#just in case you drop a Snack Crumb

[ghoulphile]

sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position. 

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.” 

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

[imagine-horizons]

Sweeter than sugar warnings: none, just cute fluff - the Polar Tang has landed in a town, and Law suddenly has a sweet craving, no established relationship pairing: Law x f!reader (gender neutral, no pronouns or specific physical characteristics, but just in case)

——————

You felt a hand ghost across the small of your back that made you look up - gold tinted eyes gazed down at you, peeking through the shadows casted by his white leopard hat.

“Captain,” you greeted happily.

“You wandered away from Bepo,” Law noted. “Be careful with the crowds.”

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly. The Heart Pirates had landed in a small town for some much needed reprieve from the violent waters. Supplies needed to be replenished, but it was also nice to explore and mingle amongst the locals, for some reminisce of a normal life.

You wandered yourself to the heart of the town, where a festival was taking place. Local hawkers yelled out their sales and specials, enticing passerbys with free samples and unique inventory. Children were weaving in and out between the crowds, while music could be heard from all corners of the town centre. Your eyes sparkled at the excitement and your curiosity led you away from the First Mate - Bepo had told you to stay close. But it was not missed by the Surgeon of Death as he silently followed you. He kept his distance, not wanting youto feel suffocated - he respected the space of his crew, knowing that the small confines of the submarine left no breathing room. But he didn’t feel easy leaving you by yourself.

It wasn’t until he felt an unsettling presence, and his eyes scanned the crowd to see that you did not go unnoticed by a few lurkers in the crowd. Law’s hand gripped tighter on his sword, as he felt something stir inside of him and he closed the distance between them. His hand automatically reached out to gently brush against your back and he dipped his head closer to you.

“Y/N-ya.” His deep baritone voice and breath warmed your ear, and you looked up.

“Captain, do you think we can buy snacks for the crew?” You asked thoughtfully, pointing towards some candied packages, and pastries.

“Just the necessities,” he chided gently, and a slight pout appeared on your face.

“Bepo ate my stash,” you complained. A slight smirk ghosted the corner of his lips, and he sighed.

“Fine. Just don’t go crazy.” Your eyes lit up even more than he thought they would, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He followed you to a pastry stall, as you began listing off the things you wanted to the vendor.

“Would you like a sample? The filling is made from a native fruit in our region! Not too sweet,” the vendor said, handing them a tray of small samples. You took one excitedly, but Law gave a slight shake of his head politely turning it down.

“This is so good!” You gasped, and before Law could stop you, you added a few dozen more to your order. As you reached into your pouch for payment, Law wordlessly reached over and gave the vendor payment. “Captain…!” You said in surprise.

“You went overboard - but just this time,” he grumbled. “I’m taking a cut out of your next share if you do it again.” But he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that as you smiled sweetly at him.

As you walked away, you were finishing off a free pastry the vendor kindly gave you - Law noticed some pastry flakes and sugar just on your cheek. He wasn’t sure what over came him but his next actions would have sent his crew into hysteria if they saw.

Leaning down, he used one hand to gently cup your face. His tongue slipped out to lick up the crumbs and sugar that dusted your cheek, his lips ghosting across your smooth skin. There was a subtle sweetness that didn’t come from the pastry, and he knew he would want a taste of it again all too soon.

“Captain!” You squeaked, your face bright red as you almost dropped everything you were holding. A definite smirk was on his face as he leaned back.

“It’s not bad,” he murmured, and his eyes flickered to your soft supple lips that still had remnants of the pastry. As he drew closer to you , you squeezed your eyes shut, not sure what to do , your heart pounding out of your chest.

“CAPTAIN! DID YOU BUY PASTRIES?”

Law quickly pulled away from you and his eyes resumed its stern look as he stared at Bepo , Shachi and Penguin. When they got closer, they saw your flustered expression. “Are you okay y/n? Did our Captain say something?” Shachi asked curiously.

“Or do something naughty? You look red,” Penguin chimed in.

“You guys are too assuming I would do something scandalous,” Law scoffed. “Why is that?”

“Because y/n is cute,” Shachi and Penguin said at the same time. A vein twitched on the side of Law’s temple. “You would take advantage of them - you’re not exactly as stoic and stiff as you make yourself to be.”

“How many pastries did you get?” Bepo frowned, completely ignoring the ongoing conversation. “How did you pay for this?”

“Um I didn’t ,” you said shyly but grateful for a shift in the topic.

“Who did?” Bepo asked in shock. There was a moment of silence and they all stared at Law incredulously , as he tugged his hat further down his head.

“No way,” Penguin gawked.

“Captain would never with us -“ Shachi choked.

“Is the Captain going to give y/n a bigger allowance than me?” Bepo fretted.

“Shut up you guys - we’re leaving,” Law snapped, as he pushed past them. “Bepo - carry y/n ’s things.”

“Aye aye Captain!” Bepo saluted.

As they followed their brooding captain back to the yellow sub, Shachi and Penguin tried to keep up with Law.

“You got it bad for y/n, don’t ya?” Shachi teased.

“So you DID do something naughty to y/n!” Penguin poked at him.

“Is our captain a pervert?”

Law groaned and immediately barked out : “Room!” Followed by “Shambles!” The two Heart Pirates disappeared with the blue glow, only to be replaced with a random rock.

He was not gonna hear the end of this. But as the Polar Tang was about to submerge, you passed by Law on the way into the submarine. He was too busy barking at Shachi and Penguin to get inside, when he felt you gently tug on his black coat. You pulled him down, and quickly kissed him on the cheek, your own cheeks flushed, and you could barely meet his gaze.

“…. For the pastries,” you mumbled. “Thank you.”

Law smirked and gently ruffled up your hair.

“Go inside,” he murmured softly. And as you left, the only thing he could think about was how soft your lips were and what they would taste like the next time he got a moment alone with you .

[novelbear]

"only wanna be with you" - ways of subtlety showing love

prompt list by @novelbear

being able to lay on them comfortably no matter the position.

feeding them snacks from over your shoulder

playing. with. their. hair.

"text me when you get home."

unconsciously smiling whenever they smile

letting them have a bite of food you're preparing

^ then doing that thing where you're holding your hand under their chin just in case something falls/drips :(((

making a big deal out of any dish they make for you, eating every last bite.

breakfast in bed.

"you look gorgeous. stunning. jaw-dropping. breathtaking. do you see what i'm trying to get at?"

holding hands while walking

when others can tell you're in love (or really care abt one another) just from the way you stare at each other

helping fix/adjust their clothes a little before they leave

sending each other little selfies or pictures throughout the day when they're apart

being able to sit/work in a comfortable silence

napping together

taking their hand and slowly guiding them to the other side of the sidewalk (away from the road)

"have you eaten today?"

massages whenever they seem stressed

that little panicked reach for them (ready to catch them at all costs) if they trip ever so slightly

hugs from behind and gentle kisses on the shoulder >>>

"i've got this, you go rest."

wiping crumbs (or whatever's left of what they may be eating) from the corners of their mouth

random "i love you"s just for the reminder

[octaneink]

Twenty-nine? More like twenty fine

Will Lenney x Reader

Summary: The Reader and Will spend his birthday together Warnings: None Notes: This is also indulgent, I hope people like it!

The morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen window as you tied your apron around your waist, a sense of excitement bubbling in your chest. Today was Will’s 29th birthday, and you had a plan. Baking was your passion, and you were determined to make him the most incredible cake he’d ever seen.

You pulled out your recipe book, its pages stained with buttercream and dotted with notes from past baking adventures. The cake itself would be simple—a rich chocolate sponge with layers of salted caramel buttercream. But the real showstopper would be the decoration. You’d decided on a sleek, modern design: smooth white frosting with gold accents and a bold “Twenty Nine” piped in black elegant script on top.

The kitchen quickly filled with the warm, comforting scent of chocolate as the cakes baked in the oven, the aroma wrapping around you like a cosy blanket. You hummed along to your playlist, the rhythm of the music syncing with the steady whir of the mixer as you worked. Once the cakes were out of the oven and cooling on the wire rack, you turned your attention to the buttercream. You whisked together softened butter, powdered sugar, and a pinch of sea salt, the mixture transforming into a cloud of velvety smoothness.

By mid-afternoon, the cakes had cooled completely, their domed tops levelled to be ready for assembly. You spread a generous layer of buttercream between each tier, the palette knife gliding as you smoothed it into an even filling. Next came the crumb coat—a thin layer of frosting that hugged the cake, locking in any stray crumbs and allowing for a neat canvas for the final layer. With a satisfied smile, you carefully placed the cake in the fridge to set, the chill firming up the buttercream just enough for the next step.

While it rested, you tidied up your workspace and prepared the edible gold paint, mixing the shimmering dust with a few drops of vodka until it gleamed like liquid sunlight.

When the crumb coat was firm to the touch, you began the final layer of frosting. This was your favourite part. You dipped your offset spatula into the bowl of buttercream, its silky texture gliding effortlessly as you spread it in long, sweeping strokes around the sides of the cake. The motion was rhythmic, almost meditative, your hands moving slowly to create a smooth finish. Once the sides were to your liking, you turned your attention to the top, gently coaxing the frosting into an even layer that resembled a pristine blanket of freshly fallen snow.

Next came the gold accents. You dipped a fine brush into the edible gold paint, then brought the brush to the cake so you could add delicate details to the cake. A few swipes here, a few dots there—it was subtle but striking, just like you thought. Finally, you piped the words “Twenty Nine” on top in a looping, cursive font, stepping back to admire your handiwork. You snapped a quick photo to commemorate your masterpiece before covering it with a cake dome to keep it fresh.

As the afternoon melted into evening, you turned your attention to the rest of the decorations, determined to make the space as special as the cake. Fairy lights were carefully strung around the living room, their soft, golden glow casting a warm, inviting ambiance. A cluster of balloons in muted tones bobbed gently near the doorway, and a banner that read “Happy Birthday!” in bold, elegant lettering added a festive yet understated touch. On the coffee table, you arranged a spread of his favourite snacks—crisps, chocolates, and a few savoury bites—alongside a chilled bottle of champagne, its condensation glistening in the low light. Just in case he was in the mood to celebrate, you wanted to be ready. And of course, at the centre of it, his birthday cake.

When Will finally texted to say he was on his way home, you lit the candles on the cake, their soft flicker casting a warm glow over the room. With a bundle of balloons in one hand and his carefully wrapped gift in the other, you positioned yourself by the door, your heart racing with anticipation. The sound of keys jingling in the lock made your smile widen, and as the door creaked open, you called out, “Hey, birthday boy!” The balloons bobbed cheerfully above you, their vibrant colours adding to the festive atmosphere, while the gift in your hand felt like a small token of everything you wanted to say.

Will stepped inside, looking slightly dishevelled but still as effortlessly handsome as ever. His eyes widened as he took in the scene—the twinkling fairy lights, the balloons bobbing gently in the corner, and the banner that proudly declared, “Happy Birthday!” But it was the cake sitting proudly on the coffee table that truly caught his attention. Its smooth, flawless frosting and delicate gold accents gleamed under the soft glow of the lights, looking almost too perfect to eat.

“What’s all this?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief as he turned to you, his gaze flickering between the balloons in your hand and the gift tucked under your arm.

“It’s your birthday,” you said, stepping closer to pull him into a warm hug. As you wrapped your arms around him, the balloons brushed against his shoulder, and instinctively, his hands found your waist, his touch firm but gentle. His fingers curled slightly, as if anchoring himself to you, and you could feel the warmth of his palms even through the fabric of your shirt.

“I couldn’t let it go by without making a fuss,” you added, your voice muffled slightly against his chest.

Will’s eyes softened as he glanced back at the cake, then at the spread of snacks and champagne on the coffee table. His hands stayed on your waist, his thumbs brushing lightly against your sides in a way that made your breath catch. “You did all this… for me?” he asked, his voice quiet but filled with gratitude.

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Of course. You deserve it.”

For a moment, he just stood there, his hands still resting lightly on your waist, his fingers curling ever so slightly as if to pull you closer. His gaze searched yours, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes—wonder, maybe, or gratitude, or something deeper, something that made your chest tighten. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, he let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, the sound low and warm, like the hum of a song you’d known forever.

Then, without a word, he leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t. His lips brushed against yours, feather-light at first, a whisper of a touch that sent a shiver racing down your spine. The kiss deepened just enough to feel real, his mouth moving against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. It wasn’t rushed or demanding—it was quiet, lingering, like he was trying to say everything he couldn’t put into words.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. His eyes stayed closed for a moment, his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks, and you could feel the way his hands tightened ever so slightly on your waist, as if he was afraid you might slip away.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He murmured, his voice rough around the edges, like the words had been sitting in his chest for a while, waiting for the right moment to come out. His thumb brushed against your cheek, the touch so gentle it made your breath catch. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You could feel the weight of his words, the way they settled in the space between you, heavy and real. And for a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but look at him, at the way his eyes held yours like you were the only thing that mattered.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you said finally, your voice soft but steady. “You just have to be you.”

His lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, one that made your heart skip a beat. “Then I guess I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. And when he kissed you again, it was like a promise—one you could feel in every beat of your heart.

“I just wanted to make today special for you,” you said softly, your voice barely more than a breath. The words felt fragile, like they might break if spoken too loudly, but they carried all the weight of what you couldn’t quite say—how much he meant to you, how much you wanted this day to be perfect for him.

Will’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, one you didn’t see often. It was the kind of smile that made your chest ache, the kind that felt like it was just for you. “It already is,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, rough with emotion. “Because you’re here.”

The words hung in the air between you, simple but heavy with meaning. His hands were still on your waist, his touch warm and steady, grounding you in the moment. His eyes searched yours, and for a second, it felt like the rest of the world had faded away—the cake, the decorations, even the faint hum of the city outside. It was just the two of you, standing there in the soft glow of the fairy lights, his forehead still resting against yours.

You could feel the way his breath hitched, just slightly, as if he was holding back something more. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, the gesture so tender it made your heart swell. “You always know how to make everything better,” he murmured, his voice low and soft, like a secret just for you. “I don’t know how you do it.”

You smiled, your fingers tightening slightly around the gift you still held. “It’s easy,” you said, your voice just as quiet. “When it’s you.”

His smile deepened, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes shining with something you couldn’t quite name. Then, without a word, he leaned in again, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and sweet, filled with all the things neither of you had said. When he pulled back, his forehead stayed pressed to yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“Come on,” you said finally, your voice soft but teasing, breaking the quiet that had settled between you. “Let’s celebrate.”

He nodded, but he didn’t let go of your hand, not even as you led him further into the room. His touch was warm, grounding, a silent reminder that, no matter what, you were in this together. And as you glanced at him, his eyes still soft with that quiet, unspoken affection, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something even more beautiful.

This was a bit rushed—sorry about that! I hope people don’t mind. I started this yesterday after work and finished it off today. It was before I saw that Will was in Italy, so… oops! But hey, the sentiment still stands.

Happy birthday to Will! I can’t believe he’s almost thirty and still looks fine as hell 😏😏 time really does favor some people, huh?

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Peeping on your neighbor DILF!Getou Suguru [prev]

[cw: voyeurism & implied daddy kink(?) idk tbh you decide]

Irises speckled with shimmering sapphires, deep as amethyst, swirling in pools of lilac. A fringe of onyx, long tendrils dipping over a horizon of golden bronze.

“Hey, so I was wondering…”

A taut abdomen rippling with each breath—muscles carved sharp, the dip of his waist a lighter beige contrasted by a dark trail of hair leading down his navel. Broad, firm pecs teasing a softness despite the solid planes beneath.

“When are ya gonna confess to peeping on the guy?”

Deltoids flexing, obliques framing a trim waist. Triceps bulging, a testament to strenuous lifting, cardio, or something far more sinful.

“Gotta drop the bomb at some point, hm?”

Lustrous black hair cascading elegantly along a sculpted back, adorned with a splattering of moles. The glint of black titanium gauges, a thin silver chain, and the gleam of a barbell piercing at his chest catching the dim light.

“Hey, don’t just leave me hanging.”

Sometimes, the precise linework of seaweed-green ink peeks from beneath tight boxer briefs—a twisting dragon wrapping around thick quads. Quads that curve into a plump, cushioned—

“Hey!”

“Huh—what?” You blink, reality snapping back into focus. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

“Yes! Where’d you go just now? Don’t tell me you were daydreaming again.”

“No…”

Yu hums in faux consideration before pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. “I’ve never seen a case this severe before in my entire career. You’re showing all the symptoms of OGD.”

You shoot him a confused look. His expression turns grave, lips pulling tight. “Obsessive Getou Disorder. And I’m afraid… it might be incurable.”

You laugh nervously, already grasping for a distraction. But Yu anticipates your escape route like a seasoned chess player, moving faster than you can react.

He snaps his fingers, three sharp cracks in quick succession. Twisting his wrist, he waves his hands dramatically as if casting a spell. “Compelling you back to reality. Return to our realm.”

Yu’s big brown eyes blink up at you expectantly, ever sparkling with mischief. His brow quirks, and you can’t resist ruffling his crop of messy hair.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m listening.” You pat the cushion beside you, inviting him to sit. Yu, ever the enthusiastic puppy, eagerly flops down.

Every time you finish a shift together, he chases you out of work like an excitable dog, hyping up elaborate plans—outfits, venues, guest lists—only for the night to inevitably end curled up in your apartment, eating pizza, watching movies, and gossiping. Not that you mind. It’s an outlet for your… fixation.

You grab the remote, scrolling aimlessly through endless shows and movies. Beside you, crinkling sounds announce Yu unearthing the snacks from earlier. The sweet scent of cinnamon wafts into the air.

“You up for anything in particular? Feels like we’ve watched pretty much everything at this point.”

“Mmfh, y’know wha’? We’re no’ fish again. Les’ do somethin’ bold.” Yu’s words are nearly swallowed by the honey bun he’s chewing, muffled and garbled between bites.

“Come again? And this time, without the sugar-coated mumbling.”

Yu dramatically swallows, throat protruding as he gulps too fast. Wiping the crumbs from the corners of his mouth, he tries again. “Let’s be bold tonight. Instead of stuffing our faces, we should both text our y’know…” He trails off, making exaggerated kissy noises.

Your stomach flips. “Okay…”

Yu lights up, snatching both your phones from the coffee table. Before he can act, you raise a hand. “Hold up.”

You retrieve two plastic shot glasses, a pitcher of juice, and a bottle of tequila. “Some liquid courage might be helpful, yes?”

Yu pouts but is already pouring generous shots, the tequila teetering at the brim. You know he’s just as nervous as you are.

“Three, two, one—bottoms up!”

Your throat burns, the juice barely easing the sting. Staring blankly at the open text thread with Getou, you hesitate.

“How’s this?” Yu tilts his phone for you to see.

Haibara Yu: Hey, Ken! Hope I’m not bothering you. I remember you were baking bread today, and I’m free—need a hand?

“Perfect. A casual excuse to see him while being forward. Now send.”

Yu wavers, his finger hovering over the button. A split-second of doubt, then—

“Can’t! You do it, quick!” He shoves the phone at you like it’s a ticking time bomb.

Laughing, you press send. Yu gulps down another shot in retaliation.

“What do you have typed out? Don’t make me suffer alone—”

Three loud dings cut him off. Yu’s phone vibrates. You both freeze.

“No way,” Yu whispers.

You flip his phone over and huddle together, shoulder to shoulder, to read the messages:

Nanami Kento:  Haha, nice to hear from you, Haibara. Perfect timing—I just started proofing the yeast. I’d love for you to join me, might help this go smoother. Would you like me to send my address?”

Your jaw drops. “Yu. This man is whipped for you. Barely a minute and he’s already inviting you over.”

Yu can’t contain his grin, quickly typing back:

Haibara Yu: I don’t know what proofing yeast means, but I’m sure you’ll teach me!

Yes, send it now—I’ll head over ASAP :))

You groan theatrically. “Great, now you’re abandoning me.”

Yu snatches your phone, eyes scanning your screen. “You haven’t even drafted a text yet?”

“No…”

His fingers fly across his screen, typing something out—until, suddenly, his expression shifts. The look of concentration melts away, replaced by a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Actually, you don’t have to.”

He tilts your phone toward you, revealing the reason for his sudden change in demeanor.

One new message.

Getou Suguru: Hello, neighbor! Just wondering if you’d like to come over and help me cook for the girls since you proved yourself capable in the kitchen (thank you again).

They’ve been asking about you—they’d love to see you.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

Yu grins wickedly, typing furiously.

You: I’d love to! I can be over in a few.

I’d love to see the girls, although I hope they’re not the only ones excited to see me…

You lunge for your phone, but Yu holds it out of reach, laughing.

“Just give it a second—just watch. One more sec—okay, here!”

Getou Suguru: Sounds good. And of course, I’m excited to see you as well, if not more.

Be sure to text me before you head over.

In a span of minutes, you and Yu go from lazily sprawled on the couch to full-blown panic mode, securing dates with the men you’d been fawning over for what feels like an eternity. The realization sends a surge of adrenaline through you, a buzz that has you both scrambling through the apartment—showering at record speed, yanking outfits from hangers, fixing your hair with practiced precision, and spritzing on just the right amount of fragrance.

The chaos leaves your bedroom and bathroom looking like a war zone. Clothes are tossed haphazardly across the bed and floor, makeup products lie toppled on the vanity, and an army of skincare bottles clutters the bathroom counter. But none of that matters—that’s tomorrow’s problem. Right now, the only thing on your mind is making sure you both look impeccable.

Before heading out, you give each other a final once-over. Yu has swapped his usual casual wear for sleek black straight-leg pants and a fitted white shirt, the fabric hugging his frame just enough to be noticeable. At your insistence, he’s kept it simple, and you know you made the right call. With his messy brown hair adding a carefree touch, the outfit is the perfect blend of boy-next-door charm and just the right edge, thanks to the black leather zip-up jacket left open.

“You’re giving bad-boy-next-door,” you tease, stepping back to admire your handiwork.

Yu, predictably, flushes a deep shade of red. You smirk, knowing full well that Nanami is going to have a field day with that reaction later. Kudos to you.

“We’re in this together,” Yu says, raising a determined thumbs-up.

You chuckle, sending your final message.

You: Heading over!

𓂃۶ৎ

Getou’s apartment door cracks open just as you lift your fist to knock. Your grin falters, lips curving downward in a sudden frown.

“What’s wrong? Something on my shirt? Or are you just disappointed to see me?”

Your heart lurches at the genuine confusion laced in his soft voice. His dark brows knit together, a small pout forming on his lips as he glances down at himself, smoothing out his black turtleneck and shifting his weight in his brown corduroy trousers.

You reach out instinctively, your hand brushing against his forearm, stilling his restless fingers as they pick at his sweater.

“Aw, no, Suguru. You look great,” you reassure him. “I just thought I’d get to see you in that cute frilly apron again.”

His brows shoot up in surprise before his violet eyes glimmer with amusement.

“Ah, so that’s what had you looking so forlorn.” He steps back, gesturing for you to come inside. “How about you say more about how great I look?”

“Don’t get cocky now.” You huff, perching yourself on a stool at the kitchen island.

Getou strolls over, leaning against the counter with his elbows propped up, his face resting in his palms. You glance around, noticing the eerie quiet that has settled over the apartment. It’s spotless—almost suspiciously so. Usually, there’s a telltale trail of toys left behind by his daughters, but today? Not a single one in sight.

“Where are the girls? Are they here?”

“Mhm,” he hums, retrieving a clean glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. He places it in front of you, setting it atop a coaster before wiping down the space in front of you with practiced precision. “Bribed them with new dolls so I could clean.”

You snort. “I don’t know what to call out more—your obsessive cleaning or your blatant bribery of your own children.”

He ducks into a drawer, rummaging for something. “I never claimed to be a good man.”

When he straightens, he turns around slowly, revealing the infamous pink frilly ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron draped around his neck. He blinks down at you, lashes fluttering flirtatiously.

“Tie me up?”

“Come here, dork.”

Getou feigns offense but turns obediently, sweeping his long hair over one shoulder. A few loose strands remain, and you gently trail your fingers along the nape of his neck, smoothing them over. His hair is softer than you expect, and when your fingers brush his skin, he shivers.

Your hands move to his waist, tying the apron strings into a neat bow. You pat his shoulder lightly.

“And don’t undersell yourself,” you murmur. “Somehow finding the time to keep an orderly home and spoiling your daughters? Sounds like a good man to me.”

He turns, his long hair cascading elegantly down one side of his face. He smiles at you, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling shut, and you silently thank the divine forces that allowed you to be so well acquainted with such a beautiful man.

“And now, you’re not only a good man,” you tease, “but the perfect housewife.”

His brow arches. “Oh, really?” A smirk tugs at his lips before he bends down, retrieving another pink frilly apron. He unfolds it, revealing the embroidered words: ‘The Kisser.’

“Oh—I—” You stumble over your words.

“Did I forget to mention? It came in a set.” He steps forward, slipping the apron over your head. “This one’s for you.”

Wordlessly, you turn so he can tie you up. The moment he finishes, he leans in, voice dropping to a hushed murmur.

“Now, one could argue that you are now my perfect housewife.”

“Mhm.” You wag your finger at him, beckoning him closer. “Come here, and I’ll tell you what I think about that.”

He leans in, hovering just above you, his face mere inches away. Up close, you can see the soft crinkles by his eyes, the slow curve of his lips.

“I think I quite like my new role, Suguru,” you whisper. “Let me fulfill my duty.”

Your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging him forward. You press a soft kiss to his lips, allowing him to deepen it. He licks over your bottom lip before biting at it, making you sigh into his mouth. Before you can pull away completely, he captures your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm. The affectionate look in his eyes nearly brings you to your knees.

You clear your throat, trying to rein in the conversation.

“So, what’s on the menu tonight?”

“Chicken alfredo pasta,” he says, straightening your apron. “The girls love it, but I don’t make it often because it’s practically a heart attack on a plate.”

“So, a special night?”

“The special-est.”

You bring a large pot of salted water to a rolling boil as Getou collects the ingredients. He works efficiently, rinsing the chicken cutlets before slicing and seasoning them with practiced ease. You fall into an easy rhythm—while you heat the frying pan, he drizzles olive oil; you melt butter, he finely slices garlic; you pour in cream, he grates parmesan. The pasta cooks as the chicken sizzles, and the sauce thickens to a velvety consistency.

While the meal comes together, you wipe off the chopping board, ready to cut the parsley garnish. But the leafy pieces refuse to separate, sticking stubbornly to your blade. Frustration wells up, and you hunch over, applying more pressure in an attempt to force the pieces apart.

A warm weight presses against your shoulder, accompanied by the scent of coconut. Getou’s arms encircle yours, his rough palms resting over your hands.

“Looks like you need a little guidance,” he murmurs, his breath hot against the shell of your ear.

You scoff, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh yes, please, help me. I’m just a helpless damsel in distress.”

He chuckles, guiding your hand over the knife’s handle, steady and deliberate. With his touch, the blade moves effortlessly through the parsley, slicing with precision.

“Just like this,” he instructs, voice low and smooth. “A diagonal angle makes all the difference—now you try.”

You mimic his movements, finding the rhythm, the process suddenly easier. His hum of approval sends a shiver down your spine.

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice a little too indulgent, a little too intimate. “Just like that—keep going.”

Your composure wavers. Something shifts in the air—his proximity, his tone, the subtle dominance in his words. It leaves you feeling cornered, like prey beneath the gaze of an apex predator. His breath warms the side of your neck, his scent lingers sweet and intoxicating. Heat coils in your stomach.

There are… other things you wouldn’t mind him teaching you.

Before your thoughts can spiral further, his voice breaks through the moment.

“Look at that, pasta and chicken are done.”

By the time the girls peek in, drawn by the rich, creamy scent wafting through the apartment, you’ve mixed and plated the alfredo while Getou sets the table—placemats, utensils, drinks, napkins, everything in place.

“YAY, PASTA!”

Mimiko barrels into Getou’s leg, clinging enthusiastically.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Daddy!”

Nanako isn’t far behind, latching onto his opposite leg. “Yay! We love you, Daddy!”

He ruffles their hair, cradling their faces with unmistakable affection. “Aw, my beautiful girls. I love you too—but I couldn’t have done this alone.” His gaze flicks to you, warm and teasing. “Go say thank you to my sous chef.”

The twins twist their heads toward you, beaming. Before you can brace yourself, they launch forward, nearly knocking you over.

“Thank you, Suit Check!”

Nanako’s golden ringlets brush your arms as you wrap them in a hug.

Getou clicks his tongue. “No, girls—sous chef,” he corrects, exaggerating the pronunciation. “It means she was my helper in the kitchen, and she was the best helper! The pasta is extra delicious because of her.”

Satisfied with the explanation, he lifts the girls into their seats. With the help of stacked cushions, they’re just high enough to reach their plates. The moment their forks touch the pasta, the room falls silent, save for the sounds of clinking silverware and exaggerated chewing.

Getou chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s good, huh? Seems like a fan favorite.”

“S’good, Daddy—so cheesy!” Nanako exclaims, her cheeks full, her chin streaked with sauce. She wipes her fingers on the table, completely unbothered.

“So messy, honey.” Getou sighs, grabbing a napkin to clean her up despite her weak attempts to squirm away.

You lift your fork, twirling a bite expertly to catch the dangling cheese. “Watch this,” you say, demonstrating. “Wrap the cheese around your fork like this, so you can enjoy every bite without getting scolded by your dad.”

The girls gasp like you’ve unveiled some grand magic trick. They attempt to copy you, their enthusiasm infectious.

Getou takes a sip of his white wine, smirking. “Preventing messes like that isn’t exactly helping you escape the housewife allegations.” His voice dips just enough to keep the words between the two of you.

You giggle, swirling your fork aimlessly around your plate, suddenly feeling like a giggly schoolgirl.

Then, an idea strikes. “Hey, if you need an outlet for those messy tendencies, my job is hosting a family event on Monday. Finger painting—they can go wild. I’m working it, so you should bring the girls. It’ll be fun.”

Getou raises a brow, turning to the twins. “What do you think, girls? Want to go? Do some painting?”

He coughs, muttering under his breath, “That’s not on our walls.”

You swat his arm playfully, but the girls don’t notice. They’re already buzzing with excitement.

“We wanna go!” “Yeah, we love to paint! Daddy never lets us!”

You grin, throwing up two thumbs. “See? I’ll let you paint all you want on Monday. I’ll sign you all up—it’ll be a blast!”

𓂃۶ৎ

You can’t help but wonder if Getou regrets agreeing to come to ‘Family Finger-painting’ as you watch Nanako, ever the ball of energy, streak cobalt blue finger paint across the front of his crisp button-up. The deep navy smudges stand out starkly against the fabric, flecks of red in her dark umber hair only adding to the chaotic artistry. Her small, paint-covered hands leave damning evidence all over his sleeves and the hem of what was, moments ago, a pristine Ralph Lauren Oxford.

You cringe, anticipating a reaction—a sigh, a flash of disappointment. But Getou only leans down, furrowing his brows, his sharp eyes honing in on the tiny perpetrator with exaggerated accusation.

“Nanako…”

His large hands wrap around her waist, and in one swift motion, he hoists her up, lifting her high above his head as if she were soaring like an eagle. “Such a messy one, aren’t you? Look what you did to Daddy! I’ve got you now, Nana.”

Nanako kicks her little feet, writhing in his grasp as peals of laughter burst from her lungs, the sound rich and warm like music.

“D-Daddy, stop! Let me go! Sorry, sorry!”

Finally, he relents, setting her back down with an affectionate pat to her head. His shirt, however, has taken even more damage—blue smears blending with the red, swirling into purple, with specks of pink now dotting his arms and pants like an abstract masterpiece.

“Daddy, me too! Wanna fly!” Mimiko tugs at his pant leg, her small hands leaving more marks in their wake.

Obliging, Getou lifts her with the same ease, holding her up until she nearly brushes the ceiling. You make your way over, watching them with quiet amusement.

“Careful with her head, Suguru.”

Getou lowers Mimiko to rest against his hip, turning to greet you with a smile. “Ah, thank you. I do tend to get carried away.” He gestures toward the three canvases spread across the floor, protected by layers of newspaper—a rare stroke of genius on Yu’s part. “How’s the progress?”

You kneel to inspect their work: a peacock, a flower, and three handprints.

“Let me guess—the peacock is Nanako’s, and the flower is Mimiko’s?”

Nanako beams, nodding vigorously as she tugs at your smock, eager for praise. The bird she painted is surprisingly elegant, its neck curved gracefully, head tucked bashfully. The feathers—done in sweeping strokes of yellow, blue, and green—are intricate for a child her age.

“Nanako, this is beautiful! You did such a great job.”

Her cheeks flush pink, her smile widening with pride. Mimiko, not to be outdone, smushes her face against her father’s side, peeking up at you. “Wuh ‘bout mie?”

You turn to her painting—green stems drawn with a careful forefinger, flowers crafted from colorful thumbprints. It’s simpler than Nanako’s, but no less charming.

“These flowers are so pretty! I love all the colors, Mimiko.”

“Danks.”

Getou chuckles, shooting you a knowing look—one that clearly says, I know you’re just being nice, but I appreciate it.

Then, he dips his fingers into the paint and smears a thick layer of violet onto your open palm.

“Why don’t you be the finishing touch to my piece?”

You glance at his canvas—sky blue with a large purple handprint on one side, two smaller ones beneath it, one lime green, the other bright pink.

He nods toward the empty space. “Go on. Left room for you.”

With a small smile, you press your palm against the canvas, feeling the sticky paint mold to the lines of your skin. A warmth settles in your stomach as the girls erupt into applause.

Getou hums, scratching his chin as he inspects the final product, his voice dipping into a teasing lilt. “Now it’s perfect. My idea to have you complete the piece was a true stroke of genius.”

You groan. “Not a dad joke, Suguru. How stereotypical.”

He pouts, scrunching his nose in exaggerated offense. Beside him, Mimiko mimics the expression perfectly, her chubby cheeks puffed out in what might be the most adorable sight you’ve ever seen.

Before you can comment on it, a frantic voice cuts through the room.

“Just a sec, you drama queens—I’ll be right back.”

You jog toward Yu, weaving between families painting peacefully. When you finally reach him, your stomach drops at the scene in front of you. A toppled canvas lies face-down, irreparably smeared. Paint has dripped from the palette, bleeding past the newspaper barrier onto the floor.

Shit.

A wail erupts, high and heartbroken. Yuji, eyes brimming with tears, sniffles as he clings to Nanami, whose face is twisted in regret.

You scoop Yuji into your arms, rubbing his back as he hiccups between sobs.

“Yu-Yu, honey, it’s okay. We’ll get another canvas. We can make something even cooler.”

His sniffles continue, tiny fists wiping at his tear-streaked face.

“See? Nanami’s not mad at you.” You nudge Nanami’s leg.

Nanami, who’s been furiously cleaning to prevent Yu from getting written up, straightens at once. With practiced ease, he runs a hand through Yuji’s pink curls before cupping his cheek.

“Oh, Yuji, of course I’m not mad. I just had to clean up. We can still paint whatever you want, okay?”

Yuji sniffs, lower lip trembling, but the tears finally slow. You grab a tissue, holding it up to his face.

“Blow.”

He obeys, filling the tissue. You clean him up and pat his head.

Nanami bows slightly. “Thank you.”

You wave him off. “No need for thanks, Yu won’t get in trouble tonight thanks to you.”

Yu joins Nanami, curling around his arm like a content cat, while the two men share a look—soft smiles, red-tipped ears, and a warmth that’s almost too much to witness.

You groan, turning back toward the Getous. As your gaze sweeps the room, Getou towers over the families, effortlessly catching your eye. He raises a bronzed hand, beckoning you back over.

And without hesitation, you go.

𓂃۶ৎ

Turns out, washing dried paint out of hair is harder than you’d expect. Not that it ever seemed easy, but it's a lot like trying to remove gum from thick locks—frustrating and nearly impossible without the right tools.

You hold Mimiko’s head steady over the sink, your fingers working diligently to scrape out stubborn streaks of red paint from her bangs. How she managed to get it there in the first place is beyond you. Speckles of color circle the drain as you slowly restore her hair to its natural brown.

“Suguru, please,” you mouth over to Getou, careful not to let Mimiko catch on to your frustration. He peeks around the side of the tub, where he has Nanako perched on the edge, her head tilted back as he rinses out her own mess. At least he seems to be making progress—her dirty blonde strands darken to caramel under the stream of water.

Your gaze flickers to Getou himself, and concern stirs in your chest. His loose black hair, usually immaculate, is now streaked with vibrant splashes of paint. He notices your stare and offers you a small, tight-lipped smile, but his furrowed brows betray his worry.

Reaching into the cabinet, he pulls out a jar of coconut oil and hands Nanako a wide-toothed comb. “Here, sweetheart, detangle your hair for me so I can help your sister.”

He joins you at the sink, twisting the cap off the oil. “This should help. If it moisturizes the hair, it’ll loosen the paint’s grip.”

You hum in agreement, stepping onto the twins’ footstool so you can hover over Getou’s head. He glances up at you, incredulous. “Pour some for me. Someone has to do yours, too.”

He flicks your forehead in response, a teasing gesture before tipping the bottle generously into your outstretched palm. Warming the oil between your hands, you begin raking your fingers through his dark locks, careful but thorough. The silver strands peppered throughout catch the light, gleaming softly under the bathroom bulb. The oil works wonders, and soon enough, the paint starts to dissolve.

“Mm, careful back there,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something almost indulgent. “Feels nice—I might just drift off.”

Smirking, you wind the ends of his hair around your fingers and give a light tug.

What you don’t expect is the breathy gasp that slips past his lips, followed by a low, gravelly, “Watch it.”

Does he like that? You file the information away for later—time and place, after all.

The faucet shuts off, and Getou lifts Mimiko upright, wrapping a fluffy towel around her shoulders and drying her hair. You do the same for Nanako before helping Getou finish up with them both. The twins announce their plans to change into clean clothes and scamper off, promising to dump their messy outfits straight into the washing machine.

Meanwhile, Getou scrubs his forearms with the remaining coconut oil as you towel off his hair to prevent it from dripping down his back. Out of everyone, he’s easily the most covered in paint—the sink now tinted a muddy brown from the mixture of colors.

“You know, we should get changed too,” he says, wringing out a section of his hair. “You can borrow something of mine if you’re okay with that. No pressure.”

“Honestly, I’d do anything to get out of these sticky clothes,” you sigh. “Something soft sounds like a dream right now.”

He grins, booping your nose. “Your wish is my command.”

A few minutes later, you pull on the clothes he’s left for you on the hamper—a large, oversized olive green graphic tee that’s so faded you can barely make out the text, ‘Girl Dad’ (which is sickeningly adorable), and a pair of simple black sweatpants with a drawstring. The fabric pools around your feet, the sleeves gaping at your elbows, but it’s comfortable. More importantly, it smells like him—rustic sandalwood and sweet coconut.

You step out of the bathroom just as Getou emerges from his bedroom, his gaze sweeping over you unabashedly. He looks thoroughly pleased, his own outfit a mirror of yours, except his shirt is a solid white. His hair is now twisted up and secured with a claw clip.

Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His nose is cold as it nudges against your pulse point, pressing a light, lingering kiss there.

“Soft enough?” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

You hum in response, though it comes out more like a contented purr. Your arms loop around his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He lingers for a moment before pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, then pulls back with a sigh.

“C’mon,” he says, lacing his fingers through yours. “The girls are waiting.”

In the living room, the twins are sprawled out on the couch, whispering conspiratorially over a small crate filled with hair accessories. As soon as they spot Getou, they light up.

“Daddy makeover! Daddy makeover!”

A faint flush spreads down Getou’s neck. “No, girls, d—what?”

“We want to do your hair too!”

“Pleeeeaaaseee.”

They bat their lashes, their tiny hands clutching at his shirt, and oh, they’re good. Getou looks at you for backup, but you only grin and join in on the pleading.

“Pleeeeaaaseee.”

He sighs, defeated, and slides onto the floor, his back against the couch. “Fine. But be gentle.”

The twins cheer, shoving the crate toward you so you can join in. Inside, you find butterfly clips, neon barrettes, pink bows, satin scrunchies, and rainbow elastics. The three of you claim your sections of his hair and get to work—messy buns, neat braids, tiny pigtails. By the end, his head looks like a walking arts-and-crafts project.

Getou's phone blares an absurdly loud, obnoxious ringtone, shattering the quiet hum of the evening. He fumbles with it, brow furrowing as he tries to navigate answering—his age is showing. Finally, after an unnecessary struggle, he swipes to accept, and the screen flickers to life.

Gojo’s face appears far too close to the camera, wide blue eyes blinking unnervingly. The glow of the screen illuminates the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the faint shadows beneath his eyes, casting his features in an eerie fog of azure.

“What the fuck am I looking at?”

Getou lets out a loud, pointed cough and lowers the volume, shooting Gojo a disapproving look. With a shift of his wrist, he adjusts the angle so the girls—and inevitably, you—come into frame.

“Hi, Satoru!!”

Gojo winks, flashing a toothy grin. “How’re my favorite goddaughters?”

“Good!!”

“That’s what I like to hear. Your incredibly, generous godfather is calling to persuade your stuffy dad to take you somewhere awesome! Put him back on the phone, okay?”

“Okay!!”

Getou scowls and holds up an obscured middle finger to the camera. Gojo only cackles.

“I see you’re being pampered like the princess that you are by those sweet girls and your… friend.”

“Yes,” Getou replies dryly. “What about it?

Gojo somehow flips himself upside down in the frame, his hand dangling as he snorts.

“Nothing, just making an observation. Anyway, I called to invite you on a trip this weekend. I booked an Airbnb in the city so the kids can see that new superhero movie premiere. The city screenings are being introduced by actual cast members. Megumi and Tsumiki will be inconsolable if their cousins can’t come. So… you in?”

Getou shrugs, arching a well-groomed brow. “How can I refuse? The only one who spoils their kids more than you is me.”

“I dunno, the jury’s still out on that. Why don’t we ask your friend this weekend? If she comes, she’ll be the perfect tiebreaker.”

Oh, he’s slick. You suppress a smile but lean forward over Getou’s shoulder, tapping his cheek.

“Suguru’s friend likes that idea very much. I’m in—and I’ll be sure to make an unbiased decision.”

Getou turns to you, his expression shifting, concern softening the sharp elegance of his features. There’s a slight crease between his brows, and for a brief moment, you want to smooth it away, to press a kiss over the corners of his lips that have dipped into a hesitant frown.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice lower now, meant just for you. “Don’t feel pressured by this idiot.”

“Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t. I have no qualms about rejecting cocky men.”

Gojo snaps his fingers, amused. “Testy. I like it. Give me your number, and I’ll send you the details. I need to record everyone staying in the house for the homeowner.”

You recite it, then settle back into your spot. Your fingers thread through Getou’s dark hair absentmindedly, mirroring the girls’ movements as they weave an impressively tight Dutch braid along the side of his head.

Getou and Gojo continue chatting, their voices fading into the background as your phone lights up on the arm of the couch. You stretch forward to grab it, expecting a message from Yu with an update—he had also gone home with his beau.

But when you unlock the screen, an unfamiliar number stares back at you.

717-904-3856: Hey! It’s Gojo Satoru AKA your wingman, and I won’t rest until I successfully hook you up with my best friend. 

God knows he needs it.

𓂃۶ৎ

“This Airbnb is fu—uh, I mean, freaking huge. How’d Gojo afford this?!”

Getou chuckles under his breath as he steers the wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror before backing into the long driveway. The house looms in front of you—massive, especially for something in the heart of the city. Beige bricks stack into sleek, modern walls, and the tall, black roof contrasts against the setting sun. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal a lofty foyer inside, warm light spilling onto the neatly trimmed bushes lining the entryway. The double doors arch into a perfect half-circle, framed by lush greenery rooted in pristine, manicured grass.

He shifts the car into park, turning off the engine with an effortless press of his fingers. “Ah, did I forget to mention? Gojo’s family owns an upscale hotel franchise. You might’ve heard of it—Living Limitless?”

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. “No way. Of course, I’ve heard of them. They were in the news last year after acquiring that media conglomerate for a ridiculous amount of money. They’re loaded!”

Getou hums in response, slipping off his seatbelt. The silver frames of his glasses catch the light as he glances at you, the soft twill of his black short-sleeve set draping over his frame. His hair is neatly tied into a bun, the stray strands framing his face in a way that makes him look devastatingly good. The delicate glint of his rings and bracelets only adds to the effect.

“Mm. Money doesn’t buy manners, though. His family isn’t exactly warm and welcoming, so he doesn’t see them often. But he still has access to his shares, which is why he can afford to act like a snob.”

You chuckle, pushing open the passenger door before reaching into the backseat to unbuckle Nanako from her booster seat. “I mean, he can’t be that bad. He does a lot for the girls, doesn’t he?”

“Welcome to my humble abode!”

Your head snaps up just in time to see Gojo—not walking—but rolling toward you down the cobblestone driveway on a hoverboard, tilted forward like he’s the main act in some grand performance.

You inhale sharply. “Spoke too soon.”

Getou sighs, dragging a hand down his face before taking both girls by the hands, guiding them toward Gojo. Unlike you, the twins are completely mesmerized by his dramatic entrance. You, however, can’t help but see a man in his thirties, draped in designer from head to toe—Gucci sunglasses, Gucci joggers, Gucci slides—riding a Segway like a rich kid who never outgrew his phase.

To his credit, Gojo is absurdly friendly. He sweeps all of you into a round of enthusiastic hugs, exchanging pleasantries before immediately launching into an animated info-dump about the upcoming movie. His voice brims with excitement—maybe even more so than the kids’.

“—and the actor that plays Cursebreaker? Absolute machine. Does all his own stunts. Megumi could tell you more, he follows him on TikTok. He and his sister have been asking about you two all day.”

Right on cue, a small head peeks out from the front door. Tsumiki beams brightly. “Hi Nana! Hi Mimi!”

From behind her, little Megumi appears—his tousled black hair falling over his forehead, his lips drawn into a scowl.

The interior of the house is even more elegant than the exterior—sleek and modern, a symphony of whites, grays, and blacks. The minimalist design is softened by the presence of large, leafy plants, and a high-end television camouflages as an expensive painting on the wall.

As soon as you step inside, the girls scatter, immediately engrossed in an impromptu game of tag, their laughter echoing through the open space. Getou settles himself into the plush white couch, casually grabbing a controller as Megumi boots up his Switch beside him. That leaves you with Gojo, who is carefully slipping into his Cursebreaker cosplay for later that evening.

“Zip this up for me?” he asks, turning his back to you.

The suit is absurdly tight, a second skin molded to every inch of his form. You struggle with the zipper, nearly yanking Gojo backward in the process. The sleek, black material stretches over his body, covering him from head to toe—built-in shoes and all. The design spirals with glowing icy blue accents that converge at his sternum, forming a swirling curse energy emblem.

Gojo’s usual vibrant eyes are further exaggerated by unnervingly bright blue contacts, the pupils swallowed entirely, leaving only a ghostly glow.

As you help spike his already gravity-defying hair, you can’t help but ask, “Where the hell did you even get this costume?”

Gojo smirks, fluffing a single strand just right. “Oh, you know… I just reached out to the actual designer from the movie, commissioned an exact replica. Had to expedite it, though.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “Oh. So you’re rich-rich.”

Gojo actually has the nerve to look a little bashful, kicking at the floor like a kid caught sneaking an extra dessert. “It’s not like that! I don’t splurge on just anything. I’ve been obsessed with this franchise since I was a kid.”

From the couch, Getou’s smooth voice interjects lazily, “Born to be a nerd, forced to be an heir. Tragic.”

Megumi, ever eager to roast Gojo, jumps in with a smirk. “NERD.”

What follows is a predictable bout of bickering, it lasts until Gojo’s phone vibrates, signaling that their Uber will be arriving in an hour. He claps his hands together and directs the kids to get into their costumes.

Then he turns to you and Getou with an expression that makes you wary. “So,” he drawls, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain, “fun fact—there are only five cinema tickets. Totally sold out. Couldn’t get extras.”

Getou frowns, about to protest, but Gojo cuts him off with a raised finger. “Ah, ah, ah. This actually works out perfectly, because let’s be honest—I’m the only one who actually cares about seeing this movie. So, instead of sitting through something you don’t care about, you two should have a night out. I even have recommendations.”

You glance at Getou with amusement. “So, Suguru, when’s the last time you went out socially?”

Silence. Getou’s lips press into a thin line.

Gojo beams in triumph. “Yay! You’ll do it! Get back out there, Grandma!” He whips out his phone and texts you both the name of a bar. It looks lively—plenty of drinks, an arcade, even a dance floor.

“Oh, and FYI,” he adds, “I already called an Uber for you. So, chop chop, go get ready.”

The sudden realization that you’re about to go on what is essentially a date with Getou sends you scrambling for an outfit. After giving your goodbyes to the twins, who latch onto you for hugs, you rush off to get ready.

A steaming shower melts away any tension as you exfoliate, shave, and lather yourself in fragrant lotion and body oil. When you step out, your reflection grins back at you, brimming with anticipation.

You settle on an all-black ensemble: knee-high boots, a mini skirt, and a textured, long-sleeved button-up, strategically fastened at your midriff to reveal just the right amount of skin. A small black bag completes the look. You’re banking on Getou wearing black—his wardrobe rarely deviates from it.

Descending the stairs, your hunch proves correct. Getou stands by the mirror near the front door, adjusting his watch and straightening his jewelry. He’s still in his earlier outfit but has thrown on a wool-lined button-up denim jacket and swapped his shoes for chunky-sole ankle boots. His glasses remain, framing his face as a few strands of hair escape his bun.

You creep up behind him, aligning yourself in the reflection. “Hey.”

His gaze lifts to meet yours in the mirror, and a faint flush rises to his cheeks. “Hey.”

You let out a low whistle. “Damn, you clean up well.”

He turns, draping an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in. Your palm finds his chest, and in the mirror’s reflection, you can’t deny—you two look good together.

“You make me look even better,” he murmurs, his arm snaking around your waist. “You look beautiful.”

A car horn honks outside, breaking the moment. Getou steps back, extending a hand, and you take it. He even opens the door for you, effortlessly slipping into the role of a gentleman.

During the ride, he chats idly, reminiscing about growing up on the outskirts of the city. He tells you about the sprawling fields that once existed before modernization, where he and the local kids played streetball. You tease him for having firsthand historical knowledge of the ‘90s, earning an eye roll in return.

At the bar, the crowd is thick, the air electric. Getou’s firm hand guides you through, settling at the small of your back. At the bar, he orders your drinks.

“So handsome…,” you say, swirling your glass before taking a sip, “what brings you out tonight?”

Getou smirks, playing along. “Finally got a night away from the kids. I’m a father, by the way.”

“Oh?” You eye him appreciatively, slow and deliberate. “You ever heard of the term DILF before?”

He chuckles, amusement glinting in his eyes as he downs half his drink. “Oh, how forward of you. Would you personally apply that term to me, or…?”

You grin, raising your glass. “Let’s save the pillow talk for later. Tell me more about yourself—steady job, good income, solid principles, family values?”

Getou swirls his drink lazily before topping it off with a fresh pour. The gleam of his silver watch catches the light. “I sit on the board of a local non-profit, invest in my 401K, indulge in questionable activities in moderation, and put family above all else.”

Your eyebrows lift, surprised by the thorough answer. He clinks his glass against yours, eyes flickering with curiosity. “And you?”

You down the rest of your drink, holding his gaze. Then, licking your lips, you lean in slightly.

“Oh, me?” You twirl a strand of hair around your finger. “I’m a daycare teacher and tutor, planning to start grad school after I get my promotion. I splurge irresponsibly with my best friend on weekends, but I’m generally kind-hearted. I want a family of my own someday.”

Getou hums appreciatively. “Sounds like you’re exactly what I’m looking for in a partner—smart, nurturing, ambitious, outgoing, and devoted.” He flags down the bartender, already ordering another round before turning back to you with a smirk. “I imagine we’ll get along well.”

Two drinks deep, and you’re debating your go-to orders—his, a neat Scotch, yours, a lemon drop martini.

Three drinks in, and you’re bickering about how absolutely repulsive the other’s choice is.

Four drinks in, and the embarrassing stories spill out like the liquor in your glasses. He’s telling you about the time he pranked Gojo so convincingly at a KFC that it led to an all-out meltdown, ultimately getting them banned from every location nationwide. You counter with a tale of your early days at work, when a particularly unruly kid kicked you in the crotch and bolted, leaving you to chase him around the parking lot in a frenzy.

Five drinks in, and you’re both breathless with laughter, wheezing about how absurd Gojo looked in that ridiculous costume—how he is probably chafing from its unnatural tightness.

Six drinks in, and you’re tugging Getou onto the dance floor, the bass rattling through the floorboards as you pull him close, fingers trailing down his torso before turning to grind back against him. His hands find your hips, strong and steady, guiding you in rhythm, his hot breath fanning across your ear.

Six drinks and two shots of D’Usse in, and you’re clawing at his jacket, trying to shrug it off his shoulders while he palms your ass through your skirt, drawing the ire of surrounding patrons.

“Say, we get outta here,” he murmurs, voice husky.

“Mmm, yeah, but where?”

He pulls back just enough to glance around, trying to shake the intoxicating pull of your scent. Then, his gaze lands on the neon sign above the exit.

“Oh, shit.” He chuckles, already tugging you toward the door. “This bar’s connected to a hotel… Limitless Hotel.”

The realization dawns sluggishly, but in sync. “Gojo.”

You both scoff, but Getou doesn’t dwell. He’s already handing his black card to the receptionist, sliding across a generous tip before guiding you to the elevator. The doors shut, and just as you sneak a hand beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin, he stills, regaining his composure. Instead of pulling you closer, he just looks down, offering you that saccharine smile—sweet, soft, disarming.

The most contact he allows is the gentle squeeze of your hand as he leads you down the hallway. The key card beeps, the door unlocks, and the moment you step inside, Getou turns to you, effortlessly lifting you by your thighs. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist as he walks backward into the room, lips finding the damp skin of your neck. He licks, sucks, nips his way down to your collarbone, groaning like he’s savoring something divine.

He stumbles near the closet, and you tumble onto the mattress with a breathless yelp, your hair catching uncomfortably beneath you. You cling to his neck, trying to ease the tension, and he gazes down at you, his violet eyes suddenly sharp despite the haze of alcohol.

“You okay, baby?”

“Mhm.” You cradle his face, his cheeks flushed, lips tinged red, pupils blown wide. You sigh, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “S’pretty Sugu… kiss?”

Getou gets the message, dipping down to capture your lips in a slow, consuming kiss. His strong arms cage you in as his tongue teases yours, urging your mouth open further. You moan into it, gripping his shoulders as he presses closer, the heat between you mounting with every stolen breath.

Your shirt is barely clinging to your frame, skirt bunched high around your hips, and Getou takes full advantage, trailing kisses down your chest, tugging your bra aside to flick his tongue over a peaked nipple. The sensation sends sparks through your body, and he groans, biting gently as his eyes flick up to gauge your reaction.

You arch beneath him, desperate for more, hands fisting in his hair. The loose bun unravels, his dark strands cascading around you like a curtain, his scent enveloping you completely.

You whimper, shifting beneath him, seeking friction. “Su-gu-ru…”

He bites at your earlobe, his voice a breathy whisper, “Tell me what you need, baby. Talk to me.”

“Need you,” you gasp, hips canting up in frustration. “More—please.”

His weight presses against you, his clothed length dragging over your damp panties, and you keen at the friction.

“Like this?” he teases, grinding slow, deliberate.

You moan, rolling your hips to meet his. “Yes—yes, Sugu. Feels so good.”

The taste of alcohol lingers on your tongue, but it’s overshadowed by Getou, his kisses devouring, claiming. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, and he groans, shuddering against you.

His hands roam, tracing down your torso, teasing over your navel. Your fingers wander in turn, slipping beneath his shirt, nails dragging over the taut muscles of his back, feeling them ripple as he moves.

Your hands drift lower, mapping the firm planes of his chest until your fingers catch on the cold metal of his barbell piercings. You flick them, drawing a sharp inhale from him. And then you see it—the tattoo you’ve admired from afar, the coiled tail of a dragon peeking from the jut of his hip.

He chuckles, low and rough, nuzzling into your neck. “What do you want, baby? Tell me.”

You swallow hard, heart hammering. “Need you—now.”

His smirk is sinful. “Yeah? Here, you’ve been so good for me.”

He shoves his pants lower, and you shiver as his hands skim your thighs, pushing your skirt down and off entirely.

“Be a good girl,” he murmurs, kissing you slow, teasing. “Take me out of my boxers.”

Getou straightens up, towering over you like a Greek god—sculpted physique gleaming under the dim light, skin slick with perspiration and arousal. Your breath hitches as you curl your fingertips around the waistband of his black boxers, carefully pulling them down, revealing the end of his happy trail and the thick, pulsing length of his cock straining beneath the fabric.

You free him from the confines, wrapping your fingers around his girth. He twitches in your grasp, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth.

“Just like that, baby,” Getou murmurs, leaning over to flick his tongue over a sensitive nipple. Your mewl is music to his ears.

He lets you stroke him a few times, a bead of precum glistening at his tip as you lick your lips. But before you can indulge further, he captures your wrist, his other hand slipping beneath the damp fabric of your panties, pressing a teasing stroke over your clit.

A violent jolt racks your body. Your hips twitch, desperate for more, but all you can manage is an incoherent plea, breathy and urgent.

Getou chuckles, the sound dark, almost cruel. “Shh, shh. I got you. Daddy’s got you.”

He slips a finger inside you, and the moan you release is downright filthy. The slick glide allows him to press a second digit in beside the first with ease, stretching you open with deliberate, lazy pumps. His knuckles brush against you, curling upward with intent, watching your every reaction.

Your eyes flutter back, mouth parted, and you think you might be drooling. Getou licks at your chin, smirking. “Hey. Eyes up here.”

You barely manage to meet his gaze, his irises eclipsed by lust-darkened pupils. He leans in, your panting breaths mingling, and you press your lips to his, tasting him, losing yourself in the heat of his mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice like gravel and honey. “You just tightened up—mmh, you like it when I look at you?”

“Yes, Sugu,” you gasp, teetering on the edge of madness. “Please, I’m gonna die if you don’t fuck me soon.”

The words are only half-teasing; the ache inside you is unbearable, the need to be filled leaving your eyes pricking with unshed tears. Getou’s expression softens for only a moment before he kisses the corner of your eyes, his thumbs swiping tenderly over your cheekbones.

Then, without warning, he hikes your legs over his shoulders, dragging your panties aside. The swollen head of his cock nudges against your slick clit, the slight friction sending a white-hot surge through your nerves. He watches the way you shudder beneath him, reveling in your sensitivity.

“You want it?” he asks, lining himself up, teasing your entrance.

You whimper, wiggling your hips, desperate to catch him inside. The wetness pooling between your thighs makes it effortless, yet he stills his movements, smirking down at you.

“Go ahead, baby,” he urges, voice thick. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

He pushes in just enough for his tip to breach your entrance, the stretch immediate, electric. You sink down onto him, trying to take more, but it’s too much—too thick, not deep enough. Your walls clench greedily, but you can’t fit him in entirely on your own.

You look up at Getou, his lip caught between his teeth, veins prominent along his throat and forearms. A single tear escapes the corner of your eye, sliding down your cheek as you whisper, broken and pleading:

“Fuck me.”

Getou exhales sharply, dragging your panties off, your slick stretching between the fabric and your core. He balls them up, stuffing them into his pocket. You open your mouth to question it, but before you can, he grabs your ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

With one deliberate thrust, he buries himself to the hilt.

A choked cry escapes your lips, his name mangled on your tongue. He sets a ruthless pace, each stroke angled perfectly to find the spot inside you that has you keening.

Your head falls back, eyes glassy, body trembling as pleasure builds in your core. Getou watches you come undone beneath him, kissing and biting at your thighs as he keeps driving into you.

“Gripping me so tight, baby,” he groans, voice raw with need. “So fucking wet—do you want to cum for me?”

You nod frantically, words failing you.

Getou chuckles darkly. “Can’t understand you, sweetheart. Try again.”

You suck in a shaky breath, but he thrusts particularly deep, stealing it away before you can respond. Your body quivers violently, pleasure teetering on the edge of oblivion.

“Yes, Sugu—yes! Please, I need—”

“Better,” he huffs. He withdraws, just long enough to shift his position, slotting himself between your legs, guiding your hands behind his neck. You instinctively wrap yourself around him, pulling him deeper as he fills you completely.

The pressure is dizzying. His hand presses against your lower stomach, and you keen, feeling him so impossibly deep inside you.

“S-so big—fuck—so deep, Sugu, s’good.”

He kisses your cheek, resuming his brutal pace, the wet sounds of your coupling only adding to the sinful bliss. He reaches between you, circling your clit with practiced precision, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You choke on a sob, pleasure consuming you. “Sugu—c-coming—”

His nose brushes against yours, his lips hovering just over your own as he coaxes you further. He licks along your cupid’s bow, voice a whispered command:

“Come for me.”

The dam bursts.

A violent wave of ecstasy crashes over you, leaving you gasping, body convulsing around him. Your walls flutter and squeeze, a gush of arousal soaking his cock, dripping down to his balls.

“Fuck, baby,” he grits out, fucking you through the aftershocks. “Just like that.”

He doesn’t stop, dragging out your pleasure until it’s unbearable. Another orgasm crashes over you before you even have time to recover, leaving you sobbing his name.

Getou groans, his body tensing. “Fuck—‘m close—”

You know what will push him over the edge.

“Come inside me,” you beg, voice wrecked. “Fill me up—Su-gu-ru.”

A broken moan falls from your lips as Getou thrusts deep, his release spilling into you, hot and thick. His pace stutters, but he doesn’t stop, fucking his cum into you, his hips rolling lazily as your walls pulse. The slick, creamy mess coats his base, dripping from your swollen cunt.

You tug him closer, pulling him into a messy, breathless kiss—your tongues sliding together, lips slotting against each other with desperate need. It’s intoxicating, dizzying, and you only pull away when the edges of your vision blur, the threat of passing out looming.

You blink up at him, mind hazy, body wrecked and thrumming with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Your voice comes out shaky, barely more than a whisper.

“Fuck.���

Getou chuckles, the sound low and breathless, his chest rising and falling against yours. A bead of sweat rolls down his neck, disappearing into the dip of his collarbone.

“Fuck is right,” he murmurs, voice tinged with amusement.

His gaze softens when you nuzzle against him, your cheek pressing against his damp skin. The fatigue creeps in—drunken, drowsy, and thoroughly ruined, your limbs feel too heavy to move.

His lips brush your temple. “You okay, baby? Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head against him, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Nah, you’re perfect.”

He hums, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your back. Then, he shifts, trying to sit up—but the moment he moves, you tighten your arms around his neck, pulling him back down with a stubborn whine.

“Need to clean us up,” he says, voice gentle. “Won’t take long.”

You pout, clinging to him like a lifeline, your fingers wringing around his nape, refusing to let go.

He exhales, surrendering. “Alright, alright. Later?”

Your smile presses into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his touch soothing as his hand glides along your spine, up to scratch at your scalp in slow, languid motions.

“Later.”

𓂃۶ৎ

One thing you hate about your job is how it conditions your body to wake up at ungodly hours. In theory, it’s practical—what responsible adult wouldn’t want an early start to their day? But when you’re still reeling from a brutal hangover, desperately craving more sleep, and your body betrays you by jolting awake at the crack of dawn, it feels like pure, unadulterated torture.

You groan, rolling over in an attempt to force yourself back under, but sleep refuses to claim you again. After tossing and turning until frustration wins out, you surrender and drag yourself toward the kitchen, deciding a glass of water might help reset your system.

Hydration is key, after all, and judging by the desert-dry state of your throat, it’s safe to say you neglected it for the last forty-eight hours. Understandable, given how you’d spent the night before last.

The memory hits you out of nowhere—Getou Suguru, your devastatingly attractive neighbor, buried deep inside you, his face tight with concentration, his lips parted, breathless, still so effortlessly beautiful.

Your thighs squeeze together instinctively. It’s been happening often, these flashes of him in the most compromising positions. You just hope it isn’t obvious.

The cool air from the fridge is a relief against your overheated skin. For a fleeting moment, you consider drinking straight from the jug but decide to cling to the last shred of your dignity and pour it into a glass instead. Still groggy, you make your way to the couch, your sleep shorts riding up with every sluggish step, the strap of your bralette twisted uncomfortably.

Then—movement.

From the corner of your eye, just outside your window, something shifts. Old habits die hard, and before you can think better of it, you tiptoe closer, peeking through the curtain just enough to get a view. You expect to see the usual—Getou up early, like always. You recently learned that he wakes at the crack of dawn to make breakfast for the girls every day—a habit formed from years of going without, back when his family couldn’t afford the luxury of a morning meal.

You do see Getou.

He’s on his bed, legs stretched out, and he’s touching himself.

Your breath stutters in your throat.

His cock is flushed and straining in his hand, thick fingers wrapped around the length as he pumps himself at a lazy pace. You can almost hear the sounds he’s making—the quiet, low groans that would rumble deep in his chest, the sharp inhales as he works himself over. His lips move, forming words you can’t quite make out, but what catches your attention most is the fabric curled around his shaft, moving in time with every stroke.

You squint, trying to get a better look. Then your stomach drops.

Your panties.

Your used panties from the other night. The ones you’d worn throughout the evening, growing wetter and needier with every stolen glance at him, every lingering touch. The lacy pair with the pale pink bow at the center.

Now, they’re tangled along his cock, the waistband stretching with every movement, sticky with precum as he grinds himself against the delicate fabric.

You’re mesmerized. Completely, utterly entranced. You don’t even realize you’ve moved the curtain further, no longer just peeking but openly watching. And then—it happens.

Getou’s dark eyes lock onto yours.

Your stomach flips, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he slows down, dragging it out, making a show of it. His hips thrust up to meet his tight grip, his jaw tightening as he bites back another moan. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t look away. He just keeps watching you watch him.

Then, still stroking himself, he picks up his phone, tapping the screen a few times before bringing it to his ear.

Your phone vibrates from where you left it on the couch.

A heavy silence stretches between you as you hesitate. Then, slowly, almost mechanically, you reach for it, pressing it to your ear.

The first thing you hear is his moan—gravelly, drawn out, punctuated by a sharp breath. 

Across the way, Getou smirks. He stands, his cock bobbing against his stomach, your panties still tangled around the tip. He lifts a single finger, curling it in a slow beckon.

You swallow hard, pulse hammering in your ears.

And then, his voice, deep and smooth, curling around the words like a promise.

“Come over, pretty girl.”

[My beloved taglist: @mentallyillcore @ourfinalisation @nanasukii28 @tokyolittledelulu @reveursetcrieurs @c0ckdrunkk @inthedarkshadows000 @exelyox @inoluvrr]

+ A/N: Experimenting with my writing style ! Ngl I had to pause multiple times while writing this because DILFtou is just too damn fine !! Also, realized I have daddy issues while writing this smh

[the-mpreg-guy]

(today in the bunker parody)

Dean wakes up feeling nauseous for the third day in a row and spends an hour throwing up in the toilet. Meanwhile, Sam goes to town to get Dean some travel sickness pills and gatorade. Dean asks Cas to use his mojo to make the stomach bug go away but when Cas puts his hand on Dean's forehead his eyes widen and says he has something important to do before poofing.

"Dude," Sam's face scrunched like he was the one dying of vapors, "again?"

Dean waved one hand floppily in his direction. Right now the cold, kitchen floor looked appealing enough to sink down onto and lay his cheek against. Unfortunately, Sam would probably freak out and drag Dean to the hospital or Jody's.

The last thing Dean wanted right now was to be in a car.

Instead of becoming one with the aluminum floor, Dean dropped into a chair, tucking his chin behind his folded arms. "Wh'as for breakfast."

A single raised eyebrow. "You think I'm cooking breakfast? Do you have a fever too?" A giant hand smacked against his forehead in a bad parody of checking his temperature.

Dean jerked his head away indigently "Ge 'off. I'm fine."

"You're clammy, this is the third morning in a row you've puked, and you haven't even complained about the table being dirty yet."

He looked down. There was a sticky residue trapping cheez-it crumbs to the wood. Dean was going to have to talk to Cas and Jack about cleaning up after their midnight snacks.

"Syrup? That taste's good to them?"

Sam shrugged in a what can you do sorta way. "I guess when everything tastes like molecules-"

"Flavor combos hit different?" Dean imagined Cas and Jack pouring maple syrup over cheese crackers while their trueforms lit up a bunch of different colors. Like that scene in Ratatouille.

Gross.

Dean's stomach turned. He pushed the bile down and ignored Sam's constipated face as he grabbed a wet washcloth from the sink. "That missing hiker thing turn out to be a case?" He nodded over his shoulder to Sam's open laptop, perched on the counter next to the industrial toaster.

"Oh yeah, get this. Both victims shoelaces were found strung up over the street sign where they lived."

Dean's stomach cramped. "Could be a serial killer. Don't look excited by that," he said, threateningly brandishing his washcloth at Sam.

His brother rolled his eyes. "Whatever it is, it's killing people. So-"

"So saddle up in five?"

"Are you good to leave in five?"

Dean gave his prettiest little eyelash bat. "Sammy, I'm golden."

-- --

Dean was hunched over the toilet, watching with disgusted fascination as juice from his stomach that he didn't even know had been there flushed away.

There was nothing left to vomit, but his stomach still cramped like it wanted to spit more up. Christ.

A soft knocking on the doorframe alerted Dean to his very giant, worried, baby brother staring down at him like he was dying. "We're out of pepto, I'm heading over to Casey's."

Dean pressed his cheek to the seat. The sickening wave that dipped and swayed inside of him silenced the usual voice that would be screeching germs! in his ear. "'kay."

"What Gatorade flavor sounds good?"

Dean's stomach contracted. He rolled his head, not that it mattered because all that happened was more dry heaving.

"Jesus, Dean, breathe." A large hand placed itself between his shoulder blades. "I'll grab whatever, just don't choke while I'm gone. Actually," Sam said, unaware that Dean wanted nothing more than for him to leave and stop yapping in his ear, "I'm calling Cas."

The last thing Dean wanted was Cas's concerned puppy eyes on him, while he sicked himself up on the bathroom floor.

Then again, Cas had been juiced up ever since Dean and Jack played bait-and-switch with the Empty and accidentally recharged his batteries. It had been a while since Dean asked the guy to waste his grace on something like a little 'ol stomach bug, but desperate times. Dean wasn't a fresh faced twenty year old who could walk off a hangover or stomach bug with a shot of pepto and a diet coke.

"You do that," Dean said, body letting out a sigh of relief as the worst of the nausea began to finally let up. "Faster you get back, sooner we can leave."

A pause. "Right," Sam said. "Okay, hang tight."

-- --

Sam must've sent up a prayer or something, because within moments of his footsteps fading down the hall, there was the tale-tell flap of wings in the corner of the room.

"Whas' up," Dean picked his head up off the floor. He maybe crumpled a little bit after Sammy left, but in fairness he didn't know that Cas was going to show up that quickly. "Did you get taller?"

"Dean." Cas's face was scrunched in concern as he knelt down to eye level. Ah, good, Cas was still short than. "You look terrible."

Rude. "Thanks, buddy. Help me up." Somehow, between the two of them, Dean found himself propped up against one of the sinks. "Did Sam-"

"He said you weren't feeling well. He didn't say that you were this ill." Cas's face was disapproving, which made Dean's chest do weird things. It was always funny when Cas got pissed at Sam on his behalf, but lately Cas's attention was-

Well, it made Dean feel hot and cold all over.

"Think you can-" Dean mimed Cas's two finger "I'm going to zap you with my power and you can't do anything about it" move. "Sam's gonna pick up the yellow Gatorade, because he sucks. Also, dead hiker."

Cas's head tilted. "Sam already passed the case off to Jody."

That little shit.

"Dammit, Sam." Aaand, the nausea was back. Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "Look, dude, you know I wouldn't ask for stupid reasons." Lie. Dean loved volunteering Cas's grace for shit. He just rarely asked for it for himself.

There was a pause. When Dean opened his eyes, Cas was looking at him considering. "Of course," he said, after a moment, in a tone of voice that implied that healing Dean had been a given.

A large warm hand touched his forehead. It was nicer than when Sam had done it earlier. Dean resisted leaning into it. Maybe.

Cas's eyes widened and Dean got to watch an angel's pupils dilate for possibly the first time.

"Fuck," Castiel, Dean's best friend and contemptuous little nutheaded dork, swore for possibly the first time in the decade or so that Dean had known him. It came out all gritty and low, sending twists to Dean's stomach that had nothing to do with the nausea.

Before Dean could panic or do something insane like get hard, there was a flap of wings and negative space where his dumbass angel was a second ago.

Dean stared at the empty spot next to him for a moment. "At least tell me if it's cancer!" he screeched.

Dean shook his head, wondering if he should break out the holy oil next time he and Sam managed to lure Cas back into the bunker. Idiot was allergic to answers still, after a decade.

Still, at least his stomach was feeling better. What kind of fuckass stomach bug only made him feel like shit at eight in the morning?

[haveihitanerve]

Sup lol, tis been a while I fear

Had story idea, and it's just Bruce and Jason hanging out, but as soon as Jason leaves, Bruce just starts bawling because 'Holy shit, my son willingly hung out with me and made plans to hang out again' and he's just so emotional

Everyone is concerned that he's crying but Alfred and Tim and probably Cass, cuz they know how Bruce was during Jason's death (and Cass can just read him like a damn book)

K bye thx!

Heyyyyy!!!! Welcome back!!! This is a wonderful idea, not sure how I'll manage to write it, but i can try :) :

It was Saturday. Jason wasn't even supposed to be visiting, family dinner wasn't until Monday, but he dropped by with Dick, chatting on about something or other.

"Hey Old Man." Jason greeted, throwing a grin Bruce's way. Bruce almost dropped the tray he was holding, newly made shortbread cookies for Damian's art club meeting. The cookies were a little burnt, but Bruce thought they looked okay.

Jason, however, was under a different opinion. He wrinkled his nose, snatching one off the tray. "What on earth is this B?" Dick laughed along, grabbing one as well, and knocked it against the counter.

"You make your batter out of cement or something?" His eldest snickered as not even a crumb fell off.

"careful, you'll dent the counter." Jason warned, a shit eating grin on his face.

Bruce sighed, dumping the tray on the table. "They're for Damian. He's bringing over a few friends after school, and I thought I'd make some snacks. Cookies." He rubbed a hand over his forehead. "Didn't go so well."

"You? In the kitchen? Not going well?" Dick teased, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Never woulda guessed." Bruce rolled his eyes.

Jason shrugged off his jacket, lifting the stack of old recipe notecards. "This is a fairly easy recipe, how did you-" he shook his head, rolling up his sleeves. "Alright old man, time for a baking lesson, come on, get the ingredients, we're gonna make demon brat some snacks."

Bruce raised an eyebrow as Dick lifted his bag, backing up into the hallway. "You guys have fun- I've gotta get going-"

"Coward!" Jason hollered after him as Dick vanished up the stairs. Privately, Bruce had to agree.

But it was... nice. Jason was... well he wasn't kind in the kitchen, but he treated Bruce and his inability to bake nicer than Dick would've at least. And it was... good.

They talked about everything and nothing, and Jason even let him ruffle his hair a few times, and even allowed a hug goodbye before he and Dick headed out again. (Plus the cookies came out perfectly)

Bruce managed to hold it together until they were out the door before he collapsed, tears streaming down his cheeks as sobs shook his body.

Steph was the one to find him, lured by the smell of cookies, Tim, Cass and Duke on her tail.

"Woah." Tim paused, head cocked. "Bruce you good?" He questioned, glancing at the others, who held up their hands in equal measure of confusion.

"Yes." Bruce sobbed back. "Jason- I- he-"

"I think what he's trying to say is that he and Jason hung out today." Duke translated slowly, raising an eyebrow. "I saw them baking earlier when I came upstairs."

"Oooohhhh." Steph, Cass, and Tim nodded in agreement. "That makes sense."

Duke looked between them. "How, exactly, does him sobbing make sense?" Steph laughed.

"Oh Duke, sweety, you sweet summer child, BB and J don't have the best relationship sugarplum, in case you didn't know. So Jason willingly hanging out with him?" She mimed an explosion. "Mind-blowing."

Tim grimaced. "I wouldn't say it like that, but basically. He was a mess when Jason died. And now he like, basically gets a redo of hanging with his son."

They all stared down at Bruce sobbing on the floor.

"So..." Duke cleared his throat. "Cookies and down to the Cave to watch a movie?" The others nodded their agreement.

"Yep. Bye Bruce, have... fun."

[yeonzzzn]

🍓strawberries: yeonjun x reader | childhood friends to lovers | warnings: none, just cute ♡

"they say a double strawberry will bring love. spliting it in half and sharing it with another person, you will fall in love with each other..."

[3.0k words] ☆ [pls do not repost]

A soft tapping on your bedroom window startled you awake. 

You turned quickly to your left, seeing a face looking back at you. The face of your best friend. 

“Yeonjun!” you snapped holding your hands over your chest, “you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

The corners of his mouth tilted up, his finger pointing upwards, signaling you to open the window. 

You sighed as you walked over and lifted the glass up, “don’t you know what time it is?” you asked. 

Yeonjun checks the watch on his wrist, “it’s only 9:30pm.” 

You dropped your face in the palm of your hand, “only 9:30pm he says.” 

“Yeah! Obviously!” Yeonjun places his foot over the plastic panel to the window, “move over I’m coming in.”

You step aside, watching your childhood best friend make his way into your room. 

Yeonjun sets a plastic convenience store bag on your desk where you were once asleep. 

“Oh shit! I forgot we had math homework!” Yeonjun picks up your notebook, “can I copy this later?” 

You snatch the notebook from his hands, “you know you can do it yourself, right? And anyways, why are you here so late? It’s a school night you know.” 

He points to the plastic bag, “I got us snacks.” 

“Yeah. I can see that.” 

You decided to accept his snacks, knowing full well if you didn’t he would pout until you did or leave pouting and then you’d definitely never hear the end of it. You both sat on the floor leading against your bed to keep the crumb from getting on the bedsheets. 

Yeonjun went on telling a story about his experience at school earlier that day while you sipped on the cola he brought you, and munched on some chips. 

You and Yeonjun have been friends since birth, your mothers are both best friends, which automatically made the two of you best friends. 

“Like Y/N it was crazy! This fight was different from any other school fights I’ve seen!”

You nodded your head, “I can tell by your story. I don’t know why you get yourself caught up in these fights, remember we are seniors in high school, if you want to get into a good college, you can’t get caught up in that.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes, “It’s not like I was in the fight, I just stopped it.” 

“That does not help your case.” 

He shrugs, digging into the bag for another snack.

“Ah! I forgot I got strawberries!” 

You glance over, seeing the rubbing strawberries in his hands. Your eyes lit up, “why did you not start with the strawberries first! I love them!” 

Yeonjun smiled brightly, “that’s why they had to be last! I know you love them.” 

The smell of the fresh strawberries filled your room, your mouth watering, ready to have a taste. 

One by one you both took them, the container soon almost empty. 

Yeonjun’s attention was soon taken by the last strawberry, he held it up in his hand, “it’s a double strawberry.” 

You reached across trying to take it from him, but he pulled away, “I call dibs!” you tried to reach again but he was quick to pull it further away, “Yeonjun!” 

“Do you not know the lord to double strawberries?!” he frantically let out, still shoving you away from the red goodness. 

“What is so special about a double strawberry?? Is it more juicy? I want it if so!” 

Yeonjun rolled his eyes, “No! Silly! Sit back and I will tell you.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you let him win, ready for him to explain. 

“Okay, they say if you share a double strawberry, the ones who share it fall in love with each other.” Yeonjun smiled up at you, only for his smile to fade once he saw the look on your face.

“That’s the lore?” you couldn’t hide that your were disappointed. You hoped for the lord to be something more amazing.

Yeonjun flicked his finger to your forehead, “yes that IS the lore! Do you not find that interesting?!”

You shook your head, “I think it is silly to put trust in a fruit to make two people fall in love.” 

Yeonjun shrugged, “I think it’s fascinating.”

“You’ve always been the more romantic one out of the two of us.” 

He nodded, staring down at the strawberries. You felt bad after not believing his story, Yeonjun always loved theories and it made you feel guilty for shutting it down so quickly. 

“I’m sorry for being mean,” you apologized.

He smiled brightly at you, “share the strawberry with me.”

You laughed, thinking he was joking. “What? You’re serious?”

He nodded again, “yeah why not?” he wiggled his brows, “maybe we’ll figure out if it’s true or not.” 

You shoved his shoulder, “stop playing.”

He locked eyes with you, your heart rate increasing seeing how very serious he was being, “I’m not playing, Y/N.” 

All you could do was nod in agreement. What’s the worst that could happen?

Yeonjun split the strawberry and handed you your half. 

This was the first time you felt nervous around him. Yeonjun knows your deepest, darkest secrets. Has seen you at your worst, and even your highest. This man embarrassed you in front of the whole student body in the fourth grade when he found out which boy you had a crush on and announced it to everyone. Never once had he ever made you feel the things you were right now. 

But you ate the strawberry anyways, watching as he ate his half. 

“You’re right,” his voice startled you, “the double strawberry was really juicy.” 

Yeonjun looked over at you making eye contact. 

Every inch of you was screaming to look away, to nod your head in agreement that the strawberry was indeed juicy and really good. 

But you couldn’t break away, you sat frozen beside him. 

Yeonjun inched closer to you, shifting his body facing you, his arm resting on your bed while the other hand reached for you.  

You let him. You let him place his hand on the side of your neck, his thumb brushing against your cheek. You could smell his cologne, feel his breath against your skin. 

Yeonjun slowly connected his lips to yours. Your body went hot from his touch. Everything was spinning, but felt as if the world had stopped. 

Once he pulled away, you had to remind yourself to breathe. 

“It’s late,” he said, pushing your hair behind your ear, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” 

Yeonjun placed a final kiss on your forehead, and you watched him climb out your window and disappear down the street. 

As if the lore of the strawberry were true, you fell in love with him. 

Everything with Yeonjun felt so right. Everything made sense with him. 

And he felt the same with you. 

The two of you spent the rest of the school year together. 

You became the “it” couple of the school. And deep down, you loved it. 

Every holiday with him was better than before. Every date was more and more special. Every kiss took your breath away every single time. The first I love you melted you. But your heart raced faster each time you heard those words come from his mouth. 

You loved him with every inch of your being. You felt as if nothing could tear you two apart. 

Until the day came where it did tear you apart. 

The two of you sat on the floor of his bedroom. Boxes filled every corner of the room, the convenient store bag of snacks, untouched. A container of strawberries empty, with no double strawberry. 

“Yeonjun, we can find a way!” you cried. 

He tucked his lip between his teeth, “we can’t and you know that.” 

Today was supposed to be a celebration of Yeonjun being accepted as a trainee, but you didn’t think the celebration would end with the both of you ending. 

High School graduation was in a week, you both had so many plans for the summer. He was supposed to follow you to your dream college that was three hours away if he wasn’t accepted as his dream company to be a trainee, and even if he was accepted, you both wanted to make it work. 

Until tonight. 

You knew with Yeonjun’s schedule he wouldn’t have time to visit you often or text or even call often. You did not think it was going to be enough to break the two of you apart. 

You kept looking at the empty container of strawberries, wishing a double one would magically appear there. Maybe the lore wasn’t true after all. 

Graduation came and gone. Days passed. Months flew by and then a years. 

You graduated top of your class from college and landed your dream job in Seoul and moved into a beautiful apartment. 

Your parents threw you a party in congratulations. All your friends from high school came and even the one from college. 

You sat on the couch beside your parents, listening to them talk about how their lives have been since you’ve been gone. You’ve talked to them on the phone every single day, and they’ve visited, but there was still a lot to be caught up on. 

“Oh honey! Mrs. Choi told me to give you her congrats.” your mother said, giving you a warm smile. 

You nodded and smiled back, “tell her I said thank you.” 

She nodded back, but her warm smile slowly faded, “Have you spoken to Yeonjun?” 

You froze at his name, slowly looking away from your mom.

She placed a hand on your shoulder, giving a soft squeeze. 

You excused yourself, rushing away to the kitchen. 

Yeonjun never left your mind. For years since the last day you saw him, he was all you ever thought about. Your heart ached for him. It wanted him and only him. 

You noticed a fruit plate on the table, with a singular strawberry sitting on it. You picked it up, and threw it away. 

A few months have gone by, you settled into your apartment and made a name for yourself at your job. Life was getting easier and Yeonjun didn’t cross your mind much anymore. But maybe it was due to being busy. You never knew the answer to that, and didn’t want to find that answer. 

The first snow of winter touched the ground. You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, forgetting your gloves at home was the worst mistake of the day. 

You had a late day at work, causing you to walk home at 9pm. With the sun down, the winter breeze was even cooler. 

You kept your head low as you continued your walk back home, counting down the steps until you walked into your apartment. 

A few pairs of laughter in the distance caught your attention, you didn’t want to run into them after all. 

You glance up, seeing five men standing on the sidewalk, laughing at each other. 

It made you smile, it reminded you of the times you and your friends would laugh. 

But your smile faded, when you recognized one smile. 

You stopped walking after fully realizing you recognized the laugh too. 

Your heart raced seeing how happy he looked. How different he looked. You could tell he carried himself different. His smile was bigger. He was much taller. His hair was dyed orange. He looked the happiest you’ve ever seen him. 

You knew you needed to walk away, to turn around and walk a different way home. You couldn’t ruin this for him. 

But it was too late. 

He made eye contact with you. His smile faded. 

You wanted to move, but your feet were planted to the ground. 

He said something to the four friends of his and made his way to you. 

You finally were able to look away, hoping his friends would pull him back, but saw they were no longer on site. 

Finally, you were able to turn around, facing away from him.

“Y/N! Wait please!”

You couldn’t take another step before his hands turned you around and pulled you to him, his arms wrapping around you.

You fought yourself to keep from crying, kept yourself stiff so you wouldn’t. 

Yeonjun realized it too, slowly pulling himself from you. 

“Why are you out here alone?” he asked, pulling a strain of hair behind your ear, “you’re freezing! Are you heading home? I’ll drive you.” 

You shook your head, “no I’m fine.” 

His face fell, watching his foot dig into the snow. 

“Please let me take you home, I don’t feel okay knowing you’re walking alone.”

You took a deep breath in, “you haven’t changed much have you?”

A small smile grew on his face, “obviously not.” 

You agreed to let him drive you home. 

He stopped at the convenient store down the street from your apartment, “why are we stopping?” you asked. 

He gave you a wink, “for snacks of course, just like old times.” 

Your heart sank, but you slowly nodded anyway. You tried to push the last memory of sharing snacks with him out of your head. You didn’t want to remember it. 

Yeonjun dropped the plastic bag on your kitchen table, sliding his jacket off, dropping it in the chair. 

“Want any coffee? To help warm up?” you asked. 

Yeonjun nodded, “yes, thank you.  

He rustled through the plastic bag, bringing out a few packages of ramen, two bags of chips, and a container of strawberries. 

You handed him his coffee, glancing down at the container. 

“You really got everything we used to eat as children, didn’t you.” you soft scoffed. 

Yeonjun tore open one of the bags of chips, “hey I’m a simple guy.” 

You rolled your eyes, sitting down at the table across from him, “you really didn’t change.” 

He glanced over at you, “why would I?” 

You shrugged, tapping your fingers on your coffee mug, “you’re an idol now.” 

“Y/N, just because I’m famous doesn’t mean I’m not the same Yeonjun you know.” 

You looked away from him, seeing his face hurt. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered. “I am an idiot, I get it. But I haven’t stopped thinking about you all these years. You’re the main reason I was able to get as far as I did.” 

You looked into his eyes trying to read him. Yeonjun never was able to hide how he felt from you, even as kids you always knew what he was feeling. And right now wasn’t any different. You could see his emotions all over his face. 

“I didn’t want to lose you,” he chuckled, “but I couldn’t put you through that life.”

You shocked your head, anger filled you, “you don’t know how it would have worked! I was ready for that life. Prepared myself for it. I was ready to support you through thick and thin.”

Yeonjun nodded, “I know, trust me I do.” 

You both sat in silence, until you decided fighting with him wasn’t what you wanted right now. You finally reunited with him, you don’t know when you’d be able to see him again. 

“Want to eat the strawberries and talk how we used to?” 

Yeonjun smiled, opening the container. 

You listened as he talked about his trainee days, about his group members, the company he’s under and even his seniors who he looks up to and all the friends he was able to make. He looked so happy talking about it all. You couldn’t help but wonder how different it would have been for him if you were still in the picture during that time. 

“I’m very happy for you, Yeonjun,” you picked up a strawberry, “I guess it worked out in the end.”

You didn’t mean for those words to be that sharp, but you could tell they cut him like a knife. 

“I meant it when I said I never stopped thinking about you. I talked about you all the time. I still do.” 

“I think about you too,” you decided to admit, “I never stopped.” 

He cleared his throat, “get me caught up on you.” 

You caught him up on your everyday life and how you ended up in Seoul. 

“I am very glad you’re doing well for yourself, Y/N. I was worried about you.” 

You raised a brow at him, “I’m an adult Yeonjun, I can’t take care of myself now.” you teased him. 

He threw his hands up in defense, “hey listen, I trust you okay.” 

You both laughed. You missed this. You missed him. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered, as if he could read your mind. 

You sighed, “I’ve missed you too.” 

Yeonjun chuckled, reaching for the last strawberry in the box, his eyes frozen on it. 

You took a sip from your coffee, watching him in confusion, “what is wrong with it?”

He smiled, “have you ever heard the lore of sharing a double strawberry with someone?” 

You set your cup down, seeing the double strawberry in his hand. 

“Yeonjun…”

“They say if you split the strawberry in half with someone, the two will fall in love.” 

He glances up at you, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Yeonjun…I—“

“I’m still in love with you, Y/N,” he interrupted. “I loved you way before we even shared the first double strawberry. I think I’ve loved you for as long as I could remember, and I never stopped. Sharing the strawberry with you that night all those years ago only gave me the confidence to finally show it.” 

Tears formed in your eyes. The happiness you felt in that moment was written all over your face. 

“I don’t remember when I realized it, but it’s the same with me”, you reached across the table grabbing him by his shirt collar, “I’ve always loved you Choi Yeonjun, and it took that stupid double strawberry to finally realize it.” 

The last thing you saw was his smile and his face inching closer to yours. Your world spun at the touch of his lips. Your heart raced feeling his cold hand brush against your neck. 

He was here with you. And that’s all that mattered in that moment. 

Yeonjun pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, “so, we are sharing this strawberry?” 

“As long as you promise to not leave my side again.” 

“You’re crazy if you think I’m dumb enough to walk away from you again.”

[lulublack90]

Prompt 13 - Supernatural

@wolfstarmicrofic July 13, word count 990

The Marauders had been called to yet another haunted mansion. The owner had begged for the gang to come and help remove the spectre from the building. 

James drove the rickety old van, Lily sat beside him, her red hair catching the summer sun as it shone through the windscreen. Peter sat in the back pouring over the books he’d collected on ghost-hunting and Remus and Padfoot sat at the very back of the van sharing a box of their favourite snacks. 

Padfoot stuck his nose into the empty box and snuffled around it just in case they’d missed a crumb. Remus patted the top of his head. 

“Good, boy. Are we nearly there?” He called to James in front. “Pads and I are out of snacks,” 

“I don’t know how you two don’t explode with the amount of food you eat,” Lily scoffed at them. Remus shrugged, he’d been asked this so many times over the years, and he still didn’t have an answer. Padfoot just woofed happily at her and wagged his tail, hitting Remus in the mouth and leaving him with multiple dog hairs on his tongue. 

They pulled up outside the castle and the Marauders' van gave a grateful cough before the engine shut off. It had been a long, steep drive. The owner, a little old man with a long white beard tucked into his belt, welcomed them as they walked up to the main entrance. 

“Ah, the Marauders, welcome, welcome. Please, come in,” He said, waving them forwards. The castle looked even bigger from the inside. Remus had to crane his neck just to see the ceiling.

“Wow, bud, this is amazing,” He said to Padfoot. 

“So, Mr Dumbledore, how can we help?” James asked, puffing out his chest.

“Well,” The old man started. “I’ve been having a bit of trouble with things moving about the castle. I’ve had socks being thrown at me as I was walking down the stairs. My pears have flown off my plate and been juggled midair. And many other odd things happening all over the castle.”

“Don’t worry,” Lily told him, resting a hand on his. “We’ll take care of everything,” They split up to explore the castle. 

Remus picked the short straw, and while James, Lily and Peter all headed upstairs, he and Padfoot had to go down into the dungeons to check it out. 

It was dark and damp down there. Padfoot whimpered quietly the further down they went. Remus stopped beside a painting of a bowl of fruit and sniffed. 

“Mmmmm smells like chocolate.” He sniffed some more, touching the frame. It shifted. He swung it open, revealing a kitchen behind it. “Pads bud, I think we hit the jackpot!” He clambered into the hole and stood back so Padfoot could jump in. 

The kitchen was huge, with four long tables set out in a row. They moved further in and Remus opened the huge walk-in fridge door. He gasped at the abundance of food and immediately started picking at the food, making sure to give Padfoot a good share as well. He was chewing on a chunk of roast chicken when the door suddenly shut on them. “Cripes, Pads, what do we do now?” He asked his faithful friend. Padfoot sat back on his haunches, lifted his head and howled. Remus started banging on the door and shouting for help. 

It took a long time for the others to find them.

“Shouldn’t have been stuffing your faces,” Peter teased them when they ran out of the fridge once the door opened. 

“Hahaha.” Remus rolled his eyes, “Have you found anything?” Lily nodded.

“Yeah, we think it’s a poltergeist,” She told him.

“We just need it to reveal itself, and then we can deal with it,” James added. 

“You can’t catch old Peeves, he’s far too clever for the likes of you!” A cackling voice echoed around the room.

“Show yourself!” James yelled. Food began to hurtle itself out of the open fridge at them. They quickly took cover as sandwiches, treacle tarts and a myriad of other food crashed into them. 

“We need to trap him,” Peter yelled over the sounds of trays being dropped. 

“How?!” Remus asked. But before Peter could answer, Padfoot raced across the kitchen and jumped at the door, slamming it shut. 

“Hey! That’s cheating! Let Peeves out now!” The Poltergeist cried angrily from inside the fridge. 

“Good job, Pads,” Remus grinned, opening his arms, so the giant black dog could jump into them for a hug. “You’re the best boy,” Padfoot responded by licking a very wet tongue all the way up Remus’s face. “Eww, I love you too,” He laughed patting Padfoot’s huge head. 

“Well done, well done!” Mr Dumbledore appeared from nowhere clapping his hands. He wandered over to the fridge and opened the door. A little man dressed in bright orange clothes and pointed blue shoes hovered in the middle of the area. 

“Dumble wumble, Peeves isn’t happy!” He sulked. 

“There, there Peeves,” Dumbledore cooed. “If you promise to behave yourself, I’ll let you out,” The poltergeist sighed dramatically. 

“Fine,” He spun upside down and zoomed out of the room. Dumbledore turned to them. 

“Thank you, Marauders. He’s been pushing his luck for ages. I may need your services in the future if he starts getting out of hand again.” He handed James a pouch full of gold coins and waved as he left the kitchen. “You can see yourselves out when you’re ready. Thank you again.” He called. The Marauders looked at each other flummoxed by the odd behaviour, but quickly left the strange castle and its even stranger inhabitants. 

James got behind the wheel to start the long journey home while the others relaxed. Remus curled up on the floor of the van, pulling Padfoot close, snuggling into his soft fur as they both fell asleep, their stomachs full and tired from their adventure. 

[dantalionarchive]

Homegirl

yuji itadori x fem!reader wc: 1693 tags: weed sex/yuji calls you baby not beta read!

yuji is the type of guy who grows feelings for his girl best friend. i wanna kiss him so bad...

your toes curled in your fluffy socks as you sat beside yuji on his living room couch. well, his older brothers living room couch. you had been so busy with college you didnt have time for your best friend; until now. it was finally spring break, and you were finally back in your hometown. of course you were staying with your parents for the week since they wanted to see you, but they werent the only people you came back for.

when you told yuji you were back, he blew up your phone with excited texts and begged to facetime you. of course you agreed. you talked with him all night and woke up laughing together when you realized you fell asleep on the phone with one another. 

no one was closer to you than your homeboy yuji itadori. 

when you were free that evening, he invited you over to smoke. of course you said yes. you told your parents you were going to see yuji and jumped on your old bike, riding down to his place with a bag of weed in your back pocket, and a lighter in the front of your denim shorts. yuji lived in the big house two blocks ahead of yours. it was impossible to miss and the two of you always loved doing everything together. its funny how things worked out that way. 

you jumped off your bike, throwing it in his front yard as you ran up to his front door. he beat you to it. with a big shimmering smile, he wrapped you up in a tight hug and pulled you into his house. the sun was starting to set, and the smoke session was about to begin.

choso was nice enough to let you and yuji smoke in the house instead of sending you to the porch. as long as you didnt burn anything down. “its been so long since we smoked together, im sorry i only have cruddy weed.” you apologized while eyeing your crumbs of cheap weed nobara had slid you. 

an exchange for you being so kind as to drop her off at a sneaky link. the room was lit via the tv and a small table lamp on the side of you, making your contribution even more pathetic. “you know i would never ask you to bring weed. and this is all my brothers anyway.” he snickered as he emptied the shredded tobacco from the cigar wrap into a little, black grocery bag. “sukunas? he wont be mad?” you asked with worry as yuji rolled his eyes. “he stole my favorite red nike dunks. so im stealing some of his weed.” he frowned as he got into the much larger bag of weed to break up a few nugs. 

“be the bigger person.” you joked and gently nudged his thigh with your foot before your eyes returned to the tv. the two of you had put on an anime to watch, but neither of you were actually paying attention to it. just some background noise for the smoke sesh. with the blunt now rolled (and pearled) yuji scrambled for a lighter among the snacks and bottles of water. “here,” you pulled one out of the front pocket of your jean shorts. “dont lose it.” you smiled at him as he took your lighter. your fingers brushed his but you thought nothing of it.

you were yujis homegirl. and of course he was your homeboy. people always assumed you were dating, but that wasnt the case. you did have some unsavory thoughts about yuji from time to time, but he was your friend before he was an object of your desire. the blunt was passed to you and the ceramic ashtray was moved to the center for the both of you to share. 

the weed was superb. sukuna really was the greatest plug. making yuji the greatest plug via association. your eyes were starting to feel heavy as you leaned against yuji with the brown blunt becoming shorter and shorter. “should we roll another? use the weed i brought.” you offered him the blunt and he hummed in deep thought. you could see the shine of his thin gold chain dangling around his neck from the tvs glow. it pulled you in closer until yuji was holding the blunt, looking down at your hand resting on his thigh. 

“you okay?” yuji asked lazily as his body sank back against the velvet couch. you nodded, your hand still as you gave his muscled leg a small squeeze. his breath hitched softly as you moved in even closer. “whatre you doin?” he mumbled as the blunt hung from his lips. his eyes on you. “nothin.” you whispered as you eyed his crotch through his black basketball shorts. you were sitting on your knees now, your heart pounding in your chest until yuji grabbed you by the shoulder and pushed you away. his cheeks were red and he was frowning.

“you dont have to do that.” yuji didnt sound angry with you. just anxious. “i want to though…” you trailed off with a weak frown, watching yuji put the blunt in the ashtray. “lets do somethin for you too.” the offer was quiet, the tv casting you both in a colorful glow as your pink haired best friend inched closer on the couch.

your lips met. soft and welcoming. you knew in that moment that this was something you both wanted. your tongues met with each messy kiss, drool coating your chin as yuji made his way on top of you. your back was digging into the arm of the couch now. your heart racing as your arms wrapped around him with a whine leaving your lips as he pulled away and moved lower.  

“wheres choso?” you panted as yuji sucked and kissed along your jugular, lightly and cautiously. “sleep upstairs.” you pulled at the back of his shirt, stifling another whine. “sukuna?” you worried about him the most. “his babymama house.”yuji mumbled against your skin as his warm hands slipped under your shirt, pulling at the front clasp of your bra as he sucked and licked at your throat.

you wanted him to leave marks. more soft sounds passed your lips as yuji pulled away and bunched your shirt over your chest. your nipples hardened once they were exposed to the cool air of the room. he looked down at you, contemplating his next move as you pulled your hands away and tugged at his shirt. he took your silent request and pulled the article of clothing over his head and haphazardly dropped it to the floor. his chest was exposed, and he dove in for another round of kisses as his large palms massaged your breasts. you were like dough in his hands. moldable and pliable for him to enjoy. it was like one of many fantasies you silently wished would come true.

his hands moved to your jean shorts, pulling at the button and zipper as he kept your moaning lips distracted with his. the denim was being yanked down your hips with your panties bunched in the fabric. they dangled off of your ankle as his hands moved between your thighs. his thumb rubbed at your clit. his fingers pumped in and out of you carefully crooking upwards. swallowing your yelps and cries as you trembled beneath him with nothing short of delight. when the sound of shuffling clothing returned you felt the pooling heat in your stomach leave a dull burn as his fingers pulled away. 

you needed yuji inside of you. his cock rested against the meaty petals of your pussy, the tip of his cock meekly greeted your clit with a few light, affectionate rubs. “can i?” he whispered, his voice airy. needy. just as needy as you. you gave him a lazy nod for a response, your body tensing when his strong arms lifted your hips into his lap, leaving you bent as he sank his thick, throbbing cock into your soaked cunt. 

his hips rocked with yours, his gold chain swinging before your eyes. the anime was drowned out by wet smacks of skin and soft moans. each drag of his cock left you light headed. you clenched tighter around him, mumbling soft sobs and ‘oh fucks’ with each piston. the mushroomy tip of his cock nudged perfectly against that spongy wall inside you. “your body was made for my cock. feel it baby?” he cooed, leaning in to meet your lips with his own. his rhythm steady and quick as he fucked you against the leather couch, letting you drag your nails against the bare skin of his back. it felt so good. better than you could have imagined. maybe it was the weed. maybe it was the feelings you held onto. maybe it was in yujis dna to have excellent dick. whatever the answer was, it was leading you to an orgasm; fast. 

your toes curled in your fuzzy socks, your breathing quickened as yujis thrusts became sloppy and rough. a thin trail of spit connected the two of you as he pulled away, pushing your thighs apart to get even deeper inside of you. “s-so deep yuji- mm’cummin…” you whimpered pathetically as your pussy fluttered around him. sucking him deeper and deeper as he nudged against your cervix. the sudden feeling left the coil in your stomach winding impossibly tight as yuji nodded. “you can come. cum with me? cum with me please? please baby?” he huffed and panted as his cock throbbed inside of you.

you nodded, your body quaking as your orgasm hit you like a punch. your body writhed as yuji hunched over you with a deep growl.

his cock pulsed, the feeling of a gooey warmth left your thighs trembling. the throbbing sensation intensified as your body grew sensitive from overstimulation. you could feel the pearl colored cum starting to leak out of you along with your own juices. but thats not what you were worried about.

it was the post nut clarity telling you that you just fucked your homeboy on his older brothers couch. 

[ridreamir]

Short Drayton Imagines (Set 1)

Warning! These are Post-DLC Imagines! I won't really be spoiling much plot-wise but in case I say anything spoiler-y I'm going to include a page break-- read with your own caution! There's a hint of Kieran Jealousy in here haha

You aren't really close friends, per se, it's just that he's taken to inserting himself into your life at random. If you ever find yourself in his neck of the woods, it's more than likely that he'll pop out from nowhere and try to distract you from getting your work done. You are colleagues at the very least, being the champ of his little organization and all.

"Hey sport!" or some variation is the only warning you'll get that you're about to be dragged into some whirlwind and might as well either run as fast as you can or resign yourself to being at the mercy of Drayton's whims for the day.

Yes, he is always scheming. People might look down on him for being laid back, but he's still got the energy to plot things it seems.

...It's not that he's philosophically against bad grades or anything, but you're a little too high-strung about being perfect and performing all the time. At least, that's what he thinks. You've been the best at everything for so long that he's not sure if it's just your nature or an obligation that everyone else has set upon you. You need to learn to relax! Who better to teach you than the Drayster himself? It's not like he takes anything seriously anymore. (lol) (Maybe he's projecting, a little. He knows a thing or two about expectations and pressure being put on a person to achieve excellence, even if that's not what they really want.)

Plenty of his lackeys have obviously figured out that he's got some sort of thing going on, what with how easily he drops what he's doing just to go pester you. Even if that means abandoning his snacks and actually cleaning himself off to look somewhat presentable. The fact that he cares to wipe a couple crumbs off his chest is enough to turn heads. Drayton isn't the type to mind what anyone thinks.

You're lucky the dorms require a digital key to get in, and that he can't be bothered to break in (though he probably could pull some strings if he really wanted). He's followed you back to the dorms after a long day and ignored the hall monitors barking at him to get back to his own just to play around and snoop through your stuff. It's... kind of like finding a really lazy Beartic rummaging through your garbage.

He doesn't really need a comfortable bed, to be honest. He's happy to drag you into a foot of snow and burrow there. He can settle anywhere secluded, as fun as it is to watch people from afar. He needs peace and quiet to sleep.

Artificial glaciers or not, the cold is still biting, but he's impervious to it somehow. He'll have his skin exposed for hours and have nothing more than a slight flush to his pale skin. You, on the other hand, have little choice in the matter. He knows you've dealt with worse, being a seasoned adventurer and all, so he doesn't really feel all too bad about hogging all your warmth to himself. ...If you were actually cold, he wouldn't be so cruel. You're dressed appropriately, and you have your Pokemon if you absolutely need. You can handle a few moments out in the snow. Your little friend is a teeny bit upset with him. So's his sister, so there's nothing new there. But he has to admit that he's a little smug about how 'close' he can get to you and loves watching the pipsqueak try to stomp down his temper. It goes something like "Hey there buddy~." And an arm slung lazily slung around your shoulder. Not that you have any idea that Kieran is both behind you and seething at Drayton. It's just too easy to get to him, but think of it as payback. He's forgiven of course, but he still put you all through some rough stuff. You especially. Drayton still loves to mess with Carmine, sure, but she's also been on his case about how he's been latching onto you recently. Maybe it's because she knows how jealous her brother gets, but he thinks she just wants you all to herself. Too bad for her, he got to you first. Well, not exactly, she met you before him, but she had her chance! Now you're the bestest of buds and she can't do nothin about it. You've got lots of friends back at 'home'. He knows he can't always capitalize on your time, and he backs off when he sees you actually needing space, but they're not here to stop him. You're his bud, all his.

[silverflqmes]

໒⦂ 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐂𝐒.

notes. seijoh hcs if they were on the road together!

genre. crack

ft. tooru oikawa, issei matsukawa, takahiro hanamaki, hajime iwaizumi

gender neutral! reader. ( not rlly mentioned tho )

     ➫    𝓞𝗜𝗞𝗔𝗪𝗔   𝓣𝗢𝗢𝗥𝗨   ୨୧   ˎˊ˗

⌗ alright alright, he WANTED to drive.. but the vote went towards iwaizumi, and to double check they did rock paper scissors ( iwaizumi still won )

⌗ tooru was petty for the first thirty minutes, i mean it’s his car???

⌗ but eventually thought it was for the better! let him be on light duty while his subjects- i mean ahem, teammates, manage the car situation.

⌗ he does however, have control of the radio and has already plugged in his phone ( there goes one outlet ) to play spotify!

⌗ everyone complained at first but tooru’s music taste ate and left not crumbs because everyone was singing. even kyotani was nodding his head to some songs.

⌗ position wise, tooru is well, obviously in the passenger’s seat. what’s annoying is how far back he has his seat😐 and watari is like right behind him BUT SAYS NOTHING.

⌗ if the road trip is long, tooru however, will step in as a backup driver because poor poor iwa-chan gets so sleepy at night from having a NORMAL sleep schedule!! ( tooru doesn’t, this is why he has this job.. )

    ➫ 𝓜𝗔𝗧𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗔𝗪𝗔   𝓘𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗜   ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ dude him and makki are ALL the way in the back in the makeshift seats in the trunk because they are menaces and were banned from being close to the front.

⌗ jokes on them, they can pull pranks from the back — like yk that thing where they pull the string and the headrest drops, yeah. he pulled it and makki pulled the other NUMEROUS TIMES. free the second and first years.

⌗ brought all the snacks and is gatekeeping them with whoever is closest to him ( makki, kyoken and kindaichi )

⌗ ROAD GAMES!! and songs or whatever ft his besti ( and totally not boyfriend ), makki

⌗ brings almost half his bedding with him to be comfortable where he’s sitting ( so real of you mattsun ) and if you’re not oikawa, he MIGHT share lol

⌗ honestly sleeps for a good bit of the ride, just feel like he would lol especially with the pillows and blankets.

⌗ reverse, some of the boys fall asleep on him bc he’s the tallest so there’s more of him to go around LMAO he’s just stuck between makki and kindaichi

    ➫ 𝓗𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗜   𝓣𝗔𝗞𝗔𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗢   ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ matsukawa’s second half✌️🤟🤙🤝🤞

⌗ yeah he’s in the very back too causing chaos yk the usual ( annoying the shit out of hajime and tooru because they are the real parents uncles of the team )

⌗ he brought a load of pastries tbh but the minute they ran out he got a little delulu and thought yahaba ( who sat in front of him ) was a cream puff, and was ready to pounce LMAO

⌗ mattsun held him back from doing so, thankfully — seijoh needed its back up setter, pinch and future captain in case iwaizumi finally lost his patience and put oikawa out of commission.. or because oikawa has to graduate and go be a girlboss in the big leagues!!! so hot of him- ahem anyway

⌗ dude him, kawa and mattsun are that one meme where they’re like “DANCING IN THE MOONLIGHT, EVERYBODY, FEELING WARM AND BRIGHT” in the worst tone ever while iwa is just questioning his life choices

⌗ “are we there yet” every few minutes — iwaizumi literally pulls over at some point to get in the back seat and tape his mouth😭 bro was absolutely done oml

⌗ he brought a stack of cards only for them to be pokemon cards LIKE HOW DO YOU GET THAT WRONG- ( they played, anyway )

➫ 𝓘𝗪𝗔𝗜𝗭𝗨𝗠𝗜 𝓗𝗔𝗝𝗜𝗠𝗘 ୨୧ ˎˊ˗

⌗ the driver ( mother ) lol

⌗ free iwaizumi he is tired and has a severe headache from these buffoons and he swears blood will be shed if SOMEBODY dares to ask AGAIN for another rest stop or if they’re there yet.

⌗ he’s got a stash of yellow red bull in a compartment for himself in case he needs to take the night shift on the road — tooru insists that no one drives but him ( unless iwa finally throws in the towel and he drives )

⌗ in terms of driving tho he’s pretty smooth, goes at a reasonable speed and is fairly calm in terms of IDIOTS on the road — but he has his moments occasionally where he gets annoyed

⌗ probably has the super specific thing he wants to see that convinced him to go on this road trip and see it through to the end ( it’s something godzilla related i bet )

⌗ usually likes to snack while he’s driving, helps keep him awake — but since he doesn’t wanna get the steering wheel dirty, he has cherries his mom pack him LMAO ( “share with the others!!” and he gatekeeps )

⌗ packed a volleyball in the trunk and portable beach volleyball set up

notes. i was gonna do all the boys originally but it became time consuming and well.. i ran out of ideas LMAO hope it was still decent<3

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

[kamidukki]

Hi, please feel free to ignore this if you aren’t caught up with the latest installments of the Akuneko main story. Enjoy things at your own pace. 💜

**Semi-Spoilerish** If you’re all caught up there is a certain character I’m curious about that shows up but can’t find ANYTHING on them. I don’t even know this man’s name, just that he is an entire snack. 🥵 It’s the elf(?) looking guy with long white hair. I do believe he showed up during the chapter that focused on Lato if I recall but he seems to play a bigger part in this latest chapter of the story. If you have any crumbs of information on him I would love you forever and name my first born after you. 😂

Hello there!

Just to make sure, this is the guy you're talking about, right? ⬇️

I have caught up with the main episodes, but not the events so all I can tell you about the elf-looking man derived from there. To be specific, from Ep. 4 Ch. 3 part 7 titled 出会い/The Encounter and Ch. 5 part 8-11 and 13-14.

⚠️ Spoiler alert ⚠️

To be honest, I don't pay attention to him too much when reading, sorry 😭

Indeed, knowing his name would be nice, but I believe that information is yet to be revealed. His name box is always filled with "???" throughout the entirety of Episode 4. What we readers are allowed to know at this point is that he is one of the "valley-dwellers" of the Western Land/西の大地の渓谷の民.

(If this results from my inattention rather than the fact, then I apologise in advance 🙇 I'm pretty sure his name hasn't been dropped though...)

Long story short, the people from there are being kidnapped and the elf guy is looking for them. He refers to the missing people with the word 同胞 (brethren/brothers/compatriot).

The Master, or us readers so to speak, met him by accident in the forest around nighttime. Boschi, Ammon, Muu, and the Master went to visit the grave of Boschi's grandmother. Due to its location, they had to camp out in the forest for the night. The Master, who was awaken from sleep for a reason, heard a noise and went to check the source by themselves.

That was when they saw an injured man, the elf-guy, for the first time. After the Master left for help, the elf was shown to mutter to himself, something along the lines of "A dream? No it's not... So that's what the master of the devil butlers... To think that we'd meet each other here of all places..."

I don't remember exactly what he said, but recall noting that the elf-guy seems to recognise our identity as the devil butlers' master.

(When the Master came back bringing Boschi and Ammon, the man was no longer in the same spot)

You're right about him playing a bigger part in the latest installment, but... /scratch head. Even though I already put a spoiler warning above, I'll say it again just in case. If anyone reading this would like to avoid a major spoiler, don't read what is written below.

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

he's apparently the culprit behind the noblemen kidnapping case, an incident Finlay requests the devil butlers to look into

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

That's all I can remember for the moment, I guess...? Reading what I myself just wrote, I can't help but be aware that this might not be much. I hope you enjoy nonetheless. If something comes up, I'll add it in a reblog or even make a new post.

Have a nice week! 💗

[mjonthetrack]

vice: book v

Chapter 201: Cub Delivery

The luxury suite was so spotless it felt wrong to breathe in it.

Zilla paced the marble floor barefoot, shirtless and tense, while Jacob reclined on a velvet chaise like a man waiting for judgment. Jey was sitting on the edge of a sleek armchair, rubbing his hands together like they were on fire. Jimmy, eyes bloodshot but focused, had been staring at the balcony for the last thirty minutes in silence.

Then came the knock.

It was soft.

Too soft.

The men froze. Even the air stopped moving.

“You heard that?” Jacob said, pushing upright.

“Please tell me that’s not one of those room service check-ins,” Jey muttered, standing up fast. “I can’t take another croissant cart when I ain’t got my girl.”

Zilla didn’t even respond. He was already at the door, jaw clenched.

Another knock. This one a little more deliberate.

When Zilla opened the door, he staggered back a full step.

There they were.

Three of the Fatu cubs: JJ, Messiah, and Zion—standing in a row, little faces flushed from sun and snacks, all flanked by a glowing, no-nonsense professional nanny who held a tablet in one hand and Zion on her hip like a seasoned warrior.

“Good evening,” she said smoothly. “I have three royal deliveries for the gentlemen inside. All freshly bathed, well-fed, and only slightly spoiled.”

“JAYYYYYY!!!” JJ launched forward like a missile.

Jey barely caught him in time, his arms wrapping tight around his son as the boy clung to him, burying his face in his shoulder. Jey stood still, blinking fast.

“You get taller while you were gone?” he whispered into JJ’s braids.

“I saw a goat on a paddleboard, Daddy,” JJ sniffled. “A real one. With shoes.”

Jimmy dropped to his knees, arms wide as Messiah crashed into him, giggling wildly.

“You had shoes too, right?” Jimmy teased, scooping him up.

“They was Yeezys, Daddy! Like Uncle Jacob’s—but for goats!” he screamed.

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Man, why the hell the goat got my style—?”

Zilla looked at the nanny, stunned, still motionless.

She smiled knowingly and passed Zion over with both hands.

Zilla caught his son against his chest and didn’t say a word for a few seconds—he just closed his eyes, forehead to Zion’s curls.

Zion patted his face. “Hi, Dada.”

“Hey, lil man,” Zilla whispered, voice thick. “I missed you, king.”

“I got gummies.”

“You always got gummies,” he laughed softly, a tear sliding down.

The nanny gave a respectful nod. “There are three overnight bags with color-coded tags for each. Two changes of clothes, swim gear, organic snacks, comfort items. I’ll be outside in case anything’s needed.”

Before any of the men could say thank you, she disappeared like a ghost.

The suite fell into a kind of stunned peace.

Messiah was already inspecting the couch for snack crumbs. JJ tugged at his father’s chain and asked if they could watch something with monsters and fart jokes. Zion had taken over Zilla’s lap and was trying to balance his cup on his dad’s head.

Jimmy held Messiah tight for a moment longer before finally letting him go. “He got heavier.”

“He grew muscle,” Jacob joked. “From swan fights.”

“I’m not playin’—the swan really threw hands!” Messiah called from the couch.

Jey looked down at JJ who was now sprawled across his chest. “You eat good?”

“I had lobster macaroni. And I didn’t throw up!”

“I’m so proud.”

Zilla tucked a blanket over Zion, who was now trying to feed him a half-chewed fruit snack. “You good, lil man?”

Zion nodded. “Mommy says we goin’ to the moon after breakfast.”

“She did, huh?” Zilla chuckled, blinking back fresh tears. “Your mama real extra.”

“Yeah. She the boss,” Zion confirmed, then turned to the others. “All the mommies is bosses.”

“Damn right they are,” Jimmy muttered under his breath, reaching for a juice box Messiah had brought.

Jacob leaned back in the chair, arms folded behind his head. “Y’all realize how bad we fumbled, right?”

Jey sighed. “All of us. Every last one. Acting like drunk jackasses while our women were watching.”

Zilla nodded. “And then they hit us with the most gangsta thing they ever could.”

“They dipped,” Jimmy murmured. “Took the kids, the rings, the peace, the whole ecosystem.”

“I ain’t even mad no more,” Jacob admitted. “I’m impressed.”

The kids were now organizing an imaginary tea party on the rug, using bottled water and gummy bears. JJ carefully handed Jasmine’s missing tiara to Zion, who immediately tried to wear it backwards.

The cousins watched the scene like they were seeing their kids for the first time again.

“All that noise we made about being kings,” Jey murmured, “but they the ones who protected the kingdom.”

Zilla nodded slowly, stroking Zion’s hair. “We lucky they even let the kids see us.”

Jacob tilted his head. “Don’t mean they letting us back in though.”

“No,” Jimmy agreed. “We gonna have to earn it. Every damn inch.”

“And you know Tamika gonna make that inch feel like a marathon,” Jacob groaned.

“She already blocked my momma,” Jey whispered, dead serious. “My own mama.”

Laughter broke out.

It was cracked, tired, and full of grief—but it was real.

The kids were safe.

The women were still gone.

And the road back would be long.

But for now, in that luxury suite overlooking the water, surrounded by juice boxes and tiny sandals and the breath of their children—

The Fatu men had a reason to try again.

Chapter 201 (Continued): Cub Delivery Pt. 2

Another knock.

This one came with a rhythm. Firm. Precise. Like someone who had practiced it.

The Fatu men sat up straighter. Zion, already tucked into Zilla’s lap like a koala, looked toward the door with wide eyes.

“Think it’s them?” Jey asked quickly, hope rising too fast.

“No way,” Jimmy muttered. “They’d send a storm, not a knock.”

Jacob stood first this time and made his way to the door, already grinning before he even opened it.

And just like that—it swung open.

There she was again: The Nanny. Still poised, tablet in hand, unfazed, and unbothered.

But this time she had a parade.

The hallway was filled with the shuffle and chatter of little feet. First came Jasmine with her bouncy curls and a glittery mini-backpack slung across her shoulder, walking like a princess on a mission. Beside her, her twin brothers Isaiah and Jeremiah carried juice boxes like briefcases, serious-faced and dramatic like they were walking into a boardroom.

Right behind them were the chaos twins—Jonathan Jr. and Obassi, who were already bickering over a stuffed dinosaur.

Then came Noe, Jacob’s baby girl, with her curls piled up in a high puff and a sippy cup in hand, holding the nanny’s pinky like it was a lifeline.

And last, tiny Melody, Sefa’s daughter, with her big brown eyes, pacifier, and matching sunglasses like a baby influencer in the making.

“Oh shit—my babies,” Jey breathed, shooting up from the couch as Jasmine came straight toward him.

“Hi Daddy,” she said sweetly—before immediately throwing her arms around his neck, gripping tight.

Isaiah and Jeremiah flanked him on both sides, their serious little faces melting as they pressed into their father’s legs.

“Y’all eat?” Jey whispered, choked up.

“We had waffles shaped like hearts,” Isaiah murmured.

“Mine was a star,” Jeremiah added.

“I ate both,” Jasmine announced proudly.

Jimmy’s twins ran at him full-speed. “DAAAAAAADDDY!!!”

“Lord, here they come—!” Jimmy braced for impact as Jonathan Jr. launched himself onto his chest and Obassi crawled up his leg like a cat burglar.

“My back, my back!” Jimmy hissed dramatically. “Why you boys always hit like linebackers?”

“You said we strong!” Jonathan Jr. beamed.

“I regret it.”

Jacob was already kneeling on the rug, arms out as Noe crawled to him and hugged his neck when he lifted her tightly, her sippy cup pressed into his shoulder.

“I missed you, baby girl,” he whispered into her hair.The baby Noe replied seriously in babble.

“Your mama petty,” Jacob muttered, kissing her cheek. “But fair.”

And then came Melody, who lifted her arms wordlessly to Sefa the moment he appeared in the doorway. The youngest of the crew, Melody just snuggled into her daddy’s massive chest and sighed deeply, completely content.

Sefa looked like someone had punched him in the soul and then offered him heaven on a stick.

“Hey, princess,” he rumbled, kissing the side of her head.

The suite was alive now. Loud, chaotic, sweet.

Backpacks were unzipped. Juice pouches were passed around. Shoes were kicked off. Obassi spilled a handful of Cheerios on a velvet pillow and proudly announced, “I made breakfast!”

Zion clapped for him like it was Michelin-starred.

Jey was adjusting Jasmine’s hair clips when she turned to him suddenly.

“Mommy said no visitors in Room 302, but if you’re quiet like a ninja, maybe you could sneak in later.”

“I swear to God,” Zilla muttered from across the room. “The kids got more intel than the damn CIA.”

“She’s not wrong,” Jimmy added. “Messiah said the swan had AirPods. These kids are tapped in.”

Jacob rocked Noe gently as she started to doze on his chest.

“She smells like coconut and glitter,” he murmured. “Tamika don’t play.”

“Nope,” Jey agreed. “You know they got them all in matching designer slides? JJ said they had a line-up like they was in a music video.”

Zilla nodded slowly. “They not just hiding. They flourishing.”

“They healing,” Jimmy said.

“They flexing on us,” Jacob corrected.

“And they deserve to,” Sefa muttered, watching Melody curl up on his lap.

Jey pulled Jasmine, Isaiah, and Jeremiah in tighter. “We got a long way to go.”

“Yeah,” Zilla said, brushing Zion’s curls back. “But at least our kids ain’t mad at us.”

“They love us,” Jimmy said. “Even if the women don’t right now.”

“Yet,” Jacob added firmly. “Yet.”

As the kids settled into the suite, the men moved more gently now. More carefully. They changed diapers, wiped mouths, adjusted ponytails and watched cartoons with the volume low.

The damage had been done.

But somehow, the women still let their cubs come back to the lions.

And that… that meant maybe there was hope.

Maybe.

Chapter 202: The Shutdown

The kids were full of snacks and tucked into cartoon-induced comas across plush couches and oversized lounge cushions. The men had settled into a temporary peace, watching their little ones breathe, giggle in their sleep, or toss juice pouches aside like kings after a feast.

Jey had his daughter Jasmine sleeping on his shoulder, Isaiah and Jeremiah at his sides. Zilla was curled around Zion, who had one tiny hand still gripping his dad’s chain. Jimmy was braiding Jonathan Jr.’s little fro-hawk just to keep his hands busy, while Obassi lay on his stomach drawing on napkins. Jacob and Sefa were both knocked a little sideways from the emotional weight of it all, laying low as Melody and Noe dozed across their chests.

And then—

Click.

The sound of the suite door unlocking.

Every man in the room sat up like soldiers hearing enemy boots.

The door opened wide.

And there they were.

The lionesses.

Marsai came in first, calm and glowing, adjusting the strap of her robe while Obassi’s eyes popped open and he yelled, “MOMMY!”

Leilapua followed, casually pulling her bonnet down over her curls as she kissed Melody’s forehead without so much as a glance toward Sefa.

Dulce entered behind her, eyes swollen from sleep, a silk robe tied over her belly, her steps slow but powerful. Zion squealed and ran to her immediately, but she just knelt, scooped him up, and kissed his cheeks.

Nadia strolled in, barefoot, half-asleep, in a black silk pajama set with a thigh slit and a matching bonnet. She nodded once at Jey but said absolutely nothing as she crouched beside JJ, checking his forehead and whispering something to Jasmine.

Then came Tamika, the last to walk in.

She carried Noe’s pink blanket in one hand and a Tupperware container of cut mango in the other.

“Back in one piece,” she muttered to herself, not bothering to look at Jacob.

The suite had gone dead silent.

Every man sat up. Waited.

Not one woman said a word to them.

They each kissed their kids, scooped babies into arms, fixed bonnets and slides and whispered things like “Did you brush your teeth earlier?” and “You eat good today?”

Then, like it was choreographed, they all began to drift down the hallway toward the master bedroom.

Dulce stopped once at the doorway to the hallway, Zion now on her hip.

She turned and looked dead at Zilla, her voice like honey and a dagger.

“We’ll take the king bed tonight. Don’t wait up.”

Before Zilla could even answer, Tamika chimed in, walking right past the others with a roll of her eyes.

“Y’all got each other. Enjoy the couch. And the floor. And that crumb-filled ottoman,” she added with a pointed look at Jey, who immediately glanced down in shame at the snack-covered upholstery.

Marsai blew a sarcastic kiss toward Jimmy. “Keep braiding, boo. We’ll catch up in the morning.”

Leilapua waved her fingers at Sefa without looking him in the eyes.

Nadia didn’t say a damn thing.

Just slid her hand into the small of JJ’s back, guiding him and the triplets toward the bedroom. Silent. Icy. Royal.

SLAM.

The master bedroom door shut behind them.

A few seconds later—

CLICK.

The sound of the lock twisting echoed like thunder.

The Fatu men sat there, stunned.

Jey ran his hand down his face. “Damn.”

“They ain’t even cuss us out,” Jimmy whispered.

Jacob blinked slowly. “They ghosted us… in the same room.”

Sefa finally leaned back and groaned. “I miss when they used to yell.”

“They chose peace,” Jacob said darkly. “That’s worse.”

“Y’all smell that?” Jey said suddenly.

Everyone looked at him.

He gestured toward the shut door with a flick of his wrist.

“Smells like… Dior. Shea butter. Accountability.”

Jimmy threw a pillow at him.

The men sat there with the babies, defeated, surrounded by the soft sounds of cartoons still playing and sippy cups rolling across the floor. The door to the master bedroom was shut tight.

Beyond it, they could hear laughter. Muffled giggles. Someone started playing a Summer Walker song.

They were locked out.

In every way that counted.

Chapter 203: The Soft Invasion

The lights were low. The suite quiet.

The babies were tucked. The cartoons finally off. The only sound was the gentle whir of the AC and the occasional plopof a dropped pacifier.

And then—

“Pssssshhhhh…”

The door to the master suite creaked open.

Out waddled JJ, the 7-year-old, sleep-drunk and scratching his head with one slipper barely on. He didn’t say a word, just stumbled to the hallway bathroom like a man who had responsibilities.

The men sat upright.

Jey leaned forward like a lion sniffing wind. His eyes locked on the still-cracked door.

“Nah,” he said, standing suddenly. “I’m not waitin’. I don’t know about y’all.”

He didn’t even wait for responses. His long legs were already moving, smooth and quiet. He slipped through the door like a shadow.

The men held their breath.

Five minutes passed.

Then—

There he was.

Jey.

Carrying Kyree, their almost-two-year-old, dead asleep in one arm, and Nadia, knocked out cold, draped over his other shoulder like she weighed nothing.

The triplets, all wide-eyed and groggy, followed behind him in a slow shuffle like baby ducklings. Jasmine with her bonnet halfway off. Jeremiah clutching a tablet. Isaiah holding one of Kyree’s stuffed dinosaurs.

Jey moved smooth. Confident. He didn’t say a damn word as he gently guided the kids to one of the spare rooms.

Then he doubled back like a thief, grabbed JJ by the collar of his Spider-Man pajama top and whispered, “Let’s go, soldier.”

JJ didn’t argue. Just nodded once like he understood the mission.

The rest of the men stared, frozen.

Jacob finally whispered, “He pulled the whole family… like a damn Navy SEAL.”

Sefa looked inspired. “So… we takin’ our wives back?”

Jimmy stood. “We takin’ our wives back.”

Zilla didn’t even wait. He passed Zion gently into a crib, tugged his chain off and cracked his neck.

“I’m gettin’ mine.”

The Fatu men mobilized like they were back in the trenches.

Sefa moved next, already toeing off his slides to creep barefoot into the dark. A few minutes later, he returned with Leilapua in his arms, head nestled into his neck, and baby Melody tucked in a swaddle in his other.

Jimmy emerged shortly after with both twins in his arms and Marsai limp across his back like a sleeping goddess.

Jacob came last, and for a second they thought he got caught.

Then the door opened.

He had Noe on his chest, her tiny curls tucked under his chin, and Tamika in his arms like she never stopped belonging there.

She murmured something in her sleep, brow furrowed, but didn’t stir.

He kissed her temple.

“Still mine,” he whispered into her hair.

When Zilla finally returned, Dulce was curled in his lap like she never wanted to be anywhere else. He moved slow, careful not to jostle her or the new life growing quietly inside her.

The room filled with the soft rustling of blankets and the gentle slide of bonnets against pillows.

No one spoke.

They didn’t need to.

The men didn’t get back into the master suite. They brought the women out of it. Each woman tucked into her own familiar bed with her babies nearby, wrapped in arms that had waited too long.

And for once?

There was peace.

Real, quiet, sacred peace.

Until morning came.

And the consequences kicked back in.

But for now, under the hush of night and the soft click of doors shutting gently behind them…

The Fatu men had reclaimed what mattered most.

And they knew — if they wanted to keep it?

They’d have to fight even harder.

Chapter 204: The Reckoning of Wives

Room 1 – Tamika & Jacob

Tamika woke slowly, warm… too warm.

She blinked, bonnet slightly askew, a heavy arm draped around her waist.

The sheets weren’t the ones from the girls’ room. She knew that immediately. These smelled like Jacob — sandalwood, sweat, and some stupid cologne he always overused when he missed her.

Her eyes snapped open.

“Jacob,” she hissed.

Nothing.

He was knocked out, mouth open, snoring lightly, hand still possessively gripping her hip like she might run if he let go.

She stared, annoyed but also…

“Damn it,” she whispered, realizing how tightly her hand was fisted in the front of his tank top. Like her sleeping body hadn’t gotten the memo to stay mad.

Noe snuggled between them, paci bobbing.

Tamika sighed, dramatic as hell, then rolled her eyes hard and muttered, “You lucky I’m tired.”

Jacob, still asleep, grinned faintly. Bastard.

Room 2 – Nadia & Jey

Nadia woke up to something tickling her neck.

Her hand swung up instinctively—then stopped.

Jey was literally nuzzling her. Full-grown man, nose buried in her throat, both arms wrapped around her middle like a damn koala.

She blinked.

Then she looked around.

The triplets were all back in their beds. JJ was across the room on his own twin mattress, knocked out with his mouth open and an arm over his head.

She remembered sleeping on the big bed with the girls…

And now she was in her bed, with this big-ass man on her like a weighted blanket.

She smacked his chest.

“Jey.”

He groaned.

“Jey. You abducted me in my sleep?”

He lifted his head, face puffy and eyes still closed. “Didn’t wanna miss you.”

She blinked.

Then smacked him again for being cute.

“Go brush your teeth, breath smell like regret.”

Room 3 – Marsai & Jimmy

Marsai turned over and immediately froze.

She was in her bed.

Not the girls’ suite. Her bed. The one she picked out. Egyptian cotton. Fluffy duvet.

And there was a big-ass, tattooed man with his arms around her waist, and two toddler boys in Spider-Man pajamas snoring on either side of her.

Jimmy had the nerve to look peaceful.

She whispered, “You’re kidding me.”

No response.

She turned, narrowed her eyes.

“Jimmy Uso.”

His lips twitched. That damn smile.

“You snuck me out the girls’ room?”

Still no answer.

Then—mumbled sleep talk—“You always come back to me, baby.”

She sucked her teeth so hard it echoed.

But she didn’t move.

Not just yet.

Room 4 – Leilapua & Sefa

Leilapua woke up tangled in her husband’s arms, his forehead pressed to hers, Melody swaddled safely between them.

She blinked.

Then smiled.

“…You’re so dramatic,” she whispered against his lips.

Sefa, half-asleep, grunted. “I carried you like a war bride.”

She giggled. “You did?”

“Whole hallway. Didn’t even bump a wall.”

“Hmm. Good. ‘Cause if you woke me up, I’d have smacked you.”

His arms tightened.

“I missed you.”

She kissed his cheek. “You could’ve just said that last night.”

“You would’ve cussed me out.”

“I still might.”

Room 5 – Dulce & Zilla

Dulce was warm.

That was the first thing she registered.

And her head was tucked under a chin. A very familiar chin, one that belonged to a man who was now half-wrapped around her and Zion like they were all one creature.

She blinked.

Sat up.

Realized she was in his bed now. Not the girls’ room. Not the drama suite. The one he picked.

Zilla stirred.

Eyes opened.

He didn’t say a word.

Just looked at her, sleepy and nervous like a man bracing for judgment.

She blinked again, whispered, “How the hell did you move me?”

He stared. “I had help.”

“You carried me?”

“Yeah.”

“In your arms?”

“Yeah.”

“Zion was there?”

“Yeah.”

“…He better not remember this.”

Zilla smiled faintly. “He was knocked out too.”

She looked down. The baby bump was still barely there, but she felt it. And she was tired. And part of her still wanted to slap him for everything. But another part… the one pressed into his chest?

She exhaled, gave him the side-eye.

“I want guava pancakes in the morning.”

His smile widened. “You want bacon?”

“Don’t push it.”

In every room across the suite, the same thing happened: quiet tension. Quiet forgiveness. Quiet, familiar surrender.

The kind only old love allows.

The women weren’t done being mad.

But… they were home.

And the men?

Were praying they could keep it that way.

Chapter 205: Cold Sheets, Warmer Silence

The sun broke through sheer curtains, golden light warming the cool floors of the luxury suite.

But despite the soft hush of morning and the scent of the ocean drifting in from the open balcony, tension wrapped the rooms like a second blanket. Thick, humming, unspoken.

The Fatu men had made their move. Each woman was back where she belonged — but forgiveness? That was still pending.

The silence was the punishment.

In the main living area, toys were scattered, little feet padded across floors, and the television blared morning cartoons, but none of the mothers were saying much. Not to their men, anyway.

They moved around them like ghosts — brushing past to hand out cereal bowls, adjusting headbands, tucking little T-shirts.

Except one.

Leilapua.

The smallest of the wives.

Despite every glare, every side-eye from her sisters-in-law, she was curled up into Sefa’s chest like she hadn’t spent the last 72 hours icing him out.

“You soft,” Tamika muttered, sipping black coffee aggressively as she stood by the kitchen island in a silk robe.

Leilapua shrugged from where she sat in Sefa’s lap, Melody tucked into her side. “Maybe. But my man carry me like a Disney princess. I forgive fast when I’m airborne.”

Marsai choked on her tea. “Girl.”

“I'm serious,” she said, brushing Melody’s curls. “You know how big he is? And I’m little. It’s like being cradled by a bear. Who gets mad in a bear hug?”

“I do,” Nadia said flatly. She side-eyed Jey, who was pretending to be fascinated by a box of cinnamon toast crunch.

He looked up.

“Morning, Nana.”

She stared at him like he owed her air.

Jimmy, sitting on the couch trying to braid Messiah’s hair, made a low whistle. “This the quietest breakfast we ever had.”

Jasmine, brushing her teeth at the sink nearby, looked around and nodded solemnly. “It’s scary.”

Jey muttered, “No baby, it’s consequences.”

Tamika crossed the room, slapped a banana into Jacob’s hand without looking at him, and walked away.

He peeled it silently, muttering, “She still love me. She fed me.”

“By force,” Dulce said under her breath, adjusting Zion’s shirt before passing him a juice pouch.

Zilla watched her carefully. She hadn’t said his name once. Not even accidentally.

“I was thinking we could all go down to the pool again,” he offered gently.

No one answered.

“Or the beach.”

Silence.

Sefa whispered something in Leilapua’s ear. She giggled. The other women glared. She shrank a little into him but didn’t move.

“Don’t look at me,” she said. “Y’all should’ve picked better excuses.”

“Excuses?” Marsai snapped.

She held up her hands. “I didn’t say I agreed with what they did. I just missed my bed. And my baby. And Sefa rub my feet in his sleep.”

Sefa grinned. “I really do.”

“Ugh,” Nadia groaned.

Jey dared to move closer, slipping into the space beside her at the table. “Wanna sit on my lap too?”

She slid the cereal bowl toward him with slow precision. “Eat before I change my mind about letting you breathe this morning.”

Jimmy cleared his throat. “Okay, but like… are we banned from kisses too or—?”

Every woman stared at him like he said something offensive.

“Right,” he mumbled, going back to detangling Messiah’s curls.

The kids were the only ones without a care in the world, yelling over cartoons and arguing about who had the best cereal prize. Zion had taken three juice boxes and was stacking them like building blocks.

But the adults?

Were still on eggshells.

Leilapua gently kissed Sefa’s chin.

He grinned like he won the lottery.

“You really gonna be the only one not mad?” Tamika asked, cocking her head.

“I can be mad later,” she shrugged. “Right now I’m still stuck on him calling me mama in his sleep.”

Sefa turned red.

“Y’all need to up your man’s game,” she added, smirking.

Zilla scoffed. “I’m romantic.”

Dulce shot him a look that could curdle milk.

“…I used to be romantic,” he corrected.

They all sighed.

The Fatu men sat in their silence. Each had his queen back… but their crowns were still on the floor.

And this morning?

Wasn’t about forgiveness.

It was about earning it.

Chapter 206: All Eyes, All Heart

It was supposed to be a chill afternoon. Nothing too heavy, not after the week they’d all had.

Jey had been walking on eggshells since they got back in the suite. Helping with the kids, rubbing Nadia’s feet when she let him, cleaning up messes before she could notice. But the woman he loved had turned to ice. Still beautiful. Still fire. But untouchable.

Today? She sat on the balcony in one of his old hoodies, round belly under soft cotton, curly hair piled on her head, barefaced and unreadable.

JJ was building a pillow fort with the triplets.

Kyree sat half asleep on the couch, thumb in his mouth, surrounded by his older siblings’ chaos.

Jey walked into the room with a fresh bottle of water and froze in place.

There she was. His woman. His life. The mother of all his babies. Pregnant with his sixth. And yet, she hadn’t said his name in four damn days.

He stood there, water in hand, watching her.

She didn’t even blink his way.

Then Jasmine tripped and bumped her toe on a corner of the fort, letting out a loud yelp.

“Mommy!” she cried, running to Nadia.

Nadia opened her arms instantly, scooping her up with that same softness she always carried for her babies.

And Jey broke.

Right there.

He dropped the water.

He dropped everything.

Tears welled up and he staggered forward like his legs didn’t work. A sound came out of his throat — not a sob, not a scream — something in between. Something wild.

The kids froze. JJ turned. Isaiah and Jeremiah went quiet. Kyree looked up, startled.

And Jey?

Fell to his knees.

Tatted arms wrapped tight around Nadia’s waist from where she sat. He buried his face into her belly and cried.

Loud. Ugly. Real.

“Damn,” JJ whispered.

“Daddy crying?” Jasmine blinked.

“Like cry-cry?” Isaiah asked.

Jeremiah nodded. “I think so.”

Kyree stood and waddled over, patting Jey’s head gently. “Daddy sad…”

Jey’s shoulders shook.

“I fucked it up, Nana,” he whispered into her belly. “I did. I messed it up. I don’t deserve you.”

Nadia looked down at the mess of a man on his knees in front of her. His curls were frizzy, his face red, his hands trembling where they held her like an anchor.

“Get up,” she said coldly.

He didn’t move.

“You look pathetic.”

“I am,” he croaked.

He slid one hand from her waist and pulled her wedding ring from his pocket. The very one she’d left in that napkin. He’d been carrying it ever since.

“Put it on,” she snapped.

His head jerked up, eyes wide.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

She held out her left hand lazily.

Jey fumbled, slipping the ring back onto her finger like it was oxygen and he hadn’t been breathing since she took it off.

He kissed her knuckles. Then her wrist. Then rested his forehead there and just… stayed.

The kids still didn’t know what to do.

“You back together?” Jasmine asked with narrowed eyes.

“Mind your business,” Nadia muttered, but her other hand had drifted into Jey’s curls, stroking them with the same tenderness she used when any of her babies were sick.

JJ smiled. “They back.”

“I knew he’d cry,” Isaiah grinned.

“I thought he’d faint,” Jeremiah shrugged.

Kyree nodded like a wise old man. “Daddy big baby.”

Nadia looked down at the broken man clinging to her.

“You’re not off the hook,” she whispered. “You embarrassed me, Jey.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“You made my babies cry.”

He kissed her belly. “I’ll fix it.”

“I haven’t even started yelling yet.”

He looked up, eyes gleaming. “You can cuss me out forever. Just… let me stay here.”

She rolled her eyes and exhaled through her nose, stroking his curls slower now.

“Idiot,” she muttered.

“Your idiot,” he said.

The triplets collectively gagged.

“Blegh.”

JJ shook his head, smirking like an old man. “Yeah… they back.”

Chapter 207: Who’s Really Iced Out?

The night settled heavy in the Fatu suite, dim lights flickering over the men nursing their drinks. Jey and Sefa sat side by side, exchanging looks that could only mean mischief.

Jey nodded toward Jimmy, who lounged on the velvet couch, his arms crossed, face tight.

“Look at Jimmy, man. All that ice on his neck, wrists, fingers…” Jey shook his head with a grin. “But he still ain’t got his queen back. He iced out, for real. Like frozen out.”

Sefa chuckled, eyes gleaming. “Yeah, and Jacob and Zilla? Same shit. Chains heavy, pockets heavy, but the ladies? Still putting them on freeze.”

Jacob, sitting nearby, caught the jab but didn’t back down. “Man, y’all sound salty.”

Zilla smirked, shaking his head. “You two got your women back so you feel like kings. We over here on lockdown.”

Jey laughed and raised his glass, eyes sharp. “Kings? Nah, man. We ain’t kings until the queens crown us. And we got our crowns. You? You’re still out there waiting for a call back.”

Sefa leaned forward, voice low and teasing. “Don’t get it twisted, fellas. Y’all looking shiny on the outside, but the cold shoulder ain’t a look. Jey and me? We got the love, the loyalty. Y’all just iced out like damn popsicles.”

Jimmy huffed, rubbing his neck, “You jokers lucky. This ain’t over.”

Jacob smirked, “Yeah, y’all keep talking. But when the ladies decide to thaw us out, you’ll see who’s really shining.”

Zilla raised his glass. “For now, we iced out—but this game? It’s far from finished.”

Jey smiled, shaking his head. “Bet. But for now? I’ll enjoy the throne while you boys chill in the cold.”

The room filled with laughter and good-natured trash talk, the kind that only family can throw and take.

Chapter 208: Wrapped Around Her Leg (Literally)

The Fatu suite was chaos — toys scattered, snacks half-eaten, blaring cartoons on the flat screen. The twins, Jonathan Jr. and Obassi, were running in opposite directions, one with no pants, the other holding a juice pouch upside down. Messiah had decided he was a dragon today, crawling across the floor roaring and trying to bite ankles.

But Jimmy? Jimmy was not moving.

He was latched to Marsai’s leg — a full-grown 6’4", tatted-up Samoan man wrapped around the leg of a 6’2", thick and unbothered Black woman in silk shorts and a tank top, hair tied up, expression cool as a glacier.

“Marsai, please,” he whined, arms and legs wrapped tight around her thigh, his cheek pressed against her knee like she was oxygen and he was suffocating. “You can’t leave me like this. I know I messed up. I was stupid. I was drunk. I ain't even like Destiny for real—”

Marsai arched a brow, slowly crossing her arms. “Destiny?” she echoed, voice low. Dangerous.

Jimmy froze. “I— I didn’t mean to say her name out loud—”

“So you remember her name?” she snapped, stepping forward a few inches, dragging Jimmy like extra baggage. “That’s real interesting.”

“Baby, I remember your name!” he cried. “I remember everything about you. I remember your first tattoo. I remember you used to cry during Shark Tank 'cause of the music. I remember when Messiah was born and you said you was never doing that again and then we had twins by accident—”

“By accident?” she turned slightly, hands on her hips.

“I mean, blessing!” Jimmy corrected himself quickly, bouncing on her leg like a toddler mid-tantrum. “Three beautiful, loud, chaotic blessings!”

The twins zoomed by again, one of them stopping to stare at their father in disgust. “Daddy bein’ weird.”

“I’m fightin’ for my life, son!” Jimmy barked from the floor, still clinging like a koala.

Marsai exhaled through her nose. “You look pathetic.”

“I feel pathetic!” he said with a grin. “But I’d rather be pathetic and married than proud and alone.”

Messiah, who had climbed up onto the coffee table, flapped his arms. “I think Daddy needs a nap.”

“I need Mommy,” Jimmy said, looking up at Marsai like she held the answer to all his prayers.

She looked down at him. Her face was unreadable for a moment. Then she sighed — loud, annoyed, dramatic. “Get offme, Jimmy.”

“Only if you promise not to leave me again.”

She rolled her eyes, but he heard the crack in her voice. “We got three kids, dumbass. I can’t leave.”

That was all he needed.

He sprang up like she’d said “I do” again, kissing her face, her collarbone, wrapping his arms around her from behind like a vice. “Say it again, Sai. Say it louder.”

She turned in his grip, poking him in the chest. “You still on probation.”

“Fine,” he grinned, lifting her bridal style in one swoop, making her squeal. “Then consider this your first violation—”

“Jimmy!”

But it was too late. He’d carried her into their room, shutting the door behind them with one foot as the kids screamed and ran laps outside.

From inside the room, Marsai’s voice floated through the hallway:

“Touch that bonnet and I’ll kill you.”

Jimmy: “I love when you talk dangerous, girl.”

Twin #1 outside the door: “Mommy and Daddy wrestling again…”

Twin #2: “I’m telling Grandma.”

Chapter 209: Couldn’t Be Us

The kitchen in the suite smelled like steamed milk, cinnamon syrup, and barely concealed judgment.

Tamika and Dulce sat at the marble island in matching silk robes, fluffy slippers on their feet, hair wrapped up in sleek bonnets. Their latte cups were frosted glass, whipped foam swirling on top with delicate dustings of gold flakes. Behind them? Silence. The kind of silence that only came when the children were either sleeping or being heavily supervised.

Tamika sipped slow and leaned back in her stool. “Look at that,” she said with a smirk, scrolling through a Fatu group chat that had gone from dry silence to all kinds of sparkly heart emojis and blurry selfies of reuniting couples.

Jey and Nadia. Sefa and Leilapua. Jimmy and Marsai.

Pathetic.

Dulce glanced over, snorting softly. “Folding like laundry.”

“Like beach chairs in the trunk of a minivan,” Tamika added. “Ain’t even been two days of ignoring these men and everybody tucking tail and waddling back.”

“Mm. Couldn’t be us,” Dulce said, swirling her latte with a gold spoon, her voice smug and unwavering. “My man is still on timeout.”

“Same. Jacob might have cried, begged, threatened to stop breathing — guess what? He still outside my room.”

Tamika leaned closer, lowering her voice like they were about to make a pact.

“We stand ten toes,” she said, pinky in the air.

Dulce hooked hers around Tamika’s. “Ten toes.”

They clinked their cups in solidarity. A moment of quiet victory.

…Then Dulce hesitated.

She blinked and sat back.

Tamika caught it instantly. “What was that?”

“What?”

“You made a face.”

“No, I didn’t—”

“You did. You hesitated. Don’t play with me, Dulce.”

Dulce sighed dramatically, tossing her spoon. “He sent a voice note this morning.”

Tamika crossed her arms. “Zilla?”

She nodded.

“What’d he say?”

Dulce groaned. “He said Zion misses me. Said my side of the bed cold. That he misses the little baby bump, and—” her voice cracked a little, “—and that he been sleeping in my bonnet.”

Tamika slammed her cup down. “Your bonnet?”

“He put it on backwards, Mika. He don’t even know how to tie it but he trying. Said he watched a YouTube tutorial and everything.”

Tamika’s lip trembled.

“…Jacob called me. Sobbing. Talking about how he went to the store to buy lotion and stood in the aisle staring at the hair products I like. Said the scent reminded him of my first sleepover at his place back in 2010 and he started crying next to the Eucerin.”

They both went quiet.

Dulce exhaled. “Still. Couldn’t be us.”

“Never us,” Tamika agreed.

They sipped their lattes again. Another moment of strong, womanly defiance.

Then Tamika whispered, “…You think if I text him ‘lol’ it counts as breaking silence?”

Dulce looked at her sideways. “Only if I can send a voice note that’s just breathing.”

Both women burst out laughing, shoulders shaking as they clinked their cups again.

They were still unbothered… for now.

Chapter 210: Bestie Betrayal & Belly-High Resolve

The moment Tamika disappeared around the corner, Dulce knew.

The silk pajama shirt had been slipping off Tamika’s shoulder for the past ten minutes. Her replies had gotten slower. Her tongue had gotten looser. And every time Jacob’s name came up, that little twitch in her lip betrayed her.

Dulce sat with her legs crossed on the velvet kitchen bar stool, arms folded tight under her chest. The last sip of her latte was stone cold now. Her bonnet was perfect. Her resolve? Cracking.

Tamika stood up too casually.

“I’m gon’ go… see if Noe got her stuff packed for the pool tomorrow.”

“Uh huh,” Dulce said flatly, not even looking up.

“I’ll be back in like ten—”

“Yeah.”

She walked off quick, bare feet pattering across marble until a deep voice — Jacob’s voice — echoed down the hall.

“Thought I smelled my wife.”

Dulce’s head snapped toward the hallway just in time to hear Tamika cuss through her teeth, “Damn it!”

And then, louder: “SORRY BESTIE!”

A door slammed.

Silence.

Dulce blinked, jaw slack. “Ain’t no damn way.”

She sat there in stunned betrayal, the soft click of a door lock ringing louder than thunder in her ears.

This was war.

She stood up.

Snatched her bonnet off.

Threw the rest of her lukewarm latte in the sink.

She stormed into the bedroom and yanked open a drawer, grabbing a sleek black bikini with golden straps and her oversized designer sunglasses. If Tamika was gonna fold with the force of gravity, then fine. But she was going to remind the world — and her baby daddy — exactly what he was fumbled.

Ten minutes later, Dulce was sprawled on a luxury floatie in the resort’s glowing pool under the stars, belly barely visible under her strappy swimsuit, her body glistening with coconut oil. Her long curls were pinned up, her lips glossed, her middle fingers metaphorically (and occasionally literally) in the air.

Sunglasses on.

Face emotionless.

Vibes? Untouchable.

A server passed by and offered her a mocktail. She took it and sipped dramatically, staring straight ahead like a rich villainess in a telenovela whose heart had been trampled.

“Tell Zilla he can choke,” she said to no one in particular.

Zion, on the other side of the pool with a nanny, giggled loudly and splashed.

Dulce looked over at her son, softened for half a second… then hardened again.

“No folding,” she muttered to herself. “No folding.”

But the way her stomach flipped when she thought about Zilla? The way he’d sounded on the phone? The pictures she found of him asleep in her bonnet on her son's tablet?

She exhaled sharply and threw her head back.

Damn it.

Not yet.

But maybe soon.

Chapter 211: The Man Who Ruined Everything

Zilla stood at the edge of the pool like a damn idiot.

Shoes forgotten, T-shirt wrinkled, curls wild, chest rising with shaky breaths. The night was thick around him, stars twinkling above like they were in on the joke — "Look at this fool. Look at him beg."

His girl — his fiancée, his wife in spirit, the mother of his son and the baby growing inside her — floated past him in a luxury floatie, arms crossed tight over her chest, lips pursed, sunglasses on despite the moonlight.

The slick oil on her skin shimmered like gold. Her long legs were stretched out, toes pointed, chin tilted up like she couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge the man who had shattered everything.

“Dulce…” he croaked, stepping into the water fully clothed. “Baby, please. Just… can I talk to you?”

She didn’t flinch.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Zilla dragged himself deeper into the pool, water soaking his joggers, his socks, his dignity.

“I messed up,” he said, louder now. “I know I messed up. I was drunk, I was—” He cut himself off, because even he hated the sound of that excuse. “Nah. No. I fucked up. I fucked up what we had, what we were building.”

The floatie carried her in a lazy circle past him again, and her face remained carved from stone. Sunglasses still on. Not a single look spared.

Zilla clenched his jaw and trudged closer.

“I ruined our wedding. I let those videos happen. I didn’t protect us. I didn’t protect you. I let the world see you as a woman who got played by a man she trusted, and that’s not who you are, Dulce.”

No response.

He swallowed hard.

“I should’ve walked out the second the first one showed up. I should’ve been at home with you. With our son. With our baby…”

That one word cracked his voice, and he pressed his palms together, begging the universe or maybe her.

“I missed my own damn wedding, Dulce. I missed our moment because I was too busy trying to look cool in front of my cousins, trying to keep up with dumbass behavior that ain’t even me.”

She floated to the edge of the pool, slowly now, finally, and grabbed a fresh mocktail from the waiting tray without saying a word. Took a long sip. Then rolled her floatie away like he wasn’t even there.

Zilla followed.

“Say something. Please. Curse me out, throw a floatie at my head, hit me with a towel—just don’t be quiet.”

Dulce leaned back, lips finally parting. She spoke so calmly it chilled him.

“You embarrassed me.”

“I know, baby, and—”

“You humiliated me. You had me standing in my wedding dress, pregnant with your child, while my girls packed up our rings in a napkin and left.”

“I know—”

“I wasn’t just mad, Zilla. I was broken. I thought you loved me.”

He dropped to his knees in the shallow end, water splashing around his waist as he folded.

“I do. I love you more than anything. You’re my everything. You’re the first woman I ever truly saw. I see you, Dulce. I’ve always seen you.”

She finally turned toward him, slowly removing her sunglasses to reveal tired, puffy eyes. “And I see you now too. As someone I can’t trust.”

Zilla’s throat clenched. He didn’t have a rebuttal for that.

“Dulce…”

She cut him off, voice soft but sharp. “Go to sleep, Zilla. Go cry in the suite like you’ve been doing.”

And then she turned her floatie, sliding away into the dark ripples of the glowing pool, head held high.

Zilla stood there alone, dripping, sinking lower into the water until his chin hit the surface. His heart beat loudly in his ears, but it wasn’t loud enough to cover the sound of her silence.

[disorganizedkitten]

You'll Survive Chapter 1

Miraculous Ladybug | 2018 | 820 | Ao3 | Masterlist | Next

Growing up and leaving the nest is hard, but being with friends lightens the blow. Unless you are Chloe Bourgeois, in which case you have to make friends to help pull that weight. Or maybe you already have some, you just didn’t think of them.

Chloe slung her purse over her shoulder, intent to meet up with her roommates and convince them that she’ll be a good housemate.

She had been trying a little better to be nice, with Pollen’s help of course, but it was hard. Hard enough that most of the people she had been paired with for rooming had been overly hostile and happy to get her out of the house. If this set didn’t work out, she’d probably just have to get her own place. That wasn’t a problem, but she really wanted to make a friend. At least one!

It was lonely without Sabrina, but Chloe wanted her friend to be happy, and that meant letting the redhead follow her own dreams.

Chloe started up the concrete stairs, breathing deeply so she didn’t freak out. This should not make her this nervous.

It shouldn’t!

She started counting doors as soon as she reached the top. E7, E9, F1, F3, and finally, F4. Oh heckle she was here. “Wish me luck Pollen,” she breathed quietly, reaching her hand into the purse she carried the Kwami around in.

“You can do it Chloe! I believe in you! Besides, thirteenth time’s the charm, right?”

“I hope you’re right.”

Chloe pulled her hand away from Pollen’s comforting fur and knocked. Thirteenth time’s the charm.

“Race you!” sound erupted from the apartment, giggles, yells, and a bang on the door from that side.

“Hey!”

“I win!”

“I was a room farther away!”

“Oh sure you were ‘miss faster than a cat,’” the door swung open as the second voice grumbled. “Hello- Chloe?”

Chloe froze. “Alya?”

“Yeah, actually. What’s up?”

Marinette poked her head over Alya’s shoulder, eyes wide. “Is this a you-know-what emergency?”

“No, um, I’m supposed to be doing a roommate interview here?” Chloe didn’t sound as confident as she hoped. But, this was Alya and Marinette. Two of her superpowered teammates. How bad could it be?

Marinette’s face lit up at her words. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re accepted,” Marinette said, not even pausing to consider anything.

“She is?” Alya asked, turning to her friend.

“I am?” Chloe parroted. That, was fast.

Marinette waved Chloe inside and dragged Alya over to a couch. The apartment was small, but obviously decorated by the two. The decor was an easy mix of Creolian, Chinese, and French, with pink and white furniture and framed pictures of Alya, Marinette, and their friends and families.

“Would Pollen like a snack?” Marinette asked, moving over to the small kitchen and digging through a container.

“Yes please!” Pollen replied, poking her head out of Chloe’s purse.

Marinette dropped a couple things on a tray and brought it over to the living room’s small table, carefully moving a stack of papers over so it could fit.

“Chloe, are you joining us?”

“Sure,” Chloe moved over to sit down on the edge of the couch, feeling less apprehensive.

Marinette sat down in between Alya and Chloe, opening her purse to let her own Kwami, Tikki, out. Tikki moved over to the tray and picked up a cookie, waving Pollen over. Pollen hugged Chloe’s arm encouragingly before moving over to her fellow.

“Right, why are we taking her in Marinette?” Alya asked, as her orange Kwami, Trixx, joined Tikki and Pollen on the snack tray.

“Chloe, do you want to convince her or do you want me too?” Marinette asked cooly.

“Um,-”

“See, she doesn’t even have a reason,” Alya cut in.

“Okay, Alya, why not?”

Alya scowled, but didn’t answer.

“I promise I’ll pull my weight, and I already know about Kwami and Miraculous, so you don’t have to worry about those, and I,” Chloe paused and looked at Pollen for encouragement.

Pollen brushed some crumbs off her fluff and floated up a little bit. “With Sabrina doing that Genius school in Britain, we need someone to stay with. It’s no fun being friendless.”

Alya’s scowl turned into a frown. “That, I can agree with. Okay.”

“See? All good, and Chloe’s a much better roommate than some stranger. Let me grab the papers,” She stood up and dashed down a short hallway to another room.

“Sorry about that Chloe,” Alya said, quietly. “I know you’re not the same person you were then, but it’s harder for me to accept than it should be. Marinette, the girl’s kindness incarnate and is happy you are. I’m happy you’re breaking out of your Mother’s shadow, please don’t doubt that, but first impressions leave a, well, an impression.”

“That’s okay. I’m glad you’re letting me prove myself to you.”

“Always. You’ve helped us fight against a worse evil than you ever were, just know that sometimes I’ll be rude out of context.”

“Considering how many times I was to you, just for the fun of it, go ahead.”

“Teammates?” Alya asked, holding out a hand.

“Roommates,” Chloe corrected, taking it.

“Friends,” Marinette added, coming back into the room.