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yandere-daydreams · 1 day ago

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Title: Good Dog.

Pairing: Yandere!SatoSugu x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 5.5k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Pet Play, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Bondage, Revoked Consent, Kidnapping, Manipulation, and Rough Sex. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

About half an hour into your first date, Suguru told you that he was an animal trainer.

He mentioned it offhandedly, filling in a blank you hadn’t thought to ask about, but anything more interesting than ‘financial manager’ or ‘digital entrepreneur’ would’ve caught your attention. “It’s nothing exciting,” he explained, smirking at your eagerness to pry. “Dogs and cats, not lions and tigers. It’s a good gig, if you’ve got the patience for it.”

About three hours later, after a main course, a round of drinks, dessert, a second round of drinks, and your waiter politely clearing his throat as he dropped an unrequested, but well-deserved check onto the corner of your table, Suguru asked if you’d like to come back to his place for a drink. You laughed, propping your chin on your fist. “I don’t know,” you started, a teasing drawl in your voice. “You’re sure you’re not one of those charming serial killers, right?”

His eyes darted to the side, his smile quirking. “…if I said I was, would you still come home with me?”

You were on your feet by the time he finished. “I guess I’ll just have to risk it.”

Ten minutes later, you were in the passenger seat of Suguru’s car as he pulled into a sprawling, rustically ornate villa. You fought the urge to whistle as his headlights fell onto outermost facade. You should’ve guessed from the restaurant, but still, you would’ve been impressed by a more-or-less furnished apartment. A countryside mansion was something you hadn’t even known to hope for.

It was only as you pried open your door, one foot already on the ground, that he told you he had a dog.

“You probably won’t meet him,” he shrugged, rounding the hood of the car to your side. An arm was extended and accepted – the gravel driveway quickly proving too much for your pin-prick heels. “Satoru’s a little shy around new people.”

“Satoru,” You repeated, more to yourself than to him. What a strange name for a dog. Must’ve been a purebred. “That’s too bad. I was looking forward to seeing your training skills up close.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry.” He rested a hand on your elbow, squeezing gently. “You’ll get a chance to.”

Admittedly, there wasn’t a lot of blood left in your head to think with, after that.

Your feet had left the ground entirely by the time you reached the porch. Suguru had no problem carrying you, and not having to worry about pesky inconveniences like putting one foot in front of the other meant you had more time to string your arms around his neck and run your fingers through his hair as you divided your attention between his mouth and his throat. You kept yourself occupied, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the latter as he struggled with the lock and stumbled over the threshold. Your back hit a wall before the door was shut, but you were beyond the point of caring, by then.

One of the many things you liked about Suguru was his size. Standing up, he was about a head or so taller than you, and bent over you like this, supporting you with little more than the tension of his body pressed into yours, he seemed to eclipse you entirely; dark hair cutting off your vision, large hands wrapping around your thighs, teeth that were more similar to the fangs of some great, terrible animal than anything human ghosting over the curve of your throat. You felt his chest slot against yours, pinning you against the wall as distracted fingers fumbled with the zipper of your dress, and his head dipped, mouth latching onto the slope of your shoulder in a slow, bruising love-bite. The process was painstaking and noisy, the joint sounds of his breathy moans and your whimpers enough to fill the entryway twice-over. Really, it was a wonder you managed to hear the footsteps at all.

It wasn’t that your attention drifted, just that you couldn’t stop yourself from acting on reflex. You heard padding footsteps, the metal ting, ting, ting of swinging tags, and raised your head, unconsciously searching for a dog, a pet, an animal. And, in a way, you found one. Honestly, it took you a beat too long to realize that what you were looking at wasn’t an animal – lean and pale, peering tentatively around the corner as he made his way down the staircase that led further into the villa. White leather faded into pale skin, crossing over his chest and wrapping around his thighs, supporting a pair of white thigh-high socks and matching paw-shaped mittens. The second worst part was his face; bisected by a titanium muzzle in the shape of a snout. Two white dog ears, the same color as his other accessories, framed his expression on either side, bouncing slightly as he walked.

The absolute worst part was, of course, the erect and leaking cock between his legs.

Suguru must’ve felt you go rigid. With an irritated groan, he pulled away, lowering you gently back onto your feet. He noticed the strange, naked man just as quickly, acknowledging him with a roll of his eyes. You were quickly abandoned in favor of lowering himself to one knee and cupping the naked man’s face, who panted happily in response.

“Satoru,” Suguru mumbled, carding his fingers through the man’s bone-white hair. “I thought you were going to be good and stay upstairs, for now?”

There was a non-verbal response, mostly tail wagging and clipped barks, and you stared blankly at the drooling, leaking man. At Satoru.

You might’ve said something – about a cigarette, or fresh air. You’d never know. You were on the other side of the door before the sound of your own voice could catch you, trudging stiffly to the end of the driveway.

You needed to get out of here. You wanted to get out of here. You kept one arm crossed over your chest while your free hand shot for your phone, a list of a dozen identical rideshare apps already flitting through your mind. You were cursing the lack of available drivers (why hadn’t you noticed how remote this place was earlier?) when you heard gravel crunching under rushed footsteps, Suguru’s airy laugh.

“I know, I know,” he started, while you were still glaring at your phone. “I’m an asshole.”

Colorful language, but not the type you would’ve opted to use, at the moment. “You told me you had a dog.”

“Oh, god, I did, didn’t I?” There was another laugh, a quick shake of his head, like he didn’t fully remember something he’d said all of three minutes ago. “I’m sorry – I just get into character. It’s hard not to, after a few months.”

You didn’t relax, but you didn’t bristle, either. Suguru took the opportunity to go on. “Look, whatever you’re thinking, it’s not like that. I didn’t lie to you about anything. I really am a trainer, and this really is my place. Satoru’s my client.”

You paid him a wary glance. “Client?”

“Mhm. CEOs and rich fuckers with a lot of power and a lot of money to throw around like to turn their brain off, every now and then. Since they can’t risk anyone they’ve been seen with going to the tabloids, people like me get brought in to—” He paused, shrugged. “—help them relax, I guess.”

“You expect me to believe that guy’s a CEO?”

His wry grin widened, sharpened. “Have you heard of the Gojo clan?”

Of course you had. The Gojo clan owned half of every business in Japan. The Gojo clan had enough property to build their own continent.. The Gojo clan--

You pursed your lips. Slowly, deliberately, your phone was powered off and slid back into your pocket, any other plans you might’ve had for it immediately forgotten.

“No.”

“Yes.” And then, with a note of pride in his voice, “Satoru’s the scion.”

“And he pays you to…”

“Pretend he’s a dog,” Suguru picked up, unflinchingly. “Or a cat. Or a maid. It’s pretty flexible. The costumes get a little out of hand, sometimes.”

You’d noticed. “And to lure women back to his mansion and… what? Have sex with them while he watches?”

There was another airy laugh, this one less apologetic than the first. “No, no, it’s not like that. Satoru’s not the voyeur type, and I don’t like sharing the spotlight. I let him know I was bringing someone over, but he probably thought it’d be funny to scare you – catch us both off-guard, y’know?” He flashed you a smile. “I promise, you’re here because I want you to be. That’s it.”

It was a little insulting, honestly – just how unfaltering he was. Part of you felt offended, like he’d accused you of overreacting, but another, quieter, more base faction chided you for being over-dramatic, for storming out like a child having a temper-tantrum. Because it had been childish, hadn’t it been? For as much as he’d surprised you, Satoru hadn’t seemed to be under any kind of duress, and it wasn’t like Suguru had fundamentally changed sometime in the past few minutes. Looking at him now, with his easy smile and tired eyes, it was impossible not to recognize the man who’d come up to you in your favorite coffee shop, practically tripping over your name; the man you’d spent nearly four hours talking to tonight, and enjoyed every second of it.

“…’caught off guard’ is kind of an understatement,” you mumbled, letting your shoulders slump.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I must’ve forgotten he was coming over tonight. I should’ve been more thoughtful.” His shoulders fell. “If you want to call it here, I get it. Just let me grab my keys – I don’t want you in a stranger’s car so late at night.”

It took you a few seconds to find your voice, but when you did respond, it was with a valiant effort to mirror his easy charm. Admittedly, it didn’t come as naturally to you. “And if I don’t want to call it here?”

Suguru seemed to appreciate the effort. “Then I’d ask for a couple minutes to tell Satoru to fuck off,” he started, slowly, his arm finding it way around your waist. He pulled you into his chest, and you let him. “And make sure I’m all yours.”

It was humiliating – how quickly you cracked. As soon as he finished, you sighed, shaking your head. “No, no, you shouldn’t have to do that. I really should apologize to him.” Suguru hummed curiously, and you clarified. “For running out like that, I mean. It might’ve been a little rude.”

Suguru chuckled, kissing your forehead. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

He held your hand as he led you back inside, the door left ajar from your hasty exit. Satoru was waiting in the entryway - still uncomfortable exposed, but sitting cross-legged with Suguru’s jacket draped over his shoulders. You made a point of keeping your eyes on his collarbones or above, just in case.

“’toru,” Suguru called, affection thick and honey-sweet in his tone. Immediately, Satoru perked up, ambling to his feet, and you did your best not to flinch as you noticed his height, his piercing eyes, the sculpted muscle wrapped around his arms and legs. There was no scenario wherein you would’ve been nonplussed to find out your date was engaging with niche, dubiously sexual roleplay with the heir to the largest trust fund on this side of the planet, but having a less imposing image to associate with that realization might’ve helped to soften the edge.

“I want you to meet (Y/n),” he went on, the embodiment of nonchalance. You straightened, and Satoru cocked his head to the side, evaluating you. What he was looking for, you couldn’t imagine. You wished he would take off that muzzle – at least, then, you might be able to find something a little more human in his expression. “And (Y/n),” Suguru paused, nudging your side. “This is my puppy, Satoru. The one I told you about.”

You forced yourself to smile. Satoru stared at you for a long second before bowing his head, and you took the signal – bringing your hand up to pet him the same way Suguru had, watching as he melted into your palm. It was a little too easy to let the last of your anxiety wash away, an odd sort of confidence taking its place. This wasn’t so bad, not when you knew what to expect. Maybe you’d ask Suguru if Satoru had any friends with similar interests and similar numbers in their bank accounts.

“Suguru didn’t mention how pretty you were.” You let your voice lilt up into that light, cloying sort of baby-talk. With the way they were both acting, it was a little hard to remember you weren’t talking to an actual dog. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“Careful, now. He’ll get a big head.” He squeezed your hand gently and tugged you towards the staircase. “C’mon – I know where we can get a little privacy.”

Satoru whined, but didn’t attempt to follow you as Suguru guided you up a spiraling set of stairs and into a long, blank hallway. Suguru’s home (Satoru’s home? Their home?) was remarkable unlived in, intentional decoration sparse and the clutter of everyday life entirely absent. It might’ve been off-putting if you’d been able to focus on it, but Suguru seemed eager to distract you, pawing at your waist and stealing kisses every few steps. You counted doors half-heatedly as you passed, and somewhere between eighteen and twenty-three, Suguru pulled one open and ushered you inside.

The bedroom was less non-descript. A king-sized, four-posted bed dominated the space, the sheets a sea of red satin to contrast the black, void walls. The bare necessities were littered sporadically throughout the room – a half-empty glass of water on a bedside table, a white towel hanging from the knob of the closet door, etc. The messiness was almost calculated, things left out on purpose to feign disregard. The only thing that seemed genuinely out of place was the long, braided cord looped around the upper right bedpost, so well-used that it’d ground into and softened the wood underneath. Suguru didn’t seem to notice it, so you decided against saying anything. If you were lucky, it could be useful later on.

It wasn’t like you had much of a chance to talk, anyway. There was a specific sort of fragile, uneasy tension between you and Suguru, and it never seemed to last very long when you two were alone together. The door was shouldered closed hastily, and then, his hands were on your hips, his mouth on the side of your neck. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” And then, with an airy chuckle, a nip to the corner of your jaw, “Thought I was going to have to bend you over in that fucking coffee shop.”

The humiliating part was, had he asked, you probably would have. There was no reason he should have to know that, though. “I’d say to buy my dinner first, but—” His teeth digging into the curve of your throat, a hitch in your breath. You forced out a chirping laugh as he sucked and lapped at your neck. “—I guess you beat me to it, huh?”

Suguru’s only response was a low grown, ten fingers burrowed into your waist. You started to shrug off your jacket, but Suguru was just a little faster, just a little more eager; jerking the article down with one hand while the other wrapped around your midriff. You’d known how big he was, loved the way his body measured up to yours, and yet, you couldn’t seem to suppress the little gasp that escaped your lips as you were pulled off of your feet and thrown onto the center of his bed, to ignore the fear that knotted in your chest as he loomed at the foot of the bed – hastily dragging his shirt over his head. You watched him undress with a lazy type of indulgence, more than happy to sit back and enjoy a free show. Honestly, you’d almost forgotten you were supposed to be a part of the entertainment by the time he propped a knee on the mattress and let the full weight of his attention fall onto you.

Against your better judgement, you thought about Satoru as Suguru climbed into the space between your spread legs. You couldn’t seem to imagine how he and Satoru fit together, not that you were very inclined to. It was hard to picture either one of them as very submissive; Satoru with his menacing height and bright, vigilant eyes, or Suguru with his easy smile and feline arrogance. You’d assumed it was a fetish, but you could’ve wrong, right? You’d heard of people who make paperclip chains and chew paper to relieve stress – when you weren’t actively looking at a grown man pretend to be a dog, it really didn’t seem that much stranger.

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty girl?”

Suguru’s voice, deep and saccharine, brought you back to the present. You blinked up at him, smiling. “’m right here.”

“Good girl.” Muscular thighs straddled your waist, and you whined, reaching towards him. Suguru only caught your hands in his, intertwining your fingers with his own. “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t know. You never did tell me if you were a serial killer.”

“And it didn’t stop you from coming home with me.” He squeezed gently. “Which means you do trust me – whether or not you should.”

You hummed, and that was all the confirmation he needed. Your wrists were gathered in one hand while the other reached for the black cord – not as forgotten as you’d thought. Suguru worked quickly, but deftly. A snug slip-knot soon bound your wrists above your head, and you fought the temptation to test the binding’s strength and ruin the moment. It felt slack enough, and more importantly, Suguru was already shifting, moving, gliding a hand down the length of your throat, your chest, before finally cupping your breast, groping harshly.

Unable to do much of anything else, you arched into his touch, earning a breath of a laugh from Suguru. Dark hair veiled his face as he dipped his head, lips sealing around the bud of your nipple. It seemed to be less for your pleasure and more for his entertainment – the way he sucked with such a deliberate amount of force, how slowly he drew the flat of his tongue over your skin, the feather-slight pressure of his teeth against tender flesh. The stimulation was thick and aching, simmering where it should’ve sparked. You might’ve complained if his hand hadn’t wandered to your sex, two think fingers tracing over your slit and gathering the slick that’d been building up since he invited back to his place. Calling you ‘wet’ would’ve been the understatement of the century – you were soaked. Suguru seemed to know that, too.

He lifted his head, grinning as he pulled you into a deep kiss. By the time he drew back, your lungs throbbed in your chest and he’d been reduced to muttering. “And here I was, so scared that you’d try to run away.” The heel of his palm ground into your clit, drawing out a moan muffled only by his proximity. “No, you were never going to leave before you got what you came for, were you?”

You shook your head, bucking into his hand, but Suguru only clicked his tongue. There was another open-mouthed kiss to the curve of your neck (his favorite spot, it seemed), then another the tender flesh just above your collarbone. “You have to tell me what you want, baby. Nicely.”

Two fingers slipped under your panties and into your tight heat, scissoring apart as you moaned and squirmed underneath him. “Please,” you managed, your voice reduced to a pitchy, wavering drawl. “Please, please fuck me, Suguru.”

“That’s my girl.” You felt his fingers curl inside of you and protested with a mewling whine. When Suguru did draw back, it was only to bring his palm down on your cunt in an open-handed spank that left your skin burning and sparks racing straight to your core. You swallowed down any lingering complaints as he fucked you open on three thick digits, focusing the brunt of his energy on thrusting into you with as much depth and as much force as possible with the occasional curl or split of his fingers, whenever you threatened to adjust to his erratic rhythm. Making you cum was a secondary goal; something to be considered, but not planned around. Judging by his brutal pace, the way his dark eyes stayed fixed on your expression, he was more interested in seeing just how long it took to take you apart.

It was a shame you couldn’t hold on longer, really. Suguru might’ve been patience incarnate, but you’d never had that level of self-control. It took less than a minute of his calloused fingers rubbing against the seizing walls of your cunt, of his palm grinding sloppily into your clit before you were clawing at the cord around your wrists, clenching your eyes shut, snapping your thighs together around his forearm as you came undone from seconds of his harsh stimulation. Of course, Suguru nursed you through your climax and of course, he waited until you were coherent enough to hear the humiliatingly wet noise of your cunt clenching around his digits as he drew back. Your reward came in the form of a moment to breathe, a lingering kiss pressed into the inside of your knee as he lowered himself into the space between your legs. His remaining clothes were dealt with hastily – pulled out of the way where they couldn’t be easily discarded – and before long, you felt the blunt tip of his cock tracing over your entrance, his arousal mixing with the aftermath of your climax. Beyond the use of words, you did your best to grind against him and pulled at your restraints, putting up a laughable imitation of a struggle. The corner of Suguru’s lips turned upward. With one hand wrapped around his base and the other planted on your hip, he eased into you, fitting his body against yours until he’d bottomed out.

Immediately, it was too much.

Suguru caught on quickly, too. “This is what you asked for.” Four fingers rapped against your side as he started to move, limiting himself to short, shallow thrusts. You clenched your eyes shut, digging your nails into your palms and muttering distant, abstract curses between moans. Suguru let out a pitying hum. “You’re not allowed to change your mind now, princess. Not after begging so prettily.”

As if you could. As if you’d have any reason to. It felt like he was trying to fuck your throat through your pussy; his hips grating against yours as he pulled out to the tip only to rut back in. It was less the friction that got to you and more the pressure – filling you entirely, battering against your walls, weighing down your body where it was pinned under his. His hands hooked the underside of your thighs and hauled your legs upward, pressing your knees closer to your chest than the mattress. The stretch was incredible, nearly enough to break you. It took everything you had just to open your eyes and stare blissfully at Suguru, his dark hair dripping over his face and pooling around his shoulders, his eyes narrowed into clever, condescending slits. You could see a smirk shining through his slack-lipped groaning, and over his shoulder, something white bobbed—

Something white.

Satoru.

Against your will, your attention slipped away from Suguru and onto him. You could only make out his upper body, but even that was more than you wanted to see. The bedroom door had been nudged open, and Satoru leaned against the frame, head cocked to the side and glassy blue eyes fixed on the bed. One of his arms was angled strangely, reaching for something below his navel, and you swore, even with the sound of Suguru’s skin crashing into yours, you could hear him panting. You’d assume that the muzzle would’ve done more to muffle it, but guess not.

You didn’t say anything, but the horror written across your expression was obvious. Suguru slowed, then stopped entirely, scowling as he looked over his shoulder to follow your gaze. His reaction was reserved, minimal. A sigh of a scoff, a slight shake of his head. You waited for him to get angry, to tell Satoru to leave, or better yet, to panic, to throw a sheet over your body and do anything but let his pervert of an employer keep jerking off to your exposed, vulnerable form. Instead, he only straightened, pulling to the side as if to show that much more of you off. “Your turn already, puppy?”

Satoru didn’t nod, didn’t respond, and Suguru didn’t wait for him to. Whatever mutual understanding they had between them didn’t need to be spoken aloud; it was enough for Satoru to step forward and Suguru, half-swallowing a moan, to pull out of your cunt. You couldn’t help but feel relieved, your point of connection having abruptly gone cold.

That relief was quickly replaced by stiff, frigid dread as Satoru shuffled forward, into your direct line of sight. Most of his get-up had been abandoned, leaving only his ears, pawed gloves, and of course, that terrible muzzle. Somehow, the subtractions seemed to make him less human – like he’d gone from a man pretending to be a dog to a dog pretending to be a man. Suguru didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t seem to care. There was one more squeeze to your thigh, and then Satoru was pulling himself to the headboard, positioning himself beside you. Unceremoniously, you were turned onto your stomach, your bound wrists positioned awkwardly above your head and your elbow prodding into the mattress. Your ass was dragged upward, your knees forced underneath you. Unsure of whether trying to kick out would salvage what was left of your remaining dignity or humiliate you further, you held the position.

This time, the way you jerked and thrashed against your restraints wasn’t playful. The knot had been loose enough to slip a few minutes ago, but as soon as you exerted any real amount of force, it seemed to constrict; soft rope digging into your wrists, cutting off your circulation. You felt the mattress dip behind you, heard Satoru’s rhythmic panting through the metal of his mask. Desperately, you looked to Suguru.

“R-red,” you stammered, hoping the edge in your voice would make up for the lack of an established safe-word. “Black. Pineapple. Stop. I’m not good with this, Suguru.”

Satoru’s knees on either side of yours, the dull head of drooling cock against your ass. You felt Satoru’s tip drag over the curve of your ass, streaking your skin with arousal. Suguru hummed. “But, you’ll grin and bear it, won’t you? ‘toru’s been looking forward to this all day.”

It was awful, how little his tone had changed. If it hadn’t been for the spare man now looming over you, the terror forming knots in your chest, you would’ve thought he was still making mindless dirty talk.

“I never—” Your voice caught in your throat as Satoru whined, needy and keening. Animalistic. “I don’t want to do this.”

His attention flitted between you and Satoru, never quite landing on either. “You’ll come around,” he decided, eventually. “Just like Satoru did.”

Something cold and stiff stabbed into the center of your back. At first, you wondered if that was what fear – true fear – always felt like, made more vivid by tangible betrayal and the sudden awareness of your own stupidity, but then, you realized it was only the lower edge of Satoru’s muzzle digging into your skin as he laid himself over you, and that made more sense.

Satoru was not like his owner. Suguru hadn’t been gentle, but Satoru seemed to operate on something deeper, something baser, something that didn’t give him time to breathe between forcing his cock into your sensitive cunt and his first thrust. Actually, calling it a thrust at all might’ve been too generous – he never seemed to want to pull away from you, only rut deeper, only grinding against your ass as he moaned and whined and drooled against your neck. Eventually, his chest pressed into your back, his head falling over your shoulder. You tried not to look at him, to disassociate where you couldn’t physically separate, but it would’ve been impossible to block out the way his prying eyes seared into your skin. “So pretty.” The metal distorted the exact shape of his tone, but something cloying made it through the fog. “Been waiting forever for Suguru to pick. Knew it had to be you, though. It was always gonna be you.”

You didn’t respond, but Suguru did – laughing brightly. While Satoru did his best to beat your pussy into the shape of his cock, Suguru swung his legs off the side of the bed, turning away from you as he fetched something out of the nearest bedside table. “I’m sorry,” he said, straightening back up. “I knew Satoru needed someone to keep him company while I was away, but I couldn’t bring home just any stray – he’d tear them to pieces. You were perfect, but holding ‘toru off for the months it took to prepare…” He trailed off, smiling fondly. “He’s overeager at the best of times. You can imagine what it was like – trying to tell him he had to wait to meet his kitten.”

He was lying. He was lying and he wasn’t even trying to hide it. You hadn’t known Suguru for months, you’d known him for days. There’d been a meet-cute and everything – you’d stayed at your favorite café for an hour longer than you could really afford to just to catch his eye, and he’d stuttered the first time he’d said your---

Your name.

He’d known your name.

The stabbing sensation was back. You didn’t think it was Satoru, this time.

You opened your mouth – maybe to sob, maybe to scream – but all that came out was a fractured, airy squeak. Satoru’s dick twitched inside of you, and suddenly, you were aware of just how erratic his pace had grown, just how stifling the heat rolling off of him had gotten. You clenched your eyes shut a moment before it happened, keeping them that way as something too terrible to name was pumped into you in hot, smoldering strokes. When the last spark of his climax faded, Satoru went limp against you, cuddling into your back, but Suguru was quick to chide him with a click of his tongue.

“Bad puppy.” You saw him reach for Satoru’s head, hear something metallic and taut click out of place. “Clean up your mess. Then, we’ll have you meet your kitten properly.”

Satoru grumbled, but didn’t disobey. Dragging your unresponsive body onto its side, he nestled his head between your thighs and dragged the flat of his tongue over your slit, lapping up the remnants just beginning to drip down your thighs with a tired sort of enthusiasm. Suguru shook his head wistfully. “He can be such a brat, but he means well. Ah – can you pick your head up for me, baby?”

When you failed to so much as try, Suguru cooed. “I guess you wouldn’t be.” And then, cupping your cheek, “You’re going to be a delicate little thing, aren’t you?”

“…I’m not a thing,” you spat, but it didn’t matter. He was already fitting something onto your head – a headband, the weight balanced by two off-set ears near the rounded peak. The collar was next, heavy and decorated with bows and ribbons that scratched at your throat. You were struck with the inexplicable and irresistible urge to try to claw it off, but your bound hands saved you from the humiliation.

It took you a few seconds to put a name to the last item. Made of a pale pink leather, it had an odd shape – like a cup someone had accidently made wider than it was tall. Studded straps stretched from each corner of the opening, and Suguru’s hand fell away from your cheek as he fitted it to your lower face, The upper strap was pulled tight, then the lower, until the leather pressed snugly into your skin. You started to open your mouth, but shut it just as quickly.

You should never have bothered to wonder. There was only ever one thing it could possibly be.

A muzzle.

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zephyrchama · 3 days ago

Text

You are a sheep.

You have been in the form of a sheep ever since you came to the Devildom. It can be quite inconvenient at times, but life finds a way.

This particular morning, you were awoken in the early hours of the morning by an odd murmur. It was impossible to gauge the time, given the Devildom's eternal night, but something instinctual told you it was too early for whatever nonsense was about to happen.

Fighting your heavy eyelids, you turned your head. Seven demons were sitting on the floor beside your bed, staring at you.

"You're awake!" Leviathan proclaimed.

"I told you the noise would wake them," Lucifer sighed.

"We were being quiet, though," Belphegor remarked.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Asmodeus greeted you.

"Shut it! It's happenin'!" Mammon caused the room to go silent again.

If you've learned anything in the Devildom, it's that even sheep deserve privacy. You dragged yourself into a sitting position and bleated, "what's happening?"

"We're checking the weather," Satan informed you.

"It's a tradition of sorts," Beelzebub explained.

"Can't you do that... literally anywhere else?" The second half of your question got obscured by a yawn, but you were sure you made your point. "What time even is it?"

"It's 6:03," Leviathan said.

"In the morning? Are you guys kidding me?"

As you sighed a grumpy sigh and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, Satan called your name.

"What?"

"Have you checked your shadow?" he asked.

"Huh? What do you mean, checked it?"

"Did you see it?" Belphegor asked.

"My shadow?" There was hardly any light, let alone light strong enough to cast a shadow on your bed. You twisted your neck to look around. "I have no idea what you're talking about..."

"No shadow!" Mammon exclaimed, so loud you almost fell over again.

Lucifer nodded his head, hand placed thoughtfully on chin. "Spring will likely come early this year. I'll inform Diavolo."

Asmodeus launched himself at your spot on the bed. Before you could stop him, he had you lifted in the air. "You're the best!"

Everybody clapped. Leviathan was going on about "the springtime of youth" finally arriving, while Beelzebub said they'd all have to get hot pot one last time before it went out of season. Important context about what just happened was clearly missing, but you've learned that sometimes you need to just go with the flow.

You dangled ragdoll-style from Asmodeus' hands while he did a little dance and wondered if they'd all let you go back to sleep.

You know they won't. Happy Groundhog Day! Looks like irl we've got 6 more weeks of winter.

#i churned this out in... 25 minutes? no proofreading no research only the spirit of phil to guide us lets go #obey me #obey me!#omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me x mc #obey me crack #obey me drabble #obey me writing #obey me fanfic #obey me brothers #obey me mc #sheep mc #obey me fanfiction #obey me fandom

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motorsportbarbie13 · 3 days ago

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Aftermath - Chapter 5

Aftermath - MV33 - Chapter 1 Aftermath - Chapter 2 Aftermath - Chapter 3 Aftermath - Chapter 4 Master List

When Lando leaves you heartbroken after you get tired of trying to make something out of nothing for far too long, Max steps in to help you pick up the pieces.

warnings: this chapter contains language and descriptions that illustrate abuse (mental and emotional). please don't engage with my work if you find any of the topics triggering. lando is, once again, an absolute asshole in this. i'd also like to point out that this is a character i am writing, i in no way am insinuating or implying the real lando is like this in any way.

pairing: max verstappen x leclercsister!reader

word count: 4k or something like that?

(Everyone say ‘thank you’ to @lestapiastrisgirl for beta reading and helping me through late night plot crisis so this can come out today!!)

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source It's been months since @/Lando and @/MissLeClerc have been spotted togtether and we're starting to wonder...are they even together anymore?! Lando was spotted out alone in Monaco, looking annoyed at fans calling his name while his (ex???) girlfriend was papped out and about with none other than...Max Verstappen. Again. Rumors about the LeClerc sister and Dutch driver started to swirl right around the time her and Lando stopped being seen out in public...What do we think, chat??? Has little miss leclerc finally ditched the cocky British pilot for a new Dutch beau??? user029 maybe she got tired of having to parent her boyfriend??? user220 if it's true, she's really upgraded. 4 time world champion vs...what??? 4 time race winner. please. user0298 he never supported her art or anything, i'm not surprised she's moved on. max always looks smitten with her.

“Lando, you have got to get this under control.” The head of McLaren’s communications team hisses, her glare shooting daggers at the driver who’s just walked into the the hospitality building ahead of the race in Belgium.

Lando glances up from his phone, face pale and eyes worried. “How the fuck am I supposed to control what the gossip pages post?”

Marina throws her hands up in the air as she paces, her McLaren team kit wrinkled from lack of sleep thanks to the British driver. In the four weeks since your argument with Lando after Austria, things have only gotten worse. You’re still not talking to him and he still hasn’t figured out where the hell you’re living. You’re not staying with Charles and Alexandra or Jade, he’s been subtly watching both buildings. He knows you’re still in Monaco because you’ve been papped out with your family and friends but most maddeningly Max Verstappen.

Everyone seems to have noticed you’re not living with Lando anymore, your appearances in his streams have dwindled down to nothing. Fewtrell has had to start banning people form his chat because they won’t stop asking about you and what’s going on. Everyone knows that something went down but you’re straight up refusing to behave like an adult and come back to Lando, where you belong and it’s infuriating.

“You can’t, obviously.” Marina sighs, sitting down at one of the high top tables in the middle of the suite.

Around her, the Thursday afternoon crew of engineers and communications people buzz, all prepping for their weekends. Everyone seems to be acting normal but Lando can feel their glares on his back as he walks through the building. They all know he’s causing the entire team grief by causing so much drama with you, taking the attention away from the decent start to the year they’d had before all hell had broken loose a few months ago.

“But,” She continues, leveling a glare at Lando. “You either need to bite the bullet and release a joint statement with her announcing your breakup or you need to get her to the track this weekend and make a big show of a united front. It’s up to you Lando, but you need to do something. I can’t keep saying ‘no comment’ whenever we’re asked about the distraction this is causing the team.”

Lando pulls at his curls, like hell he’s going to admit that you’d left him. He supposed he could go rogue and release a statement without you. That way he could control the narrative and try to get the fans back on his side if he made something up like a cheating scandal or something. The moment that the thought flutters through his mind, he forces it out. For some fucking reason, the fans seem to have a soft spot for you and it’s maddening. Lando knew there was no way he could get public opinion on his side, not with how he was getting ripped apart on socials right now.

“We’re not broken up.” He bites out, taking a sip out of his water bottle as he contemplates what he can do.

Marina glances up from her phone, brow lifted in question. “That’s not what it looks like here.” She turns her phone towards Lando and shows him a photo of you descending the stairs of a private jet that’s just landed in Belgium. In front of you, already down the stairs and waiting on the tarmac for you is your brother with Leo cradled in his arms.

And behind you? A fiery rage burns bright and hot in Lando’s chest when he sees who’s behind you.

Fucking Max Verstappen.

The look you’re giving him makes his heart twist and for the first time since this entire thing began, Lando actually misses you. He misses the way you used to smile up at him like that, like your entire world revolved Lando and no one else. He missed the way your eyes would follow him around a room, how your body would center towards his. The way you looked at Max was how you used to look at him and it made jealousy twist violently deep in Lando’s gut just looking at the photo.

“I’ll take care of it.” Lando spits before stalking off to the privacy of his drivers room.

f1.gossip.source posted

f1.gossip.source Alexandra, Charles, and his little sister were seen arriving in Belgium this afternoon on Max Verstappen's private jet. It's yet another instance where the LeClerc sister was spotted without boyfriend Lando Norris, sparking new breakup rumors. Neither party has confirmed if they're still together, with McLaren PR insisting that the personal lives of their drivers are off limits. user019 honestly, I'm here for a LeClerc sister & Max relationship. >>>user028 me too. at least Max seems to actually like her, unlike Lando user0029 I mean, we all can see it. Why can't they just confirm it already??? user2333 fully on board the 'get her away from Lando train' ROOTING FOR YOU MAX!!! Get your girl!!! user029 my friend was out at the restaurant they were all at a few weeks ago and said that Lando crashed the dinner but left after a few minutes looking PISSED. >>>user029 honestly, Lando is kind of unhinged rn. get over her my man, move onnnnnnn!

“I can’t believe you got me to agree to come this weekend.” You grumble as you follow Max towards the paddock gates Friday morning before practice.

“You’ve barely been to any races this year and it’s almost the end of July!” Max shoots over his shoulder, grinning like an idiot he’s so happy you decided to come this weekend.

“I was at Monaco!” You protest lamely, shoving your elbow into your brother’s ribs when he laughs.

“You live in Monaco, that doesn’t count Little Dove.” Charles chuckles, rubbing at the sore spot where you’d just assaulted him.

“Whatever.” You mutter, rolling your eyes.

After arriving in Belgium last night, you had gone straight to your hotel room, needing a bit of alone time ahead of what you were sure was going to be a stressful weekend. As usual, you’d been papped arriving on Max’s jet, which you were certain Lando had seen because the moment you had checked your messages in the SUV Max had rented for your little group, there had been a text waiting for you from him.

I know you probably don’t want to see me and I get that. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart. Can we please get together this weekend and talk? Somewhere neutral if that’s what you want…

As you settled into the hotel room that was yours for the weekend, a war was being fought in your brain. On one hand, you didn’t trust a single thing coming from Lando’s mouth. Not a single thing. He hadn’t given you any reason to trust anything that he said for months, so why should you start now? But on the other hand…

On the other hand, you and Lando had so much history. His message seemed remorseful. You knew everyone in your life would kill you if you even entertained the idea of getting back with him but somewhere deep in your chest a little voice was saying maybe you should hear him out. He was finally leaving you alone, finally backing off, why did he have to pop up right when you thought you had finally gotten him fully out of your system?

You didn’t tell anyone Lando had texted you. Had been texting you all morning as well. You knew no one would understand. But you also hadn’t returned a single text either. The energy that responding to Lando would take was something that you just didn’t have today.

Your little group is captured by photographers as you walk in, a few even call out your name asking where you’ll be spending your time this weekend. Since dating Lando, you liked to split your time between the McLaren garage and Ferrari but this weekend was going to be different. Your VIP pass had Charles’ face and name on the back, not Lando’s. You had credentials from Ferrari like normal but this morning, Max had also slipped a Red Bull card around your neck, telling you if you got sick of looking at all that red this weekend, you could spend time with him.

“Are you going to come to the dark side this weekend and use those Red Bull credentials to whip up some gossip?” Max murmurs in your ear, watching as Charles trots off ahead of you after Leo.

You bump your shoulder with his, rolling your eyes and laughing lightly. “Stop.”

Mischief plays in Max’s pale blue eyes as he smiles down at you, enjoying the way your cheeks flush under his attention. Ever since the race in Austria a few weeks ago, you and the Dutch driver had been spending a lot of time together, all casual but he’d really begun to look forward to the nights you spent curled up on his couch eating takeout and watching bad reality tv with him.

Before he has a chance to reply though, he sees the color drain from your face as you freeze in the middle of the sidewalk. Whipping his head around, Max searches for what, or more accurately, who has spooked you. He already knows who he’s looking for so when his eyes settle on the McLaren driver standing just outside the sliding glass doors of the McLaren hospitality building across the paddock, his stomach lurches.

You had known you’d see Lando this weekend. How could you not? This was literally his workplace too. There was no way to avoid him, you knew that but you hadn’t expected to see him so quickly and before you had managed to work out how to respond to his text from the night before.

Your brother is between where you stand and McLaren’s hospitality so he clocks Lando staring after you at about the same time as you and Max. Turning on his heel, he scoops up Leo and makes a bee line back to where you stand, utterly frozen.

“Dovie.” Max coos in your ear, twining his fingers with yours in an attempt to pull you out of the state you’re in. “Hey, sweet girl, look at me.”

You ignore him, gaze locked on Lando’s frozen frame.

Charles steps in between you and Lando, instantly cutting off your line of sight. This seems to yank you back to reality and your brother snaps into action. “Shit. I’ve got a meeting in five minutes. I don’t want her alone.” Your brother sounds panicked, like the way you’re just staring blankly ahead is really freaking him out.

So, he improvises. “Here, take Leo and go take a walk. There’s tons of open space on the other side of the paddock.” Charles presses the small dog into your hands and you drop your gaze away from Lando for the first time in several moments.

Your gaze drops to where your hand is still clutched in Max’s larger one. The steady warmth from his presence grounds you, allowing you to pull in a full breath for the first time in several minutes.

“No, she’s not going off on her own.” Max cuts in, tone sharp. “I’ve got some time before I need to be in the car. Come stay in Red Bull with me until practice, then you can watch from my garage, okay?”

The force of his words leave little wiggle room for argument and Charles can’t help but smirk a little. He should have known Max would step right up to make sure you were taken care of.

“Yeah.” You agree weakly, finally tearing your gaze away from Lando, who is still starting at you, light eyes sharp and observant. You can feel the way his gaze drops to where Max’s hand is curled around yours possessively. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Without waiting for Lando to get any more ideas like wanting to try to come talk to you, Max tugs on your hand. He knows you well enough by now to know that you need a distraction and you need it fast. “Come on, you said you wanted to stir up some gossip this weekend, well here’s your chance.”

You laugh despite yourself, nuzzling your face into Leo’s soft fur. “I’m keeping the dog.” You tell your brother as you allow yourself to be led away by Max. All Charles does is nod, relieved to know that you’re in good hands while he’s busy.

missleclerc posted

24,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and others missleclerc in my defense, I was kidnapped ☝🏻 maxverstappen1 whatever, you wanted to be there. >>>missleclerc lies. It was a hostage situation. >>>maxverstappen1 is that what the kids are calling it these days? >>>user299 chat, are they flirting in the comments??? WE CAN SEE YOU TWO charlesleclerc can't believe you subjected your nephew to this. please make sure you take a shower before dinner tonight. >>>missleclerc rude. user0209 ya know, I'm kinda here for this ship. >>>user987 did you see how utterly distracted Max was during the one interview where she walked past him? couldn't take his eyes off her >>>user0209 lando's gonna be crashing out after seeing that interview tonight >>>user3443 GOOD. bro deserves it

“I think you may need to roll me up to my room after that dinner.” You groan, rubbing at the food baby making your black leather skirt pinch painfully at your hips.

After qualifying Saturday evening, when the boys were all finished with their media and team duties, Max had insisted that you, your brother, Alexandra and himself all go out to dinner. He’d wanted to insist it just be the two of you but he wasn’t blind to the gossip you two had stirred up in the paddock Friday afternoon so he’d figured bringing your brother and his girlfriend along would be a bit safer.

“I think I ate my weight in spaghetti.” Alexandra groans beside you as you plod towards the front doors of the hotel. “Carry me up to the room please, Cha?” She coos, throwing her arms around your brother’s neck as if she can’t go on one step more.

Charles laughs, snaking his arms around her waist and pulls her close, dropping a kiss on her forehead, a gesture so tender and intimate you have to turn away. Your gaze immediately connects with Max who is standing a few paces behind your brother and his girlfriend. A small smile tips up at the corner of his full lips when you make eye contact at him and your stomach swoops at the affection for you in his eyes.

You’re imagining things, you think instantaneously. There’s no way Max sees you as anything other than a friend, after everything that you’ve endured while he’s watched. How could anyone like Max be attracted to someone who had spent an entire year drowning in a failing relationship? It was likely a pity smile, something he gives you because he feels sorry that you haven’t found what your brother has found in Alexandra.

“There you are…” A smooth British accent interrupts your thoughts, jarring you out of your spiral. “You stopped answering my texts.” Lando says pointedly as he joins your little group in the lobby of the hotel.

Your eyes shutter closed as you blow out a breath. You had been hoping to avoid this confrontation all together but it was just another nail in the coffin of why Max wouldn’t even want to begin to get involved with you in the first place. Why would he willingly want to be with someone who was still so intertwined with her ex still? You’ve spent so long with Lando, were so intertwined with him it would certainly be easier to just go back to him, wouldn’t it? Maybe he was all you deserved after wasting three years of your life.

“I was at dinner, Lando. It’s rude to text during a meal.” You carefully control the tone of your voice, not wanting to instigate yet another public altercation with him.

“Ah, yes. I’m sure the company was riveting.” His eyes flicker over to where Max stands, stiff and unmoving, the smile that he’d just been showering you with totally gone from his face. “So, what do you say, can we finally talk like two adults?”

“She doesn’t want to talk to you, Norris.” Charles cuts in, voice sharp and short.

“I think your sister can answer for herself, LeClerc.” There’s a challenge in Lando’s eyes that you don’t miss and you know you have about five seconds to diffuse the situation before it gets out of hand. Again.

Placing your hand on Lando’s elbow, you tug him away. “If you promise to chill out and actually listen to me, we can go to the bar and get a drink. One drink, Lando. Can you do that?”

If you had been looking at Max then, you would have seen the light flicker out of his eyes. He’s grateful that his hands are tucked away in his pockets when he hears your words because the way the ball up into tight fists would be embarrassing had anyone seen it. He wants to say something, anything, that might convince you to not walk away with him. He wants to tell you how he’s feeling, how this afternoon with you in his drivers room and then garage was the best start to a race weekend he’d had in recent memory. He wants to beg you not to go with Lando.

But he can’t. He can’t because he still hasn’t worked up the courage to tell you how he feels. Max is stuck in this painful sort of limbo where you two spend time together and he craves any bit of attention he can glean from you but it’s not enough for him to risk your fragile state of being right now. He knows you’re still recovering from leaving Lando. Three years is a long time to spend with someone, even if the last year was as painful as Lando had made it for you. He knows you’re not ready for him to tell you how he’s feeling but he’s afraid if he doesn’t, you’ll go running back to Lando.

While the internal debate about what to do with his feelings rages on inside, Max watches as a cat-like grin spreads slowly across Lando’s face. He’s won. Lando’s won and they both know it.

“Of course, baby.”

You bristle at the name but without the energy to fight him, all you do is roll your eyes. Max’s mask of indifference somehow staying in place when he hears the nickname, but it tears him up on the inside. He’s not sure how he manages it.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for dinner, Max.” Taking a step towards Max, you fold yourself into him, enjoying the way his arms come around your waist without hesitation. The hug is firm and he holds onto you for several moments longer than necessary.

“I can stay down here if you want me to.” He murmurs in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of your ear, sending a cool shiver of pleasure down your spine.

“I’m a big girl, I can handle him.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” He responds, looking down at you. You’re surprised to see a stark look of concern all over his face, like he’s genuinely worried about you.

“Max, I’m fine. It’s just one drink.”

But Max knows Lando. It’s not just going to be one drink. But what other choice does he have? Reluctantly, he releases you and takes a step back, forcing himself out of arms length. You instantly miss the grounding warmth of his body and fight to keep your expression neutral.

Max watches you walk away, shoulder brushing with Lando’s and has to resist the urge to rub at the painful clenching sensation that wraps itself around his heart.

“You don’t have to watch her leave.” Charles murmurs, standing off to the side with a worried looking Alexandra. They both share Max’s opinion that this is a bad idea but like Max, what else can they say?

Max scrubs at his face, suddenly so overwhelmingly exhausted that all he wants to do is climb into bed and sleep until the race tomorrow. “What am I supposed to do, Charles?” He throws his hands up in defeat as you disappear around the corner just as Lando’s arm slips around your waist. “I don’t have a single claim on her, she’s not mine to miss.”

His stomach twists painfully at the thought of having to go back to his hotel room knowing you’re touching him.

“She won’t go back to him.” Charles says with more confidence than Max can muster up himself. “She’s been doing so well lately and we all see it’s partially because of you, mate.”

“Don’t give up on her, Max. Not yet.” Alexandra offers quietly, stepping closer to Charles before reaching out and placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. “She’s stronger than we all think but she’s going to need your patience right now. It’ll be okay.”

The way it physically hurt watching you walk away had alarm bells ringing in Max’s head. He hadn’t realized just how attached to you he’d become in the time since you’d left Lando and it terrified him. If you went back to Lando tonight, he had this gut feeling he’d lose you forever and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to endure that.

Max barely sleeps that night, tossing and turning for hours trying to convince himself he hadn’t just watched you walk right out of his life again. He knew he was, once again, getting ahead of himself and that he needed to wait before going into full spiral mode but he couldn’t quite get himself there.

By the time he’s downstairs in the hotel lobby the next morning, waiting for the car that Red Bull had hired for him, he’s exhausted and on the brink of biting someone’s head off.

“You doing okay over there, Verstappen? You seem a little…irritated.”

Max turns and has to stifle a groan. “Why can’t you just leave well enough alone, Lando?”

Lando has the nerve to look confused, brows furrowing as he tilts his head to the side. “I have no idea what you’re on about, mate.”

It takes every ounce of control Max has honed over the years not to punch the British driver square in the face. “Why are you so fixated on her now that she’s finally trying to get away from you?”

Lando smirks, quick and ugly, before he shakes his head. “See, now that’s where you’re wrong Max.” He reaches over and pats at Max’s shoulder patronizingly. “I don’t think she really wants to get away form me anymore. Not after last night.”

It feels like the breath has been sucked out of Max’s lungs at Lando’s words. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He hisses, heat creeping up his neck.

“You’re a smart man, Max. Use that big brain of yours. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Lando grins like the Cheshire Cat as he shrugs. “Oh look, my ride’s here. Good luck out there today, Verstappen.”

Without waiting for a response because he knows full well he’s caught Max completely off guard, Lando saunters off, hands deep in his pockets, without a second look back at the Dutch driver.

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spentgladiator · 2 days ago

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I love Valentine's Day. I'm a server, and have been for many years, so I get a peep into many different relationships and the thing about Valentine's Day in particular is.

Couples that dont go out together anymore, don't spend time together anymore and don't really like each other any more still go out on Vday because of the obligation (she needs to be able to tell the girls he took her to a nice dinner to keep up the facade of a happy marriage, he needs to say he did something or else the cute girl at the office who asks what he and his wife did might think he's an asshole) and those are the couple's you can spot a mile away.

They're usually in the 40-60 range but not always, when the kids are young they can feasibly get away with not doing something because they can't find a babysitter or equal excuse, so the kids are grown enough to have one stay home and mind the others. The body language will be stiff, rigid and deeply uncomfortable, as though they are sat across from some kind of creature or perhaps a beast. One or both will likely be looking at their phone a lot more than you would expect a couple at a romantic dinner. The conversation will be sparse, unemotional, very logistics based rather than anything intimate or emotional. They'll be "dressed up" like a business meeting, nothing sexy or fun and the vibes within fifteen feet of that table will be RANCID.

Any other night of the year and these people would be holed up on opposite ends of the house keeping themselves occupied, maybe she's out with some friends and he's practicing his golf swing on a simulation somewhere idk what straight men do honestly. They are strangers to each other, worse yet, strangers with BAGGAGE. they will both be totally impervious to your charm and attempts at being friendly and warm to lighten the mood, (alternatively, she will cling to you like a life vest as a source of any positive interaction, her eyes screaming 'please can I just hang out with you instead')

You wonder if you even need to put ice in their drinks cause with how cold they both are it's likely the drink would freeze in their hand anyway.

As for how these two make it through other special occasions - other people. Think about it.... Christmas brings children and relatives and friends, birthdays, Holidays, they never have to spend that time alone together. Valentine's Day stands out as a time when just the two of them HAVE to do something, lest they admit to themselves and each other that the love between them had died long ago.

This couple is not special. I see a few of them every Vday, you just have to try your luck if you wanna spot them. I recommend hopping, drinks and appys at one spot, main course at one spot, dessert at another to maximize your chances at spotting one. Just make sure you call ahead and book your tables!

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imsofreakingtired · 18 hours ago

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ok since the people are asking for a sequel to this fic... i must deliver 🫡

crawling back to you

content warning(s): angst - buT THERES A HAPPY ENDING I SWEAR

"crawlin' back to you, ever thought of callin' when you've had a few? 'cause i always do maybe i'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new."

~~~

Sevika catches you halfway back to the apartment. You are bathed in the neon light of the sign of the Last Drop several steps ahead, making you feel like a hologram. That might have been all you were to Sevika. A hologram. Something pleasant to look at, not tempting enough to touch.

“Baby,” she says, “let me explain.”

She’s not even out of breath. Your world is falling apart and she probably just decided to walk leisurely after you, as if you barely mattered more than just another one of her girls.

You avoid her gaze. “I thought you were busy tonight.”

“I am,” she snaps. “This is ridiculous.”

You’re silent.

“Did you actually think I was going to Babette's every night? You think I’d lie to you that way?”

“I don't know,” you hiss. “Would you?”

You know people are overhearing the two of you, but your anger bubbles over like a boiling vat of undiluted Shimmer. Sevika glares down at you, and you feel a twist in your heart. This is the end of everything. Even though she’s the one at fault, she’s the one with the records in Babette’s and not you, you feel like you’re the one pulling all the wrong strings.

Your question hurts her more than she would ever let on. Of all the people who’d accuse her of lying, she never thought the dagger would be driven home by you. She wants to tell you she’s sorry, that she doesn’t know why she went into the arms of a stranger rather than risk being vulnerable to you. She wants to tell you all she was trying to do was protect you from her. She wants to ask: if she showed you the cracks in her skin where she’d broken and put herself together again, would you still stay?

But she can’t, because now there’s a wall of ice between you and you are already turning away. This time, she doesn’t follow.

When she comes home late that night, the apartment is empty.

~~~

You have found a small, run-down inn where the rats skitter beneath the floorboards and the water doesn’t run half the time, and you’ve sworn every single person you know to secrecy regarding your whereabouts. Every day that goes by feels heavier without Sevika.

You smoke Shimmer vaporizers to escape the lonely silence of the room, you find work in a scrap metal shop and spend every waking minute of the day trying not to miss her. Trying not to fall into that endless pit of remorse. Go back, go back, get the fuck back and apologize. She was a mess when you met her. You know she can’t live without you. You’re terrified she might do something dangerous and reckless to herself, that she might hurt herself or worse. You find yourself wondering at night if she had eaten dinner or if she had just gone to sleep after a smoke and a shot of whiskey. You have nightmares of seeing her dead at your feet.

One night it rains like Zaun has never seen before. It’s like the sky has opened up like a wailing mouth, or a gaping wound. Torrents of rainwater rush between buildings and submerge basements. It’s a night no one in their right mind would ever bother going out in.

So of course that’s the night you hear the banging on your door.

You open it, a broken bottle in hand, ready for a threat. You think it could be the manager, a sneaking thief who stealthily raises the price of the rooms with each passing week.

Instead you see Sevika.

Her prosthetic arm is detached and she isn’t wearing her cloak. Her hair is plastered wetly against her face. Her clothes are drenched.

Your first thought: is she out of her mind?

Your second: oh my gods. She’s lost her mind.

“How did you know I was here?” You demand loudly. “Are you trying to catch your death?”

The second part of the sentence comes out as instinct, and you’re embarrassed but it’s too late. Her brows were knit together like thunderclouds, but her expression softens slightly when she hears the concern in your voice. She had been preparing herself for anything. She was convinced you had already found someone new, and were living with them. Now there’s hope. You might still care about her.

“Get the fuck in here,” you snap, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her into the room as if she’s a misbehaving child. You yank the moth-eaten sheets off the bed and throw them around her shoulders. “Are you drunk? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Fear pierces through your irritation. Has something happened? Is she sick? Is she running from something?

Sevika looks down at you, watching wordlessly as you try to rub the water off her skin. When you let go of her, she lets the sheets fall to the floor.

You throw your hands up helplessly. “What are you doing here? Who told you I was here?”

“You think I needed a gingerbread trail to find you?”

You fall quiet, cursing yourself inwardly. Sevika probably knew where you were since the day you left.

You know why she’s here. You can see it in her eyes, where all her unspoken emotions betray her. But she can’t translate them into words. She can’t say the words you need to hear.

You sit down on the bed with a heavy sigh. The room is silent but for the sound of dripping water. Finally you speak.

“Babette says you only went there once.” You look at her. “Why?”

She looks down. “I was drunk.”

“You gonna use that excuse every time from now on?”

“No,” she says sharply. “I thought—I thought I didn’t have you anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shakes her head, frustrated. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I just—I—”

She comes forward suddenly, and you instinctively draw back, thinking she might hit something. There’s a desperate look in her face that you’ve never seen before. But she doesn’t raise her hand. She kneels on the floor in front of you.

“Sevika, what—?”

“Take me back,” she pleads, her voice rough. “I swear it’ll never happen again, so—take me back.”

You try to stay angry. You try to push her away. But when you look in her dark grey eyes and see the tears standing on the lashes, you find you can’t do either. You feel the heat of her body against your knees, and as you slowly remove the string tying her hair and run your fingers through the wet strands you realize with a pang just how badly you missed her.

Sevika gives a sigh and lays her head down in your lap.

“You’re not entirely forgiven yet,” you tell her.

“I know,” she says, her voice muffled.

It’s as close as she’ll ever come to saying she’s sorry. You think it’s not a bad start.

~~~

note: your honor she is just a sad wet puppy in the rain and has done nothing wrong in her life ever 😭🙏

~~~

taglist~

@notlores @demothers-empty-blog @theyluvbix @archangeldyke-all @prettyinpink69 @beatdariceee @sevikaaaalover @intrnetrbl @ 00valentina-writes00 @zelluna @mamas-evil-hag @sevikassluttywaist @justhereforsubsevika @iliterallyhavenoideawhattosay @lez-zuha @mascdom @tiyawnyana

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika imagine #sevika angst #song: do i wanna know by arctic monkeys #sevika fanfic #sevika x female reader

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minniesfiles · 3 days ago

Text

BLOOM WITH YOU | month 0

After years of heartbreak and disappointment, you and your husband’s dream of starting a family seemed out of reach. But miracle was a beautiful thing.

❧ PAIRING; wonwoo x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, fluff, smut

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; heavy angst in this chapter, arguing, lots of tears, mention of blood, mention of miscarriages, mention of fertility issues, generally very sad and emotional chapter, wonwoo being a caring hubby :( , penetrative sex, missionary, squirting, creampie, love-making

❧ WORDCOUNT; 8k

▁▁▁▁▁▁

series masterlist

𐚁₊⊹

▍24 MAY 2025 — [present]

You always thought your life was the kind people envied. You had the checklist: a career you enjoyed, a loving husband who kissed your forehead every morning, and a circle of family and friends who were there for every celebration and every stumble. It was the life you dreamed of when you were younger, the one where you imagined adulthood to be a smooth, perfect path.

Yet there was a piece of puzzle that seemed to leave the entire picture of your life incomplete, and without it you couldn’t rest.

You’ve been searching for it for three years, but it was buried somewhere deep in the unknown. And the longer you desperately tried to dig through every corner of the earth, the more exhausted you grew — physically and mentally.

Yet still, you didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t give up.

It was midnight, and you were sitting by the window for hours with your knees to your chest, watching the rain pour heavily. You didn’t bother to turn on more lights or even check the time because your mind was elsewhere. You were waiting for something — anything — to break the silence that had grown deafening over the years.

And just then, you heard the sound of the front door opening. Your body stiffened, and your head snapped towards the source of the noise. He was finally home.

You watched your husband step into the house and noticed that he was slightly soaked. He must have walked from the car to the house in the rain without an umbrella, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he had even cared to shield himself.

But your anger was quicker to rise. Three hours. He finished work three hours ago. You were sitting here, waiting, as you did so many nights before, wondering where he was and why he didn’t come home. The excuses were always the same — delays, errands, last-minute shoots.

But a human could only sit and endure for so long before they reach their breaking point, and tonight was it.

You stood up abruptly and made your way towards him. Your bare feet made no sound against the floor, but your furious presence was loud. “Where the hell were you?” you barked.

Wonwoo stopped in his tracks, his wide shoulders sagging as he let out a tired sigh. He placed his keys on the table by the door, but he didn’t dare to meet your gaze. His exhaustion was imprinted onto his face, in the slight droop of his eyelids, the heaviness in his movements. He rubbed the back of his neck as water dripped from his fingers onto the floor.

“I don’t want to do this right now,” he muttered with his deep voice.

Your eyes narrowed and your anger flared hotter. “You don’t want to do this right now?” you repeated as your voice rose.

“You think I wanted to sit here for hours, wondering where you were? You finished work three hours ago. What the hell were you doing?”

“I was driving around,” he admitted after a moment, his voice barely audible over the rain hitting against the glass windows. “I needed to clear my head.”

Your laugh was short and bitter, and filled with disbelief. “Clear your head? Must be nice, having the luxury to escape whenever you feel like it while I sit here drowning in everything that’s wrong with our lives!”

Wonwoo’s head snapped up at your words, and for the first time, he looked at you directly. His eyes were tired, but there was frustration in there too.

“Don’t make this about me,” he said with a sharp tone. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t feel the same things you do?”

“Then why don’t you act like it? Why don’t you talk to me instead of running off and leaving me here to deal with it alone?” you questioned as you stood with a defensive posture.

“Because every time we talk, it turns into this,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “A fight. Blaming each other for something neither of us can control.”

As the unspoken truth was finally exposed, the silence that followed was immediate and suffocating. Your once-bright vision of starting a family turned into a relentless cycle of pain and resentment. The hope that had once bound you together now only reminded you of what you both couldn’t have.

Three long years of trying had left its mark — never-ending doctor’s appointments, treatments, and reassurances that never felt enough. Your patience had been tested at every social gathering where friends shared pregnancy announcements, and with each passing year, the gap between your expectations and reality widened.

You both endured the isolation and the pain of waiting together, hoping for something that stubbornly refused to arrive. And now, in the wake of another failed attempt, your shared grief threatened to consume what little remained of your hope and connection.

You felt your throat tighten as your anger threatened to give way to tears. But you refused to cry, refused to let yourself appear weak. “You’ve given up,” you said quietly. You tried to sound firm but your trembling voice betrayed you. “You’ve stopped trying.”

Wonwoo’s expression softened slightly as he stepped closer to meet your eyes properly. “I haven’t given up,” he said. “But what do you want me to do? Keep pushing until we destroy what’s left of us? We’re tearing each other apart over something we can’t change.”

You shook your head, and your hands trembled as you tried to hold onto your anger. However, you knew he was right, so his words struck a deep chord within you. Both of you were worn out and, in your own ways, broken. Neither of you could seem to get around the distance left by the dream that once united you together.

In the end, the tears you were holding back finally spilled over.

“You don’t get it,” you said with a whisper. “I feel like I’ve failed. Like I’m the reason this isn’t happening for us. And every time you pull away, it just makes me feel more alone.”

Wonwoo’s face softened further, and he reached out for your hand, but you stepped back. “Don’t,” your voice cracked. “Don’t act like everything’s fine. It’s not fine.”

“I know it’s not,” he said as his hand dropped to his side. “I’m not pretending it is. But I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix us.”

The rain outside seemed to grow louder, and the intensifying storm reflected the emotions between you both. You turned away and wrapped your arms around yourself as your body shook with silent sobs. You felt him watching you, felt the space between you that grew wider as each string of hope was cut off.

“It’s not supposed to be this way,” you whimpered. “We had plans. We had dreams. We were supposed to have a family by now, to be happy. But everything feels…broken.”

Wonwoo stood there for a moment, watching you as if he were searching for the right words. Then, slowly, he dropped the bag he was holding and stepped forward. You didn’t hear him move, didn’t feel him until his arms wrapped around you from behind.

His hold on you was warm and strong, and his muscular arms wrapped around your small frame as if he was trying to hold you together when you couldn’t.

At first, you tensed up, taken by surprise, but then you turned around and melted into him, letting your tears soak his chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against her hair, “I’m so sorry baby.”

You shook your head as your sobs muffled against his chest. “I’m scared,” you admitted. “I’m scared we’ll never get to start a family like we dreamed. I’m scared we’re never going to be okay again. That we’re never going to be enough for each other.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, feeling his own tears rolling down his cheeks. “But you’re enough for me my love” he said, his voice breaking. “You’ve always been enough for me. I just…I don’t know how to make this better.”

As much as Wonwoo wanted to comfort you with reassurance, he could keep his feelings locked away all the time. This was the honest he could get.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him through your tear-streaked face. His red and glistening eyes met yours, and you saw the pain, the love, the desperation in them. Like your own.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you cried silently.

“You won’t,” he promised as his hands cupped your face. “We’re in this together. No matter what. Remember the promise we made on our wedding day?” he asked, and you nodded slowly,

“We’ll be okay”

You went to sleep that night, with your head resting on your husband’s shoulder while his arms were securely wrapped around your waist, thinking back to the day when everything started to fall apart. The memories played over and over like a cruel loop.

How badly you wished it was just a bad dream, a sickening nightmare that you’d shake off upon waking. But it wasn’t. It was real. The pain was too sharp, too vivid to be an illusion. And as much as you wished to escape it, every time you closed your eyes you were forced to face the harshness of it all.

▍1 JUNE 2022 — [3 years ago]

You hummed to yourself as you sliced through a bundle of fresh spring onions. It was a peaceful evening, and you were excited for your husband to come home from his photoshoot. He’d been working so hard lately and you wanted to treat him with his favorite dish — a noce pot of kimchi jjigae.

Cooking has become your comforting hobby lately ever since you found out you were pregnant. While Wonwoo was out for his clients’ photoshoots, you would stay at home to make his favourite meals so he could enjoy them when he returned home.

As you stirred the pot on the stove, your free hand instinctively went to your small, round belly. At twelve weeks pregnant, you had just begun to notice the subtle changes in your body. It was a surprise you didn’t expect, a blessing you both dreamed of.

As you reached for the ladle, a sudden sharp, searing pain shot through your lower abdomen. Your hand flew to your stomach, and you doubled over, gasping for air. The ladle slipped from your hand and clattered onto the floor.

It was just a cramp. That was what you told yourself. The pregnancy books said cramps were normal. You leaned against the counter and tried to breathe through the discomfort. But then it came again, this time sharper, radiating down your lower back. Your knees buckled, and you had to grip the counter to keep yourself upright.

The warmth between your legs came next, and it was unmistakable and terrifying. You staggered back and looked down to see blood staining your leggings. A wave of panic overtook you.

“No, no, no,” you whispered with your trembling voice. Your breathing became ragged, the pain was becoming sharper and incessant. The blood was so red, so graphic against the kitchen tile.

Your phone was on the table, a few feet away. You shuffled toward it with your blurring vision. With your hands shaking uncontrollably, you tapped on Wonwoo’s number and held your breath as the phone rang.

Once. Twice. Six times. No answer.

You knew Wonwoo barely checked his phone while working, but this was urgent. You needed him badly.

Your chest tightened. “Wonwoo, please,” you whimpered, and your voice cracked as the call went to voicemail. You tried again, but the phone rang endlessly. The pain grew worse, and tears blurred your vision almost completely. The world around you felt like it was spinning out of control.

On the third try, he finally answered. “Hey babe, sorry I was busy. What’s up?” Wonwoo said with a casual voice. You tried to speak, but the words were choking inside your throat.

“Babe? Are you okay?” his voice shifted, becoming tense.

“Y/n?”

“I—” your voice was barely a whisper, and the effort it took to speak felt huge.

Another wave of pain crashed over you that pulled a strangled cry from your lips. You couldn’t hold the phone anymore. Your phone slipped from your hand and fell onto the floor. You tried to pick it up, but your vision darkened around the edges, and before you could say anything more, everything went black.

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the overwhelming brightness. The sharp light in your eyes made you wince and turn your head. Your body felt unnaturally heavy, and your limbs stiff, and a dull ache throbbed in your abdomen. When the sterile smell of antiseptic hit your nostrils, you realised that you weren’t at home.

“Honey?” Wonwoo’s voice was hoarse, and it was filled with a mixture of relief and anguish.

He was sitting beside your bed with his hand wrapped tightly around yours. His face was pale, his eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. His usual calm and confident demeanor was gone. Instead, it was replaced by a fragile, broken man. Something you haven’t seen in a long time since his grandmother passed away a few years back.

You swallowed hard, but your throat was dry. “Wonwoo?” you rasped.

“Hey, I'm here,” he said quickly and leaned closer. “I'm right here baby. You're okay. You're safe.”

You tried to sit up, but the effort made your head swim. “What…what happened?” you asked.

Wonwoo’s face crumpled, and he squeezed your hand tighter as he used his other hand to brush a strand of hair from your damp forehead.

“You called me,” he began. “I-I didn't know what was wrong, but when you stopped talking, I rushed home. You were on the floor, Y/n. There was blood everywhere” his voice cracked as he spoke, and he looked away, swallowing hard.

“I called an ambulance, and they brought you here.”

The air felt heavy after that. Heavy with something unsaid. You could feel it — his silence, the pain etched into every line of his face. Then, your hand instinctively moved to your stomach, feeling dread creeping into your chest.

“The baby,” you whispered with a trembling voice. “Wonwoo…is the baby okay?”

Wonwoo’s breath hitched as he froze. For a moment, he didn’t answer. He couldn’t meet your eyes. Instead, he let out a choked sob, and his body shook as he leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His tears were warm against your skin, almost like you could feel his grief soaking into your skin.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Your heart stopped, and your whole body went cold as the meaning of his words sank in. “No,” you said, shaking your head. Your voice rose in panic and disbelief.

“No, that’s not true. Don’t say that Wonwoo. Don’t you dare say that.”

He pulled back with his face streaked with tears, and tried to cup your cheeks, but you pushed his hands away. “No!” you cried. “The baby’s fine. The baby has to be fine. Tell me the baby’s fine!”

Your hands moved to your stomach, feeling for something — anything — that would prove him wrong. But there was nothing. The flatness of your abdomen, and the emptiness you felt, confirmed the truth you desperately wanted to deny.

“Y/n,” Wonwoo said softly, his voice pleading, “please…”

“No!” your scream echoed through the hospital room. You began to sob uncontrollably, shaking your head as if doing so could erase the reality of what had happened.

“No, no, no! I can’t…I can’t lose the baby!”

Your husband reached for you and pulled you into his arms as you fell apart. You hit his chest weakly with your fists as your sobs muffled against him.

“It’s not fair,” you cried, “why did this happen? Why?”

Wonwoo’s own grief broke free, and he began to cry loudly, his body shuddering as he held onto you. His cries were unfiltered and guttural, the kind of pain that came from losing something that could never be replaced.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered through his tears. “I’m so sorry my love. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save our baby.”

▍31 DECEMBER 2024 — [ 5 months ago]

It felt like deja vu, but worse. You sat on the hospital bed as you blankly stared out of the window. You could hear the monitors beeping and the muffled voices of nurses outside the door. To you, it might as well have been the exact one where your heart had broken all those other times.

You were supposed to be celebrating New Year’s Eve with your friends and family, hoping and praying the new year to come would be filled with joy you deserved with your baby. Yet, here you were, in the same room you were in all these years ago — the same white walls and the same faint scent of disinfectant.

The world outside carried on like nothing happened. The snow continued to drift down from the sky, covering everything in white. Somewhere out there, people were laughing, drinking, counting down the hours until midnight. They were making resolutions, clinking glasses, kissing and hugging their loved ones.

But here in this suffocating space, you felt as if time was frozen. There was no celebration, no fresh start. Just loss.

For the sixth time.

But you didn’t cry. You had no tears left. You didn’t scream or wail or ask why like you did all those other times. The grief settled into your bones so deeply that it didn’t need to be expressed anymore. It became a part of you, as much as your blood and breath.

Across the room, Wonwoo sat in a chair with his face buried in his hands. His body shook as he silently sobbed, and his fingers gripped his hair as though he could somehow pull himself back together. He had always been your rock, the one who always reassured you even when his own voice cracked.

But it all seemed too much to keep himself together. He was completely torn.

“I don’t understand,” he choked out between sobs, “why does this keep happening?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t move. You just kept staring out at the snow with your hands resting limply in your lap.

This was supposed to be the one. The doctors said this pregnancy was strong, that the baby’s heartbeat was steady, that things looked promising. For the first time in years, you allowed yourself to hope — really hope.

And now, that hope was dimmed. Again.

The door opened softly, and Dr. Jung stepped inside. She was your doctor through all six pregnancies. Each time, she was the one to deliver the devastating news, and each time, her expression had grown wearier. Now, she looked almost as broken as you and Wonwoo did.

Wonwoo wiped his face and sat up straighter. His hands were still shaking as he reached for yours, but you didn’t react to his touch.

Dr. Jung hesitated for a moment before speaking, like she was trying to find the right words. But there were no right words.

“Y/n…Wonwoo,” she began gently. “I’m so, so sorry for your loss.”

Wonwoo inhaled a sharp breath and blinked back fresh tears that threatened to fall. But you didn’t blink.

Dr. Jung shifted in her chair as her hands clasped together tightly. “I know you’ve been through this so many times before,” she continued, her voice laced with sorrow. “And I can’t imagine how much pain you’re in right now. But we finally have some answers.”

Wonwoo’s body stiffened, and his grip tightened on your lifeless hand. “What do you mean?” he asked with his hoarse voice.

Dr. Jung exhaled softly. “The tests we ran after your last miscarriage, and the scans we did earlier this time, have given us a clearer picture. Y/n, your womb has an abnormal structure. It’s something we hadn’t been able to see before with certainty, but now we can.”

The words floated in the air like smoke, curling around and suffocating you. Wonwoo frowned and shook his head as if trying to make sense of the given information.

“What kind of abnormality?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Why didn’t anyone see this before?”

Dr. Jung’s expression softened. “It’s not something that always presents clearly in routine scans. But in Y/n’s case, the shape of her uterus makes it difficult for a pregnancy to progress past a certain point. The risk of miscarriage is significantly higher.”

Wonwoo felt his breath get caught in his throat. He the. turned to you and searched your face, but you were still staring out the window. And for the first time since he had known you, It was hard for him to read what you were feeling. And it broke him.

“There are treatment options,” Dr. Jung continued softly.

“In some cases, surgery can help. But…I need to be honest with you both. Even with intervention, the risk of miscarriage will always be there. It may be lower, but it won’t disappear completely.”

Wonwoo let out a shaky breath as his hands tightened into fists. “So you’re saying...it might never happen for us?”

Dr. Jung hesitated. “I’m saying that it will be much more difficult than for most couples. And I want you both to be prepared for that reality.”

You finally blinked. Your lips parted slightly, but you still didn’t speak.

You should have felt something — anger, sorrow, frustration — but there was only a vast emptiness inside you. You always thought you were cursed the second time it happened, that you were just unlucky, that fate was cruel.

But now that there was a medical explanation, you understood that it was your body. Your own body had been betraying you all these years.

Dr. Jung reached out and placed a hand over your cold one. “I know this is a lot to process. You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just take the time you need to grieve.”

You slowly turned your head towards the doctor, and your voice finally surfaced after what felt like an eternity. “So, you’re saying I was never meant to be a mother?” you whispered. The words were quiet, but they cut through the room like a knife.

Wonwoo’s face crumpled. “No, honey, don’t say that—”

Dr. Jung shook her head quickly. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. Many women with uterine abnormalities go on to have successful pregnancies. It’s just more complicated, and we would need to explore options very carefully.”

You absorbed the words, but they felt far like they were being spoken through a fog.

Wonwoo reached for your hand again and squeezed it tightly. “We’ll find a way,” he pleaded. “Even if we have to try again, even if it’s hard, we’ll find a way.”

Your eyes met his then, and for the first time all night, you let yourself feel the burden of his sorrow. His hope. His desperation.

“We said that last time,” you murmured.

Wonwoo’s face crinkled, and his body shuddered with another silent sob. He didn’t argue, because he knew you were right. You both said it last time. And the time before. And the time before that.

Dr. Jung sighed softly as she stood up. “I’ll leave you both alone for now. If you need anything, just call.”

She left the room quietly and closed the door behind her. The silence that followed was unbearable.

Wonwoo finally stood up and paced towards the window. He placed a hand against the glass and looked outside at the city below. The sky was glowing with fireworks, filled with explosions of red, blue, and gold painting the night. The world was celebrating the new year that just began.

People were cheering and kissing as they welcomed the new year with laughter and joy. And here you were, drowning in loss and misfortune.

You watched the fireworks for a moment, then turned back to your husband. His shoulders were shaking again while his forehead was pressed against the glass. You should have gone to him, should have wrapped your arms around him.

But you couldn’t move.

“I don’t think I can do this again” your voice came out flat and emotionless.

Wonwoo turned to you with his eyes filled with grief. “Y/n—”

“I can’t Wonwoo” you whispered through your cracked voice. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep hoping just to have it ripped away. I can’t keep watching you fall apart because of me.”

He was in front of you in an instant, kneeling beside the bed as his hands cupped your face. “Baby this isn’t your fault. It’s not because of you.”

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks. “But it is. My body…it’s broken Wonwoo”

His own tears fell freely as he kissed your hands, your forehead, your cheeks, and lastly your pale chapped lips. “You are not broken, my love” he whispered.

“And we will figure this out. Even if it’s different than what we imagined, we will figure it out together, okay? Please don't give up.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that there was still something to fight for. But as the fireworks exploded outside, all you could feel was the weight of six losses.

You didn’t know how to carry it anymore.

▍30 MAY 2025 — [present]

The sun was warm against your skin, while the gentle breezes swayed your brown locks all over the place. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day that should have made you feel light and at peace. But peace was hard to find for the past few years.

You sat cross-legged on your checkered picnic blanket, your fingers absentmindedly running through your husband’s hair as he lay on his back with his head resting on your lap.

Wonwoo was talking with his deep comforting voice, he was weaving stories from your past. He talked about memories of when you were both younger and happier. He spoke about your first date and how you were nervous as you sat in the tiny café, your hands inches apart as both waited for the other to close the distance. He reminded you of your honeymoon in Singapore, especially when you would both run into the ocean at midnight.

But you weren’t listening.

Your eyes were locked on a family that you noticed walking down the paved path in front of you. A man and a woman were holding hands, and between them were their two children.

The older girl, no more than five, pointed excitedly at something in the distance, and her laughter rang like wind chimes in the warm summer air. The younger boy, perhaps two, held to his mother’s side with his tiny fingers gripping her dress as he looked up at her with wide, adoring eyes.

You felt your chest tighten. It was the kind of family you always dreamed of having for yourself and Wonwoo. But fate had other plans.

Your fingers in your husband's hair came to a halt as your touch grew still.

The familiar suffocating ache settled in your chest, and it made it hard for you to breathe. Your throat felt constricted, and before you could stop it, a single tear rolled down your cheek.

Wonwoo’s voice trailed off. He had been mid-sentence as he told you about some ridiculous thing your neighbour did last week, but when he felt your fingers go still, when he noticed the shift in your breathing, his body tensed.

“Baby?” he called softly, tilting his head slightly to look up at you. But you didn’t respond. Your gaze remained locked on the family with your glassy eyes.

Wonwoo sat up slowly and shifted his weight until he was kneeling in front of you. His hands cupped your face and gently turned you away from the sight before you could spiral again further into pain.

“Hey,” he whispered, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks to wipe away the stray tears that escaped. “Look at me.”

You blinked as your focus shifted to him, but the sadness in your eyes remained. Wonwoo swallowed a hard lump, feeling his own chest tightening. He saw that look too many times before. He had felt that pain too.

The past five months were a battle — a slow, painful process of trying to piece yourselves back together after yet another devastating loss.

Six times. You lost six babies. And this time felt different. It was heavier, as if something inside you shattered beyond repair.

Wonwoo took time off work, just for you. And he planned this picnic in hopes — praying — that it would be a step toward healing. But now, as he looked at the sorrow in your eyes, he knew that no amount of warm sunlight or gentle breezes could erase the pain you carried.

He let out a slow, shaky breath and pressed his forehead against yours. “Please baby,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You closed your eyes as more tears slipped free. “I thought I was doing better,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I thought I was learning how to live with it.”

Wonwoo tightened his hold on your face a little. “You don’t have to pretend with me, love.”

You exhaled shakily. “I see them, and I wonder if that will ever be us.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “I wonder the same thing,” he admitted. “Every single day.”

You let out a soft, broken sound — half sob, half sigh. “I hate feeling like this,” you confessed. “I hate how every happy family feels like a reminder of what we’ve lost.”

Wonwoo’s hands trailed down your waist, squeezing gently. “I know baby, I know.”

You then met his sad gaze, and looked for something — reassurance, hope, anything that could ease the ache inside you. “Do you ever think we should stop trying?”

The question was sharp and straightforward that made Wonwoo mentally wince.

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. He asked himself that question before in the quiet hours of the night when he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to your soft, uneven breathing beside him. He thought about what it would mean to let go of the dream you had held for so long.

But letting go felt impossible.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I do know that I don’t want to lose us.”

Your breath hitched. “I don’t either.”

Wonwoo reached for your hands and laced your fingers together. “Then we take it one day at a time. We stop thinking about what’s ahead and just focus on now. On us.”

You looked down at your intertwined hands, and then back up at him. “And if we never get there?”

His throat tightened. He didn’t have an answer for that.

But instead of speaking, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Then we figure out what ‘there’ looks like for us,” he whispered against your skin.

A fresh wave of tears rolled down your cheeks, but this time, you didn’t try to hold them back. You let yourself lean into him, let yourself be held.

▍1 AUGUST 2025

The motion of the crochet hook moving through the soft pink yarn was almost hypnotic. Over and under, loop and pull. You worked in silence as your fingers moved with precision. It was a hobby that you picked up when you were ten, and you often praised yourself at how good you were at it.

You weren’t making anything for anyone in particular. There was no baby waiting for this tiny cardigan. No expectant nursery filled with soft toys and pastel colors. No little hands that would reach for you, no sleepy eyes that would blink up at you in the dead of night.

But still, you crocheted.

The soft yarn draped and pooled over your lap. The cardigan was small and delicate, made for a child who would never wear it. And yet, you kept going, because what else was there to do?

You stopped counting the days since the last you lost your baby, but the grief never truly left you. It was in everything you did, every thought you had.

When you cooked dinner, you thought about how you would have needed to make something different for a toddler. When you went to bed, you thought about how you would have been waking up to cries in the middle of the night.

Even now, sitting in your quiet home, crocheting, you thought about the tiny fingers that would have reached for the soft wool.

A deep sigh left your lips and your hands paused as you traced the fabric with your fingertips. The baby cardigan was almost finished. Just a few more rows, a few buttons to attach, and it would be complete.

But complete for who?

The unanswerable question kept lingering in your mind.

Before you could let your thoughts settle in too deeply, you heard the sound of footsteps out in the hallway. The door then creaked open, and you looked up, startled.

It was Wonwoo, standing in the doorway with a wide grin on his face. He was wearing a birthday hat that was slightly crooked on his head, and in his hands, he carried a cake. It was small, homemade, and slightly uneven, with a single candle lit on top.

His voice then began to fill the quiet dimmed room as he began to sing. Wonwoo made his way towards you as he sang, and his eyes were twinkling with love.

“Happy birthday to you.”

“Happy birthday my dear Y/n.”

“Happy birthday to you.”

You blinked in confusion, and then realisation. Your birthday. You forgot — of course you did.

When he reached the end of the song, he knelt in front of you and held the cake out with both hands.

“Make a wish, baby,” he murmured softly.

A lump formed in your throat as you looked at the cake. It wasn’t from a bakery — that you knew was obvious by looking at it. The frosting was unequal, some areas were too thick, and others were too thin. There was a smudge of chocolate near the base where he likely tried to fix a mistake.

He made it himself, and it made you tear up even more.

Wonwoo must have noticed, because he shifted a little in slight embarrassment. “I, uh…I did my best,” he admitted with a sheepish chuckle. “I know it’s not perfect, but—”

“It’s perfect,” you cut him off with a broken whisper, and Wonwoo’s expression softened instantly.

You inhaled shakily as you stared at the candle’s flame. You hadn’t made a birthday wish in years. Not since the first miscarriage. Every year, you wished for the same thing. A baby. A chance to be a mother. A chance to keep what you lost so many times.

But the universe didn’t listen.

Your hands trembled a little as you closed your eyes. And then, for the first time in years, you made a different wish.

You wished for peace. For healing. For the strength to move forward, even when it felt impossible.

Opening your eyes, you leaned forward and blew out the candle. The flame flickered once, then disappeared.

Wonwoo carefully placed the cake on the coffee table before turning back to you. He noticed the tears streaming down your cheeks and frowned. Without hesitation, he reached warm hands for you and he cupped your face, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

His touch was so tender it made you melt into it. He knew exactly what was making you sad. He always knew. His eyes drifted downward for a moment, landing on the small pink cardigan in your lap.

His chest tightened.

You saw the way his expression changed — the way his own pain surfaced.

“Woo…” you started weakly. But he didn’t let you finish.

Instead, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow, full of love, and full of the things neither of you could always say out loud.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you felt his breath warm against your slightly swollen lips.

“I hate seeing you sad on your birthday,” he murmured. “I just…I wanted today to be a good day for you.”

You let out a shaky breath. “It is a good day” you replied.

He pulled back a little and stared at your face. “You don’t have to say that.”

You gave him a small, sad smile. “But I mean it. You made it a good day.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek which lingered just beneath your eye. “I just want you to be okay.”

You swallowed hard as you glanced down at the cardigan once more. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay,” you admitted. “Not completely.”

Wonwoo’s hold on you tightened. “Then I’ll stay with you until you are. For however long it takes.”

Tears cascaded down your cheeks again, but this time, they weren’t just from sadness. They were from love. From gratitude. From knowing that, even in the darkest moments, you weren’t alone.

Wonwoo exhaled softly, looking at the half-finished cardigan. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitated, but then nodded. “I just…I don’t know why I keep making them,” you said, running your fingers over the fabric. “It’s not like anyone will wear them.”

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment before reaching down and picking up the cardigan. He turned it over in his hands and studied it carefully.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “It’s unfinished.”

“So?” he lifted it slightly and inspected the delicate stitches. “It still matters.”

“Why?” you looked at him with your heart aching.

Wonwoo met your gaze, “because it’s proof that you love them,” he said simply. “All of them. And that matters.”

You stopped breathing for a second. You never thought about it like that. For so long, you crocheted these tiny garments in silence, never daring to say what they truly meant to you. But Wonwoo always understood.

He placed the cardigan gently back in your lap and kissed your forehead. “We don’t have to figure everything out today,” he whispered. “But whatever happens next…we do it together.”

You nodded slowly as your fingers tightened around the soft fabric.

Together. For the first time in months, the word didn’t feel so heavy.

Wonwoo smiled as he brushed another tear from your cheek. “Now, come on. Let’s eat some of this cake before it completely falls apart.”

You let out a genuine laugh and shook your head. “I think it already has.”

Wonwoo gasped dramatically. “Wow. Rude.”

You smiled, truly smiled, and for the first time in a long time, the weight in your chest felt just a little lighter.

Maybe you were okay just yet. But with your husband by your side, maybe you would be.

▍3 SEPTEMBER 2025

Your body trembled under the weight of his as he slowly sank himself into you. A low grunt could be heard as he pushed past the tightness he felt around your walls, and another whiny moan when he felt his tip kiss your cervix.

“Fuck” he swore under his breath as he adjusted his position while your legs and arms were wrapped around his broad body.

The weather was getting a little cooler these days, and Wonwoo could feel you slightly shivering beneath him. Grabbing the blanket that was discarded on the side of the bed earlier, he threw it over your naked bodies.

“You okay?” he asked, pulling back slightly to look at you. You slowly opened your eyes and gave him a weak nod.

Wonwoo cupped your face and his thumbs traced over your cheekbones, as if he was reassuring himself that you were real, that you were here, together, despite everything.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. Your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say it back but couldn't find the words. Instead, you answered him with a kiss.

You bucked your hips upwards to motion him to move, and Wonwoo let out a small hiss as his one hand slowly trailed down to your hip while using the other to support himself upright.

Wonwoo pulled out just enough for the head of his cock to remain buried in, and then in one swift motion, he slammed himself right back in. Your mouth gaped, letting out a loud gasp.

He spread your legs wider and repositioned himself to give him better access. He grabbed both of your hands and pinned them above your head, then leaning in to press his sweaty forehead against yours.

He began to thrust in a sickeningly slow pace, deep enough for you to feel his cock brush against your cervix. Wonwoo wanted you to know, to feel, how much he loved you. With every open mouthed kiss he peppered over your lips, every deep rhythmic thrust, he wanted you to understand that nothing in this world would ever separate you from him. That he’d love you till the world ended.

“I love you so much” he whispered against your lips. Silent tears rolled down in the corner of your eyes, both in pleasure and love. But you couldn’t deny the pang of pain you felt either. It followed you like a shadow in everything that you did.

“I l-love you t-too” your voice broke, followed by a moan you couldn’t contain.

“It’s okay sweetheart, don’t hold yourself back” he reassured as he slowly picked up his speed. You intertwined your fingers tighter with his as he leaned in to bury his face in your neck once again.

“M-More” you cried out in pleasure as you squirmed beneath him.

Wonwoo’s eyes darkened, and his thrusts came to a halt as he pulled out completely. He pushed himself up on his knees, the blanket covering your bodies slipping off his back, and hooked his arms under your legs to pull you down closer.

And before you could comprehend anything, you felt him ram inside your tight hole in one go. You felt the air knock out of your lungs as you held onto his arm for dear life. Wonwoo only gave you a second or two to adjust before he began to pound into you mercilessly, the harsh sound of skin slapping and bed creaking filling your confined bedroom.

His fingers dug into your hips as he tried to maintain his pattern, but your cries and moans fed into his desire to go faster than he already was. The way your breasts bounded up and down, he couldn’t resist the urge to fondle with them. His slender fingers gently pinched at your nipple, causing you to let out a louder moan.

“D-Don’t stop b-baby” you whined.

Wonwoo leaned down and pecked your lips, “I wasn’t planning to sweetheart” he grunted.

Wonwoo knew you were starting to get overstimulated when your moans turned into sobs, and the way you pushed at his arms to beg him for a release.

You felt a tight coil form inside of you, ready to snap at any moment. “P-Please, I c-can’t. Fuck! Baby I-I can’t” you cried as you dug your nails into his biceps.

Wonwoo could feel the way your walls were clenching tighter which made it harder for him to control himself. “Let go baby” he said, pressing an open mouthed kiss on your trembling lips.

“Just let go”

And just like that, the coil finally snapped. Wonwoo pulled out just in time as you squirted all over this cock. Your screams filled the room, your hips shuddering as you continued to soak the bed sheets. Your husband watched with his hooded eyes as you unfolded, biting his lip.

It wasn’t often that you’d squirt during sex, but when you did, it was the hottest thing Wonwoo ever saw. And most of the time, he’d lose his sanity completely.

Wonwoo leaned down and gave you a sloppy kiss while his fingers trailed down to your soaked cunt. “Shh, you’re okay baby” he mumbled against your lips as he slowly rubbed your swollen clit in a circular motion.

When you finally calmed down, you let out a small sob, feeling overwhelmed. You never felt so good in a long time.

“You okay?” your husband asked, staring deeply into your eyes with a loving gaze. You gave him a nod and reached your hand out to caress his sweaty face.

With a soft smile and a peck on your lips, Wonwoo spread your legs wide once again. With one hand gripped on his thick shaft and the other resting on your cheek, he gently eased himself back inside you.

Your back arched and your arms flew to wrap around his muscular torso. His thrusts were more relaxed and slow than before, like he wanted you to understand the depth of his love for you.

“I love you” he whispered into your ear.

“And we’ll be okay.”

The world outside didn’t exist at that moment. There was no grief, no shattered dreams, no echoes of what you lost. There was only this — skin against skin, lips tracing, hands rediscovering the familiar dips and curves of each other’s bodies.

Wonwoo trailed kisses down the column of your throat, and paused at the rapid pulse beneath your skin. He lingered there and savoured the proof of life, the reminder that you were still here, still fighting, still capable of loving even after everything.

You let out a shaky breath as your hands roamed over his back, feeling the tension that lived in his muscles for far too long. You pressed soft kisses along his shoulder as a silent reassurance that you weren’t totally broken beyond repair.

This wasn’t just about making love. It was about finding your way back to each other. It was about healing in the only way you knew how.

“We’re okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure.

Wonwoo swallowed hard as he rested his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he whispered back, his fingers tightening around your waist.

“We are.”

He continued thrusting into you until he felt himself reaching his edge. His moans grew louder the closer he got to his orgasm, his eyes clenching shut as he kept his face buried in your neck.

And then, he finally felt himself snap. His movements stilled as he bursted inside you like fireworks, painting your walls white with his hot sticky cum and filling you up to the brim.

“Fuck!” he dragged on the word as he collapsed over you.

You shut your eyes and and savoured the way his cum still spurted like it was never going to end. And when it did, you felt him slowly pull out. The arousal dripping from your swollen cunt was immediate. But unlike how he always did, Wonwoo didn’t gather his cum with his fingers to push it back in. Instead, he just let it flow.

The hopes of starting a family was dimming, but it didn’t diminish completely. But now, you and Wonwoo knew that you were at a point where you knew you didn’t want to force yourselves into anything. If the universe wanted to answer your prayer, it would.

As much as it hurt, you came to accept that this was what life was. Not every dream is fulfilled, but when you have someone who loves you right next to you, heartbreak and disappointment is a little easier to overcome.

And with Wonwoo by your side, sticking to his promise he made during your wedding, life wasn’t all that miserable. In the end, he was your happiness. He was your answer to your questions. He was your everything, and right now, that mattered to you the most.

a/n; I don’t know what to feel about the smut, it’s lowkey shit but hey I gave it a shot!

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alygator77 · 16 hours ago

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ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 8 ᰔᩚ

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

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

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse » 【note, this chapter contains HEAVY TRIGGERS OF DOMESTIC ABUSE. ABUSIVE PAST RELATIONSHIP. MANIPULATION. GASLIGHTING. DISSOCIATION. CHILDHOOD TRAUMA. PTSD. PANIC ATTACK. explicit sexual content, fem rec oral, orgasm.】

ꨄ words: 13.8k

ꨄ a/n. hello my loves, we are back! this is a very, heavy chapter. pls read the triggers before proceeding and read at your own discretion. i actually cried writing this chapter. i'll see you at the bottom ♡ (art by @/hanamin_0123 on X )

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter → pending

ch 8 // inhale, exhale

Mornings like these make you feel like you’re walking through someone else’s life. Sunlight seeps through the curtains in buttery streaks, and you murmur, stirring slightly under the blankets, the feeling of fingers threading softly through your hair.

Whose fingers? Are you dreaming? Oh well, if it’s a dream, it’s one you’d rather not wake up from. It’s a peaceful morning—domestic, even—and for a moment, you let yourself breathe it in, almost succumbing back to sleep, wondering if this is what normal feels like.

The peace you’re building with Satoru. This life. You let it settle over you like a soft blanket, hoping it might chase away the prickle of unease that had been clinging to your mind since last night.

Ah... but of course. Something is off. And unfortunately, the thought coils into your mind yet again, slithering in before you can stop it—an itch you can’t quite scratch.

It jolts you awake, your eyes fluttering open as the thoughts fester their wake into your mind, but as the fogginess of your heavy eyes begin to focus, the first thing you see is him.

Satoru—propped up on one elbow, looking down at you affectionately as he lays beside you on the bed—fingers brushing lazily through your hair.

“Hey you,” he murmurs quietly. “Good mornin’.”

Your cheeks blush.

Oh. This isn’t a dream. Fuck. Of course. You just remembered that you snuck into his room last night.

Your body moved on its own, and now you’re unsure what to say this morning.

Because Satoru’s smile last night outside the jacuzzi, the one that said—Everything’s fine—you’d seen past it. After all, his smile isn’t just charm; it’s armor. But this time he wasn’t shielding himself; he was shielding you.

And perhaps you would rather convince yourself it is fine. To believe that the life you’re building together isn’t as fragile as it feels—poised to crumble under the weight of the unknown.

Yet, in the stillness of the night, your mind wouldn’t let you rest. No. After saying goodnight to Satoru, returning to your separate beds, most of your night was spent tossing and turning restlessly—thoughts racing in endless circles.

And then, before you knew it, there you were—standing in the hallway, barefoot and hesitant as your fingers brushed lightly against the doorframe of his room. His door was slightly ajar and the faint glow of moonlight spilled out into the dark hallway.

Fuck. What are you doing?

Honestly, you weren’t sure what you needed exactly. Reassurance? Comfort? To hear him say one more time that everything was fine, even if you knew deep down it wasn’t? All you knew was that the weight in your chest felt unbearable, and you didn’t want to be alone with it anymore.

Quietly, you stepped inside, slowly making your way to the edge of his bed. After lowering yourself onto the mattress, you perched there—hands nervously twisting in your lap as you watched him.

He looked so… peaceful. And beautiful. His white lashes rested against his cheekbones, the faintest hint of color blooming there. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing deep and even, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic. The mere sight of his expression sent a wave of longing crashing through you.

Without thinking, your hand moved, brushing lightly against his hair. The soft, silken strands slipped through your fingers, and you smoothed them back from his forehead in a gentle motion.

“Mmm…” he stirred beneath your touch, brow furrowing as a quiet murmur slipped from his lips—something too soft to make out.

You froze, hand stilling against his hair as your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, you thought he might fall back into the rhythm of sleep, but then his lashes fluttered, and his eyes opened, heavy-lidded and hazy with sleep.

“y/n…?” His voice was low, gravelly, and his gaze landed on you, soft and unfocused.

“Oh… hi…” you whispered. A warmth crept into your cheeks as his eyes lingered on you. “Sorry I, uh… didn’t mean to wake you.”

He blinked slowly, a sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Hey… no it’s fine. You okay?”

“Yeah… um. I…” You swallowed hard, your gaze darting down to your lap as your hands curled into the fabric of your nightgown. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

Immediately, his expression softened, the lingering traces of sleep in his gaze giving way to a quiet concern. He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow as his other hand reached for yours.

“What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze as the words caught in your throat.

“Nothing,” you hesitate. “I just… couldn’t stop thinking.”

He let out a quiet hum, filled with understanding, before sighing softly. His hand tugged at yours, gently pulling you closer.

“C’mere…”

Before you could protest, you found yourself lying beside him, the warmth of his body seeping into yours as his arm wrapped securely around your waist. He shifted slightly, his chest pressing against your back as the blankets rustled around you both.

You felt his chest rumble against you as he let out a sleepy hum, his hand brushing lightly against your abdomen in a slow, comforting rhythm.

“Better?”

Your breath caught for a moment at the intimacy of it all—the way his face nuzzled against the crook of your neck, his nose brushing lightly against your skin.

“Um… yeah,” you whispered, letting yourself relax into him. “You’re… warm.”

“Mmhm…” his lips curved into the faintest smile as he burrowed closer. “One of my many talents… ‘m like… a human heater,” his words slurred slightly as sleep tugged at the edges of his voice. “Should charge for this, honestly.”

You let out a quiet laugh despite yourself, carrying away the weight of your earlier worries.

“Yeah… right. Is there anything you don’t think you should charge for?”

As he considered your question, his head tilted slightly, breath ghosting across your neck.

“Dunno…” he murmured, halfway between wakefulness and sleep. “Smiles, maybe. Those are free… but only f’you.”

You shifted slightly, turning your head just enough to peer back at him. The corners of his lips tugged up into a slow, lazy grin as one eye cracked open at you.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup,” his grin widened. “See? Free of charge.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, returning his grin.

Ah… all your worries were once again melting away.

As you shifted in the bed to face him, you allowed your eyes to fully meet his.

His legs tangled with yours beneath the blankets, and his hands slid to rest at the small of your back—tracing lazy circles, lulling you into a calm you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

“And you’re thinking too much again,” his nose brushed against yours in a playful nudge. “What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?”

You held your breath as your fingers curled lightly against the fabric of his shirt, gripping it for some kind of anchor.

“I… I dunno…” you exhaled heavily. “I just… I’m worried, I guess.”

“About Haru?” he asked gently.

You hesitated, your gaze falling as your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. The silence hung between you.

He’s not wrong… but that’s not entirely all of it.

You’re worried about… everything. About him. About this.

About… us.

The weight of your quiet made something shift in him. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, his hand continued its soothing motion against your back.

“Hey now…” he murmured sleepily. “Nothin’s gonna happen. You’re safe. Haru’s safe. I got this.”

You look up at him through your lashes, and his own gaze was heavy lidded—the striking blue of his eyes softened by a quiet intimacy.

“How… can you be so sure?” you whispered shakily.

“Because ’m me,” he replied simply, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. It was lazy, sleepy, but so undeniably Satoru. “And I don’t lose. Ever. It’s, like… my whole fucking thing.”

You couldn’t help it—the small laugh that escaped you was quiet and soft, muffled against the broad expanse of his chest as he pulled you closer.

“Your confidence is almost as annoying as it is reassuring...”

“See? Multi-talented,” he quipped, and his hand against your back slowed as the sleep threatened to overtake him, but the lazy circles never ceased. “Seriously, though… whatever’s got you tied up in knots, don’t carry it alone. ’m here… always.”

His words settled over, wrapping around the edges of your anxiety. Your cheek nuzzled into the soft fabric of his shirt as you nodded wordlessly—molding your body against his.

“I just… don’t want to bother you.”

“You could never bother me,” he whispered, lips brushing against your temple in a fleeting kiss. “You’re kinda like… my favorite person, y’know?”

All the unease that was weighing you down burned away as a warmth curled throughout your body. His breathing began to slow, evening out into a steady rhythm.

Once you felt his hand on your back grow still, you thought he’d drifted off, but then his drowsy voice broke the silence—filled with a quiet conviction.

“I got you princess… always.”

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips.

“Thanks, Satoru…” you whispered as your eyes fluttered closed.

The hum that rumbled from his chest in response was faint, coupled with the way his arm tightened slightly around you, pulling you even closer. And in his warmth, enveloped by the steady cadence of his breathing and the solid presence of him beside you, you felt the faint stirrings of peace. Sleep crept in gently, pulling you under in soft, lulling waves, and this time, you let it.

“Yoo-hoo, sleepyhead. Still waking up?” His voice breaks through your thoughts, teasing, and very much awake.

Your eyes snap to his again, startled, and now, you found him smirking at you, propped up on one elbow. His hair is tousled from sleep, white strands falling messily over his forehead, and his eyes—those piercing, crystalline blues—hold a glint of amusement.

“Oh… um, yeah. g’morning,” you blink, heat rising to your cheeks as the weight of his gaze settles on you.

He rests his head on the pillow beside you, reverently running his hand up your cheek. You hope he doesn’t feel how hot it’s growing under his gaze.

“You’re red.”

Well, fuck.

“And you’re staring…” you murmur quietly.

“Can you blame me?” he replies with a smirk. “You look way too fucking good in my bed.”

Your blush deepens, and you turn your head slightly to break his gaze, though the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“I… just…”

“Was trying to seduce me, huh?”

Your eyes snap back to his, wide with indignation.

“Wha—I told you I couldn’t sleep!”

“Sure, sure,” he scoots closer to you, lips curling into a devious grin. “Buuuut… you were clinging to me a moment ago. Should’ve seen it. Super cute.”

“Tch… I was not clinging,” you protest, pulling the blankets over your body as your cheeks burn hotter.

“Uh-huh,” he hums, unconvinced, growing impossibly smug. “You sure about that? Pretty sure you mumbled my name in your sleep, too.”

Your mouth falls open, words failing you as you sputter, “I—I did not!”

“Oh, you absolutely did,” he replies smoothly, grin stretching into a smirk. “It was quite adorable. Almost melted on the spot.”

Fuck… did you?

Your eyes narrow as he flashes those pearly white teeth at you.

Nah. He’s fucking with you, you know better.

“Yeah right. You’re making that up,” you huff, rolling your eyes.

“Maybe,” he admits, shrugging one shoulder casually. “But you’ll never know, will you?”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, giving him a playful shove. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You snore!”

He scoffs. “I do not snore.”

“You do,” you counter smugly. “Loudly. Like, so damn loud I’m surprised it didn’t wake up Haru.”

His eyebrow rises and a mischievous glint flickers in his gaze. “Ohhhh? Alright, alright. Fine then,” his voice drops low as he murmurs, “you really wanna play that game with me?”

Before you can react, he moves. You yelp as in one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, his hands pinning your wrists gently against the mattress as he hovers over you—grin downright wicked.

“Satoru!” you laugh, squirming beneath him. “Get off me!”

“Nope,” he says smugly, his face dipping closer to yours. “You accused me of snoring. That’s slander. Hate to tell ya, but I can’t let it slide.”

Your laughter fades slightly as you feel his weight press against you.

“Oh yeah?” you ask breathlessly, “And… just what are you gonna do about it, Mr. Perfect?”

Those vivid blue eyes darken, and your breath hitches as he dips his head lower, into the crook of your neck, making your heart flip as you feel his lips press a featherlight kiss behind your ear.

“Hmmm… let’s see… I wonder…” his breath tickles your skin as he trails soft kisses down your throat. “How shall I punish you?”

You blink, absorbing his words as a shiver of warmth spreads through your core.

“P-Punish?!” you stammer breathlessly.

“Mhmm...” as his kisses continue downwards, his hands loosen from your wrists, gliding down your arms reverently. “What did y’think was going to happen?”

His hands gingerly descend down your curves, palms pausing at your hips. You feel his fingers slip briefly underneath the hem of your nightgown, just above your abdomen as his lips fall lower, gentle nips against your skin.

“S-Satoru…” you whine as he hums against your skin, a smirk curling upon his lips.

“C’mon now… you come into my room… crawl into my bed… wearing these thin little pajamas…”

His thumbs rub smooth circles across your abdomen, and you feel yourself beginning to get hot.

“I wasn’t—haaa” the words die on your lips as his hand rises to the curve of your breast, thumb grazing the hardened peak of your nipple through the material of your sleepwear.

“Wasn’t what?” you’re squirming as he pebbles your nipple slowly. “Trying to drive me crazy? Showing up like this… what’s a guy to do?”

His other hand slides higher, slipping beneath the hem of your gown, and with a gentle tug, he pushes the fabric up. His eyes darken as more of your skin is revealed.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his thumb rolling over your bare nipple now, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “Last night… couldn’t see you clearly in the dark, but now…”

His lips follow his hands, closing around your nipple, and the warm, wet heat of his tongue makes your body arch, your fingers gripping the sheets as a soft whimper escapes you.

“Nngh… S-Satoru…”

“Mm… fuck yes, say it again,” he pants, his lips releasing your nipple with a sinful pop. “Say m’ name, baby. Wanna hear how bad you need me.” He switches his attention to your other breast, lavishing it with the same care—licking, sucking, each gentle nip sending another rush of arousal pooling down your thighs.

With a shake of your head, you try to bite back the desperate sound clawing its way up your throat, but as his hand descends lower, gliding down your hip, you feel his fingers brush against your inner thigh and your body betrays you.

A needy whimper slips out as you open your legs eagerly for him, earning you a cocky smirk. It curls upon Satoru’s lips as he nibbles your nipple between his teeth—vivid blue eyes looking up at you through fluttering white lashes.

“Hah. Look at that,” he breathes, flicking the hardened peak with his tongue. “Didn’t even have to ask, and those pretty little legs opened right up for me.”

The pure arrogance in his voice sets your skin on fire.

“Sh-shut up,” you snap weakly, trying your best to glare at him as a flush creeps up your neck. “You just—haaa…”

The words are stolen from you the moment his mouth begins its descent—trailing kisses lower, his tongue swiping down your abdomen in slow, wet circles, agonizingly closer to your dripping pussy.

“Hmm?” His head tilts as his thumb brushes so close to your center that your entire body shudders. You feel his breath between your legs. “Something you want, sweetheart? You gotta use your words.”

Fucking cocky ass.

Your lips part, but you hesitate—pride warring with need, the unbearable ache between your thighs clouding your thoughts.

He clicks his tongue, mockingly disappointed. A pout on those pretty lips—lips you want buried in your cunt.

“Tch. Guess you don’t want it that bad, huh?”

His fingers continue to skate up your thigh, stopping short of where you need him, and your frustration rises—hands twisting into the sheets.

“Satoru—” your hips buck involuntarily, but he tuts softly, pulling his hand away just enough to leave you aching for it.

“Mm-mm.” His voice is smooth, cruel in its amusement. “I told you, princess. Use your words.”

Your jaw tightens, nails biting into the sheets as your body trembles with need.

“You are insufferable and so fucking unfair.”

A low sinful laugh rumbles through his chest as he turns his head to your thigh, trailing gentle kisses slowly up to your pussy.

“Unfair?” he echoes as his nose ghosts dangerously over your soaked panties.

He inhales, eyes momentarily slipping shut as he takes in the sweet scent of you. And Jesus, he groans. Actually groans. Like he’s drunk on you.

Your body jerks, hips shifting impatiently under him, but he doesn’t give in. Not yet.

Instead, he arches a brow, looking up at you with that infuriatingly smug expression as he presses a fleeting kiss to your clothed core, making a violent shudder roll through you as the soft hum of his satisfaction vibrates against your heat.

“You said you wanted to savor me, didn’t you?” His lips drag slowly back up your inner thigh, teasing, taunting.

You’re pouting now, glaring down at him like you want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time, and he just chuckles, shaking his head.

“Well?”

“What, expecting me to beg?”

“Tch… stubborn girl…”

His mouth finds its way back to the soaked fabric, and this time, he presses his tongue against it, mouthing at your cunt through your panties. A desperate cry slips past your lips as your head falls back—pussy dripping. His smirk falters.

Fuck, he wants to bury his face in your cunt.

Now he’s the one struggling. You feel his fingers press into your thigh harder, nails biting into flesh, and as he pulls back, eyeing the dark, damp patch of fabric clinging to you.

"Fuck, baby…" His fingers skim slowly over the outline of your soaked folds—his hardening cock twitching in his sweats at the realization. "God… you’re fucking drenched."

You continue to bite your lip, fighting back the needy whimper that is desperate to slip out. His head tilts, shifting into something darker as he looks up at you with those ocean-blue eyes—dilated, raw and starved. God you could get lost in those eyes.

But then, that smug ass grin returns.

“All this? Just f’me?”

“Satoru…” you whine.

He clicks his tongue, resting his cheek against your thigh as he looks up at you affectionately.

“Fair’s fair, baby. I’m gonna savor you. Now then, my pretty girl… what do you want?”

Asshole. He’s playing you. And you want to resist. You really do. But you’re so fucking wet, so aching, so unbearably needy for him. Another breath shudders out of you, and as your voice breaks, your resolve snaps.

“Satoru… please—”

There’s that word. His grin shoots up, something dark and hungry flashing across his face.

“Oh?” His fingers hook around the waistband of your panties. “Please what baby? Be specific.”

Fucking hell. You’re losing it.

“Jesus, fuck. Touch me,” you gasp, finally breaking. “Fuck, please Satoru—just touch me already. Want you—eep!”

Before you can even breathe, he’s ripping your panties down, shoving your thighs wide open, spreading your needy, dripping cunt out for him to see as he curses under his breath. His restraint snaps and oh, he’s wrecked. A filthy groan slips from his lips as he admires you, laid out for him—his cock twitching violently at the sight.

"Look at this perfect little pussy," he groans, and you mewl as he presses two fingers to your soaked folds, just barely parting them as he spreads your slick between his fingers in awe. “Heh… so fucking wet. Your little cunt is just begging to be filled, isn’t it?”

As he circles the rim of your sex, your body clenches needily around nothing, making another whine escape you as your thighs threaten to snap shut—but he grips them firmly, keeping you spread.

"Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Let me see you. Fuck, look at you," he watches transfixed as his finger presses in—just barely the tip sinking inside before pulling back.

You can feel your slick glistening down your thighs, and you shudder, back arching, voice quaking as he finally sinks his long, thick finger fully inside.

“Ahhh—Satoru!”

A downright dangerous smirk stretches across his lips as he begins to stretch you.

"Mmn… fuck, you feel so tight," your spongey walls grip him as he slowly twists his finger inside, your arousal dripping down his knuckles.

And he’s utterly transfixed, his cock throbbing against the mattress where he lays—watching you take it. He releases a shuddering breath as he shifts, gripping your thighs as he presses you forward, keeping you pinned.

"Greedy fucking hole...” he groans, eyes glued to where you're clenching around him, pumping into your pussy with slow, deep thrusts. “Wanna stuff this hungry little cunt so fucking full..."

The moment he curls his finger just right—dragging against that perfect spot, you cry out.

"Ahhh... ah ahhh... ‘toru... nngh...please… more."

There’s that pretty little word again. His eyes flick up to your face, and he’s relishing in this—you—blushing, panting, watching him with an expression that absolutely wrecks him. Licking his lips, he exhales harshly, leaning forward.

“Good girl, begging so sweet f’me.”

You feel his hot breath fanning against your core, and your thighs tremble as he ghosts those glossy lips over your slick folds—teasing you with the contact you desperately crave.

The moment his pink tongue flicks out, he groans—licking a slow, torturous stripe from your entrance up to your throbbing clit, making your whole-body jerk. A sharp cry rips from your throat as he hums against your cunt.

“Fuck…” he pants, licking and curling his finger in tandem now, “nngh… taste better than I imagined.”

His grip slides lower, kneading your ass before he yanks you closer, burying himself deeper between your thighs. The sudden force makes you yelp, but the sound quickly dissolves into a whimper as his mouth wraps about your clit—curling, flicking, savoring every drop of arousal dripping onto his lips.

“S-Sator… nnngh… fuck.”

You see stars, squirming and trembling around his face as his tongue accompanies his finger— delving deep into your tight hole. His hips rut involuntarily against the bed, cock straining unbearably in his sweats as precum leaks through the fabric.

“Mmm...” he hums against you, a sinful smirk curling as he drags his tongue up your slit again, slow and deliberate. “Fuck yes… wanna drown in your cunt.”

He’s back on you voraciously, low hungry moans mixing with the wet noises of your pussy. You pant, looking down at him and oh, he’s ravenous. His face buries between your legs as those blue eyes flick up through messy white lashes, drinking in the way you writhe for him.

And writhing for him you are. Satoru is loving it—seeing your face flushed a pretty pink, panting, your breasts heaving as you shudder against him.

“Haaa—look at you,” he pulls back, flicking his tongue rapidly over your clit now. “Heh… wanna make you squirm and shake until you're nothing but an incoherent mess, beggin’ for my cock."

You’re squirming now, eyes fluttering shut as your clint tingles from the rising pressure building within your tummy. But as you feel his second finger slip into your cunt, your eyes snap open and a desperate sob breaks from your lips. You were so close.

"Ohmygod—Satoru, please—"

He hums in amusement, lapping at your sweet essence. "Haaa... I dunno… maybe I'll grant you what you want, pretty girl,” he’s panting now, scissoring your cunt fervently between each filthy word. “Stuff your needy little hole with my thick, hard cock until you can't take any more. Bet you’d like that, huh?”

Your voice is barely coherent now, broken between ragged gasps and desperate whimpers. “Yes… yes… wan’ you ‘toru… m’close…”

Desperate to grip onto something, your fingers find purchase on his hair, slipping through the soft white strands as you pull him close, shamelessly grinding yourself on his pretty face, clenching against him as your arousal coats his lips.

“Mmmngh…” Satoru groans against your cunt, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as you use his mouth. His cock throbs eagerly against the mattress as he devours you like a man starved.

Fuck, he's so hard it hurts, aching to bury himself inside your perfect little cunt.

He fully gives in, releasing his fingers to pull you close—wrapping your legs around his shoulders as his tongue plunges deep—fucking into your entrance as he laps up your dripping arousal—nose brushing against your clit as you rock on his face. You’re on the brink of coming undone.

"Haaa... yes, yeahh! J-jus' like... mmnn... that! Oh fuuuck!"

As your fingers tug at his hair, hips rolling wildly, Satoru groans into your heat, reverberating through your core. You look down to see those glassy eyes flutter open, locking onto yours, watching every little tremor of your body as the pleasure wrecks you.

And then you snap.

Your pussy clamps down around his tongue, a sob ripping from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you. Satoru groans through it, tongue pressing deeper as your walls pulse violently, drenching his eager mouth as he savors every drop of your release.

His cock jerks violently, aching with need as he drinks you down, eyes flickering shut as he hums against your overstimulated clit, prolonging your pleasure until you’re trembling uncontrollably above him.

Finally spent, your grip on his hair loosens, and your hips still as your trembling slows. Satoru gentles his kisses as he eases you down from your high, his hands trailing light, soothing circles on your thighs.

"Mmm, that's it, princess. Came so fucking hard for me..." he murmurs smugly against your sensitive flesh, pressing one last lingering kiss against your swollen clit before pulling back. His lips and chin glisten with your release as he smirks down at you. "You taste fucking incredible..."

As you watch him lick his lips hungrily, you realize he’s still not sated—not even close. Your gaze narrows to the obscene bulge straining against his grey sweats, pooling with precum. He follows your line of sight, eyes dragging down to the tent in his pants before meeting yours again, his smirk deepening.

“See what you do to me?” he pitches forward, and you shudder as his forearms bracket your head, looming over you. “Fuck… want you…” His lips graze your jaw, his voice a low, desperate rasp. “You felt so good around my fingers… can just imagine this greedy little cunt wrapped around my cock.”

But then, suddenly, the bedroom door swings open.

"Mama! The sun is up. Let’s go downstairs and play!"

Oh God.

The air is sucked straight from your lungs as Haru’s tiny voice rings through the room like a gunshot. Both you and Satoru freeze, horror crashing down like a tidal wave.

Thankfully, Satoru reacts first.

With lightning-fast reflexes, he rolls to the side, yanking you with him, shielding your naked body as he drags the sheets up in a last-ditch effort at preserving what’s left of your dignity. Haru stands in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with tiny fists, completely oblivious to the absolute disaster she’s just walked in on.

You slap a hand over your mouth, trying—failing—not to let out a panicked squeak, and Satoru, still rock-hard and reeling from the sheer whiplash of the moment, clears his throat.

“H-Hey, kiddo… uh… what’s up?”

Haru pouts at him, unimpressed. “Where’s Mama? I want Mama.”

“Oh, uh… right.” Satoru laughs, but it’s high and strained, barely holding it together as he tightens his hold around you.

You can feel the mortification radiating off him in waves, and before either of you can scramble for a better excuse, there’s another voice.

“Haru? Where’d you go? Oh—OH MY—”

The nanny—Remi.

She halts in the doorway like she’s just walked into a crime scene, brown eyes going comically round as her hands fly to her mouth. Her sleek dark hair is pulled into a ponytail, her uniform crisp as always, but her composure? Completely shattered. Her face turns a shade of red, one that rivals yours as she sees you and Satoru tangled up in the sheets.

“Oh! Uh—Haru, sweetie—” She clears her throat, trying and failing to sound normal. “Why don’t we head downstairs? Your parents will be down soon!”

Satoru audibly chokes on air, and you feel his body tense beside you. But Haru, ever persistent, pouts.

“But I wanna—”

“I’ll make waffles! Extra syrup! Maybe even some whipped cream—doesn’t that sound fun?” Remi is already halfway out the door, all but dragging Haru with her.

Haru hesitates for a split second, then gasps. “Whipped cream?!”

“Yep! Let’s go!”

And just like that, they’re gone. The door clicks shut, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake. You and Satoru remain frozen, your bodies still tangled beneath the sheets, wide-eyed and horrified.

Your entire soul leaves your body.

“Oh. My. God.” you whisper, hands flying to your face as if you can somehow will yourself out of existence. “I am never showing my face outside this room again.”

Beside you, Satoru exhales deeply, stretching out like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

“Well,” he grins, tilting his head toward you, “that was fun.”

You gape at him, your mortification reaching new levels. “Are you—are you fucking kidding me?”

He just blinks, completely unbothered. “What?”

Groaning, you curl onto your side, burying your face into a pillow. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Satoru’s chuckle rumbles through his chest as he shifts onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. His other hand reaches over, tugging at the pillow you’re desperately clinging to.

“Oh, c’mon, princess,” he hums, infuriatingly smug. “Worst day of your life? Pretty sure five minutes ago you were having the time of your life.”

Your entire body burns hotter than the sun. “Quiet. Do not start—”

“What? Just saying,” his grin widens as his fingers trace lazy patterns down your arm. “One second you were cuming on my tongue, and the next—”

You slap a hand over his mouth before he can finish that sentence. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

The smirk beneath your palm only deepens, and you shriek, jerking your hand back as his warm tongue flicks out against your skin.

“Satoru!?”

He bursts into laughter, utterly shameless, before effortlessly pulling you into his arms. His grip is warm, steady, and one hand slides up, smoothing down your messy hair as he tucks a stray strand behind your ear.

“You’re always so cute when you’re flustered,” he murmurs, dropping into something softer.

“I am not flustered,” you huff, scowling as you bury you face into his chest, grumbling “I am humiliated.”

A quiet, amused sigh rumbles through him as his fingers begin to trace slow, lazy circles over your hip, featherlight, absentminded. Neither of you move, neither of you rush to untangle from each other—it’s a rare moment of stillness.

“Hey,” he murmurs gently, nudging his nose against your temple. “It’s okay.”

You pout, cheeks still burning, as you peek up at him through your lashes. “How am I ever gonna look Remi in the eye again?”

His lips twitch, amusement flickering behind his bright eyes before he rolls them with exaggerated ease. “Baby, you don’t have to,” he says. “Just stare at her forehead.”

You groan, swatting at his chest as you roll onto your back. “You are so not helpful.”

Satoru laughs, deep and unbothered, before tugging you right back against him. His arms wrap around you easily, pressing you close, his nose nudging against your hair. You feel yourself melting into him as his lips brush a lingering kiss against your temple, soothing the heat burning under your skin.

All you want to do is remain here—tangled up in him, forever. But of course, he reminds you of your reality.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your hair, fingers tracing delicate lines down your spine. “We’re gonna have to go downstairs at some point.”

You let out a quiet whine, curling in on yourself. “No. We absolutely do not.”

He chuckles, nosing at your temple again. “Why don’t you go ahead and clean up, hm? We’ve got a big day ahead of us. Suguru is expecting us.”

You mumble something unintelligible against his collarbone before sighing, reluctantly peeling yourself away from him, the cool air replacing his warmth making you shiver. As you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, reality crashes back down on you.

"You know, I should’ve known this would happen," you grumble, trudging towards to bathroom. "You never lock the damn door. It’s like the whole fucking bathroom fiasco all over again.”

Satoru grins, plopping back onto the bed lazily. "I didn’t see you complaining when I had my face between your—"

A pillow smacks him square in the face before he can finish. He yelps, half laughing as he dodges your second attempt.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle the damage control,” he says smugly.

You pause at the bathroom door, squinting at him in pure suspicion. “…What exactly does ‘damage control’ mean?”

That wicked grin stretches across his lips, slow and self-satisfied, his bright eyes gleaming with mischief. “It means I’ll flash Remi a dazzling smile, crack a joke, and act like nothing happened. Works every time.”

You groan, shaking your head as you shuffle through the doorway. “Great… I am so screwed.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and Satoru smirks, settling back into the pillows with a sigh. He can hear the water running, but it barely registers, his mind still clouded with the remnants of you—your warmth, your scent, the way you had unraveled beneath him just minutes ago.

And then his gaze flickers downward.

Your panties—still damp, tangled in the mess of bedding, glistening with your arousal—catch his eye.

His throat tightens. His cock twitches, still painfully hard, still aching with need.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t. But he’s already reaching for them.

The fabric is still warm, still sticky, and the moment he hooks a finger around the waistband, lifting them to his face, your scent floods his senses. A violent shudder rips through his spine. It’s obscene. It’s filthy. And it makes him impossibly harder.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles in his chest as his hips press into the mattress, instinct taking over. Rolling onto his back, his free hand shoves down his sweats just enough to free his aching cock. Precum smears against his abs, and the first tight stroke around the thick base has his head falling back against the pillows, lips parting on a sharp gasp.

“Haaa—baby…” he grunts, pressing your panties to his face as he his hips buck into his fist.

His mind is still clouded with the way you came apart for him—the way you rode his face, rolling your hips, thighs trembling, voice breaking as you cried his name. His jaw clenches, fingers twisting in the damp lace, pressing it harder against his nose, drowning in the sweet, intoxicating scent of you.

God, he’s obsessed.

His breath turns ragged, his wrist flicking faster as heat coils deep in his gut. He pictures you—perched on top of him, sinking down onto his cock, stretching around him, taking him so perfectly. His body reacts on instinct, rutting up into his palm, fucking into his tight grip with reckless abandon.

“Nnngh… oh yes… fuuuck just like that,” he whimpers, thick with need. “Baby… haaa… gonna have you dripping down my cock next time—ahhh, fuck—"

His rhythm stutters, muscles seizing, toes curling as pleasure crashes over him like a tidal wave. His stomach clenches, his breath catches, and then—

A strangled moan tears from his throat as he spills over his fist, thick, sticky ropes of cum painting his stomach. His body trembles, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession as the last waves of his orgasm rip through him. His eyes squeeze shut as he milks himself dry, accentuating each pulse of release with a shuddering whine, muffled against your panties.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room is his ragged breathing, his limbs lax and boneless against the bed.

Then his eyes flick toward the bathroom door.

The water is still running.

A lazy, satisfied smirk tugs at his lips as he reaches for a tissue from the nightstand, cleaning himself up at an unhurried pace, basking in the post-orgasm haze. His muscles are still tingling, pleasure simmering warm and slow in his veins.

And then he sees them—your panties, still resting on the bed beside him.

He hesitates for only a second before smirking, reaching for the nightstand. The drawer slides open, and with a flick of his wrist, he tucks them inside.

His dirty little secret—maybe for later.

Anyways. Right.

Time to handle damage control.

ꨄ

“Oh! Good morning, sweetheart,” Remi chirps, voice light, easy. “I was wondering when you’d come down.”

She sets a fresh cup of coffee at your usual seat, so natural, so routine, that it momentarily soothes the buzzing in your chest. Oh. She’s being nice. And not weird about it at all.

But then—

“Did you sleep well?”

You freeze mid-step while heat creeps up your neck, blooming across your cheeks before you can smother it. Satoru pauses too, his coffee cup halfway to his lips, but unlike you, he just smirks. That infuriating look flashing in his eyes as he watches you with far too much amusement—scrambling into your seat.

“Oh—uh…” your throat bobs as you swallow hard. “Yeah. I did. Thanks.”

Awkward…

As your throat clears, you internally will yourself to sound as normal as possible, while Satoru—little shit that he is—just keeps watching, just keeps smirking, like he’s waiting for the perfect moment to say something that will make you wish for the sweet release of death.

But thankfully, Remi either doesn’t notice or chooses not to comment.

“Are you hungry?” she asks, already moving toward the counter. “Satoru made you a plate.”

Satoru hums, lazily swirling his coffee.

“She worked up an appetite, m’sure…”

Your foot connects with his shin under the table, and he yelps, nearly spilling his coffee while Haru giggles at his suffering.

With a huff, he rubs his leg, muttering “Violence before breakfast. Unbelievable…” His lips drop into a petulant pout. “Tch… I even slaved over the stove this mornin, all for you…”

Your brow lifts, unimpressed, as Remi giggles—setting the dish down in front of you with an easy flourish. The moment you look down at your plate, you immediately know he’s full of shit.

Waffles. Golden brown. Crisp edges. Beside them… flower-shaped eggs? Yeah, right. Satoru doesn’t make flower-shaped anything.

Slowly, your gaze drags back up to meet his, eyes narrowing. He’s grinning at you far too suspiciously.

“You didn’t make these,” you say matter-of-factly.

His smile falters, just for a second, before he dramatically slumps back in his chair, pouting like a scolded child. “Wow. You didn’t even try to believe it… not even for a second.”

You arch a brow. “Did you expect me to believe it? You—making flower shaped eggs?”

“I tried,” he sighs, slouching forward as he cradles his chin in his palm, looking thoroughly betrayed. “But Remi threatened my life.”

“No, I saved you,” she corrects with a small chuckle.

Satoru groans while Remi shakes her head, muttering quietly to you, “Trust me, sweetheart… you wouldn’t have wanted the eggs he made.”

Haru nods enthusiastically, mouth stuffed full. “’toru’s eggs were crunchy.”

Satoru scoffs, scandalized. “Excuse me. They were caramelized.”

“They were burnt,” Remi supplies sweetly.

“They were enhanced,” Satoru insists, crossing his arms.

You stifle a laugh, finally cutting into your waffles. And just like that, your worries melt away. The morning falls into an easy rhythm—the air humming with warmth, filled with the quiet clatter of silverware, Haru’s happy little kicks against the chair legs. It’s simple. It’s comfortable.

Remi moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, topping off Satoru’s coffee without needing to ask, pausing to wipe a stray smudge of syrup from Haru’s cheek with a fond shake of her head. Everything about her is effortless, warm. Kind.

She takes a seat across from you, cradling her tea in both hands—posture relaxed as she blows gently over the rim.

“So,” she muses, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Any plans for today?”

You glance at Satoru before answering, catching the way he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head with an exaggerated groan.

“We’re heading into Gojo Corp for a bit,” you say, slicing another piece of waffle. “Got some things to take care of.”

“Ah, work, huh?” Remi hums, taking a slow sip of tea. “Must be nice, working together like that. I imagine it makes things easier… or harder?” Her eyes flick between you and Satoru, a teasing lilt curling at the edges of her voice. “Do you ever get sick of each other?”

Satoru snorts, setting down his coffee with a smirk. “She wishes she got sick of me.”

You roll your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. “Oh, constantly.”

Remi laughs lightly, shaking her head. “Mmm, I doubt that.”

The conversation drifts easily—small talk about work, about how Haru had insisted on watching the same cartoon three times in a row yesterday. But then, after a comfortable lull, Remi shifts slightly in her seat, her fingers curling gently around the rim of her cup as her voice turns more measured.

“You’re meeting with Suguru Geto today?”

Your head lifts slightly—the shift in her tone catching your attention. Across the table, Satoru’s eyes flick toward her, just barely. So quick, so subtle, you almost miss it.

“Mhm...” you nod, hesitating slightly. “That’s right.”

Remi exhales, shaking her head.

“That’s gotta be tough…” she swirls her tea absentmindedly, watching the liquid move. “The custody case, I mean… he’s got his work cut out for him.”

Your grip tightens slightly around your fork—there’s nothing inherently off about what she’s saying, but still… the reminder sends a ripple of unease through your chest. Maybe it’s the weight of the case itself, or maybe it’s just the exhaustion that comes with constantly thinking about it. You’re not sure.

“He’s exceptional,” Satoru says smoothly, matter-of-factly. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of his mug. “There’s no one else I’d trust more than him with this case.”

Remi hums, nodding, but she doesn’t quite meet your gaze right away. “Of course,” she murmurs, offering a small, reassuring smile. “I just mean—it must be a lot for you to deal with. I hope things go smoothly. It’s good that you have someone like him in your corner.”

The warmth in her voice should be comforting, right? Why aren’t you comforted? You find yourself nodding, but the weight of her words begins to bury you. Satoru eyes flick to you as he catches onto your unease. Tilting his head slightly, he studies Remi before immediately shifting gears.

“Remi,” he says, tapping a finger against his plate. “Could you grab some more syrup? Pretty sure I saw it in the cabinet earlier.”

“Oh! Of course,” she chirps, setting her tea down and rising to her feet as she moves toward the pantry.

The moment her back is turned, Satoru leans slightly toward you, his voice dropping just above a whisper. “Don’t let it get to you,” he murmurs, warmth curling around the shell of your ear. “Remember? I got you… always.”

His fingers ghost over your knee beneath the table, brief but grounding, and as you blink up at him, something in the way he’s looking at you—steady, certain—eases the tightness in your chest.

“Yeah…” you whisper, returning his soft smile while your hand settles over his, offering a reassuring squeeze.

But from the corner of your eye, you catch it—Remi, standing by the counter, fingers lingering over the syrup bottle.

…a pause?

Then, so seamlessly it’s almost unnoticeable, she picks it up and turns back around—expression easy, light, slipping back into place like nothing happened.

"So,” she says cheerfully, placing the syrup in front of Satoru before settling back into her seat. “What time do you think you’ll be back? Just wondering if Haru will need dinner before you get home."

The question is innocent. Logical, even. It makes perfect sense for her to ask. And yet—

Something about it feels… off?

No. Perhaps you’re imagining it. Maybe you’re just on edge. Overthinking things.

After all, Remi is kind.

ꨄ

“Every time I walk in here, I think it can’t possibly get worse,” Suguru mutters, loosening his tie as he sinks into one of the chairs opposite Satoru’s desk. “And yet, you continue to outdo yourself.”

Your gaze sweeps over the office, and you find yourself reluctantly agreeing. The space is massive, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a sprawling, ridiculous view of the Tokyo skyline. It looks professional, should feel professional—but the illusion is broken the second you take in the state of the room.

Satoru’s desk is buried under a chaotic mess of papers, some crumpled, others half-stacked, as if he had started to organize them before giving up halfway. A small dish of candy sits beside the keyboard, its contents long gone, save for the sea of discarded wrappers. Against the far wall, an obnoxiously comfortable-looking leather couch sits, one you know has seen more of Satoru’s midday naps than actual work.

And then, there’s the final touch—Suguru gestures toward the golf club leaning against the bookshelf, his brow arching.

“You don’t even play golf.”

Satoru barely glances up from where he’s lazily spinning in his chair, a smug grin curling his lips.

“It’s for decoration.”

Suguru groans, rolling his eyes as he tries to make room for his documents on the desk. You sigh, already moving to help, straightening the mess with quick, practiced hands.

"Everything in this office is for decoration,” you mutter, stacking papers into an organized pile before flicking your gaze to Satoru. “Including you.”

Satoru is pleased—gasping dramatically as he places a hand over his heart.

“Oh? So you admit I enhance the ambiance?” His smirk is all teeth. “Always knew I was a statement piece. Finally, my wife admits I’m nice to look at.”

You roll your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah… that’s not what I said.”

Leaning forward, Satoru props his elbows on the desk, vivid blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Mmm, no, but it’s what you meant.”

Suguru doesn’t even look up from his folder. “I know what she meant.” Then, flipping a page, he glances at you. “Lemme guess. He makes you do all the work?”

“Yup.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, unimpressed, before turning his unimpressed stare on Satoru. The man, unbothered as ever, leans back in his chair, throwing his hands up in an exaggerated shrug.

“What?” Satoru says, unabashed. “I’ve always loved her work ethic. It’s inspiring, really. Besides, delegation is the mark of true corporate genius. You wouldn’t understand, Suguru.”

Suguru levels him with a flat stare, then tilts his head toward the far end of the office.

“Oh yeah? And tell me, how exactly does a gumball machine contribute to your corporate genius? Or is that also for decoration.”

You follow his gaze toward the bright red gumball machine standing proudly in the corner, positioned beside a sleek espresso maker.

“Oh, that?” Satoru grins like he’s just been waiting for someone to ask. “That’s for morale.”

You scoff, cutting Suguru a knowing look before shaking your head. “I hate that I kind of believe that…” you mutter under your breath.

Suguru exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose before dragging a hand down his face. There’s a tired sort of patience in his movements, like he’s been through this song and dance too many times before.

“Right…” he mutters, shaking his head. “I swear you designed this office specifically to avoid working.”

Satoru’s grin only stretches wider, unabashed. “Exactly.” He props his feet up on the desk, reclining with the ease of a man without a single real responsibility.

Suguru gives him a flat look. Then, with a quiet thud, he slides a thick folder onto the desk.

“Well… not today.”

The energy in the room shifts. Satoru’s gaze flicks to you, the teasing glint in his eyes softening as he drops his feet back to the floor. You straighten slightly in your seat as Suguru clicks his pen, tone all business now.

“Alright. Custody battles always boil down to one thing—what’s in the best interest of the child.” His eyes flick between you and Satoru as he flips through his notes. “The court isn’t concerned with what either parent wants. They’re focused on stability, consistency, and overall well-being for Haru.”

You nod, but there’s a pressure settling in your chest. You already know what’s best for Haru—being here, with you, with Satoru. She barely even knows Naoya. The idea of a judge, a complete stranger, making that decision for her makes your stomach twist.

Suguru’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “First things first,” he says, flipping to another section of his notes. “We need to establish parental involvement. Has Naoya been active in Haru’s life at all?”

“No,” you don’t hesitate.

Suguru doesn’t look surprised, but his gaze lifts slightly, assessing. “Never?”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together.

"He didn’t want to be involved," you say quietly. "I tried… but it was like pulling teeth just to get him to acknowledge her, especially before we separated. It wasn’t until I filed for child support that he started using her as a tool, and he kept delaying the court date, always coming up with some excuse.”

“Oh?” Suguru’s brows lift slightly. “You filed for child support? When was that?”

“Um… about a year ago.” Your fingers fidget in your lap. “Shortly after I left him.”

There’s a pause as Suguru jots something down. His expression remains neutral, but there’s a sharpness to his eyes, a calculating edge as he pieces together the information.

Then, as casually as ever, he asks, “And how did he react? When you left him?”

ꨄ

Dinner was plated, still steaming.

You had made his favorite—teriyaki salmon, perfectly seared, a side of rice, miso soup. You had set the table, poured him a drink. Everything was in its place, arranged to look as normal as possible.

But it wasn’t normal. The packed bags by the door gave everything away.

The apartment was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that made your ears ring. Haru sat on the floor, cross-legged, focused on her blocks. Her little hands moved diligently, stacking each one with careful precision, humming to herself—untouched by the weight pressing down on your chest. When the tower inevitably toppled, the wooden blocks clattered against the floor, breaking the silence for only a moment before fading back into stillness.

Your palms pressed flat against the kitchen counter; fingers splayed against the cool surface as you tried to steady yourself. Any minute now. Any minute now.

Then—

The door creaked open.

Your breath hitched, your body going rigid as Naoya stepped inside. The keys in his hand clinked as he set them on the entry table. Exhaling, he rustled his hair as his gaze swept across the apartment, moving from the dinner waiting on the carefully set table until suddenly, he froze—eyes narrowing as they landed on the bags.

For a second, there was nothing. No words. No movement. Just a long, unnerving silence. And then—

“The fuck is this?”

His voice was quiet. Too quiet—the kind of quiet that had always meant danger. Your stomach curled in on itself, your muscles locking as if bracing for impact. You opened your mouth, trying to summon the words you had rehearsed in your head over and over and over again—but they lodged in your throat.

Instead, all you could manage was—

“I… made your favorite.”

You gestured toward the table—toward the salmon. As if that was the thing that needed explaining. As if that was the thing that mattered. He rolled his eyes, kicking off his shoes before striding toward the bags.

“You know that’s not what I fucking asked.”

Grabbing the zipper of your bag, a scoff ripped from his throat as he yanked it open, revealing its contents. Clothes. Toiletries. Haru’s favorite stuffed Pikachu. The things people pack when they don’t plan on coming back.

“You goin’ somewhere, sweets?”

Every instinct was screaming at you to run, run, run. But your feet stayed planted, rooted to the spot as if the very air had turned thick and unmovable. Your fingers curled against your palms as you forced the words out quietly.

“I… I think we need time apart.”

The moment the words left your lips, Naoya barked out a laugh—loud, sharp, mocking. He actually doubled over, hands on his knees, shaking his head as if you had just told the funniest joke in the world.

“That’s cute,” he mused, catching his breath between laughs, his voice dropping into something almost patronizing. When he straightened, his eyes pinned you in place, something unreadable flickering behind them. Something dangerous.

“And tell me, sweetheart—where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Your breath caught, and he saw it—your hesitation, the way your lips pressed together, how your fingers twitched by your sides. A slow, cruel smirk curled at his lips, dripping in amusement.

“Oh,” he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. “So, you don’t even have a plan?”

Another sharp laugh pushed past his lips—low, cruel, unforgiving. But just as quickly as it came, it vanished. His expression hardened, eyes darkening as his jaw clenched. The shift was so sudden, so jarring, you felt the air leave your lungs.

Holding your breath, your gaze followed him as he began slowly pacing, like he was working himself up. “Jesus fucking Christ…” he muttered, fingers pressing against his temples. His next exhale came out shaky, forced. “You’re so fucking stupid sometimes, you know that?”

“Naoya… please—”

“Stupid BITCH!”

The explosion came out of nowhere.

The sheer force of his voice rattled through your chest, slammed against the walls, reverberated through the floor beneath your feet.

A brief silence followed—Haru’s humming stopped. As you stood there—eyes wide, Naoya glaring at you—in the corner of your eye, you saw your daughter stilling, suddenly silent in the middle of stacking her blocks.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, you forced your voice to steady, lowering it, softening it, as if that would keep things from spiraling further.

“Naoya… let’s just talk, okay? I—”

The next thing you knew, a ceramic plate shattered at your feet.

The impact was violent—shards splintering across the floor, cutting through the quiet like a gunshot. You flinched so hard your entire body jerked back while Haru let out a sharp breath from across the room.

Chest heaving, pulse thundering, your eyes zeroed in on the scattered debris, glinting under the kitchen light—sharp, jagged edges that could have easily torn through skin if you had been just one step closer.

“Fuck… see what you fucking make me do?” he muttered, shaking his head as he paced across the kitchen. “You always push me, always fucking nagging, like some goddamn broken record. I give you everything, and you still bitch like an ungrateful little—”

His voice blurred. You were barely hearing him anymore. Your pulse was too loud, roaring in your head as a ringing sound began to drown him out—drown everything out.

"Shit, baby…"

The shift was instantaneous.

You blinked, refocusing, and suddenly—he was in front of you.

Close. Too close. His fingers curled around your wrist—not harshly, but firmly.

“Look, I…” He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face before raking it through his hair. When his eyes met yours, something in them was different. Softer. More open, more human.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, quieter now. “You know I—” He let out a heavy breath, like he was the one suffering. “I love you, baby. So much. You just make me crazy sometimes, you know that?”

The whiplash sent your thoughts into a tailspin. The heat of his palm against your wrist. The gentleness in his voice. Your body screamed at you to pull away, to resist.

But your heart—your stupid, aching heart—

“You don’t have to do this, baby.” Naoya’s thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist, slow, soothing. Tethering. “I get it. Things have been… rough lately. I’ve been stressed, work’s been a fucking nightmare, and I know I take that out on you sometimes.”

You swallowed hard, breath hitching, vision blurring as you blinked back the sting behind your eyes. This is what he did. This was how he made you stay.

He spun words into silk, wove apologies into something tender, something careful.

A beautiful lie.

"I'll fix it," he promised, his lips curling into something almost boyish, like he already knew he'd won. "I'll take better care of you, yeah? You and Haru. We can fix this. Just… stay. Stay right where you belong."

For a second—just a second—your mind whispered the possibility.

Maybe it could be different this time. Maybe he meant it. This is fixable…right? Things could be okay if you just—

No.

This was the cycle. The same fucking cycle that had been spinning over and over and over again.

Rage. Apology. Empty promises. Repeat.

You had seen this moment before. Felt this warmth, heard this regret, let these pretty little words lull you into submission. And every single time—every single time—you had fallen for it.

But not this time.

Naoya’s grip tightened the longer you stayed quiet, making your breathing quicken now—shallow, panicked. His gaze flicked across your face, calculating, searching for an answer he wanted—needed—to hear.

"Baby?" His voice was still soft, but there was something sharp underneath. "You wanna sit down with me?"

You swallowed hard. And then, somehow—somehow—you found your voice.

"I… can’t," you whispered.

For a second, nothing moved. Not the air, not the world, not even him.

His fingers curled tighter around your wrist—just long enough to send ice shooting through your veins—before loosening again.

"You can’t what?"

“I’m leaving Naoya. And I’m taking Haru.”

His lips parted for a moment, but nothing came out, until finally, those wicked lips curled into something cruel—amused.

"C’mon now… you don’t mean that," he said, like it was a joke, like you were saying something ridiculous. "You’re just upset."

His hand lifted, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Too soft. Too gentle. Your skin burned under a touch you once leaned into, once believed in.

"You don’t really wanna do this, baby," his thumb ghosts over your cheek. "I get it. Things have been stressful, I haven’t been at my best, but you’re being ridiculous. You don’t have to go and make a scene."

As his fingers skimmed the curve of your jaw, cradling it like something fragile, you held your breath. It’s the very same caress he’d always use after losing his temper—after breaking something—brushing the tear trailing down your cheek, like he was trying to rewrite reality, trying to pull you back into the script.

"Let’s just sit down and eat, hm?" he coaxed, smooth as silk. "You made my favorite, didn’t you? It smells incredible. We should eat before it gets cold."

He was smiling now, gentle, reassuring—like none of this had happened. Like if you just sat down, everything would go back to normal. Like you wouldn’t still feel the tremble in your hands, the stinging heat of his words.

As you opened your mouth to speak, he pulled you close.

"Don’t do this, baby," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours for just a moment. His breath was warm against your lips. "Just… be good for me, okay?"

Be good for me.

The words settled over you like oil, thick and suffocating. And suddenly, blinking through your own empty haze, everything became too clear.

The shards of ceramic scattered at your feet. The tiny splinters of glass catching the light. The dining table still set, untouched. Waiting for someone to sit down. As if there wasn’t a shattered plate on the floor.

As if he hadn’t just thrown it. As if he wasn’t capable of so much worse.

Rage. Apology. Empty promises. Repeat.

"I’m leaving," you repeated.

His fingers twitched, then released you altogether. Exhaling through his nose, he shook his head, disappointed—as if you were being unreasonable.

"You’re nothing without me," he muttered.

The words settled like a weight in your stomach, but you remained silent.

His lips curled as his head tilted slightly, scanning you like he was recalibrating, assessing—trying to find a new way to break you down.

"N o t h i n g," he repeated, slower this time, dragging the word out like it was something filthy.

The first tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. A quiet, shaky sob caught in your throat, but you swallowed it back.

Naoya wasn’t finished.

"Look at you," he scoffed, shaking his head. "Pathetic. You wouldn’t last a fucking week without my money. You’re a failure. A desperate little bitch who got knocked up and thought she could trap me with a useless kid."

A sharp breath punched from your lungs, a gasp—small, broken. He could degrade you all he wanted. He had done it before, and he would do it again. But Haru?

Something inside you splintered, something that had been held together by fear and exhaustion and the faintest hope that maybe—maybe he could change.

"Haru is not useless."

The words left your mouth before you even realized you had spoken them, and Naoya stilled—brow arching slightly, as if he hadn’t expected you to speak at all.

Your pulse thrummed; your hands curled into fists at your sides. You could feel the wetness in your lashes, the tremor in your shoulders. But you didn’t stop.

"And… I’d rather be miserable than be stuck with you."

Silence.

For once, Naoya was stunned into stillness. His lips parted, but nothing came out. You had never spoken back like that before. And for a fleeting, reckless moment—you felt something close to power.

But then, his expression twisted. Something ugly. Something furious. And you knew.

Fuck. You had just made a mistake.

"YOU—"

Closing your eyes, the drywall beside your head shook, caving in under his fist while dust and plaster rained onto your shoulder.

The ringing in your ears swallowed everything—your own heartbeat, the distant hum of the light, the sharp inhale you barely managed to take as your body locked up.

For the first time, you thought—really, truly thought—he was going to kill you.

You didn’t dare move.

He was yelling now, screaming in your face, his words pouring out in a torrent of unfiltered venom. But his voice was just noise now. A violent storm battering against you, word after word, crashing like waves, over and over and over.

You couldn’t hear him.

Your mind had detached, floating somewhere far away, just outside your own body. Your vision blurred at the edges; your limbs trembled so violently you thought your knees might give out.

Then—through the haze, you saw him move.

A sharp pivot. Footsteps, heavy, stomping toward the bedroom. The door slammed so hard the walls shook. And then—

Silence.

Your body didn’t move. Couldn’t move. The seconds ticked by, stretching into something unbearable, something suffocating. Your chest was so tight it ached, but your lungs kept shuddering, gasping for air.

Then, like a puppet whose strings had been severed, you crumpled. Your back hit the wall, legs giving out beneath you as you collapsed onto the floor—a sob ripping through you before you could stop it.

It tore out of your chest, raw, unrestrained. It wrecked through your entire body, like something primal, something beyond your control. Your fingers curled against your arms, clutching at your own skin, trying to hold yourself together—trying to keep from unraveling completely.

Choked gasps echoed into the emptiness of the apartment, your sobs reverberating against the walls. You sucked in a shuddering breath—trying, desperate to regain control—

And that’s when you heard it.

A whimper.

Your entire body jerked. Your head snapped up so fast your vision swam. The air in your lungs froze.

Haru.

You turned—where she had been sitting, where her tiny hands had been stacking blocks—

Empty. She’s gone.

Panic surged through your veins, crashing into you like ice. You scrambled onto your feet, nearly stumbling in your haste, your vision tunneling as your breath came fast, sharp—

"Haru?"

Silence.

Dread curled around your ribs, sinking its claws deep. You turned frantically, scanning the apartment, searching, praying.

"Haru?!"

Nothing.

Your heartbeat was deafening as you staggered forward, checking behind the couch, peering around the kitchen island. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t there.

Then—

Another small, muffled whimper.

You spun, pulse hammering against your ribs as you followed the sound, eyes landing on a cupboard. A small, low cabinet beneath the sink. The one that had never really locked properly. The one just big enough to—

Your breath hitched, and dropping to your knees, your fingers shook as you reached for the handle. You pulled the door open, and there she was—curled up inside, her knees drawn to her chest, tiny hands covering her ears, her small body trembling.

Tears streaked her round cheeks, her lower lip wobbled, and when her wide, terrified eyes met yours, something inside you shattered.

She had hidden herself away.

From him.

From you.

A choked sob tore from your throat as you reached for her, arms wrapping around her small frame, pulling her against your chest. She melted into you instantly, her little hands fisting into your shirt, burying her face into your shoulder as soft, hiccupped cries wracked through her tiny body.

You rocked her gently, whispering her name like a prayer, your voice breaking as your lips pressed against the crown of her head.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

Over and over, you murmured it into her hair, against her temple, into the delicate curve of her ear, as if sheer repetition could make it true.

"I'm so sorry, Haru. I'm so, so sorry."

And that was the day you swore—you would never, never fall back into Naoya’s grasp again.

ꨄ

“y/n?”

The sound of your name pulled you back.

The past dissolved like mist burned away by the sun, fading into the recesses of your mind. The dim, suffocating glow of your old apartment vanished, replaced by the cool, sterile overhead lights of Satoru’s office. The warmth of Haru’s small body against yours was gone, replaced by the unyielding leather of the chair beneath you.

You blink, the weight of memory still lingering in your chest.

Across the desk, Suguru was watching you carefully, his brows furrowed slightly, his pen poised between his fingers. Beside him, Satoru had straightened in his seat, his usual playful smirk nowhere in sight. His bright eyes—always so full of mischief—were sharp now. Piercing. Concerned.

Swallowing hard, you realized your hands had curled into fists in your lap. Slowly, deliberately, you forced yourself to breath—loosening your fingers, unclenching one joint at a time.

"Sorry," you murmur hoarsely. "I was just—" exhaling, you shake your head. "I was remembering."

Satoru doesn’t speak, but his gaze lingers, tracking every subtle shift in your expression, every flicker of emotion. He’s perceptive—too perceptive. Suguru, too, holds your stare, though something in his expression softens.

"I asked how he reacted," he prompts, gentler than before.

Wetting your lips, the words tangle in your throat.

"Not well," you finally admit.

Suguru’s pen barely moved, his focus entirely on you.

"Did he put his hands on you?"

As you hesitate, Satoru’s jaw clenches—hands curling into fists under the desk, knuckles going white.

"He didn’t—" you pause, pressing your fingers into your temples. "He threw things. Punched the wall. Screamed in my face until I couldn’t even understand what he was saying anymore."

Silence.

Satoru exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching before he folds his arms tightly across his chest. His lips press into a thin line, tension radiating from every part of him as Suguru sets his pen down.

"That’s important," he says carefully. "If there were witnesses, records of damage, anything like that, it could help.”

"I… didn’t call the police," you murmur. "No reports, no records. Just… me."

Suguru nods, as if he had already expected that answer.

"And the child support case?” he continues, voice even. “Do you still have the documentation for that? Any filings, court dates, official correspondence?"

You stiffen, and something flickers across your face—guilt, unease, something you can’t quite name. Satoru’s eyes flick toward you, catching the slight shift in your posture.

"I…" your fingers curl against the fabric of your blouse. "I never went through with it."

Suguru tilts his head. "You never went through with it?"

You swallow; throat suddenly dry.

"I filed," you admit, barely above a whisper. "I started the process. I needed the financial support… he shut down all our joint credit cards, stopped paying the rent… kept delaying, making excuses, pushing back the court date. And then…"

Your gaze drifts toward Satoru, your expression softening despite yourself. A wry smile tugs at your lips.

"And then I married Satoru."

Satoru reaches out without hesitation, his hand finding yours, fingers curling around it with a reassuring squeeze. His thumb strokes the back of your hand—gentle, steady, grounding.

"And you no longer needed the financial support," he murmurs, piecing it together.

You nod. "Yes. So… I stopped responding to his messages."

“Can I see those messages?”

Suguru’s voice pulls your attention back to him—something unreadable flickering across his face.

"Oh… um, sure. Why?"

"Because the way you stopped responding could make a difference," he says evenly, holding out a hand. "We need to see how this will be interpreted in court."

A small knot tightens in your stomach, but you don’t hesitate for long. Pulling away from Satoru’s grasp, you reach into your bag, fingers unsteady as you unlock your phone. Scrolling through the old message thread, you hand it over.

Suguru takes the phone, his expression unreadable as he starts scrolling. The room feels eerily quiet. His brows furrow slightly, his thumb pausing at certain messages, and the longer he reads, the more apparent his concern becomes. His jaw tightens. The pen he had been twirling between his fingers stills completely.

Satoru notices. His easy, lazy demeanor shifts, shoulders straightening, his eyes flicking between Suguru’s face and the phone. Your fingers press into your lap, anxiety twisting in your gut.

“What’s up Suguru?” Satoru says. “I know that face.”

Suguru doesn’t respond immediately. His thumb halts on the screen, and when he finally speaks, his voice is careful.

“y/n… did you ever explicitly tell Naoya you got married?”

Your stomach knots. “Um… no…”

A pause.

“Did you tell him you no longer needed financial support?”

Dread coils around your ribs, squeezing. You already know where this is going.

“No…”

Suguru exhales slowly, setting the phone down on the table before meeting your gaze head-on. His expression is unreadable, but the weight behind it makes your pulse pick up.

“Did you ever tell him that both you and Haru moved in with Satoru?”

You hesitate, glancing at Satoru before answering.

“No… um, he… kept contacting me, but I never picked up his calls. I just… ignored him.”

Suguru leans back slightly, his fingers steepled together as he releases a slow breath through his nose. You can see him choosing his next words carefully, and somehow, his silence feels heavier than anything he could say.

Your pulse hammers against your ribs, unease crawling up your spine. "What?" Your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

Suguru’s eyes flick between you and Satoru before he finally says it.

“That’s not going to look good on our behalf.”

Your stomach drops. “What do you mean?”

“It paints the picture that you up and left without informing him of Haru’s whereabouts. Legally, he had parental rights—even if he wasn’t actively involved. If the court sees this as you cutting off access to his child, it could be a problem.”

The words hit like a slap.

Nausea rises in your chest as the weight of it settles over you—heavy, suffocating. You had been so focused on escaping, on surviving, that you hadn’t thought of how it would look on paper. You hadn’t considered what it meant legally, hadn’t realized that in the court’s eyes, your silence might be seen as something calculated, something deliberate.

You had unknowingly made this harder.

You just wanted to be free. To disappear from him. To never hear his voice again, never flinch at the sound of his footsteps, never have to wonder which version of him you’d be facing that day.

"Hey.”

Satoru’s voice cuts through the fog in your mind, gentle but firm. You blink, grounding yourself as his warm palm finds yours beneath the table, fingers wrapping around your own.

"You're spiraling," he murmurs, grip reassuring, anchoring you. "Breathe, sweetheart."

Realizing only now how tight your chest has become, you suck in a shuddering breath. Across from you, Suguru watches silently, but he doesn’t interrupt—letting Satoru handle it.

"You didn’t do anything wrong," Satoru continues, voice low and steady. "You didn’t owe that bastard anything. And you did what you thought was best at the time."

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a slow, comforting motion.

"You’re not the one who abandoned Haru," he murmurs, tone firm. "He did."

“Exactly,” Suguru chimes in, measured but sure. “And now we know what he’ll latch onto, how he’ll try to twist things in his favor. And we’ll be prepared for it.”

Satoru gives your hand one last squeeze before finally letting go, leaning back in his chair. He tilts his head at Suguru, lips curling into something sharp.

"Good thing we have a damn good lawyer then, huh?"

Suguru sighs, shaking his head, but there’s the faintest trace of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

"You mean the best lawyer. Keep up."

Satoru scoffs, stretching lazily as he folds his arms behind his head. "If you're the best, then why does my name bring in the bigger checks?"

"Because people like looking at you, not listening to you."

Satoru gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "Wow. That hurts, Suguru. That hurts."

"Good. Feel it.”

A breath escapes you—something close to a laugh. Small, but real. Satoru catches it immediately. His eyes flick to you, and for a brief moment, the teasing glint softens, just slightly.

Like he’s cataloging it. The way your shoulders have eased, the way a bit of color has returned to your face.

"See, sweetheart? He’s so mean to me," he whines, nudging your arm. "Did you hear that? Just, like, zero respect."

Rolling your eyes, your smile grows—the weight in your chest lifting, if only for a moment.

"You act like I haven’t been carrying you since we were kids," Suguru drawls, flipping a page in his folder.

Satoru straightens immediately. "Excuse me? That is blatant slander."

"Is it?" Suguru quirks an eyebrow. "Who was the one who got you through high school? Barely, might I add.”

"Hey now," Satoru objects, leaning forward. "I was a bright and capable student."

"Sure. When you weren’t slacking off and being a goddamn menace."

You shake your head, amused as their bickering continues—like muscle memory, like second nature. It’s effortless, this constant push and pull between them, a rhythm so ingrained it feels like breathing.

And for a brief moment, you let yourself sink into it, warmth curling in your chest. Like nothing has changed. Like you aren’t in the middle of preparing for a custody battle. Like there isn’t a pit of anxiety still gnawing at your ribs.

Satoru and Suguru make it easy.

Then your phone buzzes against the table where Suguru placed it, face down—a tiny vibration against the polished wood, so quiet it barely cuts through the noise of their conversation.

It’s nothing. Just a text. A notification.

Without much thought, you reach for it while the boys go at it—Satoru gesturing wildly, his voice dramatic, animated. Suguru flipping a page in his folder, unimpressed, already prepared to dismantle whatever ridiculous argument Satoru is making.

Unlocking the screen, your eyes flick to the message.

Naoya: We need to talk. When can I see you? Just… be good for me.

The words register slowly, their meaning sinking in like ink bleeding through paper.

The air turns thin—the office warping at the edges, colors leaching into something muted, distant. Your pulse spikes, hammering wildly in your chest, and your fingers slacken—the phone slipping from your grasp, clattering onto the table.

“Sweetheart?”

Satoru’s voice is muted, and you barely register the scrape of his chair against the floor because all you can see, all you can hear, are his words—echoing in your head.

Just be good for me.

The words crawl over your skin, wrapping tight around your throat. They coil around your ribs, squeezing, constricting, suffocating—

You don’t really want to do this, baby. Let’s just sit down and eat.

The edges of your vision blur, warping, swallowing color and sound. You’re not here. You’re there—the dim apartment, the sickly glow of streetlights bleeding through half-closed blinds, the remnants of shattered ceramic at your feet, a voice too soft, too calm—too dangerous.

Be good for me, okay?

Your body won’t move. Your ribs won’t expand.

“Baby, what is it?”

A different voice. Familiar. Safe.

As you blink, light and color slowly bleed back into your vision, and something warm presses against you—solid, steady. Satoru. His careful grip finds yours, anchoring you, pulling you back, back, back.

His other hand reaches for the phone, and his expression darkens the moment he sees the message—a muscle jumping in his jaw, his fingers clenching before he wordlessly hands the device to Suguru.

Then, he’s turning back to you.

"Hey, sweetheart…" his voice is soft, coaxing, and he cradles your face tenderly. "I need you to breathe for me."

Oh, are you not breathing?

The realization hits all at once. Your lungs are locked. Your breaths are too shallow, too fast, too panicked. The walls are still closing in, the weight still crushing your ribs. Your fingers clutch at Satoru’s sleeve, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered.

"You’re okay," pulling you in, his arms wrap around you completely. "He’s not here. He can’t touch you. I’ve got you."

The scent of him—clean linen, something crisp and warm—fills your senses. The thump-thump of his heartbeat echoes against your ear, a steady rhythm cutting through the chaos while his thumb brushes slow, deliberate circles against your back.

"Breathe with me."

You inhale, slow and shaky, then exhale.

You’re not there. You’re here.

Satoru feels the moment your body starts to ease. The moment your fingers loosen from their iron grip on his sleeve, the moment your breath finally evens out—but he doesn’t pull away, cradling you in his warmth.

Finally, you find your voice.

“I’m… okay,” you whisper, dragging your head up, meeting Satoru’s concerned gaze. His thumb brushes against your cheek—just once, fleeting, and his eyes search yours, not convinced.

A beat passes. Then, Suguru clears his throat.

"I’ll respond."

His voice is even, but there’s an edge beneath it. Cold. Measured. And you don’t protest. You can’t. Because the thought of speaking—of addressing him—sends another wave of nausea rolling through your gut.

Your body instinctively tenses again, and Satoru doesn’t let go. His fingers continue tracing slow, steady circles along your back as Suguru stares at the phone, jaw tightening just slightly before his fingers move over the screen.

The soft tap-tap-tap of his fingers against the glass is the only sound in the room. Then, a pause.

A slow, deep inhale drags through his nose, his thumb hovering over the screen for a brief second before he presses send. And the silence that follows feels heavy, expectant.

“He’s going to respond,” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

Suguru leans back slightly, watching the screen. Waiting.

“He will,” he confirms, voice unreadable. “But that doesn’t matter.” His eyes lift, meeting yours with something unshakable. “Because we’re meeting him tomorrow.”

The words settle like a weight in your chest.

You stiffen. “We are?”

“You don’t have to see him, sweetheart.”

Satoru’s voice is gentle but firm, his fingers tilting your chin up just enough to guide your gaze back to his. There’s something quietly resolute in the way he’s looking at you—something absolute.

“Me and Suguru will go,” his voice is unwavering, a promise wrapped in steel. “You don’t have to do a damn thing. Let us handle him.”

The finality in his tone settles over you like armor.

You inhale—slow, deep. The tension still lingers, an ache sitting heavy in your ribs, but it no longer feels crushing. It no longer feels insurmountable. Because you don’t have to do this alone.

You have them.

a/n. ahhh, i hope you guys liked this chapter. it was very, very tough for me to write. i can't tell you how much i despise naoya—fucking gaslighting asshole, lol. i hope this gave you a glimpse of what y/n actually lived through. this is the reason she has a lot of issues—the difficulty trusting, reluctance to open up. with naoya, y/n had no voice—she was powerless. but satoru brings out the spark in her, rather than diminishing her flame, satoru nurtures it. i feel like i didn't even get to accomplish everything i wanted in this chapter 😅 but oh jeez, i couldn't do another 20k chapter. just know that there's still a lot i'm setting up for. i'm so excited for what's to come 🥹 also, y/n and satoru finally shared some intimacy, hehe. hope it was worth the wait for ya'll 🤭 remember, SLOW BURN. thanks so much for reading, and as always, i would really love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! the support with this fic floors me, every single time. i appreciate each and every one of my readers—THANK YOUUU💕 -aly → you are currently all caught upꨄ

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anarchythorn · 18 hours ago

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wait wait wait youre on to something actually. wait. oh my god. deadass this just gave me the most peak revelation about the movie. Afton's treatment of the children is almost DEFINITELY going to be showed or implied to be a reflection of his treatment of Vanessa isn't it. oh my god.

like... he treats them like an abusive father. he KNOWS he has control over them, it seems like he feels ENTITLED to it if anything. "I MADE YOU!" in that moment probably carries the same meaning as a shitty parent saying "I brought you into this world, I can take you out of it!" to scare their kid. he controls them and he controls Vanessa in almost the same ways, it's all but directly stated that he veiws/treats both of them like tools that he has some kind of entitlement to.

"You had ONE job!"

to Vanessa, acting almost like her ability to be his little helper is all she's good for in his eyes (and he certainly has no qualms about getting rid of her once she isn't his obedient helpful accessory anymore!!)

"Wake up, children! I have something for you to play with!"

to the animatronics, some of which had just been fucking tased, and yet he not only fully expects them to obey his order, but he phrases it like they should be thankful to do so in the same way a kid would be grateful for a new toy.

Spot the difference in the intentions behind these lines btw:

"Look at you. Look at the NASTY things you have become! Look how small you are! How worthless you are! You are wretched, rotten little beasts! I MADE YOU!"

"A little old for temper tantrums, aren't we, Vanessa?"

he's literally just more direct about it in the first one but both are literally intended to do the same exact same thing: to make the receiving party feel small. to paint the receiving party as unreasonable/incapable of "reasonable" behavior.

he belittles them and he belittles Vanessa when he doesn't get what he wants. he killed the kids with no remorse, he for all intents and purposes ATTEMPTS to kill his own kid just the same. for all intents and purposes, Vanessa is little more than a tool in his eyes, and the kids are just the same.

...I wonder if Vanessa ever watched her father talk to the animatronics and remembered all the times that he talked to her like that. I wonder if her childhood was robbed from her the same as the spirits' childhoods were, the only difference being that she got to live into adulthood instead of simply being cut short.

FNAF MOVIE SPOILERS

I guarantee y'all that the way Afton spoke to the animatronics in his big "I made you!" speech is exactly how he spoke to Vanessa growing up.

#reblogs #fnaf spoilers #fnaf movie spoilers #fnaf movie #fnaf #fnaf vanessa #william afton #vannesa monroe #vanessa shelly #rose.txt

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thewulf · 2 days ago

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When the Laughter Stops || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - I was wondering if you could do one with Jake Seresin where him and the reader are co workers (but they liked each other a lot and are idiots) and she flirts with him a lot, like constantly and he mostly just laughs it off but flirt back sometimes, but she suddenly stops one day and is very quiet and he's worried... Read Rest Here

A/N: Gosh I just love Jake. I really hope they make another TG movie with our boy in it <3 Thank you for the request @stuffingbuttsandshit

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.3k+

T/W : Violation (Not Jake), Talk of Weapons, Talk of break in

Mornings at North Island always started the same way.

Your headset was already on, comms running smooth as you relayed flight data to Mav and the rest of the squadron. You had everything under control because that’s what you did. You were the best at what you did. And you knew it. You didn’t spend years at the Academy and across the country to be mediocre at your job. You were good and you knew it.

Jake Seresin knew it too.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” came the familiar, honey-dipped drawl over your shoulder before he even stepped into the control room. You grinned into your headset. He was right on schedule as always.

You didn’t turn around immediately instead letting the anticipation hang for a second longer before glancing over your shoulder. He was leaning against your desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that insufferably handsome smirk that was as much a part of him as his damn callsign.

“Hangman,” you greeted, flashing him an easy smile. “Looking as sharp as ever. It must really be exhausting carrying around that much charm all the time.”

His smirk deepened as he took you in. “It is, actually darlin’. But I manage.”

You made a show of giving him a once-over. That green flight suit zipped halfway, dog tags resting against the fabric of his undershirt and that confidence oozing from every pore. Annoyingly attractive, you noted. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. But damn, the man was hot as hell.

“Good thing I’m here to keep you humble,” you teased while tapping your earpiece as the radio crackled.

Jake leaned in slightly, just enough that you caught the faint scent of his aftershave. The scent curled through the air: rich sandalwood, and cedar laced with smoky vetiver and that deep warmth of amber and musk. Dark, refined, and impossible to forget. Just like man who wore it. And who was currently staring a hole in the side of your head.

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t wanna do that. What would you flirt with if I wasn’t around?” He gave you a devious smirk as his eyes traced your face.

You arched a brow, lips curling. “Oh, I’d manage.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like you were something impossible. “Damn shame sweetheart.” This was the rhythm. The effortless push and pull. The game neither of you called by name but both played with unmatched skill.

“Seresin, you done harassing my officer?” Maverick’s voice cut in from across the room with nothing but amusement lacing in his tone.

Jake straightened slightly but didn’t look away from you. “Just making sure my sweetheart starts her day right, Mav.”

You shot Mav an eyeroll before turning back to Jake. “Aw, how sweet of you Jake.” You cooed at him.

Jake hummed, tilting his head. “Sweet’s not usually what they call me, darlin’.”

The way he said it, low and teasing, sent a thrill up your spine. But you didn’t let it show. Instead, you reached for the mission brief on your desk, casually brushing your fingers against his arm as you passed it to him.

“Guess I’m just special then,” you said with an easy grin.

His eyes flickered with something. Something unreadable. Something dangerous. But the moment passed as quickly as it had come.

“Guess you are,” he murmured. His voice softer this time.

And just like that, he was gone, heading out to brief with the others, leaving behind the faintest trace of his presence. You exhaled, shaking your head to yourself. Yeah. This was the rhythm. At least, it had been. Until everything changed.

Until last night.

Until you woke up to the sound of your front door creaking open.

Until you reached for the bedside drawer, heart pounding, breath shallow, fingers closing around the cold metal of the weapon you kept there. The weapon you dreaded ever having to use.

Until you saw him. A dark figure standing at the foot of your bed, a knife glinting faintly in the sliver of moonlight filtering through your curtains.

Your body had moved on instinct, years of training kicking in before fear could fully take hold. The moment you pointed your weapon at him, he hesitated just long enough for you to move. You sprang from the bed, voice sharp and unyielding, ordering him to back off. And then just as quickly as he had come he was gone. Like a wraith in the night.

The cops arrived minutes later but it didn’t matter. He was already long gone, leaving behind nothing but an overturned chair, a shattered sense of security, and the lingering imprint of fear in your bones.

You barely slept after that, sitting with your back to the wall, weapon still gripped tightly in your hands until the sun started to rise.

And now you were here, at work, trying to pretend like nothing had changed. But Jake knew you too well. So, when he walked into the control room, expecting your usual teasing grin, expecting the flirtation that had become second nature between you. He immediately noticed the difference. You were at your desk, headset on, posture stiff, eyes trained on the monitors like they held the secrets of the universe. No smirk, no playful roll of your eyes when he approached. No wink. No greeting.

And that was the first sign that something was very, very wrong.

Jake frowned, slowing his stride. He leaned against your desk, arms crossing over his chest in the same lazy way he always did, waiting for you to acknowledge him. Nothing.

He tilted his head. “Morning, sweetheart,” he drawled, watching for a reaction.

Your fingers stilled on the keyboard, just for a second, but then you resumed typing like you hadn’t heard him. His frown deepened. Okay. Maybe you were just busy. Maybe Mav had you swamped with flight schedules or logistics nightmares. Maybe.

But then he really looked at you.

Your usual fire, the effortless confidence that made your job look easy was gone. In its place was something tight, something controlled. He followed the subtle tension in your shoulders. The way your jaw stayed clenched even as you kept working. Something wasoff.

“You sick or somethin’?” Jake asked, lowering his voice, trying to meet your gaze.

You finally looked at him but the second your eyes met his you blinked quickly and dropped them again. “I’m fine,” you said too flatly. Too rehearsed. With no emotion in the usual boisterous voice of yours.

Jake’s stomach twisted. Bullshit. You weren’t fine. He knew fine, and this wasn’t it. But what he didn’t know was why. For the first time since meeting you, Jake felt the shift. The invisible wall you’d put up overnight, cutting him out without warning. And he hatedit. Where there should’ve been fire, there was only silence.

Jake tried to ignore it at first. Maybe you were just having an off day. Maybe you were tired. Maybe whatever had drained the light from your eyes would pass on its own.

But as the day dragged on, he knew that wasn’t the case. You barely spoke, sticking to clipped, professional responses when you had to interact with him or anyone else. You kept your head down, shoulders drawn in. It was so unlike you. It made his skin itch.

Then, when someone brushed past you in the hallway. Just a casual, harmless pass. You flinched. It was small, barely noticeable, but Jake saw it. And that was all it took. His blood ran cold. He knew that reaction. Had seen it before. And it sent every instinct he had into overdrive.

The rest of the day, he didn’t leave you alone. Not in a way that would spook you, but he made sure he was always nearby, always watching. You barely acknowledged him and that was the final crack in his patience. By the time your shift ended, he was donewaiting.

You had just stepped outside the hangar when he caught up to you. He moved fast enough that you had no choice but to stop. "Sweetheart," he said. And this time his voice wasn’t teasing, wasn’t lazy or smug. It was quiet. Steady. Serious.

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “Jake, I—”

“Something’s wrong,” he cut in. His green eyes searching your face. “And I need you to tell me what it is.”

Your breath faltered. You didn’t answer right away but the way your gaze darted away. The way your lips pressed together like you were afraid to speak made his stomach twist. He softened, stepping closer, his voice dropping even lower. “Hey. It’s me, alright? Just me. You can tell me.”

You swallowed hard. And then finally your walls started to crack. “I—” You exhaled shakily, like forcing the words out might break you. “Someone broke into my house last night.”

Jake went still.

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you continued. “I woke up and he was just there. He had a knife… I think he would have tried to grab me. But I fought back, I scared him off but…” You sucked in a breath. Shaking your head unbelieving that this had even happened to you. “He ran before the cops got there. They haven’t found him. They won’t find him most likely.”

Jake’s fists clenched. His entire body went rigid. His jaw locking so hard it ached. Jesus Christ. The thought of you alone, terrified, fighting off some bastard in the middle of the night made his vision go red. He wanted to break something. No, he wanted to findthe bastard who did this. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, you mattered.

Carefully he reached for you. His fingers grazing your wrist before he slid his hand fully over yours. His grip was firm, grounding. Warm.

“Jesus, darlin’,” he murmured. His voice tight, lethal with restrained fury but when he looked at you again all he let you see was the concern. The unwavering steadiness. “You’re safe now, okay? I promise you, you’re safe.” And for the first time all day, your body eased just a little. Just enough.

You weren’t sure who moved first. One second, you were standing there, raw and exposed with your confession hanging in the air between you. The next, Jake’s arms were around you, solid and steady, pulling you against his chest. And you let him. The moment his warmth surrounded you, the breath you had been holding all day broke free in a shaky exhale. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his flight suit, gripping tight, grounding yourself in him. Breathing in the woody scent that always seemed to coat him.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just held you. And God, you hadn’t realized how much you needed it until now. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. His voice a low, steady rumble against your ear. “You’re safe. No one’s scaring you again, I swear it.” You knew his words weren’t empty promises, weren’t meaningless reassurances. They were a vow.

Jake pulled back just enough to look at you, one hand lifting to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushing lightly along your cheek. “You’re not staying at your place alone tonight.” He said with such conviction.

You blinked up at him. “Jake—”

“Not a chance, sweetheart.” The smirk was there, but softer, missing its usual cocky edge. He tilted his head. “You really think I’m gonna walk away after what you just told me? Not a chance darlin’.” Your resolve wavered. You should tell him you’ll be fine. That you don’t need him hovering. But the idea of being alone in that house, of walking through those doors and feeling that fear claw at you again…

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I have a guest room,” you murmured. “You can take the guest room.”

Jake’s smirk deepened. “Whatever you say, darlin’. I’ll sleep on the porch if you want.” You smiled softly. Jake had a way of doing that for you. Charming bastard he was.

Jake didn’t waste a second when he got to your home. The second you stepped inside he was already moving. He checked the locks, testing the windows, making sure every single point of entry was secure. You stood off to the side watching as he knelt by your front door, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked to reinforce the deadbolt.

“You know,” you said while crossing your arms, “I could’ve called a locksmith for that.”

He glanced up, flashing you that signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to prove to you that I’m useful outside the cockpit.” You rolled your eyes but for the first time all day there was the tiniest tug of amusement behind it. And Jake saw it. Reveled in it.

After he was satisfied that your place was Fort Knox-level secure, he finally let you settle. The tension still lingered, though thin, stretched tight under your skin. He noticed it in the way your shoulders stayed rigid. In the way your fingers curled slightly like you were bracing yourself for something.

So, he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He made you laugh.

You weren’t sure when the tension finally started to ease but at some point you found yourself curled up on the couch half-listening as Jake recounted some absurd training exercise where Phoenix had absolutely wrecked him in a dogfight.

“—I swear to God, I had her, I had her, and then at the last second, she pulls this insane move out of nowhere. Next thing I know, she’s behind me, cackling like a damn supervillain and I’m dead in the water.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I bet she lovedthat.”

“Oh, she hasn’t shut up about it since,” Jake admitted, shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ll never live it down. Worst part is, Mav saw the whole thing. Didn’t even bother hiding the smug look.”

You let out a small laugh and Jake stilled. It was quiet, barely there, but it was real. His smirk softened, something shifting behind his eyes. For the first time ever, he really looked at you. Not just as the woman who sparred with him, who kept up with his banter, who never let him get the last word. But as you. The woman who had been terrified last night. The woman who had been shakentoday. The woman he never wanted to see rattled like that again.

You felt the shift too because your smile faded slightly. Your gaze flickering over his face like you were searching for something. Your voice was quiet when you spoke. “Thanks, Jake.”

His throat bobbed. The muscles in his jaw flexing like he was holding something back. He should’ve said something. Should’ve teased. Should’ve smirked and drawn out the moment. Should’ve eased you back into the comfort of your usual game. But he didn’t. Because this wasn’t the game anymore.

His hand lifted before he could stop himself. His fingers brushing along the side of your face. His thumb grazing your cheek so lightly, so gently, like he was afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

Your breath caught but you didn’t move away. Didn’t say a word. Couldn’t say a word. And then your eyes flicked down to his mouth just for a second, but long enough. Long enough for him to see it. To feelit.

His pulse kicked hard against his ribs, a slow, building pressure coiling in his chest, in his gut. Jesus. You wanted this. You wanted him. Just as much as he wanted you.

Something cracked wide open between you in that moment. Something unspoken but undeniable. Something that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long it was a wonder it hadn’t boiled over sooner.

Jake’s breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in, his nose barely brushing yours. Giving you the chance to back away if you wanted. He could feel the way you inhaled sharply. The way your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your hoodie like you were holding yourself back.

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw. His voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. “Don’t thank me, darlin’.”

And without thinking, without second-guessing, without giving either of you a chance to step back. He kissed you. It was slow, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way your lips felt against his. It was lingering, like he wasn’t sure if this was the first or the last time he’d get to do this. It wasn’t playful. Wasn’t teasing. It was real.

When he pulled back, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, wasn’t tense. It was heavy with something unspoken. With something waiting to be acknowledged. But instead of speaking Jake just gave you one last lingering look before pressing a softer barely-there kiss to your forehead. A silent promise. A quiet reassurance.

“Get some sleep sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The scent of fresh coffee pulled you from sleep. For a moment, you lay there, disoriented, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through your curtains. Your brain slowly caught up. You hadn’t made coffee. And there was only one other person in your house who would.

Jake.

You pushed back the covers and padded toward the kitchen. The wood floor cool against your bare feet. And there he was.

Jake Seresin stood at your stove pouring coffee into two mugs like he’d done it a hundred times before. His flight suit jacket was still draped over a chair, but he’d changed into the sweatpants you’d tossed at him last night. The fabric hanging low on his hips in a way that was far too distracting this early in the morning. His hair was still messy, slightly sleep-ruffled, and for some reason that made your stomach do something ridiculous.

He looked comfortable here. In your space. Like he belonged. And you liked it. Liked the way it looked. Liked the way he looked. God help you.

At the sound of your footsteps he turned, flashing you a grin. “Mornin’, sweetheart.” He held out a mug. “Figured you might need this.”

You crossed your arms but took it anyway, inhaling deeply before your first sip. Perfect. Of course, he makes perfect coffee, too. “Didn’t take you for a domestic type, Seresin,” you muttered, lifting an eyebrow. Trying your best to look annoyed but you were anything but that.

Jake smirked while leaning a hip against the counter. “You saying you expected me to sneak out before sunrise?”

You hummed, taking another sip. “Wouldn’t have been the first time a Navy pilot bailed on me.”

His smirk faltered just slightly. Just enough to make your lips twitch. “Not my style, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head. Then after a beat he nudged your elbow. “You slept okay?”

The teasing had softened and the warmth in his voice caught you off guard. You hesitated, fingers curling around your mug, but the truth easily came this time.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I did. I slept more than okay.” Because knowing he was just a room over made it easy to relax. Jake studied you for a second. His green eyes sharp, thoughtful, like he was making sure you meant it.

Satisfied, he clinked his mug against yours, smirk returning full force. “Good. ‘Cause I make a damn good bodyguard. But I make an even better breakfast. What’s it gonna be, sweetheart? Eggs or pancakes?”

You blinked. “You’re making breakfast too?”

Jake gave you a slow, lazy grin. “Oh, darlin’, you think I’m lettin’ you start your day without a full meal andmy charming company? Hate to break it to you, but you’re really bad at getting rid of me.”

You scoffed while shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“Charming,” he corrected, winking.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to fight, “Pancakes. I like my breakfasts sweet.”

He gave you that devilish grin, “Noted darlin’.”

And just like that. That something between you and Jake Seresin shifted. For good.

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