#it's almost always someone slightly to the side

[hoshifighting]

tutor!woozi (part 2)

check the part 1 (kinktober bonus)

WARNINGS: +18, smut, (oral f. & m.), throat fucking, penetrative sex, mentions of body fluids (cum, spit)

after that night, for all the times you’d wanted to text him, your ego kept its foot firmly on the brake. if jihoon thought you’d just come crawling back after his little remark, he was dead wrong. it didn’t matter how much your body craved another taste of him; no way were you about to give him that satisfaction. besides, it wasn’t like you were the only one who enjoyed that night, despite his attitude. if he wanted it again, HE’d have to come to you.

over the next week, every hallway encounter was a battle of wills. you’d pass by him with your friends, glancing away just slightly so you wouldn’t have to meet his gaze. and while your friends couldn’t help but notice the way jihoon’s friends looked at you as you walked by—waiting for the smirk you always used to throw his way—you’d hold your chin up and act like he didn’t even exist.

the whispers had started up again, too. after all, you and jihoon had been seen together plenty at the start of the semester, supposedly “studying” for a class you knew you didn’t even share. his friends had even toasted him over some rumor that tutoring wasn’t the only “learning” happening during those sessions. and now? they watched you like they were trying to figure out if you’d switched interests, especially when they saw you walking through campus with someone else’s arm casually slung over your shoulder. jihoon’s friends wore confused expressions, and if jihoon himself noticed…well, he didn’t give a single clue.

but it was getting harder to ignore it. especially tonight.

it was 9 pm, and you were dressed and ready for a night at the local bar, hoping a little drink and dance would be enough to take your mind off him completely. heading out, you made the mistake of cutting through his dorm hall, almost jogging to keep the tension from catching up with you. maybe he’d be out. or maybe he was too busy doing something else. you didn’t care. but as you neared the end of the hallway, a hand caught your arm, yanking you backward so quickly that you stumbled.

before you could react, you found yourself inside a dorm room, the familiar smell already cluing you in to where you were before you could fully process it. jihoon’s hand was still around your arm, the dorm was silent, the noise of the hall muffled as the door clicked shut behind you.

“where are you running off to, dressed like that?”

your pulse was racing, but you gave him a steady look, shrugging your arm free of his grip. “does it matter?” you smirked, turning as if to open the door, only to feel him step even closer behind you, blocking the way.

“what’s wrong with you?” you ask, crossing your arms.

you knew you had his attention, and now, for whatever reason, it looked like he couldn’t hold back anymore. jihoon opens his mouth like he’s about to answer, but he bites his tongue, his gaze dropping to the side as if the walls would have a solution for him.

“what’s wrong with me?” he finally retorts, jaw tense. “you had to ignore me that hard in front of my friends? couldn’t even throw a glance my way?”

you let out a genuine laugh. “weren’t you the one who told me not to reach out to you unless i wanted a ‘good fuck’? well, sorry, but didn’t seem worth it.”

his eyes flash. “really? ‘cause you seemed pretty into it at the time,” he counters, almost daring you to deny it.

“maybe i was.” you shrug. “but maybe i got over it.”

jihoon’s jaw clenches, and he takes a half step forward, closing the space separating you. “over it? you think you can just get over it that easy?”

“why not?”

he lets out a scoff, shaking his head. “you’re full of it. bet you thought about that night as much as i did. don’t. lie.”

your heart races, but you lift your chin defiantly. “if i’m full of it, then so are you, mr. i-don’t-need-anyone-reachin’-out-to-me. didn’t think you’d care if i ignored you. you’re all talk jihoon.” you tease, looking up at him, daring him to prove you wrong.

“all talk?” he scoffs, his mouth inches from yours, but he doesn’t close the gap. “maybe you need a reminder of how ‘not worth it’ i was.”

before you can reply, his hand slides down to the curve of your hip, pulling you close as his other hand tilts your chin up. his lips brush against yours in the faintest tease of a kiss before he pulls back, just enough to keep you wanting.

you let out a frustrated huff, trying to close the distance, but he holds you in place, a cocky smirk creeping onto his face. “not so fast... you wanted this, didn’t you?”

“you know i did.”

“so admit it... admit you wanted me to come after you.”

your pride fights to hold out, but the way his fingers dig into your ass meat, the way his voice drops just for you, it’s impossible to resist. “fine,” you whisper back. “i wanted you to come after me.”

he’s leaning in, lips parted, ready to crash into yours finally when your hand presses against his chest. he freezes, eyes flicking up to yours, searching. “bad boys don't get kissed.” you mock, savoring the way his expression falters.

he recognizes that phrase. he opens his mouth, maybe to protest, but he just closes his eyes, breathing out a low exhale through his nose, clearly biting back his response.

but the fury in his eyes returns, darker, and without a word, his hand slides up to the back of your neck, pulling you down with a grip that tells you exactly where this is going.

you let him guide you onto your knees.

“fine,” he mutters, voices gravelly, fingers grazing your jaw. “don’t need your kiss, anyway. got a better idea.”

his thumb drags along your lower lip, pressing until you open your mouth for him, and he can’t hide the hungry look that flashes across his face.

“this mouth of yours,” he mutters, thumb slipping between your lips. “always running it, always pushing me.” he watches intently as you take him in, tongue curling around his thumb, obedient despite the defiance in your eyes. “bet you’ll think twice about mouthing off when you’re choking on my cock.”

he undoes his shorts string, sliding it off, and before you know it, he’s pushing the fabric down just enough to free himself, his cock standing hard, thick and flushed in front of you.

he strokes himself slowly, dragging his length along your lips, smearing precum over them like lipgloss as he says, “you tap my thigh if you need a breath, got it?”

you nod, mouth already watering as you part your lips wider, letting him guide himself between them. his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to make you feel the sharp tug, and then he starts pushing forward, filling your mouth inch by inch until he’s pressing against the back of your throat.

he doesn’t ease up. he moves faster, driving deeper until he’s hitting that spot that makes your throat clench around him, your eyes watering instantly. spit starts to collect at the corners of your mouth, sliding down your chin as he pulls back only to push in again, even deeper this time, his cock stretching your throat wide, demanding every inch of space.

“all that attitude… gone.” his hand tightens in your hair, holding you still as he starts thrusting with a rough rhythm, hips snapping forward. “bet you’d do anything to prove me wrong now, wouldn’t you?”

he’s relentless, each thrust pressing your mouth and throat to their limits, your gag reflex triggered with every push. you feel spit pooling, slipping past your lips as you struggle to keep up with him, swallowing around his length even as he reaches deeper, his cock twitching at the tight, involuntary clenches of your throat.

you’re practically dripping, reduced to whimpers and gasps as he fucks your mouth, his hips rolling forward again and again, no space left for anything but him. when he pulls back for a second, a trail of spit stretches between your lips and the head of his cock, and he groans, wiping the mess over your cheek before plunging in again, going even harder.

“so pretty like this,” he mutters, watching as your eyes grow wetter, each thrust forcing a new wave of spit down your chin and neck, over his thighs. your fingers gripping his thighs for balance, and he smirks, giving a particularly sharp thrust that has you choking, throat convulsing as a line of spit drips down your chin. “that’s right. take it all.”

he starts slowing, grinding his hips forward, keeping himself pressed deep as he lets out a low groan, feeling the way you tremble. and then he thrusts one last time, deeper than before, pushing himself right to the base. he lets out a ragged breath as he stills, his cock twitching as you feel him tense, holding himself there, filling your throat as he spills into you, viscous and hot.

you swallow as best as you can, the bitter taste coating your tongue, but he doesn’t let you pull back right away.

you let the fullness press down on your throat until the edges of your vision begin to blur, the air thinning, everything swimming. you tap his thigh rapidly, a faint, desperate plea, and just as your lungs burn hottest, he releases, pulling you back with a hand steadying your shoulder. you slump onto your heels, shoulders sagging as you gulp down air, your head swimming with the remnants of his hold on you.

his hands stay firm on your shoulders, keeping you steady as you breathe, your throat aches, stretched and raw, the sting of his rough pace lingering with every shallow gulp.

as he maneuvers you onto the bed, his hands slide down impatiently and your dress and panties are gone all in once. he pauses for a moment, taking you in, his gaze raking over the sight of your swollen lips and sultry eyes, glazed with that barely-there smirk. 

he cant do this right now.

he grips your arm, twisting you to fall chest-first onto the mattress, hips lifted up as his arm curls around you.

“you—” you scoff, voice raspy, “can’t you fuck me while looking at my face?”

he lets out a low laugh, leaning close to your ear as his hand slides down your back. “oh, i think you’ve had enough of my face for tonight… plus, i think you look even better like this—bent over and whining.”

you couldnt even have a second to roll your eyes, a comeback on the tip of your tongue, but he’s already there, pressing into you suddenly, stretching your pussy in one hard, unrelenting thrust that punches the breath right out of your lungs. a cry rips from you, loud and hoarse, and you brace yourself against the mattress, fingers twisting into the sheets as your whole body shakes.

"that shut you up?” he breathes, hands digging into your hips as he sets a bruising pace. you can’t even catch your breath, every thrust leaving you reeling, gasping for air. tears prick at your eyes, spilling over as he hits that spot, so precise it’s maddening.

“fuck—s-so deep—” you choke out, incoherent as you press your cheek to the sheets, gripping the fabric so hard your knuckles ache. his fingers dig into the meat of your hips, pulling you back to meet every thrust, his balls slapping your clit making you convulse with everythrust. 

“thought you wanted this, yeah?” he taunts, leaning down. “thought you liked it rough. what, too much for you now?”

“n-no—” you manage, though the word comes out in a broken sob, your voice betraying you. he’s unrelenting, snapping his hips forward with every word, and you can feel yourself falling apart, the way he’s not holding anything back. it’s dizzying and yet you can’t help but crave it, want more, need more.

“thought you could handle it, acting all cocky,” he sneers, giving your ass a hard smack that makes you jolt, a fresh tide of tears spilling down your cheeks.“crying for it. pathetic.”

you let out a choked, breathless sob, the humiliation only heightening the need simmering inside you. “p-please…” you whimper, unable to do anything but plead as he keeps driving into you.

“oh, now you’re begging?” he laughs. “all that attitude, all that talk, and now you’re nothing but a crying mess on my bed.”

another broken cry slips out of you, and he chuckles. his hands trail down your spine, his fingers digging into your skin, grounding you, steadying you in the haze.

“you’re so fucking pretty like this,” he coos. “all desperate… should’ve known you’d like it this way.”

you can’t respond, can’t do anything but let out a helpless, broken cry, body arching, straining against him as you feel your orgasm approaching. and even then, he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, keeping you there.

“you thought you could come in here all high and mighty that night.. now look where that got you.”

“shut up,” you manage to gasp as he snaps his hips harder, the sound echoing in the small space. “you’re—” another thrust cuts you off, drawing another whimper from your throat.

“i’m what? too rough for you? too much for that little mouth of yours? you’ve got no problem talking back when you’re not getting fucked, huh?”

“i said shut up!” you cry out, though your voice is shaky, betraying you. “you’re just—oh my god—”

“just what?” 

“i hate you,” you whimper, even as your body betrays you, arching into him, chasing that sweet friction.

he can hear the contradiction.

“sure you do,” he laughs softly, his breath warm against your skin.

the moment you squeeze him harder, makes him wince, his cock feels so sensitive, after that last mind-blowing orgasm, and he can’t help but throw his head back, his breath hitching in his throat as he fights to control himself.

you’re lost in your own world, eyes shut tight as you cling to him, and he uses that to his advantage. with a smirk curling on his lips, he pulls out slowly, relishing the way your body protests against the emptiness.

“n-no, jihoon!” you whine, instinctively reaching for him. you grab his hand from behind your back, intertwining your fingers with his, a silent plea not to tease you anymore. 

“c’mon, jihoon, just stop teasing me already.” you push your ass against his hips, a cheeky slap echoing in the room. 

he would be lying if he says it doesn’t turn him on, when your existence is enough to make his blood run hot. as he lowers himself behind you, he can’t help but watch the way your pussy clenchesaround nothing, how your curves seem to invite him in. 

he leans in, letting his breath ghost over your skin before he dives in, his tongue swirling around your dripping pussy. you cry all cute on his sheets, like his tongue was a sweet and massaging reward after he destroyed your cunt with his thick lenght.

he lets your clit rest under his tongue as he dives the tip of the wet, pinky muscle, between your folds. just to flick the tongue down again and take the throbbing nerve inside his mouth, making you sob.

his tongue dances across your folds, the slickness of your cum coating him. his mouth is warm and inviting, eager haven as he drinks you in. he alternates between languid licks that tease your puffy lips and insistent flicks that make you roll your eyes. 

your hands tangle in his hair from behind, pulling him closer as you urge him on, the silky strands slipping through your fingers. his fingers tighten around your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he plunges his tongue deeper, swirling it around inside you.

your body is a symphony of slickness, the remnants of your cum coating his chin and the skin around his mouth. he dives back in, tongue swirling around your entrance, licking up every drop of your honey before turning his attention back to your clit.

“i’m so close, jihoon,” you whimper. “that's it!”

he responds by sucking your clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his fingers push into you, the pressure of them stretching you just right. 

as if on cue, you feel that big hot bubble in your lower belly snap, you cry out, each pulse of the orgasm making you tighter around his fingers. 

jihoon couldn't shake the feeling of unease as he watched you get up from his bed, your movements quiet and subdued after your intense orgasm. the post-orgasm glow faded too quickly.

“where do you think you’re going?” he asked as he pulled you back down onto the bed. you landed softly, your eyes wide and innocent as you frowned at him.

“i’m… leaving?” you said, trying to keep your tone light.

he exhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as he fought against the frustration. “you’re only saying that because of how i made you leave the last time, aren’t you?”

you shifted slightly, looking away as if the truth was too difficult to face. “maybe..” you admitted softly, and that single word made his heart sink.

“i’m sorry about that,” he said, sincerity lacing his tone. “i miss those tutoring classes, you know? i didn't mean to push you away like that. it’s just… i think—”

“you think?” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly. “you told me not to come after you unless i wanted a good fuck. not very delicate.”

“that was a mistake,” he insisted, as he searched your eyes. “i didn’t think it would end up like this. i thought we were just messing around.” he ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face. “but i want more than that. i like having you around.”

you looked at him, your expression softening just a little. “so, what? you want to tutor me again? pretend like we didn’t just…” you trailed off.

“no,” he replied firmly. “i want to be honest with you. i want you to want me, not just as a way to fill some need… just like i want you.” he paused, gathering his thoughts.

“so you’re just going to keep me here, like this?” you asked, tilting your head. 

“if you’ll let me,” he replied. “just stay.”

“you really think it’s that easy? just because we had one good round?”

“it’s not just about the sex,” he said, getting nearer. “i want to explore more than that, but only if you’re willing.”

“and if i’m not?” you asked.

“then i guess i’ll have to work a little harder to change your mind,” he teased lightly.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your lips. “good luck with that, jihoon. i’m not that easy.”

“i never thought you were,” he smirked, leaning closer. “but i’m willing to put in the effort. so, what’s it gonna be?”

you bit your lip, “maybe i’ll stick around for a little while longer,” you replied, leaning back into the bed with a teasing smile.

“good choice.”

[chosok-amo]

DO I EVER GET A CHANCE TO BLOSSOM? : GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

being a mother is a dream for almost every woman. the thought of carrying a child inside them and bringing them into the world is also something you want for a moment, but . . just a second the dream shattered right between your feet.

warning. established relationship au, husbands! gojo geto, angst.

the room feels more like a prison than a place of healing, with its cold white walls, sterile smell, and the incessant, mechanical beeping of machines. everything here is sickeningly clean, stripped of warmth and life, as if joy itself would be too fragile to survive in these surroundings. the sterile, metallic tang of medicine hangs in the air, heavy and unforgiving, mixed with the faint, unsettling clink of instruments being shuffled somewhere beyond the door. each sound, each scent digs into you, weighing down every breath, every thought.

your husbands are by your side, their presence grounding you in the middle of this surreal nightmare. on your right, geto’s hand wraps around yours, firm and steady, his thumb brushing soft, comforting circles against your skin. he hasn’t said a word since the doctor’s visit, but he doesn’t need to; his touch alone speaks volumes. you can feel his silent strength radiating through his hand, an unspoken promise that he’s here, that he’ll be here through all of this.

on your left, gojo’s hand is just as tight around yours, though his grip trembles ever so slightly. for someone who usually seems so invincible, so in control, it’s almost unsettling to feel his fingers shaking against yours. he’s normally the one with a mischievous smirk and an easy confidence, but right now, all of that bravado has fallen away, leaving behind a raw, vulnerable version of him you rarely see. his face is tense, hidden behind his signature sunglasses, but you can sense the turmoil in him, even if he tries to hide it.

you look down at your lap, trying to process everything. you’ve been married for nearly five years now, years that have been filled with laughter, adventure, and a deep, unwavering love. despite their busy lives, constantly being called away on missions and responsibilities, they’ve always made time for you, always come home to you. and together, you’ve built a life filled with happiness, support, and dreams. one of those dreams, the most precious of all, has been to start a family—a child to raise, to love, to share all the joy and strength you have with two people you adore.

for years, you’d imagined what it would be like. late-night talks about what they’d be like as parents, joking about whose traits your child might inherit, wondering if they’d have geto’s calm intelligence or gojo’s playful spirit. you imagined tiny hands reaching for yours, little footsteps running through the halls, shared laughter filling your home. every vision of the future had included this—a family with them by your side, watching as the life you’d nurtured together grew.

but now, sitting in this cold, sterile room, you’re faced with a harsh reality. the doctor’s words replay over and over in your mind, each syllable a weight pressing harder onto your chest.

“your heart condition… the risks are severe. pregnancy could strain your body too much. it could put your life in danger.”

the words echo, and they feel like a physical blow, tearing at the vision you’d held onto for so long. you’d always known you wanted kids, always thought it was something that would happen one day. but now, it feels as if that dream is slipping through your fingers, dissolving into the clinical air of this hospital room.

a deep silence settles between the three of you, thick and heavy with unspoken fears. your hands tighten involuntarily around theirs, desperate to hold onto something, to anchor yourself in this moment. a tear slips down your cheek, and you’re only barely aware of it until you feel geto’s thumb brush against your cheek, wiping it away gently. he leans closer, his face soft yet unreadable, his eyes full of a quiet intensity.

you feel the words catch in your throat, your chest tight with a weight so heavy it’s suffocating. your gaze drops to the cold linoleum floor, but the desperate flicker of hope—however faint—pushes you to look up. swallowing hard, you turn your eyes back to the doctor, your voice barely a whisper, cracked and fragile as you speak.

“there has to be something…” your words come out haltingly, breaking over each syllable. “some treatment, anything that could make it safer… is there any possibility?”

the doctor’s expression softens, but it’s a look of sympathy that does little to ease the ache in your heart. they sigh gently, gathering their words with care, and you feel both of your husbands tense beside you, their grips tightening as they hang on the answer just as much as you do.

“there are options,” the doctor replies, and for a moment, hope flickers—a small, fragile spark in the sea of uncertainty. “but they’re limited, and none of them can entirely eliminate the risks.”

you listen intently, clinging to every word, as if each syllable might hold the key to your dream. the doctor goes on, explaining possible procedures, medications, treatments to strengthen your heart… each one sounds like a glimmer of hope, but as they continue, the reality sinks in. no option guarantees your safety, each one carrying its own set of risks and compromises.

“even with these precautions,” they continue, their tone gentle but firm, “pregnancy would still place significant strain on your body. there’s no way to completely avoid the risk, especially given your specific condition.”

a fresh wave of tears wells up, slipping down your cheeks despite your efforts to hold them back. it feels as though your heart is splintering, piece by piece, each fragment a shard of a dream you’d cherished, now scattering away beyond your reach.

you feel geto’s hand tighten around yours, grounding you, pulling you back from the despair threatening to swallow you whole. you turn slightly, meeting his gaze, his eyes filled with an intensity that’s somehow both gentle and unbreakable. his other hand comes up to cup your face, thumb wiping away the tears that keep slipping out, his touch warm against your skin.

gojo watches your face intently, his gaze following as your eyes drop to your lap. he looks down as well, his focus landing on the interwoven fingers of his, yours, and geto’s, the wedding band glinting softly around your finger.

a single tear slips from your cheek, landing on his skin. the sight alone twists something painfully deep inside him, and he feels a wave of nausea at the harsh reality you’re facing. instinctively, he squeezes your hand, offering silent comfort, before turning his attention back to the doctor as they continue explaining your condition.

the doctor adjusts their glasses and sighs, shifting slightly before beginning to explain the complexities of your condition. there’s a gravity to their tone, an unspoken understanding that the words they’re about to deliver aren’t easy to hear.

“your heart,” they start carefully, “has a condition called cardiomyopathy. it's a disease that affects the heart muscle, making it harder for your heart to pump blood effectively. over time, this can lead to weakness, and during times of physical stress, it puts an increased strain on your heart.”

they pause for a moment, glancing at you and your husbands, gauging your reactions. though both of them remain stoic, you feel their hands tighten around yours, their steady grips trying to brace you. you’re nodding, but the doctor’s words feel like they’re sinking deep into your bones, the full weight of them settling heavily.

“pregnancy,” they continue, their tone clinical yet compassionate, “is one of the most physically demanding experiences the body can undergo. it requires the heart to pump a larger volume of blood to support the baby, often up to fifty percent more than normal. for a healthy heart, this additional workload can be managed… but with cardiomyopathy, this level of strain could be life-threatening.”

you swallow hard, feeling the words settle like lead. the room feels even colder now, and you shiver despite the warmth of your husbands’ hands. “what… what exactly would happen if we tried?” you ask, voice trembling.

the doctor’s expression softens as they consider their words. “there’s a high risk that your heart could struggle to keep up with the demands of pregnancy. symptoms of heart failure—like severe fatigue, shortness of breath, and fluid retention—could appear early. if untreated, these symptoms could escalate, leading to dangerous complications for both you and the baby.”

they hesitate, but continue, knowing it’s important you understand. “in the later stages of pregnancy, the strain on your heart could increase to a point where the risk of heart failure or sudden cardiac events becomes very real.”

the words hang in the air, cold and final. the possibilities—the dreams you’d held close, the life you’d envisioned—feel fragile in the face of these realities.

“are there any options?” gojo asks, his voice thick with barely restrained emotion. “anything that would make it possible without risking her life?”

the doctor nods slowly. “we could look into treatments to help strengthen the heart muscle, medications to manage symptoms, and closely monitored care. there may also be assisted options like surrogacy, though i understand that may be a different direction than you’d hoped.” the weight of the decision settles between you, a choice that’s neither simple nor fair.

geto’s throat tightens as the doctor outlines the dangers your heart disease posed to a potential pregnancy. he knew this disease was serious, but the stark reality of what it might mean for your future—and your dreams together—hits him like a punch to the gut.

he glances down at your hand, the ring he’d given you gleaming softly on your finger, and a flicker of guilt worms its way into his heart. he should have known, should have seen the signs sooner… should have taken better care of you.

his mind races with thoughts, each one a barb of worry and anxiety. the idea of you undergoing all that risk, all that pain, to bring a child into the world is almost too much to bear. but he’s torn, caught between the love he has for you and the knowledge that this might not be the life you’d wanted.

he squeezes your hand tighter, anchoring himself to you as the doctor mentions assisted options like surrogacy. the suggestion is bitter to his ears, a reminder of what might have been.

the doctor’s words continue, listing potential options and solutions—treatments, medications, the possibility of surrogacy. each one feels both hopeful and disheartening—a life preserver offered to someone drowning, while simultaneously being reminded that nothing can completely erase the danger your condition poses.

gojo’s question is direct and desperate, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his emotions. “how likely is it that the treatments would be enough?”

the doctor sighs, their expression sympathetic. “even with these treatments, there’s no way to guarantee a safe pregnancy. the risk might be reduced, but it’ll still be considerable. and even if you do get through the pregnancy, the risks of delivering a child and recovering afterwards would be enormous.”

the words hang heavily in the air, the reality of what they’re saying slowly sinking in. even with everything they could do, there were no guarantees—only a series of risks and unknowns. the room feels even colder now, the fluorescent lights above bathing everything in a sterile, harsh glow.

geto guides you gently to sit on the cold metal bench outside the doctor’s office, his hand lingering on your shoulder as he kneels down in front of you. he studies your tear-streaked face, watching how your eyes remain unfocused, fixed on a spot on the floor as if it might anchor you to something stable. your expression is empty, yet tears still trace silent paths down your cheeks, leaving faint stains on your skin.

a pang of deep hurt stirs in his chest as he looks at you. he takes a slow, steadying breath, wanting nothing more than to take away your pain, to shoulder it himself if he could. after a moment, he reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently, his voice soft as he murmurs, “just wait here for a moment, okay? we’ll talk to the doctor.”

he doesn’t want you to hear any more—he’ll take whatever they have to say himself if it means sparing you even an ounce of further heartache. in his own quiet, determined way, he’s protecting you, doing what he can to shield you from any more painful words about your condition.

you don’t respond, too lost in the overwhelming weight of it all, the sterile walls and the lingering smell of antiseptic, the doctor’s words still echoing in your mind. everything feels distant, muted, like you’re drifting somewhere far away.

geto’s voice cuts through the haze, soft and gentle as he calls your name. “hey… hey, look at me,” he murmurs, his hand giving yours a gentle squeeze, coaxing you back, pulling you toward him with a quiet patience. “please... just look at me.”

but you’re still trapped in the fog, staring somewhere past him, your thoughts spiraling, unable to reach him. he calls your name again, this time a little firmer, his tone threaded with worry but steady. “come back to me, please,” he says softly, repeating, “look at me, please. i’m right here.”

after a long, silent beat, you finally look up, your tear-filled eyes meeting his. all you can manage is a faint nod, a small, wordless acknowledgment, barely enough to convey all that’s swimming inside you. but for geto, it’s enough. he watches you with a soft, understanding gaze, gently squeezing your hand as if to anchor you, grounding you in the only way he knows how before he slowly raise on his feet and walk back inside the room where gojo is waiting, already talking to the doctor.

gojo is pacing around the office, running a hand through his white hair in agitation, the other curled into a tight fist at his side. his usual carefree demeanor has been replaced by a tense energy, a stark contrast to his usual easygoing self.

the doctor is standing by the window, looking weary and slightly uncomfortable. they’re not used to dealing with such emotional situations, and the distress of both men in the room is clear. geto enters quietly and closes the door behind him, the click of the latch sounding like a gunshot in the otherwise silent room.

gojo spins around as geto enters, his expression tight with worry and frustration. he turns to the doctor, his voice clipped. “what are the risks, really? how high is the risk?” he asked, desperate for the change of the answer. hoping this might be one of your stupid pranks you and the doctor pull.

the doctor sighs, clearly bracing themselves to explain once more. “the risks are significant. even with the treatments we’ve discussed, the risk of complications for both the mother and the child would remain very high. the possibility of heart failure or sudden cardiac events is a serious concern.”

gojo’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching. “there has to be something more—something we can do to make it safer, even just a bit.”

the doctor adjusts their glasses, their expression empathetic but firm. “we’ve discussed all the options. we could look into assisted reproduction, but even that poses a risk. there’s no easy way around it… this condition makes pregnancy unusually dangerous.”

outside the doctor’s office, you sit alone, the cool metal bench beneath you somehow grounding and yet painfully cold, like the sterile walls around you. everything feels distant, muted, and your mind is heavy with a sorrow that seems too vast to fully understand. you mourn the vision you’ve held onto for so long—the idea of becoming a mother, of holding a child in your arms, of sharing that love with your husbands. the dreams you’d nurtured so carefully seem to dissolve with every painful echo of the doctor’s words, and no matter how hard you try to grasp them, they slip further away.

tears trace slow, hesitant paths down your cheeks, each one carrying a fragment of that hope you’ve clung to. lost in this aching silence, you feel as though the world around you has faded into a blur, leaving only the heaviness of your thoughts and the quiet sound of your own breathing.

you’re so wrapped up in your grief, so deeply entangled in your own thoughts, that you don’t notice at first when someone settles onto the bench beside you. a faint rustling sound reaches your ears, but you dismiss it, assuming it’s just one of your husbands come to sit quietly by your side, respecting the storm of emotions you’re lost in.

but then you hear it—a soft, unfamiliar coo, followed by a tiny, muffled whimper. you freeze, your heart stuttering as the unexpected sound registers in your mind, cutting through the haze of sorrow. it’s the unmistakable cry of a baby.

your head lifts slowly, almost as if in a trance, and you turn to see a young woman sitting next to you. she’s cradling a small, red-faced infant who’s squirming and fussing in her arms, his tiny fists clenched as he lets out a series of hiccuping cries. the woman looks up and meets your gaze, a sheepish, apologetic smile crossing her lips. her eyes are tired, but kind, and she looks as though she hasn’t had a moment of rest in days.

“oh—i’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice gentle, tinged with an embarrassed laugh. “he’s usually calm, but I think he’s a little hungry, and... well, it’s been a long day.”

she adjusts the baby carefully in her arms, trying to soothe him with a soft shushing noise, her hand gently patting his back in an effort to ease his discomfort. but even as she rocks him back and forth, his cries continue, a tiny, plaintive sound that tugs at something deep within you.

for a moment, you’re speechless, just watching them, taking in every detail—the delicate roundness of the baby’s cheeks, the way his little fists flail in the air, the soft, downy hair on his head. there’s a warmth in the mother’s eyes as she looks at her child, a look filled with an overwhelming, unconditional love that seems to radiate from her every movement.

you feel a strange pang in your chest as you watch them, a bittersweet ache that brings fresh tears to your eyes. the woman notices, her smile softening as she gazes at you, her expression filled with gentle understanding, as if she can sense the sorrow you’re carrying.

the woman shifts on the bench, adjusting the baby in her arms as he finally begins to settle, his tiny whimpers fading to soft hiccups. her gaze falls to the ground, her fingers idly tracing small patterns on the blanket wrapped around her child. she lets out a sigh, one that’s heavy with exhaustion and frustration, and then, almost hesitantly, she begins to speak.

“it’s been… a rough time,” she says softly, her words laced with a bitterness she can’t entirely hide. “my husband… he’s so insistent on having more kids, even though we’re already struggling with the two we have. he just… doesn’t seem to understand how much it takes to raise them, not just money, but time, energy, patience… it feels like i’m the only one holding everything together sometimes.”

she lets out a weak, humorless laugh, shaking her head as if to brush away the heaviness of her own words. her fingers tighten around the blanket, and she glances away, as though ashamed to admit her struggles. “and now,” she continues, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper, “now i just found out i’m pregnant again… with twins.”

her eyes close for a moment, and you can see the strain etched into her face, the faint lines of worry and fatigue that seem to weigh her down. her shoulders sag under the weight of it all, and her voice trembles slightly as she confesses, “i don’t know how i’m going to manage it. i’m barely making it as it is.”

you sit silently beside her, listening as she pours out her frustrations, her fears, her anger. the bitterness in her tone is unmistakable, each word filled with a quiet resentment, a simmering resentment towards the husband who doesn’t see, doesn’t understand, doesn’t help. she speaks as though she’s been holding these feelings inside for far too long, and now they’re spilling out, raw and unfiltered.

as you listen, a strange feeling settles in your chest—a deep, gnawing sense of unfairness, one that cuts through your own sorrow like a knife. here she is, a woman who already has two children, who’s now expecting two more, and yet… she feels trapped, overwhelmed by the life she’s been dealt. and here you are, with a loving family, a stable life, and yet, the one thing you want most in the world—to have a child of your own—is slipping further and further from reach.

the contrast feels almost cruel, a painful reminder of the injustice woven into life. she has the thing you yearn for, and yet she struggles beneath its weight, feeling burdened rather than blessed. your heart aches with a confusing mix of empathy and envy, a bitter sorrow that deepens with each of her words. the air between you grows heavy, charged with unspoken emotions, as you both sit there, each lost in your own worlds of struggle and longing.

your chest tightens as you listen to the woman next to you, her tales of exhaustion and frustration cutting deep into your already raw emotions. it’s a stark reminder of the very thing you yearn for, yet a cruel twist of fate keeps it from your grasp.

the unfairness of it all weighs heavily on you, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. she has the very thing you want so badly, the very thing you feel you’ve been denied, and she’s drowning in it, struggling to keep her head above water.

the woman turns to you, her eyes filled with a desperate, weary sort of hope. “would you mind… holding him for just a moment?” she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper, as if afraid of imposing. but before you can respond, she carefully places the baby into your arms, murmuring her thanks as she hurries off toward the restroom.

for a moment, you freeze, unsure, feeling the soft weight settle in your lap. the baby blinks up at you, his cries stopping as he takes in your face, his wide, curious eyes locking onto yours as though studying this new, unfamiliar person holding him. a soft coo escapes his lips, and he reaches one tiny hand toward your face, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek. you can feel his warmth, his small body alive and pulsing with the innocent, unburdened spirit of someone just beginning life.

gently, you tighten your hold around him, cradling him close. his skin is soft and delicate, his little body curling instinctively against yours, as if already trusting you completely. the warmth of him spreads through you, soothing some of the ache in your heart. he babbles softly, his small sounds breaking the silence that has weighed so heavily on you.

slowly, you let yourself smile, just a little. it’s a fragile, bittersweet smile as you watch him. your finger brushes over the downy hair on his head, his tiny fingers wrapping around one of yours in an instinctive, trusting grip. the simplicity of it tugs at something deep within you, a feeling of tenderness you can’t quite put into words.

for a fleeting moment, holding him in your arms, it’s easy to imagine what it might be like—to have a child of your own, to hold them just like this, to watch as they grow, to care for them with all the love you have.

as the door to the doctor’s office opens, your husbands step out, their eyes scanning the hallway, but they don’t see you anywhere. a flicker of worry immediately crosses their faces, an unease that tightens with each passing second of not finding you. but before they can start searching, a woman catches their eye, standing nearby, looking distressed and on the verge of tears.

she notices them and hesitantly approaches, wringing her hands, her voice trembling with anxiety. ’excuse me… have you seen a girl?” she asks, describing your features in detail—the features they know all too well. the woman’s words bring a sense of familiarity to them, but her next sentence makes their hearts race.

“she’s… holding my baby,” she adds, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes filling with fear. the words seem to echo between them, and both their expressions shift, alarm flashing across their faces.

gojo’s mouth parts slightly, and he instinctively reaches for geto’s arm, a tight squeeze that mirrors the sudden worry gnawing at them. a thousand thoughts fill their minds at once—where could you have gone, why hadn’t you told them, and how on earth did you end up holding a stranger’s child?

without a moment’s hesitation, both husbands exchange a look of mutual understanding, and, their expressions serious and determined, they begin to search, the woman trailing after them as they walk down the hall, their hearts pounding in fear and urgency to find you safe and sound.

gojo and geto navigate their way through the hallway, their gazes sweeping the area with a growing sense of unease. they had expected to find you sitting quietly in the waiting room, perhaps even in the same exam room, but your absence is concerning and unsettling.

the woman’s description of you holding a baby sparks a moment of recognition, and their worry escalates into genuine fear. the thought of you being alone with a stranger's child and the possibility of something happening to you is suddenly very real.

you look down at the baby in your arms, and a soft smile spreads across your face as he coos again, his tiny voice bubbling up with sounds that melt away the weight of your earlier despair. he looks at you with wide, innocent eyes, filled with curiosity, studying you in his own baby-like way. you can’t help but let out a small laugh, the sound barely a whisper as you brush your knuckles gently over his plump cheek, marveling at how impossibly soft and warm his skin feels against yours.

“my baby,” you murmur, almost unconsciously, as though saying the words makes this moment a little more real, as if he really were yours, even if only for a heartbeat. The simple phrase stirs something deep within you, a fierce, protective warmth that spreads through your chest, and you lean down to press a tender kiss to his forehead. His skin is so warm beneath your lips, carrying a sweetness and purity that makes your heart clench.

you pull him a little closer to your chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing as he settles against you, his tiny head resting comfortably in the crook of your arm. It’s like he fits perfectly, as though he were made to be here, to be held by you. one of his hands reaches out, gripping at your shirt in his tiny, determined fist, and the sight of it—the smallness, the trust—makes your breath hitch.

you run a gentle hand over his soft hair, stroking the fine strands that feel as delicate as silk, and he gazes up at you with those wide eyes, his tiny mouth parting as if he’s trying to form words. “you’re so precious,” you whisper, voice thick with emotion as you continue to hold him close, like he’s the most delicate treasure in the world.

he makes another small sound, an innocent gurgle that draws a smile from you, and you find yourself instinctively swaying, rocking him gently, as though your body knows exactly how to comfort him. you lean your cheek against his head, inhaling the pure, powdery scent of him, that soft, warm fragrance unique to babies. for a moment, you let yourself dream, holding him tightly, letting yourself imagine what it might be like if he were truly yours, if this precious warmth in your arms was something you could come home to every day.

you tighten your embrace around him, as if you could somehow keep him a little longer, savoring every heartbeat, every small sound.

gojo’s hand moves to your head, his touch tender as he gently pats you, his fingers threading through your hair in a comforting gesture. his voice is soft, almost a whisper, as he leans close. “love,” he murmurs, his tone filled with both sorrow and understanding, “this… isn’t your baby.”

the words come slowly, each one heavier than the last, and you can hear the strain in his voice, feel the weight of what he’s saying. it hurts him to say it, to shatter the fragile happiness he saw on your face just moments ago. his fingers linger on your head, gentle and reassuring, as if he’s trying to soften the blow, to hold you together even as he reminds you of the reality.

you look at him, eyes wide, lost, the pang of realization settling in. it feels like a harsh slap, one that pulls you abruptly from the small world you’d slipped into—the one where, for just a moment, you let yourself imagine holding your own child. your gaze shifts back to the baby, held protectively in the your arms, and the ache in your heart swells.

“i know it’s hard,” gojo continues, his voice barely above a whisper, each word wrapped in the tenderness he reserves only for you. “but… taking someone else’s baby… that’s not what you want. we’ll… we’ll figure this out, alright?” he tries to offer you something, anything to cling to in this moment, his thumb brushing lightly against your temple, hoping his presence can ground you.

your lips tremble, a soft, almost inaudible “no...” slipping from your mouth as your whole body shakes. you instinctively tighten your arms around the baby, pulling him closer to your chest as if protecting him from the world, as if he truly belongs to you. the warmth of the baby against you feels like the only thing real in this moment, the only thing that makes sense in a world that’s suddenly come crashing down around you.

you shake your head, eyes wide with panic and desperation, as though refusing to accept the truth. the baby’s tiny, innocent face is a sharp contrast to the turmoil you feel inside, and it’s all too much to comprehend. the joy, the love, the ache in your heart—it all blurs together, overwhelming you. you can feel the weight of his small body, so delicate, so perfect, and for a brief moment, in your arms, you allow yourself to believe that he’s yours.

as you tighten your hold on the child, gojo's heart aches at the sight. your refusal to let go, your desperate attempt to keep the baby as close as possible, speaks volumes more than any words could. he watches you, seeing the pain and confusion, the longing and the pain, all painted across your face, reflected in the tears that shimmer in your eyes. he knows, more than anyone, how deeply you yearn for this, how painful it is to be reminded of what you don’t have.

he leans in closer, his hand still caressing your head, trying to soothe you. “baby..”

he leans in closer, his hand continuing to stroke your hair, trying to soothe you. “baby,” he murmurs, his voice tender but firm. “i know how much you want a baby… believe me, i do. but… this child, he’s not ours. it’s not right to take him like this.”

gojo’s words hang heavy in the air, each one a painful but necessary truth. his eyes gaze at your face, filled with a deep understanding, but also the weight of a reality you both must face.

before you can even react, the baby is suddenly lifted from your arms. startled, you instinctively reach out, panic flashing across your face. turning around, gojo sees geto standing beside the baby’s mother, who’s holding her child tightly to her chest, her expression a mixture of fear and anger. her eyes narrow as she looks at you, her gaze searing, resentment clear as she holds her baby protectively.

you stand up, the panic rising in your chest as you take a step forward, almost pleading, “it’s my baby…” the words escape your lips, raw and broken, a desperate echo of the fragile dream you were just holding in your arms.

the woman’s face hardens, her glare cutting through you. “how dare you,” she snaps, her voice laced with fury. “how could you just take him? you… you had the nerve to call him yours?” her hands clutch her child even tighter, shielding him as if to ward you off.

you feel the words pierce you, shame and sorrow mixing painfully in your chest. your hands tremble as you lower them, your heart racing, still caught between the desperate, fading hope of a future and the cold reality in front of you. gojo steps closer to you, his hand finding your shoulder, his presence grounding you as you struggle to catch your breath, feeling a sharp ache in the hollow space where the baby had just been.

gojo’s touch on your shoulder is a lifeline, anchoring you to the present while your heart is still clinging to a dream. he stands beside you, his presence a shield against the woman’s anger, his grip on your shoulder steady and firm, as if silently telling you that he’s there for you, that he understands.

he watches as the woman holds her baby away from you, protective and fierce, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and fear. the baby’s cry pierces the air, adding to the painful truth of the moment.

gojo’s touch on your shoulder is like a lifeline, grounding you in a moment where everything feels like it's slipping away. his hand rests gently yet firmly, a silent promise that he's there for you, even as everything inside you screams to hold on to what’s slipping through your fingers. you’re trembling under the weight of your own feelings, but his presence is a small comfort, the only thing that makes you feel like you’re not entirely lost.

you glance at the woman, her eyes blazing with anger and protectiveness, clutching her baby away from you. the baby’s cries are sharp, filling the air with an undeniable reminder of the painful truth. it’s hers. not yours. the desperate ache in your chest intensifies, and you can't help but look at the tiny life in her arms, wishing, hoping, that somehow, it could be yours.

geto, standing beside gojo, looks at you with the same heavy expression that mirrors his, his gaze filled with a sorrow that matches the pain you're feeling. his eyes soften as they meet yours, but there's nothing he can say to ease the ache in your heart. he feels it, too—the agony of watching you break, and it pulls at his soul.

you look at the baby now, tears falling freely as you watch the little one’s cries intensify in the mother’s arms. you can’t help but whisper, “he’s crying because he doesn’t want her...” the words come out like a plea, a desperate attempt to make sense of everything, to try and convince yourself that maybe, just maybe, the baby wants you instead. your voice shakes, raw with emotion, but before you can take a step closer, geto’s hand wraps gently around your arm, stopping you.

his grip is firm, but his eyes are soft as he looks down at you, silently asking you to stop. you try to pull away, but he moves to your other side, standing between you and the woman, as though to shield you from the unbearable truth.

your eyes lock with geto’s, and for a moment, your world narrows to just him, the one person who has always been there for you. you silently beg with him, your expression pleading, but his face remains unreadable. you turn your gaze back to the baby, the ache in your chest deepening.

“please...” you whisper, the words a broken cry as you speak to the woman. “give me the baby... you’re struggling with money, and you have two children already... my husbands and I, we could give him a good life. we could provide for him. please.”

your voice cracks as you continue, your heart breaking more with every word. you sound pathetic. desperate. it’s not a side of yourself you’ve ever shown, but the unbearable weight of this moment has shattered everything inside of you. you know, deep down, that you’re asking for something impossible, but the dream of having a child, of raising a family, drowns out everything else.

you feel small in the moment, exposed, vulnerable in a way you’ve never been before. and even though you know you’re not supposed to be doing this—taking another woman’s child—you can’t stop yourself. the desperation is consuming, the longing for what you can’t have swallowing everything else around you.

gojo’s heart shatters as he hears the pain in your voice, the raw plea for something you want so badly, but can’t have. he can feel the weight of your despair, the aching desire for a life that seems just out of reach. he wants nothing more than to take away your pain but there’s nothing he can say, nothing he can do in this moment to make it right.

the woman’s face is set in a hard, unmoving expression, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and hurt, and the baby’s cries only serve to intensify the tension.

the woman’s eyes narrow with fury, her grip tightening around the baby as her emotions boil over. her voice cracks, sharp and furious as she screams at you, her words slicing through the tension in the air. “how dare you?!” she spits, her voice thick with anger, as she glares at you with pure disdain. “how dare you ask a mother to give up her child?! even if i’m struggling, he’s still my son! no one is taking him from me!”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the world feels like it stops spinning. the rage in her voice is palpable, her protective instincts flaring as she stands her ground. your heart aches, but you can’t look away. you feel the sting of her accusation, the weight of her anger pressing down on you, and despite the deep sorrow inside, there’s a small, quiet voice that tells you she’s right.

you can’t take someone’s child, no matter the reason. the reality of what you've done, of what you’re asking for, sinks in, making you feel smaller, more insignificant than ever. her words echo in your mind as you stand there, trembling under the weight of your own mistake. you want to explain, to tell her that you didn’t mean it like that, that you only wanted to help, but the words die in your throat.

the baby in her arms continues to cry, and you instinctively want to comfort him, but you know now that it’s not your place. not your baby. and even though the longing still burns in your chest, the reality is clear now. you can’t force something that wasn’t meant to be.

you stand there, your words tumbling out in a frantic rush, a desperate attempt to salvage some semblance of control over the chaos swirling inside of you. “i’ll give you money,” you say, your voice trembling. “every month. for compensation. i can help you, just—just give me the baby.”

you look at geto, searching his face for something, anything, to support the madness spilling from your lips. “right, suguru?” you ask, your voice pleading as you turn to him, desperate for him to agree, to somehow make it all okay.

but the moment the words leave your mouth, you realize how irrational, how out of touch with reality they sound. your husbands exchange a glance, and the look in their eyes is enough to break your heart all over again.

geto’s face tightens, his jaw clenched as he watches you. the pain in his eyes is overwhelming, like a weight pressing down on him. he doesn’t respond immediately, as if trying to process what you’ve said, what you’re asking. his silence speaks louder than anything he could say.

gojo, standing beside you, looks just as torn. his usual calm demeanor shattered, replaced with a raw, vulnerable expression. his hand grips your shoulder, not in comfort, but in a desperate attempt to bring you back, to snap you out of this madness.

but it’s clear to them both that you’ve lost yourself in this haze of grief and longing. nothing makes sense. the reality of your situation has overwhelmed you so completely that the words you speak are the frantic pleas of someone who feels like they’re losing everything.

both of them are hurting. deeply. watching the woman holding the baby, and seeing the desperate, disoriented look in your eyes, they feel the weight of your pain, but also the crushing responsibility of your actions. they can’t support you in this. not this. they both want to hold you, to make the pain go away, but even they know they can’t fix everything, no matter how much they wish they could.

as you turn to geto, your pleading eyes searching for validation in your words, the heavy weight of your request hanging in the air, he can feel his own heart breaking. the words you’re speaking, the desperate plea, are like a daggerpiercing his chest. he can’t help but wish he could say yes, that he could fix this situation, that he could make you happy. but the truth is crushing, and he can only shake his head, the words trapped in his throat as he tries to find a way to reply.

but it’s gojo who speaks first, his voice soft but firm. gojo's hand tightens on your shoulder, his voice strained as he speaks, “love...” he begins, his tone quiet and heavy. “you... you know we can’t do that.”

each word feels like a blow, and he can see the pain in your eyes as you listen, as his words sink in. “you know we can’t take someone else’s child,” he continues, each word a lance to your heart. “we can’t just... we can’t just ask her to give up her baby, love. that’s not right.”

you look at gojo, your expression lost and pleading, as if none of this makes sense to you. “but… why not?” your voice is barely above a whisper, thick with desperation. you sound so genuinely confused, like your mind is struggling to grasp a reality that feels so wrong, so unfair.

“she’s struggling, satoru,” you say, gesturing weakly toward the woman. “she doesn’t even have money. she can’t give him the life we can, the life he deserves.” your words are raw, your gaze flicking between the baby nestled in her arms and gojo, searching his face for some understanding.

“she’s having twins. twins. what harm could it be to… to just give us one?” your voice breaks, the plea in your tone aching and vulnerable. “we’d be helping her, making things easier for her. why can’t you see that?”

gojo looks at you with an ache that mirrors your own, his eyes red-rimmed, struggling to hold back tears. his grip on your shoulder is firm, grounding, but his silence cuts deeper than anything. he wants to make this okay for you, to take away the hurt.

gojo’s heart breaks at the pleading tones of your voice, the desperation that seems to cloud your judgment. he wants more than anything to fix this, to make the world right for you again, but the truth is unbearable. the reality is that taking another person’s child is wrong on every level and no amount of pleading, no amount of convincing, can change that.

“love,” he whispers, his voice strangled. “it’s not about how much we can give him, or how much she can. this child is hers, and we have no right to take him.”

he can see the anguish in your eyes before meeting geto’s for a second and back to you, the way you’re struggling to make sense of a world that’s suddenly become so unfair. but the fact remains— this isn’t about what’s easier for the woman or what’s better for the child. it’s about doing the right thing, and the right thing is to leave that child with his mother.

gojo’s hand reaches up, his fingers gently tracing your face, wiping a tear from your cheek. the look in his eyes is filled with pain and sorrow, but more importantly, it’s filled with understanding.

“i know...” he says, his voice strained. “i know how much you want a family. i know how badly you want a child. but love, this... taking someone else’s child isn’t the way...”

you ignore gojo’s words entirely, your heart and mind spiraling as you drop to your knees in front of the woman, desperation pouring out of you. your hands tremble as they reach out, clasping her knees, and you look up at her, your face streaked with tears, eyes wide with a raw, unfiltered plea.

“please,” you whisper, voice breaking. “please… if you can’t… if it’s too much for you, give him to me.” your words tumble out, nearly incoherent in their urgency. “or… or sell him to me,” you add, the words slipping past your lips without thought, your desperation clouding everything else.

the woman stares down at you, her expression shifting from shock to anger, but you don’t stop. you press the top of your head against her knees, bending forward as you sob, shoulders shaking with each breath. “i can’t—i can’t get pregnant,” you manage, voice choked. “i’ll never… i’ll never be a mother. please… please, just… please let me have him.”

the room seems to close in around you, all sounds muted except for your own quiet, desperate cries. your husbands stand nearby, their faces etched with pain and helplessness as they watch you, seeing the extent of your suffering laid bare.

gojo’s hand hovers over your shoulder, uncertain, as if afraid to break the fragile shell of your sorrow, while geto’s gaze is fixed on you, his face drawn with grief. they feel every ounce of your pain, yet are bound by the truth they can’t alter—no matter how deeply they wish they could take this agony away.

gojo steps forward, his face tight with remorse as he looks at the woman, who clutches her baby protectively to her chest. “i’m so sorry,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “please… just go. thank you for your patience.”

the woman stares back, her expression a mixture of confusion and hurt, but she nods slightly before turning and hurrying away, the baby’s soft cries fading as she disappears down the hall.

as the door clicks shut, geto moves immediately, sinking down beside you, his arms reaching around your trembling form. he pulls you close, wrapping you in a firm embrace, one hand cradling the back of your head as you press against him. he holds you tightly, his touch a gentle anchor amid the storm inside you, grounding you even as you break down, sobs spilling from your chest in waves.

gojo watches as the woman and the baby disappear down the hallway, his heart aching in his chest. the silence that follows is heavy and oppressive, the atmosphere thick with sorrow and disappointment. he feels a pang of guilt, realizing that his words, despite being true, couldn’t soothe your pain, couldn’t change your reality.

he sees geto pull you against him, the way you cling to him, your body trembling with sobs. gojo stands there, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he struggles with the feeling of helplessness that washes over him.

seeing you like this, so vulnerable and broken. seeing you so shattered, so utterly broken by something he can’t fix, is like a dagger to his heart. he wants to fix it, to make it all better, but he can’t. and that realization, the feeling of being powerless to bring you the happiness he knows you deserve, is eating him alive.

geto’s gaze drifts up to meet gojo’s, and for a moment, they share a look—one filled with a profound helplessness neither of them is used to feeling. gojo’s jaw tightens, his hand resting on your shoulder as he murmurs softly, “let’s get her home. she don’t need to be here anymore.”

geto nods, his expression heavy with sorrow as he carefully slides his arms beneath you, lifting you into his embrace with gentle strength. you curl into his chest, clinging to his shirt as if it’s the only thing keeping you tethered. he cradles you close, his grip secure, yet tender, as though he fears you might shatter any moment.

gojo walks ahead, clearing a quiet path as they make their way through the sterile hospital corridors and out into the fresh air. every step is quiet, purposeful, the weight of the moment hanging between them. they reach the parking lot, the cool breeze offering a slight comfort as they move toward the car. gojo opens the door, waiting as geto settles you gently in the backseat, tucking a blanket they always keep in the car around you as if it might shield you from the ache of reality.

both men share another look—one that speaks of the hurt they’re carrying for you, the unspoken promise that they’ll stay by your side through it all, no matter how heavy it gets.

geto sits beside you in the backseat, his hand gently combing through your hair, his touch a silent reassurance. gojo starts the car, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror to check on you, his heart clenching at the sight of you, bundled in the blanket, your eyes empty and vacant, your body still trembling lightly.

the car ride is silent, the only sound coming from the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from you. gojo keeps his eyes on the road, his fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his thoughts a turmoil of worry and despair.

“she’s asleep..” gojo notices you’ve fallen asleep in the backseat, the exhaustion of everything you’ve been through evident in your closed eyes and the deep breaths coming from your lips. he looks back a few times, his heart constricting each time he sees your weary form.

he glances over at geto beside you, who’s watching silently as well. the two men exchange a look, a thousand wordless thoughts and emotions passing between them in that instant, before gojo diverts his attention back to the road.

geto keeps his gaze on you, his hand still gently stroking your hair, his fingers tracing soft, slow circles against your scalp, as if hoping the rhythmic motion might offer some comfort in your sleep.

the rest of the car ride passes in a silent, heavy tension. neither gojo nor geto speak, the depth of their worry and despair is too great for words. they both feel as though they’ve failed you, even though they know they’ve done everything they can.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, they pull into their driveway. gojo cuts the engine, the sudden quiet only adding to the heavy atmosphere. he looks over his shoulder at you, your face still and peaceful in sleep, the pain and sorrow gone for the moment.

gojo steps out of the car first, moving around to open the door for geto as he carefully lift you from the backseat, working in tenderness to carry you inside, his hands and arms gentle and protective against your body.

once inside, he leads the way down the hall, heading straight for your shared room and gently laying you on the bed. he pulls off your shoes and slides you further up the bed, pulling the sheets over you as you continue to sleep. geto looks down at you, concern etched into his features, his heart aching in his chest. he sits beside you on the edge of the bed, watching as your chest rises and falls with each breath.

gojo stands in the doorway, his face drawn and weary, his eyes tracing over your sleeping form with a mixture of pain and heartache. seeing you like this, so vulnerable and broken, is tearing him apart, the knowledge that he’s powerless to ease your suffering gnawing at his heart.

“she’ll be okay…” he whispers, more to himself than to geto, a silent hope that speaking the words might make them true. geto doesn’t respond, his eyes glued to you, his hand resting atop the blankets that cover your form. he’s just as worried as gojo, just as hopeless. he knows better than anyone that time is the only healer in situations like this, and time can be a brutal remedy.

gojo steps outside the room, letting the door open, his movements mechanical, stiff—as if keeping himself together is all he can manage, leans back against the wall, the cool surface grounding him as he shoves his hands into his pockets, fingers curling into fists. he tries to steady his breathing, tries to force himself to be strong for you, for geto. but the weight of everything finally breaks through, and the tears begin to slip silently down his cheeks. he doesn’t wipe them away, just stands there, letting the grief settle in his chest, heavy and unrelenting.

inside, geto still sits on the edge of the bed, his gaze locked on your hand resting atop his lap. he swallows thickly, feeling the tightness in his throat as he lets himself tear up, his vision blurring as he studies your wedding ring—the small, delicate circle that symbolizes the promises they made to you, promises they feel helpless to fulfill. his thumb gently brushes over the ring, and he bites down hard on his lip, the pain a small distraction from the ache in his heart.

for a long moment, geto just sits there, his hand never leaving yours, grounding himself in the warmth of your touch. he wants to say something, to offer you comfort, but he knows words would fall short. so he simply stays, his silent tears falling as he holds your hand, hoping that maybe, somehow, his presence can bring you even a small measure of solace.

gojo stands just outside the room, his shoulders slumped, the weight of his grief and helplessness evident in every line of his body. he watches as geto’s shoulder trembles slightly, the quiet sobs that geto tries to suppress as he sits beside you on the bed. gojo feels his heart break further each time he sees geto struggling to hold it together, knowing he can’t ease his own or geto’s pain right now.

he wants to step forward, to offer comfort, a hand on a shoulder, a word of reassurance, anything. but he can’t move, a part of him afraid that the moment he steps into the room, the dam holding back his own tears will break for good. instead, he just stands there, the sound of geto’s soft weeping echoing in his ears, a silent testament to a pain that refuses to stay hidden.

it had been days since that painful incident, and each one weighed heavily on you. you’d barely left the bed, consumed by a deep, silent grief that kept you withdrawn, the hurt sinking deeper with every passing hour. you barely ate, barely spoke. you’d turned away from your responsibilities, from jujutsu high, from the life you’d built with such dedication. instead, you lay in bed, letting exhaustion take you each night as tears ran dry against your pillow.

tonight, though, the weight of your sorrow pulled you from bed in the middle of the night. in a daze, you found yourself drifting to the walk-in closet, your only escape from the endless loop of sorrow. sitting on the carpeted floor, you pressed your back and head against the shelf, drawing some comfort from its solidity as you sat there, letting soft murmurs slip from your lips—whispers of thoughts you barely registered yourself.

in the dark bedroom, geto stirred, reaching out instinctively for you, only to find the sheets cool and empty. he blinked, the room settling around him as he sat up, trying to piece together where you could be. beside him, gojo still lay asleep, his face etched with lines of exhaustion and worry, even in sleep.

then geto saw it—the faint glow of light spilling out from the closet, and he heard your soft voice drifting from within, quiet, like a sorrowful melody he couldn’t quite make out. with a sigh, he slipped from bed and moved toward the closet, the sound of his bare feet soft on the floor.

as he reached the doorway, he found you there, sitting alone on the carpet, your figure almost blending into the shadows, shoulders slouched, your head leaning back as you stared blankly ahead. slowly, you turned your head toward him, your expression so exhausted, so worn, yet somehow you mustered a weak, fleeting smile—one that tugged painfully at his heart.

“hey,” he whispered, his voice soft and tender, laced with the worry he felt deep within.

“hey,” you murmured back, your voice barely audible, like the faintest crack of light through a closed window.

geto lowered himself onto the floor beside you, his eyes gentle as they took you in. he reached out, his hand finding yours while the other arm wrap around your shoulder. his thumb tracing delicate circles over your knuckles, grounding you both. for a moment, neither of you spoke. there was nothing to say that hadn’t been said already, no comfort that could ease the ache you both felt. but his presence, solid and steady, brought a small glimmer of warmth to the cold grief wrapped around you.

gojo slowly blinked open his eyes, the absence of your warmth on the sheets drawing him from sleep. confusion clouded his vision when he found the bed empty beside him, and for a moment, he simply lay there, the lingering remnants of sleep still holding onto his mind.

then, the low murmurs of a quiet voice drifted through the silent room, pulling him completely into wakefulness. his eyes focused in the darkness, and in the faint glow spilling from the crack in the walk-in closet doorway.

he sat up in bed, the covers pooling around his waist as he listened to the familiar cadence of your voice, the strain in your tone a harsh contrast to its usual smoothness and strength.

he could pick up snippets of your quiet, almost broken-sounding whispers, but the words were indistinct in his ears, lost in the haze of sleep and worry. the only thing that was clear was the sorrow, the despair that seemed to linger around each syllable.

gojo threw off the covers. the floor was cold beneath his feet, the hardwood offering no comfort against the icy chill that seemed to settle in the absence of your presence in the bed.

the cool night air hit gojo’s bare legs as he threw off the covers, the warmth of sleep vanishing with every step toward the closet. each step on the hardwood felt like a jolt to his heart, the icy chill settling not just in his feet, but in the aching place where you should’ve been beside him.

he found himself pausing at the doorway, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of you and geto on the floor, hunched together in the glow of the closet light. geto’s hand was gently intertwined with yours, his other arm wrapped protectively around your shoulders as if he could somehow shield you from the sorrow that weighed you down.

gojo forced a small smile, leaning casually against the door frame, as if to lighten the mood. “having a party without me, huh? i see how it is,” he joked, trying to inject a little warmth into the quiet room. “the invite must’ve gotten lost in the mail.”

you looked up, and for a moment, that familiar sparkle flickered in your eyes, even if just for a second. your lips lifted in a sad, faint smile as he crossed the small space and sat down beside you, pressing his shoulder against yours with a gentle nudge.

“oh, satoru,” you murmured softly, holding up the tiny, delicate baby clothes in your hands. “i… i bought these without thinking.” your fingers ran over the soft fabric, as if the touch itself was soothing, but your gaze was distant, lost somewhere else, somewhere softer, somewhere that felt far away from this pain. “they were so cute. i couldn’t help myself.”

you managed a laugh, but it was hollow, filled with sorrow. “i… i thought, maybe… one day, you know?” your voice cracked, and gojo’s heart clenched as he saw the tear slipping down your cheek. he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you gently against him, while geto’s hand tightened around yours.

you looked at the tiny clothes again, a fresh wave of grief in your gaze. “i was just about to throw these out,” you whispered, barely meeting their eyes. “they’re just… they’re just a reminder now.”

gojo’s throat tightened, the sight of the baby clothes clutched in your hands, a painful reminder of what might’ve been. his arm tightened around you, pulling you snugly against his side as geto’s grip on you tightened too, the three of you creating a silent bubble of comfort in the dim light of the closet.

“you don’t have to throw them away if you don’t want to,” gojo said quietly, his voice soft as he took in the delicate fabric, the innocent symbolism of a future that was so suddenly snatched away.

your fingers traced over the fabric, trembling as they glided across each tiny fold and seam. the baby clothes were soft, achingly so, and it was like holding a piece of a dream that had slipped through your fingers. your lips quivered, a quiet murmur escaping as you whispered, “it’s... so soft.” the words fell from your mouth, barely more than a breath, but they carried the weight of everything you’d hoped, everything you’d imagined.

your hand lingered, stroking the fabric as if comforting yourself through the gentle touch. tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision, and you couldn’t look up at gojo or geto—couldn’t face the pity, the sorrow that mirrored your own pain. instead, you kept your gaze on the tiny clothes in your hands, clutching them as if they were a lifeline, a piece of the child you’d longed for.

“i thought... i thought one day...” you choked on the words, a tear slipping down your cheek, dampening the fabric. “i thought one day they’d be filled. they’d... they’d be his. or hers.” your voice was a trembling whisper, barely holding together under the weight of your grief.

gojo’s heart ached with each word, each broken confession that echoed in the quiet of the closet. the weight of your sorrow, the quiet pain in your voice, it was all too much. he swallowed past the lump in his throat, his grip on you tightening—a silent, wordless offering of comfort.

“you can keep them.” gojo said, his voice quiet but firm. he leaned closer, his arm around you pulling you a little closer, his fingers tracing small circles on your shoulder, “if... if it helps. you don’t have to let go.”

geto, his fingers still intertwined with yours, listened silently, his eyes on you, watching the mixture of pain and longing that played across your face. he could almost feel the weight of your sorrow, the ache in his heart matching yours.

he gently squeezed your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he spoke, his voice a low, comforting murmur. “you don’t have to do anything right now,” geto said, echoing gojo’s sentiment. “we’re here. we’re right here with you.”

your voice was barely a whisper, the words thick with the weight of everything you’d been carrying for days. you rested your head on gojo’s shoulder, your body trembling with the sobs you tried to suppress but couldn’t hold back any longer. “i’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice shaky and fragile. “i’ve been so... so sad all these days, and... i just... i can’t help it.”

your hands gripped the soft baby clothes tighter, as if holding onto something—anything—that might make the pain just a little more bearable. you could feel their presence around you, the warmth of both of them, and yet the emptiness inside felt overwhelming.

gojo pulled you even closer, his face burying into the top of your hair as he held you tight, his arms strong and comforting around you. “don’t be sorry,” he said fiercely, his tone brooking no argument. “don’t you dare apologize. you’ve been through something unbearable. you don’t have to pretend to be okay. we’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.”

geto moved in closer too, his knee bumping against yours as he shifted, his voice firm and reassuring, “you’ve done nothing wrong. you can feel whatever you need to feel, we’re here for you,” he echoed gojo’s words, his hand holding yours, the warm, tangible contact a lifeline in the sea of grief that surrounded you. he moved slightly, his free hand gently brushing the dampness from your cheeks, his touch tender and soothing. “you don’t have to hold back. not with us. you don’t have to be strong. not right now.”

tears welled up again, threatening to spill over, and you couldn’t stop the overwhelming flood of emotions. “i don’t want to keep hurting you both,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “you’ve been so patient, so kind, and i just feel like i’m breaking apart... and i don’t want to drag you down with me.”

but even as the words left your lips, the warmth of their embrace told you everything you needed to know. gojo’s hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, while geto’s fingers gently brushed through your hair, both of them offering their quiet support, their unspoken understanding.

“you��re not breaking us,” gojo murmured, his chin resting on the top of your head, his breath stirring the fine strands of your hair. “you could never break us,” he said, his voice strong and sure. “we’re here for you. through the good, through the bad. we’re not just going to abandon you because you’re hurting.”

geto’s hand slid to your cheek, his fingers gently tracing along your jawline, his gaze filled with pain and love, “you’re our wife,” he said quietly. “our soul. our everything.”

your head lifted slowly from gojo’s shoulder, your eyes searching his face with a flicker of something new—something more hopeful. for the first time in days, there was a spark of determination, an ember igniting in the midst of your grief. your fingers trembled slightly as they reached up, brushing through gojo’s hair, as you locked eyes with him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“maybe...” you started, your voice shaky but gaining strength as you went on. “maybe we should try. maybe the doctor was wrong.”

you could feel your heart race at the words, a mix of vulnerability and hope swirling inside you. you wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. that maybe, just maybe, things could work out—despite everything that had happened. despite the crushing weight of loss you still carried. maybe you weren’t as broken as you thought.

“what if we give it a shot?” you whispered, eyes darting between your two husbands, your gaze now full of hope. “maybe there’s a chance. maybe... we could try again.”

“no,” geto’s voice is quiet, answering without hesitate, the gentle steadiness in his tone somehow making the words sting even more. “i know how much you’ve dreamed about having a family, raising a child together.”

his words are comforting yet heartbreaking, an acknowledgment of the unspoken fears you both share. you feel a tightness building in your throat as you fight to hold back tears, feeling the weight of his hand grounding you. but it’s gojo’s voice that breaks the silence next, and it’s strained in a way that cuts right through you.

“but… we can’t lose you.” his words come out in a whisper, barely above a breath, and there’s a tremor to it you rarely hear. he looks down, his head hanging low as he grips your hand, his knuckles white with the intensity of his hold. “i don’t… i can’t imagine… if something happened to you.”

gojo’s grip on your hand tightens, the thought of losing you, his lifeline, too much even to speak of. geto's hand on your cheek feels like an anchor, keeping you grounded, even as your heart races in anticipation of gojo’s next words.

“not at the risk of losing you. never.” he continues, his voice firm despite the strain. “i can’t… i’d never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you.” he lifts his gaze from the floor, his eyes meeting yours, a mix of love and fear swimming in the blue depths. “i would give up everything, give up the idea of family, if it meant keeping you safe. losing you would be an emptiness… a pain… that i wouldn’t survive.”

gojo’s gaze shifts up again, from geto before meeting yours, the depths of his love and worry so achingly clear in his eyes. “i can’t lose you,” he repeats, the words catching slightly in his throat. “i can’t risk it. i’m not willing to gamble with your life. you’re too precious to us. too precious to me.”

geto’s hand moves to your chin, gently guiding your gaze towards him. his expression is gentle, filled with care, and yet there is an almost unbearable sadness lurking in the depths of his eyes. “please understand,” he says softly, “we value your life above everything else.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but geto’s soft, steady voice stopped you before you could speak any further. his hand on your chin held you gently, but firmly, as if trying to ground you in the moment, to make sure you understood his words clearly.

“no buts,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, a quiet plea in his eyes. “this isn’t about what you want, love. it’s about your life. and we’re not willing to risk it. not for anything, not for anyone.”

his words hit like a cold wave, each syllable piercing through the haze of desperation you’d been holding onto. you felt your heart falter, the overwhelming urge to fight back, to keep grasping for that sliver of hope, but deep down you knew the truth in his voice. the painful truth that your husbands loved you far too much to let you endanger yourself again, no matter how much you wanted to try.

“you mean everything to us,” gojo added softly, his voice barely a whisper, as if he too was struggling to keep the weight of it all from breaking him. “we can’t lose you. not like this.”

geto’s thumb gently brushed your cheek, his expression softening, even as sorrow shadowed his gaze. “we would do anything to see you happy, but we can’t let you sacrifice yourself for a dream. your health, your life... that’s what matters most to us. not the baby, not anything else. just you.”

the words wrapped around you like a vise, heavy and final. it felt as though the very thing you clung to—the hope of motherhood, the thought of a family—was slipping through your fingers. the ache in your chest deepened, but as you looked into the eyes of both your husbands, you saw only love, only the raw, painful care they had for you.

you swallowed hard, the tears that had been on the edge of falling finally breaking free. you didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to let go of the dream, but you knew—they were right. the risk was too great, and they were asking you to protect yourself, even if it meant letting go of a piece of your heart.

“i understand,” you whispered through the sobs, your voice small, fragile.

gojo’s arm pulled you closer, wrapping tightly around your shoulders, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back and his face burying into your hair. his body trembles slightly, fighting back his own tears as he holds you fiercely.

“we love you,” he whispers hoarsely. “so much. please, understand that this... this isn’t about not wanting a family with you. it’s about keeping you safe.”

geto’s hand moved from your chin, his fingers tracing down your neck, the touch gentle, as he stepped closer, his own eyes glossy with unfallen tears. “we want a future with you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with love, “a long, long... safe and happy future. and we won’t take any risks with that.”

he gently pulls you to his chest, holding you close, his arms wrapping around your frame as he cradles your body. his heart is hammering against yours, the rhythm a quick, nervous staccato that speaks of the fear they’re both feeling.

“please, please understand,” gojo’s voice is a quiet, desperate plea, “it’s not that we don’t want kids with you. it’s that we want you to be safe. we want to keep you safe. we both do.”

geto’s hand is stroking your hair, his lips pressed softly against the top of your head as he holds you closer. the pain in his voice is evident as he adds, “we want you to be healthy, happy… with us… for a long time.”

you nod slowly, pressing your face against geto’s chest as a defeated “okay” slips from your lips, barely more than a whisper. your voice trembles with the weight of the word, laden with acceptance and heartache all at once. the surrender in your tone brings a wave of relief mingled with sorrow to both your husbands, who tighten their embrace around you as if shielding you from the pain of letting go.

geto’s hand gently strokes your hair, his lips brushing your temple in silent reassurance. his hold is steady, strong, grounding you as you lean into him. gojo’s hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours after he wraps his arms from behind, squeezing gently, offering a quiet reminder that he’s here, that they’re both here.

gojo's head rests on yours, his forehead against your hair, his breathing soft and steady against your neck. his body is a warm, solid presence behind you, a shield against the emptiness, a constant that you can rely on.

geto leans down, his mouth brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “we're here. we'll always be here.”

the room is silent, the quiet interrupted only by the shared, steadying rhythm of your breaths. in the comfort of their embrace, there is a heartbreaking beauty to the moment, a quiet strength in the simple act of being together.

gojo’s hand gently releases yours, his fingers tracing up your arm in a slow, careful path. it comes to rest on your waist, the thumb tracing soothing, repetitive circles against your hip. a silent, gentle touch, an attempt to soothe your aching heart as he continues to lean into you, his body curved around yours.

geto’s hand in your hair is now a gentle, almost massaging motion, his fingers slowly sliding through the strands, his touch both comforting and intimate. they hold you—not as if you’re fragile or broken, but as if you’re precious, valuable, worth every

breath and second of their time. gojo and geto’s silence speaks louder than words—the steadiness of their presence, the tenderness of their touch, the quiet strength in their hold. they love you, they love you so desperately, and you can feel it with every beat of their hearts, every soft exhale as they hold you.

in the quiet of the car, geto’s fingers tap rhythmically on the steering wheel as he stares at gojo, both of them caught in the tension of their unspoken thoughts. they glance into the backseat, where two small, confused faces peer back at them. the boy with pink hair and brown eyes clutches the sleeve of the other boy with jet black hair and striking blue eyes, looking to him for reassurance, even in their silence.

geto sighs, voice low and uncertain. “i don’t know how she’ll react. bringing two strangers—two kids—into the house... especially when she’s going through so much.”

gojo shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “i know,” he says, his tone hesitant. “but we can’t just… leave them. we found them because they were being hurt—abused by the villagers just because they have jujutsu. we can’t turn our backs on them now.” his words are resolute, but his expression falters. behind his cool, stoic front, there’s a softness, an unwillingness to abandon these two boys who have already been through so much.

geto looks away, taking a moment to weigh their choices. he knows gojo’s right, knows he doesn’t have it in him to just leave these kids to fend for themselves. not after what they’ve seen, and not when they have a home to offer, even if things are complicated. but he also knows you, and he knows how fragile things are right now.

the pink-haired boy shifts, sensing the tension, and tightens his hold on his friend’s arm. the boy with blue eyes stares back at the two men, his gaze unwavering, as if waiting for them to make a decision, as if he’s already used to uncertainty and the discomfort of being unwanted.

geto glances at gojo, reading the determination in his face, the concern for the boys, and sighs. he can feel a sense of responsibility for them too, the same feeling that has him glancing at the boys’ faces in the mirror, their wide eyes silently pleading.

he turns back to gojo, his own expression torn, “you don’t think she’ll… react badly?” he asks softly, his voice filled with worry. “after… everything that’s happened, i don’t want to overwhelm her.”

geto’s words hang in the air, the weight of their implications obvious—the fear of further straining the delicate balance of your current state, the worry of adding to the emotional burden you’re already carrying.

gojo’s gaze flickers to the boys in the backseat again, their innocent faces watching them, waiting. he can feel the tension in his own chest, the conflict of wanting to help these kids and protecting you from further sorrow.

gojo lets out a quiet, resigned sigh, his hand running through his hair one last time before he nods toward geto. “let’s just… see how she reacts. if it’s too much… if it hurts her more, we’ll figure something out.” his voice carries a tone of forced steadiness, but geto can see the conflict still etched in his eyes. he’s trying to reassure himself as much as he’s trying to reassure his friend.

with that, gojo pushes open the car door and steps out, the night air feeling heavier than usual. he circles to the backseat, pausing as he looks at the two boys through the glass, their small faces gazing up at him with a mix of uncertainty and trust. he softens his stance, letting his usual intimidating presence melt away, and carefully opens the door.

kneeling down to their eye level, he offers a gentle smile, his voice as soothing as he can manage. “hey… you’re safe now, alright? no one’s going to hurt you here.” his hand extends, and the pink-haired boy looks at his friend before they both reach out to gojo, taking comfort in his calm demeanor.

“come on out,” he says softly, his hand light on their backs as he guides them out of the car. “we’re going to take you inside. there’s someone very special to us who lives here too, and she’s… she’s going through a tough time, so we’ll need to be gentle with her. but i promise, you’re safe.”

the boys nod quietly, their small frames pressing closer to gojo as he stands, keeping them close as they walk toward the house with geto following behind. his heart aches, knowing they’re stepping into something complicated, but he feels a flicker of hope as they near the front door.

gojo can hear the quiet, anxious breaths of the boys standing next to him, their hands gripping his shirt. their wide eyes are fixed on the door, filled with both fear and anticipation. he glances at geto, their unspoken understanding of the situation heavy between them.

he gently pats the boys’ heads, hoping to soothe their uneasiness. “don’t worry,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “everything’s going to be alright.” he reaches out, his hand wrapping around the cold, brass doorknob, and with a soft inhale, he pushes the door open.

the soft creak of the hinges seems unusually loud in the quiet night, a prelude to the quiet of the house and the unknown that awaits inside. gojo feels the boys’ grip on his shirt tighten slightly, their small bodies tensing with nerves.

he leads them quietly inside, their footsteps muted against the smooth wooden floor. the house is still, as if holding its breath, the only sound coming from the boys’ soft breathing and the slight creak of the old floorboards beneath their feet.

geto places a steady hand on gojo's shoulder, a silent agreement passing between them as he asks him to stay with the boys in the living room. gojo nods, a gentle understanding in his eyes as he watches geto head outside.

in the backyard, you sit quietly on the bench, your face softly illuminated by the last light of the day. the glow of the sunset dances across your features, casting a gentle warmth over you. at the sound of approaching footsteps, you slowly open your eyes, turning to see geto’s familiar figure walking toward you.

he gives you a soft smile, the kind that holds a thousand unspoken words, and sits beside you, close enough that you can feel his presence in every quiet beat between you.

“hey…” he whispers, his hand reaching out to brush a few strands of hair from your face. he lets his fingers linger for a moment, tracing gentle circles, a small comfort as he gathers his words.

“i need to talk to you about something,” he says, his tone tender, careful. you can see something in his eyes—an unspoken depth, a mixture of love and worry. he holds your gaze, waiting for you to take in the moment, as if he knows how much you’ve been through and wants to ease you into whatever’s coming next.

under geto’s touch, your heart stutters, the familiarity of his gesture settling something deep within your chest. you lean your head into his hand, relishing the small comfort it offers, but you can feel something in the air, a tension that he’s trying to hide behind his soft smile.

you listen as he speaks, your eyes never leaving his. you can tell he’s carefully choosing his words, threading a delicate needle between what he needs to say and your current fragile state.

geto’s voice is soft, almost tentative, as he begins, “love… there’s something i need to tell you.” his hand remains a reassuring presence on your shoulder, grounding you as he carefully chooses his words. “gojo and i… we brought home some kids.”

you blink, a flicker of surprise crossing your face, and he takes a breath before continuing. “during our mission, we found these two boys. they were… kept in a cage, treated like they were less than human, all because of their cursed energy.”

he watches your expression closely, as if bracing himself for your reaction, hoping he’s not overloading you. there’s a slight sadness in his eyes as he speaks, feeling the weight of what he’s just shared.

“we… we couldn’t just leave them,” he adds, voice laced with quiet conviction. “i talked to gojo, and we both agreed—they don’t have anyone else. they were being hurt for something they can’t control, something they were born with. we… we couldn’t just turn away from that.”

he pauses, waiting, his hand gently tracing soothing patterns on your shoulder, his gaze never leaving your face as he lets the gravity of his words settle between you.

before you can even form a response, geto’s words rush out, almost in a tumble, “just for a night or two, love,” he assures quickly, his tone soft but slightly anxious. “we’re… we’re not trying to make this more difficult for you. it’s just temporary, okay? just until we figure something else out.”

he gives you a small, hopeful smile, his hand still on your shoulder, trying to soothe any worries that might be surfacing in you. “we don’t want you to feel overwhelmed. i know things have been… heavy lately. we’ll handle everything, i promise. you don’t even have to see them if you’re not up for it.”

he’s watching you with a gentle, pleading look, his gaze searching your eyes, hoping that his words are enough to ease any anxiety. it’s clear he’s trying to make this as easy as possible, fully aware of all that you’ve been carrying.

his voice is gentle, yet it’s clear that he’s worried about how you’ll react. he gauges your expression as he speaks, watching for any sign of distress or discomfort, all while maintaining a soothing rhythm with his hand on your shoulder.

his words rush out, trying to provide reassurance while also pleading for your understanding. his anxiety is evident, the weight of the situation heavy in his voice. despite all of this, there’s a hint of hope in his eyes, a hope that you will understand, that you will accept the temporary situation for what it is.

“what about their parents?” your quiet question hangs in the air, and geto’s expression falters, a brief flicker of sadness crossing his face. he sighs, his gaze dropping to his hands before looking back up at you. “they… they don’t have any,” he says softly, his voice laced with a quiet grief. “the villagers… they saw them as a curse, something to be feared. they were going to leave them to fend for themselves.”

he pauses, taking a deep breath, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand. “we couldn’t just walk away,” he adds gently. “not after everything we saw… and knowing what could happen to them.”

he glances back toward the house, where gojo is no doubt keeping the boys company. “they’ve been through so much already. we thought… maybe we could give them a little safety, even if just for a short while.”

you nod, your lips forming a soft, understanding smile as you look up at geto. “okay,” you whisper, a gentle acceptance in your voice that makes the tension in his shoulders ease. he lets out a quiet sigh, his hand moving to rest over yours, squeezing it in silent gratitude.

geto’s expression softens as he looks at you. your quiet acceptance seems to ease some of the tension in his shoulders, a small sigh of relief escaping his lips. he reaches out, his hand covering yours, giving it a gentle squeeze of gratitude.

he continues to watch you for a moment, the weight of the situation still hanging in the air. but there’s a sense of peace between you now, a quiet understanding that you’ve both come to an agreement, albeit a difficult one.

“thank you,” he murmurs, his voice low and gentle. “i know it’s a lot to ask, but…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your joined hands, his thumb tracing small, comforting circles over your skin. he looks up at you again, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and concern. “i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

and it’s been two days since the boys came into your home, and your husbands can already see the change in you. they watch from the kitchen as you sit in the living room with the two boys, your laughter echoing softly through the house. after weeks of grieving the news that you couldn’t have children, they see a lightness returning to your face—a spark they’ve missed more than they could say.

geto leans against the counter, arms crossed, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watches you. “she’s really taken to them,” he murmurs, his voice low but warm.

gojo nods, eyes glued to the scene before him. you’re talking to the boys, both of them wearing oversized shirts from your wardrobe—the smallest clothes in the house, yet still comically large on their tiny frames. the boys look up at you, wide-eyed and smiling, completely enraptured by your presence.

“look at her,” gojo says softly, unable to hide the fondness in his voice. “i don’t think i’ve seen her smile like that in… a long time.”

geto’s gaze softens, the sight of you laughing and at ease bringing a sense of peace he didn’t realize he’d been longing for. “maybe,” he begins cautiously, glancing at gojo, “maybe they’re what she needs right now. maybe… this is good for her. for all of us.”

gojo looks over at him, a faint smile forming. “yeah,” he agrees, the hope in his voice barely contained. “maybe it is.”

you step into the kitchen with a soft, purposeful stride, moving toward the fridge without a word. your husbands watch you carefully, their attention fixed on your every movement. it’s become a familiar pattern over the past few days—when you’re about to say something, your movements always slow down, like you’re gathering your thoughts before speaking, even if you haven’t fully decided what to say.

the fridge door clicks open, the cool light inside casting a gentle glow on your face. you reach for the soy sauce bottle without thinking, your fingers brushing over its smooth surface. the motion is casual, almost instinctive, yet your husbands notice the slight pause in your movements as you close the fridge door behind you.

they exchange a brief glance, both noticing something subtle but significant in your expression—the way your lips are pursed just slightly, the furrow between your brows. it’s a look they’ve come to recognize all too well; a mix of hesitation and contemplation. your thoughts are racing, but you haven’t yet found the words to match the emotion brewing inside.

gojo is the first to break the silence, his voice soft but steady, knowing that his wife often speaks in ways more subtle than words. "what is it?" he asks gently, his gaze never leaving your face. his eyes are understanding, attuned to the nuances of your silence.

his question hangs in the air, his tone comforting but expectant, waiting for you to share whatever’s on your mind. gojo can tell that it’s something important, something he knows you want to express but haven’t quite found the courage to. he doesn’t push, but his eyes are full of quiet concern, urging you to open up, to let him in.

geto, standing beside gojo, also watches you closely, his expression softening as he notices the way you clutch the soy sauce bottle a little tighter than necessary, your fingers wrapped around it almost protectively. his gaze meets yours, waiting for a response, his usual calm demeanor barely masking the worry in his eyes.

the kitchen feels suddenly small, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

the silence in the kitchen is almost deafening, the only sound coming from the steady, comforting breaths of your husbands. you can feel their eyes on you, their gazes unwavering as they wait patiently for you to speak.

gojo’s question hangs in the air, his voice soft but firm, his eyes searching yours. geto stands beside him, his body taut with anticipation, his eyes fixed on your face, waiting for you to give them any hint of what’s going through your mind.

you look up at them, your gaze soft, almost tentative, as if afraid of what their reaction might be. you hesitate, your fingers still gripping the bottle of soy sauce, though it feels almost distant now, like you’re holding it just to keep yourself grounded. you take a deep breath, your voice barely above a whisper, “have you figured out what you're going to do with the kids yet?”

the question hangs in the air, fragile and uncertain, your words quiet, as if testing the waters, as if you don’t want to bring up something that might undo the small comfort you’ve started to find in the chaos of it all.

your husbands exchange a brief glance before turning their attention back to you, the weight of the question settling between the three of you. the truth is, they haven’t figured it out, not yet. they haven’t really wanted to talk about it, not after seeing how much the boys have seemed to brighten your spirits. since they arrived, you’ve been lighter, more like yourself again—laughing more, talking more, playing with the kids. the last few days have felt like a breath of fresh air, a small but much-needed respite from the heavy grief that had been hanging over you.

but now, standing in the kitchen, the reality of the situation is unavoidable.

geto lets out a long, soft sigh, his eyes flickering to the floor for a moment as he rubs the back of his neck, thinking over his words carefully. he then looks up at you, his expression soft but weary. “no,” he says quietly, his voice almost regretful, “we haven’t figured it out yet.”

the silence that follows is thick, uncomfortable, the words unspoken between you three hanging like a shadow. geto’s gaze never leaves yours, as if he’s trying to read the very depths of your thoughts, hoping to understand what’s going on in your mind.

gojo steps closer, his usual confident demeanor softened as he looks at you with a gentle understanding. he places a hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding but also filled with reassurance. “we didn’t want to bring it up,” he admits, his tone low, “not when we see how happy the boys have made you. not when you’ve seemed… better.”

you can feel the hesitation in their words, the fear of adding more weight to your already heavy heart. they’ve seen how much the boys have meant to you, how much joy they’ve brought back into your life. it’s hard to bring up the reality of the situation when it feels like the kids are part of the healing you’ve started to experience.

the air between the three of you is filled with unspoken emotions, a quiet understanding passing between you.

in that moment, the glimmer of hope in your eyes is unmistakable. you gently place the soy sauce bottle down on the counter, the weight of the decision momentarily forgotten as you step closer to them. your hands tremble slightly as you reach for both of their hands, your fingers curling around theirs with a quiet desperation. your gaze locks onto theirs, and for a moment, it’s like the world narrows down to just the three of you.

“maybe… maybe the kids can stay here,” you say softly, your voice thick with hope, a plea more than a suggestion. “maybe we can make it work. they don’t have anyone else, and I—I don’t want to see them hurt. not when they’ve already been through so much.”

your voice falters, but the sincerity in your words remains. you search their faces, waiting for any sign of understanding, any indication that they might agree with you. the thought of the kids leaving, the idea of them going back into the world where they were mistreated, tears at your heart in ways you can’t quite explain.

the more you think about it, the more the idea of them staying with you feels like the right choice. your heart aches with the thought of giving them a home, a family, the safety they so desperately need.

you squeeze their hands, your voice more pleading now, “i know it’s a lot, but maybe... just maybe, we can make this work. they deserve a chance, don’t they?” your words are soft, but the conviction behind them is undeniable. “please..”

the look of hope in your eyes is like a knife through their hearts, a mix of desperation and longing that neither of them can deny. your words hang in the air, almost pleading, your voice shaky as you ask them to let the kids stay. your grip on their hands is strong, your fingers trembling ever so slightly as you silently urge them to understand. you’re terrified of losing the sense of comfort and fulfillment you’ve found in them, and the thought of sending them back into the world that has hurt them so much is unbearable.

geto can feel his heart breaking as he listens to your words, your pleading, geto’s hands cradle your face with gentle tenderness, his touch so soft, yet firm enough to ground you. his expression is a careful balance of guilt and love, his eyes soft as he searches yours, trying to understand every layer of your emotions. he sees the hope, the hesitation, and the underlying fear that lingers in your gaze—the same fear he carries in his heart.

“okay,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, a soft promise wrapped in the usual warmth and love he always offers. his words are gentle but resolute, as if this one word, this one decision, is all that matters in the world right now. “we’ll make it work. we’ll take care of them.”

the silence between them is thick as they share a lingering stare. geto’s gaze holds steady, a silent challenge in his eyes, but there’s no anger—just resolve. after a long beat, geto turns his attention back to you, his smile softening as he sees the light returning to your face. he reaches out, his hand slipping behind your neck to gently pull you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “okay, baby,” he murmurs, the words filled with tenderness.

and when he pulls back, his eyes meet gojo’s once more, the tension between them palpable, unspoken. his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. you rest your head on his chest, feeling the weight of the moment settle. gojo’s gaze is still full of disapproval, but there’s a deeper understanding in it now, a recognition of the weight of geto’s decision. he doesn’t agree, but in the end, he knows this is something that can’t be undone.

before you can respond, a heavy silence hangs between you, filled only by the weight of what’s about to come. from behind you, gojo’s voice slices through the air, sharp with disapproval. “suguru,” he warns, his eyes narrowed and cold, a storm brewing behind those intense blue orbs. the tension in the room thickens, like a wire pulled taut.

geto doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break his gaze. he’s made up his mind, and there’s no going back now. he knows what he’s risking, knows the weight of his choice, but he also knows this is what you need. “i’m doing this for her,” he says quietly, but his words ring with finality. “if giving them a chance, if keeping them here with us, makes her smile again, if it gives her some peace—then i’ll take the risk.”

there’s no anger in his voice, only the raw honesty of someone who’s willing to do whatever it takes to see the woman he loves happy again—even if it means defying the man beside him.

gojo can feel his jaw clenching, the muscles taut with frustration as he watches you lean into geto’s chest, your head resting against his shoulder. a wave of protective anger runs through him, but beneath it, he can feel the beginnings of understanding—the slow but gradual realization that geto is serious, that this isn’t just a fleeting decision made in a moment of rashness. his eyes dart from you to geto, his expression a mixture of anger and regret.

gojo’s jaw clenches tighter, the muscles in his face twitching as a storm of emotions swirls within him—anger, frustration, and the gnawing ache of helplessness. he watches you, nestled in geto's arms, the gentle curve of your body fitting so perfectly against him. his protective instincts flare up, but there's something deeper, more reluctant, stirring within him too: the creeping recognition that geto’s decision is not a momentary whim. this is something serious, something geto believes in with all his heart.

gojo’s gaze flickers from you to geto, his eyes narrowing in conflict. he sees the quiet certainty in geto’s expression, the way he’s holding you, the way you’ve allowed yourself to lean into him, to trust him with your vulnerability. and there’s no denying it—geto’s commitment to this, to you, to this family, is real.

then his eyes move to the two boys, laughing and playing, oblivious to the tension in the room. gojo watches them for a moment, their innocent joy a stark contrast to the complicated emotions running through him. he feels a wave of guilt mixed with frustration—it’s not just about what’s best for you anymore. it’s about the kids too, the responsibility, the choices they’re all going to have to face.

with a defeated sigh, gojo pulls his gaze away from the children and looks at geto once again. his expression softens just slightly, a resigned acceptance beginning to seep in as he meets geto’s knowing smile. there’s no more fight left in him—not now. it’s clear that geto’s made up his mind, and somehow, gojo knows this isn’t a battle he can win.

“alright,” gojo mutters, his voice low but tinged with finality, before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for just a moment. it’s a silent promise, an acknowledgment of your pain, your grief, and the decision he’s now forced to accept. his heart aches as he straightens up, but there’s a flicker of something else there too—maybe it’s love, maybe it’s just the weight of the situation, but gojo knows this is the path they’ve chosen now.

he turns his attention back to geto, his eyes locking onto his husband’s with a mix of weary fondness and reluctant understanding. “don’t make me regret this,” he warns softly, giving the man a kiss on his forehead, his voice carrying an edge despite his acceptance.

geto’s expression softens, his eyes filled with an understanding that can only be gained through years of being together, through the trials and tribulations that they’ve faced together. he knows what gojo is going through, the inner struggle of weighing risks and the weight of responsibility. “i won’t,” he replies quietly, his words carrying a promise and a plea, a reassurance that he has thought this through, that he has considered every angle, every possible outcome.

geto’s eyes flick to you, still resting against his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin. he rubs your back gently, his touch firm yet gentle, a comforting gesture filled with love and reassurance. he sighs quietly, his chin resting on the top of your head, watching you both with a mix of love and concern.

gojo can feel the mix of emotions swirling within him, a maelstrom of feelings, each one pulling him in a different direction. there’s anger, frustration, a deep-seated protectiveness, and a lingering sense of helplessness. but as he looks at geto, as he hears his husband’s gentle reassurance, he can also feel a strange sense of acceptance, a reluctant surrender.

sighing, he concedes, “i know you won’t.”

gojo expression softens, the tension draining from his shoulders as he lets out another soft sigh—a sigh of acceptance, a sigh of resignation to this new reality. “just... just make sure we don’t end up with more kids here than we can handle,” he murmurs with a hint of sarcasm as he give you another kiss on your head, a small attempt at humor to ease the tension.

geto chuckles quietly, a dry laugh that holds a hint of agreement. he looks down at you, his hands holding you gently, and smiles. “don't worry,” he replies, his tone a mix of certainty and sarcasm, “the last thing i want is to see you two get even more gray hairs from the stress of looking after a bunch of little brats.”

a soft laugh escapes you, amusement bubbling up as geto’s dry humor cuts through the tension. you lift your head from his chest, meeting his gaze, and there’s something warm and unspoken in his eyes—a mixture of love, understanding, and that hint of playful sarcasm that always lightens the heaviest moments.

with a grin, you rise on your toes and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, feeling the way his expression softens in response. then you turn to gojo, who’s still watching the two of you with a mix of reluctant acceptance and warmth in his gaze. without missing a beat, you place a kiss on his cheek too, feeling his arm instinctively come around you, grounding you between them.

“thank you,” you murmur, your smile sincere, gratitude shining in your eyes as you look between the two of them. they’ve given up a lot for you, bent themselves around your happiness, and this choice feels like a gift—a promise that you won’t have to face the heartache alone.

“so,” you add, glancing back at the two boys in the living room as they continue to play, “should we go shopping?” your tone is light, but there’s a spark of excitement there too, the promise of a new beginning. “y’know, for the kids..” you added, fingertips touching gojo’s collar playfully.

gojo rolls his eyes at your words but his lips curve into a small smile, still wrapped around you. “shopping, huh?” he murmurs, his hands settling on your hips, his fingers tracing absent circles there. “you just like spending my money, don’t you?” he teases, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

geto’s arm wraps around you from the back, his chin resting on your shoulder. “don’t worry,” he adds, his voice tinged with an amused fondness, “i’m sure we’ll find plenty of things the kids need,” he laughs quietly, his breath warm against your skin, “and maybe a few things that we adults can…” his words trail off, the implication clear, his lips brushing your neck softly.

you chuckle, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you look up at gojo, giving him a small, playful pout. “the kids need clothes, hubby,” you say with a soft huff, feigning indignation, being mischievous with the hubby word. “and, y’know, probably everything else, and for us, ‘adult’ too.”

his fingers continue tracing those gentle circles on your hips, and you can feel the warmth of his hands anchoring you. he raises an eyebrow, clearly amused as he watches you try to hold your pout, a teasing gleam in his eyes.

gojo laughs quietly, his hands moving down to give your hips a gentle squeeze, his fingers warm and firm against your skin. “and just what kind of ‘adult’ things do you have in mind?” he asks, his voice a low murmur, a hint of playfulness in his tone. “because if my memory serves me right, we’ve got plenty of those at home already.”

geto laughs too from behind you, his chin still resting on your shoulder, his hands wrapped around your waist, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your neck again.

you hum softly, a knowing smile curving your lips as you let your gaze flick between the two men. but instead of answering, you slip out of their hold, leaving them standing there, anticipation sparking in their eyes. with an easy, confident stride, you head toward the living room, throwing a casual wave over your shoulder.

“yuuji, megumi,” you call, your voice light and inviting as the two little boys perk up, their eyes wide and curious as they look at you. “let’s go spend my husbands’ money.”

their faces light up with excitement, and they quickly scramble to their feet, hurrying toward you with delighted grins. behind you, you hear the surprised chuckles of gojo and geto from the kitchen.

the two men stand there for a moment, their gazes fixated on you and the two boys. gojo looks bewildered, a hint of amusement playing on his face, while geto has a mixture of shock and humor in his expression. “spending our money, huh?” gojo mutters, his eyes narrowing slightly in mock indignation.

geto laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “oh, this is going to cost us a fortune…” he muses, a smile tugging at his lips.

the boys rush over, their little bodies bumping into you, their hands reaching up to grab onto yours. you can feel their excitement as they giggle and chatter with each other, their voices high with anticipation.

“where are we going?” yuuji asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.

megumi, on the other hand, is quieter but just as curious. “shopping?” he asks, his small fingers gripping your hand firmly.

you hum with excitement, giving each boy’s hand a reassuring squeeze as you answer, “that’s right! we’re going to get you two everything you need.” yuuji’s eyes sparkle with glee, and even megumi lets a small smile slip as he squeezes your hand back, his quiet curiosity bringing a warmth to your heart.

turning around, you glance over your shoulder at your husbands, a radiant smile lighting up your face—a look they haven’t seen in too long. your eyes glint with happiness, a genuine joy that makes you look like yourself again, the shadows of recent weeks nowhere to be found.

for a moment, gojo and geto just stand there, captivated by the sight of you, your laughter mingling with the boys’ giggles. neither of them can do anything but follow, exchanging a quiet look that says more than words ever could. they know they’re in for an adventure today, but neither would trade it for anything.

as they fall into step behind you, a sense of peace settles over them. maybe this wasn’t the life they’d planned, and maybe things hadn’t gone as expected. but seeing you happy, seeing you whole again as you lead these two bright-eyed boys out the door—it’s worth every risk.

[bbokicidal]

"What Happens When..." | [SKZ] OT8 | [Changbin]

Changbin allows the others to see just what you can do with your mouth.

Genre: Smut [18+ MDNI] Pairing: Changbin x Fem!Reader Warnings: Oral sex, deep throating, one of the others kissing you after you give Changbin head, the members helping you go down on Changbin, Chris,, jerks it,,

Notes: This IS a short fic and isn't anything really long. There's no plot - it's purely smut for your viewing pleasure and my mental peace, lol.

Word Count: 906

Divider by @enchanthings

"I've never seen someone so eager before."

"She's always excited to have my cock in her throat. Acts like it's some type of dessert or something." Changbin couldn't help his slightly cocky nature at the mention of you being eager to please. Though the comment was made a bit late; You were already taking him into your throat, tongue lathing over the underside as if he were a special lollipop just for you to have.

Hyunjin chuckles from where he sits off to the side in one of their lounge chairs, legs crossed to hide his excitement while he watched. His fingertips prodded at where they touched his cheek, head tipped into his hand and eyes dark as they followed every movement. He'd been completely enamored with the sight of his roommate getting sucked off - a little too much, almost. He let his free hand ghost down his thigh, almost as if teasing himself while refusing to touch anywhere near the tent forming in his pants. "I was talking about you."

A soft hushing sound comes from somewhere else. Jisung had shushed Hyunjin's peeping, eyes wide and body leaned forward as if it would give him a better view. The poor man had never looked so pink in his life, and maybe it was just because he was finally seeing one of his favorite hyungs get worshipped the way Jisung always knew he deserved. Or maybe he wanted to join.. -

His hand laid on Seungmin's knee beside him, who was lounged back on the sofa and trying hard to hold in any laughter that escaped his throat. With one hand previously palming himself through his shorts, it laid still now in his lap as he lets his eyes travel to Jisung beside him. While he was now far less horny than he had been thirty seconds ago, he thought the sight of Jisung so wide-eyed and ogling your form was a bit silly; But truly, he understood why he was so.. infatuated.

The swell of your throat seemed to catch all of their eyes; The way Changbin's cock bulged beneath your skin, proving that the silly small-cock-binnie rumors were just that - rumors.

"Fuck.."

Felix's eyes travel to the man sitting beside him. Perched on the floor and leaning back against the couch just near Seungmin's legs was Chris, veiny hand plastered over his mouth as the other had settled long ago in his lap. The rapid movements of his fist jerking back and forth seemed to give away what he was doing under the fabric of his shorts, even if he'd pulled his legs up to his chest and tried to hide the motion. His eyes darted to Felix who had already looked away, a bit shameful in being caught getting off to Changbin filling your throat.

But Felix was less.. shy. He'd even crawled closer from his previous spot on the floor, kneeling beside you and blushing hard at the sound of your lewd noises up close. He could hear the way Changbin's cock made you gag, spit dripping from your lips and eyes teary as you peered up at your boyfriend. With a hand wrapping into your hair, Felix pushed forward gently and nearly gasped at the sight of your throat filling further.

"Give me a moment, baby." Changbin breathes out so suddenly, gently pressing your shoulder back to pull you off of him. You sit back, willing and happy to oblige, and Jeongin can't help but notice how puffy your lips are. Swollen, wet, dripping.

He's happy to crouch down from where he'd been standing nearby, one hand guiding your head to look at him in your daze. With glazed eyes and parted lips, your head tips so willingly to the youngest that he understands in one fluid moment just why Changbin was so adoring towards you. You were so happy to please; So obedient. "You're doing wonderful," he whispers under his breath, leaning in and letting his lips press to yours. It's brief, shy almost, but he's sure to let his tongue travel over your lower lip and gather the spit that dripped - taking it into his own mouth; Greedy.

Letting his hand fall from your face and allowing you to sit up properly, looking back to your boyfriend, you're met with the sight of not one but two men peering down at you. Changbin's all cheeky smiles, plump cheeks squishing with dimples and even a little giggle as he watches your eyes dart back and forth between the two curiously.

Minho looked.. all too good hovering above you; Just a tad taller than Changbin, eyes dark and hungry, hair falling in his face and head tipped down almost condescendingly without any words needed. His hands remained tucked in his sweats, the watch secured around his wrist displaying a line that seemed to pulse multiple times each second; Letting him (and everyone around him) know that his heart rate was skyrocketing just by you staring up at him on your knees.

Changbin wrings his hands out in front of his chest, his demeanor becoming a bit bashful as he prepared himself to ask. He'd known Minho was lurking there most of the time - watching, in awe at the sight of your lips around his cock - and just how well you seemed to take him for how much of a rod he's got attached to his hips.

"Think you can take two, baby?"

Tag List : @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie @inlovewithstraykids @seungminsbest @edit-me-prettyplease @butterflydemons @satosugu4l

[revelboo]

I love the idea of Everything is Alright being a reverse haram with megs, but I see you said originally. So might not happened, which I think is fine. Star doesn't need anymore trauma, but I can also see the possibility of a simple human mending the tension between the higher ups. Just might cause star, and possibly sounds to be very worried

I may still include Megs later on, just wasn’t sure if I could balance all three. It’s a lot easier when the guys at least kind of get along and this dynamic… not so much

Everything is Alright Pt 55

IDW Starscream x Reader

• Keeping you cradled to him as he types one handed on a report, he’s aware of the warmth of you leaning against him, little head resting against his chassis. “You want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?” You ask softly and his wings flick slightly, servos miskeying a glyph, because he should have realized you’d notice something is off. Always watching him, looking to him. You know him and it’s almost frightening. “You don’t have to,” you add when he’s silent too long, because how to even start? And there’s no way to explain how upset he is about finding out about your life span, without revealing that he cares too much. Without making himself vulnerable and risking rejection.

• Resting your ear against him to listen to the soft thrum of his spark, you don’t really expect him to answer. His feelings are something he hoards, keeping them to himself and only occasionally slipping and letting you see that not only does he care about you, but he needs you with him. “You know I care for you,” he says slowly, raspy words humming through you where you’re against him as one of his servos runs from your shoulder down your arm until you lay your palm against him and he vents. It’s not a question exactly, but not really a statement either. A reminder of how insecure he can be, as if trusting anything or anyone is almost impossible.

• “I care about you, too.” He knows. He really does, but something about hearing you say it settles warm about his spark. Tucking his chin so he can see you, there’s something uncertain in your expression that catches at him before you press your cheek against him so he can’t see your eyes, hiding your expression from him. “I like waking up against you. Like when you worry about me even if you don’t need to. Even when you get aggravated, I like the way your wings fidget.”

• Embarrassed, you keep your face hidden against him, trying to tell him how you feel without saying the actual words. Because telling him you think you might love him and you’re not sure when that happened? Especially if he’s only after something physical, needing someone to be there, but not the same way? It might just break you. You like his nervous tics, like the warmth of him and the way his servos feel absently stroking, touching you. You like him.

• Servos pressing you closer to him, grounding himself with the feel of you until you make a little noise of protest, mumbling that he’s squishing you and he relents. Again he thinks about how it would feel to entrust his spark to you, to feel you touch him that way. Would it only drive home the differences between you? Remind him painfully that there’s no way for this to ever be more, no spark in you to lose himself in? And so little time, he can feel it slipping away from him regardless. Head falling back against the back of his chair, he vents. Softly, hesitantly in Cybertronian, he begins to speak, knowing you can’t understand and feeling you shift to try and look at him as he shutters his optics so he won’t see your expression, because it’s hard enough to open up and this is the only way he can, this one sided conversation. Wishing for things not meant for him, swearing to protect you and cherish what time he has. That you’re his, spark or no spark. Regret and fear and love all tangled together. Feeling when you lay your head back down against him, listening to him without knowing how hard these words are.

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[inncubus-honey]

based off those images of one person standing on the taller persons shoes to kiss them

simon almost never took his shoes off right away when coming home from going out. he never likes leaving them near the front door incase of someone breaking, he doesnt want to run downstairs in order to possibly put them on if he needed to.

or when he gets emergency calls in the middle of the night, he can just change and sit on the bed then put his big chunky black boots that were placed on his side of the bed and leave. not to mention, it allows you and others to hear simon when he’s walking around the house since he moves like a fucking shadow in silence without them on.

always scares the shit out of you when he appears behind you in the kitchen asking when the food is ready. you’ve almost dropped large trays of food many times and simon just lets out a low chuckle before moving to help you move the tray from the oven to the dining room table.

plus, simon may or may not love having you looking up at him when hes in his boots. he knows hes already tall and you already have to break your neck to look up at him, but even the slight inches his boots give him on you makes his eyes crinkle with warmth as he looks at you.

but as your boyfriend decided wearing his shoes inside almost all the time now, you found it harder to give him kisses. you’re already on your tippy toes, but still coming short in distance from simons lips. while all in good fun, simon would also take a minute to watch you try to stretch yourself vertically to reach him, so when your feet nudged with his shoes, thats when the idea sparked within you.

the next time simon would wait for a moment to reach your lips, you would simply step onto the top of his boots and finally earn your kiss.

holding several groceries bags in his hands, simon entered yalls home with the wooden floor creaking under the weight of his body. hearing the door open and shut from the kitchen, you called out to simon where you were.

“in the kitchen, si!” carefully your hands moved around raw pieces of dough for the apple pie you were making. simon made his way to where you were, carefully he placed the bags on the counter, so as not to bump into you.

“thankfully, they had everything on the list, unlike last time.” he moved to put the groceries away, especially the vanilla ice cream you had asked him to grab for said apple pie.

“thank you, my love. this pie should be ready in 20 minutes, would you like some tea as we wait?” turning to the man as he stood behind you and just warmly watched you move around.

simon moved towards you, wordlessly, gently bringing you closer to his body which caused his boots to nudge your feet again.

“can my missus reward me for bringing in all the groceries~?” a smirked played onto his scarred lips, eyes crinkling softly at the corners as he gazed down onto your face. you smirked back upon hearing simons slightly silly request, his warm arms tying her body to his.

“hmm, maybe i will reward my big, strong and handsome husband with one big kiss.” looking at his boots, you carefully placed your feet upon his black combat boots and stood upon your toes to finally meet his lips.

a small hum sounded from simon as you pulled away from the kiss, he gave your waist a small squeeze when you step off his boots.

“finally had enough, love?” he teased.

“do it again and you wont get kisses for a week, simon riley.”

“love, i’m so sorry-“

[locomoqo]

Could we get something related to gun trying to convince the reader who he loves to stay with him. Reader is conflicted with her feelings because she loves him but she’s aware of his job and how dangerous it is for the both of them. Angst & comfort please!

love me like a sailor

— gun park x reader

details: angst with comfort, established relationship

A/N: 1.2k words whewww, also i hope i did gun's personality justice here🥹 i rlly do believe he'd soften around someone he loves (i have a feeling this didnt come off as angsty as i wanted it to be bleh)

The room is dimly lit, shadows stretching long across the floor as the evening light fades behind heavy curtains. Gun stands in front of you, his usually impassive face softened by an emotion he rarely shows—vulnerability. The tension between you both is almost suffocating, a thick silence hanging between breaths. Your heart is heavy with the weight of a decision you don’t want to make.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. You clutch your arms, holding yourself together because you’re afraid that if you let go, you’ll fall apart. You look up at him, eyes filled with the conflict that’s been tearing at you for weeks. He’s been distant lately, lost in the chaos of his work, and you can’t pretend any longer that it doesn’t scare you.

Gun’s jaw tightens, his usually stoic expression cracking for a brief second. There's a flicker of something fragile in his eyes. He steps forward, a little too quickly, as if he's scared you might vanish. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” he says, his voice quiet and distant—just like it always is.

You meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with unshed tears, hating that he makes it sound so simple. “But for how long?” you ask, your voice breaking. “You’re always chasing danger, always fighting, always risking everything. I can’t... I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t tear me apart every time you walk out that door.” The words spill out of you, each one a stab to your own heart. You hate how weak you sound, how vulnerable. But you can’t help it. You can’t stop loving him.

Gun’s brows furrow, his usual mask slipping as he takes a step closer. He towers over you, but there’s a gentleness in his eyes that contradicts his imposing presence. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for you but stops, hovering with uncertainty as if he’s not sure he has the right to touch you anymore. “I don’t know how to be different,” he admits, his voice raw and low, twisting your heart. It's true, fighting has become part of who he is, it's all he's ever known. “This is who I am. But if it means losing you, I’ll—”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head, feeling tears sting at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason you lose your edge. I don’t want to be your weakness.”

You see frustration flare in his eyes, the helplessness he fights so hard to conceal. His hands drop to his sides, curling into fists as he takes a shaky breath. “Do you think I want to be this way?” he asks, his voice suddenly fierce, desperation cutting through his words. “Do you think I don’t know what it does to you every time I leave? I’m trying, damn it, but I can’t just walk away from who I am. I’ve built my life around this, and I can’t change it, not overnight.”

He stretches his hand out, catching yours before you can pull away. There's an urgency in his grip—an unspoken plea hidden beneath his cold facade. The anger fades from his face, replaced by something hollow and broken. “You’re not my weakness,” he insists, his hold firm but gentle. “You never have been. You’re the only person who makes me want to be better. For you.” He swallows, eyes locked on yours. “I know it’s dangerous. I won’t lie to you about that. But I can protect you. I will protect you.”

Your heart aches at the sincerity in his voice, but you know it’s not enough. You pull your hand back, wiping away a tear before it can fall. “What if something happens to you?” you ask, your voice cracking. “What if I lose you?”

Gun’s expression tightens, and he reaches for you again, his hands settling on your shoulders with surprising gentleness. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he says firmly, his voice steady, as if daring fate to contradict him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He almost adds, “Not if it means leaving you,” but the words die in his throat.

“...I don’t want to leave,” you say, your voice hoarse, and it’s the truth. You don’t want to lose him. You don’t want to be without the man who’s somehow become the most important part of your life, the one who knows you better than anyone else. “But I don’t want to watch you destroy yourself either.” Your voice wavers, and you turn away as a sob escapes before you can choke it down.

Gun’s fingers gently tilt your chin back, his touch tender in a way that takes you by surprise. “Look at me,” he commands, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard. You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you see the raw fear in his eyes—the fear of losing you. “I’m not asking you to ignore the danger. I’m asking you to stay with me.”

Your chest tightens, and you shake your head as tears finally spill over. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

Gun’s hands come up to cup your face, and this time, he doesn’t hesitate. His touch is achingly gentle, his thumb brushing away the tears that fall down your cheeks. “Then don’t watch,” he says, his voice teetering on desperation. “Let me be the one who takes the risks. I’ll handle it. I’ll handle everything if it means I can keep you by my side.” His voice is so soft, so uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Isn’t that enough?” His eyes, usually so cold and distant, search yours, desperate for any sign that you might stay.

For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat, each thud echoing in your ears. The tears come faster now, and you let yourself lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palms against your skin. There’s a sadness in his gaze that cuts you to the core, but there’s also hope—a fragile, flickering flame that refuses to die.

Your hands tremble as you cling to the fabric of his shirt, your fingers curling into the material. “I love you,” you whisper, your voice breaking, “but I’m scared, Gun. I’m so scared.”

His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest. His hold is firm and unwavering, like he’s trying to shield you from the world itself. “Then be scared,” he whispers into your hair, his breath warm against your temple, “but don’t go.”

It's the first time you’ve ever heard him beg, and it shatters something inside you. You stay there, wrapped in the security of his embrace. He’s far from perfect, and so are you, but in this moment, you find a sort of peace—a hope that, maybe, love is enough.

Gun pulls back slightly, his hands still cradling your face as he stares at you with an intensity that steals your breath. “Stay,” he whispers, his voice rough and desperate. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to us.”

You don’t know what the future holds, or if his promise is one he can keep, but in this moment, as his thumb gently brushes your cheek, you find yourself nodding, your resolve crumbling in the face of the man you love. Gun exhales shakily, a soft, relieved sound, and pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. For the first time in a long while, you feel like maybe—just maybe—everything will be okay.

[silverynight]

Gym "buddies"

Izuku's life changes the moment All Might gives him his gym membership card; he assures him he doesn't need it anymore (he's retired after all) and wants him to use it instead.

Izuku is a quirkless young man whose job is making support gear and suits for pro heroes, however, since he often wears them and tries them himself, he likes to keep himself in good condition. So far, he's been training at home, but now he has the opportunity to go to a proper gym.

He thanks the symbol of peace, hugs him, and leaves with excitement in his eyes.

However, his enthusiasm vanishes when he arrives and realizes that there are only two kinds of people in that place: very rich ones and pro heroes.

And he doesn't belong to any of those groups. After a while he decides to stay since All Might even called the place to let them know Izuku was going instead of him.

He can't disappoint him now.

Nervous, he looks around only to see Uravity and Pinky talking happily to each other; part of Izuku wants to get closer to them and ask for an autograph, but he decides to control himself.

It's not like any of them could recognize him; the pro heroes don't have the time to go in person and ask for repairs to the support department, instead, they send assistants or people who work in their respective agencies to leave the suits.

Of course, there are exceptions, there always are.

"Midoriya!"

Izuku gets slightly startled as he notices Ingenium, waving at him before walking towards where he is.

He's one of the few heroes who has met Izuku.

"Ingenium-san, hi!"

"Please, we've talked about this, just call me Iida."

He nods, cheeks turning slightly pink as he notices the pro heroes around looking at them both with curiosity.

He relaxes as soon as Iida starts talking with him, asking about his job in general and answering Izuku's enthusiastic questions about his latest missions; he's used to those already.

The next day, Uravity introduces herself and upon realizing Izuku has worked on her hero suit, she starts looking at him with admiration and awe; he doesn't think there's anything about him worth admiring, but he doesn't point that out.

He gets to know a lot of pro heroes at that gym and none of them have tried to kick him out so far, even though he doesn't quite belong there.

Izuku's first week is amazing, and he believes there's nothing that can change his mind about it until the second week.

Turns out Dynamight goes to that gym too.

Actually, he's one of the current pro heroes Izuku admires the most, so Izuku is tempted to get closer at first, until he notices the explosive hero has been staring at him the whole time since he arrived.

He can't read the blond's expression, but he assumes Dynamight doesn't like him that much so Izuku decides to keep his distance from him.

He chooses a treadmill that's at the other side of the room to get started. Izuku takes a deep breath, relaxes, and closes his eyes for a few seconds until he hears someone pressing buttons on the treadmill next to him.

He almost falls off when he notices Dynamight. However, Izuku recovers quickly and decides to pretend nothing happened.

Although he swears he can feel the blond's red eyes on him the whole time.

After a while, he goes to one of the leg press machines before he notices that Dynamight is following him closely.

"You work for Hatsume."

Alright, now that he's talking to him, Izuku can't keep pretending he doesn't exist so he turns around to face him. The guy is not only taller but clearly stronger than him.

"Yes, I'm–"

"Midoriya Izuku, I know," Dynamight cuts him off, looking like he didn't mean to. His face turns a little bit pink.

"How do you know that?" He blurts out, genuinely curious.

The pro hero starts rubbing the back of his neck like he's nervous, and he looks away from Izuku for a moment before answering his question.

"I go to her lab often because I like to know exactly what's done to my suit," he admits. "I saw you for the first time a few months ago; Hatsume told me she had a new, very talented employee and that he was the one working on my gauntlets. I got closer to ask you personally what the hell you were doing to my stuff, but you were so happily focused I couldn't... interrupt you."

Izuku notices then, the fond smile curling up the corners of Dynamight's lips, and he regrets glancing at him because he looks very handsome when he actually smiles.

"Uhh..."

"I kept going after that, but you were always so focused on your work you never noticed me," the pro hero continues, pouting a bit. He's so used to the attention he probably doesn't like when he doesn't get it.

"I'm sorry, Dynamight-san..."

"I'm Katsuki, and I want you to call me by my name, Izuku."

His own name on the pro hero's lips sounds so intimate, Izuku blushes immediately. It's even worse when Katsuki notices and smirks at him.

"Ka..." Even trying it makes him feel flustered, so of course he immediately screws it. "Kacchan!"

The pro hero looks back at him in confusion and Izuku is seriously thinking about giving All Might his membership back and never going back to that place when Katsuki chuckles as he puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Fine, you can call me that if you want."

After that Katsuki always follows him whenever he's in the gym at the same time Izuku is; he even helps him when Izuku struggles to figure out new machines and makes a very intense workout routine for him.

Izuku is sure they're very good friends now, and he often laughs at his past self for believing Katsuki hated him.

He used to think he had a bad temper, but turns Bakugo Katsuki is a very sweet guy, although Izuku knows it's better not to say that out loud.

The most surprising thing about pro hero Dynamight is that he's rather clumsy, which is really weird considering he's so precise during his battles (Izuku has watched a few of those) but at the gym he's constantly dropping things and bumping into machines, especially when Izuku has his back on him and bends over to do a particularly difficult exercise.

It's so odd.

He hears a noise behind him and turns around only to find Katsuki on the floor, face red and a little bit of blood coming from one of his nostrils.

"Kacchan, are you alright?"

"He's fine, Midobro!" Kirishima grins, looking quite amused.

"What happened?"

"He got distracted by your... leggings."

Izuku looks at Red Riot in confusion before looking down at his legs; the leggings are not that bright, they're dark red and not flashy at all. He wonders what was that interesting about them that got Katsuki distracted.

"I see that leg day has been really good on you, bro," Kirishima points out, following Izuku's eyes. "You have very thick–"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, SHITTY HAIR!" Katsuki growls, rising from the ground before standing in the middle of Izuku and Kirishima. "Do you want to die?"

"Calm down, Bakubro!" Kirishima chuckles, looking quite relaxed. He's probably used to the other pro hero's displays of irritation. "I'm just being nice to our friend!"

"Fine!" Katsuki says, but he still pushes Izuku behind himself even more, although he does it gently.

***

After an intense workout routine, Izuku ends up on the floor, exhausted. A hand touches his forehead as a big shadow looms over him for a moment.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, just give me a second, Kacchan."

The same hand appears in front of him, and Izuku wakes it without hesitation. Before he can even blink, he's back on his feet already.

Katsuki hands him a bottle of cold water.

"Thank you!" It's been barely a month, but it feels like Katsuki has known him his whole life.

Sometimes it's like he can hear Izuku's thoughts.

"Come, nerd. I'll take you to your apartment."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I have time today."

Katsuki also pays him quick visits to Hatsume's lab, and he actually stays there and talks to him. Izuku takes his break whenever he appears.

"I'm glad you finally decided to talk to your crush," Hatsume tells him the first time the pro hero draws Izuku's attention by saying his name. "It was a bit sad to watch you pine and give him the heart eyes in silence."

"SHUT UP!"

"Kacchan, relax," he chuckles, as he notices him turning bright red at the young woman's words. "She's just joking!"

Because there's no way that's true. Hatsume probably just wants to piss Katsuki off. He'd never look at Izuku with love in his eyes.

It's ridiculous.

Usually, Hatsume doesn't like having pro heroes there, but she makes an exception with Katsuki because he helps them test new gear, especially the magnetic shields she has designed for some heroes.

Besides, she likes watching things explode.

Although the number of times Katsuki is there has led to some of Izuku's coworkers getting the wrong idea about them.

Even the pro heroes at the gym ask Izuku the weirdest questions every now and then.

"We're more like... gym buddies?" Even that sounds odd coming from his mouth, Izuku has no idea why.

"I think you're saying gym boyfriends wrong, sweetie," Ashido chuckles, prompting Kaminari to laugh too.

It's a good thing Katsuki is on patrol that day; he would've gotten mad.

"No, I'm serious," Izuku says, turning bright red. "We're just friends!"

"Wow, Bakugo is an idiot," Kaminari gives Ashido a weird look.

"He totally is!" She agrees. "Anyone could try to steal this cutie if he doesn't hurry up!"

Izuku wants to tell them that their relationship is not like that, but it seems that no matter what he says they're not going to change their minds; they seem to believe Katsuki is secretly in love with him or something.

He has no idea why.

***

Izuku meets pro hero Shoto one Thursday evening; he just finished his work and headed straight to the gym.

When he sees him, he gets immediately flustered. It's not every day one gets to meet Japan's number two pro hero after all.

"Hi. I don't think I have ever seen you before."

Pro hero Shoto is very blunt sometimes.

"I've been coming here since September... so, yeah, I'm practically new here," Izuku smiles, prompting the pro hero to do the same. "I'm Midoriya Izuku!"

"Oh," finally, something akin to recognition in those mismatched eyes. "I've heard your name before. You fixed my suit last time it got destroyed by a villain, right?"

"Yes, that'd be me!"

"You did a great job. I was very impressed."

"Thank y-you, pro hero Shoto!"

"Please, call me Todoroki or just Shoto, if you want."

"Izuku!" Katsuki calls as soon as he walks in the gym. "Come here, I need to bench press you right now!"

He does that a lot lately; he uses Izuku instead of the very expensive equipment around, Katsuki assures him it's better that way, but he's not sure about that.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Todoroki comments then. "There's plenty of things you can use instead of Midoriya."

"What the hell are you doing here, half and half?"

"Toya and the old man got into a fight again," he says like it's nothing that surprises him anymore. "They were in our private gym when it happened, so it's destroyed now. It'll take a couple of days for the people we called to leave it as it was before. That's why I'm here."

Izuku is sure Todoroki doesn't say it to show off, but now he gets an idea of how rich he actually is.

He's so impressed he doesn't notice Katsuki until he's in front of him, almost like he wants to shield him from the other pro hero.

"Come with me, Izuku."

Todoroki looks from one to the other with curiosity.

"Is it really better if you try it with a person?" He asks before looking over Katsuki's shoulders, directly at Izuku: "Can I bench press you too, Midoriya?"

"FUCK OFF, HALF AND HALF!"

***

Todoroki becomes a good friend of his; he keeps coming to same gym as Izuku even after the one in his house is complete again.

Although, Katsuki gets a bit tense whenever he the three of them hang out; Izuku is not sure why, Ashido assured him they were in good terms, sure they're rivals, but they are also friends.

"Do you like half and half?"

"Absolutely, he's a great friend!"

"I don't mean it like that, nerd," Katsuki gets slightly irritated, as he usually does when Izuku doesn't understand what he's trying to say. "I mean if you like him... romantically."

"Oh!" Izuku blushes; he doesn't talk about romance around the pro hero... ever, so he gets a bit nervous, well, it's actually because the one he finds very attractive is Katsuki, but he's not going to say that. "No, I only see Todoroki as a friend."

Katsuki relaxes after that; they finish their routines like nothing happened, but the tension comes back to his shoulders after they take a shower and get ready to leave the gym.

Looking down at the floor instead of him, Katsuki takes one of Izuku's hands in his to stop him.

"What is it, Kacchan?"

"Would you like to go for a coffee with me?"

"Of course, although we usually do that!"

This time, Katsuki looks into his eyes before continuing: "No, I mean... as a date."

For a second, Izuku thinks he's dreaming, but he wouldn't blush that much in one of his dreams; he's usually more confident.

"Yes, I'd love to!"

Katsuki gives him one of those happy, devastating smiles of his before intertwining their fingers together.

Izuku needs to call All Might and thank him for that membership again, but he'll probably do that later.

He has to focus on his date with Katsuki first.

***

Patreon

[3vergr3en]

Kissin' and hope they caught us!

part one | spotify playlist

PAIRING (📖) . loser!collegeau!jake x fem!college!reader

ADDITIONAL INFO (💻) . porn with VERY little to no plot, fluff if you squint, dry humping, p in v, unprotected sex (don't do that pls), soft!dom!jake turns into a slight hard!dom, jake comes inside, they're so in love with each other, it's implied they have another round at the end. (did not proofread this btw 🙊)

Word Count (📃) . 3.2K

Your place was so pretty. Everything about it screams you.

He looks around in awe, admiring the numerous houseplants perched on shelves and your window sill. He remembered you mentioning that you didn't want to spend an extra 10 to 15 grand on a dorm that you would hate. Instead, you saved up years of paychecks to rent an apartment off campus.

It feels so intimate when it's only you two. Alone. What can happen between two people who are alone? Did he mention that you guys were alone? In your apartment. After getting the best head of his life (as if he had others to compare to). Every provocative thought he's ever had about you is prodding at his brain, teasing him and mini him down there.

"You can get yourself situated, I'm gonna go change into something more comfortable." You say shortly before disappearing into your room.

He carefully sits on your couch, hands placed on each knee. He's nervous, okay? He continues to examine your living room, liking the cozy atmosphere the warm string lights bring.

Eyeing the Polaroid pictures hung in a zig-zag pattern on your wall near your TV, he notices a specific picture of you two outside a movie theater. He recalls the fond memory, a small smile appearing on his face. It was a fun night that he needed desperately. Looking back at it now, he realizes that before meeting you— his nights were mainly spent isolated in his dorm or the study room in the library. How sad.

"Okay, let's do this!" You cheer, walking over to where Jake sits, bringing the boy out of his thoughts (which seems to be an occurring habit).

Jake turns his head and takes one look at you to know that he's doomed.

You were in a pink, floral two-piece pajama set. The top barely covered your chest. Fuck. And you were not wearing a bra. He can see your hardened nipples poking through the cotton fabric. And your shorts? God, they did nothing to cover your plump ass. He can see your cheeks peeking out, jiggling with every step.

You knew exactly what he was thinking about. You had him wrapped around your finger the second you got down on your knees (jokes on you though, he was yours the second you laid eyes on him for the first time. He'll never admit that though).

"Alright, where did we leave off?" You hum, plopping down right next to him. You shifted onto your knees, leaning the side of your body against the backrest of your couch.

"I.." He trails off, letting out a shakey breath. He scrunches his nose to lift the frame of his glasses higher. How could he answer this question? Were you talking about the physics you guys went over before you.. y'know? Or were you talking about that?

Cute. You thought.

"Oh yeah. I almost forgot. Anatomy." You emphasized with a smile, tilting your head slightly to the left.

His eyebrows perk up, "O-Oh. Yeah.. anatomy." He clears his throat, stealing a quick glance at your exposed cleavage.

You push your breasts together with your arms as you lean forward, "I'm more of a visual learner by the way." You whisper against the shell of his ear. Yeah, he definitely knows by now.

His hands shift off his knees and onto the cushion beside his thighs when you crawl onto his lap.

He whimpers at the feeling of your clothed cunt sitting atop his growing erection. He closed his eyes momentarily, the sensation already overwhelming him. Someone end him now before he cums in his pants.

You rest your hands on his shoulders, "I've always found you cute, Jakey." You mumble, feeling him twitch underneath you. Oh? Guess you found another weak spot of his. "Always wondered what your lips feel like.." You trail off, taking his lips in yours.

His hesitant hands finally find a spot on your waist, his cold hands against your warm skin make you shiver. His lips move with yours in a messy rhythm. It was sloppy but filled with such need and desperation.

He can't wrap his head around the fact that he managed to get his dick sucked before getting a kiss from you. But it's all real when you grind down on his bulge, earning a painful groan from the boy. You make him so unbelievably hard, it's embarrassing.

You break away from the kiss, biting back the smile that threatened to form when you catch the fog forming in his glasses. Oh, how you want to ruin this man. "I've always wanted to do this with you," You start off, lips trailing down his chin, to his neck, then to his collarbone, "Do you want this as much as I—" You bite down on his bare flesh and he whimpers, "Do?" Jake moans when you start grinding down against him at a slow, agonizing pace, "Fuck— Yes." He hisses through gritted teeth. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your sides, forcing your hips to rut against his even faster.

You raise the back of your hand to your mouth to muffle your sounds. The friction of his bulge rubbing against your aching clit through your shorts had you bucking your hips forwards, "A-Ah, Jaeyun!" You squeak out, hands going to wrap around the boy's wrists. "Mm.. so s-sensitive." He grunts, lips finding a place on your neck. He continued to kiss around, sucking multiple marks on your skin until one particular spot had you moaning out his name. Yeah, he may be inexperienced, but there's a thing called porn. He knows it's not the best source to learn from, but hey, it gets the basics down

You can feel one of his hands inching up your sides, almost as if he was hesitant to do something. You did him a favor by pulling his hand farther up your torso till he's practically groping the side of your breast. "I'm not made out of glass, Jake." You reminded him with a breathless giggle. You soon feel a familiar sensation begin to pool in the pit of your stomach. You hadn't realized just how horny you actually were. Like every touch he left on your skin made you burn for more. If you weren't careful, you might last shorter than you expected

"Jake, I-I think you should slow down." You gasp when you feel him bite down on your neck. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it was enough to know it'd leave a mark for the next few days. You can feel him shaking his head against your neck, almost frantically like he was going to lose something, "Not when I can feel you sh-shaking against me." How does he—?

You arch your chest more into his hands. The same hands you spent hours daydreaming about. The ones that were gently fondling your boob through your shirt, thumb grazing against your perky nipple. "I'm close, Jake."

The times when you curse Jaeyun for being a little too into his studies, especially now when he's taking his time in studying how your body reacts to his touches.

You would make a snarky comment if it weren't for Jake humping against you right now, bringing you extremely close to your high. "Shit. Me too, Y/n." He moans into your neck, hands hooking underneath your arm to grab at your shoulders, bringing your body to be as close to his. The smell of your fruit-scented shampoo floods his senses, spurring him to come undone in his pants with a drawn-out groan.

You were surprised to find yourself liking that more than you thought. It was so hot to see him cum merely by humping you. Some people would find that to be embarrassing, but for you, it only made you yearn for him even more. If it was any other guy— well. Jake wasn't any other guy. With him, he could literally start barking while calling you mommy (projecting yourself much?) and you'd still find him to be the most handsome guy you've ever laid eyes on.

"Fuck! M-My god, yes!" With a few frantic rolls of your hips, you felt the coil within you snapping and a wave of ecstasy washed over you almost immediately, causing you to twitch against the man below you.

You were only given merely a minute to calm down from your high before feeling his hand snake from your chest down your stomach. "Jake?" Your legs clamp around his hand that was currently in your shorts, prying your soaked panties to the side, "Wh.. What are you— oh." He runs his middle finger down between your slicked folds, the tip prodding at your entrance.

Your senses were heightened as your post-orgasm haze still lingered. You didn't know if you should tell him to keep going or not. But in all honesty, why would you want him to stop? If this is the chance to finally have those long, slender fingers you've spent countless hours daydreaming about inside of you, why stop now?

He watches as your face contorts when he slides a finger in. He isn't sure where this new-found confidence came through. Did it come after he had his dick shoved down your throat? Or when he made you cum undone? He's not complaining when he currently has you falling apart on his fingers. "You're so wet.. makes it so easy for me to just slip it in." That must've done something with the way you cried out his name. Or maybe it's when he curled his finger against a certain spot that made you see white.

He easily slips in another, immediately curling it to rip out another cry from you. "Keep moaning like that, baby."

The pet name makes you clench around his fingers, and he couldn't help but grin. "Jake..please."

"Yeah? You want more?" He asks heatedly, curling and uncurling his fingers again, making you shudder against him.

You spread your legs farther apart, nodding as your lip was tugged between your teeth.

Jake slowly pulls his fingers out of you, only to go rub small circles on your puffy clit with his thumb. Having the girl of his dreams turning to putty in his hands? It was an ego boost he thought he'd never needed until now. Plus, it was so fucking hot.

In the meantime, you stripped your top off while Jake tugged down his sweats along with his boxers till his cock sprang free. It stood upright and proud, tip red and leaking. You swallowed hard, worry beginning to poke at you. If it barely could fit in your mouth without forcing it, how was he going to fit in you?

But you have no time to ask questions when you find yourself hovering above his tip, using a free hand to help align it to your entrance.

You both sucked in a sharp breath when you sunk down till only the head was inside. You know it's going to be a really tight fit. His hands curiously cupped both of your breasts, relishing in how soft they were against his hands. "You're sucking me in, holy shit." Jake curses, eyes glued to the sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt inch by inch.

By the time you were halfway, you took a deep breath before sinking fully down in one swift motion till he reached the hilt inside of you.

Jake cursed your name out loud while his hands made their way back onto your waist, only this time was his grip harder than before. You let out a mewl that could only be compared to coming straight out of a porno. Tears swelled up in your eyes, which Jaeyun kissed away when it spilled down your cheeks. The stretch was a perfect blend of pain and pleasure. It hurts since he's the biggest you've ever taken. But it feels so good with the way he's prying your walls apart, stuffing you full. Your imagination could never live up to the real feeling.

What caught you by surprise though was Jake suddenly laying you down on the couch, towering over you while his dick still nuzzled deep within.

His glasses threatening to slip off at any given moment. As much as you would love to watch him fuck you with his adorable little specs on, you can't afford to risk it breaking and then never seeing him in those specs you love so much. You reached up and carefully pulled it off, folding it before placing it on the coffee table next to you guys.

He gives you a warm smile, and you feel your chest churn at the sight. God, this boy seriously has such an effect on you.

"Thank you." His accent is evidently thick, making you unintentionally clench down on him, causing him to groan. "Fuck, don't do that, baby." He mumbles weakly before leaning down to kiss you tenderly, running his tongue over your bottom lip.

You slip your hands underneath his shirt, feeling up his body. You can feel how toned he was against your palms. You pull away with a little smile, “Since when did you have abs?” You help slide it over his head, discarding the shirt somewhere in your living room. “Oh. I uhm, I work out in my spare time.” He explains. And only then do you glance over at his arms, soaking in the sight of his arms naturally flexing to show off his muscular biceps.

How much did you have to beg to have him put you in a chokehold?

"I like you, a lot." Jaeyun suddenly confesses, taking you by surprise.

"Jake. You're currently balls deep inside of me. You think I would let you do this if I hadn't liked you?"

You both stared at each other till you both burst out giggling. Seems that you guys were busy basking in your own perverted thoughts to realize how obvious your feelings appeared to be.

"For a nerd, you sure are stupid."

"For..." He starts, "Yeah, I got nothing." He laughs, combing back a strand of hair away from your pretty little face.

Shortly afterward, he goes to plant open-mouthed kisses along your jawline as his hands roam throughout your naked body, making sure to not leave an inch of your skin untouched.

You slightly grew impatient, resulting in you rolling your hips upwards.

His big hands pin your hips down onto the couch, forcing you to stay put, "Y-You need to stop doing that." He whines.

Before you could get something out, he was quick to pull out halfway only to slam back in. His mushroom tip rammed perfectly into your cervix, ripping out a choked-out sob from you.

His hands grab the back of your knees before pinning them up against your chest. He positions himself up on his knees, allowing himself to set a slow rhythm.

In between each thrust, he'd purposely thrust his pelvis flush against your ass then roll his hips, making you feel exactly how big he is. "Like how I feel buried inside this tight pussy?"

"God, yes." You purred, nails digging into his biceps.

Jake's head hung low, unable to pry his eyes away from seeing your pussy lips wrapped around his dick, your cunt swallowing his entire length with ease. He huffs, beginning to snap his hips back and forth at a fast pace.

Your body jolts with every harsh thrust. And all you could do at that moment was to take everything he gave you with a mantra of his name spilling out from your swollen, reddened lips. "o-oh my god! J-Jaeyun, shit!"

Your eyes were everywhere on him. They were eyeing the layer of sweat on his chest that glistened due to the lights. Then they traveled down between your legs, watching Jake pound into you with such determination. Now, they're staring straight into his puppy-dog-like eyes that were doted in lust.

His hand grasped your jaw, forcing you to look at him so he could watch how you reacted to his relentless thrusts. His thoughts were in disarray, drunk off the sensation of your walls squeezing around him as if you wanted to milk him dry. You felt as if your brain had short-circuited, babbling out incoherent nonsense. "Oh fuck, oh, god, fuck yes! There! Just like that, fucking god!"

You were nearly sobbing at this point. It was almost too much when you felt a fire pooling low in your abdomen. Jake could sense you were near with the way your walls were fluttering around his dick. "Are you close, baby?" He rasps, pressing his forehead against yours.

Your eyes were screwed shut, and the only thing open was your mouth which poured out a series of obscene noises along with a choked 'yes!'.

Jake bought his other hand up to rub fast circles against your clit, bringing you over your tipping point. "'m gonna cum, jae! Fuck— I'm cumming!" Like a spring coiling tightly and then being released, your orgasm crashes down on you. You feel both your body and mind dissolving into pleasure, clamping tightly around Jake's cock as a result.

You forced your eyelids apart in time to see Jake's face contort as his thrusts grew sloppy and erratic. His jaw hung low, tongue nearly poking out the side of his mouth (just like a puppy). "Gon' cum inside you, y/n. I like you so—" With a lewd cry, he nuzzles his face into your neck before fucking his cock deep into your sopping pussy, spurting out ropes and ropes of his hot, sticky cum to coat your inner walls.

His hips stuttered against yours. And you moan because you can feel his cock pulsating inside you, continuing to pump more cum inside you. At this point, you wouldn't be surprised if it began to leak out by now. "stuff you full of my f-fucking cum.. god, this tight pussy's milking me dry."

Although visibly spent from his mind-numbing orgasm, he made sure not to crush you by falling limp beside you.

You both bask in your post-orgasm daze by holding each other closely. His arm was slung around your waist whilst you nuzzled your face against his chest. His heart was palpitating, but he wasn't sure if it was from the earth-shattering sex he just had, or if it was the fact that he currently has you engulfed in his arms... after the most earth-shattering sex you guys just had.

"We should study together more often." Jake says, sending you a wink before reaching over to grab his glasses from the coffee table.

"Or.." You grab his glasses out of his hand, "We could do this more often," You slip on his specs, "—as boyfriend and girlfriend."

"Really?" He questions, eyebrows perking up. You can imagine the dog ears on him perking up as well.

You smile wholeheartedly, "Yes, really."

His hand cups the side of your face before he eagerly captures your lips into a passionate kiss. Your lips molded with his as if it were a perfect fit.

You pull away, letting him nuzzle his face into your neck, "Jake." You call out softly.

"Hm?" He answers.

"Were you planning on pulling out anytime soon?"

He pulls away from your neck to give you a playful smile. "I mean.. I can go for another round."

[yourbiggestcrybaby]

Dark Side

Tom Riddle X Reader

Tom is aware you have come from a school where the dark arts are taught. He knows you can help him and he knows just how to convince you

Warnings: slight manipulation, dark arts

The restricted section of the library was quiet. Tom watched you scan the shelves, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. You were so focused, so intent on finding something in these dusty old shelves. He knew what you were searching for, even if you didn’t know it yourself yet. Power. Knowledge that Hogwarts would never hand over to you willingly.

He let the silence stretch before stepping forward, making sure his footsteps were just loud enough to be heard. Predictably, you spun around, masking the flicker of surprise in your eyes almost as quickly as it appeared. A good sign. You were sharp, quicker than most, but Tom wasn’t worried about that. If anything, it made this more interesting.

"Looking for something forbidden, are we?" he murmured, keeping his voice low, watching you like a hawk. He saw the slight shift in your expression, the hint of wariness. Perfect. You were already on guard, already trying to figure him out. Good, he thought. Be curious. That’ll make this so much easier.

“Tom,” you replied, your tone carefully neutral. “Didn’t expect anyone else here.”

He smiled, just enough to put you off balance. “Ah, yes. You wouldn’t,” he replied smoothly, moving in closer, careful to make his steps calm, unthreatening. He had a knack for knowing when to press in and when to pull back, a skill that had already gotten him access to more knowledge than any other student his age. This was no different.

As he approached, he let his gaze drift to the book you’d picked up, one you’d clearly grabbed on impulse. The wrong choice, but he’d let you realize that on your own. Instead, he raised an eyebrow, amusement in his voice. "Interesting choice,” he said lightly. “But I’d think someone with your background would be interested in… other texts.”

He saw the faint flicker of unease in your eyes, the way you adjusted your grip on the book. So, he thought with a flash of satisfaction, it’s true. Your dark arts training didn’t fade as quickly as Dumbledore had hoped. He watched your expression carefully, knowing that his mention of your past would strike a nerve. It always did. People who came from the darker schools always felt that edge of suspicion in places like Hogwarts, the feeling of being an outsider, of hiding something.

“Maybe I am,” you replied, cool but not defensive. Not bad, he thought. You were trying to keep him at a distance, trying to keep control of the conversation. But you wouldn’t last long. He’d made sure of that.

“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” he said, a hint of intrigue in his voice. He let his tone stay casual, almost amused, but not enough to hide the curiosity in his eyes. He’d learned early on that interest was a powerful tool; people always responded to the thrill of being noticed. “But Hogwarts might not have what you’re used to. Not openly, anyway.” He watched you closely, seeing the way his words drew you in. “Still, you know the things taught where you are from aren’t forgotten here. If anything, they’re just… hidden better.”

The way you studied him then, the hint of resistance, it was clear you weren’t going to give in easily. He almost smirked. Good, he thought, his pulse quickening. It’s always more interesting when they resist.

“And why are you so interested in my old curriculum?” you asked, your voice still light, but he could hear the guarded edge.

He leaned back a little, letting his posture go easy, almost dismissive, knowing how much more effective that would be than anything intense. “Oh, I’m not interested in that,” he said, shrugging slightly. “I’m interested in you.” He let that sink in, watching as the idea took root. “A student who actually knows what magic can do beyond the harmless charms and tricks we’re taught here. I’d think you know spells and techniques that others couldn’t even imagine.” He paused, just long enough to watch your expression shift. “Which, naturally, would make you quite valuable.”

Valuable. That word always worked. It was true, after all, though not in the way you might have thought. Tom’s mind was already racing, already calculating how he might use what you knew, what you dark school had taught you. And the best part was that you wanted this power, even if you hadn’t fully admitted it to yourself. That hunger—it was just under the surface, buried behind all the polite airs and restraint you wore. He’d seen it in the way you looked at certain spells in class, the ones that made the others shrink back in fear. He knew exactly how to draw that side of you out.

“Valuable?” You raised an eyebrow, keeping your tone casual. “And you think you’re the one to show me how?”

He almost laughed. Predictable, he thought. You wanted to believe you could see through him, that you weren’t impressed. But he could see it in your eyes, that flicker of curiosity. He tilted his head, letting his gaze sharpen, his expression just serious enough to make you feel like he was seeing something no one else could. “I think you have a potential that most at this school couldn’t even comprehend. Power that few would understand.” He paused, as if measuring his words carefully. “You could accomplish so much, if only you'd... let go of certain reservations.”

He watched as your expression shifted, and he knew he’d struck a chord. Yes, he thought, his pulse quickening again. Let that sink in. It was always the first step. Plant the seed, make them doubt their limitations. After that, it was only a matter of time before they came to him willingly, before they were willing to do anything he suggested.

“I know you don’t believe in the rules, not really,” he continued, his voice calm and coaxing. “And Hogwarts isn’t giving you what you need. Not truly. They’re holding you back, but you’re far too intelligent to let the Ministry’s silly morals stand in your way.”

He could almost see the thoughts racing in your mind, the way you were weighing his words, considering the possibility of everything he was offering. Yes, he thought, pleased. Think about it. Let it fester.

[starryhyuck]

not like other guys. (m) — PATREON EXCLUSIVE

pairing: bestfriend!jeno x afab!roommate!reader

words: 4.4k+

summary: jeno’s tired from watching you cry over men who don’t deserve you.

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: mentions of previous relationships with renjun and jungwoo, reader is briefly with jaemin, jealousy, fingering, praising, creampie, bigdick!jeno

this fic is exclusive to both tiers on my patreon, which you can access here! below is a tumblr preview

Jeno’s not the confrontational type.

As Jaemin likes to say, his personality is akin to an obedient puppy who won’t cause any trouble unless requested to. Jeno once took offense to that type of statement, but over the years, he can’t help but see the truth behind it. It’s why it’s so jarring for rage to bubble in his stomach when he spots Jungwoo at the coffee shop down the street from your shared apartment. He doesn’t even feel like his feet are his own when he strides towards the older man, gripping his shoulder and forcing Jungwoo to turn around and face him.

“Woah,” Jungwoo exclaims in surprise before his jaw clenches when he sees the culprit. “Oh, it’s you.”

Johnny and Jaehyun flank behind him, sipping on their coffee with raised eyebrows. Jeno would normally be embarrassed to confront someone in front of their friends, but his mouth moves before his brain can register the words.

“Next time, pick someone else to string along and toss on the side of the road when you get bored. If I ever see her crying over you again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Jungwoo scoffs, throwing a look back at Johnny and Jaehyun, almost as if he was saying, Can you believe the nerve of this guy? Jeno snarls at him and Jungwoo snickers, only angering him further.

“Come on, Jeno. I did you a favor. Everyone in the entire world knows you two would kill for each other. I was the one looking like a desperate loser when I asked her out.”

Jeno grits his teeth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jungwoo shakes his head. “Seriously, man? Not only are you two glued at the hip wherever you go, but you live together. I literally can’t make a move on her because you’re always lingering in the background, waiting to skin me alive. Jae even said I was wrong for trying to steal another guy’s girl.”

Jeno looks over at Jaehyun, who nods in agreement to Jungwoo’s statement. Johnny nonchalantly leans on the counter behind him, sunglasses perched over his nose.

“Give Jungwoo a break. You’re only hurting yourself by pushing away the truth,” Johnny advises, although his tone sounds slightly patronizing to Jeno. The barista behind him calls out Jeno’s name, and Johnny takes the drink from her and outstretches it to the man it belongs to. “I’m sure you’ll feel much better when you finally confess your feelings to her.”

Jeno grabs the cup out of his hands, lip curled distastefully.

“I hope you all rot in hell.”

want to read the rest? access both tiers on my patreon here!

[heedthetenofwands]

pirate!captainjohnprice x mermaid!femreader

You've sworn yourself to never trust humans. They are selfish. They betray and lie. They dance and twist around the truth as easy as drawing a breath.

And this captain was no different. He wasn't. He couldn't.

...Right?

or... in search for treasure, the 141 crew and the Shadow fleet finally land at their X on the map. But, where they expected gold, they find merfolk. And where Captain John Price expected just another mission, he found you.

Chapter 1

The sun winked at the pirate boat as she peeked over the horizon and through the clouds. Price smiled at her arrival through squinted eyes; their routine was familiar, but the sight always left him awestruck. The warm tones that flooded the deck meant he knew the men who slept beneath would wake soon.

He put out the candle to his side as he assessed the map once more. This thing they were after – what lay under that X – would be the most valuable treasure they would find yet, or so says Shepherd. The bounty would mean more supplies for the crew and a helping of meat at the market. Gods knew the last time they had protein that wasn’t fish.

“Mornin’ Cap’n.” He heard his quartermaster grumble as he joined him. Price glanced over to see Ghost, a dark headband over his hair and temple, with black fabric covering the lower half in his face. The fabric was marked with a faded image of the lower half of a skull. He turned to Price, kohl smeared eyes narrowing in on the map, “We're almost there aren't we?”

Price nodded then furrowed his brows in thought, “It’s doing my head in that we’re still in the dark.”

Ghost hummed a sound of agreement. "You sent that letter to Shepherd. He should reply soon.”

A loud yawn suddenly draws their attention to someone walking up the stairs from the lower deck to join them.

“Morning.” Gaz greeted them while rubbing his eyes. The early morning wasn’t the boatswain's scene – ‘pretty boy needs his beauty sleep’ Soap would tease before an eyeroll from said pretty boy. He came to stand on the opposite side of the table to Price and looks down at the map too.

A beat passes before, “Where’s Soap?” Price asks. The Scot could get skittish when there had been little action at sea - it had been three months since any sign of another ship.

Gaz sighed. “Harassing the chefs, captain.”

Price laughed, “He realises that they have no control over bread for breakfast?”

Gaz chuckles, “Nope. Has a whole conspiracy that they’re keeping the meat to themselves.”

Price smiles slightly at that, before he registered the shouts of the lower crew. Cries of ‘land ahoy’ sounded and speculative whispers soon spread round the deck as he and the rest of his team stepped out of the upper cabin to find the island they had been looking for. Price instinctively reached for his telescope to scan the area further. Bringing the looking glass to eye-level, he could see tall forests that no doubt hid bountiful flora and fauna deep in the jungle of the island, but the mainland was not where they would seek. Instead, he moved to focus on the caves to the far left before he yelled for the men to prepare the anchors and boats.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The battering heat of the sun was blocked by the looming cave walls as the pirates and their rowboats were swallowed by the midnight tones of the cave’s depth. The men helped each other light their torches as the boats followed down further into the cave. Price was confident that this was what they had been looking for; it was a perfect cove to hide a treasure.

They followed the narrow confines of the cave’s walls until the stream ended and they arrived in the cave’s centre. Price decided that he and his team would scope the area that was located further into the cave before he would let Graves and his Shadows perform a wider search. He relayed this much to the pirate who responded with a nod leaving him to let Soap and Gaz row to get ahead of the boats and closer to the shrouded land.

It was only when Price stepped off the boat and help up his torch to scope the ground did his eyes widen as he took in the image. As far as he could see, were merfolk asleep along the shoreline, covering practically every inch of where the waves could lap at their forms as they slept on the sand.

Bloody hell.

He and his men had been led to a merfolks’ rest.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The history of the merfolk and humans was rife with bitter blood and violent encounters. Price vaguely remembered the fragile truce that had recently transpired between the two, and he wasn’t going to be the one to crush it all for the sake of whatever treasure they were sent to find. He stepped backwards to return to the boat, keeping his eye on the merfolk in case they awoke. The men must have seen them too – their hushed murmurs fell to a choked silence - but Price couldn’t help a startled grunt at his body being pulled from under him. A strong and swift form had grabbed his legs and was dragging him into the deeper depths of the waters: down, down, down.

You were not letting this man or his men near your people.

You had been awakened by the light of his torch, a small but immediate starkness to the cave’s shadows allowing your eyes to narrow in on how the glow of the flames danced across the man’s face. He had prominent dark brown facial hair, and a dark coat covered his large form; you could see his eyes widen at the sight of what he had discovered. You knew what you had to do if you wanted to avoid a massacre; it must be done, you tell yourself once more as you watch him struggle for breath in your grasp.

However, this wasn’t Price’s first mermaid encounter. Bringing his knees to his chest as quick as he can, he brings your form close enough to grab your head and slam it to his knee. The force of it is dizzying and the few seconds of disorientation it costs you steals your victory. 

By the time you open your eyes, you were being pulled from the water by a pair of large and rough hands, and a shocked gasp escapes you as the human lifts you so your back was held tight to his chest and his knife hovers above your neck. You keep your eye on the edge of the blade and attempt to calm your breathing. Your neck would be cut if it came any closer to your erratic breaths. Then, you lift your gaze to meet the horrified stares of your kind. You had failed so miserably. The knife at your throat was only a hint of the torture that would await everyone.

As you felt your mind resettling, you took note of how this human was holding your body up. He was strong, you could give him that. He shifts his hold on you to the side of his body so he could see the merfolk.

“We don’t want any trouble.” He spoke out. “We didn’t know you were resting here.” You clench your jaw at that, holding your tongue from saying something rash. It was obvious the others weren’t convinced of his words either as they started moving – he was in their territory right now - but he only narrowed his eyes, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He brings the knife too close - far too close - and as the panic rushes through your head you rear your face back, your arms push try to wrench his grasp on your but his grip remained strong. Your quickened and uncontrolled breathing lets his knife nick repeatedly at the surface of your neck. The growing trail of blood stops the merfolk where they are. They retreat from the human, and he mirrors their actions, pulling the blade away once more from you. The caves echo your last panicked gasps and you grit your teeth in frustration.

“Get on with it, human.” You seethe. You can feel his eyes narrow on the back of your head. You stare forward.

“Alright, here’s the deal.” His voice rumbles. “Like I said, we’re not here to cause trouble, you lot let us out of ‘ere, and I’ll release her at the entrance to return to you.” Your mouth dries up and your tail curls at his command. Liar.

The merfolk murmur at his words, many throwing you concerned and worried glances. Quickly, the talking stops and everyone is looking at you, waiting to see what you had to say. Closing your eyes, you know you had accepted your fate when you had been caught. You knew how men gutted creatures they hooked from the sea and still, you opened your eyes, looked at everyone for the final time and smiled as you nodded. You vaguely feel the human’s eyes watching you, before stepping backwards into the water. You keep your eyes on the surface of the water as he passes you into the arms of another human, he too hovers a knife over your neck, but it all came second to the numbing surrealness of the whole ordeal. This was it.

You hear your captor tell one of them to tie your hands. You grunt as a man you could only refer to as ‘skull-face’ drops you onto your stomach, you’re left winded by the sudden impact of the rough wooden floor of the boat. He ties your hands and when it’s over, he turns you to your side and leaves to join the captain.

You close your eyes.

You try to keep your head held up, so the side of your face wasn’t pressed into the sandy wet floor. The boat picks up speed and you hear the rush of water as the men follow the path to the cave’s entrance.

As if to comfort yourself before the end, you curl your tail inwards. But as you do, your fin catches the end of a blunt object. Tilting your head down and opening your eyes, you can see a small knife that lay at the end of the boat – it’s handle was close to your fins. If you stretched just enough, you could obtain it.

Your heart awoke with fervour at the chance to strike before they could put you down. You whip your tail towards the knife. It's just short that you have to absolutely stretch your tail's length to grip the end of the handle. With the blade in your tail's hold, you're worried that the men had heard your movements.  You glance at the four, but their backs are still to you. Quickly, you swing your tail backwards and you manage to wedge the knife at the ropes which tied your hands.

You feel your heart hammering against your chest as you slowly move the knife back and forth and, finally, cut the rope around your hands. With your hands free, you brace your hands on the boat floor to push your torso up and turn your body to have your back on the floor. The exhaustion leaves you careless as the sound of your exertion causes the men to turn their heads to the back of the boat. Seeing that you're free, skullface immediately draws a pistol.

At first, you freeze. But, remembering your limited time alive anyway, you brandish the small knife at him with one arm while the other pushes against the floor to help you move your body to the back of the boat. Quickly, you feel your back hit the wooden end of the boat and all you can hear is your shallow breathing as you hold your puny knife at gunpoint.

The two men beside him have stopped rowing too, their gaze upon the stand off, shoulders tense and eyes wary.

“Stand down.” Your captor – their leader - commands. Skullface stills at that, and moves aside to allow him to walk towards you. You only glare and tighten the two-hand grip on the handle as the captain walks and kneels on one knee in front of you. Something about his tired eyes and the escape of a small sigh stops you from lunging towards his neck with the blade.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you.” And it’s stupid, the way you could almost believe him. You blame the burnt exhaustion you find lacing his tone instead of the sharp edge you had come to associate with the man. You don’t move the knife away. He’s unfazed. “What’s your name?”

You don’t waver, “Let me leave. Right now.”

“We will. When we reach the cave’s exit.”

“Liar.” You fire back immediately.

You hear another human’s voice from one of the boats that had been trailing behind. "What are you doing, Price?” He shouts – an irritated bark.

“Nothing, Graves.” Your captor responds back in a raised voice, “Give us a minute.” He tells him before turning those blue eyes back to you. “Look, we had no idea you were here.” He holds a hand over your heart, a gesture you recognised to mean as one of sincerity on land but here, on the sway of the ocean surface, it fell flat. Recognising your unconvinced look, he sighs, “Your people, they seem to care for you. They would have never let me, or my crew leave unscathed if it weren’t for your safety." He sees your brows furrow a little. A curiosity of where he was going with this speech soothed your hostility. “And whether you believe me or not, it’s the same f'me. If securing your safety brings my men a safe passage out of ‘ere. I’m not risking it.” With that, he holds out a hand, palm up. You remove your gaze from his as you try to gather your thoughts.

When you reflected on earlier, it made sense. Considering everything, it genuinely seemed that these humans had no idea that they would meet merfolk. You meet his eyes and the stern, but calm, gaze holds your own as you seem to surrender the blade to his hands.

But you swore to never let your fate rest on humans again. And that is what drives you to turn the blade on yourself.

You ignore the captain's yell as you drive the blade towards your heart. But he's quick and is able to wrap his hands over yours. Not enough to stop you, but he manages to divert your path from your beating heart to your shoulder.

You gasp at the cut, but your shock transforms to fury at realising what he's done. You lock eyes with the human and try to pull the blade out. Perhaps you may get lucky and bleed out.

No such luck. The blade remains wedged, the captain keeping his grip. Before you realise it, he has his other hand grab your wrist before turning your body around and pinning you back down on the ground. He ignores your curses, effortlessly keeping you pinned to the floor. Instead, he shouts out to his men, you don't know or care what for but you figure it out nonetheless when you feel your hands being tied again and a blindfold obscuring your vision.

You don't stop resisting - if you're to die, let it be at the hands of the sea - but eventually, he leaves you alone and you feel the boat start up again. And whether it was the fear, panic, your wound or even being out of the water this long, everything fades to nothingness.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

A frantic getaway from the cave and the swarms of raging mermaids and mermen leaves the pirates to regroup and reflect back on the ship. Price and his men look over the map once more, double checking and confirming their location, while some men are treated for their wounds and others start filling an empty crate with water for the mermaid.

Price hears a couple whistles from the deck. The questioning gaze he sends his men draws a somewhat awkward moment.

A beat passes before Gaz coughs, “The mermaid, cap, they’ve put her in the crate but she’s a bit exposed now that we’re in the sun.” Price narrows his eyes at that before turning away from the table and makes his way down the deck to the crate.

“Something interesting here, men?” He sternly asks the small group of pirates that had crowded around the mermaid. They straighten up and turn to face him.

One of them pipes up, “Nothing, cap, just not every day you see a mermaid.”

“Could say the same for a pair o’ tits for you, mate." Another cuts in with a smirk.

“Enough. Leave her alone until we figure out what to do.” Price orders and the men disperse. Price is about to turn to turn away and regroup with Graves and his men but catches your form still bound and exposed.

Your eyes were shut, and someone must have removed the knife to place bandages around your shoulder. Price notes and simmers at the unnecessary cruelty of leaving your chest uncovered. He begins to unbutton his waistcoat and, once he pulls it off, cuts free the rope on your hands. He doesn’t let his eyes wonder over the glow of your skin in the sunset lighting, instead, methodically slipping your arms through the waistcoat's holes. Price ignores the feel of the brush of his fingers over your skin as he fixes the buttons before walking away.

Approaching his men and Graves, he doesn’t miss the way Ghost narrows in on his missing waistcoat.

“Graves.” He says. This stops the man’s chatter with his shadows. “A word.” At that, the others leave their leaders on the upper deck. Graves is nonchalant, sharpening a knife as he waits for Price.

“What seems to be the problem?” He asks, the cadence of his voice gives the question a knowing tone.

“The problem is I have an injured mermaid on my ship Graves, that wasn’t part of the deal. We came here for treasure, not to stir up trouble with the merfolk.” Price can feel the pressings of a migraine settling so he tries to focus on the warm dying embers of the sky. “Now with us practically holding one of them hostage, we’re never going to be get back in that cave. It will be even worse when she dies. What do you suppose we do?”

Graves stops sharpening the knife, holding it up to see it in the final rays of the sun, “This is your problem, Price. You think our treasure is some kind of chest of gold but it’s not.” He walks towards Price, removing something from his pocket and then holds it out to him. A letter.

“This arrived for you yesterday, from Shepherd. Thought it was for me, sorry.” Graves commented, unapologetic. Price clenches his jaw but accepts the paper. He opens it up and there laid a single phrase: Keep it alive.

“He wants a mermaid?” Price says, taken aback.

Graves hums. “I suppose, how does that saying go? Not all treasure is silver and gold.”

At that. Price lets his eyes go back to you, the setting of the sun had you washed in a glow of warm tones, eyes still shut tight, head lolled to the side so he could see the crane of your neck and his dampened waistcoat clinging to your form.

You may not have been gold coins, but right there, you glinted in the sun like one.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Note: this was born from a hyperfixation/love for john price, the pirates of the carribean movies and mermaid aus, with that please forgive any inaccuracies with piracy and in general tbh (><). Hope you enjoy (^^)!!

Thank you sm for reading (^^) !! If you want to be notified for chapter 2, you can follow my page as I'll solely be posting fics <3 Much love for likes, reblogs and comments (><)

[brodygold]

A Straightforward Proposal

Connor strolled down the hallway of the Golden Army’s stadium, his polished loafers tapping softly against the tiled floor. He wasn’t even sure how he’d ended up here—a random detour during a walk around town had led him to the imposing structure, the very heart of his city’s famed soccer team, the Golden Army. He wasn’t into sports, much less one as intense as soccer. But lately, a strange feeling had been pulling him toward things outside his comfort zone, and here he was, wandering through the hallowed halls of a world he didn’t belong to.

The locker room was quiet, almost sacred in its stillness, and he walked slowly, taking in the row of metal lockers, the slightly worn benches, the walls lined with framed photos of the team’s most victorious moments. He admired the team from afar, had even been to a few games with friends who raved about the players, but he never quite understood the appeal. To him, sports were just… messy, loud, and unpredictable.

But as he walked through the room, Connor’s gaze landed on something unusual—a glimmer of gold hanging from one of the open lockers. He stepped closer, his curiosity piqued. It was a jersey, but not just any jersey. The iconic golden hue, the dark green trim, the embroidered initials “GA” on the chest. It looked pristine, like it was waiting for someone to claim it.

Connor couldn’t resist reaching out and running his fingers along the smooth, sturdy fabric. It felt different from his usual designer clothes—strong, like it had been built to withstand anything. A little voice in the back of his mind told him to walk away, that this wasn’t for him. But a stronger urge tugged at him to put it on, just to feel what it was like, to imagine himself as one of those powerful, unstoppable players who wore it with pride.

With one last look around, Connor took a deep breath and slipped off his tailored shirt, folding it neatly on the bench beside him. Then, with a mixture of excitement and hesitation, he pulled the golden jersey over his head. As soon as it settled against his torso, he felt a strange warmth spread through his chest, like the jersey was coming alive, molding itself to his frame.

Connor looked down in surprise as his body began to change. His chest began to fill out, his muscles expanding beneath the jersey, stretching the fabric. His arms, which had always been slender and toned from careful exercise, started thickening with muscle, his biceps and forearms bulging as if he’d been lifting weights for years. The sensation was strange, almost surreal, but he found himself enjoying it, watching his transformation in awe.

His shoulders broadened, stretching the collar of the jersey. His torso shifted, becoming leaner and harder, with defined abs pressing against the fabric. He turned to look at himself in the mirror, and a shock of disbelief hit him. His face, once soft-featured and refined, had become sharper, his jaw more pronounced, his cheeks taking on a rugged, chiseled look. Even his hair, usually perfectly styled and gelled, had become slightly messier, like he’d just come off the field, the strands falling in a way that looked effortlessly cool.

As he admired the changes, a strange dizziness washed over him, and he steadied himself against the locker. It wasn’t just his body that was changing—his thoughts, too, were shifting. Memories of afternoons at art galleries and brunches in upscale cafes began to fade, replaced by images of practice drills, intense workouts, and the sound of cheering crowds. He thought of the thrill of scoring a goal, of hearing his name chanted by fans, of pushing his body to its limits alongside his teammates.

Connor felt a surge of adrenaline as these new memories took hold, filling him with a sense of purpose he’d never felt before. He could see himself on the field, fighting for victory with every ounce of strength, his teammates by his side, their bond stronger than anything he’d known. The idea of camaraderie, of being part of something bigger than himself, ignited a fire in him. He was no longer the preppy guy who drifted through life with little direction—he was a Golden Army player, a warrior on the field, dedicated to the game, to his team, to victory.

And as his memories continued to reshape, so did his interests. Gone was his taste for designer clothes, his carefully curated lifestyle. In its place grew a love for competition, for strength, for the thrill of the game. He could feel his attraction shifting too; his old boyfriends and dates felt distant, almost foreign, like they belonged to someone else. Now, he saw himself with girls cheering him on from the stands, joining him after the game in victory celebrations. Their soft lips and lovely breasts just begging to be squeezed. His old life seemed laughable compared to this new world of intensity and purpose.

Just as he took a deep breath, adjusting to the strange yet exhilarating transformation, he heard a chuckle from behind. Turning, he saw Brody, one of the Golden Army’s most respected players, leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“Enjoying the jersey?” Brody asked, clearly amused.

Connor grinned back, the confidence and ease in his expression startling even himself. “Yeah… feels like it was meant for me,” he said, his voice deeper, rougher, and rich with a newfound bravado.

Brody nodded, stepping forward and clapping him on the back with a strong hand. “Guess it found the right guy, then. We could use someone with your… enthusiasm.”

Connor felt a surge of pride at the unspoken approval in Brody’s voice. He could feel the weight of the team’s legacy on his shoulders, and instead of intimidating him, it excited him. He felt ready to prove himself, to show everyone that he belonged here.

“So, when’s the next game?” Connor asked, the words slipping out naturally.

Brody raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Tomorrow morning. Practice at six sharp. Think you’re up for it?”

“Of course,” Connor replied confidently. The idea of waking up before dawn for training didn’t faze him. In fact, it thrilled him. “I was born for this.”

Brody chuckled. “That’s the spirit. Welcome to the team, man.”

With one last look at his reflection, Connor felt a surge of excitement. He was no longer the preppy guy wandering aimlessly through life. He was Connor of the Golden Army, a fierce, driven athlete with a team, a purpose, and a brotherhood he’d fight for. His life was now about pushing his limits, winning for the team, for the pride of wearing the golden jersey.

As he and Brody walked out of the locker room, Connor felt a deep sense of belonging, of purpose. He knew he’d never go back to his old life—the designer suits, the gallery openings, the carefully curated image. It all seemed so empty compared to the thrill of the field, the roar of the crowd, and the loyalty of his teammates. He couldn’t wait to dominate on the field with his bros and with the chicks in the sheets!

[m4rv3l-girl]

You’re not empty

Bucky x Y/N

Just an encounter - and a bit of healing for the white wolf…

Requests open

Warning: Some angst.

The city’s lights flickered like broken stars, casting a hazy glow over the streets as Y/N made her way down 9th Avenue.

She checked her phone for the third time, frowning at the lack of response. Bucky was supposed to meet her hours ago. He wasn’t usually one to forget plans, but there’d been a distance to him lately, a subtle drawing away that she couldn’t quite place. Tonight, though, that distance was becoming physical—stretching wider with every unanswered text.

She wandered through the familiar streets, her mind racing with worry and frustration. The occasional neon sign buzzed softly overhead, splashing the damp pavement with colors as she walked. The deep hum of the city around her almost drowned out her thoughts, leaving only the pulsing beat of her heart in the quiet spaces between.

She’d just about given up when a soft, orange glow caught her eye.

Tucked down a side street, a narrow bar with faded lettering on the window gleamed like a forgotten relic from another time.

Inside, she spotted him immediately.

Bucky sat hunched over the counter, shadows pooling under his eyes as he stared down into his drink. He looked distant, almost haunted, like a soldier lost in the memories of battles he’d rather forget. She stood there, watching him from the doorway, her heart tightening at the sight.

Finally, she approached, sliding onto the barstool beside him. He glanced up, a flicker of surprise softening the hard set of his jaw.

“Doll,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “What’re you doin’ here?”

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she looked at him. “I could ask you the same thing, Bucky. You were supposed to meet me three hours ago. I was starting to think you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

He looked away, his fingers tightening around his glass. “Guess I just… got sidetracked.”

The tension settled between them, thick and heavy, filling the silence with unspoken words. She watched him closely, the way his shoulders curled in, like he was trying to shrink away from something, or someone.

“Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?” she asked softly.

He sighed, a long, weary exhale that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand sleepless nights. “It’s… it’s nothing, Doll. Just old memories. Bad dreams. Sometimes it’s hard to shake ‘em.”

Her heart ached at the quiet vulnerability in his voice. She knew he had scars—ones that ran far deeper than the metal arm or the haunted look in his eyes. Gently, she reached out, covering his hand with hers.

“You don’t have to deal with it alone, you know,” she murmured. “I’m here. I don’t care how dark it gets.”

He glanced at her, his gaze softening for a moment before he looked away again. “Sometimes I wonder why you stick around. I’m not exactly the easiest person to be with.”

“Maybe I like a challenge,” she teased, nudging him lightly. “Besides, you’re worth it, even if you don’t see it.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You always know how to make a guy feel better, don’t ya?”

“Just part of the job, Serge,” she replied, grinning as he shook his head with a soft chuckle.

“Serge, huh?” he mused, his tone lightening just a bit. “Guess I could get used to that.”

He took another sip of his drink before setting it down, the glass clinking softly against the counter. “C’mon,” he said, standing up and offering her his hand. “Let’s get out of here. The night’s too quiet for sittin’ in a bar.”

She took his hand, the warmth of his fingers grounding her as they left the bar and stepped into the cool night air.

They wandered aimlessly through the city streets, the quiet between them comfortable, each step a slow unraveling of the tension that had been coiled inside him.

They walked until they reached a small park, its iron gates slightly ajar. Bucky led her to a worn fire escape overlooking the cityscape, and they sat down side by side, gazing out at the endless sprawl of lights stretching across the horizon.

After a long silence, he spoke. “Sometimes I feel… empty,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like there’s nothing left inside me. Just shadows and echoes of someone I used to be.”

She felt her heart clench, the pain in his words cutting through her like a knife. “You’re not empty, Bucky,” she said softly. “You’re just… healing. It’s not easy, but you’re not alone. You’ve got people who care about you, who want to help. You’ve got me.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, his blue eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “You mean that, don’t you?” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze drifting back to the city lights. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” she admitted, squeezing his hand. “But I’m here for the long haul, Bucky. No matter how hard it gets. I’ll keep reminding you until you believe it.”

He turned to her, his face softening as he reached out to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin in a gesture so gentle it made her heart ache. “Darling,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t deserve you.”

She smiled, leaning into his touch. “Maybe, maybe not. But that’s not up to you to decide, is it?”

A laugh escaped him, low and soft, filled with a warmth that felt like a glimpse of the person he might become, someday. He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as they sat there, letting the quiet comfort of each other’s presence fill the empty spaces in their hearts.

As the first light of dawn broke over the city skyline, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You make all this…” he gestured vaguely to the city, the memories, the loneliness, “feel a little brighter. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Love is a funny thing,” she murmured, smiling up at him. “It has a way of filling even the darkest places with light.”

They stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms as the city came alive around them, its hum of life blending with the quiet promise between them.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but in that moment, with the sun rising over the horizon, they had each other—and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

——————————————————————————————————

[fabflava]

Ava has always played the part of the “cool girl,” but as we get hints of her insecurities and vulnerabilities, it starts to feel like she might be hiding a softer side, maybe even a past where she was less than confident. She often exaggerates her confidence, and her one-liners about her looks and talents almost feel like a performance. This theory is only strengthened when she responds so dramatically to a small compliment from Janine; it’s as if Janine sees her in a way that Ava’s always wanted to be seen but could never admit. Maybe Ava sees a piece of herself in Janine—the “nerdy girl” who might not have been accepted by the popular crowd but was earnest and genuine. Her reluctance to let her guard down might stem from past experiences where being vulnerable didn’t pay off. In Janine, she sees someone who unabashedly wears her heart on her sleeve, a quality Ava might secretly admire but also finds slightly threatening.

Ava and Janine’s connection has a lot of potential. Their differences complement each other, with Janine’s sincerity and work ethic rubbing off on Ava, while Ava’s confidence and humor help Janine lighten up. If they were to grow closer, it would likely bring out the best in both of them. Ava could teach Janine to let go and have more fun, while Janine could encourage Ava to embrace her hidden qualities and talents

Together, they could forge a partnership where each helps the other grow—Janine helping Ava see the impact she could have as a true leader, and Ava helping Janine find confidence and assertiveness in her own unique way.

If the writers continue to explore this relationship, it could evolve into something truly special. It’s easy to imagine that beneath Ava’s sarcasm and Janine’s wide-eyed innocence, there’s an unspoken understanding that they both want to be seen and valued. And whether their connection stays platonic or hints at something deeper, they undeniably bring out different sides of each other, making their relationship one of the most intriguing parts of Abbott Elementary.

[bijouxcarys]

𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒅 (𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𝒙 𝑶𝑪) - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏

Masterlist

Character Profiles/Face Claims

Playlist

A/N: Finally chapter 17 (the second half of chapter 16 that made it too bloody long)! I know you're all going to enjoy this one because you're all filthy little hobbits. Jokes, I love u all for all the support and love you keep leaving me. I love engagement with my work and it really helps with motivation, as I'm sure any writer would tell you. Anyways, as always, I hope you all enjoy this one ;)

CW/TW: S m u t central, pure filth, some angst

Tags: @empressdede @thetribalqueen @heauxvibez @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @headoftheetable @jstarr86 @southerngirl41

@tshepisho @cry1nwhileimcumm1n @maeb99 @thedesireds @dzdndcnfsd

@expert-texpert @niknakbucks92 @sillyteecup @trentybenty @pittieprincess22

@electronicwitchsandwich @thefairywithboots

(If you want to be tagged in any future Roman fics, just let me know!)

It took a little under an hour for Nate’s phone to buzz with the incoming text from Roman telling her he had arrived. In that time, she’d moved upstairs to grab a jacket, not entirely comfortable leaving the house at midnight in the December weather of New York. 

She stood from her spot on the edge of her bed, smoothing out the tight fabric of her dress before stumbling ever-so-slightly in her heels. It would have been a smart move to just… change shoes, but she didn’t even think of that. All she could think about was… Roman.

Okay, okay, just walk normal, she reminded herself, steadying her steps as she quietly made her way downstairs, turning away from the direction in which Dimitri had his associates gathered. She almost couldn’t believe she’d managed to slip out the back door of the house without making a sound loud enough to alert someone. 

The further away she got from the house, the more surreal the situation felt. She was sneaking out of her own home, half-drunk, to meet Roman Reigns—Roman Reigns, of all people. You’d think the shock of being somewhat civil with her family’s number one enemy would have dulled out by now, but nope. That shit was rampant when she let herself think too much about it. She couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh to herself.

The alcohol had fully caught up with her now, making everything around her slightly fuzzy, but not enough to forget what was going on. She followed the narrow path down from the estate, through the hedges and along the private road. Her phone buzzed again, another text from Roman.

Parked down the street. Just past the bend.

Nate squinted down the dark road. Of course, he wouldn’t park right in front of the house. He wasn’t stupid. Roman knew better than to make himself too obvious, especially in her family’s territory. A mafia boss meeting with the daughter of another mafia boss wasn’t exactly a low-stakes situation.

After a couple of minutes of walking—well, more like ungraceful, slightly wobbly striding—Nate finally spotted that familiar black sedan parked a little further down the road, barely visible under the faint glow of a street lamp. She could see the faint outline of him sitting in the driver’s seat, his headlights off but the dim interior lights on, just enough to catch sight of him.

Roman had a presence even when doing nothing. Broad shoulders, thick arms resting casually on the wheel. Profile perfectly illuminated in the saturated light. Damn. It didn’t matter how drunk Nate was, he always managed to look like he belonged directly in the centre of attention.

She approached the passenger side, swayling a little more than she would’ve liked, and when Roman saw her, his neutral expression shifted slightly. Narrowing his eyes the same way he did every time he focused in on something.

He gave her a once-over, his gaze travelling from her legs, up the tight-fitting dress that wrapped around every line and bend of her body, and lingering on the exposed skin where her dress dipped low in the front. His observation was slow, deliberate, and left no room for misunderstanding. Appreciation in his dark eyes.

With a grin through the window, she knocked lightly on the glass. He gave her a half-smirk as he leaned over and unlocked the door for her. Nate pulled it open, sliding into the passenger seat with as much grace as she could muster, which, given her current state, wasn’t much.

“You’re late,” she teased, turning to him with a playful pout.

Roman raised an eyebrow at her, clearly amused. “Takes time to sneak into enemy territory,” he said.

She sighed dramatically, leaning her head back against the seat. “You’re lucky I didn’t pass out waiting for you.”

Shifting the car into gear, Roman shook his head and huffed. “You’re buzzed as hell, huh?”

Nate lifted her head to look at him, her smile widening. “Maybe just a little. Or a lot. But hey, you’re here, so I must be doing something right.”

He gave her a sideways glance, his lips twitching up in that way that always made her stomach flip. “Didn’t think you’d be callin’ me up for a rescue mission. What happened to that tough act?”

She waved her hand dismissively, as if to brush off the idea that she needed rescuing. “I don’t need rescuing. I just… didn’t wanna be there anymore. Family’s being weird.”

“Weird how?”

Nate rested her hands in her lap, playing with the ring on her left hand that she despised wearing, but no more than she despised the fact she forgot to take it off after her perfect wife attempt tonight. She looked over at Roman, taking in the sight of his profile: strong. Beard creating the perfect frame around his chin. Hesitating, she wondered how much she should share. Then again, the alcohol had loosened her tongue enough tonight.

“Ugh, you wouldn’t believe it,” she groaned, throwing her hands up. “My dad dropped the bomb that Katya’s getting married to Alexei.”

“Who the fuck is Alexei?”

“A right knobhead,” Nate snorted, disregarding the need to control her less-than-subtle accent and strong British dialect. “It’s like… if you took Boris, made him even worse, and added a few inches in height. And reallyyyy bad teeth.”

“Damn,” Roman hummed. “Sounds like a piece of work.”

“You have no idea. Katya’s gonna lose her mind. Or worse, she’ll just… disappear inside herself. She’s not strong like that.” Nate leaned her head against the window, sighing heavily. “It’s all just so… so fucked.”

There was a period of silence, the car humming softly beneath them as Roman drove down the quieter streets. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself sink into the comfort of the seat. Her mind was still going a hundred miles a second, but being with Roman, here, away from the mess of her family, felt strangely… safe.

“Hey.”

She blinked her eyes open and peered over at Roman, who was staring straight ahead at the road in front of him.

“You ain’t your family,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

Nate swallowed, his simple statement settling over her like a blanket. She didn’t answer him right away, just nodded slightly, even though she barely believed that. When she was younger, there was nothing more she wanted than to follow in the footsteps of Dimitri Volkov. To be just like him. Have the kind of unmatched power that he had. 

But now, at 27, she wanted to be… anything else.

Before she could dwell on it too much, Roman’s voice broke through her thoughts again.

“You wanna talk about somethin’ else?” he asked. “Or we just gon’ sit here all night with you bein’ all depressed and shit?”

She managed a laugh, her mood lifting a little at his jesting tone. “Fine… What do you wanna talk about, oh wise one?”

“Ain’t much of a talker, Princess, you know that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re talking to me now, aren’t you?”

He gave her a look, one that said she was pushing it, but the corners of his mouth tugged up in that signature smirk of his. “You got a smart mouth for someone who needed my help.”

Nate leaned back in her seat. “Oh, you love it.”

Roman’s stifled chuckle was low, rumbling through the car as they turned down another street. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, but after a few minutes, Nate found herself watching Roman out of the corner of her eye. 

“You have a really nice nose,” she blurted out without thinking.

Roman’s head jerked slightly as he shot her a look. “What?”

“Your nose,” she repeated, gesturing vaguely in his direction before leaning closer, squinting at him. “It’s like… shapely. Strong. A good nose.”

“You’re drunk, Nate.”

“I’m not that drunk,” she protested, sitting back up, though she didn’t seem entirely convinced herself. “I’m just observant. Your nose is nice.”

Roman smirked. “It’s crooked.”

Nate gasped, her eyes widening in dramatic disbelief. “No, it’s not! It’s—” She reached out, her fingers hovering just inches from his face like she was considering touching his nose but stopped herself. “It’s perfect, Roman. Whoever told you it’s crooked is an idiot.”

“Well, I didn’t say anyone told me. I know it’s crooked. Had to have it fixed a couple times from being broken.”

She just shook her head vigorously, her wavy hair bouncing with the motion. “Nope. It’s perfect. Just like the rest of you.”

She wasn’t being subtle at all tonight. The vodka had completely eroded whatever filter she normally had, and it was obvious she was laying it on thick. He could feel the heat from her stare, and the way her gaze lingered on him was making his blood run a little hotter.

“You flirtin’, Volkov?” he asked somewhat playfully, yet seriously like he wasn’t opposed to the idea.

“Depends,” Nate grinned, biting her bottom lip. “You like it?”

Deepening his amused smile, he gave her a quick glance. “You know I don’t mind attention… But I don’t think your ass is in any shape to be making moves right now.”

“I am not that drunk,” she reiterated, leaning closer again. This time, her arm brushed his as she shifted, and he tensed slightly, more aware of her proximity than he cared to admit. “I’m just… I don’t know,” she sighed, lowering her head to look down at the centre console. “You’re easy to talk to.”

Roman’s eyebrows scrunched together, not sure if she meant that or if it was just the alcohol talking. Either way, it took him by surprise. Nate wasn’t the type to get emotional with other people, and Roman wasn’t even sure they were close enough to be letting her guard down like that.

“You sure that ain’t the drink talkin’?” he asked.

“Maybe. But I don’t think it matters at this point,” Nate snorted, leaning back and closing her eyes as she rested her head back on the seat. Roman glanced over at her, once again taking in the sight of such a beautiful woman in his car. 

Oh, the amount of times he would have had her laid out and begging for more if she wasn’t a Volkov. That time in the safehouse was one too many, but he needed more. There was still so much in his warped fantasies that he’d not yet made a reality. In every which way he could have her, he wanted it. He wanted to bury his face between those plush thighs of hers, savour every bit of her as she writhed and whimpered for him. Wanted to leave his mark on her, let Boris know that she didn’t need him to make her fall apart completely. 

“Nah,” Nate cackled, opening her eyes. “You’d know if I was flirting.”

“Pretty sure this is flirting.”

“I’m just telling the truth!” she insisted, her voice rising in pitch and volume. “You’re all, like, perfect or whatever. All this,” she motioned to him with both hands now. “You’ve got that whole… big, brooding, alpha-male thing going on, and don’t even get me started on those fucking eyes.”

“My eyes?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” she nodded enthusiastically, leaning in as if she was imparting some great secret. “Your eyes are, like… intense. In a good way. But they’re also… kinda warm, you know? Like, you’ve got that look where you can either kill a guy or make someone feel all safe. Dual-purpose eyes.”

Roman blinked, obviously amused by her rambling, but there was something more there too. Though he didn’t say anything, the little smile on his face said enough.

“I’m serious, though,” she mumbled. “You’re… different from what I thought you’d be.”

“Different how?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged, lazily tracing random shapes on the ceiling above her as she slouched in the seat. “I guess I thought you’d be more of an arsehole. Like my dad made you out to me. All tough, don’t-give-a-shit-about-anybody kind of deal.”

Snorting, he squeezed onto the steering wheel. “Yeah? That what you think of me, huh?”

“I did,” she clarified. “But you’re not. Not entirely. You… I don’t know. You’re nicer than you let on.”

His jaw worked as he considered her analysis; she didn’t notice the shift in his demeanour, too caught up in her own world to realise how close her words hit to home. But he sighed gently, speaking a little quieter.

“Yeah, well… I guess not everybody gets to see that side of me.”

Nate turned her head toward him, blinking slowly as her tipsy brain processed his words. Her voice softened as she tilted her head. “But I do?”

What was it about late nights that got them both so… vulnerable? You’d never see them this calm with one another in broad daylight, where they could each see every change and glimmer of expression. It was… safer to do it where neither one could read the other’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Roman muttered. “You do.”

For a majority of the drive, the teasing resumed. Nate couldn’t stop herself from flirting with him, throwing out random compliments that had Roman laughing and subconsciously storing in his memory bank for times in which he needed a pick-me-up. But every time she said something he particularly liked, he’d respond with that same smirk, the same heated look that told her he was enjoying this just as much as she was.

Yet, it seemed like the more they drove around, seemingly with no destination in mind—the more her mind sobered up—the more she wanted to keep going. Keep poking the bear, as they say. She wanted him to snap.

She needed the night she got at the safehouse, and then some.

Nate had never been one to shy away from risk, but the idea that sprung to mind was something entirely different. Sitting next to Roman, she felt the tension between them building, thickening the air inside the confines of the car like a heavy fog. Tonight was already weird enough, so why not push it a little further?

She unbuckled her seatbelt and shifted in the passenger seat, carefully getting on her knees. The car was still moving. The low growl of the engine hummed beneath her as she moved to hover over Roman, her hand bracing on the console between them. It was dangerous, and she knew it. But the thrill of it—the fact that they could crash if either of them lost focus—only made her want it more.

Her lips brushed his ear when she leaned in close, warm breath teasing him. “Do you trust me?” she whispered delicately in that sultry accent, thick with desire as her body pressed against the side of his arm as he drove.

Trust. A subject that had risen multiple times during their time working together, all of which ended in some kind of argument. So when Roman shot her a glance and let out a smug laugh, followed by a very adamant “Not at all, Princess,” it didn’t surprise her. In fact, it just encouraged her more. 

Encouraged her to prove to him that he could, in fact, trust her.

Sliding even closer, her hand came up to steady herself on the headrest behind him. With an excited smirk, she whispered to him.

“Ya pochti kazhduyu noch’ dumal o tvoyem vkuse vo rtu.”

His reaction was immediate. Eyes darkened, lips curved wickedly, the heat rolling off in waves. He didn’t stop her, didn’t tell her to sit back down. Instead, his free hand—large, powerful, commanding—slipped casually around her waist, the move so natural it sent a pang of arousal straight between her legs. His fingers dipped lower, sliding over the curve of her backside, and then beneath her dress, his touch rough and unapologetic against her skin.

“You gotta stop with these games, Nate,” he chimed with little to no genuineness behind his words. It seemed like he was about to say something else, but Nate had shut him up pretty quickly by returning the favour, allowing her hand to explore the hard expanse of his wide chest and further down to his abdomen. 

Her breath caught in her throat as Roman’s hand explored further, squeezing, teasing, igniting her skin with every movement. Her body instinctively pressed closer to him, her knees digging into the seat, knowing full well that they were one sharp turn away from disaster. But right now, she couldn’t care less.

Especially not when his legs shifted apart, making plenty of room for her hand to settle on growing bulge under his black sweatpants.

His hand shot back up to her waist, holding onto her tightly as she began to slowly, methodically massage him. Her breasts pushed against his arm as her lips brushed the side of his strong neck. “I think…” she whispered against his heated skin, “That you love it when I get in your head.”

Roman turned just slightly, lips ghosting over her jaw, dangerously close to her mouth. “What’d you say back there? In that pretty little language of yours?”

She gave him an abrupt squeeze, causing him to jolt a little in his seat. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she enjoyed every second of it.

The words were a challenge, a dare. And Nate was more than willing to play along. She dragged her lips back up to his ear, so close that she could feel his pulse quicken under her touch.

“I said… I’ve been thinking about how you’d taste in my mouth almost every night.”

She rested the side of her head on his shoulder, peering down at where her hand had worked him over his sweats to the point of no return. His powerful frame remained tense and full in the driver’s seat, muscles taut under the dark, fitted t-shirt that clung to his body. His tattoos peeked out from beneath his sleeve, the tribal ink crawling up his thick arm, accentuating every ounce of his dominance, his control over everything in his world.

“How am I supposed to keep driving with you touchin’ me like that, huh? After tellin’ me somethin’ like that?”

A giggle left her mouth, followed by an amused hum as she tilted her head back to look up at his face. “Then I suggest finding somewhere to pull over so I can get that cock in my mouth…”

That was it. He snapped. His nose twitched, a grunt leaving his lips as he practically slammed his foot down on the gas, eagerly thinking of all the places he knew they could park up at. If she wanted to play this, then he’d happily go along with it.

She smirked to herself, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was reckless. It was dangerous. But that was exactly what made it so intoxicating.

Shifting a little to the side, Nate braced one hand on the console as she slipped the other beneath his waistband, her fingers grazing over the solid length hiding beneath his sweats, swollen and aching against the fabric. Roman swallowed thickly, releasing a shaky breath.

“Wha–”

“Shh,” she gently hushed him, dragging her lips along his beard. “Just keep driving, moy vozhd’ plemeni…”

A low groan rumbled deep in his chest as she freed him from the confines of his pants, her delicate fingers wrapping around the thick base. Back at the safehouse, she didn’t get a chance to actually look at him. She sure felt him—the sheer stinging sensation as he sank deep inside of her—but now she was seeing, witnessing his size… God, it was intimidating. Even in the limited light in the car. 

“Fucking hell, Reigns, how do you cope with this in your pants all day?” she asked with an air of exasperation, as though she had already gone three rounds with him. He didn’t answer, just let out a breathy laugh, trying earnestly to focus on the road. 

Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, Nate shuffled back a little so she could lean over his lap, collecting enough saliva in her mouth to let it fall right onto the bulbous tip of his cock. He hissed under his breath, hips jolting at the sensation.

“You’re gonna make me crash this damn car,” he muttered through gritted teeth. But he didn’t stop her. If anything, he shifted in his seat, giving her more room to work, his body leaning into her touch as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Then maybe you should pull over…” she teased, licking her lips before she reached up to press a small but heated kiss against the inked skin of his bicep. 

But Roman was stubborn. He wasn’t going to pull over. Not yet.

“You think I’m gon’ make it that easy for you, Princess?” His voice was thickly laced with arousal and growing primal urge. “Nah… you want that shit so bad, you’ll have to work for it.”

Challenge accepted.

“Da,” she purred up at him, smiling innocently at his warning glare for once again speaking Russian when he couldn’t completely devour her whole. But she wasted no time, lowering her mouth over his tip, allowing her tongue to swirl in slow, strategic circles around the hot, salty skin. As soon as she closed her lips around him, his body jerked, hips lifting slightly off the seat as he let out another sharp hiss.

“Fuck…” His hand shot to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as she began her descent, taking in his length as much as she could. Inch by inch. The slow bobbing of her head, the pressure along the underside of his cock from her tongue, tasting him with a hunger that could only be matched by his own, had him breathing raggedly.

The car even swerved slightly, and for a moment, she thought he might actually lose control. But Roman was nothing if not determined—he managed to keep the car steady, though his breathing had become uneven, every exhale shaky and strained as she pulled back and lewdly spit on his tip.

“Goddamn it,” he grunted, unable to stop his hips from careening upwards, causing his cock to slide even further into her mouth, her throat tightening around him at the intrusion. “Shit, that mouth ain’t so bad anymore, baby girl…” 

Nate hummed around him, feeling the wetness grow between her legs at his praise. The vibrations pulled another ragged moan from his lips as she continued to enjoy the taste of him. His body was coiling, tension building in every muscle, every fibre of his being as he fought to maintain control. His fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her, encouraging her to take him deeper, faster, until the car was filled with nothing but the explicit sound of her mouth sloppily working him over and his laboured gasps.

“Damn, why ain’t I used your mouth before?” he rasped. “Gon’ make me cum before we even get there.”

His praises only spurred her on. Hollowing her cheeks, she took him as deep as she could, throat convulsing as she gagged, choked. Her hand joined the effort, making up for the expanse she couldn’t fit into her mouth. Roman’s free hand slammed against the steering wheel, knuckles white as he tried desperately to stay focused, to keep from veering off the road entirely. 

“You better cut that out unless you want me to nut all on that pretty face,” he growled, glancing down at the sight of her head nestled just under the steering wheel, her knees still planted on the leather of the passenger’s seat. Body curved and arched over the centre console. He could only imagine how soaked she was right now.

With a wicked glint in her eye, she hummed again and slowly pulled her head back up, releasing him with a pop. She watched as her own hand steadily gave him a few more pumps, admiring the glistening in the dim light, the spit and translucent pearls that had gathered on her hand and along his skin. 

Licking her lips, she propped herself up on both hands, stretching out her back in the process and looking up at the Samoan god in front of her. She couldn’t quite place the emotion on his face. She didn’t know if he was angry at her for blowing him whilst driving. But his next words told her that wasn’t the case.

“You… are fuckin’ insane,” he muttered hoarsley. “You just wait til I find somewhere to pull over…”

Nate smirked, chuckling almost smugly as she pulled back enough to look at the road ahead of them. They’d ventured out into a more secluded part of the city, where buildings were few and far in between. And finally, with the mounting tension simmering around and between them, he slowed the car, pulling off onto a secluded dirt road.

It seemed like it was instantly after turning off the engine that he rapidly unbuckled his seatbelt, turned to face her and reached for the back of her neck to smash their lips together in a clumsy, needy kiss.

She was barely prepared for it, the lack of breath saved up heightening her senses as he rolled his tongue into her mouth, bit at her lips like he did the last time. It was like he was trying to crawl inside her via her mouth, large and strong hand pulling her forcefully against him as he grunted into her mouth. And when he finally broke the kiss, yanking at her bottom lip in the process, his eyes darkened fully. His fist tightened around the hair at the back of her neck.

“Get the fuck in the back so I can eat that pussy, Princess.”

Her heart rate raced as Roman growled out the command, his words dipping with a hunger that matched the fire burning low in her belly. The rough pull of her hair, the deep, guttural tone in his voice—it was everything she wanted and more. Her mouth was still wet, lips swollen from working his cock, her body vibrating with foretaste.

She shuffled back, fumbling with the door handle as Roman watched her, his eyes locked onto her with a heated, possessive glare. The moment she managed to climb out, he followed swiftly, already yanking at his sweats to pull them up just enough to walk as he stalked around the car. Nate scrambled into the backseat, practically hearing her own pulse as she leaned back against the seat, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

Roman was there within seconds, slamming the door behind him, the car shaking under his weight. A predatory gaze as he crawled into the space between her legs, guiding her back without much warning. His large frame took up the entire backseat, and he resorted to resting a knee on the floor of the car just to accommodate himself. She felt so small and vulnerable under his shadow, and yet a thrill coursed through her veins akin to the type that shocked her at Bunny’s compound.

One hand slid down to her bare leg, lifting it up so he could feel the smooth skin of her thigh, closer to the only thing in the way of his magical fingers.

“Take ‘em off,” he uttered, staring down at her with hooded eyes and an unmistakable nod to her panties with a sharp, delicate flick of his chin. 

Normally, the speed in which she obliged to his command would embarrass her—disappoint her. But it didn’t. She didn’t even hesitate, fingers quickly finding the flimsy material under her dress, shimmying them down as far as they could go in the position they were in, before he finished the task, tossing them into the front seat.

All the commotion had already caused her dress to ride up, allowing for her glistening core to be ogled at from the man above her. Especially as he placed his hands on the backs of her thighs, pushing them apart to expose her even more. He didn’t even need to look for very long to see just how wet she was.

“Fuck, baby… all this for me?” he exhaled, his voice chillingly soft as his fingers dug into the plushness of her thighs. “This soaked for a man you hate so much, huh?”

Oh, but I don’t hate you, Roman…

Nate couldn’t say anything. Just shift her hips, grinding against thin air. He leaned down, bringing her legs with him so she had to deal with the little friction from his sweatpants.

“Needy ‘lil princess,” he hummed, glancing down at her lips. He’d be stupid to deny it; her beauty, that is. All dressed up for the night, her makeup a little worn by now, but still present nonetheless. And he had to admit it to himself, regardless of it being internal…

Nate Volkov was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. And he’d laid eyes—and other things—on a lot of women in his time.

“You gon’ be a good girl and let Daddy do what he needs to do?”

Fuck…

He could have sworn he heard her whimper. He fucking knew it… he knew she’d responded to the pet name last time. Let’s see how far I can push this…

“C’mon, speak to me, Princess…” he whispered, his lips barely touching just below her lips. “You bein’ here, you already disobeyed one daddy, hm?”

Her eyebrows furrowed, unsure what he was getting at exactly through the potent arousal that continued to form between her legs. She was literally throbbing, clenching—she needed it so fucking bad…

His head dipped lower, edging his nose down her chest and down to the space just above the neckline of her dress. “Don’t disobey this one, baby girl. You want Daddy to eat this pussy real good, you’re gonna have to be good.” He lifted his head, looking straight at her. “You gonna be good?”

Nate let out a shaky breath, hand gripping onto the fabric of his shirt as she nodded earnestly. “Y-yes…”

He smirked, giving her legs another squeeze. “Ain’t the answer I’m lookin’ for, Princess.”

The thing was: she knew exactly what he wanted her to say, what he wanted her to call him. But her own stubborn streak, her own unwillingness to obey at the drop of a hat, despite the reward for complying, being a potentially mind-blowing orgasm, was too dominant.

That didn’t mean she didn’t want to, though. God only knew how she’d searched for years for something to fulfil the gaping hole made from a lack of… well, any kind of nurturing. And Roman had been good to her, really… Right?

Working with him, being around him and his family—the enemy—was, ironically, the only time she felt anything close to… acceptance.

And even if it would come to her own demise, even if there was a sliver of a chance that her next words would come and bite her in the ass… She. Didn’t. Care. She needed this.

“I’ll be good,” she managed to say, still grabbing onto his bicep even though he had already made a slow descent down her body, both knees on the floor now. “...Daddy.”

Her breath hitched at the tail end of the sordid word as Roman’s lips met the inside of her thigh, kissing, licking, biting his way toward her pussy with an agonisingly slow pace. “That’s right,” he mumbled. Nate’s back arched off the seat, her hips bucking slightly, silently begging for him to stop teasing her. But Roman was in control now, and he wasn’t about to let her rush him.

“Perestan’ menya draznit’... ty nuzhen etoy kiske, detka…” she whimpered as he blew little puffs of hot air right against her dripping folds, teasing her to the max. 

Roman grinned, his lips brushing against her, barely pressing down on her throbbing clit. “I don’t give a damn what you’re saying in that Russian, baby,” he muttered as he kissed over her heat. “But I know you beggin’ for me.”

Her body jerked at the contact, and he saw her hand fly up to cover her mouth, trying to suppress the needy sounds bubbling up in the throat. But Roman wasn’t having it. “Don’t you fuckin’ hide those sounds from me,” he ordered, followed by a sharp nip to her thigh with his teeth. 

Nate’s teeth clamped down on her lower lip, her breaths coming out in shallow pants. “Please,” she whispered, hating how broken and desperate she sounded. “Roman, please.”

“Please, what—”

“Please, Daddy!” she huffed, still with an air of defiance, but peered down at him with a softer expression. “I need you.”

Without another word, he finally dipped his head, his thick tongue slipping out to drag a slow, deliberate line up her slit. Nate’s entire body jumped at the contact, her hand shooting down to grip his hair, pulling at it despite its place in a bun. A moan tore from her throat, no longer able to contain it.

His tongue worked like a seasoned veteran, tasting her, teasing her, fingers digging deeper into her thighs to keep her from wriggling around too much. He wanted to take his time, to savour the way her body reacted to him, but the little sounds she made, the breathless moans and whimpers, were making it harder to keep his control.

“Fuck,” he grunted between licks, his voice vibrating against her swollen bud. “Pussy tastes so good… so fuckin’ sweet.” He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking the hot flesh into his mouth to drag sloppy circles around it. Nate gasped, a choked groan leaving her throat as her back arched once again.

Roman didn’t stop. His tongue flicked over her sensitive pearl, focusing the tip of his tongue on the part of her that made her writhe and pant the most. He wrapped his thick arms around her legs, hands coming round her hips to spread her open even more for him. His body moved closer to her, practically pulling her lower half off the seat entirely as he divulged.

Nate barely registered just how painfully she folded in half by the sheer force of Roman’s form. She just revelled in the overwhelming sensation of his mouth slobbering all over her cunt, bringing her to unreal levels of ecstasy in the process. But it was the much-missed sensation of two of his fingers pushing their way inside her, broadly curling just deep enough to find that spot, that had her crying out even louder.

“There it is,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, as he felt her walls fluttering around his fingers. “Wanna make sure this pussy cums nice n’ hard for me, Princess. Right on my fuckin’ tongue.”

His mumbles were fuel to the fire. Mind spinning, torn between the intoxicating sensations bestowed upon her by this Samoan god, and the mess tangled within her brain. Thinking about how badly Boris Sokolov had wanted to be in this position for years, but here she was… doing that exact thing… with Roman Reigns. The enemy, the man she had known for barely three months—and how he had utterly consumed her every thought, every inch of her body.

Her head fell back against the seat, Roman’s fingers fucking her slowly, purposefully, in tandem with the sinful rhythm of his tongue. Her thighs quivered under his grip, his broad shoulders keeping her splayed open, making sure she had nowhere to go.

“You ever let him get this close, principessa?” he rumbled against her. “You ever let him taste this sweet ass pussy?” 

Nate shuddered. The sheer taboo of it made her brain short-circuit. The fact he seemed to have known what she was thinking… It was control, dominance, a pure primal claim. She couldn’t hold back the moans, whole body vibrating as he dragged his fingers in and out of her.

“Answer me.” His command was sharp, fingers curling into her spot harder.

“N-no…” she choked out. “He’s never had me—oh, fuck, right there,” she cut herself out with a strained groan, her fingers tightening on his hair, inevitably pulling out strands from the bun. 

Roman chuckled darkly, the vibration of his laugh pressing into her clit as he sucked hard on the sensitive pearl. “Good,” he muttered, pulling his mouth off her just long enough to smirk up at her, eyes gleaming with sheer satisfaction. “This pussy still mine.”

“Shit…” she whined as he resumed his work, salivating and slobbering all over her pussy, the sound of it lewd but a contributor to the orgasm welling up inside her. Throbbing against his tongue. Juices continuing to flow, making a mess of his perfectly groomed beard, and whatever else had the misfortune of being within immediate range. She could even see the movement on his cheeks as he ate her out like a starved animal.

Digging her high heel into the centre of his back, he careened forward ever so slightly, growling against her. The action was entirely unintentional, but the payoff was divine. She couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t hold on for much longer.

“Prodolzhay, ya konchu, chert voz’mi, Roman…” she panted, clenching her fist into his hair as she started to buck her hips up against him. 

“God, you sound so fuckin’ good like that,” he breathed out, before pulling his head back, removing his fingers only to have them come up to rub erratically at her clit. He peered up at her, smirking at her dazed state, how she whimpered a little at the lost contact. “You gonna cum for me, Princess?”

“Fuck! Yes,” she answered through a strained whine. 

Roman didn’t answer, just shot back down to finish what he started. And before she could blink, her orgasm hit her with violent force, a broken moan of pure ecstacy exorcised from her chest—thighs attempting to clamp down around his head, but firmly kept apart by this man’s ridiculously strong hands. Her whole body seized, her hips jerking off the seat as he growled low in his chest, continuing to lap at her relentlessly. Prolonging every shudder that wracked through her.

When she finally collapsed back against the leather seat, panting and gasping for air, Roman didn’t let up, moving to shift over her, lowering his face just inches from hers as he leaned into her. She could taste herself on his lips when he kissed her roughly, one hand grabbing the back of her neck while the other fumbled with the hair tie that did little for the mess she’d made. He yanked it out, snapping it around his wrist. 

Nate kept up with him, her hands feeling around his waist, tucking her fingers under his shirt to feel the hard, defined muscle of his back, his abs, anything she could get her hands on. She could feel the outline of his hard cock firmly pushing up against her, and the thought of him inside her again made her throb with desire.

She’d even forgotten, in the midst of her erotic haze, that they were in a car that provided limited space to move around. The fumbling of his sweatpants, and his attempt of positioning himself became too frustrating, and eventually, he adjusted his position, pulling her with him as he settled behind the driver’s seat. Fingers, digging into her skin, he held onto her waist possessively as he locked eyes with her. “Turn around, Princess,” he rasped.

Nate blinked up at him. “What?”

“You heard me,” Roman growled, giving her backside a firm tap. “Turn the fuck around. I want you to ride me… But I wanna watch that ass of yours while you do.”

Her heart stumbled in her chest. The raw yearning in his voice made her pussy convulse and shudder along with her whole body. Swallowing hard, she shifted on the seat, her legs shaky as she turned to press her knees into the leather seat, facing away from him. Her hands braced herself on the headrest in front of her. 

Roman leaned back, sliding down into the seat as far as he could go, his thick thighs spreading wide to accommodate her. Large hands gripped at her hips tightly, thumbs digging into the fleshy curves and pulling her closer to him as his mouth hovered hear her ear, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. Almost as hot and heavy as the tip of his cock gliding across her slick folds.

“You feelin’ this, baby girl?” he whispered. “Feel how fuckin’ hard you make me? How bad I need to be in you every fuckin’ time I see you?”

Nate’s head fell back slightly, a soft moan falling from her parted lips as she reached down, guiding the thick head of his cock to her slick entrance. He had to have been the biggest she’d ever had… And even though she’d had him before, it was insignificant in preparing her for another ride—so to speak.

Roman groaned low in his chest as she lined him up, holding onto her tightly. “That’s it,” he muttered. “Nice n’ slow, baby. Take me all the way in.”

Biting down on her lip, she lowered herself onto him, her body stretching around his girth inch by inch. The pressure, the fullness, it was all so overwhelming, and she couldn’t stop the breathy whine from leaving her mouth as she sank down onto him completely.

“O bozhe…” she gasped, gripping the back of the driver’s seat for support. “Roman…”

“Fuck,” Roman grunted, his hands roaming from her waist to her backside, squeezing the soft flesh as he helped guide her movements. “That’s right… every fuckin’ inch.”

Nate’s response was a choked moan as she tried to lift herself up, but Roman’s hands were still on her hips, pushing her down again, forcing her to take all of him. The angle was intense, his cock hitting deep inside her with every slight movement. Her breath came out in ragged gasps, her body trembling as she began to ride him, the tight space making it harder to control her movements, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, it fuelled his need.

“Fuck, yes…” he hissed, his head falling back against the seat, eyes rolling shut as her tight core enveloped him. “Goddamn… Fuckin’ perfect body…”

She could barely breathe. The sensation of him filling her completely made her dizzy. “Oh god, Roman—fuck,” she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut; this position definitely made his size all the more intense to take. Impossibly thick. Stretched to the limit. “Feels so fucking good…”

Hands back on her ass, he rocked her gently, urging her to pick up the pace of her movements. “Yeah? You like how that feels, Princess?” His voice was low, strained. “Like the way I fill up this pussy, huh?”

“Yes,” she breathed out with an earnest nod, rolling her hips over his, feeling every inch of him drag against her sensitive walls. It was too much, and yet somehow not enough.

Once she had settled into a rhythm, one that had her enveloping him completely, hitting her spot each time he sank back inside, Roman couldn’t help himself. She just looked so good like this, and her ass… Fuck, she was so fucking hot.

“Look at you, baby girl,” he grunted behind her. “Ridin’ me like that… like you fuckin’ own me.” His hands guided her, pushing her up and down on his cock. “You been wantin’ this again, huh? Been thinkin’ ‘bout me since the safehouse?”

All she could do was nod, unable to speak as she rode him quicker, greedily taking him at her leisure. 

Big mistake.

Without another word, Roman’s hand came up to the back of her head, twisting his fist into her hair to yank her backwards until her back made contact with his body. Forced to let go of the driver’s seat headrest, she was lost as to what to do with her hands; she grabbed at anything, the uselessly small ledge on the window, the seat they were on. But she eventually found his hand, the one that wasn’t painfully grasping at her hair, and held onto that instead. 

“I asked you a question,” he hissed into the skin of her neck as he inhaled her scent. “You been wantin’ this dick again, ain’t you, baby girl? Wanted me to pound this tight lil’ pussy…” The more he spoke, the more he took control of their speed, starting to throw his hips up from beneath, fucking her silly. “Say it, Nate.”

Her pants got quicker, and the pitch of her moans heightened. She could feel tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Yes!” she choked out, eyes rolling to the back of her head as the tip of his dick hit a particularly sensitive spot deep inside her soul. “Holy shit… Roman—right there, right there…shit, fuck!” she groaned, lifting her hand to grab onto his shoulder behind her. It was awkward, trying to hold onto him how she wanted. 

“Mmm,” Roman rumbled, letting go of her hair and bringing both his hands around to the front of her, trailing them up until he reached her breasts. He disregarded the value of the dress she wore and practically ripped the fabric down so the warm skin made contact with the rough palms of his hands, exposing her. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he moaned, his lips hovering over her shoulder. “This pussy was made for me…”

The car creaked beneath them as her ass bounced on his lap, as their skin collided, obscene sounds coming from her pussy taking him over and over.

“Turn around, Princess,” he rasped, giving her chest a final squeeze. “Lemme see you.”

With a whimper, she weakly slid off of him, his dick sliding out of her and leaving her empty for only a moment before he pulled her back on top of him, this time facing each other so they could see the absolute state they put the other in.

“Keep ridin’ me, baby, fuck yourself on this dick,” he encouraged, wrapping his muscular arms around her body, assisting her in her movements. He met her downward grinds with a sharp upward thrust, taking a moment to appreciate the body of this woman. He needily captured one of her stiff nipples into his mouth, holding her against him as he proceeded to swirl his tongue around the erect nub, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin. He swore he felt her pussy jolt at the action.

“God,” Nate gasped, her breath hitching as his dick slammed into her repeatedly. “So fucking good.”

“Yeah?” he chuckled darkly, peering up at her. “That feel good?”

“Yeah…” Her hands moved from his shoulders up to his hair, pushing it completely from his face so she could feast her eyes on his intimidating features, the arch in his brows as he leered up at her like she was the most despicable human he’d ever seen. Yet, all the while, he’s balls deep in her, fucking her from underneath like he’d never get to have sex ever again. 

“Mne nravitsya chuvstvovat’, budto ty razryvayesh’ menya popolam… moy vozd’ pelemeni,” she purred down at him, purposefully tightening herself around him as she did.

“You keep talkin’ to me like that, I’m gon’ nut in this pretty pussy,” he growled at her, lowering his hands to grab onto her ass, spreading her out and picking up the pace with his own hips. She cried out, clenching her fists into his hair. “That what you want, Princess? You want Daddy to nut all in that pussy? Get her nice and full for Boris stupid ass, huh?”

Now, that shouldn’t have brought her closer to the edge. But, God, did it…

“Yes, Daddy,” she panted, “Please… Please, please… Please, moy vozhd’ plemeni…”

Considering that Roman practically had his brain inside her, it was quite the impressive feat that he picked up on one of her Russian phrases. A phrase she had used three times tonight…

“What’s that mean?” he asked her, starting to pant himself.

“What?”

“That… what you just said.”

Nate smirked a little, humming as she laughed breathily. “Moy vozhd’ plemeni?”

“Shit… yeah, that…”

“It mea—oh, fuck, fuck…” she gasped, her entire body twitching and tensing up as her orgasm hit her so suddenly, so intensely that she had to push her forehead up against his in a feeble attempt to steady herself. “I’m cumming, fuck, I’m cumming…”

“Damn, baby, no warnin’ or nothin’?” he leaned his head back, lids hooded as he watched her writhe on top of him, feeling her pussy throb and convulse around him, soaking him in her sweet release. God, he wanted to taste her again already… “So fuckin’ pretty cummin’ on this dick. Ride it out, Princess…”

She really did. She rode it out, using every ridge and curve of his cock to draw the final drops of her climax from within. But now… all she wanted to do was make this gorgeous creation beneath her come undone and fill her up. 

“Hmm…” she hummed, ignoring the sensitivity as she continued to roll her hips. “Your turn now, Daddy…”

Roman groaned, practically turning inside out as he heard that name on the tip of her precious tongue, in that precious accent. That reminds him…

“Tell me,” he breathed.

“Tell you what?” She dug her nails into his shoulders, tilting her head to the side.

“Tell me what it means.”

“Moy vozhd’ plemeni?” 

“Fuck, yeah, tell me, Nate…” 

With a sneaky little smile, she lowered her face down to his, bringing a hand up to place it on the side of his face, locking her eyes with his. “It means…” She glanced down at his lips, barely brushing hers against them, just before whispering very gently:

“My Tribal Chief.”

Her words hit him like a bolt of lightning. Roman groaned, his grip on her bruising as his thrusts became dangerously erratic. “Fuck,” he snarled. “You gon’ make me cum, baby girl… You ready for it?”

“Yes,” Nate whimpered, feeling him pulsing inside her. “Cum inside me, Daddy. Fill me up… please.”

He let out a guttural moan as he came hard, trembling as he emptied himself. Nate’s breath hitched as she felt the hot rush of his release, helping him ride it out whilst she rode out the tail end of her own, nails digging into his skin. Breath a mixture of gasps and moans.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, her forehead resting against his, both of them panting, chests heaving, trying to catch their breaths. The air in the car was thick, the windows fogged from their insatiability. Neither of them spoke, too consumed by the moment to ruin it with words.

But the silence didn’t last long.

Nate’s phone, tossed somewhere in the front seat, began to ring obnoxiously, breaking the bubble they had created. She groaned, reluctantly sliding off Roman’s lap, her body immediately feeling the loss of him. She pulled her dress back into place, wincing at the soreness between her legs, before crawling over the centre console to reach for her phone.

Roman’s hand came down hard on her ass, a loud smack echoing in the enclosed space. “You really gonna just leave Daddy like that, huh?” he teased, his voice deep and satisfied.

She smirked, but didn’t respond. She grabbed her phone, pulling it up to see who was calling—and then her heart stopped.

Ten missed calls. All from Becky Lynch.

Her blood ran cold. Her earlier calm, her sense of control—all of it vanished. “Fuck,” she muttered under hear breath.

Roman leaned back, watching her with a smug grin until he saw her expression shift. “What’s wrong?” he asked, still lazy with post-orgasmic bliss.

Nate whipped her head around, glaring at him. “Why didn’t you tell me my phone was ringing, you twat?”

He raised an eyebrow, completely unphased by her sudden shift in mood. “Didn’t hear it. You were a little busy ridin’ my dick, remember?”

“Are you fucking serious? It’s Becky!” she snapped, panic rising in her chest. “I’ve been waiting for this phone call for a fucking week, Roman, she’s the only one who can help us right now! Chert voz’mi…”

Nate muttered a few more curses under her breath, finally finding her panties tangled up on the edge of the driver's seat in her comedown back to reality. She brushed past Roman as she crawled over into the front passenger seat, not even bothering to get out and walk round; it felt like the whole world knew she’d fucked up. Even something as minor as missing calls. It didn’t matter how small or meaningless something seemed—if Nate felt like she’d fucked up… then, by God, she fucked up.

Roman gave her a raised eyebrow, as though he wanted to say something, but she shot him a look that made it perfectly clear she was all business now.

“I’m calling her back,” she said firmly, pressing Becky’s number. Roman seemed like he was about to protest, but her warning glare, and his own common sense in knowing this really was important, kept it at bay. She hit the speakerphone button, ignoring his expectant look as the line rang.

All the while, Roman took the mature approach by leaving the car to walk around to the front seat. She caught a glimpse of him adjusting himself as he did, through the thin fog that settled over the driver’s window, before he smoothly slid back in. He proceeded to push his hair back up and tie it in a lazy little bun that still allowed half of his hair to hang down in what can only be described as a mini ponytail.

“Nate!”

The Irish twang caught Nate’s attention, and she swiftly turned her head away from Roman and back to her phone.

“Finally, ye answer. Thought I was wastin’ my time here, callin’ nonstop.”

“Sorry, I was….” she croaked, taking a moment to clear her throat. “I was with someone helping me on this.” She darted a quick glance at Roman, who watched her with mild amusement. Smug prat.

“Right…” Becky said with a note of curiosity. “Listen. I talked to my contact. He’s willing to share what he has. Says he’s got some files, things he’s kept to himself for almost a decade now.”

Nate felt a flicker of hope, despite the awkward start. “And… you believe this person to be reliable, yeah?”

“He might have the information you need,” the redhead replied somewhat hesitantly. “He just… doesn’t want anyone to know it’s come from him. So… for now, ye not going to find out who this person is, ‘kay?”

She furrowed her brow, once again glancing at Roman, who shared her perplexion. “I’m supposed to trust this guy, but I can’t know who he is? Is this a joke, Rebecca?” She could almost feel the cringe from the other end of the line at the use of Becky’s full name. 

“I’m sayin’ ye can trust him, so ye can trust him, Natalka,” Becky bit back. “I know for a fact he has things nobody else does, and it sounds like ye need serious help.”

Huffing and sitting back, Nate thought for a moment, running her tongue over her teeth. She wasn’t even sure why she was so concerned about the identity of this contact. She already snuck out of her own home to meet Roman Reigns, and then proceed to fuck him a second time after she specifically promised herself she wouldn’t do that, so why the fuck should she care about where information comes from anymore? 

Well, the answer is simple. Becky Lynch. The Irish. Even though she wasn’t even connected to her family’s dealings anymore, information Nate had only just learned a week prior, it was still a sore subject. Too many betrayals. Too many friends lost. Too many… too much… death.

“Becky,” Nate sighed, “Please just tell me who the guy is, I don’t know what you think I’m gonna do with his name.”

A pause lingered on the line, along with some rustling, before she heard a long exhale from Becky. “My husband. It’s my husband, Nate.”

“And his name would be….?” Nate trailed off.

“Seth. Seth Rollins.”

The name meant absolutely nothing to Nate, but she noticed Roman’s reaction out of the corner of her eye—like he’d just seen a fucking ghost outside the car.

She tried to focus on Becky’s reassurances that it would be fine, even as the energy in the car shifted dramatically. Roman’s expression had darkened into something bordering on feral, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles twitched in time with the pulse beating in his temple. His hands rested on the wheel, but his gaze was distant, staring ahead like he was seeing far beyond the windshield. His eyes were sharp, glacial, the look of a man consumed by something deeper and more dangerous than mere anger—a buried intensity that might shatter given the slightest push.

“So,” Becky’s voice crackled through the speaker, “if I told you who I’ve got over here, I think it’s only fair you tell me who’s on your side.”

Glancing at Roman, Nate knew shit could go south fast if she said the wrong thing. But he was somewhere else entirely, locked in a place she couldn’t reach or… predict. With her only option being to think on her feet, Nate cleared her throat, injecting a hint of authority into her voice. “Becks, I can promise you this person’s very resourceful. He’s already done enough for me to know he’s being honest,” she took a quick look down at her leg, right at the area on her thigh that now bore a scar from a bullet and had once been tended to by the man in question. “No reason to worry.”

Becky paused, then pressed, only slightly more serious. “Nate… do you trust this person?”

Nate looked at Roman again, lingering this time. The question felt a little heavier than she wanted it to, but she had no choice but to answer honestly. Why wouldn’t she?

“I think I do.”

For a beat, the answer suspended in the space between them. It came out a lot softer than usual, almost vulnerable—a state she rarely allowed herself to fully fall into, not even when by herself. Certainly never around Roman. Good job he was still in his own world, distantly staring daggers into nothing ahead of him, but she did feel the shift in atmosphere. The way it seemed to… bend around the truth she had just spoken.

Just like that, Nate’s usual edge returned as she added dryly, “Besides… he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’ll go along with things whether he likes it or not.”

“Fine,” Becky replied, satisfied for the moment. “Then we’ll meet—all four of us, some place quiet. Can’t be havin’ too many eyes on us.”

“Trust me, I’m more than happy with that,” Nate laughed ruefully, once again reminded of the repercussions of being caught mingling with The Bloodline.

“Good. Seth will run through what he thinks is important, it might be relevant, it might not, but it sounds like it’s worth a shot… So, I’ll set it up, yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll be there,” Nate nodded, and with a quick goodbye, she ended the call, her attention snapping back to Roman. His silence now seemed like an echo.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Alright, what the fuck’s wrong with you now?”

He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched tighter, and he gave her a sharp side glance, before starting the engine. “You wanna go back to that mansion of yours, or you wantin’ me to take you to Tribeca?”

Nate crossed her arms with a shrug. “Just take me home. Can’t be gone lo—”

“Wasn’t askin’ for your life story,” he cut her off.

She glared at him, unimpressed. “Right, didn’t expect you to care to listen to me anyway. Chertov pridurok…”

As they drove, her eyes tracked the streets and landmarks, noting that he wasn’t heading toward the usual route back to her home. The building started blurring into unfamiliar territory.

“Uh, are you lost, or just getting creative?” she muttered, half-joking, half-over this night.

“We’re takin’ the long way,” he curtly responded without paying her the respect of a glance.

She rolled her eyes, but her curiosity got the best of her. Before she could ask why, Roman’s voice came, low and gravelly, cutting through the silence like a knife, just as harshly as it did through the scowl on his face.

“Think it’s time I tell you a lil' somethin’ ‘bout Seth fuckin’ Rollins.”

[furuu]

∘ʚ ♡ You were fuming, arms crossed as you sat on the floor next to Sukuna. He was lounging in his usual careless manner, seemingly unaffected by your anger. His smug expression only made your irritation worse, but instead of confronting him directly, you decided on a different approach.

With a huff, you lay down, resting your head on his lap, but not looking at him. Instead, you turned your attention to the mouth on his belly—the one that most people found unsettling but had always seemed oddly expressive to you. Today, it seemed like the perfect companion to vent your frustrations to.

"Can you believe him?" you muttered under your breath, directing your words to the mouth. "He never listens. Always doing whatever he wants, never thinking about how I feel."

To your surprise, the mouth grumbled softly in response, almost as if agreeing with you. Its lips moved in a subtle, quiet way, and you couldn’t help but feel like it understood your frustration.

"Exactly," you continued, emboldened. "He thinks he’s so smart, always in control. But does he ever stop to think about how I feel? No. Never. It’s always his way."

The mouth made another low rumbling noise, almost like a tiny growl, and you nodded, feeling validated. "See, you get it," you mumbled, shifting slightly on Sukuna’s lap to get more comfortable. "At least someone here does."

Sukuna, who had been watching this entire interaction with narrowed eyes, leaned his head back, sighing heavily. "Are you seriously complaining to my stomach?" he grumbled, but you ignored him, continuing your quiet conversation with the belly-mouth.

"I’m not talking to you," you shot back, still refusing to meet his gaze.

The mouth made a soft huffing noise, almost like a snicker, and you could swear it felt like the belly-mouth was on your side in this. Sukuna glanced down, clearly unamused, his eyebrow twitching in mild irritation.

"Ridiculous," he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You smirked, feeling a bit triumphant as you lightly stroked the area around the mouth. "Well, at least it knows how to sympathize," you muttered under your breath, ignoring his annoyed glare.

Sukuna grumbled, his fingers twitching at his sides. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a look of mild frustration that almost made you laugh.

The belly-mouth rumbled again, quieter this time, almost like it was trying to soothe your lingering annoyance. You sighed softly, your anger slowly ebbing away as you absentmindedly traced the contours around it with your finger.

"Thanks for listening," you said quietly to the mouth, giving it one last affectionate pat. It responded with a low, contented rumble, clearly pleased with itself.

Sukuna rolled his eyes, leaning back with a resigned sigh. "You’re insufferable," he muttered, though there was a faint hint of amusement behind his frustration.

You smiled softly to yourself, feeling the last bits of your anger melt away. Maybe Sukuna would never admit it, but having his mouth on your side made you feel just a little bit victorious.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊