasing infinities  on your thighs, “tell me how much you want me,” 
“Fuck you,” you groan, “I know what you’re gonna say,” you add, cutting off his snappy retort of “I’m trying to,” “I want you, Satoru, please, I’ve wanted this for too long,” and your voice grows more teasing, “how long is my husband going to keep me waiting?” 
And his eyes darken, the slight flush on his cheeks growing deeper, as his mouth presses a wet kiss to your sopping pussy, “good girl, think you deserve a reward,” and he’s manhandling your thighs, spreading them wide, as he buries his face in your cunt, “such a good little wife deserves to be eaten out,” 
And eating is exactly what he does - you had only seen Satoru eat sweets with the same voracity he devoured you, pressing his thick fingers into your thighs as he splayed you out as his mouth pressed wet kisses to your dripping lips. His hot tongue drags up the length of your cunt, “best fucking thing I’ll ever taste, know what my last meal will be,” he’s murmuring against you, making you twitch, as he looks up at you with half lidded eyes and saliva and slick covered lips,  “awww my pretty pussy begging to be filled? Well I can do that for you, baby,” and he’s burying his tongue in your messy hole. 
The moan that leaves your lips leaves his cock harder and hurting, he didn’t know you could make such a lewd noise, and he couldn’t wait to make you make it again and again. He’s making out with your pussy at this mouth, your hips doing their best to grind against him, desperate for more, more, more. 
And your fingers find his shoulders first, before sliding up to his hair, pressing him further against you, “you’re so fucking cute,” he murmurs, as he spreads your folds with his thumbs before tongue fucking you. His tongue teases and abuses your walls, deeper and deeper, before he pulls back to flick his tongue over your clit, making you moan even louder, “neighbors are gonna hear you at this rate, baby,” but he only sucks at your clit, harshly, “oh well, they know we’re newlyweds,” he’s humming as his ears hear your broken whines and pants, body tensed up against his. 
And you’re so wet now, your slick drips down his jaw, mixed with his spit, “you’re all mine now, baby, can’t live without tasting you now—“ and he groans when your hips buck into his mouth again, feeling your walls twitch, “I know you’re close, Princess, tell me how good it feels,” 
“S’good, Toru, I can’t—“ you’re pulling at his soft white locks now, making him grunt, and you fall apart, back arching as you cum as all you can hear are the squelching sounds of his tongue and mouth as he continues to eat you out through your orgasm. 
And you’re twitching under him as he sucks up every bit of your cum, “so fucking good for me,” he’s finally pulling himself from your messy pussy, “can’t wait to feel you around me, should’ve known you have a little princess cunt,” 
And he’s licking his lips and chin clean, as you watch him with half lidded eyes, still panting, as your eyes skim down his body, his jacket had been thrown aside at some point, but his now wrinkled shirt is only messily untucked from his dress pants, and disheveled was too good of a look on him, but you rather see those clothes on the floor of your bedroom, “you’re still annoyingly dressed,” you manage between breaths, still aching from his ministrations, “strip,” 
He’s raising an eyebrow, a wicked grin on his lips, “So demanding for someone who was moaning my name a second ago,” but you pull yourself up, supporting yourself on a shaky arm while you use the other to tug on his tie, smashing his lips to yours. 
You unfurl the very tie you tied, fingers flying to unbutton his shirt, “Made me feel so good, baby,” and now you were kneeling in front of him, your release slipping down your thighs, as you slipped his shirt off his shoulders, tossing it aside, heated eyes raking over his bare chest, tongue running over your lips, “only fair if I repay the favor,” 
You’re undoing his belt for him, pulling it free from the loops, as your hand grazes his noticeable bulge in his suit pants, “surprised you haven’t ripped through,” you squeeze lightly, making his hips jerk, as he pouts all too cutely — and now you knew why he always teased you, “didn’t you tell me to have patience, love?” 
“Your husband is running low on that at the moment, never been one to be patient, sweetheart,” he’s gritting his teeth, as you slip his pants off leaving him only in boxers. 
Your eyes are glued to his erection, visible through the damp front of his boxers, wet with his precum, “so fuckin’ big, even better than I thought,” you say almost with reverence, and his lip quivers at the praise, a quiet groan leaving his throat. You raise an eyebrow, “like to be praised, baby boy?” 
And he swallows, adam's apple bobbing, sweat on his forehead from his treatment of you, but a red flush deepens on his skin, “Princess,” it’s half a warning and half a plea—and morphs into a whimper as your fingers tease the head of his cock through his boxers, rubbing his precum into the fabric, “f-fuck, s’good with those hands, sweetheart,” 
“Imagine how much better it’d be with your boxers out of the way,” you say leaning down and licking at the tip through the sticky fabric, as his head falls back with a soft moan, “can’t wait to feel this between my legs,” as you kiss the clothed tip, two fingers slipping in only to snap the waistband of the boxers against his skin, and he’s biting back a moan, a pout on his kiss ruined lips, “god, you’re so pretty,” 
Another noise in the back of his throat, “Fuck, Princess,” he hissed, as you finally spare him, pulling his boxers off, his erection slapping against his too fucking incredible abs — how was he so unfairly perfect? He was so gorgeous — more long than girthy, but he was so thick still, and flushed red with pearly pre-cum at the tip. Each vein and curve felt as if he was made for you. 
“All this for me, baby?” You tease, as his mouth opens and then closes as your fingers tease the head of his cock, a sharp inhale that keeps echoing in your ears, “all turned on from eating me out, huh?” You move close, nearly straddling him, but you don’t let your cunt brush against his cock — not yet. 
And his dick twitches in your hand, “Sweetheart,” he whimpers, eyes nearly glassy with need, “such a fucking tease,” 
And your lips curl, “Match made in heaven, baby,” you rub your thumb against his flushed tip, spreading the pre-cum along his shaft, “can’t wait to taste you, wonder if you taste as sweet as what you eat,” licking your lips, and he’s biting his lip, “tell me what you want, Toru,” 
“Y’know what I want, Princess,” he’s panting as you lean forward to kiss him, lips sliding against his, just as your palm starts to stroke him, his moan is nearly pornographic, words spilling from his mouth, “want your pretty pussy around my cock, sweetheart, plesse,” 
“Not so fast, baby,” you hum, your other hand moving to tease his balls, achingly full, judging by the gasp that left his throat, “wanna take my time with you, like you did with me, right?” And he breaks your kiss with a whine, “you feel so good in my hands, Toru, been thinking about this cock for too long,” and he’s grunting, lips parted as he pants, burying his face in your shoulder. 
“How good?” he mumbles, and you’re grinning even wider — the great Satoru Gojo fell to pieces with only your touch and some praise, his face beautifully flushed as you tug him by the back of his hair, thumb running over his undercut as you do. 
“So good that I wanna make you fall apart over and over until my name is the only thing on your lips,” you squeeze the base of his dick, making his hips jump, “gonna be a good boy for me and let me do it?” 
And he’s nodding, utterly fucked out even before you’ve even started. And you guide him to the end of the bed, as you get on your knees for him, his gaze darkening as he watches you lean down to press your lips to the tip of his weeping erection, making him groan your name. And you trace his slit with the tip of your tongue, tasting his salty release, “How long you gonna tease me baby? I’m being so good for you,” he’s whining, his baby blues fluttering with lust as he looks down at you, choking as he sees how his precum paints your lips, “please, fuck, just—“ 
And you finally guide his cock into your mouth, and he’s jerking at the sensation and groaning as he watches your pretty little mouth take his length — those same smart lips that always had a reply for everything, the ones he’d jerked off to the thought of this very situation — you on your knees for him, the ones he’d wanted around him for so long — it was too much. 
He almost blew his load all too fast, your warm mouth all too accommodating to his cock, as your wet walls and tongue swirl around him, tasting and sucking, your fingers grasping his thighs. And you bob up and down his length, the weight of his cock making the ache between your legs worse, and your eyes flicker up, and moan as you watch him. 
He’s so fucking gorgeous — panting and so fucked out, as his lips part for you, your name leaving his kissed red lips, teeth baring down on his bottom lip, “Fuck, my little wife is so pretty on her knees,” as his hands settle on your head, watching you sink your mouth down on his cock, pleasure running up his spine, as his thick fingers dig into your scalp, “so nasty, baby, fuuuuck, gonna fuck your throat at this rate,” he groans, “how’d you get so good at this baby? Don’t answer that,” he adds, a growl in his words, and you almost giggle around his dick. 
“Learned so I could blow you, husband, after all, this mouth is yours,” you grin, and his lips curl too and then they part as he grunts, as you press teasing kisses along his length before sliding it back into your mouth, beginning to let the tip hit the back of your throat. You gag on him, making him moan, as he helps you deepthroat him, his hips thrusting against you lightly, his white pubes brushing against your face. 
And he’s moaning even louder, as he watches you, drool slipping down your chin as he fucks your mouth, tongue massaging him as he did, “Made just to fuck me, huh? Want my load that bad, Princess?” And his words have your eyes rolling back as he’s moving against you, his cock twitching telling you that he’s close, “shiiit, fuck, my wife’s a slut for me, gonna swallow my cum baby?” 
“Only for you,” you pull away a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips to his dick, smiling, before you slip him back into your too eager mouth, and you hollow your cheeks, the lewd noises of your tongue and mouth sending him over the edge.
“Fuck, fuck, gonna cum, baby, can I cum in—“ and you make his tip brush your throat again as you suck, looking at him with half lidded, dilated eyes. And he spills into your mouth, hot cum down your throat, as he holds your head gently in place, “shit Princess,” his hips jumping at the sight of you, cum and spit slipping from the corner of your mouth as you pull his cock from you, “s’good for me,” 
He’s still panting, as you climb into his lap properly, his cock sliding against your cunt, making his face twist in pleasure, as you lick your mouth clean of him, wiping your chin, “Taste so good, Toru,” you hum, his eyes half lidded with pleasure, chest still heaving, as he leans back on shaky arms, “you may be my favorite meal, but I think I rather,” you grind on his lap teasingly dragging his tip against your messy cunt, “have you cum inside me,” 
And he gives a delicious gasp, “baby, too sensitive,” but you’re tilting his chin back as you meet his lips, both of you moaning as you taste yourselves on the other’s lips, “you’re gonna be the death of me, Princess,” he’s chuckling, as he starts to grab your thighs, putting you properly into his lap, “you gonna ride me like a good little princess? Fuck yourself on my cock?” 
How does he have the upper hand when you’re the one on top? 
As you feel yourself clench around nothing at his words, and he’s sliding your body back and forth, his cock slapping and sliding against your wrecked cunt, so close to sinking in. His hand bears down on your ass, slapping it, before his fingers squeeze it, making you jump against him, your chest brushing against his, “you like that huh?” he’s grinning, as he kisses you again, his lips sliding against you, swallowing your moans eagerly, “what do you want, baby? Remember to say please,” he adds, and you want to roll your eyes, but his fingers rub your clit, and any protest you had fled your mind. 
“Please,” and you’re using your fingers to part yourself above him, making his eyes roll back, as you grasp his cock, teasing your dripping cunt with the head of his dick, “fuck me,” 
And you sink onto him, inch by inch, as your head looks back, your walls squeezing as he parted your folds, “You’re drenching me, sweetheart, fucking perfect princess cunt is gonna wring me dry,” he grunts, as his fingers splay over your hips, grasping but not pushing, letting you go at your pace, “s’good, might just have to fill you up, again and again,” and your pussy twitches at that thought drawing a laugh from him lips, “you want that? My wife wants to be full of my cum,” he’s groaning when you finally fit all of his cock in you, cunt clamping down on him, “trying to break my cock? Don’t have to go that far to keep me, I’m living in this sweet cunt from now on,” 
You’re a mess — whining and moaning, your chest bouncing as you begin to move against him,  “Toru, so full, s’good,” his own hips jumping against yours, a low growl in his throat, as his hands begin to guide your hips, snapping his own hips as he fucks you onto his own cock, reaching new depths, as your eyes squeeze shut, “fuckfuckfuuuck, Toru,” you’re babbling and moaning his name, again and again — and he just needs more. 
And he’s spanking you, hands coming down on your ass, as he grunts, your warm walls twitching and squeezing him, brushing against sweet spots that have both of you groaning, “such a fucking good girl, taking my cock — I know you can take more, baby, my perfect wife,” and he’s capturing your nipple in his mouth, teeth grazing it before he sucks, his hips growing even faster, until his cock finds your special spot. 
“Toru, g’nna cum, I—“ And your orgasm hits you, head thrown back as your lips part in a silent scream, toes curling as you wrap your legs around his waist, and he’s fucking you right through — fucking relentless, almost limitless, with his pace, groaning as he watches his the base of his cock covered in your release, a pool of white that almost has him cumming then and there. 
“S’ fuckinh pretty, Princess, and all mine,” he says, as you moan, as he slows his pace, your face buried in his shoulder, as you come down from your high, and he’s tilting your head. 
But he isn’t done yet. 
In a moment, he’s pulling his cock out — a whine parting your mouth — as he manhandles you so that you’re flat on your back, your ankles thrown over his shoulders, and spread wide for him. You’re the picture of filth — lips in a kiss ruined pout, chest rising and falling as you gaze up at him with needy eyes, and your perfect cunt leaking and drenched for him — he could see everything — all of you, the way your cum slid down your hole, the way it clenched around nothing, the pretty pink insides he was desperate to make his.  
He licks his lips, “soaking my lap and sheets with your cum, baby, such a dirty girl,” and he’s spreading your lips, letting your release trickle out. 
“Satoru,” you whine as he runs a finger over your still twitching pussy, as if begging for his cock back, “please, too sensitive,”
“Please what, sweetheart? Because your cunt seems to disagree,” his chuckle is a deep noise that reverberates through his chest as he leans down to press your lips to yours in a languid kiss, “such a nerdy princess, imagine how’d your family would feel — seeing you beg for my cock, huh? Not the chaste little princess anymore? Nah, you’re my filthy baby,” and you’re whimpering, “tell me baby, I know you’re not nearly fucked dumb yet, you’re too smart for that,” he coos, a grin on his lips as he stares with that damn crystalline gaze.
And finally he’s sinking into you again, cock sliding back into your soaked cunt, “God, I love you,” he murmurs, as he’s somehow deeper inside you, pussy pressed against all of him, “so fucking perfect, baby, better than I imagined,” he’s pussydrunk now as he rails into you, and you’re grasping at him, the only sound in your ears is the squelch of him as he filled you again and again as his chest presses against yours, fucking you long and hard, “you’re all mine now, baby. My wife, my body, my love, my soul — all of it,” he growls his last words, grunting as his hips begin to stutter as he kisses your sweet spot again and again, “you want me to cum in this sweet princess pussy, baby? Wanna make me a daddy?” 
Your cunt twitches at that, and he laughs, “did you just get wetter, baby? Didn’t think you could do that,” 
But you’re only moaning, you’re so fuckin’ close but you want him to cum with you - wanna feel him sink into as he does. And so you’re meeting his lips in a searing kiss, his hips thrusting harder and longer, “give me your baby, Toru, breed me,” you whisper, words slurring as you pant and stutter, all sense had left your mind - and all you wanted was him. 
“Fuck, Princess,” he’s grunting as he pistons in and out of you, bed groaning under his thrusts,  until your walls clamp down again and again on him as you cum, throbbing and needy as you moan his name, back arching, “g’nna cum,” 
And he does, his cock hitting the deepest part of you as he does, his warm seed filling you up, as his hips continue to fuck it deeper into you, making you whimper, as he just keeps on cumming ropes, “oh, f-fuck, Princess,” he rasps as he kisses you, sloppy and wet, as he pants, watching your face come down him your high, eyelashes fluttering as you look up at him, “so beautiful,” he murmurs, as he rubs his thumb down your lips. 
He pulls out slowly, groaning as he watches your mixed releases leak out of you, dragging the tip of his weeping erection down your cunt, a whine leaving your throat again, “So fucking filthy, baby,” he hums, a shiteating grin on his lips, as he collects his cum on his fingers, and pushes it back inside of you, as you jump, a small pout on your lips making him laugh, “gotta make good on my promise, baby,” and he’s kissing you silly again, “gotta get you pregnant and full for me,” 
His body is sticky with sweat, as he eases your aching legs down, as he kisses up your body, nosing your neck, “So perfect for me, Princess, I love you,” he says so earnestly that it makes you melt, as you pull him into a kiss, “suppose we consummated our marriage now, does this mean we get to have a honeymoon now?” he’s grinning, as you roll your eyes, “come on, don’t you want to travel?” 
And you laugh, “I don’t think we would even leave the hotel room if you had your way,” and he’s pressing his thumb against your bottom lip and dragging down, before kissing you, sliding his tongue into your mouth to taste you. 
“Would that be such a bad thing?” And your breath catches a moment, before you sigh, and he grins again, “so?” 
You roll over to grab your phone, kissing his lips, pulling up possible destinations, “where are we going?” 
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“Satoru, we’re at the office, uhmph—“ Satoru’s kissing you even before the elevator doors shut, and you can’t help but not care if anyone saw either of you making out, his talented tongue stealing your logic from under you, before he’s pulling away, your lipstick nearly smeared all over his face. You bite back a laugh, before using your thumb to wipe away the evidence of your kiss, “we’ve been here less than a minute, and you’re already making a mess,” 
And his lips catch your thumb between them, kissing it sweetly, “What do I do better than make a mess of you, princess?” and he’s pressing sweet kisses to your fingertips, before you’re pulling him back for another kiss, right before you hear the elevator ding, and you scramble apart. 
Your cheeks flushed, as you stepped onto the floor of the newly merged company that was formerly your families’ individual companies, now united as one — just as you and Satoru were now — which was why he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of you. The two of you had come into the office to finalize the transition for your staff, each of you dealing with formalities on either side, but Satoru did little to help your focus on the process with his blatant stares and sneaky touches. 
Twice already he had pulled you into his office, only to have you either pressed against his door, or bent over his desk. And god, you sat in your office, biting your lip as you thought about paying him another visit — and fuck, this is what he wanted. 
You pull your phone out and text him: You suck. 
And his reply is instant. If I recall from last night, you’re the one who sucks ;) 
You’ve left me high and dry, Satoru, and I shouldn’t be thinking about fucking you in the office. Especially with both of our parents around in meetings all day. 
He replies, Nah, that’s exactly why you should be thinking about it. 
And then another text. 
Imagine our parents walking in while you’re under my desk doing what you do best, you’d be quiet for me, Princess? Wouldn’t let us get caught when I fuck your pretty mouth? 
You’re biting your lip — Fucker, I hate you. 
Nah, you love me, a little too much, Princess. Another text — especially the way you were moaning my name last night. 
And there’s a knock at your door in that moment — “Come in,” you intone, and you were ninety-nine percent sure that was Satoru — ready to make good on his promise — and then white hair visible as the door swings open, “Father,” 
It was a Gojo, but not the one you expected — your father in law, instead of his son. 
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he says, lips curling in a smile that was all too the same as his son — but missing the same charm, the distinct softness that made you adore Satoru was not present in his father — nor was his father very present at all — except to chastise his son on how he thought his son should live his life. 
And he was interrupting — interrupting you about to sext his son and your husband from the confines of your office, but you only offered a smile, “Not at all, can I help you with something, Father?” 
He’s shutting the door behind him, before taking a seat across from you, “I just wanted to have a chat with you — it’s been so long since we’ve been able to see the two of you — we still haven’t had you over since you’ve returned from your honeymoon,” 
“It’s been very busy,” and it had been, but not too busy to see Satoru’s family. Since the launch party, you and Satoru had agreed to steer clear of his father for some time, until Satoru could develop some more healthy boundaries with him. And so you could get through a conversation without strangling him (although Satoru wasn’t opposed to seeing that), “with the merger and Satoru and I trying to spend time to get know each other again,” 
“Of course,” but his smile told you he was unconvinced, “I wanted to talk to you about something important, I’ve seen how close you and Satoru have gotten since the engagement and the wedding, and I was happy to see you pushing him in the right direction,” 
“”Pushing him?’” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. 
“With the merger, I haven’t seen him so focused, so determined, and I knew my suggestion to my wife to have you marry him was the right choice,” and you stare at him, mouth agape, as anger slowly melts from your stomach into every vein of his body, fingers curling into fists. 
“Excuse me?” 
He leans back in his chair, “When the idea of the merger was floated by me, I knew I wanted a condition to be your marriage to Satoru,” his eyes glance over the things on your desk — the stacked folders, the paperwork, and the pictures of your family and of Satoru, “you’re driven, you’re focused, you’re perfect — I knew you could change him, and I was right,” his lips curl, and you can’t hold your tongue anymore. 
“Maybe what your son needed was someone to support him,” your words are even, but your body is tense, “he needed someone not to scold him, to put him down, to whisper doubts in his ear when he needed help,” you rise from your chair slowly, “I respect you as my father-in-law and as my family’s old friend and co-owner of this company, but,” you glare at him, “no one insults my husband’s capabilities, and makes me takes credit for his achievements,” 
The old man’s teeth grit, and he opens to respond, when there’s a curt knock at the door, and Satoru enters, “Old man, how about you go chat with the other old farts in the room? Pretty sure you’re bleeding investors by the second the longer you talk with my wife,” he slides a small smile to you that tells you he heard everything. 
Satoru’s father shoots a glare at both of you, before leaving the room in a huff, door shutting behind him, and you sigh, rubbing your temples, “I’m sorry if I made things worse—” 
And he’s pulling you into a hug, arms snaking around your waist and pulling you against him, “Thank you, Princess,” he murmurs into your ear, making you tense, “oh you like that, huh?” and you roll your eyes, laughing. 
“Even in a moment like this, huh?” you lean up and whisper in his ear, “I don’t just like it, I love it,” and it’s his turn to shiver, his cheeks burning, “you’re so cute,” you grin, before leaning up and kissing him. He melts into the kiss, his fingers cupping your cheek to deepen the kiss, pulling your waist against his, and you feel his arousal pressed against your thigh. 
You pull away, tilting your head, you snort, “Already?” 
And he bites his lip, “Take some responsibility, baby, it’s your fault,” and he leans down and grazes your ear with his teeth, “not my fault my hot wife defended my honor and then decided to whisper sweet nothings in my ear,” 
You hum, guiding his lips to yours, your teeth graze over his bottom lip, “And how should I take responsibility, baby?” and he shudders, crystalline eyes glazed over with lust, “we’re in the office, not very professional,” his fingers unbutton your blouse, so he can lean down and kiss your collarbone. 
“I was never very professional to begin with,” he smirks, his teeth grazing over the soft skin, sucking and biting, making you gasp, “don’t be so loud, someone will hear us, what will they think?” he murmurs, with a grin against your skin, as he continues to undo your blouse, as he turns you around so your back is against your chest, he tilts your head to look at your door, “look it’s unlocked, anyone could walk in,” and his fingers sneak down the front of your skirt, fingers teasing your panties, “fuuuck, princess, you’re soaked through — are you more turned on by the idea of getting caught?” and you whimper, only making him grin wickedly against your neck, “my filthy girl, imagine your father walking in, seeing your husband’s fingers down your skirt, legs spread wide like a slut,” 
“Satoru,” you’re biting your lip so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised it would bleed, your knees buckling, as his fingers part your dripping folds, “we can’t—” 
“We can,” he shushes you, guiding your lips to his, fingers cupping your throat, but he leans back to get confirmation that you were okay, and you lean in again to kiss him, “such a good girl,” You whimper, and he laughs, “gotta break in the new office don’t we?”
And his fingers slip your panties aside, two fingers parting your folds, and you gasp, as he stuffs two fingers into your mouth as well, “Not so loud, Princess, can’t give the office gossip mill something really juicy, now can we?” And his digits start to really fuck you, in and out, the wet squelch ringing in your ears, as his fingers bully and stretch your walls, until they find what they are looking for — your g-spot. 
You fall apart, but it’s gushing all over his hand, soaking his hand, as your hand grasps at the fingers in his mouth trying to stifle your noises, “Fuck, Princess, did you just squirt for me?” He’s grinning, “such a sloppy little Princess, look you’re staining the carpet with your cum,” he guides your head to look, seeing the spot on the carpet, as you lean against him, “gotta do this again,” 
He kisses you as you moan. Tangled limbs and eager touches, as you guide him over to the desk, as you settle him into the chair, lips still parting as your tongue slips in, “Your turn,” and before he can even react, you’re slipping down to your knees, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, slipping his aching dick out, nearly slapping your face with it, you drag it along your lips, “Like you said, I’m the one who sucks right?” you wink, before you finally lick the length of his cock, tracing the veins to the slit, “you always taste so good, Toru,” and he’s hissing now. 
“Fuck, baby, you always so pretty on your knees for me,” and you have to disagree — he’s the one who looks pretty — shirt disheveled, chest rising and falling far too fast, as he looked down at you with his snowy white eyelashes half lidded with a lust ridden gaze — “your pretty mouth is s’fucking perfect, can’t wait to cum down that lovely throat,” he hisses, as his fingers dig into your scalp, urging his cock deeper, his tip brushing against your throat, making you gag. 
He opens his mouth to apologize, but you only shake your head, as you do it again, making his hips buck against you, tip hitting your throat again, his composure quickly falling to shreds, as he’s fucking your throat now, biting his lip so hard to keep his groans in, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was bleeding afterwards. 
“I-I’m close,” he’s gritting his teeth, but you only redouble your efforts, “so fuckin’ perfect, made to suck this dick—” 
And that’s when there’s a knock on the door, making you both freeze. You panic silently — before Satoru is shepherding you under your desk, while he adjusts himself, scooting your chair in more, so his weeping cock is hidden along with you. 
“Come in,” Satoru says, as even toned as someone who was just fucking their wife’s throat can manage, “Dad—what a nice surprise,” 
And you cover your mouth — fuck it was your dad — Satoru called his dad, “old man” — what the fuck. 
“I should be saying that to you son,” you bite your lip, listening to their conversation, “where’s my daughter? And why are you in her office?” and you covered your mouth, shit — you were hiding under your own desk, while Satoru sat in your chair. 
Shit, shit, shit. 
“I was just waiting for her to come back with lunch,” he manages, and you can almost see the dependable smile on his lips, “she volunteered to get us lunch and she told me to wait here so we could eat together,”
Your father was seemingly convinced after that, but to both of your dismay, sat down to speak with Satoru about business matters. You crouched, utterly bored as you listened to them talk, his erection beginning to wane, and you got an idea in your pretty little head — you grinned — well, Satoru should be careful what he wishes for, or he might just get you blowing him in front of your father. 
You start slow — teasing the head with a brush of your fingers, easily could have been an accident, but it nearly makes him jump, as he gives a warning nudge with his foot gently. But then your hand begins to rub him in earnest, fingers using your spit as lube, as you heard your husband stammer over his words to your father. But it was nothing compared to when you closed your mouth over his cock, and began to deepthroat him again. 
“Satoru, are you okay?’ you hear your father ask, as you discreetly suck your husband’s cock under his desk, and you can only imagine the delightful shade of red your Toru is turning. 
“Sorry, I’m not feeling like myself,” he mumbles, as he grits his teeth in an attempt not to moan, and you can feel his thighs tense as he forces himself not to fuck your mouth as he wants to right now. He’s so close — as much as you like the idea of getting caught, you think Satoru likes it as much or maybe even more — his cock is twitching in your mouth as you suck and swirl your tongue around it, as your fingers dig into your thighs, “I apologize, I’m getting a call. Could you excuse me?” 
And your father is oblivious, and excuses himself from the room, door shutting behind him, and Satoru groans, “Fuck, princess, you almost made me cum in front of your dad in this nasty fucking mouth,” and you suck harder, fingers fondling his balls, as his fingers find your locks again, and his hips jerk into your mouth, his white pubes tickling your nose, “thaaat’s it, fuck, so fuckin’ good, i’m close, sweetheart,” he groans, “you want me to cum—“ and you bury his cock deeper into your mouth as an answer, your hands pumping what you couldn’t fit, until he cums down your throat. 
You meet his half lidded gaze, swallowing his cum, as you ease off his cock, a mix of cum and saliva connected your lips, “You taste so good,” you lick your lips, as you push the chair a little back and climb out, as you tug his boxers and pants back up, tucking his cock back in, “my favorite treat,” 
He smiles, chest still rising and falling fast, “I love you, princess,” so genuinely as he pulls you into a deep kiss. 
You giggle, humming against his lips, “So heartfelt after getting your soul sucked out of your dick,” you glance at the door, “do you think anyone heard us?” 
He shrugs, as he pulls you into his lap, “I hope they did,” he grins against your neck, as you roll your eyes. 
“You’re terrible,” and his lips curl. 
“And you love me,” you kiss those same lips you would each day. 
“I do.”
~~~~
“What do you wanna do today?” Satoru asks, your legs thrown over his lap, as you read a book you had picked up the other day out on a date with him, and he eats the kikufuku he had insisted on picking up the same day. 
“Hmm, I have some ideas,” you hum, hiding your smile with a book, and you don’t need to see his face to know he’s grinning. 
“And what’s that, Princess?” he leans forward, plucking the book from your fingers, as you tut at his sugar covered fingers, “shouldn’t you share your feelings with your husband?” And his lips brush against your neck, nose brushing against the soft skin of your nape, inhaling your scent. 
“Well I have a surprise for you,” you weren’t planning on giving it to him now, but you pulled a wrapped box from behind the couch cushions, “should I make you wait?” 
He’s reaching for the box already, as you laugh, and he’s snatching it from your fingers before you can tease him, “can I open it?” He was so eager, as always. 
“Go ahead, baby,” you bite your lip, a small smile on your lips. 
He lifts the lid of the wrapped box off, and the first thing his eyes flit across is the word “positive.” 
His mouth parts, as he stares at the pregnancy test carefully nestled into the box, “is this—“ his cerulean eyes meet yours, a soft gaze with wonder, “are we—“ 
“We’re having a baby, Toru,” you nod, and he’s sweeping you into his arms, as you squeak, his body sweeping you up in his, as he buries his face in your neck, “Toru—“ 
“Is this real?” He murmurs, into your skin, all soft words and soft kisses, “I feel like I’m dreaming,” 
“Well I am your dream girl, so maybe don’t be surprised when I pinch you and you wake up,” you pinch his cheek lightly, making his pale skin cutely flushed, pink dusting his cheeks, “no dream here, all real — so I guess you’re just lucky,” 
“The luckiest,” he hums, a quiet noise that soothes you, “a beautiful wife, and now,” his fingers graze over your stomach, before lifting the hem of your shirt, to press his lips to it, “and now we’re going to be a family,”
Your lips curl, tilting his chin up so his watery gaze meets your own, thumb rubbing the length of his cheek, “We already were a family,
He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, “I thought we were mortal enemies,” and you laugh, before shrugging. 
“That too,” and he pulls you into his lap, smiling, “but you’re actually pretty cute,” 
He gasps mockingly, “Princess, do you have a crush on me? A mere commoner?” 
You roll your eyes, pressing a languid kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering sweetness of the kikufuku, “I hate you,” you say, when he knows you mean quite the opposite. 
And he only smiles the same way he always did — and the same way he always would — “love you too, Princess."
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✩ a/n: so this was also inspired by a character AI made by @/fairybaby that has been living in my mind rent free for far too long. thank you to @/laneymusings for being the best emotional support from writing to formatting to everything in between
✩ tag list: @ryliobrow, @getosho3cakes, @delaneyyyy, @soukokufan, @purplscnerie, @solarlunarsstuff, @growingupnrealizing, @forest-fruits-jam, @achipstea1ingseagull, @fruitscall, @starplasma-cujoh, @crashing-a-jeep, @mwah-chia, @vorschlaghannah, @xrysakts, @emonaculate
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