#it should be up tomorrow by the way so look forward to that

[onceinablueberrymoon]

special report | salesman (recruiter) x reporter!reader

scenario: ever wonder how the VIPs watch the games before they arrive on the island? reporter!reader delivers the highlights of each game to viewers around the world. and a certain someone is their biggest fan.  setting: in seoul between the second game (dalgona) and the special game during season 1 warnings: reader can be any gender, but this was originally written with fem!reader in mind; reader also works for the games; they're both just not nice people lol (but we love them anyways!); no use of y/n; second person POV word count: 629 notes: someone in a reddit thread had a theory that the VIPs would watch highlight reels of the first few games and this story popped in my head. salesman is called recruiter here since that's his official title. i love this guy sm (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) please enjoy! borders by @strangergraphics-archive

“And that concludes our coverage for Day 2 of the Games. Please stay tuned for the Special Game, which will take place in two hours.”

You bowed to the camera, only straightening your back upon hearing the director yell “Cut!”. You shuffled the papers on the desk in front of you, then checked your phone. 

Three missed calls. 

You snorted, a small smile forming on your lips. You pressed on one of the missed calls, the number redialing on your screen. Bringing the phone to your ear, you waited for the recruiter to pick up. It didn’t even ring once before his smooth voice came through the speaker.

“Finally.”

You sighed, leaning forward to prop an elbow on the desk. “You know I’m at work. You of all people should know that.”

You could picture his cocky smirk.

“Care for a bite to eat? My treat,” he offered, which you accepted. There was still an hour and a half before you had to return to prepare for the Special Game.

You met at the tiny kimbap shop down the street. While you both could afford a fancier restaurant, a cheap, filling meal was all you needed right now.

“So,” you started, pouring hot barley tea into your teacups, “Did you catch any of the last game?” 

He nodded, resting his chin on his hands with his elbows on the table. “Very entertaining, as always. You never cease to impress me,” he praised.

Taking a big sip of tea, you scoffed, “Oh please. I’m the least interesting part of the show.”

“Oh?” He cocked his head. “Why is that?”

Shooting him an unimpressed look, you spoke, “Did you not see the same footage I did? The utter fear when they had to carve out the dalgona?” You laughed, “And when that guy got shot and slid down the slide… You just can’t make this stuff up!"

Pouring some more tea into your cup, you continued, "Seriously though, watching those players carve out the umbrella shapes was priceless. They were so scared!” With a shake of your head, you sighed, “I can’t believe some of them actually passed.” 

The recruiter chuckled, leaning closer to you. “While that was amusing, I found your performance to be far more enticing.”  

A blush crossed your cheeks, but you quickly shook it off, clearing your throat.

“I try my best. By the way,” you motioned towards him, “You’ve outdone yourself with the players this time. A perfect mix of competent and woefully tragic players. I’m not sure which I like more.” You shot him a smile, which he returned.

“Oh, and the group with the Host? Hilarious,” you grinned. “I can’t believe that 218 and 456 were childhood friends.” You tapped your fingers against your teacup. “But I guess, at the end of the day, trash is still trash.”

The lady running the shop arrived with your food, and the two of you ate in comfortable silence. However, you couldn’t help but notice the recruiter’s intense gaze lingering on you.

Once the recruiter paid, the two of you left the restaurant, and he walked you back to the office. 

“Same time tomorrow?” He asked, briefcase in hand.

You hummed, “Tomorrow is Tug of War, and there’s still lots to prepare before the final games.” You took a step towards him, a teasing smile on your face, “Why, miss me already?”

He huffed, “I can watch you any time.” Bringing his lips to your ear, he whispered, “But I prefer being near you instead.”

You tilted his head to look at you and kissed him on the cheek. Turning to enter your office, you looked back and called to him.

“Until next time, my dear recruiter!”

He flashed his signature smirk.

“Take care, my lovely reporter.”

[thedissonantverses]

Hi other Veilguard lovers! I did delete the weird hostile anon I got(don’t worry I keep receipts) cause ya know we all don’t need to see that shit. I’ve been called worse and will be again probably I’m not shy about my opinions. It’s fun to dunk on weirdos but also eh? The vitriol to this game is disproportionate to what it is and I am going to combat that where I can but I am more interested in building up a fandom community that’s actually fun.

I do want to say that if a queer positive game with a diverse cast is making you so angry ya gotta call people names and go out of your way to fight them you should probably unpack that offline I don’t think social media is good for you. That’s not snark I mean it! Protect your mental health!

Anyways thank you to the friends I’ve made here and I’m looking forward to making more!! Gonna do that Rook Storytime Ask by the lovely @hyperions-light a lil later so if you want to send me more asks go for it!! Or if you wanna send me writing prompts in general I’m so down.

Keep an eye out for my writing challenge tomorrow and there’s a super special fan event coming up I cant properly announce just yet but if you’re a Davrin, Bellara, Taash, or Neve fan I think you’ll be very happy in the coming weeks! Let’s keep creating and keep our chins up!

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jack Howl - New Year's Attire Vignette

"That's how it should be."

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

―Day 1 on the job

Jack: There's a ton of people here just for the New Year's sale. I gotta put my all into this.

Jack: Based on the shift schedule… Right now, Malleus-senpai and Jamil-senpai on the other team are doing ＴＡＫＯＡＧＥ battles.

Jack: Floyd-senpai's on the floor and register. I got stocking duty.

Jack: Everything keeps flyin' off the shelves faster than I can get 'em up, so I feel like I'm not getting any breaks, but…

Jack: If there's one thing I'm good at, it's breaking a sweat. I'll set up everything up all at once as my warming-up exercise!!

Jack: I guess I'll start with fixin' up the stationary corner. I'll just pick up this box filled with that stuff, and…

Jack: Notepads, quills, ink jars… All re-stocked. Nice! That should be good enough for the stationary corner.

Jack: Guess I'll do the clothing section next. I'll go grab the stock from the backyard…

Floyd: Ah, found ya, Sea Urchin-chaaan. I was lookin' for ya～

Jack: Floyd…-senpai. You need something?

Floyd: I'm handin' this customer off to ya.

Heartslabyul Student: I wanted to try buying some protein shakes to drink after muscle training, but I don't really get the difference between whey and soy.

Floyd: 'S what he's sayin', and I don't know nothing about muscle training, since I'm not into it, soooo. Plus, I'm getting tired of lookin' after customers～

Floyd: You're all about that training stuff, right, Sea Urchin-chan? Sooo I'll leave ya to it.

Jack: I REFUSE.

Floyd/Heartslabyul Student: Huh? / Eh?

Jack: Don't "Huh?" me. I've been tasked with restocking. Dealing with customers is your gig right now.

Jack: I don't care if you don't know anything about it, or are bored, or whatever. You do whatever was assigned to you. That's how it should be.

Floyd: Ehhh, but I don't wanna help customers anymore.

Floyd: If Sea Urchin-chan's not gonna help, then just run along and pick out whatever, I guess～

[Floyd leaves]

Heartslabyul Student: Eh? Pick out whatever…? C'mon, I came all the way to the store, here…

Jack: Whew, closing time, finally… I was using every muscle in my body, so my whole body just feels stiff.

Sam: Good job, my little doggy imp. How did the work suit you?

Jack: It was just the first day, but I definitely feel like I succeeded in doing everything I was assigned.

Sam: Nyeheehee, a reliable kid.

Sam: Only… If I were to compare you to the horned imp's team, I'd say your vibes are a little off.

Jack: Huh, vibes? A little off? What does that…

Sam: Well then, I'm counting on you tomorrow, too.

Jack: Wait, Sam-san!

Jack: My vibes are off…? I don't get it, was he saying that my work wasn't as good as the other team's work?

Jack: What did I do wrong? I definitely did everything I was supposed to do…

Jack: …Nope, I can't think of anything.

Jack: It's no use to just drown in my thoughts like this. I'll go for a run and try to clear my head.

[Sports Field]

Jack: Whew. As usual, I really like running in the crisp winter air, it helps clear my head.

Jack: …But I still don't get what was wrong with what I did…

Track & Field Club Member A: Hooray! My time got better since last time!

Track & Field Club Member B: See? Just like I said would happen, right? I told you this form's better to run in!

Track & Field Club Member A: Yeah… Now I'm really looking forward to the next meet. Let's get back to it after taking a quick break!

Jack: Hm…? Those guys are in the Track & Field club. And I'm pretty sure the next event's a marathon.

Jack: Hmph. Training together, huh. Listen to 'em acting all friendly with each other.

Jack: Well, it's true that practicing's the only way to get any better. So I need to make sure I work even harder tomorrow compared to today.

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

―Day 2 on the job

Jack: I re-stocked, helped customers, and did my fair share of battles… I definitely worked twice as hard today as I did yesterday! My muscles got a crazy good workout!

Sam: Hey, doggy imp! It's break time, so make sure you rest up.

Jack: Sam-san! Thank you.

Jack: I know I did real good today. Uhh… And I think I had enough of that… what was it again…? Vibes!

Sam: Nyeheehee… You really think so? It didn't really look all that different from yesterday, to me.

Jack: HUH…!?

Jack: But I worked so hard… And there wasn't any difference from yesterday? Why's that?

Jack: Ugh, at this rate, I can say bye to that special bonus… What does that other team got that I don’t?

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Jack: Ugh, at this rate, I can say bye to that special bonus… What does that other team got that I don’t?

[Beside Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Jack: …......

Jamil: Oh, Jack. Are you on break? Good work out there.

Jack: Jamil-senpai, Malleus-senpai… You as well.

Malleus: What is wrong? You seem to be rather fatigued.

Malleus: I think we may sweep the special bonus if you continue in your present condition.

Jack: …Dammit, I can't even argue back, after what Sam-san said to me.

Jack: You guys look like you're doing fine enough.

Jamil: Well, yeah.

Jamil: But everything is all thanks to Malleus-senpai! I'm very thankful.

Malleus: Heh. A modest comment, Viper.

Malleus: After all, I am simply standing in front of the customers when you instruct me.

Malleus: ...Because that seems to make your life easier, does it not?

Jamil: E-Easier…? Hahaha.

Jamil: I just said that because whenever we do that, even the rowdiest customer seems to quiet down. I just presumed that we needed the right man for the right job…

Malleus: No need to explain. It is a fact that I am not accustomed to customer service. I will gladly follow your tutelage.

Malleus: You would do well to continue to make use of my presence.

Jack: Somehow I'm even starting to feel the pressure now… Ah, I need to head back work.

Malleus: Understood. Another time, Howl.

Jack: …Man… I feel like I don't see Floyd-senpai at all while we're on the floor,

Jack: But somehow those two are getting all chummy. …Oh! Wait…

Jack: Is this what Sam-san meant by "vibes"…?

Jack: Am I supposed to work together with Floyd-senpai like they do?

Jack: …No way, that'd be impossible! He's a moody guy, who knows how he'll act at any given moment.

Jack: Besides, I don't care who it is, I ain't gettin' all chummy with anyone!

Jack: Winning only matters if you can get it yourself. What's even the use of getting someone else's help to secure a victory?

Jack: But…

[FLASHBACK]

Sam: It didn't really look all that different from yesterday, to me.

Jack: …He did say that I hadn't improved at all from the day before, even though I know I worked even harder.

Jack: At this rate, I'll just be stuck walking in place. And above all…

Jack: I DEFINITELY DON'T WANT TO LOSE TO THE OTHER TEAM WITHOUT TRYING EVERYTHING!

Jack: I have to be able to do something by myself…!

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

Jack: Next customer.

[beep]

Jack: That'll be 800 Madol [8 Thaumarks]. Thanks.

Jack: Whew, finally the line for checkout's winding down. I should replace the receipt paper while I can…

Floyd: Ehhh, you want a new pair of running shoes to kick off the new year～?

Floyd: I know tons about designer and brand-name shoes, but I don't know nothin' about running shoes.

Floyd: Soooo, you should just give up on those and find some other shoes to buy.

Jack: …Looks like Floyd-senpai is working in the shoes section. I see he's not taking it seriously, like usual.

Jack: Urgh… I guess I should go and…

Floyd: What, you want some kind of recommendation since you came all this way to buy some running shoes?

Floyd: I mean, sure, we got a guy who'd know that kinda stuff working here, but he's working the register right now, so I doubt he'll help you or nothin'.

Floyd: That dude's suuuuper hard-headed and stubborn and totally inflexible, so.

Jack: …Hey, that's not me you're talking about, is it?

Floyd: Oh hey, speak of the devil. What brings the cashier to our neck of the woods?

Jack: I heard you talking about running shoes… So I thought I'd suggest something.

Floyd: Eh, seriously? You?

Jack: …Yeah.

Floyd: Nice, lucky me. If you're gonna attend to the customer, I'm gonna go on break, then.

Jack: Huh? A break? What're you talking about, get some other work done in the meantime.

Floyd: I don't have nothin' else to do, I'm already done with cleaning and re-stocking. And manning the register was your job, so.

Floyd: Orrr… What, you want my help, or somethin'? Suuuure, I'll totally do it for ya～ If. You. Beg. Me. To. ♡

Jack: NO WAY I'D WANT YOUR HELP! WHO'D BEG YOU FOR ANYTHING!?

Jack: Stop messing with me… Whatever, go on your break, whatever you want. I don't need your help at all!

Floyd: Is that so? Dang, Sea Urchin-chan, you're a boss, running the register and helping customers out all at once～ Mmkay, I'm gonna leave it all to ya then.

[Floyd leaves]

Jack: And hey! You're coming with me! I'll give you my recommendations while I work the register, so you need to stand close enough to hear it!

Scarabia Student: Man, this guy is so restless… At this rate, I shoulda just gone and picked something out myself…

[Sports Field]

Jack: [pant, pant]… AAAAAARGH! EVEN RUNNING'S NOT CLEARING MY MOOD!!

Jack: Sayin' he'll "help" me, or whatever. I swear he just says that to get on my nerves.

Jack: I get that I gotta take this gig seriously, but there's no way I'm gonna get dragged down to his pace… Hm?

Track & Field Club Member A: Geeeeez～～! That guy seriously pisses me off! Why's he gotta keep nagging me about my form each time!?

Jack: Isn't that one of the guys who was training for the marathon the other day?

Jack: Is he just finishing up his club activities? I don't see his partner from the other day… And he seems pretty frustrated.

Track & Field Club Member A: Juuuuust 'cause he's got a little more experience in running marathons doesn't mean he can look down on me like that.

Track & Field Club Member A: I thought if I just saddled up with a guy that had way more experience, I'd be able to participate in the huge meet coming up, but I'm reaching the end of my patience…

Track & Field Club Member A: He gets all snooty every time I mess up even a tiny bit! I'm seriously gonna explode…!

Jack: …Hey, woah. Wasn't he the one saying "my time got better!" last time?

Jack: They were all buddy-buddy, but he's just mouthing off now. Sounds like they were a terrible combo.

Jack: Hah. How stupid.

Track & Field Club Member A: I've already gone through so much for this. I'm gonna do whatever I can to reach my goal…!

Jack: …......

[Mister S's Mystery Shop]

―Day 3 on the job

Diasomnia Student: Hey! When I dropped this plate I bought from you guys yesterday, it broke. I bet it was already cracked to begin with, wasn't it!?

Jack: HUH? DON'T BE STUP…!

Jack: …Ah, I mean, I understand. Please wait one moment.

Jack: Um. Floyd…-senpai.

Floyd: What? I'm in a pretty bad mood right now, since I gotta carry all these heavy things.

Jack: …Uhh… So, uh, can I ask… Can I ask you to help resolve a problem with a customer… Please?

Floyd: Huh?

Floyd: …What's going on, Sea Urchin-chan? You're acting pretty docile today.

Floyd: Didja eat something bad? Or didja just come cryin' to me since you can't figure out how to stop the argument on your own?

Jack: Grrrrr….!

Jack: …[breathes in, breathes out]

Jack: …Yeah. I know you're definitely better suited to deal with complaints like that. So, I'm… begging you.

Floyd: Uh-huuuh… Man, you really are being a good boy today, huh, Sea Urchin-chan.

Floyd: Well, mmkay then. I was just feelin' like I needed to let off some steam, anyway.

Floyd: So, I'll work with the customers instead now. You go and do the stuff I was doing, then.

Jack: …Got it. That'll probably be better in the long run, anyway. Thanks.

Jack: …Whew! Somehow I was able to get through that…!

Malleus: Oh, well, that was surprising. You seem to be doing much better than you were prior.

Jack: Eh!? Ack, Malleus-senpai and Jamil-senpai… Did you see that just now?

Jamil: Looks like you and Floyd are actually working better together as a team now.

Jack: WE AIN'T A TEAM!!

Jack: I was just… using Floyd-senpai!

Jamil/Malleus: USING?

Jack: So, the other day, I saw a few guys from the Track & Field club training for a marathon.

Jack: It looked like they were getting along pretty well, with one guy listening to the other's advice on changing up his form…

Jack: But once the guy who was getting the advice was all alone, he just started harping on and on about the other guy.

Jamil/Malleus: NOT SURPRISING.

Jack: When I saw that, at first, I just thought he was a spineless coward to talk about the other guy behind his back.

Jack: But as I watched him do whatever it took to try and achieve victory… I started to think about how I was going about things wrong.

Jack: I ain't doing what he says because I'm a coward, or whatever. I'm just using his strengths to snag my own victory.

Jack: You two are doing the same, right? You're using each other to bring out the best in each other.

Jack: So am I. There's no way I'd ever want to work with Floyd-senpai for any reason, but to win, I'll do what it takes.

Jack: That's all it is. So please, don't ever say something as nauseating as me being part of a team.

Malleus: Even without similar ideals, you are still able to cooperate with one another. …Wouldn't you consider that teamwork?

Jack: NO WAY!!!

Jack: I don't care to work alongside nor befriend anyone.

Jack: However, now that I've fully gotten the hang of it, I'm going to finish this gig in the best condition.

Jack: The person who'll give his all to this shop and snag that special bonus WILL BE ME!

Requested by @farfalla049.

[paperstorm]

Thanks for the tags @whatsintheboxmh @annoyingcloudearthquake @heartstringsduet @henrygrass @thisbuildinghasfeelings and @nisbanisba! This is from Somewhere in a Song, chapter posting tomorrow :)

“Are your parents gonna come to a show?” TK asks, as they toss the empty boxes and napkins and begin to stroll side by side.

Carlos swallows. It’s a complicated question, and something he hasn’t even talked about with Grace. She knows the gist, she knows his parents aren’t as excited about his chosen career path as Carlos wishes they were, but there’s something that always scratches in the back of his skull telling him he shouldn’t be talking about them that way, even if what he’s saying is true. Obligatory respect, maybe a sprinkling of Catholic guilt, Carlos is never sure exactly what causes it. He just knows it makes him feel awful to even consider disparaging them.

“Maybe,” he says, noncommittally.

“Do they live in Austin? We have one there later in the summer.”

“Yeah.” Carlos nods. “Summer is a really busy time, though, for my dad.”

“What does he do?”

“Owns a cattle ranch just outside the city.”

TK’s quiet for a moment, and when Carlos glances over TK’s eyebrows are raised comically.

“What?” Carlos laughs.

“You were raised on a literal cattle ranch?” TK cries.

“Yep.”

“That’s incredible.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, man, you’re like an actual cowboy, not like all those guys singing about dirt roads and cosplaying as working class when they’re actually a millionaire.”

Carlos cracks up. “Damn, shots fired.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Not entirely, no. Although again, it is my dad’s ranch, not mine.”

TK grins at him. “Even still. I like that you’re authentic.”

“Thanks.” Carlos returns his smile. He’s never thought of it that way. He isn’t resentful of his upbringing but since there are things about it that he wishes were different, he’s never been as proud of it as maybe he should be. He likes the spin TK’s put on it.

“I – sorry, excuse me, you’re …”

Carlos looks up. There’s a young woman standing a few feet away from them, lips parted and cheeks bright pink. She’s staring at TK with wide eyes, and Carlos looks back and forth between them a few times, worried just for a second that she’s another person following TK around the country and showing up at his hotel.

But then she meekly asks, “Are you TK Strand?”

Carlos feels his shoulders lower.

TK nods. “I am, yeah. Hey.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters, head shaking quickly back and forth. She takes a step forward but then quickly backs up. “Sorry. I’m usually not weird.”

Laughing softly and holding out his hand, TK kindly says, “It’s okay. It’s nice to meet you.”

Something inside Carlos seems to melt, as the awestruck fan reaches out and shakes his hand. He knows a little bit about how she feels – awestruck and bowled-over. TK has that effect on people.

“Allison,” she says in a trembling voice.

“Hi, Allison.” TK nods his head to the side. “This is Carlos.”

She looks over and then comically jumps in surprise and blushes an even deeper crimson. “Oh my God. Yes, hi, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even see you. That’s so rude.”

“It’s okay,” Carlos chuckles. In an audible stage-whisper, he tells Allison, “I get it, he’s pretty impressive.”

“Yeah,” she agrees breathlessly.

“Were you at the show last night?” TK asks.

Allison shakes her head quickly. “I’m coming tomorrow.”

“Oh, great. The second night’s always better.”

With a nervous giggle, she folds her hands together and Carlos watches the color drain out of her fingers as she squeezes them. “I saw you on your last tour, you guys were so amazing.”

“Thank you.” TK says it so sincerely, and the imaginary warmth spreads to Carlos’s extremities.

“I – um. Sorry, I won’t take up more of your time, I just …”

“It’s okay, you’re good.”

Taking a breath, Allison’s eyes shine a little brighter in the lights from the streetlamps and her voice shakes as she tells him, “I know this is probably, um, trauma dumping, or whatever, but I just, um. Wanted you to know I started getting help after you went to rehab.”

Carlos glances at TK. His focus is lasered on the fan standing in front of them, a slight down-turn of his mouth but he doesn’t look upset. Maybe overwhelmed.

“I just – you had to deal with so much shit,” Allison babbles, one hand waving anxiously in a circle, “so I just wanted you to know that you also helped people. I thought if you could do it, I could too.”

“I’m so proud of you,” TK tells her, a tiny waver in his voice. “Thank you for telling me that.”

TK takes a step forward and reaches for her hand again. He takes both of them, squeezing and smiling at her, and suddenly Carlos feels very much like an intruder – like he’s eavesdropping on a private, personal moment, and yet he can’t seem to look away.

Tagging @theghostofashton @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @eclectic-sassycoweyes @carlos-in-glasses

@bonheur-cafe @actual-sleeping-beauty @herefortarlos @heartstringsduet @alrightbuckaroo

@goodways @lightningboltreader @emsprovisions @freneticfloetry @liminalmemories21

@reasonandfaithinharmony @ladytessa74 @never-blooms @sanjuwrites @orchidscript

@lemonlyman-dotcom @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @honeybee-taskforce @hereghostslive

@just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @ironheartwriter

@butchreyes @anactualcaseofthetruth @ditheringmind @thisbuildinghasfeelings @whatsintheboxmh

@irispurpurea @nisbanisba @corsage @chicgeekgirl89 @nancys-braids

@carlossreaders @denizoid @everlastingday @rangersoup

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

[dearkaslana]

A poem to my childhood fort....(part 2) Ronin x G.N reader

Words:3000

Genre: Angst to fluff, Gift to @sincerelyyourslilly

(Reader is G.N)

I decided to use some of their arts as inspo! Here goes as follows! all by @sincerelyyourslilly

art 1 , art 2, art 3

Ronin x G.N Reader

Flowers at the hell's altar.....

It was March already, and February had slipped by faster than you could have imagined. Life was rolling along, and hey, you'd finally finished that lovely book you'd been working on. Sure, there were a few typos, but who cared?

Because, well... you might not live to see tomorrow.

What a ride it had been. Escaping from your dead-end town, clawing your way up to become a reporter, and now, here you were—a member of a serial killer server. And to top it off, your lover? Yeah, he’s one of them. The kind who wouldn’t hesitate to make you his next victim.

Feli once joked that your story was like Romeo and Juliet, but you knew better. This wasn’t some romantic Shakespearean tragedy. This was something far darker. Twisted.

And maybe there was a poetic beauty in it. Dying at the hands of someone you loved? It sounded romantic... in books. But in real life? Oh, hell no.

Right now, the server was buzzing. Everyone was huddled in the infamous "killer-shit" channel, and the chaos was palpable.

<goreboy> you heard it here first: March is for Murder

<hitmeuppp> OMG can’t believe everything’s coming together in cut season...

<ReaderintoCrowbars> Cut season?

<Angelic> It’s when serial killer activity spikes! It’s such a fun annual phenomenon :3

<ReaderintoCrowbars> That feels... statistically inaccurate...

<goreboy> or maybe the reports are statistically inaccurate

The chat flowed on, but then—your heart skipped a beat. He spoke.

<goreboy> i just wanna warn this chat that i’ve got a pretty little kill coming right up i think you’ll all fucking love it especially you, @ReaderintoCrowbars

Oh. Oh no.

Well, this was it. You could almost feel the icy grip of dread clawing at your throat. But hey, you were a good partner, weren’t you? You decided to play along.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> I look forward to it!

<goreboy> aren’t you a darling

More like a damn fool.

<Angelic> Omg, I’m excited to see it!

<hitmeuppp> oooooo this is TEA omg! u never hype up your murders unless they’re amazing, and they’re always so gruesome sooo

<Eviscerator1990> i look forward to this so-called “pretty little kill”

<K9> i don’t think i will. but believe what you’d like, @goreboy

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> YO A GOREBOY KILL GONNA DROP??? @felicite

<felicite> oh! that sounds fun!

<hitmeuppp> okay but like, why’d he say “especially @ReaderintoCrowbars” huh? tea time?? is this some weird murder-dedication thing??

<goreboy> well, in a way, yeah. killing for them.

Nope. Wrong. He’s killing you.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> Haha, I’m excited...

<goreboy> what a sweet little thing you are.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> I just want to be supportive for my boyfriend. Is that so bad?

<goreboy> HAHA! you’re such a naive little thing. just like that time on the bridge.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> What..?

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> IMAGINE CRINGING AT US WHEN LOOK AT YOU TWO FLIRTING IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE SERVER LMAO

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, mind racing. Was this really your end?

The chat was buzzing with anticipation. You could almost hear the teasing tone seeping through every message. It was like a twisted carnival, and you were the main attraction.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> YO FELI, ME AND RONIN AND YOU SHOULD HAVE A WEDDING IN THE SERVER, A WHOLE SERIAL KILLER SHINDIG!!

You stared at the screen, blinking. A wedding? In this twisted server? Well, it wasn't completely out of character, but still—

<ReaderintoCrowbars> It's fine, Ronin might not like it...

Ronin’s response was almost instant, and you could almost hear the amusement in his voice.

<goreboy> Why not? It’s in the server...

You felt the tension build. Was this... real? You swallowed.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> Oh, you’re postponing the killing, Ronin?

He didn’t even hesitate.

<goreboy> No. I just wanna see them being bloodied and sweet... in a way.

Your stomach churned, not in fear but something else. What the hell?

<ReaderintoCrowbars> Guts!? Exactly...

You could see the line of messages flooding in, each more twisted than the last.

<Hitmeupp> OMG, is he really into flowers?

<goreboy> Hm, flowers are hella sweet. Are they too sweet for you, though?

Your mind reeled. Flowers? Really? Is that what you’re thinking about in the middle of all this chaos?

<ReaderintoCrowbars> Do you think flowers are too sweet? Angel?

<Angelicc> YES. Flowers are too sweet. :')

Ronin’s voice cut through the chat like a knife.

<goreboy> Yeah... flowers are sweet, especially white ones...

Your head spun. White flowers. The kind of symbolism he loved to twist. But why did he say it like that? There was something so sinister in the way he phrased it.

<Angelic> What the hell, Ronin?

<goreboy> Hehe, Angel, don’t make me revive my child...

<Angelic> I’ll just kill it with a pink heart. 💖

<Feli> Maybe another day for now, let’s see who’s the victim of Ronin’s new killing.

There was a pause, and you almost swore you could feel Ronin's gaze through the screen. His words cut through the chat like a blade, but before you could process them, Luca jumped in with a laugh.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL> I don’t think his victim’s face is gonna be clear with the point of gore, though...

The server erupted into laughter. You could almost hear it in your mind—the twisted, dark amusement that filled the digital space. Everyone was so... comfortable with the gore, the death, the violence.

And that’s when the chill settled deep in your bones.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> SHIT!!

Goosebumps crawled up your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. The laughter felt wrong, hollow, like a foreboding omen. You could feel the weight of Ronin’s presence, even though he hadn’t said a word. Was he watching? Waiting for you to react?

And there it was again, that familiar feeling—like something was off.

<goreboy> Don’t worry, @ReaderintoCrowbars. You’ll see soon enough.

It wasn’t a promise. It was a declaration. Your heart pounded in your chest, every instinct screaming at you. But you couldn’t look away.

<hitmeuppp> Ooooh, I’m so ready for this one! I’m gonna get my popcorn and enjoy the show!

<Angelic> Same here. This one’s gonna be a masterpiece.

And then—

<goreboy> You all think it's funny? Well, just wait till you see their face.

You froze, the words hanging in the air like a thick fog. The message wasn’t for the chat. It was for you.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that the victim wasn’t some random person, not this time. You were tangled in this mess, and Ronin had his eyes on you.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> What do you mean?

The silence after your question was deafening. Every second felt like an eternity, but then Ronin’s response came.

<goreboy> Oh, nothing. Just a little preview of what’s to come. You’ll see...

The chat continued, the teasing, the jabs, the laughter. But all you could hear in your head were those words. You’ll see.

The pressure was building, tightening around your chest. You were still there, stuck in the madness, caught in the grip of a man who reveled in death—and you couldn’t escape it.

Your fingers hovered above the keyboard again, unsure whether to respond, to act... or to just wait for the inevitable.

<goreboy> Maybe you’ll be the next pretty little thing. Who knows?

That one hit too close to home. Your heart raced, but you refused to let the panic show. If this was the game Ronin wanted to play, then you’d have to play along. But how far would you go? And what would happen when the victim wasn't some random soul on the other side of the screen, but someone close to you?

The server buzzed with an almost disturbing sense of camaraderie, the playful teasing and the sickeningly sweet words directed toward you only adding to the heavy tension that gnawed at the edges of your mind. Ronin’s game was unfolding, and you were both part of the show and a spectator, unsure of what the next scene would bring.

<hitmeuppp> HEY RONIN! DON’T FLIRT- BUT Y/N YOU REALLY ARE THE BEST <3

The comment made your stomach twist, the constant back-and-forth making everything feel too intimate, too personal. It was almost like they were trying to pull you into a world that didn’t belong to you. But you weren’t the only one caught up in it.

<Feli> Me and Luca are always thankful you gave us the courage to be lovers! We thank you!

The server flooded with messages, all of them dripping with gratitude and affection. It felt like a bizarre parade, each of them handing out praises with a sense of distorted warmth that sent shivers up your spine.

<Vince> You enjoy my sunset pictures. Yes, you are a sweet thing, @goreboy is lucky to have a partner like you. It’s like meeting his wife.

Your heart stilled, and you almost laughed bitterly. Wife? This was spiraling far too quickly, even for your standards.

<Ai hua> Thumbs up for @ReaderintoCrowbars.

The words felt almost mockingly sweet, and you couldn’t tell if they were genuine or just part of Ronin's twisted game. And the whole thing felt so... final.

<Angelic> I feel safe with you when I talk to you, so thankies!

<K9> Out of all here, @ReaderintoCrowbars is humble. I'm thankful there’s a person like you...

You felt the warmth in their words. And yet, it was all so wrong. Your mind screamed that something wasn’t right, but you forced the smile.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> Thank you...

But inside, it felt like a cold wave washing over you. Their compliments were suffocating, their kindness like a trap, and for a brief moment, the truth seemed too clear: This looked like a sendoff.

They were all here, caught up in the fantasy, unaware that the "victim" of Ronin's plan was still a question mark, a fragile variable that could mean anything. You didn’t know how long you could keep pretending, how long you could hold up this facade before everything came crashing down.

<goreboy> Indeed, one in a million...

The weight of Ronin’s words hung in the air. He knew exactly what he was doing. The way he weaved affection with death, offering you compliments, wrapping you in praise—only to pull the rug from under you when you least expected it.

And in that moment, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were the target.

You were the one in the middle of all this, being handed the most intoxicating, beautiful death in the most twisted way possible.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sickly sweet messages pouring in, their layers of false security building up around you, suffocating you. You were caught between thank yous and goodbyes, unsure of whether this was just some sick joke or the end of a cruel, inevitable game.

The weight of it all crashed down on you like an avalanche, the truth settling in with a terrifying clarity. The entire server—your so-called friends, your “supporters,” all of them—had no idea they were laughing, encouraging, and praising a death sentence. And the one pulling all the strings, the one playing you like a puppet, was Ronin.

He wasn’t just some faceless killer. No, he was the one who owned you. The one who had every secret you buried deep within you, every weakness, every desire, every unspoken fear. You were his plaything, his victim, and the worst part? You let yourself fall into it willingly.

But that couldn’t be the end, could it? You had to confront him.

You could feel the tension in your bones, the cold dread curling around your heart. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking as the cursor blinked, daring you to type the words, to confront him.

But the words didn’t come easily. What if you said the wrong thing? What if confronting him only made it worse? What if the server’s dark humor, the weird, twisted affection, was just a small taste of what was to come? But no—this couldn’t be the end. You couldn’t keep hiding in the shadows, pretending that everything was just some sick joke.

You had to face it.

You looked at the screen, your breath shallow. Your heart beat in your chest like a drum, pounding louder as you took a shaky step toward the truth.

You didn’t need to text the server. They didn’t matter. You only needed to find him. The real Ronin. The man behind the devil’s mask.

<goreboy> how are you Rotting along

Y/n?

The words hit like heavy, dead air. You feel them slip through you, like a promise made of ash. There’s something hollow, a terrible pause that stretches into the distance, but you don’t dare look too far. You’ll drown. You’re already sinking.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> I'm in love with a devil, hbu?

A silly joke, a pathetic little jest. You don’t laugh. You know the sound of that statement far too well. Love with the devil? It’s never love. It’s something worse—something that gnaws at you, like a hunger you’ll never satisfy. But you let him have it, let him taste it, because you're too weak to stop. You’re just as sick as he is.

<goreboy> jesus that's rough the Old testament wants a word with you but hey you're Novel's nearly there no? should i wait for you to finish to kill ya? or maybe i can spare the world another serial killer Incarnation..

Another one. Another joke. Another game. His words drip with poison, sweetened with the bitterness of inevitability. The words hang over you like an executioner's hood. Can you feel the rope tightening around your throat? The truth is—it doesn't matter. It never does.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> I'm fine with you waiting!

The lie falls from your lips with a tremor you can’t hide. But he doesn’t care, does he? He knows. And he laughs, because you’re not his victim yet. But you will be. You always will be.

<goreboy> hah Now where's the fun in that?

Where is the fun in waiting? In torturing yourself slowly as you watch the ground crumble beneath your feet? The twisted thrill of watching you squirm. His words are venom wrapped in silk. Every syllable a slow poison you’re too stupid to reject.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> You don't have to kill me.

Such a sad, pathetic plea. It’s the same thing you’ve said a thousand times, but you both know better, don’t you? His smile stretches, knowing how much you ache, how much you want to scream. He’s always waiting, always watching. He wants to see if you’ll beg for mercy. But you won’t. You can’t.

<goreboy> you're right, i don't have to But i sure as fuck want to you know how the saying goes Each to their own

The words slither, full of dark amusement, like a caress of something foul. It’s not about need. It’s about want. You’re the toy, the plaything, the thing that spins in the web, waiting for the spider to decide how much suffering you’re worth.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> I could kill you.

A whisper, empty as your own breath. But even you don’t believe it. You know what it is: a feeble attempt to wrest control, to play the same game he’s already won. Your hands shake, and he knows. He always knows.

<goreboy> could you please try? it's not like i'm the Antichrist Unhinged maybe! but Fucking hell, it ain't hard just turn the knife to me and i'm done, baby

Another taunt, another shove. He dares you to act. To try. He wants you to break. Wants to see you crumble. He waits, watching with those hollow, gleaming eyes. It’s all a show, but you’re the one who’s already bought the ticket.

<ReaderintoCrowbars> .....

<goreboy> Oh? didja think i was serious? Right i forget how you writers are but hey i'll get my will and Testament if you really mean it

<ReaderintoCrowbars> I don't want to kill you, I want you to stop.

Stop. But you know it’s too late for that. A desperate gasp, a final plea. The words ring hollow, empty in your throat. He’s already past the point of return, and so are you.

<goreboy> no can do i had fun but time's Fucking Up baby! you were a Crazy good time but a Killer's a killer and Evisceration's in my bones Right ain't that true?

He speaks the truth like a curse, like something ancient and untouchable. He wears it on his sleeve, letting you feel it in your gut, and it makes you sick. Makes you long for something simpler. But you’ll never get it. He’s carved himself into you, a mark that won’t fade.

Why is he so…ugh? You can’t get him out of your head. He’s a stain, a mark that lingers on your skin, like blood that never dries, always sticky, always there, pulsing under your flesh. You hate him, or you should—god, you really should. But that’s the cruel trick, isn’t it? He’s made you fall into it. Made you crawl toward him like some damned moth to a flame.

You’d say it’s because he’s a devil, but that’s too easy. Too neat. It’s because he doesn’t care about being the devil. He knows he’s ugly, he knows he’s rotten. He doesn’t try to hide it. And god, that’s what makes him even worse. He doesn’t have to pretend, he doesn’t have to fight it. He enjoys being broken, enjoys pushing you deeper into the pit until you lose all sense of who you are, until you can’t remember what was even worth fighting for.

He’s a reflection of everything wrong, every twisted desire you’ve tried to bury. And that’s what makes him sickening, isn't it? That ugly part of you that you can’t bear to look at, and yet here he is, flaunting it in your face with that shit-eating grin, like he’s won. And you—god, you know he has. You want to spit in his face, but you’re just too weak to pull away, too tangled in the chaos he’s spread around you, too much of a coward to stop playing his fucking game.

He knows it. He sees it. He can read the fear in your veins, the hesitation in your hands, and he thrives on it, drinking it in like some vile nectar. Every step you take to fight him is another thread tightening around your throat, another drop of poison in your system. You can’t escape it. You can’t escape him.

Why does he do this to you? Why can’t he just leave you alone, let you breathe without feeling like his fingers are still around your neck, still pulling you deeper into this world of broken glass and blood-streaked smiles? You’re not some fucking plaything for his amusement, but try telling him that. He’d laugh, he’d look at you with that sick smirk, the one that makes your insides twist and your heart ache.

No. He’s not going to stop. He’s never going to stop. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the real reason you hate him. Because the only thing worse than loving him is realizing you’re trapped in the same cage with him, and he holds the key.

He’s the kind of poison that seeps in slow, until you’re so numb to it, you don't even notice how much of yourself you've lost. Like the sound of blood dripping off the edge of a knife — it gets quieter the longer you listen, and then, it’s just part of the fucking rhythm. Part of the noise. And he's good at this, isn't he? At making it all blend together. The fear. The longing. The hate. Everything becomes one ugly, tangled mess that you don’t know how to untangle, or if you even want to anymore.

You tell yourself you could walk away. You could leave. It’s so easy, right? Just turn your back and step out of this mess. But that’s the lie he’s fed you, the one you’ve swallowed so many times you can’t tell where it ends and you begin. It’s not easy. It’s not simple. It never was. And he knows that. He knows you’re stuck, even when you think you’ve got your legs beneath you.

And god, when he looks at you? It’s like he’s inside your skull, turning things over, poking at the dark corners you didn’t even know were there. He doesn’t even have to touch you, doesn’t even have to try to break you anymore. He’s already done it, just by showing you how easy it is to be broken. How simple it is to let the weight of it all crush you under his watchful, uncaring gaze.

You hate him, but you also need him. You can’t escape the fact that he’s the one who makes everything feel real. He’s the true thing in a world full of empty promises. You might wish he’d disappear, or that you'd have the strength to walk away. But that’s the truth—you can’t get away, and neither can he. He’s as much a part of you as the parts you wish you could burn out of yourself.

Ronin’s face on the screen was sharp, predatory—a cruel grin spread across it like he knew the outcome of this twisted little game before it even began. His voice was velvet laced with razor blades, dragging over your nerves as he taunted, “Y’know what? You don’t want me to kill ya? Why don’t you plead? Beg, even.”

Your throat tightened, words tumbling out before you could stop them. "Please don’t kill me."

The laugh he let out was nothing short of wicked, pure mockery dripping from it. “Christ, you’re pathetic. Say that again.”

You swallowed hard. “Please… don’t kill me.”

But that wasn’t enough for him. His grin grew sharper, cutting through the space between you like a blade. “I’m done playing around. You wanna be a serial killer? Act the part.”

Your hands trembled, but your voice came out steady, almost detached. “Fine. Let’s play a game.”

“Truth.” His answer was immediate, smug.

You exhaled shakily. “I want you to tell me why you’re the way you are.”

The grin faltered for a split second, just a flicker, before he regained control. “I want you to tell me why you are the way you are.”

The words came unbidden, raw and cracked. “I want to be someone other than me.”

His eyes darkened, a strange stillness settling over his expression. “I get that abject feeling,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “Was it because of what your first love told you?”

The mention of it struck you like a blow. Your stomach twisted, the pain of it old but sharp as ever. You didn’t answer right away, just nodded, your gaze falling to the screen in your lap.

Ronin’s tone turned mocking again, the sharp edge of his words back in full force. “You don’t even know how the fuck he looks like, how the fuck he is right now, yet you say he was your first love.”

Your lips twitched into a bitter smile, the chuckle escaping more hollow than you meant it to be. “If someone gives you hope to live,” you began, your voice quieter now, steadier despite the chaos inside you, “to you, they’re a key… to the start of everything.”

His expression tightened, unreadable. “And?”

“And you, Ronin,” you said, voice sharper now, cutting through the tension like a blade, “you’re the key to opening it. Beaufort pushed me to live. You pushed me to accept it.”

There was silence on his end, just for a beat, before he tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. “Accept what?”

You let out a breathy, bitter laugh, staring right into the screen. “That loving you makes me insane. And it’s fine.”

For once, he didn’t respond immediately. The grin was gone, replaced by something quieter, something darker. He didn’t deny it, didn’t taunt you this time. Instead, his gaze burned into yours, and in that suffocating silence, the only sound was the unsteady rhythm of your own heart. You’d said it. You’d accepted it.

Your voice trembled slightly, curiosity clawing its way past fear as you finally asked, "How could you tell? Beaufort’s a he…"

Ronin’s chuckle was low, dark, and dripping with something unspoken, like a predator toying with its prey. Then, without warning, he tipped his head back and laughed—a sound that was equal parts maddening and intoxicating, like he’d just peeled back a layer of your soul for his own amusement. He didn’t answer, of course. He just stared, that infuriating smirk stretching across his face like he knew something you didn’t, something you’d never be able to figure out.

The silence grew heavier with every passing second. His laugh still echoed faintly in your head, unsettling, and yet... there was an undeniable pull to it. He didn’t need to say anything, because the weight of his knowing gaze was answer enough.

Something inside you twisted painfully, a knot of emotions too tangled to unravel. "You’re quiet…" you said softly, your voice cutting through the tension like a whisper in a storm. "You make dying feel… not so bad, in a way."

That earned another chuckle, softer this time, and yet it hit harder, like a hand closing around your throat. His eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t name, something that made your stomach flip and your chest ache all at once.

Your lips curved into a small, broken smile, the weight of everything crashing into you at once. "You’re a devil with a saint’s heart," you said, your words a mixture of awe and despair. "At least to the ones you care about."

Ronin leaned closer to the camera, his grin faltering ever so slightly as something colder, sharper replaced it. "Care, huh?" he said, his voice like velvet dipped in venom. "Sweetheart, don’t mistake me for something I’m not. But if it makes you feel better to believe that, go ahead. Lie to yourself."

You shook your head slowly, that smile still lingering, fragile but defiant. "It’s not a lie," you murmured. "You care in your own way… even if it’s twisted, even if it hurts. And that’s what makes you dangerous."

His eyes narrowed, the air between you growing heavier, suffocating. But you didn’t back down. You couldn’t. The storm inside you was already raging, and somehow, facing him head-on felt like the only way to keep from drowning.

"Fine." Your voice wavered, but the resolve in your tone was undeniable. "Dare. Give me a kiss."

Ronin's smirk widened, sharp and wicked, his laugh rolling through like a storm. "Oh, someone's desperate. I'll give you a kiss, all right. I'll give you love, I'll fuckin' damage you, I'll kiss my knife to your throat and send your pretty little head into oblivion. Is that what you want?"

Your heart pounded, fear and something darker twisting together in a brutal dance. "It's everything I want," you whispered, voice trembling yet certain.

His gaze narrowed, the smirk faltering for a split second before returning full force. "That's how you like it? Death?"

"Only because it's you," you replied without hesitation.

Ronin let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "You think I won't kill you?"

"You'd miss me too much," you said, your lips curling into a faint, defiant smile.

He leaned closer to the screen, his eyes glinting with something unhinged. "Hah! It's your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," you answered quickly. But before you could breathe, he added, "Two questions. Shoot them at me."

You hesitated for a moment, but curiosity burned hotter than caution. "Your real name... And... why did you say Beaufort's a he?"

Ronin's laugh was softer this time, almost indulgent. "Darlin', you've already muttered my real name multiple times," he drawled, his tone mockingly sweet. "And as for the second... I did tell you, in my own way. Figure it out."

Your stomach dropped, your breath catching in your throat. His real name? You stared at him, bewildered, before your mind began piecing it together. Frantically, you scrolled through old texts, the memories flashing in your mind.

"You're Beaufort...?" you whispered, disbelief and realization washing over you like cold water.

He grinned, sharp and predatory, like he’d been waiting for this moment. "Darlin', full name. Achieve your victory."

Your heart pounded in your ears as the pieces clicked together, and you almost shouted, "You're Ronin Beaufort!"

Ronin clapped slowly, mock applause ringing out as he chuckled. "Atta lover. You got it."

You were reeling, your emotions crashing like waves. The man who had saved you, the one who had given you hope when you thought it was gone... was the same man who now threatened to take it all away.

"I have so much I want to say—"

He raised a hand, silencing you with a look, his grin fading into something more solemn, more chilling. "Save it," he said, his voice low, almost tender. "Meet me in purgatory, Y/N L/N."

And with that, the call ended, leaving you staring at the dark screen, your reflection staring back.

You sat there, your chest tight, your mind racing. The man who had been your salvation was now your reckoning. The irony of it twisted in your gut, a cruel joke the universe had written just for you.

The man who saved you is the man who’s going to kill you now. Romantic, isn’t it? Like a prayer answered wrong—half by heaven, half by hell, their hands slick with irony and divinity alike. Ronin Beaufort, of all people. The scum of the earth who wears the title like a tailored suit, grinning that god-awful, shit-eating grin, the one that makes you hate and love him in the same breath.

He’s problematic in all the ways that hurt. A walking paradox. A savior who drags you from the edge only to dangle you there again, one hand loose and laughing. He doesn’t care to split truth from illusion, prefers to blur the lines until you're drowning in them, his voice the only anchor. And you? You let him.

Oh, how you prayed. Once. For someone who could take your cracked soul and hold it without breaking further. And here he is, smiling sharp like broken glass, throwing your devotion back in your face like a spilled milkshake on a Sunday afternoon. He calls it a tragedy, your love, and maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s the beauty of it.

You wanted a lover, and you got him. The universe said yes but handed you the devil in exchange for a saint. Ronin Beaufort doesn’t love like humans do; he consumes. He devours. He kisses like knives and whispers like poison, and you thank him for it, every single time.

He was your salvation once. Now he's your favorite ruin.

Purgatory stank of iron and rot, a place where the Devil’s Butcher carved his gospel in gore. Limbs draped like forgotten ornaments, blood pooling in stagnant art. It was vile. It was Ronin Beaufort. He always did know how to make an impression—how to turn the macabre into something almost poetic, like Baudelaire with a butcher’s blade. And you? You were walking straight into it, lilies pressed to your chest like a love letter.

Funny, isn’t it? The lilies. You remembered the server’s jokes, the teasing about your dreams. The little moments that felt far away now, drowned beneath the weight of this—this grand funeral march you were dragging yourself through. White petals, clean and soft, clashing with the grime of the alleyway ahead. You didn’t flinch, though. Not even when you saw the shadows stretch like teeth waiting to devour you.

You held the lilies tighter, a fragile little prayer against the inevitable. You walked slow, deliberate, like a bride making her way to the altar. And maybe you were. Maybe that’s exactly what this was. A wedding, grotesque and holy all at once, the groom waiting for you in the heart of the slaughter. Ronin Beaufort, the man who saved you just to kill you. The man who made you laugh, made you ache, made you fall.

The alleyway swallowed you whole, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Every step echoed, slow and steady, like a heartbeat counting down. You thought of his grin, that awful, beautiful thing, a scythe dressed up like a smile. Thought of his voice, the way it cut deeper than any blade ever could.

This was fine. This was right. Because the groom was him, and the death was yours, and you’d always known it would end this way. You just didn’t know it would feel so much like love.

Ronin Beaufort, the scum of the earth, leaned against the cracked brick wall, a knife, Too precise. Too clean. Ronin wasn’t about precision—he was about devastation. He thrived in the jagged edges, the broken pieces, the chaos that bled into everything he touched. And now, he was here, waiting for you like the devil at the gates of hell.

His grin carved itself across his face when he heard your footsteps, slow and deliberate, like a death march. “So we meet at last!” he called out, voice dripping with mockery, with glee, like this was some grand reunion and not the end of you. “It’s so nice to see you…” His words trailed off as his eyes caught the lilies clutched to your chest, his grin faltering for just a moment before widening again. “What’s this? A gift for the devil?”

You stopped a few steps away, leaned against the wall, and hugged the lilies tighter to your chest. “Something to offer,” you murmured, your voice calm, resigned, like you were handing over your soul without a fight.

Ronin’s gaze flickered, something unreadable flashing in those maddening eyes. He pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his crowbar scraping against the ground like a low growl. “Lilies, huh?” he mused, his voice softening as he reached you. “Pretty things. Like you.”

Your breath hitched as his hand shot out, pressing you against the wall with a force that left no room for escape. The lilies crushed between you, petals trembling as your chests heaved, your hearts so close you swore you could feel the thrum of his aorta against your own. Instinctively, your hands flew up to his neck, not to push him away, but to hold on, to steady yourself against the onslaught of him.

His grin returned, sharper now, predatory. “What’s wrong, darling? You look surprised,” he murmured, his voice a razor slicing through the silence. His eyes bore into yours, searching, mocking, daring you to speak.

The gasp caught in your throat, but he left no room for air, no room for doubt. Ronin’s voice dropped low, a velvet drawl that coiled around you like smoke. “Do you like me now?”

Your head bobbed before you could stop it, the truth spilling out in a fragile whisper. “I like you now.”

His grin curved, dark and knowing. “Before?”

You swallowed hard, gripping the shreds of confidence you had left. “Before too,” you admitted, voice steady despite the tremble threatening to break it.

He tilted his head, his face mere inches from yours, his breath a ghost against your skin. “Write me a love note, darlin’,” he drawled, his grin sharpening into something cruel and intimate all at once.

You stared into his eyes—those maddening eyes that seemed to see everything—and said it softly, like a revelation. “I know your name now. I could end this. I could end you.”

Ronin chuckled, the sound dark and dangerous, like the low growl of a predator toying with its prey. “Will ya do it, then?” he asked, pressing closer, the crushed lilies a trembling barrier between you.

“No.”

The word came out firm, unwavering, and his eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Relief? Whatever it was, it only made him press against you harder, the lilies between your chests crushed almost beyond recognition. “These for me?” he murmured, his voice soft, curious. His fingers brushed the petals, a touch that seemed almost reverent. “How’d you know I always loved them?”

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, the words trapped somewhere in the back of your throat.

His lips brushed your ear, his voice a whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Too much to say but no words to say it with?”

You almost enjoyed it too much—his breath on your ear, the weight of him pinning you against the wall, the crushed lilies releasing their faint, tragic fragrance between your chests. Ronin noticed. Of course, he noticed.

And he laughed. A deep, throaty laugh that shook through him and straight into you. It wasn’t cruel—not entirely—but it was filled with something close to delight. Amusement. He was laughing at you.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice dripping with mirth. “You’re pathetically adorable, you know that?”

Your cheeks flamed, your heart hammered against the fragile wall of crushed petals, and you turned your face away from him, trying to hide the heat rising to your skin.

Ronin tilted his head, watching you with a sharp grin that softened just enough to make it dangerous. “Aw, wait,” he said, his tone mock-apologetic. “Maybe not pathetic? Nah…” His voice trailed off as his grin widened.

He leaned closer again, his eyes scanning your face, drinking in every ounce of your flustered silence. “Awww,” he drawled, teasing. “You look like you’re about to melt into the fuckin’ floor. That for me, too, darlin’? Or is it the flowers?”

You managed to lift your gaze back to his, and the smirk on his face made you want to laugh, scream, or cry—or maybe all three at once. He tilted his head like he was waiting for an answer, but you knew him better by now.

You almost enjoyed it too much—his breath on your ear, the weight of him pinning you against the wall, the crushed lilies releasing their faint, tragic fragrance between your chests. Ronin noticed. Of course, he noticed.

And he laughed. A deep, throaty laugh that shook through him and straight into you. It wasn’t cruel—not entirely—but it was filled with something close to delight. Amusement. He was laughing at you.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice dripping with mirth. “You’re pathetically adorable, you know that?”

Your cheeks flamed, your heart hammered against the fragile wall of crushed petals, and you turned your face away from him, trying to hide the heat rising to your skin.

Ronin tilted his head, watching you with a sharp grin that softened just enough to make it dangerous. “Aw, wait,” he said, his tone mock-apologetic. “Maybe not pathetic? Nah…” His voice trailed off as his grin widened.

He leaned closer again, his eyes scanning your face, drinking in every ounce of your flustered silence. “Awww,” he drawled, teasing. “You look like you’re about to melt into the fuckin’ floor. That for me, too, darlin’? Or is it the flowers?”

You managed to lift your gaze back to his, and the smirk on his face made you want to laugh, scream, or cry—or maybe all three at once. He tilted his head like he was waiting for an answer, but you knew him better by now.

“Come on, darlin’. Tell me—what do you want?” Ronin’s voice was a low, syrupy drawl, the kind that coiled around your thoughts like smoke. He tilted his head, watching your every twitch, your every breath. “Do you hate me? Do you love me? Do you wanna kill me? 'Cause look, I got a knife right here…”

His grin spread wider as he brought the blade into view, holding it out to you, a taunting glint in his eyes. “Or are you kissin’ me, huh? How much do you feel? How much can you even take?”

The knife felt cool in your palm when you took it. For a moment, his gaze sharpened, curious, waiting—would you do it? Could you? Your fingers tightened on the hilt, and he didn’t move, didn’t flinch. If anything, his grin only grew sharper, like he was daring you.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The blade clattered to the ground as you threw it aside, and before he could make some snide, smug comment, you grabbed his face and kissed him.

For a second, the world stopped. Or maybe it spun faster, collapsing in on itself as he responded like only Ronin could—with no hesitation, no restraint. He kissed you back, and in true Ronin fashion, it wasn’t soft or tentative; it was raw and consuming, a wildfire of teeth and lips and heat.

His hands found your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifted you as if you weighed nothing, pressing you harder against the wall. The crushed lilies between you released their scent again, a bittersweet perfume that tangled with his cologne and the metallic scent of the knife.

You gasped into the kiss, your hands instinctively clutching at him, pulling him closer. He chuckled against your lips, the sound low and dangerous and entirely him.

But it was fine. It was more than fine.

Because this wasn’t just Ronin Beaufort—the Devil’s Butcher, the scum of the earth who wore chaos like a second skin.

No, this was your Ronin Beaufort.

And as his lips claimed yours again, as his fingers tightened on your waist, pulling you further into him, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything else. Not the knife, not the lilies, not even the bloodstained shadows of Purgatory.

Ronin let you go, but his forehead stayed pressed against yours, his breath warm against your skin. For a moment, it felt quiet, suspended between the lingering touch of his lips and the adrenaline still thrumming in your veins.

You glanced over him, noticing something odd—he didn’t have his usual crowbar with him. That caught you off guard. “Wait... you didn’t bring it?”

He pulled back just enough to give you that grin of his, the one that screamed trouble. “Never mind that,” he said, his voice a purr.

You squinted at him, something in his tone raising red flags. “What does that mean? You never... wanted to kill me?”

“Kill you? Nah.” He leaned back further, stretching his arms behind his head like this was the most casual conversation in the world. “Over, like, fuckin’ with you? It’s a game, darlin’.”

Your jaw dropped. “What?!”

Ronin laughed—a loud, shameless laugh that bounced off the alleyway walls. “Oh, man, it’s funny. You, all praise for Beaufort, and now you’re losing it ‘cause it turns out he’s just some mechanic-slash-serial-killer who got a kick outta savin’ you.” He was grinning so wide it was almost obnoxious. “Yeah, I remember pullin’ you outta that mess. But I never took it to heart. I wasn’t expectin’ you to... y’know, make me your whole-ass religion or whatever.”

Your cheeks puffed out in frustration, and before you knew it, you were practically stomping your foot. “So all those threats—the killing, the knives, the cat-and-mouse bullshit—it was just a game?!”

He clapped his hands together, still laughing like you’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Goddamn right, it was! And you? You played right into it, darlin’. Couldn’t have asked for a better partner.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and glistening, and before you knew it, the tears started to spill over. You couldn’t stop them. You just stood there, trembling, your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

Ronin blinked, caught completely off guard. “Wait, wait, wait—hold up, darlin’. You’re cryin’?” His tone was part disbelief, part amusement.

You sniffled, trying to catch your breath, but it was useless. The dam had broken, and there was no going back. “WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Ronin’s grin twitched, caught between wanting to laugh and genuinely not knowing what to do. “Oh, c’mon, don’t do this. You’re gonna ruin my bad-boy rep if people see me dealin’ with this.”

You wailed louder, smacking his chest weakly. “You’re a JERK! A LYING JERK!”

“Hey now!” He caught your wrist mid-swing, still trying to stifle a laugh. “I never lied. I just... didn’t tell you everything.”

“WAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“Alright, alright!” He held his hands up like he was surrendering, his teasing grin faltering just enough to show he was trying to figure out how to fix this. “You want me to apologize? I’ll apologize. I’m sorry, darlin’. There, happy?”

You glared at him through teary eyes, hiccuping as you tried to respond. “No! That’s not—hic—enough! You—sniff—you’re so mean!”

He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “You’re killin’ me, y’know that? You’re the one cryin’, but I feel like I’m the one dyin’ here.” He tilted his head, giving you a lopsided grin. “You really are somethin’ else, huh? Tears an’ all. Still look cute, though.”

You hiccupped again, your sobs slowing just a bit, but your lip still trembled. “Y-You’re horrible.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before.” He stepped closer, tilting your chin up with a finger. “But you’re still here, aren’tcha? Cryin’ over me, no less. Gotta mean somethin’, huh?”

You tried to pull away, but he just chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere. Get it all out. You done wailin’, or should I brace myself for another round of ‘WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH’?”

Your sobs didn’t stop—if anything, they got louder. Ronin, the smug bastard, just stood there watching you with that shit-eating grin, hands on his hips like he was some kind of hero.

But then, out of nowhere, he swooped down, grabbing you around the waist. Before you could even react, he hoisted you up like a sack of potatoes and threw you over his shoulder.

“W-WHAT THE—?!” You shrieked, pounding your fists on his back. “PUT ME DOWN, YOU IDIOT! YOU ABSOLUTE MORON!”

He laughed, deep and hearty, the sound vibrating through his body and into yours. “You’re too cute when you’re mad, darlin’. I gotta savor this.”

“RONIN BEAUFORT, I SWEAR TO EVERYTHING HOLY, PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!”

“Nah.” He gave your leg a playful pat. “You’re too much fun up there. Plus, you were gettin’ all dramatic with the cryin’. Thought I’d mix it up a bit.”

You kicked your feet uselessly, feeling the blood rush to your head. “THIS IS NOT MIXING IT UP! THIS IS HUMILIATION!”

“Oh, c’mon.” He turned his head just enough to glance at you, his grin still plastered across his face. “You were already makin’ a scene, bawlin’ your eyes out like that. Least now you’ve got a reason to be loud.”

“YOU’RE THE WORST PERSON ALIVE!”

“And yet you’re still here.” He adjusted you slightly, like you were some kind of lightweight duffel bag, not a fully grown human. “Admit it, darlin’. You kinda like it.”

“I DO NOT!” You pounded your fists on his back again, harder this time. “YOU ARE INSANE!”

He just laughed again, a low, lazy sound that made you want to strangle him. “Insane for you, maybe.”

“OH MY GOD, STOP SAYING CRINGY STUFF!”

“Cringy?” He scoffed, feigning offense. “That’s the thanks I get for sweepin’ you off your feet? Harsh, darlin’. Real harsh.”

You let out a frustrated scream, which only made him laugh harder. “Ugh! Ronin, if you don’t put me down this instant, I will���”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, his voice teasing. “Cry some more? Punch my back? Call me names? You’ve got me so scared, darlin’.”

“YOU’RE IMPOSSIBLE!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He gave your leg another pat. “Keep yellin’, sweetheart. You’re music to my ears.”

Ronin didn't give you much of a choice. He wasn't about to let you walk home in the middle of the night. It was like his personal mission to keep you near him, no matter how much you tried to argue. “You’re comin' with me,” he said with that grin, the one you were quickly growing to hate and... secretly like? "Besides, it's the perfect time to show you my den."

“Wait—what?” you asked, eyebrows shooting up in confusion as he practically dragged you to his motor.

“You heard me, darlin’. I don’t trust you to wander around alone. It’s late, and you might find yourself in the wrong company.”

You were about to protest again, but you caught the serious glint in his eyes.

When you arrived, you realized his house was... messy. Not just a little cluttered—a lot of clutter. Old pizza boxes stacked against the walls, clothes thrown over the back of furniture, and somehow a few mismatched socks floating around. Yet, somehow, it felt strangely comfortable.

You couldn't help but smirk to yourself, but you weren't about to tell him that. He had this way of making everything look chaotic but strangely right.

Ronin led you inside and set about making you tea. You blinked, surprised at how domestic it felt. Him, of all people, making tea? It was... oddly endearing. His messy kitchen felt more like home than any pristine, perfect house could.

"Go sit on the bed, darlin’," he said, motioning to his cluttered mattress. "I’ll be right there."

You hesitated, eyeing the bed like it might swallow you whole. With a sigh, you plopped down on the edge, still unsure of what the hell was going on. Ronin, meanwhile, was casually leaning against the doorframe, watching you with an unreadable expression.

He handed you the tea, his usual smirk on his face as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "So," he started, his voice low. "Is this what you imagined, darlin'? Me, in my element, at home with you?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the blush creeping up your neck. “It’s... different than what I expected, yeah.”

“You’ve got that look in your eyes like you're disappointed,” he teased, his grin widening. “You thought I was gonna be this perfect, suave man, huh? The great Beaufort—saving you and all that. And now you’ve found out I’m a total mess. Reality disappoint you, baby?”

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. "No... you’re way more than I thought. In a good way," you added quickly, eyes flicking to his for a moment before looking away, hoping he wouldn't catch how much your heart skipped a beat.

Ronin’s smile turned devious, his eyes narrowing as if he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you. "Aw, don’t get all shy on me now," he purred. "Darlin’, I don't bite... unless you want me to."

And in that moment, it felt like your heart tried to explode out of your chest. You almost couldn’t breathe. What was it about him that made your stomach twist and your cheeks flush every single time he said something like that? The entire room felt suffocating as you barely managed to squeak out a, “Hmph!”

He chuckled at your flustered reaction, moving closer until he was right next to you, just close enough to tease. "You're killin' me, darlin'. It's like you want me to keep messin' with you."

You didn’t answer right away. How could you? You wanted to scream, to curse him out for making your heart race like this, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Instead, you took a long sip of the tea he made you, trying to calm your nerves, even though it wasn’t working. Every time he was near, it felt like you were on the edge of something you couldn’t quite explain.

The night ended with you surrendering to the magnetic pull Ronin seemed to have over you. One moment, you were sipping your tea and trying to steady your breath, and the next, you were crawling toward him, captivated by the devilish grin on his face. The rest of the night was a blur—a fever dream of heat and adrenaline, of whispered words and teasing laughter, of him pulling you closer and never letting go. His intensity was suffocating and thrilling all at once, and somewhere in the haze of it all, you realized that you didn’t want it any other way.

Morning came too quickly. The sunlight spilling through the cracks in the blinds painted golden streaks across the room, highlighting the chaos of the night before. His shirt hung off the edge of a chair. Your clothes were scattered across the floor like breadcrumbs leading to the bed where he still lay, sprawled out like he owned the entire world. His dark hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions, and his face was softened in sleep.

You sat on the edge of the bed, pulling your shoes on and trying to steady yourself after the whirlwind that was last night. It wasn’t like you to stay this long. Usually, you’d slip out quietly, not giving anyone the satisfaction of seeing you linger. But Ronin wasn’t like anyone else, and you hated how much of your time he had managed to steal.

“Ronin,” you said softly, breaking the morning quiet. “Do you ever get tired?”

His only response was a muffled groan as he buried his face deeper into the pillow. “Come back to bed,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.

“Yeah, as if I’m falling for that again,” you replied with a roll of your eyes, standing up and straightening your clothes. Your tone was sharp, but your heart betrayed you, fluttering at the sheer domesticity of it all. You weren’t used to this—weren’t used to waking up in someone else’s space, especially not someone like him.

Ronin finally stirred, cracking one eye open to watch you as you moved around the room. His voice, raspy and teasing, broke the quiet. “When it comes to you, darlin’? I don’t get tired.”

You froze, his words sinking in deeper than they should have. He had a way of saying things that felt like they were wrapped in layers—half a joke, half the truth, and entirely too much for your heart to handle.

“Don’t start,” you muttered, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “I’ve already seen enough of you for one night.”

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling through the room. “You were just getting to the good part, though.”

“Oh, well,” you shot back, trying to ignore the way his laughter made your chest tighten. “Guess I’ll survive without it.”

You turned to leave, but before you could even take a step, Ronin sat up, his movements slow and deliberate. His messy hair and rumpled appearance made him look more human than you were used to seeing him, but his eyes—those sharp, piercing eyes—reminded you exactly who you were dealing with.

“Leavin’ so soon, darlin’?” he drawled, leaning against the wall with a smirk that was equal parts cocky and dangerous.

You clenched your fists at your sides, refusing to let him get under your skin again. “I have a life to get back to, you know. I can’t just waste my time lounging around with you.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Waste your time, huh? That what last night was to you?”

Your breath hitched, and you hated the way his words cut through your defenses. He always knew exactly what to say to make you question everything.

“Don’t twist my words,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended.

Ronin pushed off the wall, his movements slow and predatory as he closed the distance between you. “Twistin’ your words?” he repeated, his tone laced with mock innocence. “Nah, I’m just makin’ sure I understand. ‘Cause it sounded to me like you had a pretty good time.”

You glared at him, refusing to back down even as he stood inches away from you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “you keep comin’ back.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. His proximity was overwhelming, and the intensity in his eyes made it impossible to think straight.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you didn’t. Instead, you adjusted your bag and made your way to the door, hoping he wouldn’t say anything else to stop you.

But of course, he wasn’t going to let you leave without one last jab.

“Don’t be a stranger now, darlin’,” he called after you, his voice dripping with amusement. “Door’s always open for you.”

You froze at the edge of the threshold, hand trembling as it gripped the doorframe. His words echoed in your mind, weaving themselves into something you couldn’t ignore. “Don’t be a stranger now, darlin’.” It was said with that familiar smirk, that teasing lilt, but there was something underneath it. Something raw. Something real.

Before you could stop yourself, you turned on your heel and ran back into the room. He looked up, startled by the sudden sound of your hurried footsteps. His eyes, sharp and calculating, softened the moment they met yours. For a split second, you saw something vulnerable flash across his face, like he wasn’t quite sure if you were running back to him or away from him.

Without hesitation, you grabbed his hand, threading your fingers through his. His hand was warm, rough, a stark contrast to your own trembling grip. He blinked down at you, confusion and something unreadable flickering in his expression.

“What are you—” he started, but you didn’t let him finish. You leaned up on your tiptoes, brushing a feather-light kiss against his cheek. The gesture was soft, fleeting, but it carried a weight that made his breath hitch.

“Thank you for existing that day,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “Ronin...” His name fell from your lips like a prayer, reverent and full of something you couldn’t quite name.

For once, he didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He didn’t crack a joke to break the tension. He just stared at you, his lips parted as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. His hand tightened around yours, his grip steadying you even as you felt like you might fall apart under the weight of your own emotions.

“You...” His voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it, almost hesitant. “You don’t have to thank me, darlin’.”

“But I do,” you insisted, your voice firmer now. “If you hadn’t been there... If you hadn’t... saved me...” Your throat tightened, the words catching like a lump you couldn’t swallow. “I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be standing here, holding your hand, saying your name. So... thank you. For being there. For existing.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours like he was trying to figure out if you were real or just another dream he’d wake up from. Finally, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as a crooked smile tugged at his lips.

He looked down at your joined hands, then back at you. “You’re full of surprises, darlin’. I’ll give you that.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I think we both are.”

Ronin tilted his head, his grin softening into something almost... tender. “Maybe. But I think you might’ve just outdone me this time.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was comfortable, filled with the unspoken connection between you. Finally, he gave your hand a squeeze, his smirk returning as he said, “Now, if you’re gonna stick around, how ‘bout I make you another cup of tea? Or were you plannin’ on stealing my heart and runnin’ out the door again?”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Tea sounds good,” you said softly.

He nodded, leading you back toward the kitchen with your hand still in his.

[hakkkuu]

╰┈➤Eunseok One-Shot -ˋˏ✄┈ Chained to Him

✮WORD COUNT: 885

✮PAIRING: toxic!bf eunseok x female!reader

✮SYNOPSIS: toxic boyfriend who's manipulating you into thinking you don't need anyone else but him. your world should revolve around him only. you're his stupid litlle girl

The rain drums against the windowpane, a relentless rhythm that fills the room, yet somehow, it only emphasizes the silence. You stand in the kitchen, your hands trembling as you stir the tea. The spoon clinks against the ceramic, the sound far too loud in the quiet. The weight of his gaze pins you in place.

Eunseok sits on the couch, one arm draped lazily across the backrest, his other hand scrolling through his phone. His posture is relaxed, almost casual, but you can feel the tension radiating from him like a storm cloud. You don’t have to look at him to know his eyes are on you.

“Who were you texting earlier?” His voice slices through the quiet, calm but sharp, each word carefully controlled.

Your heart sinks. You don’t even have to guess what he’s referring to. “It was just Haejin,” you say, your voice small. “She asked about tommorr-”

“Haejin,” he interrupts, his tone cold. He sets his phone down on the coffee table with a deliberate slowness, the sound of it hitting the surface making you flinch. “You’ve been spending a lot of time talking to her lately. More time than you spend talking to me.”

You shake your head quickly, turning to face him, though your eyes stay fixed on the floor. “That’s not true. She’s just a friend, Eunseok—”

“Just a friend,” he echoes, standing. His movements are measured, calculated, as he closes the distance between you. “You know, it’s funny. You say that, but the way you act? It makes me wonder.”

“I don’t—”

“Do I look stupid to you?” His voice is low, quiet, but it’s enough to send a chill down your spine.

“No, of course not,” you say quickly, your hands gripping the edge of the counter behind you as if it can somehow anchor you.

Eunseok’s lips twist into a bitter smile, but his eyes remain cold. “You know, you’re lucky I even put up with this. Do you think anyone else would? How many times have I had to fix your messes? Keep you from embarrassing yourself?”

Each word hits you like a blow, but you can’t bring yourself to argue. Because he’s right, isn’t he? He’s always right.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the rain.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, his expression softening just slightly as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture should feel comforting, but it only makes the knot in your chest tighten. “That’s why I stay with you. Because you know when to admit you’re wrong.”

He steps back, glancing at his watch like he has somewhere else to be, like the conversation hasn’t just left you feeling hollow.

“Cancel your plans with Haejin tomorrow,” he says, his tone casual, like it’s not a demand.

Your breath catches. “But she’s expecting me—”

“You’ll cancel,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “Unless you want me to think she’s more important to you than I am.”

The guilt settles heavily on your shoulders, pressing down until you feel like you might collapse under it. “I’ll cancel,” you murmur, avoiding his gaze.

He smiles, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a way that makes your stomach twist. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Before you can respond, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms. His embrace is warm, almost comforting, but there’s an underlying possessiveness to the way he holds you, his grip just a little too tight.

“I only want to protect you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “No one else will care about you the way I do. Remember that.”

You nod against his chest, your hands clutching at his shirt. His scent surrounds you, intoxicating and suffocating all at once. For a moment, you let yourself believe his words, let yourself drown in the illusion of safety he offers.

But deep down, a small voice whispers that this isn’t right, that his love feels more like a cage than a sanctuary.

The thought is fleeting, though, gone as quickly as it came. Because what would you be without him?

You don’t want to find out.

So you stay.

Later that night, as you lie in bed beside him, his arm draped possessively over your waist, you stare at the ceiling. The room is dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the streetlamp outside the window.

He sleeps peacefully beside you, his breathing even and steady. You wonder how he can sleep so easily when your mind feels like a whirlwind. But then again, Eunseok never doubts himself. He never questions his actions, his words. He doesn’t have to.

He's perfect.

You close your eyes, trying to block out the thoughts swirling in your head. Tomorrow, you’ll cancel your plans with Haejin. You’ll stay by his side like you always do, like he expects you to.

Because you love him. No matter how much his words hurt, no matter how many times his actions make you question everything, you can’t imagine life without him.

And even as the chains he’s wrapped around you tighten, you can’t bring yourself to break free. You stay, you tell yourself you have to. Because what would you be without him?

Nothing.

[apomaro-mellow]

Lambing ch 1/? Read on AO3

the stedissy secret adoption omegaverse fic that i put in the steddie fic adopt community

There was silence in the Hagan house tonight. However it wasn’t the peaceful silence of a household asleep. No, the silence came after the frantic chaos of just an hour before. Steve Hagan had awakened, suddenly in distress. Something felt wrong. It didn’t take long to figure out why. Now, the mess was cleaned, the bed sheets changed, and he was in a fresh nightgown and his husband was back to sleep.

The days when Tommy would comfort him over this were gone now. This was the third time after all. Once everything was done and they were settled back into bed, he simply said, “We’ll try again later” and then bid him good night. Steve knew he must smell something awful. Bitter and astringent, he didn’t know how Tommy could sleep so easily. As much as he tried, Steve knew he couldn’t escape his own scent. But he could stay here in this bed.

Quietly, he got out, slipped on his bed jacket and left the bedroom. He felt like a phantom, haunting the halls of the house in the dark until he got to the nursery. Or rather, what would have been the nursery. Steve brought a hand to his mouth, just barely covering a sob. He slid down along the doorframe, his shoulders shaking but his voice producing no sound. He knew he shouldn’t feel like this. He should let it roll off of his back like his husband.

And yet it broke his heart all the same. The first time, Tommy had kissed him sweetly, had blamed it on Steve trying to do too much as a new wife, had assured him that it wasn’t his fault. He’d understood when Steve didn’t leave the bed for a week, he’d even stayed home with him. The second time, Tommy had rubbed his back as he cried and didn’t force Steve to attend outings but still went out himself.

Tomorrow there was a party. And Steve knew that this time he would be expected to be present. It was an open secret that Jason Carver would be proposing to Chrissy Cunningham tomorrow. Jason and Tommy were close partners. Steve couldn’t even imagine having to congratulate Miss Cunningham on her soon to be engagement. Steve wasn’t that familiar with her, only Jason through Tommy. But she would be Jason’s wife soon and he needed to begin establishing a kind of relationship with her. 

He couldn’t sleep. He knew trying to do so would be an exercise in futility. But he also knew that Tommy would be disappointed if he woke up in bed without him. He wiped his face, breathed deep and long for a while, then stood. He gave the nursery a final look before shutting the door on it and returning to bed. If there was one thing he wished the future Mrs. Carver, he hoped she had better luck conceiving and carrying a child.

Chrissy giggled as she was kissed from the tip of her middle finger all the way up to her shoulder. Her sleeve acted as a barrier and yet she felt the heat of it anyway. It felt incredibly bold doing something like this in broad daylight, but there weren’t many windows on this side of the house and the view from both sides was obscured by tall hedges. She knew her beau wouldn’t risk it otherwise.

“Like sweet cream and sunshine.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“Ah, but ‘tis true my lady.”

“Eddie~”

“Madame~”

“Stop”, she giggled again. But he continued, kissing her cheek and then whispering sweet nothings into her ear. She didn’t want him to cease anyway. These secret stolen moments with him were one of the only things she had to look forward to right now. Especially with her impending engagement…

Chrissy had been born into a wealthy family and unfortunately, Eddie was not a wealthy man. He was rich in his soul, it was what had drawn Chrissy to him as he tended to the garden of her childhood home. What began as a tender yet shy flirtation as teenagers blossomed into a secret love as they reached adulthood. They were of different worlds and yet Eddie courted her with all the cordiality he had in his bones. Were they allowed to be open, he certainly would have proposed and made an honest woman of her.

But it was not to be. Chrissy knew that Jason would be proposing at the party today. She knew that once that was set in stone, she wouldn’t be able to be alone with Eddie like this. It made her burn for something more than kisses and light touches. But Eddie was a proper alpha and never pushed forward, even when they could smell each other’s desire.

Eddie could smell her getting dour now and moved to kneel in front of her, holding both of her hands.

“E-Eddie?”

“~It won't be a stylish marriage~ I can't afford a carriage~ But you'll look sweet upon the seat~ Of a bicycle built for two!” He kissed her knuckles. “I can’t give you a ring. And I can’t promise you anything but myself. But I’ll always be here. You call my name and I’ll be at your feet.”

Chrissy smiled down at him. She pulled one hand away and petted at the short curls upon his head. “Like a loyal little pup?”

Eddie barked and Chrissy laughed as she scratched behind his ear and he bounced his leg. Eddie always knew how to put a smile on her face. So when he had to get dressed for the party tonight, she was still walking on air. It felt odd, putting on such a pretty yellow dress when the radio spoke of war and the world falling apart. So she turned it off. No one she knew was off fighting, although she knew husbands and brothers of acquaintances that did.

Tonight she would be fighting her own battle, so she put her war paint on in the form of her favorite lipstick. 

All was going well tonight. Tommy had complimented him on how he looked in his dress. His breathing was even and the music kept him from thinking too much. Steve was doing an amazing job holding it together. Something he had learned long ago was that decorum would keep people in polite society from mentioning ugly things in public. He had lost the milky sweet scent that came with pregnancy already but no one said a word. They all must know though. The first time Steve had been so ashamed, he wore scent blockers for six months, long after the baby would have come, had it survived. 

He thought any and everyone would throw it in his face, his failure as a wife and supposed mother. Now though, he knew better. People possibly had remarks in private, but no one said anything to his face. He still went without drinking though. He didn’t trust himself around it right now. Tommy was by his side most of the night until Jason called him over when at the same time Steve felt a bit dizzy.

“You go. I’m going to sit down for a bit.” Steve felt like he was wobbling in his heels but no one commented, so he must look well enough. He looked for somewhere to sit and the couch was right there, but it was also in the center of everything. And the longer he looked, the more he felt short of breath. So another room wasn’t the answer either.

Steve eventually found his way to a patio in the back. And thank the stars, there was a patio set. He sat down, taking a deep breath. Summer was good to them right now and the night was pleasantly warm.

“Too boisterous for you?”, a voice said in the darkness, causing Steve to jump to his feet and look around. A man pushed off from the wall just next to him, he’d been covered in the shadows.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Steve looked him up and down. He wore a simple white button down, his slacks held by suspenders and a flat cap finished the look. It was the lack of a jacket, the slight wrinkle to his clothes and the stain on his shirt that told Steve he was a member of the staff.

“No harm done”, Steve said, pushing some hair behind his ear. It was short, just barely coming off his nape. He’d worn it long his entire life. But after the second loss, he had chopped it in a fit of shame, guilt, and rage. 

“They’re a lively bunch, aren’t they?”, the man said, gesturing towards the interior of the house.

Steve looked just in time to see Jason lead Miss Cunningham across the room and into another, supposedly to pop the question.

“It’s a momentous occasion”, Steve said. He remembered his engagement to Tommy. How hopeful and happy he had felt.

“Mmn”, his conversation partner said before taking a drag from his cigarette that Steve just now noticed. Then he looked Steve up and down and for a moment Steve feared he could tell what he’d just been through.

“Why is a baker a silly fellow?”

“...I beg your pardon?”, Steve asked.

“Just what I said. Why is a baker a silly fellow?”

“I don’t know many ba-”

“Because he parts with what he kneads!”

It took Steve a moment to catch up but when he did, a smile broke out onto his face and he covered his mouth to hide the little giggle that threatened to bubble up.

“What has eyes but cannot see? A potato!” 

That one got a snort out of Steve and an eye roll that was only half sarcastic.

“Alright, alright, just one more. If Hitler and Goering went up a tree, what kind of fruit would they find?”

Steve raised a brow at that, his silence prompting the man to finish his joke. The man grinned wide before answering.

“A rotten pear.”

It was so unexpected, Steve hadn’t been able to stop the bout of laughter that spilled out. It was so strong that he had to hold his sides. His companion looked incredibly proud of himself but Steve had to admit that it was deserved. He was literally wiping tears from his eyes.

“Now it’s your turn.”

That got Steve to sober up. “Me? I don’t know any jokes, I’m afraid.”

“No? You must know at least one. Come on, indulge me. What’s a momentous occasion for you is terribly tedious for myself.”

Steve tried to think of any funny stories or wordplay he knew. He remembered making friends laugh before getting married. Nowadays, people laughed at Tommy’s jokes and Steve was expected to laugh along. That was when he remembered. 

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

It was a bawdy sort of joke. One that wasn’t really meant for a wife’s ears but Steve had heard it anyway when he entered the room to serve their guests drinks one evening. He never would have thought of repeating it. But something about this man made Steve want to impress him. He swallowed, rubbed his hands onto his skirt like he was preparing himself for more than just telling a joke. Then he cleared his throat.

“What hangs at a man's thigh and wants to poke the hole that it's often poked before?”

The other man’s eyes got wide for a moment before he smirked. “Oh pray tell, what?”

“A key”, Steve said, grinning the whole time. He felt filled with light the way the man roared with laughter. 

As he caught his breath, he almost sounded like he was choking. That was when the music stopped and Steve could see that everyone had gathered around Jason and his future bride. The glass door muffled most of it but they could both hear as Jason raised his voice to announce - “She said yes!” prompting the guests to clap and cheer. Almost immediately after, Jason was corralled by alphas and male betas while the omegas and female betas flocked to Miss Cunningham to get a look at the ring.

“I should go inside. Get back to the party”, Steve said. 

His companion was already walking away, melting back into the darkness. Steve felt odd for not getting his name. But he more than likely worked here as a gardener or cook or steward of some kind. It was only happenstance that their paths would cross now and there wasn’t any reason to expect them to again. Steve patted his cheeks before going back inside and joining the throng around the woman of the hour. 

“Congratulations, Miss Cunningham.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hagan. It really is a dream come true.”

Steve wondered if he was imagining the strain in her voice, the tightness of her smile. A query was on the tip of his tongue. Was she alright? Was she really happy? Was this what she truly wanted? But he held back and kept smiling and so did she. Because these were not questions that were asked in polite society.

Part 2 coming soon

If you want a preview of what's coming soon, this was all inspired by this yt short

[sageisnicethesequel]

Pain but in a good way..

[themoonunderstoodmydadjokes]

Hi we’re having lots of feelings tonight 🫠🫠🫠 end of school year beginning of a new school year other new work stuff change and transition and beginnings and endings and life stuff and sleep deprivation and pms and just all of the things 😭😭😭

[intertexts]

this time im really gonna do it!

[tojisun]

no matter how hard you try, you just can’t make yourself cum tonight.

the position is wrong, your toy is still dead as hell so you had to resort to using your fingers, but those aren’t hitting somewhere deep and scratching that itch you have of wanting to be filled, and it has you crying in frustration.

god, you just wanted to fuck yourself into a good orgasm once. but your fingers are starting to feel numb, and your arm is cramping up, and you feel annoyingly sore already. you know you should call it quits; that you should just douse the flames of your desire with a cold shower and just retire for the night, but you are so, so stubborn and angry and—

you snarl, ripping your fingers out of your cunt before twisting to snatch your phone from where you’d flung it close to the wall. you use your clean hand, wiping the other one on your bedsheets—you might have to wash them tonight, anyway—and sends a message to johnny.

cant cum <

fuck me pls <

you drop your phone to your stomach, hearing yourself heave as your body catches up to the exhaustion. you stare up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the blazing heat and the soreness and the emptiness, and focusing instead on the little spark of need that you refuse to extinguish because you know johnny. you know he’d reply soon.

(he’s always fucked you good; filled you up with slurring words crooned to your ears, his big hands stretching across your stomach because he swears underneath all this skin and fat, he feels his cock fucking in, in, in.

he loves taunting you when your quiet tears turn into soft sobs—ye gonna cum soon, bon? show me yer cummin’ face, huh? c’mon bon.

he is so, so mean, and you need nothing less right now.)

true to your thoughts, your phone buzzes two minutes later. you pick it back up, grunting in confusion when instead of johnny’s name, you see john’s.

is he alright? did he need something from you? god, you think he’d let you do it tomorrow or at least in a couple of hours?

you tap at the notification, only to feel the curiosity bleed out of you to be replaced with startling horror. it’s like ice water was dumped on you, extinguishing every embers of your libido because there, on your screen, was john. replying to your message.

you had—

> quite forward of you. well, since you asked so nicely, we’re on our way.

you had sent the message to—

three knocks—taptap-tap—suddenly thud on your door. you gasp, looking up from your phone to stare at your locked door, dreadful.

you sent it to the damn group chat.

-

part 02

[slttygeto]

HUSBAND SUGURU! + PREGNANCY ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

tags: fem! reader, husband suguru!, nsfw, suguru is very hesitant about being a dad, but isnt forced into this :), reader is very motherly, dirty talk and talk about getting off the pill and being bred.

word count: 2,1k

Husband Suguru! whom before you even got married, sat you down and mentioned to you how starting a family wasn’t something he was looking forward to. you know of his past, of the trauma he’s been through. he fully expects you to break up with him when he tells you that, knows how much you want to have a baby of your own, but you don’t. instead, you cradle him in your arms and tell him that you love him and appreciate what you have right now, not what you don’t even see in the picture.

Husband Suguru! who swears he hasn’t changed his mind about babies, about starting a family in general even three years into the marriage. but when he sees you with your friend’s baby, the glow on your face, the motherly instinct—how you gently place your hand on the baby’s head, rock her back and forth and coo at her softly while her mother gets her food ready, his heart feels as though it is about to explode.

“There there baby girl,” your voice is barely above a whisper, and when the baby cries, your lip juts out and you pull the infant towards your chest in an attempt at soothing her. your eyes find his where he is sitting on the couch, and the lighthearted chuckle you give him pulls a nervous one out of his body. you are now convinced that your husband would never ever change his mind based on the horror painting his features as he turns to your friend’s husband to strike a conversation. but in reality, the topic of their conversation is all too surprising.

“Has it been difficult? You know, managing a career and taking care of the baby,”

“Oh yeah very,” the other man admits but Suguru doesn’t detect a single hint of regret in his voice. “but yknow, look at that,” he point his glass of water in the direction of his wife and you holding the baby. “seeing my wife with our baby, our creation—seeing her act all motherly like that? Totally worth it.”

Husband Suguru! who starts to consider the idea of getting you pregnant. he hopes for the rational part of his brain to win over, rather than the horny, disgustingly perverted one. but when you walk out of the shower in a crop top, his mind drifts elsewhere—and suddenly, the image of your belly swollen with his kids floods his mind and he has to put a pillow on his crotch to hide the very evident bulge in his pants.

Husband Suguru! who once he calms down and takes care of his raging boner, texts Satoru in a hurry, asking if they could meet up tomorrow morning. your husband tells you of his plans and you hum sleepily, telling him how catching up with his best friend seems like a good idea. Suguru drops the bomb on his best friend the moment they sit down and the ivory haired’s jaw almost meets the floor.

“You mean you wanna be a dad?”

“I’m not…too sure,” Suguru looks conflicted, he is holding his head in his hands. he knows very well that this is a topic that should be discussed with you, since you were the other person of interest in the situation. but he would hate to give you false hope, he’s seen the way your eyes light up at the mention of a baby, at one of your friends or colleagues being pregnant, how there’s a disappointed look on your face that you try so hard to conceal when Suguru gives you a face in response of a pregnancy announcement. but you are so patient, so accepting, you’ve never once forced him into anything. and truth be told, he wanted to see what kind of mother you would be to your baby—and then toddler, and then teenager and adult—you’d have a life together with a new person who would adapt either your personality or his, with a face of the love of his life. your baby could have your eyes and nose, he’s always pointed them out—even before you started dating.

“Dude, do you or do you not want to have a baby?”

“I don’t know man, it’s hard to think of.”

“Because you are thinking too hard about it,” Satoru says nonchalantly and it irks Suguru a little.

“I am not thinking too hard about it—this is a new responsibility, what if I am not fit to be a dad? I could be a failure for all we know—what if I pussy out of it and—“

“I would kill you.” Satoru warns the man and Suguru doesn’t try to hide how he stiffens up. “I am not joking, I would find you and bring you back to her as a sack of bones,”

“I wouldn’t betray her like that…”

“You’re too focused on the aspect of being a bad dad rather than a good one—yknow, you really think that she’d marry someone she doesn’t see fit as the future father of her children?” Satoru has a point. you did mention to him once (when Suguru was nowhere to be seen at a party you all attended) how falling in love with him was the best thing that’s ever happened to you, but the one thing that would top it is if he became a father to your children. Satoru, knowing his best friend’s stance on the topic, reminded you of how terrified the man was of the idea and all you did was give him a reassuring, understanding wave of your hands.

“I know, but I just know he’d love them hard and make them feel as safe as he makes me feel.”

Husband Suguru! who doesn’t really try to bring up the topic of ‘trying for a baby’. he cringes at the thought, feels as though it makes the process less romantic and intimate and more of a robotic task. as he is stripping you of your clothes, he is silent and lets his eyes wander over your figure. you are extremely shy tonight, unable to meet his eyes as his rough, calloused hands brush over the skin of your boobs before bending down to be at eye level with them. he brings the flesh inside his mouth and sucks—and blood rushes down to his groin at the thought of them being filled with milk, heavy and swollen, more sensitive than usual. his teeth graze the skin at an attempt to catch your attention and your thighs squeeze as you meet his eyes.

“Sugu…” your smaller hands rest on his face as he pulls away from your boobs to plant a heated kiss to your lips, effectively pushing you back on the bed. your back gently hits the mattress, and your chest is heaving in anticipation, unsure of what his next move would be.

“Baby,” he finally speaks up, nose brushing against your stomach as he brings his lips to the skin. “how about you drop the pill tomorrow?” he knows how much of a horrible job he is doing at this, but he feels you move, supporting yourself on your elbows.

“w-why would I do that?” your eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, and Suguru wishes to brush his thumb over the tense skin of your forehead.

Suguru is shameless as he kisses further south, planting his kiss above the tuft of your pubic hair before pushing your panties to the side. He parts the lips and gives your clit a kiss before moving to your inner thighs.

“why not? It’s doing horrible things to your body—“ he brushes his nose over your clit as he speaks. “beside, we need you off the pill if we want a baby, don’t you think?” when you don’t react to his words, Suguru looks up only to find you staring down at him with parted lips and eyes glossed over with tears.

“…are you sure?” you ask softly, and your husband swears he could never say no to you if you asked like that all the time.

“very,”

Husband Suguru! who fucks you with a new purpose. each drive of his hips fueling the other to go harder, deeper, to keep pushing his cum inside you and plant his seed deep within. your cunt does a great job at showing Suguru how ecstatic and excited you are with his sudden change of heart. you keep squeezing around him, barely able to keep your sounds in—he fucks you so deeply that the sound of skin to skin is louder than your moans and his groans. when he puts you on all fours, the cum starts to drip out of you but he pushes it back in with two thick fingers, lips pressed to your ass cheek.

“want more?”

“mmm! please,” you whine when he aligns his tips with your folds and fixes your arch with a hand on the small of your back. the gasp that escapes your lips when he fucks into you hard makes Suguru chuckle and he rubs your sides, soothing you.

“no need to beg for it,” he leans down and presses a kiss to your nape. “I’d gladly fill you up.”

Husband Suguru! who stiffens up when you show him the positive pregnancy test. up until this point, he is in control of his emotions—he lets you cry in his arms about how scary all of this was, despite you saying you’ve always wanted a baby. he is supportive, understanding of the heightened emotions that you are experiencing—when he sees your tears turn into happy ones, only half of him is able to relax. clearly, he is nervous but he doesn’t wanna show it. not right now.

The first ultrasound during your pregnancy was nerve racking—your hand squeezed your husband’s as you stared at the screen showing what appeared to be your unborn baby. Very tiny, but still there.

“Okay mom and dad,” the doctor presses the ultrasound transducer a bit lower on your stomach, a small smile on his face. “I got some news for you.”

“Good?” your anxious voice has Suguru rubbing his thumb on the back on your hand.

“It depends, how long have you been trying for this baby?” You couldn’t exactly disclose of your very active sex life, but you do give the doctor hints that it was definitely wanted.

“Well, look over here—“ he points to the screen with his gloved finger, ushering Suguru to come closer. “Look over here dad, what do you see?”

Suguru swallows hard as he stares at the screen in confusion, unsure of what to say. “..a baby?”

“Babies. Congratulations, you’re pregnant with twins.”

Your husband whips his head towards you fast, and you cover your mouth in shock. This wasn’t planned—twins? And for a first time? You didn’t know if the tears streaming down your face were of excitement or fear that maybe you weren’t ready for this.

But Suguru still comforts you, holds you in his arms—tells you that maybe finding out the gender won’t make all of this sound scary anymore. He knew you never really had a preference for gender—you were a natural mom.

However, finding out the gender was an emotional experience for the same man who never thought he would become a father.

Husband Suguru! who tells Satoru to buy the gender reveal cake for you two. he doesn’t want to throw a party, and neither do you. finding out within the privacy of your own home seemed like the best option—you didn’t want to reveal that you were pregnant to any family members—at least not yet.

“Are you ready?” You hold your own glass as you wait for your husband to stand next to you. Your bump wasn’t that evident yet, but signs of pregnancy were starting to show on your body and it brought this warm feeling to Suguru’s body.

“Yeah, hold my hand.” You chuckle slightly at his request but comply either way. Each of you holds their own glass above the cake before looking away as you push it down—you hold your breath, Suguru rests his forehead on your shoulder as he mumbles something about not being able to look at the cake. But you muster up the courage and lift your glass, eyes wide and lips parted in shock.

“Sugu—“ you don’t need to tell him to look, he was already staring at the glass with teary eyes. The pink frosting wasn’t something he was expecting to see—he knew he was going to be happy with either but two little girls? His own baby girls—the thought of being a girl dad brings tears to his eyes and you’re quickly pulling him towards you.

“Oh baby,” you hold back your own tears as you comfort your emotional husband, his arms wrapped around your middle. You hear little sniffles and a hand rubs your back before feeling a pair of lips pressed to your forehead.

“Gonna be the prettiest mom to the prettiest girls. Ever.”   

note: my posts are all self indulgent at this point… enjoy :D

2023: all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[shotmrmiller]

the tale of how simon got himself a gf without stepping a foot outside of base.

anyone can tell you that alcohol reduces the ability to use logic. to see reason. it lowers inhibitions and blurs the boundary lines you've drawn in the sand.

but indulging in drink tonight is justified. you're in need of reprieve after this shit week: broke up with your boyfriend, deadlines at work appearing out of thin air, a flat tire on your morning commute. you even stepped on the end of your cat's tail.

miserable. (she's okay, just giving you the cold shoulder. you'll buy her some tasty snacks tomorrow.)

but for tonight, you're wallowing in your own misery. some uninteresting show is playing on the television, you're cradled by the cushions of your couch, a fluffy sherpa throw over your socked feet.

if only there was a way to melt this week's accumulated stress away even further.

cue the drunk texting your ex cliché.

anyone can tell you that it's detrimental to moving on. it's akin to reopening a wound that's already begun to heal. a step back when you should only be moving forward. your friends would drag you by your hair for being so dumb.

but there's an incessant throb in between your legs that's only getting stronger with every glass of wine you toss back. you're wound tight, violin strings stretched to the brink. a couple of bow strokes away from snapping.

you'll deal with the consequences tomorrow, along with your hangover.

typing in his (deleted in a fit of heartbroken rage) number with fumbling fingers and send a picture of you with the hem of your sleeping shirt between your teeth, the swell of your bare breasts on full display with a cheeky little missing you <3

he responds in minutes even though it's 2:30am.

send a vid and show me how much you miss me.

it makes your pussy clench around nothing, already slick, drooling, begging to be filled. you sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you bring up the camera.

when simon first gets the text, he's on edge, gripping his phone hard enough to crack. no one should have this number except for price, johnny and kyle. he's made sure of it-- had laswell pull strings to give him a secure line. no scam likely's, no cold calls, nothing.

but then some silly little bird dials his number by mistake and the sweet cherry on top is that you've sent a nude. breasts on full display-- soft looking, hard peaked. it makes his mouth water, his gums itch. he'd love to sink his teeth into them, into you, hard enough to bruise. mark. claim.

but that's for later, once he finds you.

he texts back and what you send him in response fattens his cock. a small hand tucked beneath the waistband of your flimsy knickers, gusset dampened with warm arousal. you lick your bottom lip, leaving it glossy with spit. your chest heaves with the sharp gasps of breath you're drawing.

but there's a problem. he can barely see what you're doing. he doesn't have x-ray vision, your knickers are in the way. while he can understand the allure, he himself doesn't have the patience for it. either you let him see your bare cunt or don't waste his time.

he wasn't expecting you to agree this fast. maybe a bit of push back, a little snapping of teeth until you relent but no. you're an obedient thing. submissive. just how he likes 'em. (if he wants to break someone in, that's what johnny's for.)

soft, inviting thighs spread wide, a couple of fingers curling inside your glistening cunt. (duly noticing how your 2 fingers are the size of 1 of his.) your moans spill from your lips unreservedly when you roll your pearl in tight, precise little circles. he spits on his hand, heavy length resting in his calloused palm and tugs himself at the pace you've set: jerky, quick, messy.

you come with a whimper, eyes shut and pliant body coiled tight. a frothy, sticky cream coats your fingers, dripping down to your arse, pooling on your couch.

you miss me too? sent 3:27 am

(he decides to keep you. simon can't remember the last time he's had a climax that spine stiffening in a while.)

[sungbeams]

MIDNIGHT IN MILAN — lhs

they say love makes you do stupid things...surely fucking your boyfriend in the bathroom at the prada after party when your relationship isn't even public and neither of you can afford a dating scandal isn't that stupid, right?

⟡ ┆ pairing. lee heeseung x fem!reader

⟡ ┆ genre and tropes. MDNI 18+ ONLY, smut, established relationship, idol AU (both heeseung and yn)

⟡ ┆ warnings. semi-public sex, unprotected sex, mirror sex, mild choking, creampie, fingering, tiniest hint of degradation (he calls her a slut like once), one singular spank, some hair pulling, not really any aftercare

⟡ ┆ word count. 6.4k

⟡ ┆ note. i know the hype around tipsy hee already died down but i simply couldn't let this go. started writing it literally the same day the pictures dropped, then got hit with a massive writers block and only recently managed to finish this. biggest thanks to @jayparked who listened to me complain about this fic and contemplate just deleting it all. this fic wouldn't be here without her :(

"Fuck, Hee—" your broken moans echo off the dark walls around you as you throw your head back at the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of you, hitting that perfect spot that has your hips chasing after his, "feels so good. Don't stop, please don't stop."

"Not planning to, baby," Heeseung grunts out his reply, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you back to meet his sharp thrusts, sending shockwaves up your spine all the way to your head, making you feel woozy at the intense pleasure overwhelming your senses.

Your gazes meet in the mirror in front of you, your arms shaking as you try to hold yourself up. One of his hands moves up your body, his fingers wrapping around your throat and applying slight pressure to it to cut off the needy whines spilling from your mouth. Your eyes roll back at the sensation, head falling forward and your body crashing into the counter beneath you, your arms too weak to hold yourself up anymore. 

"That's my good girl, so desperate for my cock, huh?" Heeseung smirks to himself, continuing to roll his hips into yours. He wants to tug on your hair, hold you in place so he can look at your fucked-out face, but he knows he needs to be careful not to wreck you too much, not to leave any marks — or at least none that leave no doubt as to what you're doing here.

Truly, the two of you should be ashamed about what you're doing, but neither of you can bring yourself to care — not in the slightest. Right now, the only thing you're concerned about is Heeseung's cock repeatedly drilling past your folds into your soaked heat, how snug your walls feel around him, hugging him, molding to his shape with each snap of his hips. Maybe come tomorrow when you wake up and you think back to this moment, you'll bury your head in your hands and wonder what drove you to make such stupid, such careless decisions. 

After all, you are currently having sex with your boyfriend in a private powder room at an afterparty you had been invited to as brand ambassadors. You should be professional. Mingling with people, maybe having a drink, getting some of your pictures taken, but no, instead you're getting your guts rearranged by a man barely anyone knows is your boyfriend.

In your defense, the past few days had been beyond stressful, and you hadn’t been able to get any alone time with Heeseung in what feels like forever. Not during the busy days ahead of your flight to Italy, not during the 14-hour plane ride from Seoul to Milan for Fashion Week, and certainly not during all the schedules you had the past two days. Moments of privacy had been sparse, reduced to rare bathroom breaks since you shared a hotel room with one of the other members of your group.

----

Stepping out of the van to attend the afterparty, you force an effortless smile onto your face, repeatedly reminding yourself that this was your last schedule of the night and then you'd get a night of sleep just to hop onto another seemingly everlasting flight back home where you’ll be greeted with at least a few days without any public appearances. So you push yourself to ignore the ache in your feet from wearing heels all day, ignoring the throbbing in your head from the lack of sleep, food, and water, which only intensifies from the flurry of flashing cameras greeting you, or the pinch in your lower back from where you assume a safety pin must've come loose.

Hours pass by in the blink of an eye, pictures being taken with either your fellow group members or other celebrities and influencers also attending the party; a drink gets pushed into your hands, and the alcohol momentarily numbs your body and washes the pain away, allowing your shoulders to relax and your breaths to deepen as you take in your surroundings. Lo and behold, a few feet away from where you are, you find him standing: Heeseung. Hands in his pockets as he's talking to some unidentifiable celebrity in front of him.

Almost as if he feels your gaze on him, he glances away from the man before him, your eyes meeting for a brief moment. You take an involuntary step forward, like he's drawing you right in, before your manager steps in your line of sight, "They want a picture of you girls with Enhypen, something about wanting the two K-Pop groups attending in one picture together."

You nod your head at her words, trying to steal one last look at your boyfriend, only to see him walking right in your direction, together with Sunoo and Jungwon trailing after him, their manager leading them right to where you're walking to.

A staff member pushes and pulls you all into position, telling you where to stand and how to pose, and by some sort of miracle you end up right next to your boyfriend. Your manager shoots you a quick look, and you teasingly roll your eyes at her as she's silently warning you to not make your relationship too obvious, seeing as your company has been pretty outspoken about not wanting the public to know about what was going on between Heeseung and you.

While the photographers look over their pictures, trying to decide if they need more or if they're satisfied with what they got, you lean slightly to your right, close enough so the man next to you would be able to hear your hushed whispers, "You know...I heard some people talking about there being private restrooms at this venue. Just thought I'd mention it in case you'd like a moment alone to take a bit of a breather from all the socializing."

"Oh? Is that so?" you can hear the slight smile in the low rumble of his voice as he leans down, masking his closeness by adjusting the leg of his pants, "Guess I'll have to check them out in a bit then."

"Alright, everyone, we'll take a few more pictures and then you can go back to the party," one of the photographers interrupts your conversation, drawing all attention back to the front. You position yourself slightly to the left again, creating more space between your boyfriend and you to avoid angering your managers.

A few more pictures taken, and you're finally released. Almost instantly, you excuse yourself from your group, beelining towards the aforementioned restrooms, making sure not to draw any attention to yourself despite your heart beating rapidly in your chest at the thought of some alone time with your boyfriend, sending blood rushing through your ears, loud enough to drown out the quick click-clacks of your heels against the tiled floor underneath you.

The anticipation is killing you as you're waiting for Heeseung to show up, staring at your phone just to see the status of your message to him with the details of exactly where you are change from 'delivered' to 'seen' right in front of your eyes. Minutes feel like hours as you tap your foot nervously against the marble floor beneath your feet, trying your best to ignore your throbbing pussy, your folds covered in your slick and clinging onto your underwear already — all just because of the mere thought of what he would do to you within these four walls.

You glance at your phone again when three rapid knocks followed by two more taps against the wooden door next to you startle you. Opening the door with a smile on your lips, you lean out slightly, your head turning left and right to scan the hallway, "Are you sure no one followed you?"

Wordlessly he nudges you back inside and closes the door behind you. His lips are on yours in an instant, moving with familiar desperation as he pushes you against the closed door. His hands are all over you, grasping onto your hips, pulling them flush against him and allowing you to feel the growing bulge in his pants press against your lower abdomen. Your heart beats erratically in your chest — the sound almost drowning out the soft clicking of the lock turning behind your back — hands scrambling to find something to hold onto as lust takes over you, clouding your mind. His lips work against yours in a beautiful frenzy, rushed but still taking his time, nipping at your lower lip, entangling his tongue with yours in a passionate dance that wordlessly tells you everything you need to know.

Your body relaxes right against his, all tension melting away with each movement, the space between you charged with tension, thick and hot, as Heeseung pulls away. 

"Don't worry, we're all alone, baby," he breathes against your lips as his mouth trails down to your neck, eagerly covering your skin in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle themselves in his hair. 

The tiny voice in a deep, dark corner of your mind tells you not to mess it up, not to leave a single trace for people to suspect what the two of you left the party for, to avoid any scandal at all costs. But your need to be as close as possible to your boyfriend overrides any and all logic left inside you, so you ignore it, pulling him closer to you instead and letting him graze your skin wherever he desires. Contrary to you, he seems to still have some care for the consequences of your escapades, seeing as he moves down the collar of your dress to continue the path of his lips there, sucking and softly biting the supple flesh, leaving marks easily hidden. 

With his hand pressing against the small of your back, he pulls you away from the door, and the two of you stumble over towards the massive mirror situated behind the vanity of the powder room. Your ass digs into the cold marble of the counter as he crowds you against it, fingers holding your hips in a bruising grip — enough to almost hurt, the sensation just the right mix of pain and pleasure to pull a whimpered plea from your lips — before moving lower. His hands massaging your round cheeks has you biting your lip, whining as he lifts you up, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist just to feel his hard cock straining against his pants and press right into where you need him the most.

"Hee...please—" you cut yourself off with a moan, louder than you had anticipated, and he quietly shushes you in response.

“Shh, baby, we don't wanna get caught now, do we?"

His lips form into a smirk against your skin as you shake your head with a slight pout on your lips. You really don’t want to get caught; you don't want to even think about what it would mean for both of you if people found out about what the two of you are up to in here, but your mind is begging, screaming at you to let it all out, let him know how good he's making you feel.

"You can be loud in the hotel; how about that, sweetheart?”

Oh, screw him. Getting you worked up over the possibilities the future holds for you before even having you now.

Your reply comes in the form of a quiet whimper, mind wandering off to all the possibilities your soundproof hotel room offers. His hands snap you out of it, interrupting your train of thought as they push underneath the bottom hem of your dress, reaching for your soiled underwear to press his fingers right against your cunt, feeling just how absolutely soaked he has gotten you.

"Fuck, baby, what's gotten you this wet, huh?"

"You, Hee—" you exhale, chest heaving up and down as he toys with your clit through the damp cotton of your panties, hips bucking up to chase his fingers, "please...please just fuck me already."

“Love when you beg for me like this. Shit," he groans, eyes closing for a brief moment in a hopeless attempt to compose himself, panting like a dog as he pulls away from you. His hands move over the buckle of his belt in a frenzied rush, fumbling slightly before he manages to undo it, opening his zipper with shaking and twitching fingers. His pants hit the floor with a thud, joined by the black briefs he had been wearing underneath, and he's back on you before you even have a chance to gawk at his cock, thick and heavy, with an angry tip, red and leaking precum already. Despite having seen it multiple times, it still never fails to take your breath away each time you get a chance to look at it. 

His lips crash against yours in an almost bruising kiss, distracting you from his fingers hooking underneath your underwear, pushing it to the side as his other hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself a few times until he lets his head kiss your entrance. In one fluid movement he pushes himself inside you, both of you letting out synchronized moans as you feel your walls stretching around his girth. His size still surprises you, despite this not being the first time together with him, and even though your cunt is dripping — your slick arousal running down your folds just to pool underneath you — you're still having trouble taking him wholly. His throbbing length fills you up so well you swear you feel him all the way in your belly, gasping as you spread your legs wider to grant him even more access to your wet pussy.

His fingers find their way back down to your clit, no longer obstructed by your underwear, massaging it slowly to help you relax around him. And it works; your body lets go, tension melting from you as you allow him to pull back slightly and thrust back in again, slowly managing to push further and further into you until he fills you to the hilt, his hips making contact with your ass. Pressing your face against his shoulder, you try your best to muffle your moans. Your cunt molds itself around him with each clench of your walls, desperate whines tumbling past your lips as his cock pulsates deep inside of you, as you feel every ridge, every vein, every inch of him. 

"Taking me so well, baby, such a good girl for me. You ready for me to move, sweet girl?"

You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words at all, mind fuzzy with pleasure. 

And he hasn't even started properly fucking you yet. 

Heeseung presses a gentle kiss against your lips, already swollen and raw, his bruising kisses lingering on them, before he begins to move, hips thrusting into your greedy hole as you cling to him, holding on tightly as best as you can. His forehead falls against yours, labored breaths mixing together and becoming one as you pant into each other's mouths, a needy blend of curses occasionally interrupted by your names tumbling from both of your lips. Your eyes meet his, losing yourself in them as they pull you in further and further. His gaze makes you want to shy away, intense and all-consuming, while at the same time it just as well makes you want to throw your head back, moan his name for everyone in this building to hear just how good he's making you feel.

"So good—fuck, feels so good, Heeseung," you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as you lean further into his embrace, his arms holding you upright as the control of your own body slips further from your grasp.

You feel so full of him, having him exactly how you wanted him all night, his cock brushing right against your cervix with every thrust, his hands all over your body in a desperate frenzy, his mouth latched against yours, tasting you like a starved man. The feeling of having him all over you is overpowering your every sense, hopelessly trying — and failing — to keep your moans at bay, choking back a desperate whine in the back of your throat.

Heeseung can't help but coo slightly at you, your urgency going straight to his ego, as well as his cock, twitching deep within your spongy walls as he moves your legs to wrap them around his waist tighter as he grunts and groans, "Such a dirty thing, letting me fuck you right where anyone could hear us. Shit, gonna let me use your pretty cunt, gonna walk out there with my cum dripping down your legs like the little slut you are?"

Your answer comes in a whined 'yes' as you throw your head back, eyes screwing shut, hot sparks shooting through your whole body. Your legs twitch around his hips, nerves tingling as you start clamping down around him. Lust clouds your judgment, wanting to draw this out as much as you could, not wanting to cum just yet. Staying in here any longer than absolutely necessary wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do; in fact, it would be the complete opposite of smart. With every second the two of you are together in this restroom, his cock pressed deep inside you, brushing against your cervix, you risk the chances of getting caught, of someone hearing you moan out his name.

Fortunately for you, Heeseung seems to have a similar thought process. Slowly, his thrusts come to a halt, and he pulls out of you. The emptiness he leaves behind rips a pitiful whine from you, and he shushes you by pressing his lips against yours in a quick, gentle kiss before moving you off the counter and turning you around. You don't mind him manhandling you — you enjoy it even — his touches soft but forceful as he makes your back collide with his chest, your eyes meeting in the big mirror in front of you.

"Be a good girl and bend over for me."

His breath is hot against your ear, voice low and drenched with desire oozing off it thick like honey as you feel his cock dig into the flesh of your ass, the combined sensations sending shivers down your spine. His fingers graze your thighs as he lifts the bottom of your dress above your ass, letting it pool around your hips. Slowly, he pulls your underwear down your legs, his blunt nails scraping your burning skin, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. The ruined cotton falls to the tiled floor beneath your feet, transparent and sticky with your arousal, as you lean your torso onto the counter, holding yourself up with your shaking arms. You step out of them, blindly kicking them to the side to allow yourself more freedom to move.

Impatiently, you look over your shoulder, wiggling your ass to silently urge him to hurry up and get back to fucking you again. He can't resist the temptation, even if he would’ve attempted to try, running his hand over your bare ass, caressing your soft, round globes before landing a slap against your smooth skin — not a particularly harsh or painful one, not nearly as forceful as you know he’s capable of, but hard enough to send a wave of electricity through your body, a muffled sob falling from your lips at the sensation — before placing them back on your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh with a bruising grip.

Not wasting any more time, he slides right back inside you. The different angle pulls a moan from you, mixing with the low groan falling from Heeseung's mouth as your warm pussy embraces his cock. One of his hands presses against your back, pinning your front against the cold marble counter underneath you, your arms shaking as you scramble to find something to hold onto. The sounds tumbling past his lips make you clench around his length, the low rumble of his groans bouncing off the walls surrounding you, his chest heaving up and down with each erratic roll of his hips turning you into a panting mess as he repeatedly hits that one sensitive spot within you. You try your best to hold eye contact with him through the mirror, wanting nothing more than to see the pleasure clearly written on his face right as you cum, but you simply cannot. 

Your head falls forward, eyes screwing shut as you let pleasure take over you — your mind, your body, all of your senses.

His hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your stupor, looking up briefly just to see his eyes trained right on where you're connected, watching his dick disappear within your creamy hole again and again, laser-focused as if he was in a trance. He pulls you back to him with each of his thrusts, making you meet him with even more force. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, your sobs joining the squelching sound of wet skin slapping against skin reverberating around the room. He drives inside you at a merciless pace, each thrust harder than the last one, making your entire body jolt at the force of them.

Heeseung steadies himself, taking his hand off your hip to place on the counter beside you, quickening his pace just slightly as his cock twitches inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.

"Hee-'m so close," you whine, fingers clawing at the marble counter, legs shaking as you feel yourself inching closer and closer to the edge with each drag of his heavy cock inside of you, each snap of his hips against yours.

Heeseung throws his head back at the sensation of your cunt fluttering around him, groaning out as his nails bite into your skin, "Just a bit longer, baby, almost there."

His hand on your shoulder pulls you up, your back colliding with his chest as he continues the merciless pace of his thrusts. The angle at which he keeps fucking into you feels overwhelming, consuming your whole mind and body, yet pleasurable in the best way, and you swear this is the closest you've ever been to heaven before. Your soft whines and pants turn into moans, growing louder with every passing second as you hold onto Heeseung's arm wrapped around your front, pressing you into his chest.

In a moment of clarity, Heeseung notices just how loud your moans have gotten, and as much as it pains him, he knows he quickly has to think of something to silence you unless you want someone to hear you on the outside of the door, resulting in a guaranteed scandal. His solution: his hand wrapped around your throat.

A gasped whimper escapes your mouth as you feel his fingers pressing into your skin, the slight pressure and the weight of his hand against your throat causes your head to spin, his grip not strong enough to hurt or leave marks but send dizzying pleasure right to the depths of your belly. Your breath hitches as your airways constrict, eyes rolling into the back of your head, hand reaching up to hold onto his wrist, making sure his hand stays right where it is, already addicted to the feeling.

The lack of air combined with his relentless thrusts sends you into a frenzy, you feel like you're floating, your limbs tingling, and the world around you blurs, your only focus on Heeseung's gaze that meets yours in the mirror in front of you. He's attentive, watching you closely and making sure you can still breathe — which you can, but the thrill of it all leaves you light-headed and gasping for air — while chasing his own high, pressing his lips into your shoulder to muffle the desperate groans threatening to escape him. 

His grip on your throat tightens, just barely, but enough to cut off your air supply for just a short moment, the rush sending a brand new wave of arousal pooling in the depths of your belly. It feels like he's everywhere — his cock thrusting into you at a merciless pace, his hand wrapped securely around your throat while his arm winds around your waist, pulling you flush against his front, not allowing you to move in the slightest. The intensity of it all is overwhelming your senses, the lack of oxygen making everything sharper, more intense, and you're reveling in the sensation of him pounding into you and sending every nerve in your body buzzing with electric pleasure.

"God, so greedy, couldn't even wait until we were back at the hotel, could you? Just had to have my cock buried deep inside you, can't get enough of it, right, princess?” he grunts lowly as he loosens the grip on your throat, lips pressing into your ear, sending shivers down your spine as your walls clamp down on him while you suck in a desperate gasp of air. 

You're too far gone to respond, your mind clouded with lust, hazy and floating like a cloud on a balmy spring day. All you can do is moan out his name, over and over again, a prayer falling from your lips as he continues thrusting into you, your body pushing against his tight hold of your waist, instinctively moving to meet every snap of his hips. His pace is relentless, Heeseung's thoughts replaced by his need to cum, desperately chasing his own high as he drives you closer and closer to the edge of blissful oblivion. The coil inside you winds impossibly tight, your legs shaking, and if it weren't for your boyfriend holding you upright, you know you'd be a mess of tangled limbs on the cold tiled floor beneath your feet already.

"Cum inside me—fuck, Heeseung, please," you plead breathily, your voice cracking as desperation takes over it, insatiable hunger and need setting your insides on fire.  

"Shit, you want me to cum inside you, yeah?"

His hand rubs over the mound of your ass, soothing your raw skin, sensitive from the slap he delivered to it just mere moments ago. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips with such force you're sure to find bruises the following day. 

“God, yes, Heeseung!” you cry out, your voice breaking as you feel the knot inside you tighten rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter until it's a white-hot ball of pleasure, ready to explode and set your body alight.

He leans down slightly, his breath tickling your ear as he whispers into your ear, “Be a good girl and cum for me, then you’ll get what you’re asking for. Come on, let go, cum for me, pretty girl."

And just like that you find yourself tipping over the edge, his words breaking the dam inside you and allowing your high to crash over you like a tidal wave, destroying everything in its wake. Pleasure courses through every inch of your body. Every vein, every nerve is set alight and dragged along the powerful and overwhelming waves of your release. Your slick walls clamp down around him like a vice, spasming with every drag of his cock, every brush of his mushroom tip against that one spot that makes stars explode in front of your eyes.

His grip on you loosens enough to allow your upper half to fall forward, catching yourself as you lean on your forearms, left panting and completely undone as you gasp for air, lungs burning and desperate for the sweet taste of oxygen.

Heeseung lets out a strangled moan at the feeling of your dripping cunt tightening around him with even more force, his control slipping as his thrusts become urgent and uncontrollable. He murmurs something underneath his breath, but the rush of your heartbeat echoing in your ears is too loud, drowning out his words, which you assume are mumbled curses of your name.

You lose yourself in the sensation, barely able to form any coherent thoughts as your climax drags on. Each wave drags you deeper and deeper into the current of pleasure, leaving you gasping for air, body twitching and trembling as Heeseung prioritizes his own pleasure, chasing his high with renewed fervor.

Heeseung has never been a selfish lover, always putting your pleasure first, making sure you got to cum at least once before even letting himself think about the possibility of his own release. And maybe that’s part of the thrill for him, repeatedly — intentionally — edging himself until he finally gets what he wants from you, driving himself to the edge of his release over and over again until he is so sensitive he feels like he’s about to explode from just the slightest stimulation.

“Oh fuck, baby—“ he pants with a strained voice, his chest rising and falling rapidly, breaths ragged as he finally allows himself to let go.

With a low guttural groan, Heeseung spills himself inside of you, thick spurts of his warm cum shooting deep into your pulsing cunt, painting your insides white and oozing out of your pussy past his cock. The heat of it sends tiny aftershocks through you; your body shakes as you try to catch your breath, looking into the mirror to see him working himself through the last dredges of his orgasm, jaw slack and body trembling. His face is glistening with sweat, beads of it rolling down his throat and disappearing beneath the neckline of his black shirt.

The sight of him is enough to make you ache with need all over again — his face twisted in pleasure, his eyes dark and unfocused as he watches his cum leak out of your wrecked pussy around his length. You cannot help but think of the folder on his phone, password protected to keep it from the wrong eyes and filled to the brim with pictures you hope never see the light of day: his cum dripping out of your ruined cunt; his cock shoved into your mouth, the lower half of your face messy with a mix of spit, cum, tears, and lipstick; love bites scattered across the skin of your neck and the insides of your thighs like the constellations of the night sky. If you had more time, you’re sure he would add to that growing collection of his, pulling out his phone and snapping multiple pictures until he was satisfied, moving your body into various positions to get the best shot.

Instead of allowing your small daydream to become reality, Heeseung pulls out of you, the sudden emptiness leaving you whimpering and clenching around nothing, the squelching wet sound of him slipping his cock out of you echoing around the room.

He takes another moment to admire the mess he's made of you, leaning back slightly as he watches his cum drip from your drenched hole. He reaches out, letting his fingers run between your folds to collect his cum just to shove it back into you. The sight of your pussy swallowing his digits, your puffy lips embracing them with ease makes his cock twitch again, overstimulated and sensitive but still aching for more.

“Hee—fuck, please,” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for, mind fuzzy and eyes heavy as you watch him through the mirror in front of you. 

You try to drink it all in, wanting this moment embedded in your memory until the end of your days. His dark hair falling into his eyes, focused on the white globs of his cum slipping out of your cunt from around his fingers and running down your thigh. His skin is flushed, sweat beaded on it like little gems glued to reddened satin. It trails down his neck to his chest, revealed by the undone top button of his shirt. 

Heeseung interrupts your little ogling session when he pulls his fingers out slowly, savoring the way you shudder at the loss. 

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror before he gently turns you around to face him: lips puffy and swollen, eyes watery and completely wrecked despite your combined effort to prevent just this from happening when you were still able to think clearly before your minds were clouded with lust. 

“You did so well, baby,” Heeseung murmurs, his voice thick with a twisted mix of pride and possessiveness as he angles your head so his lips capture yours in a kiss that sends another wave of burning heat through you, igniting the glowing embers lingering deep within you.

His hands slide to your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he effortlessly lifts you up, your bare thighs resting on the vanity underneath you, the cold marble biting into the raw and tender skin of your ass.

“Made such a mess, can you feel it dripping out of you?” — you nod at his question despite knowing he didn’t ask for you to answer — “Want me to clean you up?”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe out your reply, eyes glossing over at the intention.

A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, the unspoken meaning of his words written as clear as day on his face as he slowly lowers himself to the tiled floor beneath his feet, spreading your legs in the process to make room for him to fit between them. He looks up at you from between your spread thighs, leaning forward slightly to press his lips against the insides of them, alternating between nibbling and sucking, sure to leave marks for you to find the next day. A whispered sigh of his name slips past your lips as you throw your head back slightly, his lips ghosting closer and closer to where you need him, to where his cum was still dripping out of you.

His warm breath fans over your wet center, lips just a hair's width away from your pulsing cunt when a gentle knock interrupts you. Heeseung jumps up at the sound, back on his feet in an instant. Your eyes are wide in panic as you meet his gaze before you both turn to the door.

“Shit,” Heeseung mouths as he rushes to grab some paper towels to wipe your mixed juices from between your thighs, hoping that whoever just knocked on the door isn’t aware of the fact that there are currently two people in this bathroom. Two people who certainly could not afford to be caught in a position like you are currently finding yourselves in.

“Heeseung? It’s me, Jay.”

The sigh of relief leaving both of you could almost be described as comical if not for the tension still lingering between you, all the worries and anxieties of a secret relationship almost coming true. Haphazardly, Heeseung pulls his pants up, the undone belt still hanging from his hips as he helps you down from the vanity, hands tugging at the hem of your dress to give you at least a slight bit of decency. He takes one look in the mirror, letting out a small groan before shuffling over to open the door.

The moment the door opens, Jay turns towards both of you, hands buried in the pockets of his pants as he awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other. The redness of his ears confirms your suspicions that he most likely heard more than you would’ve liked, immediately sending your blood rushing to your head, face burning with embarrassment at your friend catching you in such a precarious position. He clears his throat once, trying — and failing — to subtly take in Heeseung’s appearance before shooting a small, albeit flustered, smile at the two of you.

“We gotta leave, like,” he takes a look at his phone to check the time, “right now, actually. I already bought you both some time, told them you weren’t feeling well, and Heeseung wanted to make sure you’re alright. You should…clean yourselves up a bit. Meet us at the entrance in 5?”

You both nod as you watch Jay turn to leave after looking your boyfriend and you up and down once again, shaking his head as he deeply sighs in disappointment — a sound almost eerily similar to one you had heard your parents make several times when you were younger — and you swear as he walks away you can hear him mumble to himself about how you were like two hormonal teenagers, not able to keep it in your pants for even one night.

“Well, guess we gotta get you cleaned up, huh, sweetheart?” 

“Oh no, we don’t!” you jab your finger into his chest as he chuckles at you, “I get cleaned up, and you can go meet up with everyone. It’ll be less suspicious if we don’t show up at the same time.”

Heeseung holds up his hand in fake surrender, a smile still playing with his glossy lips as his eyes roam over your body with one last hungry gaze. Despite the burning ache inside him, the quick kiss he presses against your lips is nothing but sweet and gentle, tenderness quickly replaces the darkness formerly taking over his eyes, “I’ll text you later. Maybe we can manage to sneak you into my hotel room later.”

“Sounds like a plan,” your hands wrap around his arms, giving his biceps one last affectionate squeeze before ushering him out of the bathroom and away to join his group members, giving you a few more precious minutes to clean up, make yourself look somewhat presentable — or at least presentable enough to not have any fans or press question just what exactly happened over the past hour — and find out where you had kicked your underwear in the heat of the moment.

You take a moment to watch your boyfriend walk away, the slight bounce in his step is a dead giveaway for the people who knew him that he just got laid, but lucky for both of you, no one of importance should be able to figure him out and turn this whole thing into an issue for the two of you. Just as you’re about to turn around and assess his damage in the big vanity mirror, Heeseung turns around one more time, eyes twinkling with mischief as he takes you in, watching the way your eyebrows rise on your forehead in a silent question at his sudden halt.

“Oh, and baby?” you nod your head in response, “Make sure to wipe the lipstick from your chin. We wouldn’t want anyone to find out what a greedy slut you are for me, would we now?”

© sungbeams — all rights reserved. i do not give permission to copy, repost, modify or translate my works.

[littlcdarlin]

My Burning Sun Will Someday Rise

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 || read on AO3

summary: Reader goes on a beach vacation with Joel after her father breaks his leg. tags: daddy kink, big age gap (Joel is 49, reader is 23), dbf!Joel, Joel has a lovely belly, Joel is a little mean, praise kink, Joel calls reader "kid", unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, sexual tension, blow jobs, smut with a little bit of plot, no use of Y/N, afab!reader, reader has hair (will add more as I add more parts)

note: The devil works fast but I work faster. New multi chapter smut fic inspired by those damn new Pedro pics in the works…enjoy part 1! I haven't planned all of the smut scenes, so if you have any requests for specific kinks/scenes, do let me know!

He’s dead fucking wrong. You love your father, enough to not immediately say no, but he’s wrong. It’s true you could use a girls’ trip, perhaps even a couple of days out of town with your Dad, and he’s not entirely off about university being the death of you, kiddo – you’ve spent one too many nights inhaling coffee and cramming for your finals. The idea of an all-inclusive trip is tempting, given the fact that all you manage to eat these days is pasta and store-bought pesto, if that.

Nevertheless, you need to keep studying, there’s less than two weeks left until your exams, and although the trip is only a couple of days, you don’t know Joel.

Sure, you’ve been to his barbecues, and he let you use his bike one year when yours was stolen and your Dad refused to buy you a new one, because you should have locked it up in the first place. You know how he patched up your Dad after the divorce – you never worried about your mother, who was heartbroken, but able to talk about it to her family and friends. Your Dad was the one you spent sleepless nights over. The way the beer bottles accumulated in his garage, how distant he seemed on the phone. You know it was Joel who looked after him, made sure he left the house and had anything edible inside it. You’re grateful for it, you are, but you don’t really know him. For most of your life, he has been a friendly smile and wave over a fence, and you’re shy around people you know much better than the occasional hey kid, you back for the summer? or if you see your Dad, tell him I borrowed his screwdriver, I’ll put it back tomorrow.

You do feel slightly guilty your Dad can’t go on his trip. He broke his leg, and although it’s not entirely your fault he slipped, you had been the one to mop the stairs right before the accident. As much as your Dad was looking forward to his vacation, after a week he had to admit a beach holiday would be little fun with a whole leg in plaster.

You sigh, staring at your phone screen, tapping on it every once in a while to keep it from turning black. He’s expecting an answer soon, you know he is. Who the hell books non-refundable trips anyway? When you get the time, you’ll need to tell him about a lovely invention that is insurance.

You glance over at the stack of unfinished coursework on your desk, your laptop taunting you with its quiet – no responses to the millions of job applications you have sent out have come through. At this rate, you’ll be jobless in a couple of months, when you finish your degree. You’ll have to live with either of your parents forever, no money for any sort of vacation whatsoever.

"Oh, screw it,“ you mutter, unlocking your phone, and typing quickly.

I’ll do it. Only because my A+ cleaning is the reason you can’t go. Tell Joel to bring something to read, I need to study.

***

"It’d be a shame if it went to waste, kiddo, I’m glad you’re doing this.“

"Yeah,“ you answer, thinking of the endless powerpoint slides you haven’t even looked at yet. "Maybe studying at the beach works wonders.“

There’s a knock on the door, and you move to open it, your Dad chained to his chair by his broken leg. You’re not particularly excited about the smalltalk you’ll have to make with your Dad’s friend, but if you remember correctly, Joel is as much the quiet type as you are, and might actually appreciate your studying. Great, you think, at least one of us will enjoy it, then.

When you open the door, the first thing that strikes you is how hard you find it to envision Joel at the beach – he’s all mountains and trees to you, with his lumberjack boots and flannel shirt. His smile is friendly, and only gains warmth when he notices the critical look you give his outfit.

"I know,“ he says, voice deep and quiet, "I’m king of dressing for the occasion.“

You grin, and open the door wider.

"Come on in. Dad’s in the living room. What’s with the…uh…“

Your voice trails off, as you gesture towards his distinctly un-vacationy clothes.

"Thought you might bail,“ Joel answers easily, stepping into the house. "Can’t imagine you’re overly thrilled about this.“

You think about denying it, but this is your chance to come clean about how you would much prefer keeping to yourself and preparing for your finals, so you sigh.

"Well, it’s kinda my fault Dad was, like, almost paralyzed from the neck down, so I figured the least I could do was not let his trip go to waste. I’ve got finals in two weeks, so the timing is…suboptimal.“

"Yeah, your Dad said. I brought reading material, so I won’t bother you too much.“

He’s easy, you realize. Easy to talk to, and easy to accept your reluctance to bond with an almost-stranger, quick to make you feel comfortable by hinting at that boundary. You smile back, and are struck by how he holds your eye contact until you break it yourself, nodding towards your suitcase.

"Think this will fit inside the car?“

"Sure,“ he answers, "I’ve got a Bronco.“

You have no idea what that means, but you assume it’s a good thing, so you smile vaguely.

"It’s an SUV,“ Joel explains with a hint of good-natured amusement in his voice.

"Right,“ you say, attempting to overplay your obvious lack in car-knowledge, "SUV. One of the big ones.“

It makes Joel smile again, and you notice the wrinkles around his eyes that make his face look all sunny. 

"Yeah,“ he says. "One of the big ones.“

You lead him into the living room to say good-bye to your Dad, who’s expression is a weird mixture of sombre and excited at the sight of his daughter and best friend getting ready to drive to the airport.

"Take care of her, Joel,“ he says, when you’re getting ready to leave.

"Don’t worry,“ Joel answers with a pat to your father’s arm. "I’ve got her.“

"I’m twenty-three,“ you remind your father, "I’ve done more dangerous things than a trip to the beach.“

"Yeah, but you’re still my little girl,“ he answers with a smile, squeezing your hand. You squeeze back, though his comment irritates you.

"See ya, Dad. Call me if something’s wrong with your leg, alright?“

"Sure, kiddo. Have fun, you two, and bring me a seashell.“

Joel grins at the open envy on your Dad’s face.

"We’ll go on another trip next year,“ he says in an attempt to cheer him up.

"Yeah, yeah,“ your Dad answers, glancing at his watch. "Better get going, or you’ll miss the flight.“

"We’ll be fine, Joel’s got a fast car,“ you argue, "A Bronco. That’s an SUV.“

Joel snorts.

***

Joel lets you take the window seat and plops down next to you, legs slightly spread so as to fit into the little space the two of you have. His leg nudges yours, and he pulls it back immediately, though you can see how uncomfortable it must be with his knees pressing into the seat in front of him. You move your legs towards the window with a glance at Joel, who looks grateful and is able to relax his muscles into a more comfortable position without invading your space.

"Thanks,“ he mutters, "Fucking hate flying.“

So do you, though not because you’re too big to fit into the space, and not because you’re afraid – mostly because it’s boring. Sure, takeoff is exciting, but you get nauseous from watching movies and the plane is much too loud to really enjoy your music the way you would lying on your bed at home. You could study, you suppose, but you tell yourself you wouldn’t be able to concentrate and kick your backpack further under your seat. Joel notices and chuckles.

"Finals, huh? You almost done with your degree?“

You can’t imagine him finding your boring university struggles interesting, but you’re not exactly fantastic at smalltalk, so you take the conversation he’s offering you.

"I’ve got one more year, but I’ve got to do a six month internship, and write my thesis, so yeah, this is, like, the last of my regular classes and exams.“

"You enjoy it?“

The question is strikingly honest, like he really wants to know, like it’s fine if you don’t. You look at him, his eyes already on your face, and for a second you think how handsome he is. You didn’t notice before, when he was just the owner of a bike you could conveniently borrow, when life was all skinned knees and staying up till sun-down. Now, he looks like an equal, like someone who wants to know about your life, someone you want to know about yourself. The change is a little unsettling, but thrilling. You realize you haven’t answered him, so you clear your throat.

"Sure, it’s alright. Not what I would have done if money didn’t matter, but it does, so…I can be content with it.“

Joel considers this, eyes still lingering on your face, as the plane starts speeding up for takeoff.

"What would you do if money didn’t matter?“

You shrug, and smile to yourself.

"Creative writing, maybe. Or English lit.“

"You always were the smart one in your family,“ Joel answers with a chuckle.

You glance at him, and feel a pang of something warm in your stomach as he compliments you. When the plane takes off, you look out of the window, but get the feeling Joel’s eyes keep looking at you. It makes your skin prickle, though not at all unpleasantly.

***

You get to the hotel when the sun is high in the sky, burning the top of your head and making you long for a shower and an ice-cold coke. Joel courteously carries your suitcase and although you don’t want to inconvenience him, you don’t mind the way his muscles bulge under the weight, arms straining against the navy shirt he had underneath his flannel. You wonder how he’s not suffocating in the heat, wearing his thick jeans and boots.

When you get to the front desk, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, searching for his reservation details with furrowed brows. You smile when you notice he uses two hands to scroll. It takes him a couple of minutes, cursing under his breath, and you smile at the lady, who smiles back, patiently waiting for Joel to find the right email.

"Sorry,“ you say to her, and try to catch a glimpse at Joel’s phone, so as to figure out what’s taking him so long. "Need some help?“

He throws you an offended look that makes you grin, and finally shows the lady his phone. She smiles, types something into her computer and gets out two room keys.

"Go easy on your Daddy, it’s easier when you grew up with the internet,“ she says, handing you each a keycard. You feel Joel stiffen beside you, and your stomach flutters.

"Here’s your keycards, you’re on the third floor. Enjoy your stay!“

"Thanks,“ Joel mumbles, taking the cards and handing them to you, before grabbing the two suitcases. He huffs, when you walk around a corner and towards the elevators.

"She was makin’ fun of me,“ he says accusingly when the lady is out of earshot, as if that would be your fault. You snort, all of a sudden feeling giddy at the prospect of being at the beach soon, your holiday only a couple of minutes away.

"I don’t think so, she was trying to help you by blaming your incompetence on your age,“ you say, Joel looking at you like he can’t believe what you said.

"Sorry.“ Your voice is quivering with amusement at how offended he is. "Daddy.“

That makes him clear his throat, and if your eyes aren’t playing a trick on you, his cheeks turn a shade darker. Bingo.

"Don’t say shit like that,“ Joel grumbles, "’M not that old.“

"How old are you, then?“

"Why?“, he asks, eyes meeting yours, and suddenly you’re the one blushing, your stomach swirling with something you definitely should not be feeling for your Dad’s best friend. Joel shakes his head. "Don’t start something neither of us can finish, kid.“

It’s just an offhand-comment about the way you jokingly flirted, but you feel all bashful all of a sudden. His mention of there being something to potentially start, the fact that the possibility even crossed his mind…when you look up at him again and watch him press a button on the elevator, you study the grey patches in his beard, the way his jaw clenches and unclenches as you’re waiting, his thick fingers drumming against the handle of his suitcase. It’s not what you expected to happen, but Joel’s got you intrigued.

***

You both agree to take a shower, get settled in and meet outside the rooms in half an hour – they’re neighboring, so it’s not far. You’re too lazy to properly unpack, so you just grab a bikini and a comfortable white sundress to change into after your shower. The water is welcome on your skin, washing away the grit and sweat of the hours spent on the plane, and you feel like a new person when you step out of the bathroom. You put on sandals and a pair of sunglasses, grab sunscreen, your books and notes for class, and a bottle of water, and throw it all into your beach bag, then head for the door. Joel is already waiting for you, leaning against the wall opposite your door wearing a different shirt, red swimming trunks and dark sunglasses. He’s got a towel thrown over his shoulder and you grin.

"Raw-dogging the beach?“, you ask, which makes him furrow his brows.

"The hell does that mean?“

You snort at his obvious annoyance at your innuendo.

"It means you’re only bringing a towel, nothing to entertain yourself with,“ you explain, gesturing towards your bag. Joel shakes his head, still frowning.

"I’m going to the beach, not the library,“ he answers, and starts walking towards the elevators, his flip-flops making their soft sound on the floor. Your gaze flickers down towards his legs, his swimming trunks revealing tan thighs.

"Comin’?“

You swallow, and catch up with him.

***

He’s fucking gorgeous. It’s a problem, how gorgeous he is, tan torso, swimming trunks low on his hips, bits of dark hair scattered across his chest and soft belly. His shoulders are wide, like they were made for swimming, his hair glistening as he shakes like a wet dog when he comes up for air. You have been staring at the same page for far too long now, but there’s no way Joel is able to notice your staring, not when you’re wearing your sunglasses and he’s busy swimming.

You know it’s a bad idea, that there’s no good that can come from crushing on a man twice your age, more than that, even. You know he must surely see the girl who came over to borrow his bike with tears of anger in her eyes every time he looks at you, and you know how much he respects your father.

Still, you are allowed to have fun. You’re doing this for your Dad more than anything, and you’ve been bending over backwards trying to make him proud with your good grades, so if there’s something you’re able to get out of this trip, you figure you’re at least allowed to look. And anyway, it’s not hurting anyone. It’s just natural, the half-naked bodies and blissful relaxation would affect anyone who has spent the last four months cramped up in a little dorm room.

You watch Joel swim towards the beach again, rising out of the water like some sort of Poseidon sent to personally make this trip unbearable for you. You think of his reaction when you teasingly called him Daddy, and swallow.

"Fuck,“ you mumble to yourself, when he tugs on his swimming trunks so that they don’t slide over his hips, dripping water onto the dry sand all around him. He smiles at you as he makes his way over to your spot – two deckchairs shielded by a parasol.

"Wow,“ Joel says sarcastically, when he looks at your book, still on page two. "Real page turner, huh?“

You blush, and open your mouth to defend yourself, but Joel’s expression softens, all biting humor gone, as he grabs his towel.

"You’re allowed to take a break from studying, you know?“

You watch him dry himself off, big hands rubbing the towel over his chest and stomach, leaving his legs to dry on their own, as he lays down on his deckchair.

"Easy to say, you’re not the one who has to face my Dad if you fail all your exams.“

Joel turns his head towards you, and you’re struck by how gentle his expression is.

"I know he can be a hard ass, but I guarantee you you’re not goin’ to fail all your exams, kid.“

You sigh and shrug.

"He give you a hard time ’cause of your grades?“

"No,“ you answer quickly, all of a sudden feeling defensive of your father. "I just wanna…make him proud.“

Joel smiles.

"I know for a fact you’re doin’ that without even tryin’. And anyway, it’s good to take breaks. Let’s your brain cool off and absorb information much better afterwards.“

Can’t argue with that logic, you think and close your book with a thud. Joel grabs it from you and throws it into your beach bag.

"I grant you two hours of studying each day,“ he says, and you have to laugh. "The rest is for having fun, gettin’ tan and drinkin’ cocktails."

It’s preposterous, that he would order you around like that after you told him you need to study, back before you even made it to the airport. But something is different here, away from your desk, and your Dad’s broken leg (and the rest of him, for that matter). Joel and you have fallen into an easy dynamic, and although it’s unusual, your reservations are gone. You’re actually looking forward to spending time with him, and not just because of the way his belly nudges against the waistband of his swimming trunks, or how his accent seems to thicken in the sun.

"Fine,“ you say, "but you’re paying for my tuition if I do end up failing, Miller.“

He grins at you.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Baby’s first christmas

Tags: JJK men x fem!Reader, you two have a kid, tooth rotting fluff, JJK men being dads, tis the season, kind of suggestive on Satoru’s and Sukuna’s. Not proofread bc it’s christmas.

An: Happy holidays! No Choso because I never really include him in my JJK men as dads series. Sorry Choso enjoyers!! Also, the kids names have no affiliation with the names of anyone in JJK. They were names I thought up a while ago. This is a little short because I wrote it on Christmas Eve lol.

Incl: Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna

SATORU

This would be Satoru’s first Christmas at home with a family. His clan didn’t celebrate Christmas, and even if they did, Satoru knew santa wasn’t real from a very young age.

He stared at you and your infant son as you rocked him back and forth. Satoru swore he could feel his heart swell three sizes larger. He knew that realistically his son, Aoi, wouldn’t remember this Christmas, but he wanted to create traditions.

He wanted to have something that he could look forward to every year.

“Where are you going?” You asked your husband with a warm laugh as he grabbed his keys and wallet. It was the night before Christmas. Everything would be closed by now, and they wouldn’t open until the day after Christmas.

“Don’t worry about it, Sweets. I’ll be home soon.” He assured you with his signature grin. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to both yours and Aoi’s head. His small baby stirred, making the cutest grunts and sleep noises. “Make sure to leave some cookies out for Santa. I think he should be stopping by soon.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at your husband’s antics. It was never a dull moment between you two.

“I think my sweet-toothed husband will eat them before Santa gets to them.” You remarked at Satoru headed towards the door. He flashed you a cheeky smile.

“No promises. It’s the thought that counts anyways.” He said before heading out into the snowy night. You shook your head at him, knowing he was likely up to no good.

You continued rocking Aoi in the rocking chair for a little while. Aoi could be a very fussy baby when mama or dada wasn’t holding him, so you weren’t taking any chances of putting him down just yet.

Instead, you carefully wrapped him up in a sling baby carrier, and you popped some cookies in the oven. Satoru helped you make the dough yesterday, and you two had already cut them out into various Christmas shapes.

Your mind was elsewhere as you cleaned up the kitchen and thought about what all needed to be done tomorrow. Satoru’s clan didn’t celebrate Christmas, but you had planned a surprise Christmas party and invited all of his friends to come celebrate with you three.

After a while, the oven beeped signaling that the cookies were at the perfect level of doneness. You put on your oven mitts on before carefully removing the pan. As you sat it down on the stove, the sound of tumbling down the chimney caught your attention.

Was there an animal trapped in your chimney? You grimaced at the thought of trying to save a rabid animal from the confines of your chimney.

You stepped over to the chimney to investigate from afar. With Aoi in your arms, you didn’t want to put your son in harm’s way.

Luckily for you, your goofy husband stared back up at you. His bright blue eyes were unmistakable, even while he had on a fake Santa costume with a fake beard. His face was smeared with black marks from the coal in your fireplace.

“Ho, ho, ho..” He laughed in a thick bellowing tone as he crawled out of the fireplace.

“Satoru, what are you doing? You’re going to scar Aoi.” You laughed as you walked over to your husband, wiping some smears off his cheek.

“I don’t know this Satoru you speak of. He must be on my naughty list. Ho, ho, ho.” Fake Santa continued, shooting you a small wink. He really wasn’t going to give up this act easily, was he?

He didn’t. Satoru played as Santa, placing a few gifts under the tree and munching on some homemade cookies and milk in the act. He had to perfect his Santa persona for when Aoi would be able to form memories.

Your real husband conveniently didn’t return until after “Santa” had left, and he even had the audacity to pout about not receiving any gifts from Santa. You had to politely inform him that he was on the naughty list this year, which promptly had Satoru smirking at you.

“Bummer. Santa even forgot to leave me a lump of coal. If only there was another way for me to be punished for being on the naughty list…”

SUGURU

You were dreading Christmas. A new mom with twin baby girls and several houses to go to just didn’t sound like any fun. Of course, your husband, Suguru, would offer to help in any way he could, but you both knew you were going to be exhausted and overstimulated by the end of the day.

“We don’t have to go see everyone.” Suguru murmured into your ear. It was the night before Christmas, and you had just been anxiously carrying on about how badly you didn’t want to get out tomorrow.

His large palm rubbed up and down your arm in a soothing manner as he cradled you in his strong arms. Your head was pressed against his chest, listening to the steady drum of his heart.

“That would be rude.” You murmured.

“As if I’ve ever cared about being rude.” Suguru retorted with a calm smile. He then reached over and flicked off the bedside lamp, cascading your bedroom in darkness.

You two snuggled in each other’s arms, sharing lazy kisses and sweet nothings. It felt like you only managed to blink your eyes before one of your girls were crying over the baby monitor.

Patting the bed next to you, you find nothing but slightly warmed sheets. Geto must’ve already gotten up with the girls. One look at the baby cam has your heart melting.

Your husband’s sleepy eyes are half closed as he has a baby in each arm. He was quietly trying to shush them, speaking softly, “Please, don’t wake up mama. Let her sleep in today, girls. She deserves to rest easy on Christmas.”

You pushed the covers up off of you, unable to resist seeing this moment for yourself. You lean against the nursery doorway as you watch him continue shushing and rocking the twins.

“Merry Christmas, Suguru.” You finally spoke, giving away your presence. Your husband subtly flinched before turning around to meet your gaze.

“Merry Christmas, darling.” He responded before walking over and pressing a kiss to your lips. “I have a surprise for you.” He murmured into your presence.

A crease formed between your eyebrows as you wondered just what he was up to. He carefully nodded towards the window, signaling for you to take a look outside.

The bright light reflecting off the white powdery substance had you shielding your eyes. It must’ve snowed at least 7 inches throughout the night.

“We’re snowed in.” Geto quietly chuckled, pleased with the turn of luck. You two didn’t have to haul the twins to several houses, and you two could just rest easy at home.

NANAMI

Your husband had always been an early riser. He was consistently up earlier than you, even on christmas morning. You were normally really into Christmas, but you never managed to wake up before him.

Even this morning, you drowsily rolled over in your shared bed, trying to find your husband’s presence, but he was no where to be found.

You slowly sit up, rubbing your eyes free from sleep. You were honest surprised that Hana didn’t wake you two up during the night and Yuji hadn’t woke you up either.

Getting out of bed, you see Nanami had already placed your robe and slippers next to the bed for your convenience. You smile before slipping those on and heading downstairs.

“Nanamin, does this bacon need to be flipped?” You hear Yuji’s voice ask. The soft sounds of Bluey playing on the living room TV also fill your ears, and Hana’s soft babbling can be heard as well.

“Yes, go ahead and flip it.” Your husband instructs Yuji. You two had adopted Yuji after the events at Jujutsu Tech. He needed a family, and you two had a loving home that was painfully empty. Now, it was never a dull moment between Yuji and his little sister, Hana.

You quietly creep into the kitchen, and you smile at the sight. Your husband was clad in a white apron that said, “Kiss the chef”. You had gotten it for him long ago, and he still wears it to this day. He was working making some pancakes while Yuji was tending to the bacon.

Hana was in her bouncer chair in the living room. Nanami rarely ever parked her in front of the TV, but walking around with her in a sling wasn’t an option this morning, not when Yuji was frying bacon and she could be popped with it.

“Merry Christmas, you two.” You said, finally announcing your presence. Yuji looked up at you before his lips turned into a pout, and Nanami let out a small chuckle.

“Good morning, darling. You couldn’t sleep for just a few more minutes? Yuji wanted to give you breakfast in bed as a christmas present.” Your husband walked over to you, and he pressed a kiss against your temple.

“Aw, sorry, Yuu. I was excited to see you and Hana open up gifts.” You said with an empathetic smile, and Yuji’s pout vanishes.

“That’s alright! I can give you breakfast on the couch. It’s almost as good as breakfast in bed.” His bright smile quickly returns to him.

“It’s perfect, Yuu.” You say before ruffling his soft pink hair. He was such a good kid. He deserved the world and more.

A little while later, your family was sat upon the couch. Nanami was passing out Christmas gifts. Hana was sat in your lap as you helped her unwrap her gifts. She, of course, wouldn’t remember this, but this would be your favorite memory of all time.

“Let’s give Hana and Yuji another little sibling next Christmas.” You mutter to Nanami as you two watch Yuji and Hana play together on the floor.

“Ew! I heard that!” Yuji pouted, causing for both you and Nanami to laugh.

TOJI

Sweet baby Megumi was just three days old on his first Christmas. You and Toji had been hoping that the doctors were going to finally discharge you and Megumi, so you two could go home on Christmas.

It’s not that you two had any plans. You both came from broken families, but even if you did have family, you two had agreed on no visitors for the first week. You didn’t want to risk Megumi or you getting sick, especially since all the nasty sickness goes around during December.

You two also just wanted to get use to life with a baby. This was your first, and you were young. There was going to be a small adjustment period, and you wanted to worry about that without also worrying about visitors.

Toji was laid up in the hospital bed with you. He didn’t care about the damn policy. His wife just had a baby. He was going to hold her in his arms as much as he could.

Megumi was in your arms, sleeping away peacefully. “He’s got your eyelashes. I’m jealous.” You murmur to Toji as both of you admire your beautiful baby.

“He’s got your mouth.” Toji offered as consolation, and you let out a small giggle.

“That’s all he got from me. I carried him for nine months, and he had the audacity to look like he fell from your ass.” You comment back, making Toji grin down at you.

“Sorry, ma. Those Zenin genes are unfortunately strong.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “If I could have it my way, he would look just like you.”

“No,” You whispered with a heartfelt smile. Tears blurred some of your vision as your hormones were still so out of balance from birthing a child. “He’s perfect. I love him so much already.”

“Don’t cry, ma.” Toji muttered as he used the pad of his thumb to wipe away your tears. This would only be the 20th time you cried over how much you love your son.

A knock at the door startles you both, and your doctor walks in with a pleasant smile. “Merry Christmas, you two.”

“Merry Christmas.” You respond back in a hesitant tone. The thought of the doctor informing both of you that you had to stay another day worried you to no end. Both you and Toji were going stir crazy inside that hospital room.

“I’m sure both of you are ready to take your little bundle of joy home.” The doctor says as he flips through your chart briefly. “So, I’m going to let you go home today.”

Sighs of relief fill the room. It was probably the best Christmas gift you had ever gotten.

Scratch that, seeing Toji do the “hot dad walk” was definitely the best Christmas gift you had ever gotten. He was wearing a black hoodie, carrying a carseat with your son all bundled in, and he was walking out to the car as a nurse pushed you in a wheelchair (you tried denying the wheelchair, but it’s “hospital policy”).

“We’re bad parents.” You cried on the way home. Toji was flabbergasted by how quickly your mood could change.

“We’re not bad parents. Why would you say that, ma?” He asked as he reached over and rubbed your thigh while driving the car. Megumi was peacefully asleep in the back seat.

“We didn’t get our son anything for Christmas.” You mumble through the tears. Megumi was actually due on December 26th, but he decided to come a little early. You two decided that a newborn didn’t need gifts, and you were heavily pregnant, so the idea of wrapping any gifts didn’t spark you any joy.

“Doll, we literally gave him life. Besides, I’ve only known the brat for a couple days. How should I know what to get him?” Toji jokes, trying to make you feel better about the lack of gifts. You let out a small laugh in response.

“I promise, ma. We’ll give him a better Christmas than you and I ever got next year.”

SUKUNA

“My son will worship no false deity. I’m the only god getting worshipper around here.” Sukuna declared as he covered up Ryu’s ears with his hands.

“Santa Claus is not a false deity, Kuna. He’s a fairytale.” You respond back to your husband as you roll your eyes. It’s not even like your sweet baby could even understand what you two were saying about Santa anyways.

It was his first Christmas, and you were trying to introduce both Sukuna and Ryu to the human traditions for the holiday season. It seemed like neither of them were having it.

“Do curses do anything for the winter solstice?” You ask Sukuna, looking up at him from your seat on the floor as you help Ryu unwrap another gift from Santa you and Sukuna.

“We eat a virgin.” The king of curses reply without skipping a beat, causing you to look up at him with disgust and horror. “Oh, don’t worry, flower. You’re safe. I made sure of that long ago.”

You roll your eyes and give him a pity laugh. Sukuna thinks he’s so funny sometimes. “Yeah, I didn’t think anyone would mistake me for a virgin when I have your baby on my hip constantly.”

“You should have another on your other hip.” Sukuna comments with a wolfish grin. Ever since you pushed Ryu, Sukuna had been gunning to get you pregnant again.

“I think one half-curse, half-human baby is enough, Kuna.” You say with a small laugh while jingling a toy in front of Ryu’s face. He giggles happily as he reaches out to grab it from you.

“You’re the only human that gets away with defying me. You know that? I would’ve already dismantled anyone else.” He comments, and you roll your eyes once again. “I should inform Krampus of your disobedience.”

“Wait- curses believe in Krampus?” You ask as you look back up at him, finally intrigued by what he was saying.

“He’s real. There is no believing in him. He goes around and punishes the naughty children, even curse spawn have to worry about Krampus.” Sukuna informed as he propped his head up with his hand and gave a lazy smile. One of his favorite pastimes was teaching you about his culture. He loved how you always listened and absorbed the information while trying to relate it to human culture.

“Isn’t being naughty what curse spawn are meant to be?” You question as you cock an eyebrow. Sukuna gives a low chuckle in response.

“Yes, but they’re still expected to obey their elders as Ryu is expected to obey us.” His large palm gently pats Ryu head, and your son looks up at him with the most innocent of smiles.

Most babies are inherently terrified of Sukuna as if they could sense the danger from him, but Ryu loved his dad and never showed any signs of fear. The sight of you and Ryu playing with toys on Christmas morning was enough for Sukuna’s heart to grow three sizes bigger.