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eightmakesonebraincell · 1 year ago

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ateez as mafia boyfriends (christmas special)

genre: mafia!ateez x fem!reader, fluff, angst, smut, crack, brainrot and smutfest of mafia x christmas tropes

length: 13.8k

c/w: nsfw scenes - mdni, explicit language (dirty talk, swearing, insults), graphic depictions of death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, heavy & mature themes (murder, abduction, corruption), pet names (kitten, babe, baby, love, sweetheart)

a/n: this one’s for yumi (@sorryimananti-romantic), mafia anon and everyone who’s sent in an ask about mafia!ateez before 🫶 loosely based on aammwffy but this is still a standalone fic not part two thank you for coming to my ted talk 😙✌️ merry christmas y'all

hongjoong

the stocking in your hand jerks when you suddenly feel it

it’s a black stocking that hongjoong has made for wooyoung from out of a spare shirt

there are already several other hand-made stockings hanging on nails that he has hammered into the wall of the warehouse

and this whole ‘ateez’s mob boss couple decorates the gang’s old warehouse for christmas’ shenanigan would have been cute and wholesome…

if not for the vibrator that is currently pulsing inside your throbbing pussy

“why’d you stop, kitten?” hongjoong murmurs into your ear from behind your shoulder, knowing very well the reason why is currently in the pocket of his black slacks

when you struggle to answer, he snakes the hand that isn’t toying with the remote around your waist to the front of your pants

“hmm? what’s wrong?” he asks teasingly

your knees buckle when he suddenly cups your core, pressing the vibrator further into you as he switches it to a higher setting

gripping onto his forearm to ground yourself, you’re unable to stop yourself from moaning at the feeling of his muscles rippling underneath your fingertips while he grinds his hand against you

but as soon as you feel your high approaching, it is ripped away from you

hongjoong switches the vibrator off and removes his hand

you are close to cursing him out, but the way that you can feel the hardened front of his slacks chase after your ass for friction whenever you move away even the slightest has you confident that it will not be long until he is cracking

until he begs for you

letting out a shaky exhale, you hang the stocking still in your grip next to mingi’s one; a dark, navy blue that used to be a fluffy towel, now repurposed for christmas

hongjoong passes you the last stocking but you let it drop to the ground

“oops,” you drawl coquettishly

you bend over to pick up jongho’s stocking, slowly and deliberately brushing up against hongjoong’s cock with the curve of your ass

you smirk when the friction draws out a guttural groan from his chest

a hand comes to rest just below your waist, “you’re playing with fire right now, kitten”

“looks like we need a little…water to put it out, then,” you press back against him once more

he snaps

it’s not long before the tip of his swollen cock is pressing against your entrance, his slacks still bunched around his thighs in his hurry to fuck you

he pulls out the vibrator and he shushes your whines at the feeling of emptiness by thrusting three fingers right into you

“fuck, kitten,” he mouths the side of your neck, “you’re already stretched out and ready for my cock”

your mind goes fuzzy at his words and hongjoong smirks in satisfaction

sliding his fingers from out of you, he lines the tip of his cock between your legs-

you both freeze when a loud clang resonates throughout the warehouse, like someone has hit the outer steel walls

hard.

“kim hongjoong!” an unfamiliar voice yells with fury from outside

another clang, this time closer towards the entrance

there’s not much holding the warehouse doors closed; you two weren’t exactly expecting hostile visitors

“you think we can get a round in before they make it through the doors?” hongjoong asks

“if you can cum in the next ten seconds, sure”

a colourful string of curses leaves his mouth before he pulls out of you and fixes his slacks - with difficulty, you must say - while you adjust your own clothes

just in time for the warehouse doors to fling open

“you killed my fucking brother, you motherfucking bastard!”

“who are you again?” hongjoong leans back to rest against the edge of the table while he watches you pick up jongho’s long-forgotten stocking on the floor. “you’ll have to remind me.”

numerous men stride in towards the far end of the warehouse where you two are - were - hanging up the stockings

you look away with disinterest; it’s nothing you and hongjoong can’t take care of

“kyungseok,” the man grits out, jaw clenching with irritation when neither of you show any signs of recognition. “you killed my brother, kyungtae. leader of the bluebirds.”

at his last word, it finally clicks

“ah,” hongjoong cracks his knuckles and stretches his neck lazily, “the one who thought they could touch my kitten and get away with it”

meanwhile, you step back after hanging the last stocking on the wall, admiring the row of decorations

you direct your question at the man behind you, “what do you think, kyungtaek?”

“it’s kyungseok,” he snarls

you wave dismissively, pressing a kiss against hongjoong’s jaw as you praise, “these look wonderful, babe”

you hear kyungseok yell out at his lackeys followed by a flurry of movement

hongjoong sighs, sneaks a kiss in, and then gently steps the both of you to the side out of the path of an incoming kick

“if we make this quick, maybe i can finish fucking you before seonghwa and the others get here,” he winks

then you two move

in quick succession, you use the momentum of their thrown punches to yank two men over your shoulder, one after the other

the wind is knocked out of them and you aim a sharp blow to their necks to render them unconscious

realising that close combat may not be the best idea, another bluebird member brandishes a knife to gain the upper hand

“weapons? that’s not very fair,” you purr

you lunge forward before you have even finished your sentence, catching him off guard and grabbing hold of his arm

twisting his wrist backwards, he shouts in pain as his grip on the knife loosens and it clatters to the floor

“oh dear,” you mock, your hands twisting up to curl around his throat

vaguely, you register hongjoong yell out your name

“duck!”

you barely have time to crouch, your hand yanking down the man with you from where your fingers are still wrapped around his throat, before a burly male is tossed right over your body and sent careening into the table nearby

you watch in dismay as cookies scatter onto the floor, wood splintering with a loud crack

“fuck you, hongjoong, i spent ages arranging them onto the plates”

he has the audacity to smirk in apology while he wraps his arms around the neck of another man and twists, forearms flexing as the bone gives way with a sickening snap, “sorry, kitten”

the man whose throat you have been squeezing is now limp and he sags to the floor

he’s too heavy for you to throw at hongjoong, so you settle for picking up the knife you disarmed and fling it at your boyfriend

“duck,” you tease

hongjoong rolls his eyes and drops his body towards the ground, your knife hurtling past the empty space where his forehead was just milliseconds ago, before it hits its mark and makes itself home in the chest of a man who has been sneaking up from behind

moving in tandem, hongjoong extends his leg and sweeps it along the ground to knock the thug off his feet

the man’s arms fling backwards as his weight crashes towards the ground, colliding into the christmas tree you had decorated earlier and taking it down with him

you pinch the bridge of your nose as the ornaments shatter

“oops?” hongjoong shrugs his shoulders noncommittally

stepping over the lifeless bodies scattered by your feet, you move away a little to pull out your phone

most of the bluebird gang has already been taken out; hongjoong can handle the rest himself

“hey, seonghwa and i are nearly there,” yunho’s voice sounds over the receiver

“oh,” you hum contemplatively, “is anyone else still on their way?”

“probably wooyoung. you know him, he’s always late,” he chuckles into the phone, “why?”

“can you see if he can buy some new ornaments? and pick up some fresh cookies while he’s at it”

there’s a yell and a loud thud as a body rolls to a stop just a few feet away from you

“what was that?” yunho startles

hongjoong has picked up the fallen christmas tree and is currently swinging it around like a crazed batter

“just hongjoong having some fun”

when you hang up, you are just in time to hear the loud thwunk as the tree connects with kyungseok’s temple

you’re not sure whether the splinter you hear is a result of the trunk or his skull cracking

the last bluebird member drops down dead, blood pooling out from under him

hongjoong scoffs, “merry fucking christmas”

and for good measure, hongjoong shoves an intact bauble into the man’s mouth

it’s finally silent

“now,” he turns to you, “where were we before we were…interrupted”

at hongjoong’s predatory gaze, you feel the arousal from before washing over you

he approaches you leisurely as he uncuffs his sleeves to roll them up, loosening the top buttons of his shirt, all the while undressing you with his lustful eyes

you drink up his appearance, eyes raking over his exposed chest that shines with a sheen layer of sweat

he’s in front of you now

“looks like i’ll have to prepare you again, kitten”

his fingers start to slip under the waistband of your panties when-

“heard you fucktards knocked over the cookies!”

his voice echoes throughout the warehouse before he even steps foot into the warehouse

wooyoung is fucking early.

you’re quite positive hongjoong is about to deck him through the roof

“wow,” wooyoung lets out a low whistle as he walks in to survey the scene, eyes scanning wildly over the splattered blood and mutilated bodies across the floor with an expression that appears mostly impressed

hongjoong’s clenched fists are white

uncaring of his leader’s lack of response, wooyoung continues, “when you told us the dress code was red, i didn’t think you meant this kind of red”

he approaches you two to squat down beside kyungseok’s body and taps the bauble in his mouth with interest, “rad decorations”

you watch in amusement as hongjoong’s last string snaps

“wooyoung,” he says evenly

it goes in one ear and out the other

wooyoung looks around as he asks, “can i tie him up with tinsel before the others get here?”

“jung wooyoung”

said man finally blanches

good thing too

because you don’t think hongjoong is joking when he says,

“if you don’t get the fuck out right now, you are going to become part of the decorations.”

seonghwa

“remember, as soon as i leave-”

“i need to lock the door,” you finish seonghwa’s sentence cheekily

he chuckles as he shakes his head fondly, “and if you feel like anything is off-”

“call you or hongjoong straight away,” you mimic, emphasising the last two words with the same seriousness he nags you with all the time

despite your words, your heart flutters shyly at seonghwa’s neverending protectiveness and worry for you

with his line of work, it isn’t easy for him to leave your side, much less leave you alone in the apartment

he understands though

it’s only been a few months since he found you; barely a shell of the curious, energetic and endearing person that you are now

under his careful nurturing, you have flourished and learnt to love and trust again

it doesn’t mean that you are quite ready to leave the apartment just yet for something other than a quick grocery run or walk in the park with seonghwa at your side

but it’s okay - baby steps

“i’ll be back at 6 and then we can cook dinner together,” he kisses your temple sweetly, “see you later, love”

you watch as he lingers outside the door, feet always ever so reluctant to leave

he motions for you to close the door and you know he won’t leave until he sees that you have closed and locked it

so with a final wave, you shut the door, turn the lock and then press your ear right up against the wood

he thinks you don’t know that he does it, and you won’t admit to it in fear that he will stop out of embarrassment

but you hear him whisper love you before his footsteps recede down the corridor

you have most of the day to yourself until seonghwa comes back

he had said that hongjoong was giving the gang christmas night off, a pleasant and welcome change from all the nights you fight the sleep tugging at your eyelids as you wait curled up on the sofa for seonghwa to come home

you occupy your day with little odd jobs here and there around the house, like washing the dishes and doing the laundry and cleaning the bedroom

he always tells you off because he wants to be the one doing them for you, but the small exasperated smile that he gives you every time barely conceals his underlying fondness

and then when you have exhausted the chores, you pull out a pencil and some paper and start drawing out ideas for a gingerbread house

because seonghwa had promised to make one with you later tonight once he discovered you had never tried it before

you cannot contain your excitement as the clock finally ticks to six

your little sketches lay abandoned across the coffee table as you start to pace the living room skittishly, ears perking up whenever you hear noise outside

half an hour passes just like that but there’s still no sign of seonghwa

that’s okay, you tell yourself

you understand that he doesn’t have a normal office job where he can just clock out and walk away as he wishes

sending him a quick text asking if he is on his way home, you busy yourself with lining up all the utensils on the kitchen counter perfectly parallel, just the way he likes it

the chopsticks

the spatula

the knife

the cooking board

again.

the chopsticks

the spatula

the knife

the cooking board

you glance up at the clock

it’s seven

you tap on your phone to bring the screen to life

no notifications

you try to quell the growing panic inside of you

but you cannot ignore the fact that seonghwa would usually send you a quick message when he is held up by something, especially on a day where he has clearly told you when to expect him home

what if something went wrong?

what if he is hurt?

what if he is missing?

what if he is…dying?

you take a shuddering breath as you pick up your phone again with shaking fingers

7:24 PM

the glare of your screen seems too bright all of a sudden

you press on the first contact of your speed dial, seonghwa’s name popping up, decorated with a little heart that he added himself when he first entered his number into your new phone

the call rings and rings and rings

“the person you have called is not available, please leave a short message after the tone-”

your chest heaves to force oxygen into your lungs

you haven’t had a real reason to contact him yet, not with seonghwa personally keeping you in the loop

but you don’t hesitate to press the second contact on your speed dial

hongjoong greets you with a little surprise, obviously not having expected a call from you, “hey, is everything alright?”

you fight to keep the panic out of your voice as you ask him, “is hwa still there?”

there’s some rustling in the background

“hwa? no, he left almost two hours ago”

your stomach lurches dangerously

you don’t realise you’ve let out a soft whimper until hongjoong is repeating your name over and over again into the phone

“take a breath for me,” he soothes, “what’s wrong?”

“he said he’d be back by six,” your eyes start to well with the tears you’ve been suppressing. “he’s still not home”

hongjoong curses, calling out for the others still at base

then his voice filters through the speakers again, “we’re going to look into this, okay? everything’s going to be fine. you’ve done a good job letting me know”

with reassurances and words of comfort, a promise to call you back in a couple of minutes, hongjoong hangs up the call

yeosang and jongho sidle up to hongjoong on high alert, having heard the end of the conversation

“seonghwa’s missing,” hongjoong grits out, already trying to track down the other’s phone location

san appears in the doorway to the room looking grim

he holds up seonghwa’s phone in his hand, “he forgot to take it with him”

hongjoong curses lowly, “park fucking seonghwa. i swear if he isn’t already dead by now, he will be when i find him”

he tells yunho to hold down the fort at base while he, yeosang and wooyoung trace the route to the apartment you now share with seonghwa

you are unsure how long it will be until hongjoong calls you again

what you do know is that you’re not going to sit around idly while seonghwa could very well be in danger

your mind flashes back to all those times you both stand in the expanse of his living room, coffee table pushed to one side, as he gives you what he coins the ultimate self-hwafense class

he demonstrates and talks you through both defensive and offensive stances and how you can use your size and agility to your advantage

sometimes, he hates that he has to even teach you how to protect yourself

because if it were up to him, he would be your protector forever

but seonghwa knows the dangers of being involved with the mafia and so instead, he gently adjusts your movements, gives you praises when you grasp the concept, and demands kisses when you successfully pin him down

and more often than not, his self-hwafense classes end up in giggles and laughter because there is nothing less intimidating than his sparkling doe-eyes and wide grin as he pretends to act the part of a threatening intruder

just as your fingers brush over the cold steel of the gun hidden underneath the table, your blood runs cold when you hear your doorknob jiggling

it’s not purposeful - it is hesitant, intermittent and careful

exactly how an intruder would open a door

you know you do not have a choice

you have to protect yourself

slinking slowly towards the door and positioning yourself so that the intruder will walk in with their back to you, you grasp the gun in your hand a little tighter with bated breath

the lock clicks open and you watch the knob turning to nudge the door open

your mind screams at you to run and hide as you fight every cell in your body to keep your feet rooted where they are

amongst the fogginess of fear clouding your brain, you have enough sense to wait for the perfect opportunity

…now.

with as much strength as your shaking hands can muster, you slam the butt of your gun against the intruder’s head

hongjoong’s phone vibrates in his hand and he answers the call within the first ring

but before he can even get so much as a word out, he hears your trembling whisper

“hongjoong, he- he’s here”

“shit,” hongjoong says at the same time wooyoung steps harder on the accelerator, “who? are you okay? are you safe?”

“oh no,” your voice becomes harder to hear as the phone slips further away from you, “he’s awake”

“we’re close, hang in there- fuck” hongjoong punches the side of the car door when your call cuts off

wooyoung doesn’t need to be told - he floors the car

the tyres squeal as they pull up to the street of the apartment, wooyoung having just barely turned off the ignition before the three of them are dashing in and bypassing the lift for the stairs

as they reach the door of your apartment, they see that it is nudged open

a sign that cues the three of them to immediately slip out their guns

with hongjoong at the front, they barge in and point their guns at the figures in the living room

“move and i’ll blow your fucking brains out,” he commands

“hongjoong?”

said man falters

that’s not your voice

“the fuck?”

of all things he was prepared for, this was not one of them

because seonghwa is in the living room

sitting on a chair nursing a very bruised head with a sorry bag of frozen peas pressed to it

but it is very much seonghwa, alive and kicking

something on hongjoong’s face must show how much he wants to skin the man and feed him to the sharks because seonghwa grimaces and makes a very poor attempt to break the tension

“surprise?”

wooyoung loses it and keels in on himself with laughter

seonghwa gestures weakly with the hand that is not holding the bag of peas at the inconspicuous paper bag sitting on the kitchen counter, which is looking slightly sad and saggy after he quite literally crumpled on top of it, “i bought donuts?”

when hongjoong exhales the longest sigh known to mankind, pinching the bridge of his nose, you completely understand how he feels

“they’re shaped like reindeers and elves…they’re limited edition…” seonghwa’s voice trails off and you see him visibly wilt like a sunflower in a cave

because as much as he knows and is sorry for making you and the gang worry, he had rushed to line up at that donut shop you have recently fallen in love with because he thought surprising you with the cute christmas donuts would make you smile

well, surprise you he did

it’s not everyday you knock out an intruder, only to find out that it’s actually your boyfriend

“i’m sure they are very cute, hwa,” you tenderly replace his hand on the makeshift ice pack so that he can rest his arm, “thank you”

and you really do mean it

seonghwa perks up at your words and snakes his arm around your waist, tugging you closer until you are basically sitting on his sturdy thigh

he looks haughtily at the other three men, “at least somebody appreciates them”

and then he lets out a yelp as his hands scramble to catch his forgotten phone that hongjoong has tossed at him

“i’ll let you off the hook this time, park seonghwa, but only because it’s christmas and i have better things to be doing. we all do,” the leader makes a move with yeosang and wooyoung to leave

but he seems to think better of it because hongjoong whips around to make one last biting remark

“they better be some fucking good donuts, the best fucking donuts you’ll ever eat”

you and seonghwa dissolve into giggles once the door slams shut behind the trio

“how’s your head feeling now?” you take the bag of peas off and gingerly touch the red bump

“much better,” his eyes twinkle, “all it needs now is your kiss”

you blatantly turn your nose into the air and stand up to grab the bag of donuts, “no kisses. that’s for scaring me”

he grumbles indignantly under his breath like a five year old; nose scrunched up, lip jutted out

you laugh, presenting the bag to him and watching as his demeanor immediately brightens

“well, let’s find out if these are the best fucking donuts we’ll ever eat”

seonghwa opens the bag excitedly, having made it very clear that he wanted to do the honours and present them to you

but then he freezes, mouth opening to form an ‘o’

and then his shoulders sag once more

seonghwa wails

and it all makes sense when you peer into the bag

“the donuts are all squished!”

yunho

“J, can you take a look at my sniper? i think something’s wrong with the scope”

you dog-ear the page of the file you’re scanning through to look up at yunho

“i’m pretty sure i know the least about scopes out of everybod-”

“cause i can’t seem to take my sight off you,” he waggles his eyebrows at you with an overly-smouldering gaze as he leans oh so casually against the doorframe

you swallow the insult that is about to leave your mouth, instead, undoing the dog ear and dutifully continuing from where you left off

unfazed, yunho steps closer towards your table with an excited bounce, “want to see my gun? i’ve got a pretty big one”

you hum, “i’ve seen it plenty times, nothing new”

his eyes crinkle at having received a reaction, which spurs him on further

yunho leans down a little into your space so that you are forced to look up at him, “then can i put my gun in your holster?”

you finally laugh at the crudeness of his words and you hate that he looks utterly pleased with himself

(you don’t really hate it, but you know that he loves flustering you)

(you can pretend if it’s for him)

“remind me again why you’re my boyfriend?”

“cause i shoot my load into you,” he flirts, complete with a wink, finger guns and then a flying kiss that you pretend to snatch out of the air and slam against the ground

immediately, he looks like a puppy whose tail you have just stepped on, so you reach out for his hand and tug him closer with another laugh, turning your body so that you can bury your face into his stomach and wrap your arms around his waist

one of his arms naturally slides over your shoulders to encase you, his other hand running through your hair the way he knows you like it

“what do you want, you big puppy,” your voice comes out muffled

yunho may have claimed you as the J to his PB, but you think he is better nicknamed BP than peanut butter

BP as in Big Puppy

“i miss you,” he admits

you pull away and shake your head, “you see me every day, yunho. we work together”

“yeah, and i’m sick of work cockblocking us,” he says with finality

yunho swipes your files to the side in one smooth motion, clearing the table as he easily lifts you by the waist to perch you on the edge

you barely have time to complain about the files until he is pressing his lips against yours

“i miss you,” he repeats when you break apart to take a breath, “and it’s christmas. relax”

“you talk too much,” you say, grabbing his tie and pulling him in for another kiss

his large hands settle on your waist, just below the hem of your shirt

your back arches from sensitivity when the fingers of his right hand slip under your shirt and slowly trail upwards towards your chest

his other hand snakes behind you to splay across the pretty arch of your back

you loop your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair for purchase

a stuttered moan escapes your lips when he shifts and his thigh brushes against your core

“you like that?” yunho grinds his thigh against you once more, eyes dark as he watches your face contort with pleasure. “bet you’d like to ride my thigh until you cum”

you’re about to hook your legs around his waist when there’s a yell from the doorway

yunho immediately retracts his hands and you rush to tidy the appearance of your top, both of your heads snapping towards the door

wooyoung is there, body already turning back the way he came from with a hand blocking his own view, “can you guys get a room or close the door at least?”

“or you can stop walking in on us,” yunho suggests with a red face

but the younger is already out of earshot, too busy prancing through the rest of the base announcing, “PB&J are fucking in the office again, nobody disturb them!”

yunho rubs the tips of his flushed ears and you pepper one final kiss along his jawline before you bend down to pick up the scattered files from the floor

“don’t tell me you’re going to read your stupid files again,” he groans

“well, reading these stupid files happen to be direct orders from hongjoong,” you retort

“then good thing i’ve already asked him for permission to take you out today”

he snatches the file from your hand and tosses it haphazardly onto the table, quirking an eyebrow teasingly

“what do you mean?”

yunho grabs your hand, leading you towards the door as he tells you excitedly, “let’s go on a date”

and that’s how you find yourself wrapped up in yunho’s coat over the thin sweater you slipped on because nobody told you that you’d be fucking freezing your ass off on the open rooftop of a building on christmas night

it had taken all but three seconds of stepping out onto the rooftop for a shiver to descend through your body from head to toe

“this is a date?” you had groused

yunho had then immediately taken off his coat to wrap around your shoulders as he made a pleased noise of affirmation

“then do tell me why you took your sniper along,” you sniffle a little, compliantly allowing yunho to button you up. “you want me to tell you how sexy you look while you shoot someone through the head?”

yunho grins down at you

“you think i’m sexy when i snipe people?”

you roll your eyes at his selective hearing

(you think he’s always sexy)

at your playful shove, he reaches into his pockets to pull out a pair of earplugs for you

“put them in,” he tells you before you can even ask what they’re for

when you make no move to do so, he gingerly tucks your hair out of the way so that he can put the plugs into your ears

watch me, he gestures with his hands

and then he is perching along the edge of the rooftop, setting up his sniper in front of him and adjusting the scope as he looks down the sight into the far distance

you watch as he applies pressure to the back of the rifle with his broad shoulder, as his slender fingers curl around the trigger, as he closes one eye and exhales a slow breath

then he shoots

you think that he is going to get up and finally tell you what he is doing, except he pulls the bolt back to chamber a new bullet and adjusts the angle of his rifle

and then he shoots again

you catch yourself staring at the veins running across the back of his hand and the way his finger flexes around the trigger

because you know all too well how it feels for his finger to flex in…other places

you lose count of how many times yunho pulls the trigger - at one point, he even reloads a magazine

he has almost finished the second round of bullets before he finally appears to be satisfied, scrambling up and dusting off his knees

with an eager tug once you have taken out your earplugs, he brings you to his sniper that he has left in its place on the floor

“look through the scope!”

you are careful to ease yourself down into a mimic of yunho’s earlier pose, knowing that even the slightest of nudges can displace the target by miles

hovering behind you, he shifts from foot to foot, waiting for you to see it

and when you do, your eyes nearly fall out in surprise

“yunho!” you exclaim, unable to fathom what you are seeing

because yunho has shot a fucking heart shape made out of bullet holes into the side of an abandoned building

“is this meant to be romantic?!”

contrary to your tone, you don’t think you have ever found your deadly 6’1” sniper boyfriend to be more endearing than now

he preens with the widest smile on his face, “yeah!”

you stand up with a matching smile of your own and step closer to pull him into a hug

“i don’t think i’ll be forgetting about this christmas for a while”

“you better not forget about it ever,” he threatens with a harmless tickle to your side

“thank you,” you tell him sincerely, “i love you”

he peppers your face with kisses, “i love you too”

distantly, you hear the sound of sirens, no doubt the sound of gunshots having been reported

“i guess that’s our cue,” he grins, stepping away from you and slinging the sniper over his shoulder

“our cue to do what?” you allow him to lace his fingers through yours

“our cue to fucking leg it”

and so with his hand warmly encasing yours, laughter bubbling out of your chests and cheeks flushing as the first flakes of snow start to fall, you both make a run for it

yeosang

“get some napkins, snacks, cooking oil and maybe a couple of drinks if you can carry it all”

you listen while seonghwa lists off the things you need to get from the shops for the christmas party

it’s nothing huge - just a get together between you, your older brother, hongjoong, and the rest of the ateez gang

yeosang sidles up to you to ask, “ready to go?”

as you smile with a nod and lean into him, hongjoong narrows his eyes from where he’s sitting on a chair

it seems like the two of you have gotten quite…close recently

not that you two weren’t already close before

and granted, hongjoong was the one who raised hell to ensure yeosang followed you everywhere as your bodyguard

except you and yeosang are getting a little too chummy for his liking

but then you’re giving seonghwa a quick goodbye peck on the cheek and you are turning around to look at your brother with that damned smile of yours to ask if he is coming along too, and hongjoong thinks that he’s just looking into things a bit too much

“yeah,” hongjoong gets up from his seat, “let’s go”

once your little trio makes it to the mart, you decide to divide and conquer the items on seonghwa’s shopping list

you’ve just grabbed a packet of napkins when someone suddenly tugs you down one of the aisles

the squeal of surprise that comes out of you quickly turns into an exasperated laugh seeing that it’s just yeosang

he’s looking at you with his sparkling eyes and expectant smile

“you’re hopeless,” you tell him because you know exactly what he wants

“hopelessly in love,” he corrects you, still waiting with an eager expression

you hiss his name and frantically look around to make sure your brother isn’t around before you relent and press a chaste kiss against the corner of his lips

yeosang immediately blushes and tries to hide the smile on his face like he didn’t literally just kidnap you into a shopping aisle demanding for kisses

you always find his bashfulness endearing though, so you rest your hands on his shoulders to balance on your tiptoes and quickly pepper several more kisses over the apples of his cheeks, the tip of his nose and the sharp of his jawline

“i don’t think santa needs rudolph this year,” you tap his nose affectionately, “you’re much brighter”

as you watch yeosang grow even redder at your statement, you wonder how this is the same man who will move heaven and earth to protect you

“y/n? yeosang?”

hongjoong’s voice is frighteningly close and you’re pretty sure he is just in the next aisle over

grabbing the first thing that you see, you clutch the item and the napkins to your chest and walk out to meet your brother

“there you two are,” hongjoong frowns, “what took you two so long?”

you reach out and touch his elbow in apology, “sorry, joong. i needed help finding the plastic plates”

except hongjoong doesn’t think you two are very sorry at all, because not only did he pay, but the backpack stuffed full with the shopping bags is now on his back

“why am i carrying the backpack,” he complains, looking at you and yeosang already mounted on the latter’s motorbike

yeosang smiles innocently and jerks his head back in your direction, “i’ve already got a cute little backpack”

“well that cute little backpack also happens to be my sister so shouldn’t she sit behind me- hey!”

you press yourself closer against yeosang’s back, both of you breaking out into laughter as he revs his bike and leaves hongjoong behind in the dust

your brother flips the bird at your backs, grumbling colourfully under his breath as he twists the throttle on his own motorbike to catch up to you two

and for someone who prides himself in being an observant mafia boss, it takes hongjoong many, many days to belatedly realise that plastic plates were never even part of the shopping list

yeosang gently takes your helmet from out of your grasp and tames an unruly strand of your hair that has become ruffled as you two walk back inside, bypassing seonghwa hanging a wreath on the front door

the eldest watches you two for a moment, seemingly in thought, before he picks up something else to hang up

that’s how, when hongjoong arrives a few minutes later with the shopping, he runs into seonghwa fixing mistletoe to the doorframe of the kitchen

“mistletoe?” hongjoong questions as he places the bags onto the countertop, “the fuck for?”

seonghwa shrugs vaguely, “the couples”

“the only couple i see is the couple of losers over there”

hongjoong stares pointedly into the living room, where san is starting to wriggle under the weight of the ornaments balancing on the top of his head and shoulders and hanging off his ears and fingers, courtesy of wooyoung who is currently yelling out stay still!

except the ornaments all come tumbling off in a flurry of movement when yunho thunders past them, mingi in tow

“snowball fight!!”’

it’s not snowing heavily but there’s a layer of snow thick enough for all nine of you to stumble outside in glee

and as it turns out, yeosang is very serious about his job as your bodyguard

even during snowball fights

jongho and yunho have formed some sort of alliance, so by an unspoken agreement, pretty much everyone else has teamed up in hopes of defeating the formidable pair

(no one’s entirely sure which side mingi is playing for, but he’s having fun scooping handfuls of snow and dumping them onto people, which is all that matters)

hongjoong is busy fending off wooyoung’s snowballs - another person who has broken the unofficial alliance - so yeosang stays close to you

he alternates between adding fresh ammo to your snowball pile and blocking any snowballs that are thrown around

it doesn’t matter if they’re thrown in your direction or not; if yeosang sees a snowball, then he is ready to keep it far, far away from you

somehow, amidst all the chaos, yunho manages to unearth a whole slab of snow that is still intact

he cackles evilly as he lifts it above his head and hurls it somewhere into the centre of the whole group

now, the deadly snow slab is nowhere even close to landing on you

but again, yeosang takes his job as your bodyguard - and boyfriend - very, very seriously

he makes a dive in your direction to take the hit and the angels up in heaven blow their trumpets in celebration when he knocks you over instead and you two fall into the snow together

he lands on top of you, arms bracing himself as he encases your frame underneath him

you’re a little winded - the breath has been knocked out of you, you want to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, and also yeosang looks extremely stunning

you can see every single snowflake that has fluttered down and clung onto his long lashes and soft hair, and it certainly doesn’t help that he’s looking at you with the most tender eyes

“merry christmas,” he murmurs with a smile, “i love you”

the sounds of snowballs breaking and consequent screeches mute themselves into the background, the crystal petals falling from the sky blurring in slow motion as yeosang dips down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss

one of his hands cradles your face gingerly as you sigh into the kiss, almost as if he is afraid you will melt and seep into the snow

jongho is about to take the opportunity to pelt yeosang’s exposed back with snowballs, but pauses his deadly pitch when he sees that the older is actually a little…preoccupied right now

he realises very quickly that not only have you two caught his attention, but you’ve also managed to grab hongjoong’s attention

said man squints his eyes at who he thinks is yeosang and…you?

you’re both awfully close together in a heap on the ground and hold the fuck up are you two kissing?

right before hongjoong can rub his eyes and take a closer look, a snowball is smashed to smithereens against his face

hacking snow out of his mouth, he searches furiously for the culprit, eyes landing on jongho who is staring right back at him with his hand still pitched forward from throwing the snowball

why jongho looks flustered, hongjoong has no idea

but it’s not like hongjoong can take on the younger anyway so he chooses to ignore the snowball and looks back in your direction

…where you and yeosang are both lying on your backs making snow angels

hongjoong frowns, rationalising that the kiss had just been a glitch in his imagination

because surely he would’ve noticed ages ago if you and yeosang were indeed dating

seeing as the leader shrugs it off and drops to the ground to shovel an enormous snowball with renewed vigour, jongho lets out a sigh of relief

that is

until wooyoung very helpfully points out, “why are yeosang’s lips all glossy”

you and yeosang freeze mid-snow angel

like zombies in a horror film, you and yeosang slowly sit up with unease creeping through your bodies as you both look towards your brother

his back is turned, body eerily still

most of the other members have also frozen, snowballs still clutched in their hands as their knowing pupils waver

then mingi also helpfully tacks on, “it looks like he kissed y/n or something”

at his words, hongjoong’s arms start to move again

he does not turn around yet, simply hums and says, “interesting”

yeosang nudges you with an elbow and theatrically whispers, “if we leg it right now, do you think it will notice”

it starts to stand up from its crouching position

“...i think it will, yeo”

hongjoong finally turns around and you can see that, similar to yunho not too long ago, he is carrying a huge slab of intact snow in his hands

what’s different is that hongjoong is most definitely not smiling

you have a feeling that he is going to be putting a new definition to snowball fight

hongjoong approaches with his snow weapon

“snowballs?” he shakes his head mockingly with a frighteningly blank expression

“after today,” his gaze drops down pointedly towards yeosang’s nether region, “no balls”

san

you don’t need to rely on your past experience working in an underground casino for you to know what the odds of your current gamble are

you are a mouse walking into the lion’s den

the last time you were with crescent - the mafia gang you had been brought into and was supposedly your family for almost a decade - you were wrongfully accused as being a traitor and had nearly lost your life

now here you are, walking back into crescent’s base with your own two feet just a mere few weeks later

and yet, you are not afraid

your former gang does not know, but tonight, you are the dealer of this poker game

minsu, crescent’s mob boss, leers at the sight of you entering the small building

they do not have many affiliates, having kept their numbers small over the years, but most of them have gathered together for drinks tonight

you already knew this, though

you have chosen to confront them on christmas for a reason

“ahh, merry christmas, darling,” minsu drawls saccharinely, “has santa answered my wishes for a personal slut?”

his words do not register in your ears when your eyes involuntarily flit over to the back of the room

there’s a face sitting in the corner that haunts you

the day you were labelled a traitor, you had been accompanying your capo to make a trade deal with a relatively new gang

the boss of the gang who is currently sitting in the same room as the rest of crescent, comfortable smirk on his face like he wants to show you that he is where he belongs

you realise now that it was a set-up all along

there was no deal to be made and there was no emerging gang

it was - is - crescent against you

looking back at minsu now, you address him, “why did you betray me”

he pretends to look appalled, one hand perched daintily against his chest as his jaw drops

“we saw the way you were getting closer to choi san of ateez,” he spits out san’s name, “and after you betrayed crescent during the trade, you ran pathetically to his doorstep like a damsel in distress, which only proved our suspicions”

he states it so believably, as if your loyalty wavered and led to your own inevitable downfall

it’s all bullshit though

you and san have never interacted outside of the negotiations your gangs made with each other

without anywhere to go after crescent had backstabbed you, only then had you sought san’s help

“so what are you doing back here, darling?” minsu stands up

he stalks closer towards you with fake pity plastered across his face, “to beg for forgiveness? to beg for us to spare your little boyfriend’s life?”

the flicker of fury inside of you is quickly growing into an inferno at minsu’s mocking tone

but before it starts to consume you, a new voice enters the fray

“i don’t think we’ll be the ones begging by the end of the night”

a figure steps in and you hear the sound of metal buckles scraping against the ground as a limp, bloodied body is also dragged along

the person comes to a stop beside you before they toss the body in their grasp carelessly to one side

the familiar lilt of their teasing reaches you

“hey, sweetheart”

the inferno inside you smothers itself out at their words

“choi san,” minsu snarls, hackles now raised at the unforeseen addition of his presence

the rest of crescent also seem to become restless, shifting on the edge of their seats or making a move to stand up

because they’re not foolish

they know san’s reputation for ruthlessness, particularly when someone has wronged him

and by extension-

more footsteps resound behind you

-the rest of ateez

you may be a mouse walking into the lion’s den

but when you have poachers behind your back, it becomes your den

minsu’s face finally drains of all blood when he realises the deep shit he has landed himself in

and so do several others, it seems

you wince slightly in embarrassment when a handful of his men scramble up from their seats and push past the ateez members surrounding you to run out of the building

for a moment, no one dares to breathe as they watch you and ateez with trepidation

san simply raises a brow as his eyes narrow with disinterest

the sounds of the cowards’ feet striking the pavement once they make it out onto the street are suddenly replaced by the crack of gunshots and the distinct thump of flesh falling to the ground

from somewhere up high, yunho chambers another bullet as he stares down the scope of his sniper with impassivity

“anyone else want to give that a try?” san taunts

no one answers

hongjoong finally emerges from the flanks and almost immediately, the already-frigid atmosphere drops another several degrees

“a gang of members who have no qualms betraying their own will only end up destroying themselves eventually,” he calmly approaches minsu, who shuffles backwards in response

hongjoong continues, “as much as crescent isn’t worth my time, i don’t really feel like waiting for that day to come”

before anyone can react, he swipes a glass bottle from one of the tables and swings it across minsu’s head

the latter stumbles backwards in shock with a hand flying up to stem the blood flow coming from his temple

ateez do not need a further command

all at once, the members jump forward bloodthirsty for vengeance, save for san, who grabs a chair that mingi has quite literally tossed a person off and brings it over for you to sit on

he winks as he quips, “we’ll probably be on santa’s naughty list this year, but maybe if you just watch you’ll get away with it, sweetheart”

san knows you can hold your own in a fight, but he also knows that your ribs are still sore and bruised

so he waits until you sit with a laugh before he turns around to face the others

he doesn’t really care about most of the crescent lackeys

he knows hongjoong and the rest of ateez will wipe them out fine

who he really cares about is that bastard who pretended to lead the fake gang

and that motherfucker minsu

san is going to make them regret hurting you

san is going to make them wish they were never born

he advances towards them with deceptive calmness

minsu is slumped against a table, still licking at his wounds pathetically

he’s only alive because none of the members have bothered with him

san leaves him for the time being and takes out a dagger as he advances upon the nameless member who had duped you

easily evading the man’s frantic punch, san responds by slamming the hilt of his dagger against the other’s temple

the man goes crashing down and minsu tries to scramble away from them in fear

“i would cut your tongue off, since you spew so many fucking lies,” san grips the man’s jaw hard enough that his fingers turn white, “but i don’t want to touch your filthy mouth”

instead, san drags the dagger across the gang member’s throat

blood rapidly gurgles out of the wound as the man’s fingers make futile attempts to grasp san’s hands, but very quickly, he attempts to stem the blood flow instead

but a fence can only hold a dam back for so long

san shoves him aside and lunges for minsu

“your turn,” san smirks

whipping out his pistol, san flicks the safety off and shoots minsu’s hand as the latter lets out a primal shriek of pain

san shoots again, this time at his other hand, once more, through his calf, once more, through his stomach

minsu swears to the high heavens in between wails and howls, begging for san to stop

“what did i say,” san places a foot on his stomach wound and pushes down, “it wouldn’t be me or my sweetheart begging tonight”

minsu’s animalistic cries are silenced with a final gunshot

san exhales and makes his way back to where you are still seated to reassure, “you’ll never have to worry about crescent ever again”

“thank you, san,” you sink into his embrace

you’ll thank the rest of ateez later, but for now, you focus on the man in front of you

“i said that i would protect you, didn’t i, sweetheart?”

he gathers your face in his hands and thumbs the round of your cheeks sweetly

you nod in his grasp, blinking up at him through your eyelashes

“i want to kiss you,” san suddenly confesses, “can i kiss you?”

a teasing smile tugs at your lips, “it’s christmas. shouldn’t you kiss me under a mistletoe?”

san looks up to check, as if he really thinks that a mafia gang’s base would have mistletoe hanging from the ceiling

when he confirms that indeed there is not, his eyes wander around the room for a substitute until something appears to pique his interest

you watch as he unsheathes another dagger from his belt and points it in the direction of minsu’s body

“i can cut his foot off,” san tells you with determination, “then we’d have a minsu-toe”

amidst the last of the fighting amongst the room, someone overhears and chortles at san’s words

“i can’t believe you,” you let out your own laugh

“so…” san beams, “is that a yes?”

“fuck the mistletoe,” you laugh as you pull him forward, “just kiss me already”

and kiss you he does

mingi

for the first time ever, you think you hate the snow

even if it’s christmas eve today and it’s the first snowfall of the year

you had been prepared for a peak in business at your little bar, the mist, but with the sudden onset of heavy snowfall and a rapid drop in temperature, you’ve barely had any customers

admittedly, you are used to slow business considering there is a much larger bar, the chilli peppers, just across the street

but not even your few, regular customers have shown up today nor for the past few weeks

you’ve scanned the outside of your bar several times already, each time unfruitful as you are met with an empty street save for the falling snow and soft glow of the streetlamps

sighing, you decide to look out once more before making yourself a mixed drink when you spot a figure walking up to your doors

your breath hitches when you recognise who it is

it’s him

the handsome stranger who, you suppose, is not really a stranger anymore

it has been almost two months since he first took refuge in your bar while being chased by another gang

his visits since have been rare and infrequent, but they will always span late into the early hours of dawn when he does

“hey,” mingi softly greets you as he steps into your bar, a shy smile adorning his face

your stomach flutters as you stand up from your stool, “mingi, hi, hey, i wasn’t expecting you to come today”

you internally cringe at your own words

you hope he doesn’t pick up on the connotation that you wait for him to come on other days

he peers around hesitantly at your words, “should i, uh, go?”

one of your hands reach out in his direction before you even realise what you’re doing

“no- i meant,” you lick your lips, “it’s a nice surprise”

mingi’s shoulders relax

“i heard some areas lost power because of the snow,” he starts to explain, “so i thought i’d come to check on you- your bar”

your heart grows warm at his seemingly nonchalant words

fighting back a blush, you gesture around your bar, “well, i still got power-”

just as it fizzles and dies

the steady hum of the heater in the background of your bar also halts, creating a world of both darkness and silence

startled, you jump slightly

you can hardly see him in front of you as your eyes struggle to adjust to the gloom, yet mingi’s hand naturally finds your searching ones

he slips your smaller hand into his, gently squeezing and rubbing a thumb over your knuckles as he soothes, “i’ve got you”

you let out a nervous chuckle, not because you feel awkward but because it feels so natural to be soothed by his touch, and he reciprocates with his own soft laugh

“well,” you look up at him, “looks like business is closed for the night”

his eyebrows knit together in concern, “are you sure? i can call someone to get your power back up and running. i know a person”

he scratches the back of his neck as he continues to ramble, “or they could probably fix your whole area…yeah that’s a better idea, wouldn’t want you getting singled out or anything”

you’re not sure whether to be endeared or to be impressed by his connections

“you can do that?!” you gawk

mingi blinks twice as if to say, you can’t?

laughing, you shake your head and pat his hand that’s still holding yours to tell him that it’s okay

“i wasn’t getting customers anyway,” you reassure

selfishly, mingi is glad that you weren’t busy

because it means that he can have you all to himself

“do you want to stay for a bit?” you offer, “it’s probably not safe to leave with all the snow”

mingi is a member of a mafia gang

snow is the least of his worries

but he nods solemnly in agreement anyway

he thinks that his heart cannot squeeze with any more fondness at your concern until you carefully tug him forward by the hand to lead him up the stairs at the back of your bar, murmuring that there’s another step and the doorway’s a little low

it doesn’t matter that you’ve seen him being pursued by other gang members, or that he smells like gunpowder and has a pistol hidden on him - you still look out for him and mingi has to fight the urge to pull you into a hug

instead, he grips your hand a little tighter under the guise of not knowing where he should be stepping

in reality, he wants to make sure that he can keep you steady should you be the one to trip

usually, when the power cuts out like this, you will simply bury yourself under your covers until you fall asleep

but it seems like it’s a common occurrence now - when mingi is by your side, sleep is easy to forget

so you take him to the small room you’ve leased above your bar and it is as though you have both rediscovered the innocent joys of life

hushed giggles are shared as you rifle through your storage and take turns lighting up the stubborn candles you have found

you nudge him as he nudges you back over where to scatter the candles around the room for maximum brightness, both of you falling into another bout of laughter when a particularly hard nudge ends up snuffing the candles in your hands

mingi takes out his phone and creates a playlist of cheesy christmas songs that he lets run in the background

grabbing your hands, he twirls you around the cramped space of your living room as you flush with joy

you shyly let him lead you through his silly little dances, but very quickly, you are both spinning and jumping and swaying barefoot to the music as the candle flames flicker in tandem all around you

the excitement teeters off slowly as the playlist transitions to slower instrumentals and you realise that without the heating on, your room is starting to become freezing

mingi is first to notice, attuned to the way a quick shiver racks your body

“come here,” he says, arms already moving before he can think better of it

he grabs the blanket that covers the back of your small couch and throws half of it over himself, one arm extending the rest of it so that he can wrap it around your form too

mingi slowly rubs his hands up and down the sides of your arms as he shuffles the two of you over to sink down onto the couch

you have to remind yourself to keep breathing, even as his every touch leaves behind a trail of goosebumps and electricity

“better?” he asks after a while

untrusting of your voice, you nod instead whilst clearing your throat, trying not to chase the feeling of his embrace when he retracts his arms from around you

silence falls upon you two

it’s not uncomfortable

but with the lack of noise to distract you, you are acutely aware of his close proximity and the warmth that he emits from your side

“it’s pretty, isn’t it,” he muses, gaze focused on the falling snow outside the window

“it is…”

…with you here

“you know what they say about the first snowfall of the year?” he nudges you softly

you chew on your bottom lip

shyly, you offer, “that if you confess your love it becomes true,” at the exact same time mingi says-

“that you shouldn’t eat the snow for the first hour or two”

you quickly cough and splutter out a question to cover up your statement, “h-how come?”

“the snow absorbs all the bad stuff in the air when it first falls”

the grin on his face makes you think that he may have heard your answer after all

slightly embarrassed, you avert your gaze and fumble for something to say

mingi saves you though

he points at the clock that has just ticked past midnight

“merry christmas, y/n,” he says tenderly

“merry christmas, mingi”

you relish in the moment, not wanting this night to end

“did you have anything you wanted for christmas?” you ask him

he hums in affirmation, slowly mulling over his next words before he answers, “there was someone i wanted to see”

he’s looking ahead, and from where you’re sitting next to him, shoulders brushing with each slight movement, the warm glow of the candles accentuates the sharp slopes of his side profile

you’ve noted this before, but in this moment mingi is beautiful

“did…did you get to see them?” you’re unsure why you’re holding your breath in anticipation

he doesn’t answer straight away

there’s a beat of silence

then he’s slowly turning his head with a gentle smile

“yeah,” he breathes out, looking at you with his soft, round eyes, “yeah, i did”

with your rosy cheeks and bashful expression, mingi cannot help himself

he confesses

“and i still am”

wooyoung

wooyoung very naturally reaches across the counter with the barcode scanner so that he can align the laser with your id badge

he hums happily as your employee discount is applied to the bag of chips he is purchasing

at this point, you don’t even bat an eye

he has long made himself at home in your convenience store whenever you work the night shift

“so,” wooyoung says as he finishes ringing up the price, “why are you working on christmas eve?”

you tilt your head, confused

“why shouldn’t i be working on christmas eve? and why aren’t you working? don’t you need to manage all your lackeys at the boxing rings?”

“no? because it’s christmas eve? everyone takes the week off,” he frowns as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world

you didn’t realise the mafia celebrated christmas too

apparently you say that out loud, because he is suddenly crossing his arms

…a little too defensively for you to take him seriously

“i didn’t know you were the mafia police,” he grumbles, “you gonna pull out a handbook and tell me that section 3.2 bans christmas for the mafia?”

you chuckle as you attempt to appease the childlike fire in his eyes, “sorry, you guys just seem like-”

you think better of your words and pause

“seem like what?”

“nothing”

“what? tell me what you were going to say!”

he pounces on you, attempting to bite your forearm as you squeal and relent

“you guys seem like the type to beat santa up, not celebrate his existence”

he stares at you

you stare at him

“you have three seconds to run,” he tells you

and run you do

filled with glee, you dash out from behind the counter and weave through the narrow aisles in a circle, wooyoung hot on your heels with his own matching shrieks

you both collapse in a fit of uncontrollable laughter when he suddenly switches direction and you end up running straight into his arms

sitting on the dirty floor of your convenience store during the quiet hours of night, your eyes teary from how hard you and wooyoung are laughing, you do not think there is a better way to spend your christmas eve

“i get paid almost double for working today,” you explain when you have both settled back behind the counter, sharing the bag of snacks he paid for earlier

you toss a chip in the air for wooyoung to catch as you continue, “plus, i can’t just take holidays when i want to”

it bounces off his forehead and he fumbles to catch it before it hits the ground

“why not?”

“because my boss won’t let me”

“oh. that’s it?”

“tHaT’s iT? shut the fuck up,” you shove a chip into his mouth as he sniggers

he excuses himself to make a quick call, so you take the opportunity to finish off the remainder of the snacks

hah.

this time, when he walks back in and sees the empty packet, he does bite you

and he makes you buy him another bag as compensation

(honestly, he should be buying you snacks because if you’re honest, you’re pretty sure he has enough money to buy your store and the whole chain)

you’re sharing the second bag of chips - read as: wooyoung being petty and hogging the snacks - when the store is suddenly plunged into dimness for a split second

you look up, blinking as you watch the lights flicker once, twice, and then completely die out with a fizzle

there’s still enough light coming from the frozen section as the standby generator kicks in for you to make out the inside of the store and wooyoung’s raised eyebrow

then the door chimes, alerting you to the arrival of customers

…or not-customers, you suppose

honestly, you should really be used to this by now

two men saunter in with shoulders squared like they own the place

you take one look at their balaclavas and the pistols in their hands and deduce that, “they wouldn’t happen to be some of your friends, right?”

wooyoung steps a little closer to whisper back, “nope”

“well, fuck. you going to do something about them or what?”

“are you kidding me? they’ve got guns”

“you’re part of the mafia. you’re telling me you don’t have one on you?”

he has the fucking nerve to flirt with you as he flexes his arms

“the only guns i got are these bad boys”

the men point their guns threateningly and wooyoung has the common sense to pipe down, both of you raising your hands cautiously

“get in the car,” one of them snarls

wooyoung moves after a split moment of hesitation, arms still raised as he walks towards the door

he looks back at you to see if you are following along, as if you two are taking a walk in the park and not being kidnapped at literal gunpoint

you’re going to roundhouse kick his head off once you make it out of this alive

his stupid gang better be real good at finding people

the kidnappers usher you and wooyoung into the back of a car, a very nice one you must say

it’s spacious and well-cushioned

at least the trip to whatever warehouse or abandoned building they take you to will be a comfy one

the door locks click and you hit the headrest behind you when the driver steps on the accelerator

“jesus christ! can you drive any faster?” wooyoung yells

you jerk your head sideways to look at him in horror

what is he thinking, provoking the armed men like that?

the man in the passenger seat must also share the same thought, because he whips his head around dangerously fast to stare at wooyoung

oh shit shit shit-

he raises a hand

he’s going to shoot wooyoung-

and pulls off his mask

“that’s not what you were saying when you called us 15 minutes ago, wooyoung”

“san?!” you screech in recognition

“hi again, darling,” san greets you with a sweet, dimpled smile, as if everything is okay

the driver also takes off their mask and he looks at you through the rearview mirror as he introduces himself, “hi, i’m mingi!”

you are absolutely incredulous

“you staged a whole fucking kidnapping for fun?”

wooyoung looks overjoyed, “so you can enjoy christmas eve!”

you’re not sure whether you want to laugh or cry at the ridiculousness of the situation

“you do realise the police are going to interrogate me, right?”

“don’t worry. jongho has connections with the police,” san reassures you

“what about the security footage?”

“hongjoong jammed the feed so there’s none,” mingi pipes up

“my boss is going to find out when he comes to check the morning shift”

“nah,” wooyoung waves away your concern this time, “he’ll be out of commission for a solid week or so”

now that catches your attention

sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose as you close your eyes and ask very calmly, “what did you guys do to my boss?”

wooyoung lets out a weak chuckle as he presses himself a little closer to the car door; a little further away from you

“yeosang may have, uh, knocked him out”

at your silence, he scrambles to redeem the situation, tugging at the end of your shirt for forgiveness, “we made sure to give your boss a pillow for his neck while he’s out cold!”

“you’re insufferable,” you tell him, starting to feel exhilarated from the whole situation

“just for you,” wooyoung puckers his lips teasingly

you sigh to conceal the smile that is starting to creep onto your face, but you are weak for him and he knows, so you don’t pull away when he laces his fingers through your hand

“merry christmas eve,” he beams at you

there’s the faint sound of someone gagging

wooyoung’s adoring gaze doesn’t leave you, not even as he kicks the back of san’s chair hard

you laugh, truly happy and free, “you know i’m still going to get fired for this, right?”

there’s silence

“well,” wooyoung contemplates

and for a split second, you think he is going to offer you a solution for the mess he made

but then again, what did you expect from wooyoung

“does this mean we get to spend christmas together then?”

jongho

jongho has one hand in the pocket of his slacks

his stance is relaxed, even as his other hand aims the gun at the police officers in front of him

they cower despite the abundance of money piled on the table before them and the stars and service strips that decorate their uniforms

after all, what use is dirty money and corrupt power in the face of death?

pathetic

their pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears

several gunshots ring out, followed by the thud of bodies dropping to the ground

elsewhere, you notice that it’s nearly time for you to clock out

it’s christmas eve and you are not spending a minute longer than you need to here in this hellhole

double checking that your badge is somewhere in your bag, you make a move to leave the police station when there is a sudden influx of noise

pagers beep, phones ring, voices shout

your ears perk up to catch the conversation and you hear the same few names leaving the lips of the police officers around you

the blood coursing through your veins freezes

because you know these names

these names have been burned into your brain, only recently, but still to the point where you can see them clearly whenever you close your eyes

they’re all officials in positions of high power, spending their days in air-conditioned offices and not actually doing anything apart from accepting bribes

but the thing that truly links them together - the secret that quite possibly, of the people in the station right now, only you’ve discovered through your connections - is that they are all involved in covering up the death of an officer five years ago

your father’s death

jongho and his gang have made sure that your father’s murderer has paid the price with his own life-

“all killed?!” you hear the police of chief gush with disbelief

-as have the corrupt officers who buried your father’s case, so it seems

a sense of calm settles over you

the clock tells you that it’s now three minutes past the end of your shift

the news is not a bad note to end on before your two-day christmas break

you sling your bag over your shoulder while the rest of the officers continue to speculate with nervous energy

the police force had no qualms turning their back on you years ago, so neither do you on them

you leave

when you make your way home, back to the modest apartment you now share with jongho, you are greeted by the smell of a cooking meal and the warmth of the blasting heater

you enter the open kitchen whilst removing your scarf

jongho is there in his suit, his coat slung over the back of a chair, tossing an assortment of diced vegetables into a pot of boiling soup

his sleeves have been rolled up to his elbows and you feel your throat go a little dry when the muscles along his forearm flex as he holds up the chopping board

you notice there are streaks of dried blood across his sleeves

and you would be concerned about the blood if this weren’t such a common occurrence

you know now that it’s never his own

when he notices your quiet presence, jongho turns to look at you the same way he always does whenever you come home from work

like he can never quite believe that you’re here with him after so many years apart

he greets you, smiling with anticipation, “did you like my christmas present?”

your mind flashes back to the frenzied panic at the station just earlier

“that was you?”

the smirk you receive is more than enough of an answer to your question

“you didn’t have to, jongho,” but despite your words, you walk over appreciatively into his outstretched arms

“of course i did,” he shushes you with a deep kiss as his arms wrap around you tightly. “nobody messes with my girl”

his words send a hot rush right through your body

the corner of his lips quirks as he feels you squirm a little in his hold

“cop or not,” he nudges your head to the side so he has easy access to nip at your throat, “you’re mine to protect”

you fist the front of his shirt in an attempt to hold back a needy whine, instead, letting out a shaky breath that does little to hide how affected you are

in a last-ditch effort to take control of the situation, you take a step back and reach into the side pocket of your uniform to pull out your handcuffs

“too bad this cop is going to arrest you for murder,” you joke

jongho cannot help but smile at the cocky facade you put on when your cheeks are so clearly flushed

he brings his wrists together in front of him and offers his hands to you

“are you going to frisk me too, officer?”

when you swallow, now silent, jongho continues, “i might be armed with something that could…destroy you”

a shiver of excitement runs through you and it doesn’t go unnoticed

he steps forward to close the gap between you both, one hand reaching for the handcuffs hanging loosely from your grasp

jongho pauses when his fingers touch the cool metal, waiting for you to look at him properly

you see his eyes darting between your own as he searches for any signs of discomfort or hesitation

can i?

you let go of the handcuffs so that they are in his hold alone

yes

his gaze turns predatory almost immediately

“my turn,” he rasps lowly

he flips you around so that you face the kitchen counter, grabbing your arms and holding them behind you

you are pliant under his touch, but you cannot deny that it turns you on when he is a little rougher with you

jongho cuffs your wrists together and he waits as you tug on them experimentally

you feel the flutter of his fingertips dancing around where the metal surrounds your wrists

“is this okay?” he asks, voice gentle again

you reassure him, “yeah, more than okay,” before you emphasise your words by grinding your ass back against him

he tuts with a chuckle as he stands steady behind you, allowing you to use his rapidly-hardening cock for stimulation while his hands rest on your waist

it’s not enough though

“touch me, please,” you breathe out

“please, who?” he teases, hands sliding up and down your sides but never adding any pressure

your thighs clench because you know exactly what he wants

“please, officer,” you beg

“see, that wasn’t so hard,” jongho whispers right into your ear

the buttons on your uniform blouse are suddenly undone and in one swift motion, he yanks your bra down to expose your breasts

his fingers find your nipples easily, familiar with every inch of your body, and you let out a gasp of pleasure when he pinches them

he pins your hips against the countertop with his own, clothed bulge pressing firmly into you

your cuffed hands scrabble to find purchase when he nudges your legs open with his thigh

but then all of a sudden, his heated touches and wandering hands disappear

the whine you let out at the loss of his presence is almost pathetic as you twist your head around to look for him

“give me a second, baby, i just need to,” he steps over to the bubbling pot of soup and twists the knob down on the stove, “adjust the fire”

you bend forward onto the countertop, exposing the wet patch that you are sure has started to show on the crotch of your pants

“jongho,” you start to beg again, “i want to cum”

“i know, baby, but i don’t want to burn our house down and i want to make sure i get to feed you dinner,” he strides back to you in two quick steps

“now that that’s sorted,” he turns your body around so that you’re facing him, “i think it’s time for my appetiser”

he swiftly tugs your pants and panties down, kneeling to tap on your ankles lightly, a silent request for you to step out of your clothes

he tosses them to one side before his hands come back up to grip either of your thighs so that he can spread your legs

you brace your cuffed hands against the edge of the countertop behind you

it’s not the most comfortable position to be in, but then jongho is using his fingers to spread your pussy apart and your ability to form any coherent thought leaves your body

he blows lightly on your clit, enjoying the way you flinch at the sensation

“look at you,” he drags a fingertip at an agonisingly slow pace through your folds, “already so wet when i’ve barely even touched you”

he holds you still when you try to grind down on his finger

“use your words, baby,” he grins up at you with a smug expression

“i need y-”

he cuts your words right off by attaching his lips to your clit, drawing out a strangled cry of pleasure from you

you feel the long-awaited stretch of your pussy as jongho foregoes one finger and plunges two digits straight into your hole

“fuck!” the curse slips out of you when he sucks and licks your clit in time with the thrusts of his fingers scissoring in and out of you

he curls a finger and your knees very nearly buckle from under you, your back arching as jongho groans against your pussy and continues to abuse the sensitive spot he has found

a pressure starts to build in your core

“i’m close,” you manage to choke out

you miss the moment jongho briefly removes his lips to glance to his side, replacing his mouth with a thumb to rub harsh circles against your clit, before he tells you, “not yet, baby”

“i can’t, jongho, please, let me cum,” you plead

“wait, hang in there a little longer. i know you can,” yet despite his words, he shoves his fingers up harder with renewed vigour

you almost sob from desperation, “wait for fucking what?! your dick isn’t even in me!”

“just a little longer, baby,” he reassures you as your thighs shake around him

you can’t do it anymore

you have to cum

you have to-

“cum,” he simply says, before reattaching his mouth to your clit

your orgasm rips through you and you cannot do anything but tremble and shudder under the administrations of his tongue and fingers

jongho holds you through it all, milking out your orgasm until its very last waves-

just as the timer on the stove goes off

“what the fuck?” you blurt out

your mind is still hazy from pleasure but you’re pretty fucking sure he just timed your orgasm with the stove

jongho licks his fingers with a brazen smile and then goes over to peer into his pot of soup

after he gives it a final stir, he turns the fire off completely and places a lid on the top to keep it warm

you watch, rendered speechless

except when he turns back around, you stay silent for a completely different reason

he eyes you hungrily as he strips his tie and unbuttons his dress shirt

“round two, baby”

he grabs your cuffed hands and guides you towards your shared bedroom, then fishes out the keys from your blouse

you welcome the feeling of jongho unlocking your handcuffs for a moment of rest

settling against the head of the bed, you watch as jongho fully sheds his shirt and lets it drop to the ground

he unzips his slacks and his cock springs free, the bulbous head a tantalising pink as he easily strokes himself to full erection

your pussy clenches desperately around nothing in anticipation and jongho watches your own arousal leak out

he gathers your wrists together once more and pins them above you, handcuffing you to the headboard as you completely submit to him

jongho leans over you and encases your smaller frame with his muscular build

his voice is low and teasing

“you have the right to remain silent,” he says as he aligns his girthy length with your entrance, “but i doubt you will”

#one day hongjoong's will be pure fluff and you'll be left thirstin #switching it up 😌☝️#we've got joong san jongho now #WDYM THE MAFIA DON'T TAKE ADVANTAGE OF CHRISTMAS AND GO ON A CRIME RAMPAGE ???#WHEN I TELL YOU I LAUGHED SO HARD AT THE INFLATABLE SANTA TAG #PLEASE #the image of him ricocheting off and landing on top like those vids of people bouncing off the boxing ring ropes onto their opponents #HAS ME HOWLING #AND SO DOES THE CERTIFIED ORPHAN #BECAUSE THAT WAS HONESTLY ME IF MY MUM EVER CAME HOME LATE BY LIKE FIVE MINUTES #yun stop shooting bullets and come shoot your shot #i'm waiting 💅#yeo really is just domestic fluffy scarves fluffy mittens fluffy blankets coded #idk i kinda imagined their party to be at someone's apartment so /very technically/ their base has no mistletoe #only broken christmas trees and cookies thanks to joong #OMG I'M SO HAPPY YOU REMEMBERED CCG #didn't use that reference bc i didn't know if many people would have read / remembered the original and the part 2 #it's crazy to think how attached we are to a fictional leather coat 🤪#just taking delulu to another levelulu #NAH MAN YOU BEST BET WOO AIN'T MAKING YOU WORK #you gonna be his princess #and you're gonna have to fight him to let you work #JONGHO SMUT JONGHO SMUT JONGHO SMUT INDEED #this is the most amount of tags in a reblog i've ever received #i couldn't even fit it into one screenshot #but this brought me so much joy and laughter #like THANK YOU THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart <333 #laura 🦭

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redr0sewrites · 7 months ago

Note

Viktor general romance hcs!

🥀A/n: HES SO POOKIE I LOVE HIM‼️

🥀Cw: fluff, smut, slight angst if u squint, switch!viktor

🥀minors dni with the nsfw portion

sfw:

this man is such a workaholic, he genuinely never thought that he would fall in love

viktor is very inexperienced in the romance department, so he's definitely a little awkward at first

once he's close with someone, he definitely starts to open up to them a lot more! he'd really appreciate a partner that he can have deep, philosophical conversations with and definitely asks for your opinion on a lot of things

your a very valuable person in his life, and viktor makes sure that you know that. while he may not be great with words, his actions show that he truly cares for you

while he may not admit it, viktor loves when you complete acts of service for him or help him at all. he loves when you visit him in the lab and bring him some coffee, it always makes his day

because he works so much and spends so much time in the lab, viktor will often invite you to join him there. you two often spend hours together, just sitting in near-silence and working in tandem. viktor would love it if you got along well with jayce (and sky too but mostly jayce), you are his favorite people and he would love it if you all got along

viktor isn't the most cuddly person in the world, but he makes some exceptions for you! after a long day, he loves just melting into your embrace and having you play with his hair. viktor would spend hours just laying in your lap and rambling about hextech if he could

he's not big on pda, but he loves holding your hand. viktor holds your hand anywhere and everywhere, he always wants you as close to him as possible and he'll sometimes trace words into the back of your hand with his thumb when you are asleep. before he said "i love you" out loud, viktor probably traced it against your skin at least a million times.

viktor prefers to stay in for dates, and definitely enjoys staying up late with you. idk if they have television in the world of arcane, but it seems a little shocking that they can have giant magical teleportation portals and literal magic orbs and magic flying blimps and body enhancing drugs but haven't created a tv. so like. lets just pretend they do have television. cuz if they do, than you and viktor DEFINITELY have movie marathons and movie nights together

he loves making you little trinkets and gifts!!! whenever there is extra material leftover at the lab, viktor's first thought is to make something for you! he once made you an entire bouquet of fake flowers out of scrap metal, and told you that he would love you until the flowers withered (it would never wither cuz its made of metal ☹️). your home is practically overflowing with these little trinkets, but you REFUSE to get rid of any of them (i think i saw the flower scenario on a tiktok, but URGRHRHRH i wanna write it so... if anyone is interested... 😇)

honestly, the best time spent with viktor is in the comfort of your own home. you have a very domestic relationship, and he likes sitting with you in comfortable silence.

he'll call you pet names in zaun, even before you two are together😭

overall, viktor is genuinely such a sweetheart once he trusts you and will stay by your side no matter what

nsfw:

SWITCH LEANING SUB 🫵🫵🫵

because of his leg and overall sickness, viktor definitely prefers simpler positions that don't require a lot of physical stress

he likes having you on top of him so that he doesn't have to put pressure on his knee, and he definitely prefers not having to push himself too hard

i'd say his favorite positions would probably be you riding him, sitting on his face, lotus position, and maybe 69 or missionary too (but the last two are only on good days when he isn't in too much pain)

at first, viktor was insecure about sleeping with you because he genuinely does not think very highly of himself and didn't want you to think that he was weak or ugly :( please reassure him

ON THAT TOPIC!!! PRAISE!!!!!!

praise is literally SO important to him, while it is one of his kinks i genuinely think he appreciates it outside of the bedroom as well.

lots and lots of communication. "is this ok", "can i touch you here", type of stuff. he's very gentle with you, and obviously you are with him as well

because he wears his leg brace literally all the time, viktor has a handful of bruises and scars from the brace rubbing against his skin 24/7 (idk if he sleeps w it on tbh- im assuming not but u get the point) and he can be a little insecure about them. PLEASE kiss them and show his body a lot of affection in general

viktor isn't super vocal at first, but once he trusts you he lets out the neediest whines and moans. he curses a lot under his breath, and he has a verrryyyyy pretty fucked-out expression.

this man is a switch 100%. most of the time he subs and bottoms, but sometimes he'll dom from the bottom and very occasionally he'll dom from on top. when he's a sub i definitely see him as, like, the male version of a pillow princess. he definitely just wants to lay back and get taken care of, and will get very pouty if you do not do so. he loves being pampered and praised and he's SOOO sensitive when he's subbing. when he's in a more dominant mood, i see him getting off on your pleasure a lot more than his own. he loves fingering you, and definitely loves overstimulating you

viktor loves being marked and also marking you. he bites down on your shoulder a lot to muffle his moans, and he loves giving you hickeys. i genuinely think that's another one of his kinks as well

TOYS!!! im sorry but this man definitely has an extensive collection of sex toys you can't tell me im wrong bc im not. he isn't inexperienced by any means, but he probably got a lot of toys over the years because he just didn't really have that many partners and just wanted to try a bunch of things on his own yk? anyways, he fucking LOVES using them on you and teasing you mercilessly is definitely part of your guys' foreplay

this man has the most gorgeous hands and definitely puts them to good use‼️ you cannot tell me viktor does not have amazingly skilled hands bc your wrong. he literally does jayce told me

i don't think he's super vanilla but i also don't think he's into like SUPER hardcore bdsm? i think it would intrigue him but he's probably the type to be into what you are into and if you want to try something new, he's more than willing (as long as its safe. either of you getting seriously hurt is a major nono for him). that being said, i don't think he'd mind being handcuffed or experimenting a bit with shibari, but you guys DEFINITELY have a safeword. like even if you have 100% vanilla soft sex he still establishes a safeword with u and makes sure your comfortable.

overall, his kinks include: praise (giving and receiving), little bit of edging (receiving), overstimulation (only giving), marking, and kind of a wildcard but also maybe somnophilia. like he would NOT complain about waking up to head lmao- he's def the type to have wet dreams i want to write this omg

i am so! tired!!! still feeling very crappy but i am pushing through my classes until the end of the year 😭 i am so close and yet so far 🙂‍↕️

ANYWAYS HOPE U ENJOYED!!! FEEL FREE TO SEND IN ARCANE REQUESTS!!! ive also been on a huge jayce x viktor streak lately? im not usually a big shipper but their dynamic intrigues me. i want to put them in a jar together and shake them around a bit. but yea i love them both!!!

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alygator77 · 5 months ago

Text

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 2 ᰔᩚ

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

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

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex » 【note, there is physical & emotional intimidation in this chapter (from naoya not satoru), this is a form of domestic abuse, reader discretion advised】

ꨄ words: 12.5k

ꨄ a/n. firstly, wow thank you so much for all your kind words on ch 1 :") secondly, this series may be more than 3 chapters (maybe more like 4 or 5?) idk i'm still working out the pacing rn bc i really want the relationship to feel fluid and natural. this chapter ended up being much longer than i anticipated 😅 but as always, i would love to hear your thoughts and hope you enjoy ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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ch 2 // under the spotlight

Becoming a mother makes you realize you can do almost anything one-handed—though honestly, sometimes you wish you had an abundance of limbs.

Especially now. Your apartment is a whirlwind of activity – scattered toys, half packed bags and the remnants of breakfast still on the table. You’re in the middle of prepping your daughter’s essentials, trying to make sure you don’t forget anything important. Her preferred snacks, extra clothes, diapers, and a few of her favorite toys all stuffed into a bag.

“Mama, mama, look!”

Haru’s innocent voice rings out like a melody amidst your morning clamor. Halting your frantic movements, you’re drawn to her face, lit up with pure joy as she holds up her beloved Pikachu plushie. The bright yellow toy bounces in her hands as she makes it dance.

Her innocence provides a brief, much-needed, calm to the storm of nerves brewing inside of you. After all, today’s the day you’re meeting with Satoru and his lawyer to finalize the marriage contract. Your marriage—weird.

It feels odd saying it, the word foreign on your tongue. Marriage is a concept you never thought you’d be rushing into, especially not like this.

Once upon a time, you thought you’d marry Naoya Zenin.

Back then, you were so in love with his charm, his confidence, and the way he seemed to have everything figured out. But reality had a way of shattering those illusions.

His charm turned to arrogance, his confidence to control. It wasn’t long before you realized he cared more about owning you than loving you, and now you’re left with nothing but heartache and a broken family.

But amidst your turmoil you found a precious gift—Haru.

Her infectious giggle is a stark contrast to the chaos within your mind—it always manages to pull you back from your whirlwind of worries.

You’ll do anything in your power to keep her smiling, even if that means marrying Satoru Gojo, the man who is guilty for an abundance of your headaches.

With a deep breath, you zip up your duffle bag and turn to Haru who is lovably babbling to Pikachu.

“Come here, sweetie,” you say, kneeling down with her small jacket in your hand.

She toddles over to you, clutching her comforting plushie, eyes wide and curious.

Easing her tiny arms into the sleeves, you gently help Haru into her jacket.

“We’re going to meet some new friends today,” you tell her softly, fastening the buttons with care. “One of them is named Mr. Gojo.”

“Mr. Gojo?” she echoes, face scrunching up in concentration.

Truth be told, you weren't planning on bringing Haru to this meeting, but you’re faced with a lack of options, especially since technically, you’re fired.

Well… temporarily.

Until Satoru rehires you, paying the nanny isn’t feasible with your already stretched finances, Utahime, your ever-reliable friend, is unavailable. Your neighbor, who sometimes steps in to help, is out of town, and your mom is… your mom – as undependable as ever.

At this point you'd rather be caught dead than call Naoya again.

Calling him yesterday, when your nanny bailed, was a moment of pure desperation, a lapse in judgment driven by the chaos of the day and the fear of getting fired. Not your proudest moment.

It’s no surprise he’ll likely use it against you—hold it over your head like a weapon. It’s a pattern you’re all too familiar with.

But today marks the beginning of a new chapter, one that you’re determined to make the best of for both you and your daughter—once this marriage is finalized, you’ll be back to earning a steady income again.

A sigh escapes your lips as you focus back on Haru, her innocent eyes look up at you expectantly.

“Yes, Mr. Gojo,” you repeat, giving her a reassuring smile as you reach down to tie her shoelaces. “We’re going on an adventure today, just you and Mommy.”

“An adventure!” Haru cheers, clapping her hands in unbridled excitement.

Just as you pull the last loop tight, a knock reverberates through the front door, startling you. It’s unexpected, you weren’t anticipating any visitors.

With a deep breath, you twist the handle and pull the door open. The sight that greets you sends a cold wave of dread crashing over you, your heart pounding in your chest.

Speak of the devil—Naoya.

He has an uncanny knack for impeccable timing, always appearing when he’s least wanted.

His presence is as imposing as ever—a smirk crowned on his lips, posture relaxed, hands in his pockets—exuding an air of ownership over everything that’s around him.

As if he owns you.

Damn it. You really can’t deal with this right now; you don’t have the time. Satoru is expecting you, and you need to get moving.

Leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, he surveys you with that annoyingly smug expression plastered upon his face.

"Well, well, if it isn't my two favorite girls," he drawls, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

The frustration you feel from Naoya is vastly different from what you experience with Satoru. With Satoru, it's harmless—like dealing with a mischievous child. But with Naoya, every sight of him makes you want to flee, as if each encounter is a battle you barely survive. He reopens old wounds that never truly healed, leaving you raw and exposed.

Every fiber of your being screams in protest at the sight of him, but you force yourself to maintain composure—refusing to let him see the effect he has on you.

"What do you want, Naoya? I really don’t have time for this today."

Turning away from him, you begin gathering the last of Haru’s things with brisk, precise movements, making it clear you have no intention of prolonging this interaction.

He steps inside, smirk widening with satisfaction and tone laced with mock concern.

"Just thought I'd drop by and see how you're managing. Got your message. Heard you were looking for a babysitter yesterday.”

As expected—you’re really kicking yourself for calling him. His false sympathy only heightens your irritation, grating on your nerves as the condescension drips from his words like venom.

If you weren’t already leaving, you would slam the door right in his smug face.

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to keep your tone steady, for no one other than Haru.

"We're fine, Naoya. We don’t need your help."

In hopes to end this conversation quickly, you grasp Haru’s hand and attempt to brush past him. But he sidesteps, effectively forbidding your path to the door, looming like an unwanted shadow.

"Still as stubborn as ever, I see. How’s that working out for you?” he scowls as he peers through your apartment, “This place is a mess. And you don’t look like you’re dressed for work. Lost your job already?”

His words hit a nerve, you feel your cheeks flush with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"We are managing just fine. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have somewhere to be."

But he wasn’t going to let you go so easily. His expression darkens, and as you repeatedly try to step past him, he halts you yet again, blocking your way like an insurmountable wall.

"And where exactly are you going? Shouldn't you be at work today?"

"That's none of your business. I really need to go," you retort, lifting your chin assertively as you force your way past him. Your shoulder brushes against his in a deliberate act of defiance.

The moment you cast him aside, he immediately pursues after—but choosing to ignore him, you close the door behind you, turning the lock with a decisive click.

As you start leading Haru towards the elevator, you adopt a brisk pace in hopes to put as much distance between you and Naoya as possible.

But he raises an eyebrow, smirk widening as he traverses after you. You hear his footsteps echoing down the hallway of your apartment complex.

"Oh, I think it is my business. Especially when it concerns my daughter."

Oh, please.

It’s painfully ironic how he pretends to care about Haru only when it suits him.

After you served him child support papers, he had the audacity to demand a DNA test, claiming he needed ‘proof’ that Haru was his. Of course, something like that takes time for the judge to arrange.

He knew that damn well—it was just another ploy to delay the process further.

As anger bubbles up within you, a scoff escapes your lips, teetering on the edge of a bitter laugh.

"Oh, so she’s yours when it’s convenient for you. Don't pretend you care about Haru now. You’ve done nothing but make our lives difficult."

Your movements are sharp and frantic until you finally halt in front of the elevator. Just as you press the button to descend, Naoya’s presence descends over you—suffocating like a dark cloud, his face twisting into a menacing scowl.

"Maybe if you weren’t so damn stubborn, things wouldn’t be so difficult. You know, if you ever need help, all you have to do is ask," the insincerity in his voice makes your skin crawl—as his words slither into your ears, each syllable is laced with a condescending edge.

You scoff, jabbing the button over and over again with mounting urgency. Can this damn elevator come any faster?

"Help? From you? I'd rather figure things out on my own than rely on your 'help'."

He steps closer, making you feel small and cornered. It’s a familiar tactic he would use to get his way—the accustomed sense of intimidation he used to exert over you returns, chilling your spine.

"Suit yourself. Just remember, you can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, you’ll realize you need me again,” his voice drops to a low, threatening whisper, the underlying menace making it clear that he relishes the control he still believes he has over you.

Suddenly, you feel small tiny hands gripping tightly onto your leg. Haru’s wide eyes dart between the two of you, her innocent face reflecting a nervous unease that she can’t fully understand—but you do.

Fuck it. Enough is enough. You can't let this continue any longer—screw the elevator.

With a determined breath, you scoop Haru into your arms, feeling her trembling slightly against you. "Come on, sweetie," you say softly.

Her tiny heart beats against your chest, mirroring your own anxiety. Holding her close, you immediately head towards the stairway, your stride quickening.

But Naoya's presence lingers, his footsteps echoing ominously after you.

“Really, Naoya?”

Oh, this is it. Your patience is wearing thin—he’s like a growth you can’t get rid of.

You feel Haru’s grip tighten around your neck as she buries her face into your shoulder. You have been trying desperately not to yell, for Haru’s sake, but at this point, Naoya is overstepping your boundaries.

“Just go away. The only thing I need from you is to hurry up and finish that damn DNA test,” you shout, refusing to look back as you head towards the stairs. “There was no reason for that bullshit; you know Haru is yours. I know you’re just trying to stall our court date,” you snap, your voice trembling with frustration and anger.

Naoya’s eyes gleam with a cold amusement, and the corners of his mouth curl up into a mocking smile.

"Stalling? Hardly. You’re insane, I just want to be thorough. You should understand that, being so meticulous yourself," he sneers, tone derisively sweet.

Finally, you reach the stairway—beginning your descent, Haru clings tightly to you as Pikachu dangles precariously from each hurried step.

"This conversation is over, Naoya,” your voice echoes in the narrow space. “Stay out of our lives. I only want to see you in court."

Naoya contemplates following you, lowering himself a few steps before abruptly stopping. As his voice reverberates through the stairwell, his unsettling demand bounces off the cold concrete walls, chilling you to your core.

"For now, y/n. But remember, this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. You always come crawling back to me one way or another. You’re incapable of anything without me."

There was a time when you believed those words, but you will not fall back into that same vicious cycle.

Choosing not to respond, your resolve is sharpened with one clear goal, getting Haru and yourself out of this building as quickly as possible.

The moment you clear through the lobby door, a shaky sigh escapes your lips. This day is already starting off with a bang—hopefully it goes much better at Satoru’s.

Forcing a smile for your frightened daughter, you try to mask the tears welling up in your eyes—the tremor in your voice quaking.

“Come on honey, let’s go meet Mr. Gojo.”

Time to get this marriage finalized.

ꨄ︎

You had expectations of what Satoru’s house would be like, but even those couldn’t hold a light to the real thing—it’s a stark contrast to the modest apartment you call home.

The meticulously manicured lawn, the pristine arcadian, and the large, ornate door all showcase opulence.

It’s far more luxurious than you had imagined, making you feel distinctly out of place as you step out of your car in your worn jeans and t-shirt, hair pulled up in a lazy bun.

Wait…should you have come dressed businesslike?

But you have Haru—was this supposed to be a professional meeting? Fuck.

On top of everything else, you’re already a few minutes late. Tardiness has become a tiresome trend in your life, one that exhausts you to your very core.

Traversing the entryway, Haru grips your hand tightly as you walk through the stone pathway. Her fingers tremble slightly, perhaps from the unsettling encounter with Naoya, or perhaps from the overwhelming new environment.

Nerves simmer through you once you approach the doorway, but you resolve to mask them. You weren’t going to let Naoya ruin your day—this meeting is your chance to retake control of your life.

As you reach out and press the doorbell, a soft melodic chime resonates, echoing through the spacious foyer beyond.

Within moments, the door swings open, revealing Satoru.

You immediately feel a sense of relief as you observe him dressed surprisingly casual—a fitted blue t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and lean frame, paired with dark jeans that hug his long legs. His snowy hair remains tousled in that effortlessly stylish way, framing his strikingly handsome face.

It’s impossible to advert your eyes as he greets you with that familiarly confident smile curling upon his lips, and those vivid blue eyes, enchanting you with an intriguing glint.

“Hm, late again, I see,” Satoru teases, dramatically placing a hand over his heart as if wounded with an exaggerated sigh. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show up. Here I was, thinking you might divorce me before we even get married—” he stops, lifting his brow as his gaze shifts to the small figure peeking out from behind your legs.

“Well, well, and who is this?”

Haru’s wide eyes are filled with curiosity and apprehension. She peeps out nervously, clutching her plushie’s worn, familiar fabric for comfort.

Satoru’s smile softens as he looks at the little girl, but a twinge of uncertainty tugs at him internally. Children were a mystery to him, their emotions and reactions unpredictable.

What should he say? How should he act?

A flicker of fear crosses his mind—what if he says the wrong thing and makes her cry?

Oh God…

The thought of dealing with a child's tears makes him feel out of his depth, a sensation he’s not accustomed to. Satoru finds himself in unfamiliar territory. He’s used to commanding rooms and negotiating high-stake deals, not interacting with shy children clutching stuffed toys.

But faking confidence has always worked in the business world, and he is determined to make a good impression now.

As you notice Haru’s uncertainty, you gently caress her head, delicately coaxing her out from behind your legs.

"It’s okay, sweetie. This is Mr. Gojo, can you say hi?"

There is an air about you—the gentle ease in your voice, the way you instinctively know how to comfort Haru. It stirs something within Satoru, something he can’t quite place.

All he knows it that now he really doesn’t want to fuck this up.

"I’m really sorry for bringing her along," you begin, tone earnest as you meet Satoru with an apologetic gaze. "I hope it’s okay. I just didn’t have anyone who could watch her today. But she’ll keep to herself during our meeting, I promise."

Satoru’s expression softens further as he looks at Haru, his uncertainty momentarily forgotten. She is so fragile, so docile. In her delicate features, he sees an uncanny resemblance to you—a small reflection of your strength and vulnerability intertwined.

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” he reassures softly. Crouching down to her level, his toothy smile is warm and inviting. “Hi there, I’m Satoru. What’s your name?”

Haru looks up at you for reassurance, her small hand tightening around your leg. Encouraged by your nod, she turns back to Satoru and whispers tentatively—

“Haru.”

Satoru grins, captivated by the softness and delicacy of Haru's voice. Though he is uncertain how to connect with a child. His mind races—

What do kids like?

What should he say next?

While his thoughts scramble, a spark of an idea forms the moment he observes Haru clutching Pikachu.

“Nice to meet you, Haru. Do you like Pokémon?”

Haru nods, her grip on the plushie relaxing slightly. There is a subtle warmth behind the apprehension in her eyes as she holds up her Pikachu toy to show Satoru.

“Yes, Pikachu.”

“Pikachu is pretty cool,” he lets out a contemplative hum as he tries to find common ground. A faint nostalgic smile plays on his features. “But you know, Digimon is even better. Have you ever heard of Agumon?”

Haru’s eyes widen with curiosity as she shakes her head, her interest clearly piqued.

Satoru’s inner child shines through—eyes sparkling with a genuine enthusiasm as his lips curl up into a grin. This is his chance to bridge the gap between them.

“Tell ya what, maybe we can watch some Digimon together sometime. How’s that sound?”

You feel Haru’s grip loosen on your leg. A faint smile touches her lips and a quiet giggle escapes as her initial shyness begins to slowly fade.

“Okay.”

There are many thoughts that come to your mind as you watch this interaction play out—the foremost being how unexpectedly gentle Satoru can be with kids. Something about him, that overconfident and sometimes arrogant man you’ve worked beside, feels different now. Almost likable.

Charming, even

But what you really can’t fathom the most is the image of a sophisticated billionaire engrossed in a kids’ cartoon. That concept alone is enough to make you suppress a laugh.

“You’re a fan of Digimon?” you raise an eyebrow.

Satoru stands up, brushing off his knees with a nonchalant shrug and a crooked smile.

“I used to watch it all the time growing up. Please, come in,” he ushers you inside the building, leading you down the grand hall.

Your breath hitches at the sight of the expansive foyer. The high ceiling, polished marble floors, and impressive chandelier casting a warm glow leave you speechless.

Following behind him, you find yourself studying Satoru’s confident strides—the movement of his back, his broad shoulders and the effortless air of authority he exudes. It’s a stark contrast to what you just witnessed moments ago with Haru.

But that alone makes him even more intriguing to you. Satoru can feel a bit like a wild card. Glimpses of tenderness hidden behind feigned aloofness—subtle playfulness followed by an exacting seriousness.

He keeps surprising you.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Digimon fan,” you remark as you follow behind him.

Satoru chuckles, scratching the back of his head.

“Guilty as charged.”

You can’t help but notice the way he avoids your gaze—is he perhaps being… bashful?

Oh, this is rich.

You really would need an abundance of limbs to count on your hands the amount of times Satoru has given you shit—making your life a daily torture is his specialty after all. Perhaps that is why you couldn’t resist letting this opportunity pass up.

“Next thing you’ll tell me is that you have a secret stash of Digimon cards somewhere,” you snort.

Satoru lets out a contemplative hum.

“Well, I did have a pretty impressive collection back in the day. Who knows, maybe I still have them tucked away in a drawer somewhere.”

“Seriously?” you are unable to hide the amusement in your voice. “You, with a collection of Digimon cards? That’s something I’d pay to see.”

He rolls his eyes with a pout tugging on his lips.

“You’re enjoying this too much. Maybe I’ll dig them out for you one day. But only if you’re nice.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Me, nice to you? That’s a tall order.”

A faint chuckle leaves Satoru’s lips as the spacious foyer transitions into a grand hallway. Haru skips beside you, glancing up at Satoru with a newfound admiration.

The moment you reach a large set of intricately carved wooden doors, he pauses, turning to you with a reassuring smile before pushing them open.

Inside, a cozy yet sophisticated study awaits—shelves lined with books and a large mahogany desk dominating the room.

“Yo, Suguru,” he waves flippantly, “this is y/n and her daughter, Haru.”

Your eyes are met with a man seated behind the desk—a calm and composed air about him. He is strikingly beautiful, raven hair tied back into a bun with louse tousles framing his face. As he looks up from a stack of papers, his sharp yet gentle eyes focus on you and Haru. He rises, extending a hand with a polite smile.

“Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Suguru Geto.”

“Nice to meet you as well,” you shake his hand with a subtle nod.

The presence of another stranger causes Haru’s shyness to return as she hides behind your legs again—you kneel down, smoothing her hair gently.

“Haru,” you pull out a small bag of her favorite toys from your duffle bag, “why don’t you take a seat over there and play with your toys while Mommy talks with Mr. Gojo and Mr. Geto?”

With a light nod, Haru takes the bag and settles into a comfortable armchair in the corner of the room—spreading out her treasures with a look of concentration.

You take a seat across from Suguru, with Satoru sinking into the chair beside you—posture relaxed and seemingly indifferent.

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” Suguru leans forward, “I’ve drafted the marriage contract based on the discussions I’ve had with Satoru. I’ll walk you through the main points.”

Referencing the document upon the desk, he begins.

“Firstly, as you both know, the purpose of this marriage is strictly business-related with no romantic implications. Both parties agree to maintain the appearance of a committed relationship in public and professional settings.”

Okay, easy—right?

You nod, but in the corner of your eye you can see Satoru lounging back in his chair. The mild disinterest on his face and the nonchalant way he twirls a pen between his fingers makes you grit your teeth.

He carries a casual attitude—one you shouldn’t be surprised with at this point because it’s the same infuriating aura he brings to every business meeting. But in this case, it’s a stark contrast to the gravity of this conversation. Here you are, discussing marriage and he’s sitting here as if you’re determining what to eat for lunch.

Yup, nothing’s changed. He still aggravates the hell out of you.

“Next, the duration of the marriage is set for one year, starting from the date of signing,” Suguru continues. “There are provisions for extending or terminating the marriage early, should both parties agree.”

You absorb every word as you listen intently, but Satoru seems to be in his own world. It takes all your self-control not to roll your eyes as you catch him leaning back further into his chair, now balancing it on two legs. He taps his pen against his lip thoughtfully—an indifferent expression plastered across his face.

Is he even listening?

Here you are, about to commit to a fake marriage for the sake of your job and your daughter, and Satoru looks like a bored child.

You shoot him a sideways glance, silently willing him to take this more seriously, but the moment he catches your eye he simply offers a lazy wink, making your blood boil even more.

Suguru, unfazed by Satoru's demeanor, continues outlining the contract.

“The financial arrangements are next…Satoru will include a monthly allowance to you, y/n, to cover personal and household expenses. Both parties will maintain separate bank accounts, and any joint financial decisions require mutual consent.”

You blink in surprise. A monthly allowance?

Though you had asked Satoru to cover child care, you weren’t expecting this level of financial support. Isn’t that a bit excessive?

“Wait, what?” you blurt out, unable to hide your astonishment. “A monthly allowance? For personal and household expenses?”

Satoru’s chair drops back onto all four legs with a soft thud as he leans forward, finally showing a hint of interest. He raises an eyebrow at your reaction, a lazy smile curling his lips.

“We wouldn’t want you or Haru to struggle, now, would we?”

His words sound almost considerate, but it’s the casual way he says them that makes you question his sincerity.

“Some might see you being my secretary as a conflict of interest now. You’ll still work beside me, but I can’t give you a formal salary for that role. Doing it this way ensures that all you have to worry about is playing your part. Besides,” he adds, a hint of amusement creeping back into his voice, “what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t support my wife?”

Raising an eyebrow, you shoot him a wary look, trying to gauge his true intentions. It makes sense… but is he mocking you, or is this his way of showing genuine concern? With Satoru, it’s always hard to tell.

Suguru clears his throat, drawing your attention back to the contract.

“Moving on to the living arrangements, you will both reside in the marital home here.”

Satoru interrupts, tone almost too nonchalant as he leans back in his chair and lazily stretches, “I’ve already arranged for a moving company to pack your things in a few days. They’ll handle everything.”

You blink, the suddenness of it all sinking in.

“Huh?”

“Problem, sweetheart?”

“I... I didn’t realize I’d be moving in so… soon. What about my apartment? I have a lease, and breaking it will incur a penalty.”

He waves off your concern with a dismissive hand, leaning back further with hands casually behind his head.

“I’ll pay it. Consider it handled. No point in you staying there when you’re supposed to be living here.”

Your eyes widen, taken aback by his insouciant dismissal of what, to you, is a significant expense.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. We need to make this look legitimate, and that means living together. Consider it part of the arrangement.”

To him, solving problems with money seamed effortless.

To you, this isn’t just a contract; it’s a complete upheaval of your life.

You’re starting to really feel the difference in your two worlds.

The abruptness is a bit overwhelming, and yet, Satoru seems to handle it with the same ease he applies to all his business dealings.

It’s a bit unnerving. It’s not that you aren’t grateful, but you can’t help but wonder…does he pity you? See you as a charity act?

Suguru, sensing your hesitation, interjects your thoughts with a soothing tone,

“It’s important for appearances that you both share a residence. It solidifies the arrangement in the eyes of your colleagues and the public.”

You take a deep breath, nodding again. “Right, I understand.”

Suguru nods, making a note on the document.

“Good. Now, let’s move on to the responsibilities and obligations. You’re both expected to attend public and social functions, maintaining the façade of a loving marriage.”

Satoru who still remains leaned in his chair, now has his head tilted back, looking up towards the ceiling.

"Oh, and by the way," he begins, eyes flicking to you while his posture remains unmoved, "we'll be getting married at the courthouse tomorrow to make things official on paper. Our public ceremony will be a grand affair, but it will come later to keep the media satisfied and appease everyone."

Tomorrow?

You give a hesitant nod, absorbing the rapid pace at which your life is changing.

“Alright…tomorrow.”

Suguru flips to the next page, “In terms of termination, either party can initiate it with a 30-day notice. Grounds for early termination include breach of contract or mutual consent. Upon termination, Satoru will provide a one-time settlement payment to you, y/n.”

You blink as Suguru pushes the contract towards you, the settlement amount highlighted in bold. Did Satoru add a few extra zeros by mistake? That number can’t be correct, right?

You glance up at Satoru, who is now inspecting his nails with a look of utter boredom.

“Is this…correct?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru looks up, meeting your eyes with a casual shrug.

“Yeah, it’s correct. Consider it a thank you for playing along.”

You shake your head slightly, trying to wrap your mind around the figure. This settlement could change your life, secure Haru’s future, and give you the stability you’ve been desperately seeking.

You could pay off your medical bills for the childbirth, could go back to school. Hell, you could be free of Naoya, you wouldn’t need him or his money.

You narrow your eyes, suspicious of his sudden generosity.

"And what’s the catch?”

Satoru chuckles, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand.

"Come on now, sweetheart. Just think of it as me taking care of my...business partner."

Suguru clears his throat, glancing between the two of you.

“Well, there is one additional detail, y/n. The settlement is contingent on maintaining a favorable public image. Any actions or behaviors that damage Satoru’s reputation would result in the forfeiture of all financial support and settlement funds.”

You blink, the implications dawning on you. Ah, of course there would be a condition—you knew better than to think he was just being generous.

“So… I’m responsible for upholding your image? What does that even mean?”

Satoru’s crooked grin widens.

“It means no scandals, no controversies. You play the part of the perfect spouse, attend events, smile for the cameras, and keep any...personal indiscretions out of the spotlight. Simple enough, right?”

Your stomach churns as you realize the depth of his control—you thought you were escaping Naoya’s grasp, but it seems control is still a prevalent force in your life.

This isn’t just a marriage of convenience; it’s a binding agreement that keeps you in line with his public persona, ensuring that any slip-up on your part will have dire financial consequences.

A part of you can’t blame him, though. It makes sense for him to take extra precautions. The Gojos have always been in the public eye, and there have been countless rumors about Satoru's refusal to settle down.

“What if something happens that’s out of my control? What if someone tries to smear my name?”

Satoru’s eyes harden slightly, though his smile remains.

“We’ll handle that on a case-by-case basis. But let’s just say I have ways of managing the media. You just need to play your part, nothing more.”

The calculated control in his tone, juxtaposed with his unwavering smile, makes your skin prickle with unease. The room feels suddenly colder, and a knot tightens in your stomach. You thought you were stepping into a partnership, but now it feels like a performance where one wrong move could cost you dearly.

Suguru interjects, his tone professional.

“This clause is essential for protecting both your interests and Satoru’s. Maintaining a positive public image is crucial for the success of this arrangement and for avoiding any complications that could arise from negative publicity.”

You take a deep breath—this was a gamble. The settlement would secure Haru’s future, your future, but your every move would be scrutinized, and any misstep could strip away the stability you desperately needed.

Your eyes wander to Haru, quietly and innocently playing with her toys. For her sake, you were willing to play Satoru’s game, even if it meant living under the constant pressure of his expectations.

“Alright,” you say firmly. “I agree to the terms.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker with satisfaction and Suguru leans forward sliding a pen towards you both.

“Good. If you both agree to these terms, we can proceed with the signing.”

You observe Satoru as he reaches for the pen—he is back to that usual air of nonchalance; it is almost unsettling. He signs the document with a flourish, barely glancing at the terms, and you envy his composure.

When he hands you the pen, meeting your eyes with a confident smile, you hesitate for a second—then, with a determined snatch, you take the pen from his delicate hand.

Holding your breath, you press the pen to paper and sign your name in one fell swoop. Each stroke of the pen feels heavy, final, but also strangely empowering.

No turning back now.

ꨄ︎

The courthouse ceremony was as brief and impersonal as you expected.

Something about Haru witnessing you legally enter into a fake marriage just didn’t feel right—so you opted to leave her with Satoru’s nanny.

Standing in front of the judge, reciting vows, and signing the official documents felt more like a business transaction than a wedding.

Glancing at Satoru, you couldn't help but feel a bit solemn as you observed him, his expression as indifferent as ever.

This wasn't the fairy tale wedding you once dreamed of. There was no crowd, no rings, no romantic gestures—just a legal agreement with a pen on paper, binding you to him for the next year.

But then again, you knew that coming into this—it was never about romance or dreams; it was about survival and securing a future for Haru.

It was over as quickly as it began—just like that, the judge declared you husband and wife, immediately leaving you alone with Satoru right after.

Noticing your serious expression, Satoru leans in slightly as you gather the official documents.

"You look like you're attending a funeral, not a wedding Mrs. Gojo," his voice drips with playful mockery.

Hearing him call you ‘Mrs. Gojo’ sends a shiver down your spine. That was going to take some getting used to.

“And you look like you’re at a board meeting, not your wedding, Mr. Gojo,” you retort, unable to hide the underlying bite in your voice as your fingers shuffle through the pages.

A deep chuckle reverberates through the otherwise solemn atmosphere. Once you tuck the documents under your arm, you begin to make your way towards the exit. Satoru immediately falls into step beside you.

“Touché. But really, lighten up sweetheart. Gonna need to work harder to convince everyone you’re head over heels in love with me,” there’s a playful challenge in his voice.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh.

“Well, forgive me for not swooning over this magical moment. You know, this isn't exactly how I pictured my wedding day," you mutter, trying to mask the internal melancholy whirling within you.

When you reach for the door, Satoru beats you to it, holding it open with a flourish.

"Oh? And how did you picture it?” he raises an eyebrow as his eyes gleam in amusement, “Let me guess, lots of flowers, a big white dress, and some poor guy professing his undying love for you?"

Okay, screw him. He was really not making this any better. You feel the heat rise to your face as a scoff escapes your lips—the only response you will give him.

Brushing past him, your heels click against the polished floors through the marble halls of the courthouse. As you glance to the tall, ornate windows lining the corridor, the sunlight streams through, casting intricate patterns.

“Hmm, think I guessed right,” he chuckles as he saunters after you.

“And what if you did?” you snap, voice echoing in the grand space. “Is it so weird for me to want a normal family for my daughter?”

The teasing glint in his eyes dim as his expression softens slightly. Once you reach the elevator, Satoru presses the button—the two of you wait in an awkward silence.

The moment the elevator door slides open, you both step inside, the quiet hum of the machinery enveloping you.

“No, it’s not weird. It’s just... different from what I’ve ever thought about,” he says while he presses the button to the lobby.

You huff, crossing your arms as you lean against the back of the elevator.

“What, Mr. Perfect never thought about settling down?”

Satoru's gaze drifts for a moment as he considers your question. The elevator begins its descent, the soft whirl filling the silence.

“Honestly? No, I never did. My father used to pressure me about it all the time. Wanted me to marry someone who could... 'enhance' our family’s status.” He was contemplative, and the echoes of old frustrations are clear in his voice.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden openness.

The rumors about Satoru had always painted him as a carefree bachelor, uninterested in the constraints of marriage.

Some said he was too focused on his career, while others whispered that he enjoyed his freedom too much to settle down. There were even speculations that he had a hidden lover, or perhaps he was waiting for the perfect match to come along, someone who could stand by his side both in business and in life.

“…and you never found anyone who fit the bill?”

He chuckles, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Plenty of candidates. None that I wanted to spend my life with. Plus, all those ‘suitable matches’ were just women trying to get their hands on the Gojo fortune. Most people just see the money and power. They don't see the person behind it.”

The vulnerability in his eyes is fleeting, and you realize that his father’s expectations must have weighed heavily on him. The pressure to find someone was not about love or companionship—it was about maintaining an image, a legacy. In a way, you both have been victims to control your entire lives.

As the depth of his frustrations become more apparent, you feel a pang of sympathy. It’s enough to make you wonder about the real Satoru. The elevator continues its descent, and you find yourself lingering on his words.

“That sounds... difficult. So why did you go through with this then? With me?”

His gaze softens; his expression thoughtful as he watches the numbers descending the floor levels. He tilts his head slightly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Because you’re different. You didn’t come to me looking for wealth or status. You needed help, and I needed a solution. It’s honest, in a way. No hidden agendas, no false pretenses.”

A nervous flutter dances in your stomach, your fingers fidgeting with the folder of documents in your hands. The softness in his words catch you off guard, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact.

A small, rueful smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“In a world where everyone wants something from me, I find your straightforwardness refreshing.”

Your heart skips as a warm blush creeps up your cheeks.

“I never thought you’d see it that way. I just... I wanted to do what was best for Haru.”

“And that’s what makes you different,” he replies softly. “You’re doing this for her, not for yourself. That’s why I agreed to this. Because I believe you’re sincere.”

The elevator chimes softly as it reaches the ground floor and the doors slide open to reveal the bustling courthouse lobby.

The weight of the conversation settles between you, a rare moment of vulnerability that made you see Satoru in a new light—a glimpse into his inner world.

The moment you near the courthouse door, you and Satoru push it open in an attempt to exit, but are immediately greeted by a barrage of flashing cameras and shouted questions. Paparazzi swarm around you, seeming to have materialized out of nowhere—how did they even know where to find you both?

Satoru, ever the master of public appearances, wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. His touch is warm and firm, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart through his suit.

The sensation of his hand resting securely on your hip sends a tingle through your body, a fluttering in your stomach—you realize now that this is the first time he has touched you.

“Smile for the cameras, Mrs. Gojo,” he whispers into your ear, breath tickling your skin.

You blink, heat rising to your face as you’re momentarily caught off guard by the sudden display of affection. But you quickly compose yourself, remembering the role you have to play.

Leaning into him slightly, you offer a shy smile to the cameras. The flashes intensify and the questions grow louder.

“Mr. Gojo why are you in a courthouse?”

“Mr. Gojo, what is the status of Gojo Corporation?”

“Who is this woman Mr. Gojo?”

“What is your statement on your father’s passing?”

As the paparazzi continue to snap photos and shout questions, Satoru leans down and presses a quick, gentle kiss to your temple. His lips were soft, and the warmth of his breath burned your skin. The gesture, though small, sends a shiver down your spine.

It was all for show, you reminded yourself. Just part of the act.

Yet, the unexpected intimacy lingered, making it hard to ignore the way your heart raced at his touch.

Satoru’s kiss had worked perfectly, fueling the media frenzy. The paparazzi went wild at the tender action—camera flashes intensifying and voices growing louder. They call out more questions, desperate to capture every angle of the seemingly affectionate moment. You feel the eyes of the crowd boring into you.

“Let’s get out of here,” Satoru murmurs, voice low and soothing amidst the chaos.

He reaches out, hand warm and firm as he interlocks his fingers with yours, gently guiding you through the throng of reporters towards the waiting car. His other arm subtly shields you from the crowd.

As you finally break free from the mass of flashing cameras and shouting voices, you slide into the car, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as Satoru slides beside you immediately after.

Glancing back at the courthouse, the reality of your new life begins to sink in. Once the car pulls away, a breath escapes you—one you didn’t realize you had been holding in.

“That was... intense.”

Satoru chuckles, arm resting behind your shoulder. He tilts his head slightly, allowing a few tousles of white hair to fall into his eyes. Through the soft strands, his gaze meets yours, a mix of amusement and seriousness dancing in his striking blue eyes.

“Welcome to my world," he murmurs. "Better get used to it, sweetheart. This is just the beginning.”

ꨄ︎

The following day, a moving company arrived at your apartment as promised—they packed up your belongings with swift efficiency, leaving you feeling like a spectator in your own life.

Watching your life be boxed up and loaded into trucks was bittersweet—as your small apartment, with its familiar creaks and cracks, had been your safe haven.

Everything was arranged, down to the smallest detail. By mid-afternoon, you found yourself standing in the grand foyer of Satoru’s mansion once again, this time with all your worldly possessions.

Haru, wide-eyed and excited, clung to your side, her tiny fingers wrapped around your hand.

"Welcome to your new home," Satoru says with a grin.

It felt more like stepping into a palace than a home.

He reaches down and grabs one of your suitcases, lifting it effortlessly,

"Let me show you to our room."

You feel your face heat up instantly.

"Our room?" you stammer. "Why would we need to share a room when no one is here to watch this charade?"

Satoru's grin widens, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

"Relax, I'm just teasing you. You have your own room. I just wanted to see your reaction."

You shoot him a glare, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance.

“You're impossible," you mutter, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

He chuckles, leading you up the grand staircase, and Haru follows closely, her eyes darting around in awe at the luxurious decor. The polished marble steps feel cool underneath you, and the ornate banisters gleam under the soft lighting.

"Come on, let me show you around." Satoru says as he leads the way down a long corridor.

The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries and framed artwork, each piece more exquisite than the last.

Eventually, Satoru stops in front of a set of double doors, turning to you with a small, satisfied smile.

"Here we are."

He pushes them open to reveal a spacious bedroom. The room beautifully furnished, with a large bed, elegant drapes, and a balcony overlooking the manicured gardens below.

"This is your room," he announces, setting your suitcase down gently.

"Wow," you breathe.

It feels a bit overwhelming the moment you step foot inside. Haru, on the other hand, darts past you, exploring every nook and cranny with a delighted giggle. It was easily twice the size of your old apartment.

"This is beautiful... and a lot."

Satoru leans against the doorframe, arms casually crossing over his chest.

The soft light from the chandelier above casts a gentle glow on his features, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips. His white hair, tousled just enough to seem effortlessly stylish, frames his face perfectly.

"Only the best for my... business partner," he says, tone light yet carrying a hint of something deeper.

You offer a simple, "Thanks," but your voice is softer than you intended. Your eyes betray you, lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary.

Satoru's eyes hold yours with a softness that catches you off guard—a striking shade of blue that seems almost ethereal. In that moment, you couldn't help but notice the intensity and warmth in his gaze, it’s almost tender, making you feel like anything but just a ‘business partner’.

Was he always this beautiful?

You can’t help but wonder, feeling a warmth spread through you as the silence stretches on. The moment feels strangely intimate, a connection forming that neither of you expected.

Crap. What are you thinking?

Haru’s giggle breaks the spell as she jumps on your bed.

"Oh, and just so you know," he adds with a playful glint in his eye, "my room is right next door. We share the bathroom, so try not to hog all the hot water."

You blink, surprised. "We have to share a bathroom?"

Curiosity getting the better of you, you open the bathroom door and peer inside.

It was equally impressive, with a large tub and walk-in shower, all in pristine condition. The fixtures gleam, and the marble countertop adds a touch of luxury. There was another door leading directly to Satoru’s room, a constant reminder of his proximity.

"Yep. Just think of it as our first test of marital bliss. Can we survive sharing a bathroom?" Satoru's voice was suddenly closer.

You turn to find him standing right behind you, having moved from his previous spot at the doorframe. The idea of sharing such a personal space with him was a bit unnerving. An awkwardly intimate setup for such a detached relationship, but you didn't have much of a choice.

"…I suppose I'll manage.”

Satoru laughs softly.

"That's the spirit. And don't worry, Haru's room is right across from us. She's got the best room in the house actually," he adds, tilting his head to the side as a cue for you to follow him.

Haru trails excitedly behind as you walk through the luxurious hallway, her giggles echo off the walls. Opening the door, you peek inside and are struck by the sheer extravagance of it.

The room was a child’s dream—decorated in soft pastel colors, with a canopy bed draped in delicate lace, plush toys neatly arranged on shelves, and even a small play area complete with a dollhouse and a set of building blocks. The walls were adorned with whimsical murals of fairies and woodland creatures, creating a magical atmosphere that seemed straight out of a storybook.

Haru's delighted squeals bring a smile to your face, easing the last of your worries.

It was clear that Satoru had spared no expense in making her feel welcome. Each detail spoke of thoughtfulness and care, from the cozy reading nook to the vibrant rainbow-colored rug that added a playful touch to the room. How on earth did he pull all this off so quickly?

“Wow, look, Mama!” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up with joy, running inside to inspect her new haven.

A sense of relief washes over you as a tender smile forms upon your lips. At least Haru would be happy here. The sight of her so animated and cheerful makes the transition a bit easier to bear. Satoru stands beside you.

“I wanted her to feel at home," he says softly, eyes reflecting a rare sincerity.

“You've done more than that. She's ecstatic," you reply, watching Haru dive into a pile of stuffed animals with a gleeful laugh.

Satoru clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, the gesture uncharacteristically awkward. He glances at the clock on the wall, as if searching for an excuse to end the moment.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," his tone is gentle and almost hesitant. "Let me know if you need anything. Dinner will be ready soon, see you down there?”

His usual confidence is somewhat muted—you wonder, is it you? Haru?

"Yeah,” you nod, “I’m going to put a few of my things away and then we’ll meet you downstairs."

“Right. Take your time. There's no rush."

You can’t help but replay the interaction in your mind as you unpack the essentials from your suitcase. The awkwardness between you and Satoru would pass, you hope. For now, it was enough to know that Haru is happy and safe.

Haru’s laughter echoes from her room, a sound that brings a smile to your face. She seemed to be adjusting much faster than expected, her innocent joy undiminished by the upheaval.

And to you, her laughter solidified it—marrying Satoru, this was the right call.

ꨄ︎

The past few days living with Satoru had been a whirlwind of adjustments—it wasn’t without its challenges. The mansion, with its sprawling rooms and luxurious decor, is more like a museum than a home.

The sheer size makes you feel small and out of place at times, and the constant presence of staff make it difficult to find a moment of privacy.

Satoru, however, had been surprisingly considerate. He’s a constant reminder of the delicate balance you need to maintain—attentive yet reserved, playful yet serious, a paradox that kept you on edge.

Your interactions with Satoru had settled into a routine of polite, if somewhat distant, cohabitation. There were moments of unexpected tenderness, like when he had found you struggling to open a jar in the kitchen and had stepped in to help with a playful grin.

Another time, you had been overwhelmed while trying to assemble a new toy for Haru, and Satoru had quietly taken a seat beside you, helping to figure out the instructions without a word.

Yet despite these moments, there was always an underlying tension, a reminder of the unusual circumstances that had brought you together.

As the days passed, the impending charity gala loomed larger in your mind—the first public event you would attend together as a married couple.

Satoru had taken the time to sit down with you and discuss how you would present yourselves, a task that seemed daunting but necessary.

You agreed on the basics: stay close, exchange subtle touches, and share occasional whispers to create an air of intimacy. The plan was straightforward, but the execution would be another matter entirely.

He emphasized the importance of appearing united, offering tips on how to handle the media and the probing questions that were sure to come. His confidence and ease in handling the media was something you were learning to lean on, though the pressure of maintaining the charade weighed heavily on you.

“What about Haru?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

“We’ll leave her out of the spotlight,” Satoru replied gently. “I don’t want to overwhelm her. She takes no part in this agreement beyond being your daughter. She’ll stay here with the nanny during the event.”

Amidst all this, your phone had been buzzing constantly with missed calls from Naoya. You hadn't answered any of them—maybe you should just call off the court case?

You did just go through a life changing event, marriage, and that often interferes with the legal process anyways. The judge would need to take into consideration your new source of income for the child support payments.

Honestly, you don’t need Naoya’s support anymore.

You’ll take care of that after the gala though—right now you already have too much on your plate, spending hours with Satoru, fabricating shared experiences and finding common ground to make your relationship believable.

The task of memorizing details about his likes and dislikes, his habits, and his quirks was daunting, but you found yourself surprised at the small details you were beginning to remember about him—the way he took his coffee, his favorite late-night snack, the way his eyes crinkled just slightly when he found something genuinely funny, or how he would absentmindedly run a hand through his tousled white hair when deep in thought.

As the days slipped by in a blur of preparations and rehearsed smiles, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this carefully constructed façade was starting to take on a life of its own. Each shared glance and each moment of unexpected kindness blurred the lines between reality and pretense, leaving you wondering just how deep this charade would go.

ꨄ︎

Standing in front of your bathroom mirror, you adjust the luxurious dress Satoru had picked out for you. A deep, elegant blue fabric clings to your curves in all the right places, and the V-shaped open back that rests above your hips adds a touch of allure.

Loose cascading waves frame your face perfectly, and the professional makeup artist gave you a look that is both subtle and glamorous, enhancing your features in a way the felt natural yet striking.

You barely recognize yourself.

The transformation was astonishing, turning you from a frazzled single mother into a vision of sophistication and grace.

Was it too much? You feel out of sorts, like you’re wearing someone else's skin. The elegant image in the mirror is both thrilling and unnerving.

As you try to steady your racing heart, a knock on the bathroom door makes you jump slightly—Satoru’s door.

“Y/n you ready?” his voice calls out.

With a deep breath, you take one last look in the mirror. As you open the door, Satoru’s frame leans casually against the entryway.

The sleek black tuxedo he is adorned in highlights his broad shoulder and lean frame. His white hair is perfectly styled, contrasting sharply with the dark fabric.

He meets you with a stunned silence—eyes widening slightly as he takes you in. The cool blue of his irises seem more vibrant, gleaming with anticipation as they trace over your form.

You had never seen his eyes linger across your figure like this before—the intensity of his gaze makes your stomach flutter. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you fear what will come out of his mouth.

Does he think it’s too much?

“Wow,” he breathes, voice almost reverent. “You look... stunning.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks at his unexpected compliment, and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze.

"Thank you," you say softly, smoothing down the fabric of your dress.

Satoru steps closer, eyes locked on you. He reaches out and gently lifts your chin, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“Seriously, you look amazing. I knew the dress would look good on you, but this... you’re going to be the star of the gala,” a slow smile spreads across his lips. “Ready to knock them dead?”

You nod, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“As ready as I’ll ever be…hopefully I can live up to the part.”

“You will,” offering you his arm, he adds, “Just be yourself, and stay by my side, we’re in this together."

ꨄ︎

The ride to the gala is filled with a comfortable silence.

The city lights blur outside the window as the car smoothly navigates through the streets. You find yourself stealing glances at Satoru, admiring the way his profile looks in the dim light.

Strange.

The usually insufferable man seemed different tonight—steadfast, dependable, almost... comforting? Perhaps it’s the nerves.

His arm rests casually behind you, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder, and you’re surprised yourself how it does not bother you—in fact, it’s actually quite soothing.

Once you arrive, the grand ballroom is a stunning sight. Chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the elegantly dressed crowd.

The room is filled with the city’s elite—a sea of luxurious gowns and tailored suits mingling and exchanging pleasantries. The sight of you and Satoru together was enough to turn heads, drawing curious and admiring glances.

But the sheer number of people, the pressure of playing your part, and the countless eyes watching your every move—it’s all a bit overwhelming. You really felt out of place here.

Sensing your unease, Satoru leans in close, breath warm against your ear.

“Remember, just follow my lead.”

Guiding you with ease, his hand rests lightly on the small of your back as you voyage through the attendees—the warm gentle touch is electric against your bare skin.

Your eyes skim through the herd of people and land on a waiter balancing a tray of champagne glasses. Perhaps a drink would ease your nerves? You don’t hesitate to grab a glass as you navigate the crowd.

Satoru, ever the socialite, seamlessly traverses the room, introducing you to important figures and engaging in small talk that you struggle to follow.

Discussions ranged from market trends and corporate mergers, to the latest charity galas and art exhibitions. Trying to keep up, you nod and smile at the appropriate moments.

It’s clear that Satoru is in his element—his charm, effortless. You find yourself admiring how easy he makes it all look.

As you cling to him, the pride in his eyes when he looks at you makes you feel like you belong, even if you are just playing a part in this elaborate charade.

The evening flowed smoothly enough, with your glass of champagne acting as a steady companion. The warmth of the alcohol helps you mingle with guests, exchange polite conversations, and stay close to Satoru, all as planned. But each interaction was a delicate dance—your smiles and nods masking the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

Honestly, your mind was elsewhere—there is an undercurrent of anxiety as you anticipate Satoru’s announcement on stage, where he would publicly acknowledge your marriage during his donation speech.

When the moment you had been dreading finally arrives, you settle into a chair near the front, heart pounding in your chest.

Satoru takes the stage with a natural grace, and as the spotlight illuminates his striking figure, his presence commands the attention of everyone in the room.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice resonating with a confident authority. “I want to thank you all for being here tonight. Your generosity and support make events like this possible.”

His words flow smoothly as he speaks eloquently about the cause and significance of the charity, each sentence perfectly crafted to engage and inspire—you marveled at his ability to enthrall people.

Pressing your champagne glass to your lips, you desperately hope the cool liquid can help to steady your nerves a bit more.

Then, the moment came.

“I will be donating ten million dollars to this charity,” Satoru announces, his voice carrying a conviction.

The amount causes a ripple of excitement and murmurs to spread through the crowd—you nearly choked on your champagne in shock.

Ten million?

You couldn’t even fathom having that much money, let alone donating it. The magnitude of Satoru’s status is staggering.

A smile tugs at Satoru’s lips—a genuine warmth mingling with the mischievous glint in his eyes. He pauses, letting the impact of his words settle, then lifts a finger to tap his chin contemplatively, as if he just remembered something.

“Or should I say, we will be donating—me and my lovely wife.”

Satoru gestures in your direction as a spotlight beams upon you. The crowd erupts into an enthusiastic applause, causing your heart to race the moment all eyes instantly turn to you.

There is a rush of heat that rises to your cheeks, mixing with the warmth of the alcohol. The weight of the crowd’s gaze makes your vision a bit blurry.

Beckoning you to join him on stage, Satoru extends his hand and offers a comforting smile. Though, the moment you stand, the room spins slightly—perhaps it’s from the champagne, or perhaps it’s the sheer pressure.

You can’t fuck this up.

With as much grace as you can muster, you make your way to the platform.

Satoru wraps an arm around your waist the moment you are at his side, pulling you close and steadying your trembling figure. He looks down into your eyes with a genuine look of endearment.

“Everyone, please welcome my beautiful wife, y/n,” he says softly in the microphone, his voice filled with a gentle pride.

The applause swells, and you manage a smile, trying to focus on Satoru while ignoring the spotlight’s heat and the intense gazes of attendees.

Leaning in, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “You’re doing great.”

Despite the orchestrated nature of your relationship, in this moment, his genuine reassurance means everything. His presence is a steady anchor in the sea of faces and flashing cameras, the only thing holding you together right now.

When the applause dies down, Satoru continues his speech, the warmth of his hand remaining on your waist as his thumb traces soft circles.

You can barely focus on his words, the dizzying reality of where you’re standing feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

The moment Satoru’s speech concludes, the soft hum of conversation mingling and the delicate notes of the live orchestra begin to fill the air yet again. Satoru leads you off the stage, his hand never leaving your side.

Almost immediately after you descend to the floor, Satoru is approached by a business associate, his demeanor shifting effortlessly into that of a seasoned negotiator as they exchange discussions of market trends, potential collaborations, and strategic ventures.

Your heart is still pounding—public speaking was never your strong suit. Despite not needing to speak, being on that stage stirred something within you.

You recall a particularly disastrous presentation in college where you accidentally knocked over the projector, sending your notes flying across the room. The laughter from the audience still haunts you, and since then, you’ve always dreaded being the center of attention.

With Satoru engrossed in conversation, you seize the opportunity to make your way to the bar—seeking a moment of reprieve. Another drink wouldn’t hurt, right?

The gleaming rows of crystal glasses and various bottles of wine and spirits catch your eye. You scan the selection, your gaze lingering on a particularly rich, deep red wine.

Deciding it’s exactly what you need to steady your nerves, you signal the bartender and opt for a glass of the robust vintage, savoring the thought of its smooth, calming flavor.

One glass turned into two—your nerves finally beginning to settle as the soothing effects of the alcohol take over your senses.

Realizing you’ve been away from Satoru for quite some time, you prepare to rejoin him—but just as you start to rise, a familiar, unwelcome voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Well, well, look who we have here,” Naoya sneers, leaning against the bar beside you, a glass of scotch swirling in his hand. “Didn’t expect to see you here, mingling with the high society.”

A chill runs down your spine and you heart drops. No amount of alcohol could have prepared you for this moment.

“Naoya,” you stiffen, clutching your wine glass tighter. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a swig of his scotch, emptying the glass and placing it down on the counter with a loud clink. Leaning closer into your space, his eyes narrow—a cold, cynical stare boring into you.

“I could ask you the same thing. This doesn’t seem like your usual scene. What’s your angle?”

Your breath quickens and you feel your pulse hammering in your chest. Adverting your gaze, your fingers brush against the rim of your wine glass.

“I’m sure you heard, I’m here with my husband, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business.”

The sneer he meets you with makes the room suddenly feel smaller, as if his presence is suffocating you.

“Husband, huh?” his eyes rake over you with contempt suspicion, “Quite the leap from where you were a few weeks ago. Is this some kind of game to you?”

Summoning your courage, you straighten your back and meet his gaze head-on.

“Not a game, Naoya. It’s called moving on. You should try it sometime. My life is no longer any of your concern.”

Taking a step closer, he looms over you—his voice lowering to a menacing whisper.

“I don’t buy it. This whole charade… you think I don’t know what you’re trying to pull?”

For a moment, you are frozen in place, the fear and control Naoya exerts paralyzing you. Your mind races, the implications of his words sinking in.

What if he exposes you?

What if this carefully constructed facade comes crashing down?

Before you can respond, you feel an arm slip around your waist, pulling you with practiced ease out of Naoya’s bubble and right beside Satoru.

“There you are, darling. Everything alright?”

His voice is smooth and warm, and his gaze flicks between you and Naoya, narrowing as he surveys the situation. The look on your face unsettles him—something feels off.

Naoya straightens himself, leaning against the bar with a supercilious smirk as he crosses his arms.

“Just catching up with an old friend. No harm in that, right?”

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” Satoru’s tone was light but laced with an underlying steel, “I’m y/n’s husband, Satoru Gojo.”

A scoff escapes Naoya as his eyes flash with irritation, but an unnerving smile remains upon his lips.

“Yes, I’ve heard. You certainly move fast, don’t you, y/n?”

Naoya can see right through you—you fell a flash of panic. Turning to Satoru, your eyes meet his with a silent plea for support. His expression softens and he gives you a reassuring nod while tightening his grip upon your waist.

“Well, when you know, you know,” Satoru says with a charming smile, “and we knew.”

Naoya snickers, running his hand through his hair in disbelief.

“Come on y/n. How did someone like you end up with someone like him? Seems... unlikely. You don’t belong here.”

Heat rises to your face and the sudden urge to shrink away overwhelms you—your heart dropping at the sting of Naoya’s words.

Suddenly, Satoru steps closer, creating a protective barrier between you and Naoya—the playful glint in his eyes gone, replaced with a cold, steely determination.

“Watch your mouth, you don’t get to talk to my wife like that.”

“I’m just stating the obvious,” Naoya shrugs, meeting Satoru’s glare with an indifference as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “She’s out of her league here.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens, his voice low and dangerously calm.

“If you think she’s out of her league, then you clearly don’t know her at all. You’re out of line. Y/n belongs here more than anyone. So, unless you have something worthwhile to say, I suggest you move along.”

“Is that so?” Naoya raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical. After all, you’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf, Satoru Gojo.”

Panic seizes you as Naoya’s observation hangs in the air. The last thing you need is for him to start spreading rumors or causing trouble. You realize you have to do something, and fast. Your mind races, desperately searching for a way to convince Naoya of your authenticity.

Summoning all the courage you can muster, you step forward, threading your arms around Satoru’s neck as you rest your forehead against his own. Your words are addressed to Naoya, but your eyes remain on Satoru the entire time, drawing strength from his steady gaze and the warmth of his touch.

“Satoru and I... we chose each other for reasons that go beyond what you see. We may have our differences, but we’re stronger together, and we have a connection that you can’t comprehend.”

Satoru’s eyes soften, reflecting a silent understanding and a shared resolve—his breath mingling with yours.

Feeling Naoya’s probing gaze, you know he won’t be easily convinced, and so, acting on impulse, you pull Satoru closer and crash your lips against his.

For a moment, Satoru seemed caught off guard. His eyes widened in surprise before they fluttered closed, his hands moving to rest on your hips. The world around you seemed to fade away as the kiss lingered, heat pooling in your stomach.

It was supposed to be a quick peck, just enough to sell the act. But the moment your lips met his, something shifted.

Perhaps you were emboldened by the alcohol, perhaps it was the need to be convincing, perhaps it was the way Satoru stood up for you—without thinking, you deepen the kiss, parting your lips and slipping your tongue into his mouth, making things more intimate than you originally intended.

You can feel Satoru tense for a moment, his surprise evident. But then, with a soft hum against your mouth he melts into the kiss, a hand moving to cup your face as he returns the intimacy with unexpected fervor—his other hand encircling around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

Your fingers thread through Satoru’s hair and the world around you seems to fade away—the only thing that mattered now was the heat radiating off of Satoru’s body, the warmth of his lips against yours, and the lingering sweet taste of the gala’s chocolate cake mingling with the wine on your tongue.

It was a moment that felt both incredibly real and utterly surreal.

When you finally pull back, you are both breathless. As you catch a flicker of something unreadable in Satoru’s half lidded eyes, for a brief moment, you forget about Naoya completely, about the act, about everything except the electric connection between you both.

Satoru's thumb gently caresses your cheek, his gaze softening.

Pulling yourself back to reality, you peer over to Naoya—his smug expression had vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise and irritation.

“As you can see, we’re very happy together,” you say sweetly, rubbing your nose against Satoru’s.

"Didn't think you were the type to move on so quickly," Naoya sneers.

A wave of exhilaration and embarrassment course through you as Naoya retreats back into the crowd. The kiss had done its job, but it had also left you with a lingering sense of uncertainty. Satoru’s touch is still warm on your skin—you can still taste him on your lips.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his concern genuine.

The question pulls you out of your thoughts, but his gaze does the opposite—your face flushes and it feels like your heart is going to pound out of your chest.

"Yeah. I... I just needed to convince him.."

Satoru studies you momentarily—knowing there is more to the story with Naoya. But he also knows now isn’t the time to pry.

He chuckles softly, his hand lingering on your waist.

“Well, I think you succeeded. That was... unexpected. You really went for it there,” he murmurs.

For a moment, it felt like you were playing a role, but the feelings stirring inside you were anything but fake.

"I'm sorry," you swallow hard, face flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to..."

“I didn’t mind,” he interjects, thumb brushing against your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just so you know, you did great. Better than I expected,” his voice low and husky.

Fuck.

You blink—Naoya is gone, but here Satoru is, still holding you so intimately, so intently.

The way he looks at you, the warmth in his touch, the tone of his voice—it makes you question the lines between reality and pretense.

“Didn’t know you had it in you.” Satoru hums, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. He leans in, his breath dancing on your lips, tantalizingly close. “But next time, let’s save the tongue for when we’re really alone, hm?”

What is he saying?

Your mind races, trying to decipher his words, his intentions. Was he still in character, or was there a hint of genuine desire in his eyes?

The electricity in the air was undeniable, and you find yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze—the crowd around you fading, their murmurs and whispers becoming a distant hum.

Satoru’s eyes held secrets you were desperate to uncover.

As you struggle to formulate your thoughts, Satoru’s hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along you jaw.

"Relax," he murmurs, "We're just putting on a show, remember?"

You nod, though your heart betrays you with its rapid pace.

“Right,” you whisper, forcing a smile. “Just a show.”

But deep down, you can’t shake the feeling that there was more to this act than either of you were willing to admit.

ahh i really enjoyed writing this chapter. okay, i was snickering at satoru's internal turmoil when he met haru for the first time. i couldn't resist with the digimon 🤭 my daughter is currently obsessed with pikachu so that's where that inspiration came from lol. also, this kiss was one of my favs to write 🥰 lemme know if you guys are interested in me making this a longer series. as always, thanks for reading 🫶🏻 → on to the next chapter ꨄ

taglist :

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer

@stevenknightmarc @maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@alwaysfreakingout @valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @evalynanne @tbzzluvr

@k1ttybean @yu22tas @sanriosatoru @ophelias-flowerss @spookysoowpprince

@luciledreamz @fortunatelyfurrygiver @meowforluv @arishaxml @zetianzz

@itzmeme @whodissbitj @kenmacantakemeaway @satoryaa

@kidd3ath @princessnai

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quantumleapt · 2 years ago

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@emcrse dreams: “you’ve been very kind.”

AN AMERICAN IN PARIS SENTENCE STARTERS : PART II. always accepting.

"Ah, you don't have to thank me," Sam shrugs off, throwing a good-natured smile over his shoulder, corners of his eyes crinkling, as he finishes chopping up the vegetables. He tosses them into the waiting pan, giving them a stir. Above the sizzle, he continues, "I'm just bein' neighborly."

Neighborly, he guesses, is one word for it. How anybody could let the young detective get this hungry-- half-starved of a decent meal and any scrap of kindness he can get-- is beyond him. But that's why he's here, isn't it? Sure, he should've leaped out of here weeks ago, but Sam's not going anywhere. Not when Morse is like this.

Putting on the oven gloves, he reaches down, taking the roast chicken and potatoes out and setting them on the countertop to cool, right next to his mom's chocolate chip cookies he'd made earlier (she'd be proud; he knows the recipe by heart now).

Sam tries to tell himself it's just doctor's intuition that makes him turn around again, eyes searching the detective's face for any sign of... well, anything to tell him that the haunted, melancholy look in Morse's eyes is going away. Short of tucking a blanket around his shoulders and staying here with him all night, he's not really sure what else he can do.

(He can think of plenty that he'd like to do, but, now isn't the time.)

"You warm enough? Do you need more, uh, more tea, or anything? Dinner shouldn't be too much longer, I just gotta finish up the carrots and cut up the chicken."

#ic.#answered.#emcrse #verse one.#endeavour morse tbt.#sam and morse tbt.#[ooc] !!! thank you so much for sending this in i'm so sorry this has taken an age to reply to #[ooc] i have no idea what this is other than complete and utter domesticity and fluff #[ooc] sam really took one look at morse and decided he needed food and comfort and honestly he's right #[ooc] i know you mentioned neighbor plots on your wishlist so maybe somehow sam's moved in next door??#[ooc] also this can be either romantic or platonic i kind of left it open... but sam *does* fall in love very hard and very fast #[ooc] as of course does morse so really i'm game for anything #[ooc] let me know if this is okay or if i should change anything!!!#food mention tw #food tw

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calamaricollie · 7 months ago

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Behold, my sappiest (and longest) Lari comic yet, I hope ya'll enjoy some tooth-rottingly sweet fluff UvU

More of me rambling under the cut:

Honestly I was so worried about posting this one, I wrote it when I was really needing some comfort so it turned out very sweet, less humorous than my other shitten stuff, but hey if you've watched and liked my animatic that's what you're here for anyways >:)

As much as I love feral Nari I just love writing him being all soft and chilled out tbh, this cat has been fully domesticated over years of TLC (Tender Lamb Care), I just hope others like it as much as I do too :p

#cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #cotl lamb #cotl oc #cotl shitten #narilamb #true devotion #Collie's Art #Lari #Yes this Nari wasn't an amazing dad but he fixed his relationship with the twins #I have a whole fanfic idea about that ordeal but I have no idea how to write it #lemme just actually get back to writing sfw fics again and maybe i'll get back to that idea #Cotl Marshmallows #Marshmallow Cheeps

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lxvebun · 4 months ago

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if it's okay could you write something about simon asking the reader to stay the night and it will be the first time they sleep over? no pressure ofc!

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader. Fluff! i'm yearning for fall/winter so it's written with that in mind. The heat is getting to me🥲 not proofread im nervous. Eng isn't my first language so I'm sorry for any mistakes!

“I should probably go."

It took you an embarrassingly long time to finally get those words out. Every minute ticking by only making you more and more nervous to actually say them. You truly don’t want to leave just yet. Don’t want to pull away from your place next to him, tucked into his side, soft, warm. A strong arm wrapping around you keeping you nice and close to him, occasionally his hand traces invisible heart shapes and silent i love you’s into your skin.

(a habit that has shifted into his love language. Simon Riley loves quietly, but deeply. And moments where he can get his hands on your skin to spell out his devotion to you, fingertips burning pleasantly, leaving behind a trail of falling stars, is something he makes time for often)

It feels all too safe and domestic to leave just yet, but the colder months are approaching and it’s well into the evening now. The sky has already completely settled into a deep dark blue with clusters of stars and a bright full moon. The streets however are still lively, early sunsets and longer nights having no affect on most people's schedule. People are coming back from a long day at work, couples are running their last errands at the corner store and old grannies are coming back from their weekly bingo night down the street at the community center. Right now, it still feels safe enough to walk back home on your own. Without a doubt, Simon would offer to walk you, but he’s barely made it through your annual movie night and you’d rather not keep him from his much needed and well deserved sleep.

(it would not be your first time walking home alone at night, don’t tell Simon, but you prefer not to. Being so hyper aware of every movement and every sound is tiring and your 15 minute walk back home feels like you just finished a marathon)

He shifts next to you, the haze of sleep laced in his movements, a groan of disagreement falling from his lips as he throws a glance at his watch.

"T’is only eight, sweetheart. You never leave this early. Something wrong?" A twinge of worry coursing through his voice, brows furrowed at the thought of you being uncomfortable. His hand changes from tracing shapes to rubbing comforting circles into your side, albeit a bit frantically.

(he’s so attentive it honestly makes you wanna cry sometimes)

"No, nothings wrong," You begin. Smoothing the crease between his eyebrows with your thumb and placing a gentle kiss to his jawline. "I just don’t want to walk alone at night. Nor do I want to keep you from your sleep"

You’re quick to add the last bit, practically hearing the words "I'll walk you " escape from his mouth already.

He doesn’t make an attempt to remove his hands from your waist, or sit back up straight. On the contrary he’s taken it to melt into you a little more, pull you a little closer and you think he’s doing this to convince you to stay

(it's working)

even months deep into your relationship, every sweet touch and gentle kiss still manages to cause your heart to soar and flutter in your chest.

He takes a moment to just look at you, and it makes you avert your eyes at its heaviness. Too sweet, too piercing, you feel like he’s looking into your mind and soul, breaking it open like a book and taking everything in. Usually, he coaxes you with delicate words and a warm hand on your jaw to keep looking at him but he’ll let you look away for now. You who’s so sweetly tucked into his side, you who feels so warm and peaceful against him it makes him wanna squeeze you to his chest and never let go. How could he possibly let you go when you look so content and so safe in his arms. From the look in your eyes and body language alone he can tell you feel good here, that you want to stay. He’s right but It’s the nerves, the shyness and not being sure where his boundaries lie that make you pull away from this moment

"You could always stay the night." He whispers, honeyed and soothing. Making sure you know there’s no pressure behind his request. It makes something warm curl in your heart

He’s been thinking about it often, what it would be like to wake up next to you. Seeing you first thing when he opens his eyes all angelic and soft in the golden morning sun rays, sleeping in his bed, draped in his sheets. Would you have any special night routines, would you like to use a nightlight or do you prefer complete darkness, do you move around a lot, are you cuddly. It honestly takes over the majority of his thoughts when he goes to bed himself. Finds himself imagining in detail what it would be like and he swears that he sleeps best on those nights. He can only imagine how good he’ll sleep next to you.

Your silence would worry him if he wasn’t able to read you so well. A hitch in your breath, eyes looking everywhere but him, a shy smile tugging on your lips

(you’re so cute)

"I’d like that." Your voice comes out soft, a little vulnerable but you know you’re safe. Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves.

You’ve been thinking about it too. Spend many nights imagining what it would be like to curl up in his arms and drift off to sleep. Waking him up with a plethora of kisses to his face. Making your respective morning drinks in the kitchen together, stealing kisses in between sips. Thinking about it always leaves you feeling a little dizzy.

His response comes in the form of a wet kiss to your forehead that trails down to your cheeks, then the corner of your lips before finally pulling you into one. You'll choose to spare him and not comment on the flush on his cheeks, just this once

"I’ll go grab a hoodie and some sweatpants, you can use those to sleep in"

reluctantly, although motivated by the image of you in his clothes, he stands up, warmth slipping away for a moment before it’s contained again by the blanket he drapes over you.

"I’ll grab the clothes, you pick another movie"

With that he makes his way to the bedroom to retrieve said clothes. Before you can pick up the remote to pick a movie however, his voice booms out of the bedroom

"Do not pick twilight. Can’t stand that edward fucker."

Perhaps the Notebook will be more to his taste then:)

thank you for requesting nonnie! and thank you for reading angels!

#simon riley x gender neutral reader #cod mw2 x reader #cod fluff #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader

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vibelladonna · 9 days ago

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❛ 𝒷𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒽𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── ·

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Solivan Brugmansia, or just Sol, a super mysterious artist who kinda blends the lines between being the creator and the creation himself. His piercing eyes and his quirky style pull you into his world of raw creativity and quiet intensity.

When you're invited to his studio to complete a college art project, you’ll be sucked into his art, his silence, and that eerie feeling that he sees way more of you than you expected. The real challenge? Keep your focus on your brushwork.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: Fem Body! Reader, Forced Proximity, Domestic Fluff (At the start), Artistic Passion, Obsessive Behavior, non-consensual, unwanted touching, grinding, dubious consent, predatory behavior, penetration, very rough sex, whiny submissive Sol at one point and dominant Sol at another point, same goes to you—reader as well, and somewhat long ass word count—I got carried away, took two days straight to write—I’m so so sorry.

I honestly wasn’t planning on writing Sol because, let’s face it, he already gets plenty of love from the fandom (and, not gonna lie, he scares me—a LOT). That said, I still love his character design and how he was created! But someone asked for more, so here we are. I’ll be putting together a master list soon and opening up requests since I wasn’t expecting so much love for my Crowe fanfic. Seriously, thank you! Anyway, hope you enjoy reading this one!

You stood outside the apartment door, the faint hum of the building’s creaky pipes filling the silence. A faint scent of paint and something sweet—floral, maybe—escaped through the crack at the base of the door. Your fist hovered briefly before you knocked, your knuckles rapping gently against the wood.

You'd come here to his apartment for a college project on Expressionism, drawn by his reputation as the quiet genius in your class. The space was a living embodiment of his mind—a sanctuary of creativity and controlled chaos. Canvases leaned against walls, his surfaces erupting with bold strokes and raw emotion. The air hummed faintly, tinged with the smell of oil paint, charcoal, and the faintest trace of something floral—perhaps the namesake of the mysterious Solivan Brugmansia—Sol for short.

There was a pause. The sound of footsteps approached, deliberate and unhurried, before the door clicked open.

Sol stood there, framed by his apartment’s warm, ambient light. His black hair, streaked with vibrant green, gleamed faintly, catching the dim overhead light. The half-up, half-down style gave his sharp features an ethereal quality, the long central streak of hair falling between his orange and crimson eyes while two smaller strands framed his face.

Today, he was dressed as part of the canvas he worked on. A black shirt, fitted but comfortable, paired with matching pants, both splattered with faint remnants of past creative frenzies. Over this, he wore a painting apron streaked with the vibrancy of forgotten colors—a kaleidoscope of blues, yellows, and pinks. It looked almost ceremonial, as though he were a priest of Expressionism itself.

“Hey,” Sol said, his voice soft but resonant, as if each word had been weighed and measured before leaving pierced lips. He stepped aside, gesturing you in.

You entered cautiously, suddenly hyperaware of how much space you were occupying. Sol’s apartment was an eclectic mix of chaos and artistry. The walls were lined with shelves stuffed with books, jars of brushes, and sketchpads in various stages of use. Canvases leaned haphazardly against one wall, his surfaces alive with strokes of vibrant, chaotic color.

A large easel stood in the corner by a wall, its frame splattered with years of paint, and next to it was a table strewn with tubes of oil paint, jars of water, and what looked like a half-finished sculpture.

The furniture was minimal but intentional. A worn, paint-streaked couch sat across from a low coffee table, which had been overtaken by sketchbooks and coffee mugs. The faint glow of string lights wound around the ceiling added warmth, softening the industrial feel of the concrete floors.

Sol closed the door behind you, the lock clicking faintly. “Shoes off, please,” He said, his gaze flicking briefly to your feet. He was wearing socks, his black shirt, and matching pants, giving them a striking silhouette beneath the paint-streaked apron he wore. “Do you always live like… this?” you asked, gesturing vaguely at the organized chaos.

Sol glanced around as if seeing the space through your eyes for the first time. “It’s functional,” He said simply, before pulling a stool toward the easel and sitting. “I know where everything is.” He reached for a brush, spinning it absently between his fingers. “Did you bring the sketches?” You nodded, pulling a folder from your bag. “Yeah. I mean, they’re rough. I wasn’t sure if they’d fit the theme.” You hesitated before handing them over.

Sol didn't say anything right away. Instead, he put the brush down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he flipped through your work. His gaze was intense, those fiery eyes scanning each page with a focus that made you feel bare.

His eyes were a masterpiece in themselves, an intense study of Central Heterochromia: an inner ring of burning orange encircled by an outer hue of crimson red. When he looked at you, it felt as though he were dissecting your very soul, layer by delicate layer.

“This one,” Sol said finally, tapping one of the sketches. It was an abstract piece—a swirl of jagged lines and harsh shading. “It’s raw. Honest. Use this as your foundation.”

“Really?” You leaned closer, your shoulder brushing his accidentally. Sol didn’t pull away. “I wasn’t sure if it was too… messy.”

“That’s the point,” Sol said, his voice quiet but firm. He set the folder aside and stood, moving toward the table where his paints were arranged. “Expressionism isn’t about clean lines. It’s about emotion. About what’s inside.” He picked up a palette, his long fingers deftly squeezing out colors in no particular order. “You brought what’s inside. I’ll help you pull it out.” You couldn’t help but watch as he moved, each action deliberate and fluid.

“So… how do we start?” You asked.

Sol turned to you, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his lips. "You start by not overthinking. Paint what you feel. I'll be here if you need guidance." He handed you a brush, his fingers brushing yours for just a moment before pulling away. "The colors are ready. Paint whatever you like.”

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the lights and the soft beat of your heart. Something in his presence was grounding, even as his piercing gaze seemed to strip you down to your essence. You took a deep breath and stepped toward the easel, the weight of Sol's quiet encouragement settling on your shoulders. "All right," you said, gripping the brush a little tighter.

"Let's do this.” You added.

Sol’s eyes followed your every movement, unblinking and intent. The way your hand gripped the brush—a touch too tight, almost desperate—and the soft inhale you took before the bristles kissed the canvas was enough to captivate him.

To Sol, it was as though he was watching the birth of a masterpiece, even if the real art hadn’t yet materialized on the canvas. He was utterly mesmerized, a silent spectator to something far beyond mere paint and pigment.

Then, in a sudden, mischievous shift, you dipped your brush into a light green on the palette and, without hesitation, swiped it across his cheek. The coolness of the paint startled him, his eyes widening as he froze in place. For a beat, Sol said nothing, stunned into stillness. Then, slowly, a small smile began to tug at the corner of his mouth, the icy veneer of his composure cracking ever so slightly.

He raised an eyebrow, amusement glimmering in his crimson-and-orange gaze. “Really?” he asked, his voice carrying the faintest undercurrent of a chuckle as he wiped at his cheek with his fingers. “Was that necessary?”

As he spoke, his hand casually reached for another brush, dipping it into a bold shade of red.

Your grin widened at his reaction, a playful spark lighting your eyes. “Necessary?” you teased, tilting your head. “Maybe not. But it was definitely worth it. Besides,” you added, twirling your brush between your fingers, “your reaction was priceless.”

Sol’s smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing as though calculating his next move. He leaned forward slightly, closing the space between you as the red-tipped brush hovered just inches from your skin. “You’re asking for it now,” he said softly, his tone playful but laced with a subtle edge. “Challenging an artist in his territory? Bold move.”

Your heart skipped at the proximity, but you held your ground. Meeting his gaze with equal intensity, you let your smirk turn sly. “Oh, I’m not just asking for it,” you quipped, your voice low and teasing. “I’m daring you to try.”

Sol’s eyes darkened, his playful expression giving way to something more intense, almost… predatory.

The brush in his hand swayed, the paint clinging to the tip as it hovered closer to your face. His voice dropped to a whisper, sending a shiver through you. “You don’t even know what you’re playing at,” he murmured, his lips curving into a slow, wicked smile.

Then, with a sudden and deliberate movement, he swiped the red paint across the bridge of your nose. The cool sensation made you blink in surprise, but the shock quickly melted into a laugh. You reached for another brush, dipping it into a rich green. “Rules, you say?” you said with mock defiance, a glint of mischief dancing your eyes. “But isn’t breaking them half fun?”

You drew the brush across the canvas instead of retaliating directly, your strokes bold and deliberate. Sol’s eyes flicked between the emerging shapes and your determined expression, his lips twitching with a mix of admiration and confusion.

A low chuckle rumbled from his throat, the sound rich and unexpected, sending a pleasant chill down your spine. “You’re not only cheeky,” he said, watching the paint flow in deliberate curves. “You’ve got the right attitude for this. Art isn’t about staying in lines—it’s about breaking through boundaries.”

His words carried a teasing edge, but beneath them was a subtle warmth, an acknowledgment of your courage and creativity. Still, as his gaze lingered on you, there was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.

“Careful, though,” he added softly, a smirk creeping back to his lips. “You might end up inspiring me more than the canvas.” The tension hung in the air like a taut string, electric and alive, as the two of you exchanged another glance.

You noticed the way Sol cast fleeting glances, darting his eyes between the canvas and your face. His expression was perfectly schooled, calm, and unreadable, but the tiniest flicker of amusement betrayed him. You knew he was holding back, his true opinion hidden behind that enigmatic smirk. Your eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of determination flaring within you as you paused your brush mid-stroke.

You met his gaze with a sly smile, your voice dripping with playful accusation. “You’re such a liar. Just say it—I’m bad at painting.”

Sol chuckled, a soft, throaty sound that was more amused than menacing this time. The smirk on his lips grew, and he didn’t bother to hide it as he leaned slightly against the edge of the table. “All right,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “The truth? You’re terrible at painting.” Before one could object, he held up a hand, his expression mock-serious.

"Your brushwork technique is messy, your composition is unbalanced, and your color harmony… well, let's just say it's as chaotic as your personality.” He said.

Your jaw dropped, and a flicker of indignation flashed in your eyes. But you composed yourself quickly, raising your chin in defiance. "Oh, is that right?" you retorted coolly, crossing your arms. "Well then, I suppose you think you could do a lot better."

Sol’s crimson-and-orange eyes gleamed with mischief, and he raised an eyebrow as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “Of course I could.”

Without waiting for permission, he stepped closer to the canvas, grabbing a clean brush from the palette. He leaned forward, studying your piece intently, his head tilting just slightly as he took in every line and stroke. For a moment, he said nothing, and the quiet stretched between you.

Then, with a smirk, he glanced back at you. “But don’t worry,” he said, dipping his brush into a pale yellow. “I’m not going to paint over your work. That would be cruel.” His tone softened slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he added, “You’ve got potential. Under the right tutelage, of course.”

You watched as Sol began painting over the blank spaces on the canvas. His brush moved lightly, in long, deliberate strokes. Each movement was precise, controlled, and yet carried an effortless grace. His hand didn’t hesitate, the tip of the brush gliding across the fabric like it was an extension of himself.

Your eyes drifted to his hand, caught by its hypnotic rhythm. It was larger than yours, bony yet strong, the veins along the back prominent as they flexed with the motion. The way his fingers gripped the brush with such confidence… It made you wonder, for a short second, what it might feel like if those same hands brushed against your skin instead of the canvas.

You blinked, startled by the thought, and shook your head slightly. But your gaze returned to his hands almost immediately, as though they had a gravity of their own. Something was captivating about them—the way they moved with purpose and elegance, the way the bristles danced under his direction.

“What?” Sol’s voice broke your trance, and you snapped your eyes up to meet his gaze. His lips curved into a teasing smile as though he’d caught you staring. “Don’t tell me I’ve already inspired awe.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes to cover your embarrassment. “Awe? Hardly. I’m just… observing your technique.” You gestured vaguely toward the canvas, trying to sound nonchalant. “Mm-hm,” he murmured, clearly unconvinced.

He leaned back slightly, his free hand resting on the table as he continued to paint. “So, what do you think? Learning something?”

Your lips twitched into a small smile, your earlier indignation melting into something lighter. “Well,” you began, tilting your head, “I can see that you’re good with your hands. I’ll give you that.”

Sol paused, glancing at you sidelong with a raised brow. His smirk deepened, taking on an almost dangerous edge. “Careful with compliments like that,” he said, his voice soft but laced with a playful warning. “You might give me the wrong idea.”

Heat crept into your cheeks, but you held your ground, determined not to give Sol the satisfaction of flustering you. Instead, you stepped closer, the faintest hint of a challenge in your stance. “Oh, I’m sure you’re used to hearing it,” you shot back. “You’re practically begging for praise with the way you show off.”

Sol laughed, low and rich, the sound like velvet brushing against the charged air between you. Straightening, he set his brush down and leaned slightly against the table, his gaze never leaving yours. “Maybe I am,” he admitted, his smirk widening just enough to make your pulse quicken. “But it’s working, isn’t it?”

Your brow lifted, and you tilted your head, feigning disinterest even as you studied him. His piercing gaze, the subtle confidence in his posture, that maddening smirk—it was infuriating how self-assured he was. And yet, there was something magnetic about him, something that made it impossible to look away.

You rolled your eyes, breaking the moment with a scoff. “Fine,” you said, lifting your brush again and stepping toward the canvas. “But don’t expect me to call you a genius. Not yet, anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Sol replied, his voice tinged with amusement. He shifted slightly, leaning down, watching you with a quiet intensity. The air between you felt electric and playful but threaded with an undertone of something deeper, something neither of you dared to name.

You focused on the canvas, trying to tune out the way his gaze burned into your back. But as the moments stretched, your thoughts wandered again. Did he feel it too—that spark, that pull? Or was it just your imagination running wild?

“Do you want me to guide you?” Sol’s sudden question cut through your thoughts, startling you. You glanced over your shoulder at him, your brush hesitating mid-stroke. “Guide me?” His expression flickered with faint amusement as he straightened, stepping closer. “Your brushwork on our painting,” he clarified. “Are you sure you’re paying attention?”

The flush on your cheeks deepened. You’d been so wrapped up in your thoughts—most of them about him—that you’d completely zoned out. Trying to cover your embarrassment, you huffed, lifting your chin slightly. “Of course, I’m paying attention,” you retorted, though your voice betrayed you with its defensiveness. “I’ve been observing, just like you said.”

The corner of Sol’s mouth quirked, a small, knowing smirk that sent a spark of irritation and something else through you. “Is that so?” he murmured.

Before you could respond, he moved closer, standing just behind you. The air around you shifted, warmer now, charged with his presence. You felt the heat of his body at your back, the faint rustle of fabric as he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath against your ear.

“You’re about as good at lying as you are at painting,” Sol said softly, his voice low and teasing. “You haven’t been paying attention to anything but me for the last five minutes.” Your protest died on your lips as his hand—larger, warmer—wrapped gently around yours, guiding your grip on the brush. You froze, your heart pounding as his chin rested lightly on your shoulder, the weight and proximity making it hard to breathe.

“Okay,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “Just follow me.”

Your hand moved under his guidance, the brush sweeping across the canvas in a smooth, deliberate arc. Together, you created a perfect swirl, the paint gliding like silk beneath the bristles. Your breath hitched, your gaze darting to his face out of the corner of your eye.

Sol’s focus was entirely on the canvas, his eyes following the line of the brush with the same intensity he’d given you earlier. A faint smile ghosted across his lips as he added another gentle stroke, the motion fluid and practiced. When his gaze finally flicked to yours, the warmth in his expression sent a jolt through you.

“Pay attention, please,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady the rush of emotions his proximity stirred. But then his eyes lingered a moment too long, and a small, knowing smirk curled at the edge of his lips again. Finding a burst of courage—or recklessness—you turned your head slightly, your faces just inches apart now. “I thought you said I wasn’t paying attention,” you said, your tone playful, though your voice was softer than you intended.

Sol’s smile deepened, his eyes flickering between yours and the canvas. “You weren’t,” he said, his breath brushing against your skin. “But maybe you’re finally getting the hang of it.” His low chuckle reverberated softly against your back, and the way his fingers guided your wrist—it was impossible not to feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

You swallowed hard, determined to keep your focus on the canvas in front of you, but Sol's presence was utterly overwhelming. "Maybe I just needed the right tutor," you managed to say, your voice wavering just enough to betray how unsteady you felt.

Sol let out a quiet laugh, warm and teasing. "Maybe you did," he replied, his tone carrying a playful edge. His hand adjusted slightly, guiding the brush into a smooth curve. “But you’ll need to focus for it to work.”

Easier said than done. He leaned in closer, his chest brushing lightly against your back, his breath warm on the side of your neck. Your heartbeat hammered, your skin prickling with the awareness of how close he was. His scent—a faint mix of paint, something floral, and the slightest hint of musk—filled your senses, making it almost impossible to concentrate.

The brush wavered slightly in your hand, the line on the canvas faltering. “Careful,” Sol murmured, his lips almost brushing your ear. “Don’t move too much. You’ll smudge our work.”

Your grip on the brush tightened as you fought to focus, but it was no use. The combination of his steady breathing, the warmth radiating from his body, and that damn smirk you knew was probably still on his lips—it was too much. Your arm shifted slightly, your elbow bumping against his.

Sol sighed, soft but pointed, his hand slipping away from yours. “All right,” he said, straightening up and stepping back. His tone was still calm, but there was a flicker of something firmer beneath it, something that sent a shiver down your spine. “If you can’t be still, maybe we need to change tactics.”

You blinked, turning to face him. “What do you mean?”

Without a word, Sol reached out, his hands firm but careful as he grasped your waist and guided you backward. Before you could process what was happening, you found yourself seated in his lap, his hands steadying you.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Wha—Sol!” you sputtered, heat flooding your face as you tried to wriggle away. “Please stop moving,” he said, his voice quickly said, almost in a warming tone. His arms rested lightly on either side of you, effectively caging you in. “You said you needed the right tutor. This is part of the lesson.”

Your protest died in your throat as you felt his breath against your ear again, his warmth surrounding you completely now. Your pulse was racing, your cheeks burning, but there was something about his calm composure—like this was the most natural thing in the world—that left you utterly speechless.

“You’re too restless,” Sol said, his voice softer now, almost teasing. “You’re going to ruin our painting if you keep squirming.”

“I—I’m not squirming,” you managed, though your voice betrayed you. “Sure you’re not,” he replied, his smirk practically audible. His hands moved to guide yours again, steady and sure as he returned your focus to the canvas. “Now, relax. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Despite your flustered state, his voice and the firm yet gentle pressure of his hands steadied you, guiding the brush in smooth, deliberate strokes. The rhythm of his movements and the closeness of his presence made it impossible to think about anything else.

As you followed his guidance, your breaths began to sync with his, the tension in your shoulders loosening slightly. His hand stayed over yours, directing the brush with practiced ease.

“There,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “See how much better that feels?”

You swallowed, glancing over your shoulder at him. His gaze was focused on the canvas, but the faintest smirk still played at the corner of his lips. His eyes flicked to meet yours briefly, and the intensity in them sent another wave of warmth rushing through you.

“I think you just like being in control,” you said, trying to sound teasing, though your voice was softer than you intended.

Sol chuckled, his breath brushing against your neck. “And I think you like making things harder than they need to be.”

Your heart raced as his words lingered in the air, the tension between you palpable. But before you could respond, Sol’s hand guided yours in another gentle stroke, pulling your focus back to the canvas. “Now,” he said, his tone a bit more playful, “are you going to let me teach you, or do I need to keep you here until you finally pay attention?”

The challenge in his voice made your cheeks burn even hotter, but you rolled your eyes, gripping the brush tighter. “Fine,” you muttered. “I’ll pay attention.”

“Good,” he said, leaning slightly closer. “Because we’re not done yet.” Your pulse raced as Sol’s hands guided yours, the rhythm of the brushstrokes steady under his control. He sat perfectly at ease, holding you on his lap like it was just another part of his creative process.

And you? You were anything but composed.

“When doing this stroke, pay close attention,” Sol murmured again, his voice low and coaxing, his breath brushing against your ear. All you needed to do was Relax. As if you could do that when every inch of you felt like it was vibrating with awareness of him. “No pressure,” he added, his hand over yours, moving the brush in a smooth arc. “Unless you want to mess up and start over.”

You scoffed, tilting your head just enough to glance back at him, a mischievous spark lighting your eyes. “I think you like having me mess up,” you said, your voice laced with defiance. Sol’s lips twitched into a smirk, but he didn’t take the bait. “Maybe,” he said, his tone calm and measured. “But it’s our project. If we waste more time because of you being difficult, that’s on you.”

Something about the calm way he said it made you bristle. You shifted slightly in his lap, testing his patience as you pressed back just enough to feel the firmness of his chest against your back.

“I’m not being difficult,” you said, your tone saccharine and falsely sweet. You turned your head more, your eyes narrowing as you added, “I just think you’re enjoying this a little too much, Sol.”

His brow arched slightly, the only indication that you’d gotten under his skin. “Am I?” he asked, his voice still maddeningly even. But as you shifted again—this time deliberately moving in a way that pressed closer to him—you felt the way his body tensed beneath you.

The faintest hint of red crept into Sol’s cheeks, and his hand on yours tightened slightly before releasing, his composure faltering just enough to make your lips curve into a triumphant smile.

“See?” you said, turning fully now so you were half-facing him, still perched on his lap. “You do enjoy it.”

His crimson-and-orange gaze flicked over you, lingering for just a moment too long before snapping back to your eyes. Something about him was... off.

Not in an unsettling way, but in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. The piercing gaze from those luminous eyes seemed to see more of you than you intended to show. His silence spoke volumes, each glance and measured movement a language of its own.

The way he painted and the way he carried himself made it hard to distinguish where the artist ended, and the art began. Sol wasn't just quiet. He was quiet. And in that stillness, you found yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame—a dangerous, beautiful thing you couldn't resist.

You noticed it then—the way his expression shifted, the way his pupils dilated slightly as he took in the way your outfit clung to you, a simple, black shirt with a matching pencil skirt, looking like a dress, more fitted than he’d probably realized earlier.

“You’re pushing your luck,” Sol said softly, his voice carrying a warning edge. He was stiff beneath you, his posture taut, as though holding himself together with sheer willpower.

But you weren’t backing off.

Instead, you tilted your neck and leaned in, your face stopping mere inches from his. “Am I?” you whispered, the deliberate echo of his earlier words carrying a teasing, brash confidence.

His reaction was almost immediate. The flush on his cheeks deepened, painting his pale skin with a rosy hue that crept to the tips of his ears. You shifted back slightly in his lap, letting your back brush against his chest, and the sudden contact made him jerk awkwardly on the stool.

Sol swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edges of the seat as though he was anchoring himself. “Please stop,” he said, quieter this time, his voice almost a plea. But the way his molten gaze locked onto yours betrayed him—he didn’t mean it. “Aw.. Why?” you asked, tilting your head with mock innocence. “Am I distracting a great artist from his work?”

His jaw tightened, the muscles flexing as his hands flexed on the stool. The tension radiating from him was palpable, and it only spurred you on. His composure was crumbling, piece by piece, and you were determined to break it completely.

“You’re impossible,” Sol muttered, his voice strained.

The triumph in your smile grew, and you leaned closer, just enough for your breath to tease the sensitive skin of his neck. “You could always make me stop,” you murmured, your voice soft and challenging.

For a moment, Sol didn’t move, his gaze flicking between your lips and your eyes. His breathing grew heavier, each exhales brushing against your cheek. You could almost hear the war raging inside him, every bit of his control battling the undeniable pull between you.

Then, in one swift motion, his hand slid to your waist. The firm but steady grip steadied you as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against the side of your neck in a fleeting, feather-light kiss that sent a jolt of electricity racing through you.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you pressed back further into him, daring him to take another step.

Sol’s response was immediate. His teeth grazed your neck, the gentle nibble enough to leave you breathless and your pulse hammering in your ears. His other hand moved to your hip, holding you firmly in place as he pressed another kiss to your neck, this one lingering longer, his lips warm and insistent.

“Still think I’m enjoying this too much?” he murmured, his voice rough and ragged against your skin. Your smirk faltered as heat flushed through you, your ability to respond stolen by the heady sensations he was creating.

Sol chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your neck, sending another shiver coursing through you. “What’s the matter?” he teased, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “You’re quiet now.”

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to steady. “I-I’m just giving you a chance to prove your point,” you said, though your defiance was flickering with every second.

“Oh, I’ll prove it,” Sol murmured, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin.

His fingers brushed the hem of your top, skimming the fabric aside to expose more of your collarbone. He continued his trail of kisses, his lips soft but deliberate, his teeth occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin and likely leaving faint red marks.

Your breath came in shallow gasps, your mind clouded with the sensation of his mouth, his hands, and the heat of his body enveloping you. When you shifted slightly, testing his patience, Sol growled low in his throat.

He tugged you closer with a sudden movement, turning you slightly on his lap so you faced him. His hands gripped your hips, firm but careful, making sure you wouldn’t lose your balance. His body pressed flush against yours, his thighs anchoring you in place, leaving no space between you.

The sudden awareness of your positions sent a jolt through you, the contrast between his firm frame and your softness making you hyper-aware of every point of contact. His chest brushed yours as he leaned closer, his voice low and dripping with intensity. “Was this an accident?” he asked, his gaze burning into yours. “Or was it on purpose?”

You swallowed thickly, turning your neck behind yourself to allow your eyes to drift to the hollow of his throat. Slowly, you reached out, your index finger tracing a light, teasing path along his collarbone. “Possibly… both,” you murmured.

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could trail your touch any lower. His grip was firm but not painful, his expression a mix of frustration and desire as he forced you to meet his gaze.

“How long,” he asked, his voice dangerously soft, “are you going to keep staring at me?”

Your lips curved into a slow, teasing smile as you tilted your head. “As long as I want to,” you said with a defiant edge. “What’s wrong? Are you going to punish me more?”

His grip on your wrist tightened slightly, and his other hand pressed against the small of your back, holding you steady as he leaned in closer. “Don’t be cocky,” he warned, his voice dropping to a rough, predatory whisper. “You don’t want to know the kind of things I’m imagining.”

You glanced down at the growing tension between you—at the unmistakable bulge pressing against your thigh. A flicker of boldness sparked in your expression as your fingers teased over his chest. “I think I already know,” you whispered.

Sol’s eyes darkened, his breath hitching as he tensed beneath you. His lips brushed your ear, his voice a strained mix of frustration and want. “You’re playing with fire,” he murmured, his tone rough, almost ragged.

Before you could form a reply, Sol leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle—it was raw, demanding, and full of the hunger he’d been holding back. Your eyes widened in shock at first, the boldness of his move catching you completely off guard.

But that shock melted quickly, replaced by an undeniable pull that made you lean into him.

Sol’s hands moved to your hips, gripping firmly as he turned you fully to face him on his lap. The motion was smooth but decisive, his strength evident as he shifted you effortlessly. Your knees now rested on either side of his thighs, your bodies pressed flush against one another.

The new position heightened the intensity, your chest brushing his with each labored breath. Sol’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, while his lips moved against yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

You didn’t hesitate, your hands moving to the sides of his face, holding him there as you matched his fervor with your own. The kiss deepened, turning messy and desperate, your mouths moving in sync as though trying to consume each other completely.

Sol broke away for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath, his eyes burning into yours with a heat that made your skin tingle. “You’re relentless,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his fingers pressing into your lower back.

You smirked, your lips brushing his as you replied, “And you’re loving it.”

Before he could respond, you leaned back in, reclaiming his mouth with a force that left him no room to argue. Your hands moved instinctively, reaching behind him to untie the apron, quickly removing it from him to have a clear view of his chest.

Slowly, your index finger drags itself down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. The urgency of the moment consumed you, and your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling at first, then unfastening them one by one with increasing speed.

Sol groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through you and making your pulse race. His hands moved again, one slipping up to cradle the back of your head, the other gripping your waist to keep you anchored against him.

As his shirt fell open, your hands splayed against his bare chest, your fingertips brushing over his warm skin. The contrast between the cool air and his heat sent a shiver through him, his tone muscles tensing under your touch.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your eyes raking over him as you took in the sight of his now-exposed chest. His skin was pale smooth, his collarbone pronounced, and the faint sheen of sweat glistening under the low light made him look utterly irresistible.

Sol’s lips twitched into a smirk at your lingering gaze, though his eyes were heavy with want. “Like what you see?” he teased, though his voice was uneven, betraying his arousal.

Instead of answering, you leaned in again, your lips finding the hollow of his throat. You pressed open-mouthed kisses down the column of his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as your hands continued their exploration. Sol tilted his head back slightly, giving you better access as a low growl escaped him.

“You’re insatiable,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, a wicked smile playing on your lips. “And you’re complaining?” you shot back, your tone dripping with challenge.

Sol’s hands slid up your sides, his thumbs grazing the edge of your ribs as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours again. “Not a chance,” he murmured against your mouth, before pulling you into another searing kiss.

The kiss deepened, growing more fervent with each passing second. Your fingers tangled in his hair, the strands silky yet wild, as his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him. The heat of his bare chest against yours, the intoxicating rhythm of his lips moving over yours—it was overwhelming, drowning out every thought but him. Your breaths mingled, uneven and ragged, as you both surrendered to the storm of desire building between you.

With deliberate boldness, your hand began a slow descent, sliding over his toned stomach to the waistband of his pants. While he remained engrossed in the kiss, you let your fingers drift lower, brushing against the hardness beneath his pants. A sharp intake of breath escaped Sol’s lips, his body tensing against yours. His grip faltered briefly, but his response was immediate.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his heterochromatic eyes ablaze with unfiltered desire. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps as he tried to regain control. “You’re playing with fire,” he rasped, his voice a low, gravelly whisper, both warning and temptation.

Instead of pulling away, his hands found your hips once more, his fingers digging in just enough to ground you, to anchor himself. He tilted his hips slightly, pressing into your touch as a shudder ran through him. His challenge hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown at your feet, daring you to keep going.

Your lips curved into a sly smile, your voice laced with teasing defiance. “Then I’ll just have to handle the heat,” you murmured. Leaning closer, your breath ghosted over his ear as you added, “Didn’t you say I need to work on my brushwork?”

With deliberate intent, you slid your hand along the curve of his waistband, unbuttoning his pants with practiced ease. Sol groaned low in his throat, the sound reverberating through his chest and into yours. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you impossibly closer as if trying to meld you into him.

“I didn’t mean… this,” he muttered, though his tone betrayed how much he wanted it. His lips found your neck, trailing heated kisses along your skin as he fought to keep his control intact. His body trembled beneath your touch, his breath hot and ragged against your throat.

Your hand ventured lower, and as his pants gave way, you were met with the proof of his desire. The sight of his cock—pale like his skin, flushed with need, and curve glistening pink tip—sent a wave of heat through you. You couldn’t help but marvel at him, at how his body responded so wholly to you.

Sol groaned again, his head falling back as he fought the urge to completely unravel. “F-Fuck this shit,” he muttered, his voice hoarse and raw.

With a sudden burst of need, he grabbed your hand, his rough fingers intertwining with yours as he guided you to his cock, wrapping your hand around it.

His eyes burned into yours, a silent plea and a command wrapped in one. “If you’re going to do this,” he growled, “then do it right. After all, I’m the tutor,”

The juxtaposition of his firm grip and your softer touch sent shivers through him, his body responding instinctively to your every movement. He bit back a curse, his jaw clenched, yet his eyes remained locked on yours, filled with both vulnerability and hunger as he helps you move his cock up and down.

The way his hand enveloped yours, guiding you with deliberate control, sent a jolt of heat through your body. His skin was hot beneath your palm, pulsing with need, the intensity of it making your breath hitch. The sensation of being so intimately connected, of having him at your mercy, was intoxicating. Your lips curved into a sly, knowing smile as you met his gaze with a sultry intensity.

"Then guide me, Sol," you murmured, voice low with a hint of teasing.

His eyes darkened, his breath catching at your words. For a moment, it seemed as though he might lose his composure entirely, but instead, he pressed closer, the heat of his body radiating into yours. His hands tightened over yours, steady and commanding, as he guided your movements with aching precision.

"Guide you?" he rasped, his voice rough with barely contained desire. "Gladly."

His fingers wrapped firmly around yours, leading you in a slow, deliberate rhythm around his cock. Each movement was an exquisite torment, a maddening mix of control and surrender that left you craving more. His voice, low and gravelly, brushed over your skin like a caress. "Like this," he whispered.

The feel of him beneath your touch was overwhelming, a mix of heat and tension that made your chest tighten and your pulse quicken. As his hand fell away, relinquishing control to you, the look in his eyes—half-lidded and burning with need—was almost too much to bear.

Taking charge, you continued the motion, your strokes deliberate and teasing. Sol's breaths grew heavier, his head falling back slightly as he tried to stifle the low groans that escaped his lips. But he couldn’t hold back the quiet whines that followed, each sound unraveling you further.

The weight of you on his lap, the way your hips shifted against him—whether intentional or not—drove him wild. His hands gripped your waist tightly as though grounding himself was the only way to keep himself from losing control—and you from falling.

His face flushed a deep red, his jaw tightening as his breaths came faster, his body trembling beneath you. His arousal was undeniable, glistening with beads of precum that caught the light as they slid down his length. The sight alone was enough to make your stomach tighten with desire, but it was the sounds he made—low, broken groans turning into quiet, breathless whimpers—that truly undid you.

Sol’s tired yet desperate eyes met yours, silently begging for more, even as his body surrendered entirely to your touch. The vulnerability in his gaze was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help but feel a wicked thrill at the power you held over him. Every gasp, every shudder, every barely audible plea only pulled you deeper into the moment, the fire between you burning hotter with each passing second.

You begin rudding the slit on his tip, dipping your finger on the pre-cum, smudging it across the tip, “A-ahh…” That alone sent a chilling feeling down his spine. Then you wonder for a second.

Just how far you could take this?

And, as if he could read her mind, Sol’s voice was broken into another gasp at the feel of her finger on his tip. You smirked, leaning in close to his ear. “Does that feel good, Sol?” You smirked, leaning in close to his ear.

Sol let out a strangled, guttural moan, his body shuddering at your touch, his breathing labored and strained. He gripped the edge of the stool as if holding on for dear life, his knuckles turning white. "Y-Yeah," he managed to gasp, his voice trembling the words out.

"Feels... so good." His head fell back, his eyes fluttering closed as you continued your ministrations, his body completely at your mercy.

As he tried his best to muffle the pathetic whimpers that were threatening to escape his lips with his free hand covering his mouth, Sol was coming undone, every touch, every gentle caress pulling him closer and closer to the edge. And he couldn’t get enough of how your delicate fingers all wrapped nicely around his cock.

Hearing his voice, broken and needy, sent a thrill coursing through you, intensifying your desire for him. This side of Sol—a man usually so composed and enigmatic—was uncharted territory, and you were quickly losing yourself in the discovery.

You leaned back slightly, just enough to drink in the sight of him, a teasing smirk playing on your lips. “Just good?” you purred, your voice dripping with mock innocence. “Or does it feel better than that?”

“Pumpkin,” he rasped, his voice deep and trembling with barely contained restraint. It took everything in him to hold back, but the way your sharp, half-lidded eyes bore into him, your smirk only widening as your hand pumped him faster—it was driving him to the edge. “I-I’m close, please… please...” He moaned,

“Oops, sorry~” you cooed, amusement dancing in your tone as if you weren’t purposefully unraveling him by slowing down.

Sol’s body jolted under your touch, another strangled moan escaping his lips as his grip on the stool tightened. He was trembling, the effort to maintain control wearing thin. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one sharper than the last. “Come on… Please…” He whines, “Let me cum, I want to cum… Will you let me, pumpkin?” He begged.

His breathing is ragged, tiny beads of sweat rolling down his cheek, some of his hair sticking to his face as you pump his cock—dare you say, he looks hot like this.

You grin again, that same slow, cat-got-the-canary sort of smile from before. Are you enjoying this? Maybe it’s just a teeny bit too much.

“Mmh, I don’t know,” You say, tone light and mocking, considering it while pumping him faster. “Are you sure you’ve been good enough to deserve that, Sol~?”

Sol's face flushed crimson as he groaned under your touch, his body reacting with an involuntary twitch. He could barely hold himself together, the effort nearly breaking him. Your teasing, the way you toyed with him like this. It was enough to drive him insane with need. And yet... he loves it.

“Please,” he panted, his voice choked with need. “Please, pumpkin... don't tease me anymore.”

You grin, your breath catching in your throat for a brief moment at the sound of his pleading. He’s so desperate, and again—it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

Before you get to reply, you are stuck watching, listening to him. With one last stroke, he came. You feel a warm, sticky substance splatter against your face, and you gasp in surprise, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When you open it back up, you see your hands are covered in… his cum.

He whines, trembling under your touch. “Fuck…” He grumbles… before chuckling breathlessly, his chest rising and falling with each ragged inhale. He looked at you, his eyes darkened with desire, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You're a tease, you know that...?" he murmured, his voice still hoarse. He reaches up, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers leaving a smudge of his cum on your skin.

You laugh softly, eyes fluttering closed at the touch of his fingers against your face. You can still taste him on your lips. “I’m aware, and I love it,” You say, your tongue darting out to lick a stray bit of his cum away, “Such a good boy.”

Sol's heart skipped a beat at the sight of your tongue running across your lips. He could hardly contain himself, his body still thrumming with a mix of need and satisfaction.

"You're... you're going to be the death of me, Pumpkin," he said, strained and thick. "I swear... you're going to drive me insane." Before you could respond, his hands shot forward, gripping your wrists roughly, halting your movements. “You know, It takes a true artist to know how to use their hands,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his frustration and desire boiling over.

“Right now, I feel inspired. With your body so close to mine—” his gaze flicked to you, sharp and burning, “—you gonna feel so good once I get through painting you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, his grip on your wrists firm and electrifying. Yet, you didn’t back down. Instead, your smirk deepened, and you tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Aww, it’s cute when you get all frustrated like that.” you quipped, resuming your teasing pace despite his attempt to rein you in.

Sol’s jaw clenched, a growl rumbling deep in his chest as his eyes blazed with irritation and helpless desire. “Teasing me like this,” he gasped, his voice cracking under the weight of his need, “You deserve to be punished.”

“Sorry? Punished?” You repeated, arching a brow, your smirk faltering for a moment as curiosity mingled with arousal.

His hands released your wrists, moving instead to the hem of your shirt. Slowly, deliberately, he began sliding it upward, his touch igniting sparks along your skin.

He lifted your shirt, his movements were unhurried yet firm, tossing it aside without a second thought. The cool air kissed your bare skin, making you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat in Sol’s gaze. His eyes roamed over your body unabashedly, dark with want, his intensity sending your pulse racing.

The way he looked at you—devoured you—was intoxicating. You felt your breath hitch, your skin tingling under his gaze as if he were leaving invisible marks with every flick of his eyes. Sol leaned in slightly, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers cascading down your spine. “Now let’s see if you’re ready for what you started.”

The lace of your black bra barely had a chance to tease him before Sol unclasped it with uncharacteristic haste. His breath caught in his throat as the fabric fell away, leaving your bare skin exposed to the cool air. The curve of your shoulders, the elegant line of your neck, and the sight of your hardened nipples sent a shiver of desire coursing through him.

You were breathtaking, more so than any image his mind could have conjured. The reality of you—your warmth, your movement, the way you bared yourself so freely—was utterly consuming.

As you slipped off the remaining layers with deliberate ease, Sol found himself captivated, unable to look away. "You're staring," you teased, your voice low and sultry, tinged with amusement. "See something you like?"

He tried to respond, but the words caught in his throat, his mind blank save for the raw need coursing through him. He swallowed hard, his gaze trailing shamelessly over your body, lingering on every curve, every delicate line of skin.

He wanted to touch, to claim, to make you his in every sense. But he hesitated, almost afraid of the depth of his desire. The way you looked, so confident and alluring, made him feel as though he was standing on the edge of a precipice, and all he wanted was to jump.

Sol's hands moved almost without thought, tracing the length of your legs, the curve of your knee, the delicate arch of your foot. His reverence for you bordered on worship, a devotion so intense it frightened him. He had tried to keep it at bay, but now that he had you like this, so open and vulnerable, he felt the weight of his restraint snapping.

He was a man who could get lost in his own obsession, and with you, it was dangerously easy. Sol didn’t just want you—he craved you, a hunger so profound it threatened to unravel him entirely.

With trembling hands, he slid your pencil skirt down your hips, the fabric pooling on the floor with a careless toss. He left the lace of your black panties on, unable to resist the way they hugged your body so perfectly. His lips found your neck, pressing kisses against the sensitive skin as he let his hands explore.

The only thing separating you now was the thin layer of fabric between you, damp with evidence of your arousal. Sol’s thumb moved instinctively, pressing gently against the damp spot, and the soft gasp you let out was like fuel to the fire burning inside him.

Your reaction sent his heart racing, his body trembling with restrained need. But when you whispered his name, your voice breathless and trembling, it pulled him back from the brink.

“Sol,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. “Wait… you’re going a little too fast.”

The words hung in the air like a sudden stillness before a storm. Sol froze, his hands pausing mid-motion on your body. His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling heavily as he pulled back, his intense gaze locking onto yours. A mix of frustration and unspoken yearning flickered in his eyes, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

“Too fast?” he echoed, his voice hoarse and tinged with disbelief. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “You’re the one who started the fire, said you can handle it, and now you’re telling me to slow down?”

He let out a soft, strained laugh, the sound laced with both amusement and restraint, as though he was trying to tether himself to reality. Still, he relented, easing the intensity of his movements.

Slowly, he reached down, unzipping his jeans and pushing them just enough to loosen their grip, his shirt discarded in the process. His gaze softened, though the heat in his eyes remained, a smoldering flame that refused to extinguish.

“This is still your punishment, Pumpkin,” he murmured, a crooked smile playing at his lips as he leaned in, brushing a featherlight kiss to your lips.

The kiss was different this time—rough, more forceful. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw and down to your neck, each kiss feeling like a vow unspoken. The world outside faded, leaving only the two of you suspended at this moment. He moved further, his lips exploring your collarbone and sternum with reverence, his warmth leaving a trail of fire across your skin.

His hands trembled slightly as they cupped your chest, his touch reverent but firm, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. His breath hitched as he brushed his thumbs over your nipples, the gentle pressure sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, his voice thick with wonder. “So damn pretty.”

Your mind swirled with the weight of his words, his touch, his presence. The heat between you was overwhelming, your body arching into his hands as he explored with care and devotion. Each kiss, each touch, sent waves of sensation rippling through you, leaving you breathless.

“Sol…” you breathed, your voice trembling with both hesitation and longing. “Please…”

But instead of heeding your plea, he pressed forward, his lips finding the sensitive peak of your chest. He kissed you there with aching tenderness, his tongue tracing slow circles as his hand mirrored his movements. A soft moan escaped your lips, and he hummed in approval, his grip steadying you as you began to unravel under his touch.

He paused only to meet your gaze, his eyes filled with something deeper than desire—an emotion too profound for words.

He quickly shifted you, his hands firm yet careful as he turned you toward the painting you and he both made. The cool air against your heated skin made you shiver, the contrast heightening your awareness of his every movement.

He moved behind you, his breath warm against your neck. For a moment, he hesitated, his fingers brushing down your skin to the fabric of your panties. He slid them down slowly, his movements deliberate, almost reverent, before throwing them on the floor.

He forced you to lean on your back against his firm chest, the back of your head resting against his shoulder as his hands stayed on your hips.

Soon his hand slid beneath your chin, tilting your face upward with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. His gaze locked onto yours, a tempest of emotions swirling in his red-orange eyes—desire, restraint, and something unspoken yet intense.

“Sorry, Pumpkin,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet whisper, “but I need you.”

He adjusted your position, the shift sending a jolt of sensation through you as his cock settled snugly against your bare heat. A soft, broken sound escaped your lips—a breathy, high-pitched “A-Ah!”—and your half-lidded eyes met his. In his fiery gaze, the pupils seemed to ripple, almost heart-shaped, as though they reflected his overwhelming hunger for you.

Sol began to move, rubbing cock rather fast and rough against your cunt, his hips pressing forward until he found that sweet, electrifying spot. Your voice spilled out again, light and melodic, each sound like a chime caught on the breeze. His movements became more assured, each thrust purposeful as he reveled in the way your body responded to his.

He had you now—completely, utterly his.

Your bodies melded together in perfect rhythm, your breaths and sighs tangling as if they were one. Sol’s senses were flooded with you: the subtle rise and fall of your chest, the faint tension in your spine that dissolved beneath his touch. Each reaction, each sound you made, only drove him deeper into the intoxicating realization that you were exactly where he wanted you—wrapped in his embrace, utterly lost in him.

He has you in his grasp, but he wants to hold onto you tighter.

He focuses on where your lower bodies meet, tongue poked between his lips and furrow in his brow. Drives his hard cock rubbing against your bare cunt, catching the crown into your clit until you’re shaking underneath him. Sol can’t think anymore, lost in the feeling of wonderful pleasure.

If it feels so good like this, being inside you might be too much.

So close in proximity that Sol can hear each of your short pants. Erratic and almost thoughtlessly driven by one single thing: pleasing you. Feeling each other, all wrapped up together.

Drawing out those moans as he pinches your nipples at your tits, making you feel how hard he is. How pent-up, needy, and fucking horny he is all for you. Just humping your soft, sweet cunt makes Sol want to risk everything he’s got with you.

The push and pull of too much and not enough at the same time. It’s so fucking euphoric. Your cunt keeps wetter and wetter, and Sol doesn’t know if it’s you or him - his pre-cum dribbling agasint your needy cunt. He can feel your pussy pulse and tremble. Your spine goes stiff, and Sol pulls away to look at you.

You’re so pretty. You’re on edge, in complete bliss, and so fucking pretty only for his eyes to see.

“A-ah, Sol—please, wait,” you gasped, your words trembling as pleasure coursed through you. Sol froze for a moment, his eyes wide and blazing, the sound of your plea cutting through the haze of his need. Frustration flickered across his face, mingling with something softer, something more conflicted.

He didn’t want to wait—couldn’t—not with the way your body moved beneath him, flushed and trembling, your breath hitching with every touch.

Your mind was a haze of heat and sensation, your body barely keeping up with the overwhelming pleasure that had left you spiraling. And when you both reached that peak together—his cum spilling over as yours soaked on tophim in return—it was a moment that burned itself into his memory.

A first—he made you come with him. The sight of you arching against him, your cries echoing in his ears, left him undone, his breath ragged and unsteady as he trembled, listening to your pretty moans.

Sol’s hands remained firm on your hips, anchoring you as his gaze devoured you. Again, the image of you—writhing, broken, and entirely his—was seared into his mind, a memory he wanted to relive over and over again. His heart pounded as he leaned forward, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both desperate and adoring, his tongue teasing yours in a way that left you breathless.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, I need…” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and raw with emotion. His nose nuzzled against your cheek before he kissed the corner of your mouth, his words pouring out in a slow, deliberate cadence.

“I want to see it again,” he said, his tone steady but trembling with need. “I want you to cum again, Pumpkin.”

The vulnerability in his voice stirred something inside you, but your body was already at its limit. You pulled back slightly, your breath still uneven as your gaze met his. “Sol, I... I don’t think I can,” you admitted softly, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

His eyes darkened the fire in them dimming for a moment, replaced by something closer to concern. His hands softened their grip, and he leaned back just enough to study your face, his expression caught between worry and restraint. “Did I hurt you?” he asked gently, his voice quieter now, though the tension in his body remained.

You shook your head quickly, your words coming in a rush. “No, no, you didn’t. I just—”

“Then you can keep going,” he interrupted, his tone almost pleading, his patience unraveling at the edges. His gaze was intense and unwavering, and you felt your resolve waver under the weight of his need.

“Sol,” you tried again, shaking your head as you placed a hand on his chest. “I’m tired. You’ve... you’ve worn me out. And you’ve got to be tired too—don’t you think? What about our project?”

His brows furrowed as he let out a frustrated groan, his body taut with tension. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “It can wait.”

Your breath caught as his hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips again and pulling you against him yet again. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin. “You look so damn good like this,” he murmured, his voice tinged with reverence. “Messy and perfect—covered in our cum.”

A shiver ran through you as his hands explored your body, his touch deliberate and reverent. "How much more should I paint you?" He kissed a trail down your neck and shoulders, his lips soft yet possessive. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent a fresh wave of heat through you, despite your exhaustion.

“Sol, please,” you whispered, though the words lacked conviction.

He didn’t respond, his silence heavy with meaning as his hands moved lower, his touch firm but gentle, as though committing every curve and contour of your body to memory. His fingers brushed over your thighs, then between them, the featherlight touch making you tremble.

When he finally touched you—his fingers tracing over the sensitive folds of your cunt, slick and sticky from your shared cum—a sharp gasp escaped your lips. He groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he focused on you, his movements both precise and overwhelming.

“Can you feel it?” he whispered, his voice rough but laced with tenderness. “How much I want you, need you? How much I love you?”

The words struck something deep within you, and though you were overwhelmed, you couldn’t deny the magnetic pull of his touch, his voice, his very presence. He didn’t need to say it aloud; every caress, every glance, told you everything he couldn’t put into words.

Sol was an artist, and you were caught in the vision of it—a dangerous one. You’re trembling with anticipation. A sense of contentment washes over Sol as his breath fans over your neck.

Sol can feel how worked up you are. You’re quiet and tense. Some part of him wants to leave you like that, waiting, but the other part of him wants to give you everything you’ve ever asked for. He gives into the latter because that’s what he wants more.

He used his free hand that was grounded you to lap, reaching down to lift his now hard cock agasint your bare cunt with a deep sigh, and a pleased hum.

He loves the way you smell, the scent of sex and arousal mixed with the fancy soaps you keep in your bathroom.

Your pussy is as pretty as you are, a sheen of arousal all along your slit. Your clit peeks through, swelling from need. Sol uses his tip to kiss your opening without thinking. He starts slow. Lays his cock flat against the seam of your cunt before dragging it up and down once, rubbing you again however, this time, it almost slips inside of you.

You lose a little of what little control you had. Your body jerks back against him, and you bite back a moan. Sol felt that—he can’t get enough of you. Neither can you.

He moans in appreciation, repeating the gesture as he pulls your pussy closer. He gazes and looks down at you. You’re so pretty it makes him want to please. He repeats this over and over, grinding on your clit on his hard and needy cock, throbbing against the soft, smooth muscle as he gains a sort of rhythm.

He gauges your reaction when he tries something new, adding pressure until you’re squirming underneath him. When you start growing noisier, Sol knows he’s hit the right pace.

And he stays like that for a bit, your pussy soaking more of his cock. He adjusts himself slightly, rubbing his fingers between your folds. You let out a soft "A-ah" above him, making him want to laugh. He keeps at it, his fingers sliding far enough to tease your entrance. Your hole is squeezing without him having done much at all, his middle finger teasing and prodding.

“Sol stop! Don’t t-tease so much,” You pant. Sol nearly blows again, listening to you talk like that. He didn’t think you could be so cute.

Sol couldn’t help but smirk, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "But I love teasing you," he whispered against your skin, "hearing you pant and moan, wanting more but not quite getting what you need."

His finger kept playing around your entrance, just kind of going in circles on your sensitive bits. "Besides, it's fun to watch you squirm to my touch," he said, sliding his middle finger into you like it was nothing. It's not that hard. You're so wet for him, it's crazy. Your walls feel super soft and inviting, all syrupy when he touches them.

Sol loves the way your cunt feels, taking his time to go in and out slowly enough that the tension just fades away. He really gets in there with his middle finger, and when it looks like you're not tense anymore—he goes and adds another one. He's doing both at the same time—and there's this moment where it's just a whole lot of sensation for you.

Eventually, it stops being just a sensation, and it shifts into pleasure. He presses his fingers into you hard, really massaging that soft spongy spot, he can feel you lean forward, nearly lurching forward.

Your back arches, mouth hanging open, “S-Sol!” You moaned.

Another feeling of pride spreads through his chest, his whole body. He wants you to let go again just like this. While he fingers your weepy cunt—he wants to see how far he can push. How wet you can get before he ever gets inside.

His fingers can feel the way your walls tighten up so hard and the tremors of the aftermath. Your back curves against him as you cum again closing your thighs, hard for him, and he can feel it.

He can feel you cum over his cock once more. He can see you, see the pleasure crash into you like a tidal wave. A second. Sol made you cum twice in a row, this time without him. You practically pry him off as you ride the wave of your high. You sighed deeply as you watched Sol lick his fingers. "You taste so sweet, all because of me~" He breathed out, looking down at you.

“Are you done?” You asked, tiredly wore out.

Sol's eyes darkened at your question, his body still thrumming with a unsatisfied need. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind.

"Done?" he echoed, his voice rough. "I'm far from done, Pumpkin.” He sits you up on his lap, fixing you to completely lay back naked and beautiful, tugging open your thighs for your cunt to rest on top of his cock once more. “Sol I can’t please.” You quickly reached onto his shaft, stopping him.

Sol's mind went blank when you touched him, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine. His breath hitched, and he looked up at you through hazy eyes, his body quivering with need. He wanted you, desperately, but he also knew he had to stop.

"Pumpkin," he panted, his voice strained. "I... I don’t think I can handle any more of your teasing.” He said with heart eyes, “Just let this happen, please.”

His tone is so needy, so desperate, and it shoots straight through you, making your body shiver. You can feel just how badly he wants you, needs you. Already itching to do it a third.

"I-I wasn't trying to tease you,” You whisper, your voice soft and shaky. “I’m just... I’m just tired, Sol. I am.”

You try to pull back, even just a little, to put some space between them, but he's holding you tight against his back, “We’re almost there. Just one more…” He breathes out, stroking his cock, guiding the tip to your cunt opening, ‘I wanna feel you…” He mumbled, slowly pushing himself inside, “A-Ah, Sol!” You pleaded, trying to close your legs, but he forced them open.

“Don’t fight it.” He warned, pushing himself in. Your cunt squeezes your opening, not letting his cock inside before he goes in frustration while biting your neck to distract you, “Ahhh!” You mown in pain.

His hands gripped you tightly, anchoring you to him as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. He was completely undone, his desire for you eclipsing everything else, his body responding to the need pulsing through him.

In the haze of his hunger, he vaguely registers the absence of protection, but it barely registers in his mind, overshadowed by the overwhelming need to have you. A fleeting moment of tension flares before it melts into pure, white-hot pleasure, every inch of being inside you sent him aflame.

You feel incredible—like nothing he’s ever known. His arms tighten around your body, pulling you closer, coaxing you down another inch on his cock. His lips find your neck again, this time with more urgency, his teeth sinking more into your skin as he fights to hold himself back.

The taste of you, the feel of you—it’s almost too much. He wants to make this last. He won’t let it slip away too quickly. Sol’s not ready to lose himself just yet; he wants to savor every second of this.

Sol lowers you steadily until all of him is inside. Your expression is slightly pinched, and your whole body trembles, uncomfortable, almost in pain as you adjust to his size. You arch your back, hands reaching to take root in his hair. “P-Pumpkin!” He moaned. The sensation of tension on his scalp makes his cock twitch inside you.

The pressure is almost too much, making you gasp in the air through your teeth. You hold on tight to his arms, “Oh god,” You moan, your head falling back. “You’re... you’re actually intense. I can feel...” Your voice trails off, replaced by a whimper. Every nerve feels like it’s on fire, overwhelmed.

Before you get a chance to adjust to the feeling, he picks your hips and slams them back down on his cock without breaking a sweat. You nearly scream, your hands immediately reach down, squeezing his wrists, trying to make him slow down. He gives you a wry grin; he almost wants you to plead for your mercy.

“Aw.. want me to go slower?” Sol asked, “You have to beg for it~” Your eyes widen, and another soft gasp slips past your lips, your body tensing against him. The pressure and the fullness are almost too much, overwhelming in the best way possible.

He feels so good, so good...

You nod slightly, your voice coming out as a whimper. “Please,” You whispered, “Just stop, please...” Your body shakes as you speak. “Too much... too much at once...”

Sol's eyes gleam with a feral look, his body trembling with the effort to control himself. He pauses for a moment, his hands stilling on your hips, his breathing ragged.

"Too much for you, huh?" he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse. "You can't handle it, can you, Pumpkin?"

There's a hint of challenge in his tone, a hint of desire to keep going, to push your limits even further.

Repeating the motion but slower showing his hint of worry. He knows he needs to be careful, rocking you steadily onto his cock. The pace is controlled and smooth, a rhythmic pass of your hips over and over.

Your insides threaten to dissolve him whole, turn him liquid from the inside out as he makes you ride him in reverse, moving his hips up and down while keeping you in place.

He watches as your breasts bounce as he leans forward, his chin coming to rest against your neck just enough for Sol to see the concentration etched upon your face. He watches you as you discover your pleasure in this moment—it makes you look utterly captivating. The feeling of him is nothing short of exquisite.

He shifts his hands to your hips to pull you closer to him, not changing the rhythm he wanted as you hug him tight.

The room resounds with the sound of skin meeting skin: a sticky smack as your body strikes Sol's thighs with enough force. Every nerve in his body is on edge, alive with sensation. His hand glides gently before your body, teasing your clit as he urges you to ride him.

Sol forces as he feels you again, a new surge of excitement drenching him. He's becoming more sensitive to the times when you approach your climax. Your wetness is so invitingly greasy for him because of him. It is so messy that it's running down his length down onto his balls, turning his pants into a wet puddle from underneath you.

He feels you stiffen in expectation—little contractions that bring you to the brink. His breathing comes in quick, shallow bursts as he watches you chase your climax, his hands gripping your hips as if to bring you even closer.

He knows he can't hold on much longer, the way you feel, the way you look riding him, your smell—god your pretty moans. It’s all too much. But he pushes down the rising tide, wanting to prolong this moment

His voice came out in a strained whisper, his grip tightening as he spoke. "I'm gonna cum soon. I want you to come right after me, yeah? Can you do that for me, Pumpkin?" He gently lifted your chin, locking eyes with you. His gaze searched your face, watching as your expression blurred with the overwhelming sensations.

Your mind felt hazy like everything was fading into a fog, too overwhelmed to form coherent thoughts. The pressure building inside you was almost unbearable—so huge, so intense, hitting you all in the right spots.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible, filled with a desperate need. "Yes, yes, I can do that... please, Sol, please..."

You could feel his desire building with you, like an unstoppable wave crashing over both of you. "Please, please, please..." You whispered it over and over, lost in the need for him, unable to say anything else.

Sol's eyes blaze with a renewed intensity, the plea in your voice driving him over the edge. His hands tighten on your hips, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.

"Pumpkin..." he pants, the words almost catching in his throat. "Pumpkin, I... I can't hold on much longer."

Your eyes are wild, and your body is trembling, every muscle tight and tense, “S-Sol, ah…” You laugh, breathy. The third time you cum is less intense than you thought. It’s a shorter wave, a softer sort of orgasm that seems to ease you more than it does anything else, more hazely and oversensitive.

But you can feel still his cock inside of you, how close he is, how close he’s been. Even still, you clench around his cock hard—getting so much wetter than you were a minute ago.

"Ah, f-fuck..." Sol growls, the sound catching in his throat. He's right on the brink now, his body straining with the effort of holding back. And then your muscles clench around him, the sensation enough to drive him over the edge.

"Looks like I have to catch up, hold on..." Sol moans, his voice a low, gutt, picking up your thighs, “Sol! Wait—what are—!!” He loses himself completely, slamming himself inside you rather rough and fast, his balls slapping against your cunt.

He wants more of you—all of you—after all, you can take more of his paint, you are his true canvas.

Finally giving into the sensation that’s been drowning him, He feels it in his entire lower body. Every atom of him finally catches up to the high of the release. It’s so intense when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out than heavy breaths. His eyes shoot open, then go back closed.

The coil in his stomach loosens more slowly at first than all at once, like a car crash. When Sol finally cums he sees nothing but white hearts in his vision. He can’t scream, can’t speak—so he holds onto you tight and finishes inside you, cock deeply buried inside of your pussy. So much cum spurts out of him, thick and hot painting your walls, so much in fact that it was leaking out of you, dripping down.

Sol tried his best to keep all of it inside of you, as it'd ruin his version. He didn’t even try to pull out, he rode out his orgasm with heart eyes, still fucking you slowly, wanting to keep all of himself—and cum, tucked deeply inside of you.

The sensation lingered long after the moment had passed. When Sol finally opened his eyes again, he found you collapsed against him—your body wrecked, spent, trembling from the overwhelming intensity.

You felt achingly sensitive, every nerve alive and raw, yet your mind remained a hazy blur, struggling to grasp onto anything, while your body felt heavy, as though you were floating just above the surface of consciousness. Everything was a gentle, blissful silence, a welcome respite from the chaos.

Just how long had it lasted? How many times had he brought you to the edge? The last time he counted, it was three, maybe more after what he pulled. He couldn’t be sure. The last clear memory he had was of you, twitching on top of him, your back pressed firmly against his chest, every part of you quaking from the intensity.

Sol took a slow, steadying breath, his own body still trembling from the exertion. He looked down at you, your limp form lying against him, completely drained. The exhaustion in your body was palpable, and in that moment, a part of him realized he’d pushed you farther than he’d intended.

“Pumpkin...” he whispered, his voice soft and concerned as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer into the warmth of his embrace.

“You did so good for me... You okay?” He waited, but you didn’t answer.

Your mind was still foggy, still trying to make sense of the world. Words felt distant, impossible to grasp and form into something coherent. Your body felt like it belonged to someone else—limp, exhausted, utterly spent.

A soft, unintelligible noise escaped your lips, a simple affirmation that you were still with him, still connected. It was enough to make him nuzzled you into his chest, his body instinctively seeking the comfort of his warmth of his wonderful creation.

Sol chuckled quietly, a playful smile tugging at his lips. He knew exactly what he’d done to you—how thoroughly he had worn you out—and he couldn’t help but feel a sense of quiet pride.

You were his, finally.

He gently played with your hair, twisting it with his fingers, his touch tender as he held you against him, giving you time to recover, knowing you needed it before you two could complete the art project that’s—he thinks that’s due tomorrow?

Oh well… if you don’t wake up in time he’ll complete it all for you.

“You’re adorable like this,” he murmured softly, his voice low and affectionate heart-shaped eyes, holding you tight against him, “All this... started from a simple brushstroke.”

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