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sugoi-and-spice · 6 months ago

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Taking Care, Taking What's Mine - A "Play Nice" Commission

Summary: A Play Nice AU Chapter, in which, rather than taking the high road and trying to build a real relationship with the girl he's been sextorting for weeks, Tomura Shigaraki baby-traps her instead.

CW: Quirkless!AU, Dub-Con, Smut, Extortion, Baby-Trapping, Forced Pregnancy, Love-Bombing, Manipulation, Power Play, Possessive Shigaraki, Yandere Shigaraki, Morning Sickness, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

AO3 Link

A/N: Happy fucking Father's Day readers!! Lmao! I got this AMAZING commission a while ago to write an AU of my AU (a fanfic writer's dream come true honestly), of Shigaraki baby-trapping MC and well, while it took longer then I meant it to to come out, I'm so glad that I could post it on Father' Day of all days lmao.

Anyway though, this was so much fun to write. Shigaraki has been on the journey of bettering himself for so long in Play Nice now, it was a total blast returning to form and writing him nice and scummy again.

I'd love to do more of these honestly, so as a reminder: I give discounts on Commissions that take place in my AU's.

Play Nice, Burnt Bridges, Step by Step -- all of them. They're super fun for me to write and most of the heavy-lifting of ideating and plotting has already been done for them, so I'm happy to write fics like this for cheaper. :)

Anyway, enjoy some forced parentification on this day of dads. xD

“Hey, hey— are you alright?”

She lifted her head from where she’d been resting it against her gym locker, the coolness of the metal being the first thing to even remotely ease the headache she’d been fighting for the last three days.

“Yeah, of course,” she tried to force a weak smile as Nejire approached her, clearly concerned, “Why do you ask?

The captain was dressed in her practice suit. And she quickly realized that so were all the other girls, most of them already making their way out the doors to the pool deck. She was the lone straggler who hadn’t even managed to undo her uniform tie yet. Nejire looked over at these girls, and then back to her, wordlessly demonstrating why that should be obvious.

She laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head, “Okay, I guess I’m feeling a bit under the weather today…”

And that was the understatement of the century. She felt like absolute shit . Piling on top of that stubborn pounding in her head were a pair of really sore tits, a lethargy that stuck with her no matter how much vending machine coffee she chugged, and cramps that had shot straight out of hell and directly into her uterus.

But to be honest, she couldn’t complain too much about these ailments. In fact, she was pretty damn relieved. These were all her tell-tale signs of PMS. They were a little worse than usual this time around sure, but if that was the tradeoff for the relief of not being pregnant, she’d take it in a heartbeat. Her period was only one day late at this point and it had all but paralyzed her with fear.

Of course in retrospect, the fear did seem a bit silly. After all, Shigaraki’s creepy family doctor had warned her there might be some changes.

“I never start patients new to birth control immediately on a Long Acting Reversible Contraception,” he explained, “Especially not teenagers.”

“Why not?” she demanded, “It’s reversible, right? It’s not like you’re tying my tubes or anything.”

“No, but you never know how your body is going to react to the hormonal shift. You could develop acne, weight gain, hair growth—”

“I don’t care about that superficial stuff.”

“... Migraines, blood clots, depression,” he continued, looking at her pointedly.

She looked away, feeling a bit stupid for interrupting him now that he’d listed the more serious side-effects.

“I’m not saying you have to stay on the pill forever. But give it a few months, see how you feel on it. It can help us better determine which long-term birth control is best for your body without any unnecessarily invasive procedures.”

She shuddered at the very thought of being stuck in this set-up with Shigaraki for months. She hoped he’d get bored of her sooner rather than later.

Well, on the brightside, at least this sketchy-ass doctor seemed to be as interested in looking under her skirt as she was having him down there. However, this still left the ever so pertinent issue of:

“Okay, but there’s still the issue of getting the pills. No pharmacy is going to give me these without signed parental consent.” She had the always convenient Japanese purity culture to thank for that.

Ujiko simply smiled and pulled out a wheel of birth control pills from his medical bag right then and there.

“Consider these the same as this appointment,” he said, cupping his hands over hers and placing the wheel firmly into her palm, “ Off the record. ”

And then the rest of the “appointment” had descended into one of extremely thinly-veiled intimidation that bizarrely enough, she’d relied on Shigaraki of all people to save her from. By that point, she’d been scared so shitless she had very little argument left in her to try and reason him into just giving her the damn IUD.

The regret of not standing her ground on the issue did hit her later that night on the train home. Particularly when she thought over the fact that the way they were keeping these pills off the record was by having her pick up her refills through Shigaraki. The idea of giving him even more power over her like that made her feel sick to her stomach. And yes, while logically she knew that he had just as much motivation to keep her from getting pregnant as she did (she had a feeling All for One would not take too kindly to his star successor knocking up a lowly commoner such as herself), she still just had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

So she’d resolved herself on her first refill day to completely lay into Shigaraki for any level of tomfoolery he may get up to in this situation. There would be no forgetting, no being too busy to pick up the pills for her, absolutely nothing. She was ready to rain full fire and brimstone on him if there was even a hint of bullshit.

But to her surprise (and relief), she hadn’t even crossed the threshold of his bedroom before he was tossing a new pack to replace her wheel with. Simple and nonchalant, and then he was just as quick as always to badger her about getting her clothes off already, get on the bed already, break up with your boyfriend already.

It was the same old, same old — for better or for worse. Even if she couldn’t trust Tomura Shigaraki himself, that action had at least ensured that she could trust his own desire for self-preservation.

And that was better than nothing she supposed.

Back in the locker room, Nejire asked her, “Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

She smiled at her friend, joking, “Nothing I don’t come down with every month.”

Nejire tilted her head in confusion for a moment before the lightbulb visibly lit up in her head.

“Ohhhhh,” Nejire nodded sympathetically, “Yeah, Aunt Flow can be a real meanie sometimes, huh?”

She laughed, then winced as the action worsened the throbbing in her head, “Damn it— you can say that again.”

Nejire’s brows furrowed and she brought a hand to the small of her friend’s back, “Hey, why don’t you take this afternoon off?”

She looked back to her, surprised, “Oh no, I couldn’t…”

“Sure you could!” Nejire chirped, “And honestly, you probably should. We’re working on our weakest strokes today. I had you down to work on your fly.”

Visible dread filled her as she thought about doing that much undulation in her current state.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Nejire laughed, “Seriously, go home. We’ll miss you, but we love you too. So we want you to take care of yourself.”

She debated a little more internally, one other loose thread dropping into her mind’s eye.

“If I do… Do you mind—”

“I’ll let Mirio know,” she shot her a wink as she clarified, “ After practice. I’ll let him know you just need the peace and quiet.”

She smiled at Nejire, genuinely grateful. This. This right here was what made all of the bending over backwards she did to fit in and please others worth it. To be cared about by such a good person.

The warmth of that care stayed with her all the way out to the school gates, where she was then immediately filled with dread upon realizing that she’d need to go in one of two directions depending on where she was going after school: the train station home, or the walk to Shigaraki’s.

And just which direction she was scheduled to go today.

She let out a long groan, anguished and loud enough to startle a couple members of the going home club that passed her. For once though, she didn’t care about her reputation, she was too focussed on what a goddamn nightmare she was falling into.

She pulled out her cellphone with a sigh. Yes she knew the effort was probably futile, but damn her if she didn’t at least try.

Yup. She could’ve seen that coming from a mile away. She sighed as she shoved her phone back into her bag and started the very slow trek over to Shigaraki’s.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Shigaraki said as he looked her over his doorway, “You look like shit.”

She shot him a wholly unimpressed look as she shoved past him into his bedroom.

“Yeah, I fucking told you.”

Shigaraki, surprisingly, didn't have anything to say about her tone, even with her brusqueness towards him being more than usual. He just watched her drop down face first onto his bed and curl her legs up into her chest.

She sighed at the slight relief the position gave her. While dealing with Shigaraki’s antics was about the last thing she wanted right now, she supposed that at least she could be grateful for how much closer his apartment was to her school then her own home was. It saved her a good fifty-minutes of white-knuckling a train stanchion to keep down her groans of pain. Now at least she could get the relief of laying down much sooner.

If only for a little bit.

“What’s going on?”

She bristled at Shigaraki’s voice, the unwelcome reminder that she wasn’t going to be able to truly relax right now. And while there didn’t seem to be any entendre or even impatience in his question, the fact that his voice was getting closer to her was enough to make her suspicious.

“My head aches, my back aches, my boobs ache — everything aches,” she grumbled down into his sheets, “And I feel like I’ve been donkey-kicked straight in the uterus.”

“You start your period or something?”

He didn’t sound sarcastic when he asked it, not that typical boy way of asking any time a girl did something they considered “moody”. It was a genuine question. But it irritated her all the same.

Everything seemed to be irritating her these days.

“About to,” she answered, “It’s like a day late, but it’s definitely coming.”

She felt the bed shift a bit as he sat next to her.

“Are you nauseous at all?”

Her brows furrowed, a bit confused by the interest.

“I guess a little,” she answered, because even though it was mild, there was a certain turn in her stomach that wasn’t unlike motion sickness, “But honestly, I think it’s just from the pain. This has been going on for like three days.”

“Have you taken anything for it?”

She could’ve laughed if she wasn’t so annoyed by the reminder of all her futile attempts to alleviate this. Because of course he was looking for a quick fix so they could fuck already.

“I’ve taken everything for it,” she groaned, “Nothing’s working.”

He just hummed in response, and then she could feel the sheets behind her dip a bit as he repositioned himself. Into what orientation, she wasn’t sure. She was about to turn her head back and ask him what he was doing when she felt his hand featherlight across her hip.

And between her legs.

“No, Shigaraki please,” she whined, pulling he knees closer into her chest, “I’m not kidding, I’m seriously in a lot of pain—”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Tell that to your hand then,” she snapped as his fingers tried to wiggle their way between her clenched thighs.

“I mean I’m not doing anything for me. This is for you.”

“Oh is it now,” she deadpanned.

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he insisted, more irritably this time, “Orgasms help with cramps, right?”

She stilled, sufficiently stumped by that particular statement. Because yes, she could say from experience that they absolutely did. She’d spent many a nasty period with her fingers latched to clit to chase that particular path of relief.

…but why the hell did Shigaraki know that?

She gasped as she suddenly felt the gentle roll of her clit under three fingers. Apparently, in her moments of distracted deliberation, Shigaraki managed to push his hand past the plush lock of her thighs and under the hem of her panties.

“Sh-Shigaraki…” she whined, pushing her elbow blindly and weakly back towards him.

He caught it gently in his free palm and, rather than trying to pin or strain it in whatever which way he desired, like usual, he just held it there. Didn’t even hold it in place really, just shielded himself against its determined path towards his ribs.

“I’m serious,” he said, uncharacteristically soft, “I’m trying to help you.”

She finally mustered up the strength to — despite how much her aching abdomen hated her for it — turn and glower at Shigaraki.

“No funny business?” she pressed.

He settled his own flat expression on her, “When have I ever been funny?”

More times than she’d like to admit honestly, but she got what he was saying here. He was a pretty serious, straightforward person on principle. He didn’t bullshit, he didn’t pull cheap tricks, and, shockingly enough, he didn’t typically lie. Frustrating as it was, Tomura Shigaraki was pretty much always unapologetically himself and he always did what he wanted.

So if he said that he was doing this to help her, then she supposed that she didn't actually have a lot of reason to distrust him.

Plus, his fingers hadn’t stopped their soft, but affective ministrations between her legs, and the pleasant sparks of heated relief they were sending through her were undeniable.

She turned back onto her side with a sigh that was half-exasperation, half pleasure.

“Fine,” she said, throwing back quickly before he got too victorious, “But fuck around and I’ll kick you.”

Shigaraki just chuckled, a soft throaty sound that shouldn’t have sent the chills up her spine that it did, “Yeah, yeah…”

In one motion, careful not to jostle her too much, Shigaraki both pulled her back and scooched himself closer, until her back was nestled snug against his surprisingly firm chest and her head laid in the crux of his bicep.

With this new closeness he was able to be a bit more deliberate with the angle and pressure he used to rub at her swollen sex. And, while she hated to admit it, the increased blood flow between her legs was causing the pressure within her to build quite a bit faster than usual. Enough so that it had her letting go of the tension in her neck and joints — the automatic stress reaction she had to any of Shigaraki’s displays of intimacy — and letting the weight of her head drop fully into his embrace.

A shuddering sigh left Shigaraki at that clear relinquishing of control, of the way she truly let herself lay back and relax into him. It gave him the encouragement he needed to enjoy her to the fullest extent that he wanted her as well, burying his nose deep into her hair.

He started to stroke wider circles around her, the flats of his fingers never leaving her clit, but now allowing the tips to dip softly into her entrance. He didn’t push them in at all past his first knuckles, just enough to catch some of that growing wetness and spread it all across her fluttering lips.

“A-Ah—” she gasped out, “Sh-shit…”

“Like that?” he rasped, hot against her ear.

She bit her lip, nodding needily, “Mm— Mm-hmm…”

He groaned at the response, doubling down on that motion as he started to stud long, hot kisses down the back of her jaw and neck. The feeling, so gentle and intimate and good in combination to the way he worked her sex, had her unconsciously rocking her hips into his touch, and back into his own.

Vaguely through the haze, she could feel the familiar outline of his stiff cock against the cleft of her ass, but shockingly he didn’t try to grind it against her for relief. If anything actually, when her own hips moved unconsciously back against it, he actually shifted his own hips away, anglind them down so his erection pushed into the bed instead. As if he didn’t want her to feel it, that he was concerned about her feeling pressured by its presence.

She didn’t have the chance to think too much into that though, not when his fingers were coaxing her closer to the edge by the second. The mess between her legs was obscene at this point, through teary eyes she could see the overflow of it spreading wide across her thighs and pooling down in the sheets.

“God look at you, so fucking wet,” he groaned, lips having made it down to her shoulder and staying there so that he could have a better view of her writhing under his touch, “You needed this, huh? Fucking needed me…”

She buried her face into his arm to muffle her moans, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an answer, but also not wanting him to stop.

By some act of God, Shigaraki didn’t push for that answer either. She wasn’t sure why he’d abandoned his typical demands and taunts, didn’t threaten to stop until she gave him the verbal submission and begrudging praise he always wanted. Nor did she stop to think about why, she just let the gratitude course through her, spurred further and wider by the waves of heat rushing through her body, threatening — promising — to overflow.

Shigaraki could feel that axiomatic tension in her body, the boiling point it promised, and sped up his hand to stoke the flames.

“You’re close aren’t you? Oh yeah, you’re close…” his kisses turned to nips at her neck between progressively more demanding growls, “Gonna be a good girl and come for me?”

Fuck, hearing those last words spill from his mouth should not have done what it was doing to her. But it was speeding up her peak, and it was speeding it up audibly.

“Yeah, yeah that’s good, really good. Let it go. Go ahead, be a good girl and let it go.”

She cried out, her arching back forcing her face forward and mouth unmuffled as finally, finally her body went blissfully loose, the pain of the past few days overtaken by waves of heat and pleasure. One after the other, her hormone-driven sensitivity wrung out multiple orgasms, and his frantic fingers were happy to work her through each one until she was begging him to stop.

“Good girl, yeah, yeah, just like that. That’s a good girl,” he continued to praise, returning time and again to that phrase he could feel her getting unconsciously excited over, “That’s my good girl…”

It was just a few blurry moments of consciousness after that. She was pretty sure she whined something like “too much” to him at some point, and he whispered back something that she was sure was just utterly debauched right back. Or maybe it was sweet nothings, he had really favored those by the end of this escapade after all.

Whatever it all was, she supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered in those seconds of labored breaths and fluttering lashes was the beautiful bliss and relief that finally overtook her body. That allowed her to immediately fall asleep in his arms.

Shigaraki held her there for a long time after. He raked his eyes greedily across her body, letting himself carve every detail deep into his memory. He knew he didn’t need to, not anymore. Her boyfriend, her parents, hell, whether or not she got into Todai with him, it was all a non-issue now. There was no reason for him to lose this anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere in life without him. He was going to be able to revel in this sight for the rest of his life now. And he just couldn’t believe how lucky he was for that.

He chuckled a bit at that. Well, maybe lucky wasn’t the right word. This was all by design after all, weeks of very deliberate planning and deception. It was just like he’d always been taught. It didn’t matter what hand you’ve been dealt — and Tomura Shigaraki had certainly been dealt a shit hand in a lot of ways — a real winner made his own luck.

Sensei would be mad, Shigaraki knew that much. Everyone would be mad in fact, but he didn’t care. He was just following the fundamental lesson Sensei himself had instilled in him the day they met.

Take whatever you want, and fuck all the rest.

Several minutes into hearing those sweet deep breaths of unconsciousness from the beautiful girl in his arms, Shigaraki finally peeled his fingers away from her cunt.

And slid a wide hand up to cradle her tummy.

It was dark when she woke up, not a single one of Shigaraki’s many monitors or television lit the windowless room. That was odd for a couple of reasons, the first of which being that the overhead lighting had definitely been on when she’d dozed off. The second of which was that any time Shigaraki wasn’t preoccupied with helping her study or studying her, he was chronically attached to at least one screen, if not multiple, so it was more than a bit odd for him to have zero on. The reason for the lack of blue light however became quickly apparent as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness.

Shigaraki wasn’t here.

She was totally alone in his room, alone and tucked into his bed. Had he gone to the bathroom or something? But then why would all the lights be off? It seemed like he’d probably been gone for a while. Weird…

She threw off the covers and flipped her legs around with much more ease than she’d done anything over the last three days, much to her relief. However long she’d been out, the sleep had clearly done her some good. The pounding in her head and pelvis had finally ceased, perhaps just in time for her to actually start her period. She did feel some dampness between her legs after all. Although…

Her face heated up as she remembered the much more likely cause of that.

Damn it, she thought with a groan, dropping her head into her hands. She couldn’t believe that she actually let him do that to her, for her. He was going to get entirely the wrong idea from it. The idea that she might actually like him and want to spend time with him, that there was some kind of connection between them that extended past the time she was required to spend with him to keep him satisfied. And she absolutely could not deal with that.

Being his little sex toy was one thing. A demoralizing thing, yes, but a manageable one. She’d seen the way Shigaraki treated things he objectified — games and magazines and the like. He got bored of them quickly. And if she was one of those things in his eyes, then eventually he’d get bored with her too and she’d be free.

If he was attached to her though? Had found connection in her and a desire to keep her in his life? She didn’t even want to consider that nightmare scenario.

She made her way out into the hallway, looking up and down from the empty bathroom on one end of the hall to the top of the staircase on the other. She didn’t have to contemplate the lack of presence on this floor for long though, when she heard Shigaraki’s voice echoing up from downstairs, talking emphatically to Kurogiri, she assumed.

She couldn’t hear exactly what he was talking about, but whatever it was, he was being particular about it. “Don’t overcook” and “perfect” were a few of the words she managed to catch, so it was about food, maybe? The accompanying sounds of sizzling pans and clanking cookware would certainly support that. As would the smell that suddenly hit her.

It wasn’t an unpleasant smell by any means. In fact, it was salmon, one of her favorites. But for some reason at that moment, the smell hit her with a particular intensity that made her feel overwhelmed.

And really fucking nauseous.

She just barely made it to the toilet at the end of the hall, not even fully down to her knees by the time she was emptying her stomach into the bowl. It wasn’t just a brief moment of sickness either. The bouts were loud and long, she was sure that it echoed throughout the entire apartment. It left her red-faced, skin covered and hair clumped with sweat, not to mention still gagging long after she had nothing left to gag on.

A hand she barely even noticed came to rest on the small of her back in the midst of it all. It was only in the aftermath, spent and dry-heaving that she could process the fact that it was Shigaraki, kneeling at her side, patiently stroking small circles into her clammy skin and encouraging her softly.

“Let it out. Just let it all out.”

She groaned once she finally seemed to have a solid thirty seconds of dry, steady breath. And Shigaraki used that respite to nudge a glass of water into her hands.

“Here.”

She didn’t argue or agree, just took it from him with shaky hands, tossing half of it just into her mouth to swish around and spit the remaining bitterness from her tongue.

“Drink some of it too.”

She nodded shakily, still too drained and disoriented to be irritated with his telling her what to do, or suspicious of the fact that he was being so nice.

And still, as she took entirely too long to finish the rest of her water with timid little sips, he just knelt on the ground with her, moving the hand on her back to rest on her knee, thumb rubbing circles into the spot where a bruise would undoubtedly form.

Finally, after a long, silent stretch, she managed to croak out, “W-What time is it?”

“Only seven,” he answered, “Kurogiri’s got dinner almost ready downstairs. Seared salmon, brown rice, avocado salad—”

She whined, shaking her head roughly at the very implication of food.

“Don’t like salmon?”

“I-I do… It’s just—” she gagged a little as she remembered that smell that had set this all off in the first place, “Th-The smell right now. It’s too much…”

“Oh yeah…” he nodded understandingly, muttering something to himself that she couldn’t quite make out. It sounded kind of like, “Heightened” and “Read about that…”

Her brows furrowed a bit, frustrated and confused. She was getting the feeling that he was really not telling her something.

“W-What?”

Shigaraki just waved her off, “No, that’s fine, that’s fine. Salmon’s not the only thing he made. There’s sauteed spinach, wakame tofu soup, toasted—”

Jesus Christ, was Kurogiri cooking for an army down there or something?

Well, whoever it was all for, and as delicious as it all sounded in theory, imagining those foods in practice right now was making her feel sick all over again.

“Mm-mm, Mm-mm!” she whined, shaking her head again.

She didn’t want to risk opening her mouth right now, lest she blow chunks all over the front of Shigaraki’s shirt. Although wouldn’t that be a nice little serving of karma for him…

“You need to eat something,” he insisted, more lecturey than she’d ever heard him, but with a strange gentleness to his voice as well, “And you need to drink some more too. You’re totally dehydrated.”

She shook her head more emphatically at that, which only resulted in her falling forward into his chest.

He caught her before she could fall any further, scolding her not too harshly, in fact, a bit whimsically, “Is this how you’re gonna be the whole time?”

She pulled her head back to look at him, a confused furrow in her brows that brought the corners of his lips up.

“It’s not a bad look on you to be honest. All weak and petulant,” he brought a hand to pinch lightly at her cheek, “It’s kinda cute actually.”

Her eyes narrowed, finally feeling her stomach steady enough in her to be annoyed. He chuckled, just as amused and endeared by this look as the last.

“Well how about okayu?” he offered with a patronizing little lilt, “And maybe some ginger tea?”

He clearly wasn’t going to let this go. And infuriatingly, he was right not to. She definitely was in no shape to go home on this empty stomach.

She sighed.

“Yeah… Yeah okay.”

Going at her own shaking, snailish pace, Shigaraki helped her up onto her legs, pulling her immediately into his side as he led her back towards his bedroom. Normally she’d protest, stick an elbow right into his ribs and storm on ahead of him, but honestly she needed the help right now. So she sucked it up and let him lead her back into his bed.

But that didn’t stop her from eying him suspiciously as he propped his pillows up behind her and tucked her back in under his comforter, the overall way he doted and fretted over her, even stopping to look back at her one more time from the doorway before he returned downstairs to give Kurogiri the new marching orders.

She dropped her head back against the pillows when finally alone, a bad feeling settling heavier and heavier in her stomach. This was beyond weird, the way he was acting. Sure, the guy was overbearing and constantly demanding of her attention, stupidly needy even. But doting? Not only willing but eager to put her needs ahead of his own? Caring deeply about her actual well-being and not just what he wanted to be her well-being? This was all way too out of character for him.

“…You can tell me. If he bothered you, I mean. N-Not just the Doctor either… If um… If anything’s bothering you.”

She sighed at the memory. Alright, maybe she wasn’t giving him enough credit. He’d shown at least some capability and even interest in her wants and well-being, he wasn’t a complete monster.

But still, all of this? The cooing and the caring and the, erm, servicing even that he’d done? It felt like too much. Like she was missing something really key about it all.

Like something was wrong .

Whether she ended up getting lost in that train of thought for long, or Kurogiri had already had some okayu whipped up downstairs, she wasn’t sure, but she was startled by how quickly it seemed that Shigaraki returned with a breakfast tray in hand. She cocked her head as he set it up over her lap, this was a lot more robust than she was expecting, and, she realized as she examined everything on the tray, a lot more stocked as well.

There was okayu, front and center for her, yes. But also on the tray was another small bowl of soup (looked like the wakame that Shigaraki had mentioned, a thing of plain yogurt (the really fancy kind that came in the glass jars), a glass of orange juice…

And a little dish of four pills.

Painkillers or antiemetics maybe? They looked more like vitamins…

“Go ahead and start with the okayu if you want,” Shigaraki explained as he climbed up into the bed next to her, “But I want you to try and get some of the wakame and yogurt down too…”

As he settled down, his legs flush with her own, he continued to rattle off instructions and explanations for the rest of her tray, sending her mind completely spinning, faster and faster, like a goddamn Gravitron.

And she was ready to get the fuck off.

“...if nothing else though, take the vitamins. You need the folate, calcium, iron, and the omega-3 especially, since you don’t want the salmon—”

“Okay, stop, stop, stop !”

Shigaraki paused, having the audacity to look at her like she was crazy for snapping.

“Jesus—what the hell are you even talking about Shigaraki?!” she demanded, “What’d you say, folate? What? What is all this?”

He cocked his head, clearly playing innocent. Whatever this was, he was clearly enjoying the slow unraveling of it all.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about!” she snapped, “All this attention and doting and food stuff! What the hell is this all about?!”

He just smiled back at her, taking in how pretty she looked, even when mad (especially when mad sometimes), God, to think that this really was his forever now. He wondered if they had a girl, how much she’d look like her. He hoped a lot…

“I just want to make sure you’re getting all the vitamins and nutrients you need…”

He reached over then, spreading his hand flat against her stomach.

“ Both of you .”

She froze.

No.

No, he couldn’t mean—

She tried to speak, tried to ask what the ever-loving- fuck he was talking about, but her mouth had seemed to go dry. She tried several times to open and wet it a bit, but every time she did, it felt like her throat was closing too. It took at least four desperate attempts for her to finally force out one rasped:

“... what? ”

Shigaraki’s grin widened, and he started to rub circles gently across her belly.

“You’re gonna look so cute, all big and round with my kid,” he giggled suddenly as he remembered something, “Oh, and your tits too. I wonder how big they’re gonna get…”

She stared at him, unblinking, unbreathing. Everything but un-fucking-existing.

He couldn’t be serious. He was fucking with her. He had to be fucking with her!

“Th-That’s not funny.”

His grin evened a little, not disappearing outright, but settling away some of its blissful excitement into something more coyly victorious.

“I said it already,” he reminded, “When have I ever been funny?”

She shook her head in disbelief.

“N-No. No, no, no this isn’t— there’s no way—”

“I’ve got the tests ready when you need to pee, but I think it’s pretty clear. These are all the symptoms I read about.”

“No!” she insisted, “N-No, no— this is, it’s my period! It’s just a day late, it’s not—!”

He chuckled, “I know the symptoms can be similar, but come on. When’s the last time you’ve hurled like that thanks to your period? And the sensitivity to smell? You know this is different.”

Crumbling, every argument she could possibly think of was crumbling to dust before she could even get the thought fully formed. And cruel, vicious reality was more than happy to take its place.

“B-But my birth control pills…”

“Fertility pills,” he explained, his splitting-grin returning in full, “I would’ve preferred to get Clomid from the doctor, but it looks like the over the counter stuff and tracking your cycle worked just fine.”

Her stomach dropped. Pieces of memories, peculiar behaviors and nagging thoughts she’d had over the last two months falling into place. How there were stretches of times where he’d cancel their sessions, only to insist they make them up a few specific days in a row. How he wanted to go multiple rounds a lot those days. How he’d stopped wanting blowjobs from her entirely. How he seemed to only want to fuck her from behind or with her knees pressed hard into her chest, positions he could fuck her the deepest in.

And how he’d have her stay still with his cock buried in her after he came.

Back then, she just thought he was being weird and pervy. And in a way she was right.

Horribly fucking right.

Shigaraki shifted his legs away from her so that he could bring his head down to her lap, laying his cheek blissfully against her belly.

“Was so easy,” he hummed against her skin, “Like your body was just waiting for me to knock you up. Waiting for me to make you mine…”

His hands moved across her body, one coiling behind her back so that he could pull her tighter into him, the other lacing his fingers through her own. The fingers on her trembling left hand.

“Both of you, forever,” he growled happily, a predator who had finally and definitively sunk his teeth into his prey, “All mine.”

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jobean12-blog · 1 year ago

Text

A Love for the (P)Ages

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob/Mafia AU)

Word Count: 1,170

Summary: Bucky might be the baddest mob boss in the city but he’s the softest and sweetest husband in the Universe.

Author’s Note: I just love writing super soft Mob!Bucky and I love books and then I figured why not both and while this doesn’t focus on Mob stuff just keep that tucked away 🥰Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fluff, fluffs and more fluffs :)

“Why can’t you just tell me where you’re taking me?” you ask as you walk toward him.

“Because it’s a surprise doll,” he says softly, circling his arms around your waist once you’re standing between his spread legs.

“Are you going to stay in your suit?”

He nods as he toys with the hem of the tee shirt you’re wearing.

“So should I put on one of the fancy dresses you’ve bought me? Or?”

His hand slides slowly over your hip, reverently tracing the curve of your body until his fingers wrap around the back of your neck and he pulls you down toward his lips.

“Wear anything you want doll face,” he whispers against them.

“Fine,” you pout playfully before kissing him. “Don’t give anything away!”

When you step out of your walk-in closet you find him at the mirror above the dresser fixing his tie. You meet him and reach out as if to help but instead start to undo it. He raises a questioning eyebrow but doesn’t protest.

Once his tie is off you drape it carefully over the dresser and open the first two buttons of his shirt then fix the collar. Your fingers toy with the chain that hangs around his neck, the one you gifted him, and you straighten the pendant at the end.

“There,” you say happily. “I love when you have it open like this…although, all the other women do too so I’m sure I’m going to be giving out plenty of dirty looks wherever we end up going.”

He chuckles and drags you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms until he can run his nose along your throat with a soft inhale.

“Jealous baby doll?” he teases when he reaches the shell of your ear.

“Maybe just a little,” you admit on a gasp.

“It’s only fair doll considering every man that lays eyes on you can’t seem to peel them away unless I punch them in the face.”

Your grin is wicked when you say, “well, I’m definitely something to look at.”

“You are the one and only thing worth looking at,” he murmurs as he steps back and his eyes sweep over you.

You soften at his words, linking your fingers with his as he tugs you out of the room.

“Now, let’s go because I have a feeling you’re going to want to spend a lot of time where I’m taking you.”

With his arm secured tightly around your waist and your eyes squeezed shut Bucky leads you toward your surprise.

“Now don’t open them until I say so, ok?”

“Ok,” you answer, digging your teeth into your bottom lip with excitement.

He opens a door to usher you inside and the moment you take that first step a wave of enchantment washes over you, carrying the aroma of aged leather and dusty pages.

His lips meet your ear and he whispers, “open up doll.”

Your eyes pop open and fill with the soft golden glow from the antique lamps that line the walls.

“Bucky!” you whisper shout, unable to take your eyes off the books but squeezing his hand tightly. “It’s amazing!”

You rush forward, tugging on his hand but he stops you with a gentle pull and you turn to look at him.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a boyish smirk and he crooks his finger. When you step into his embrace he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours.

“There’s only one rule while you’re here,” he whispers.

Your arms circle his neck and you smile. “And what’s that?”

“A kiss for every book I buy you.”

“What if I buy one hundred,” you giggle.

“Then lucky me,” he says with a wink.

You press yourself closer and pepper his face with kisses then finally find his lips. He’s reluctant to let you go but you hold his hand as you start to meander through the labyrinth of wooden shelves that are lined with books and seem to stretch on endlessly.

The old, wooden floor is worn from the traffic of numerous readers and you can’t help but run your fingertips along the spines of the books as you peruse the shelves as one of them.

“I don’t know where to begin,” you say softly, peeking over your shoulder at Bucky.

He smiles sweetly, his eyes trained on you and the joy you’re expressing.

“Take as long as you want doll.”

The urge to kiss him all over again is strong and so you grab the next book your fingers find and pull it from the shelf. As you flip through it you take slow steps toward him until your standing close enough that you can feel his warmth.

You open the book, carefully thumbing through the pages before lifting it to your nose and inhaling it’s scent.

“Oh I’m definitely getting this one!”

Without another word you hold it up for him and he takes a deep inhale. “Smells good.”

“Right!” you cheer with as much excitement as you can quietly. “And look, it’s a romance!”

He reads the title and his smile widens as he leans in for his kiss. It starts off slow and sweet, his lips a whisper against yours but when you press yourself closer and slide your hands over his chest, he closes the distance, pushing you toward the shelves until your back hits the dusty wood.

His fingers dance up your arm, tracing the curve of your shoulder and grazing your collarbone before his thumb presses under your chin and he tilts your head back to trail kisses along your throat.

“Bucky,” you breathe out, your fingers clenching the expensive fabric of his shirt. “Someone might see.”

“That’s ok baby doll,” he croons, finding your lips again. “I own the place.”

You suck in a breath and look him in the eyes.

“You…you own it.”

He nods and gathers you in his arms as he presses soft kisses to your face.

“You bought me a bookshop?”

“I did,” he states as if it’s nothing. “And don’t worry, the previous owners were perfectly happy with the agreement considering they were ready to retire and I promised I wouldn’t change anything about it other than the necessary upgrades.”

“I…” you stammer. “I just…I can’t believe it!”

“And you haven’t even seen the rest of it yet. You’re gonna love all the reading nooks and there’s a hidden attic that we can renovate into whatever you want.”

He kisses you again but before it starts to heat up you nibble his bottom lip and ask, “how many books do you think are in here?”

His smirk is wicked. “Oh there must be thousands of them doll face.”

“That’s a lot of kisses,” you purr.

He rests his hands against the bookshelf on either side of your head, trapping you in place as his face inches closer and his gaze falls to your mouth.

“It’ll never be enough,” he murmurs, brushing his lips along yours.

@book-dragon-13 @sebstanwhore @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @late-to-the-party-81 @justkinsey @kmc1989 @beccablogsthings @laineyreads @lookiamtrying @hallecarey1 @hiddles-rose

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #mob!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #mob au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan

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madamechrissy · 5 months ago

Text

Take me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is 28-29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. (Fingering, phone sex, texting nudes, tension in this chap)

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 10k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name. Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right?

That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right? - Lawyer AU (If you wanna be tagged in updates let me know 💓)

Chapter 3- Masterlist

Chapter 4

The next day, you’re dressed to kill, in a cute little black dress that hits just above your knees, a little houndstooth pattern blazer and some fancy heeled boots, hair put up in a bun. Maki is out there with you as you wait for Gojo, you had finally gotten a chance to fill her in, and Yuta is there too. They both have their mouths open when you come out and greet them.

“Damn, business woman here!” Yuta says, and you hug him, grinning. Then you turn to Maki.

“I’m lesbian now.” You snort in laughter, hugging her too.

“You took my girl!” Yuta pouts, then Maki gives him a head pat. Your heart aches a bit at how open they can be, while you…

What even were you and Gojo?

“Thanks, you two! I wanna leave a good impression. It’s such a serious case.” You nervously check your phone, it’s a little before eight AM.

“I still gotta see this to believe it. He was so young looking. Then again… Professor Geto is too and he’s so hot.”

“I’m getting really jealous over here.” Yuta is pouting again, you both hug him on either side. “Never mind now I have two hot girls.”

“See!” You kiss his cheek as does Maki, then you see it, that damn sleek expensive sports car.

“Fuck that’s nice.” Maki murmurs, then Gojo pulls up, windows down, grinning as he leans back in the seat, throwing a peace sign at the two of them.

“Hey there stranger.” He says to Maki with a wink, and you watch her blush, pink on her cheeks, Maki blushing? How? “And are you the boyfriend?”

“Yuta. Are you the hot professor?” Gojo throws his head back in laughter, and now it’s your turn to blush.

“One of them.” Maki says. Gojo’s mouth drops, hand to his chest.

“How dare you! I’m the prettiest professor there is.” You all snort in laughter as Gojo steps out now, coming around to open your door. Maki is squealing in your ear now.

“A gentleman huh?” She whispers, you arch a brow as you look at him, in that damn black suit, and you just can’t get over how good he looks, you notice his tie just a smidge crooked. It’s the only thing that isn’t perfect about him today, but it’s something you’ve noticed and now it’s endearing.

“Not a gentleman, trust me.” You whisper back, and Gojo turns from shaking Yuta’s hand to lean toward you two, hands in his pockets.

“Aw, talking about how hot I am?” He says with a wink, and you both roll your eyes. Maki pushes up her glasses.

“He’s kinda a dick huh?”

“I heard that you know!” Gojo very maturely sticks his tongue out at her, and she does it back, you just shake your head.

“See you all tomorrow!” You say then, and they both hug you, waving at Gojo and then running off to class. You’re left standing alone with him now, looking up at his lush white hair, looking extra soft and shiny. Your fingers itch to touch it.

He looks at you too then, up and down. “ Brat , you’re looking so damn good today. You’re giving me a run for my money.” He says with a smug smirk, his hand reaching out to take yours for a brief moment, before inclining his head for you to come sit in the car.

“Thank you, Gojo, I was trying to look professional. Here.” You stand a little closer, fixing his tie just a bit, and then there was so much�� goddamn tension… as he just stands there, watching you with those azure eyes, lips parted just so.

“Thanks, Miss Brat.” He murmurs, and you manage a little half turn of your lips, acting like being near him didn’t tear you apart, didn’t make you overheat just touching his damn tie.

“Of course. Ready?” He grins, nodding, then he’s shutting the door and sliding in the seat next to you, as you prepare to drive you fiddle with your phone, so much left unsaid between you both, as vivid memories of him…

Getting you off better than any toy with two fingers?

Yeah.

“Should just nickname you thighs.” You turn to him in confusion, and he’s looking at you, squirming. You moan in annoyance.

“I can’t help them!”

“They’re also really nice. Making me a leg man over here.”

“Oh stop.”

You giggle as his hand brushes your thigh for just a moment, hating how damn comfortable you felt with him. You take his hand off, but you hold it for just a minute, running your thumb down his knuckles, and you feel his hand tense in yours, as you study his long elegant fingers. Then you sigh and let it go reluctantly, putting it back on his gear shift.

“That was… nice.” He says curiously, and you ache to touch his hand again, but it wouldn’t stop there, would it?

But the way he says it, so vulnerable and soft?

Fuck.

“Your fingers are demonic, you know.” He snorts at that, and the mood is lightened, but you may or may not have brushed his hand a few more times as you all drive, every time he puts a hand back, like some little game, until he snatches your hand up and kisses it.

You bite back the little whine in your throat of pleasure of just how good his lips feel brushing against you, just staring at him with your lips parted, with glazed over eyes, his perfect jawline and his profile just kill you. The cut of his hair in the back? Kills you. Full lips that perk up in the corners? Kill you.

“You really need that picture, brat. Go ahead, take one I don’t mind.” He shoots you a wink, and you flush. “Pink is so pretty on you!”

“Gojo!”

“Especially your pink-”

“Gojo!” He snorts laughing, and that sweet little moment is gone, but it’s good, you can breathe now, as you cross your arms and act affronted. But, really you’re not at all. You peek back over after it calms down and you both are just listening to music and driving, and again, it’s comfortable. So comfortable.

“It’s your time to shine today, well, in the background but those phone records did come in, and they came in clutch.” You grin, wide, and he smirks at it. “You’re getting off to law, such a nerd.”

“Says you!”

***

You and Gojo sit next to each other in court again, and the anticipation lights the room up, the tense prosecution, and goofy, happy Gojo sit in sharp contrast with each other. Gojo is kicked back, relaxed as the prosecution questions the next witness, who is growing ever nervous, and Gojo is just chewing on candy and smirking.

“Enjoy the show, baby girl.” Gojo murmurs, you just admire him, tilting your head and smiling at him.

The phone records had come in, and now Gojo is strutting over to the stand, handing them to the judge with a smirk. “Heya Judge, good morning.” He shoots her a grin, and the stern judge laughs at that a bit, before growing serious.

“Good morning Mr. Gojo.”

“If it pleases the court, or should I say, the lovely Judge .” Gojo’s fan girls are swooning, you roll your eyes. “We’d like to submit these records into evidence, and question the previous witness again regarding their credibility and any potential tampering of evidence.”

The judge looks over the records, her eyes scanning them intensely before she nods, and calls the witness back in from yesterday, and you can see the prosecution’s faces drop when she agrees. They approach the bench, then huff away, fuming and just down right dejected.

The witness, Miss Saito, is called back up, looking so nervous, while Gojo? He is calm, cool, and collected, perfectly at ease, as he questions her about the night again. Her eyes nervously dart around the room, to the jury, and he’s so calm, you can’t even imagine being like him. He’s really something.

Then, he hits her with it, the gap of missing time from the phone records, and she starts stammering, sweating.

“Miss Saito, can you tell us about the phone call you made that night?” Gojo asks sweetly, as if he’s not interrogating, no he’s just caressing everyone with that deep timbre of his.

“Well… I-I was worried about my friend, so I called her to check in, but she didn’t answer. Then, I just… I hung up quickly.” She says, trying to play it cool.

“Ah, but, the records show no call was made to said friend at that time. In fact, it shows no calls at all. Did you perhaps delete something from your call history?” The room goes dead silent. “Accidental nude?” He says with a wink. You struggle to cover your laughter, the court fails.

“Objection!” Prosecution yells.

The Judge tries to hide her smirk. “Sustained. Mr. Gojo, please, refrain from asking about nudes.”

“Sorry, so sorry.” He brushes his hair back, turning and winking at the enamored jury. “Did you delete something, Miss Saito?”

You watch as she turns a little paler, her hands shaking as they fidget in front of her. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe it’s a mistake?”

Gojo smirks, turning to the jury. “A mistake hmm? I think it’s more than a mistake, don’t you all?”

The prosecution jumps up, looking like they’re about to have a meltdown. “Sit down, I don’t want to hear another objection.” The judge leans forward on her hands, looking intently at Gojo’s show.

“N-no, I don’t remember deleting anything! I didn’t see…” She’s about to cry, you can tell, and Gojo sighs, coming to lean his hands across the bench, handing her a tissue box.

“I didn’t ask you if you saw something, Miss. Did I?” The courtroom gasps at that. “Hmm, did you see something? Perhaps you saw… the real killer?”

“Objection!” The prosecutor is sweating now, and the court room erupts, as they try to object, but Gojo’s got the room.

“The truth will make you feel better, love.” He says to the young lady there, and she just falls apart then.

“Maybe I… I…” She looks at the accused, who is emotional clearly. “I hated you and wanted to ruin you! And… also…. Someone paid-”

“Your honor, he is leading!” Comes the prosecution.

“I’m not leading, I’m just letting her speak her truth. It wasn’t you, the killer, was it?” She shakes her head. “Go ahead, get it all out.” He leans his back against the bench, sighing.

“No, I would never… but I… he was cheating with those whores so of course I… I…” She’s sobbing, hiccuping, and everyone in the courtroom, including you, are in utter shock. You didn’t know that this would even develop so much. Then suddenly you feel it, his excitement, clear across the room.

“That call was to the person who really killed her, isn’t it?” She shivers, nodding then, and you lean forward, fucking fascinated.

“And who was that, that terrible person who’s so manipulated you. You just were in love you know.” He purrs the words, seducing everyone in that damn room, then and there. “Go ahead, let everyone know.”

She starts going at it then, spilling so much information, that they try to object her talking, which was pretty hilarious, you get some really odd thrill from it all. You watch as she practically runs off the stand, and Gojo sits down next to you, leaning back in his chair, looking over at you with a grin, then he hands you a piece of candy, and you giggle.

“Professor Gojo, bravo.” You whisper, he chuckles softly.

His hand moves up your thigh, under your skirt, and you bite your lip to keep from gasping. His touch is electric, and you're torn between the thrill of the case and the desire to jump him right there in the middle of the courtroom mixing together. You hesitate, but you brush the back of his hand with your fingertips, and your eyes meet, his darkening.

“Good work, Miss Brat, you absolutely helped.” He murmurs, and squeezes your thigh gently, it feels so delicious that you struggle not to make a noise. The man barely touches you and you fall apart, pathetic is what he makes you… and…

The praise from him? Fuck it gets you.

The deliberation begins, and everyone disperses, waiting for the call back. You and Gojo grab lunch, him taking you to get yummy Ramen, then you head back and wait in the little office. You're studying your books because you honestly needed to, and Gojo is going over everything with the client and the D.A. He comes back then, shutting the door and looking over at you.

“Such a good girl.” The way he says it makes you squeeze your thighs and your teeth clamp on your lower lip. “Ooh, you like that huh?”

“Hush. I can't let my studies slip.” You cross your legs now, struggling not to shift under his bright blue gaze. “You really are amazing at this though, Satoru.”

He preens under the praise and you can't help but smile as he does a twirl, holding his face. “Aw shucks, thank you shnookums!”

“The fuck, you're so goofy.” He laughs, coming to stand by where you're sitting in the office chair, so tall that your head is damn near at his lap, making your mouth dry.

“You're boring. Need to have more fun.” He snatches your textbook, you scowl, standing and jumping, he just grins with those fangs and eyes your chest. “Love to see those bounce.”

“Oh God, don't even.” You feel yourself heat up, trying to yank his arm down and get your book. “Gojo I have school you know!”

“I do, I'm your teacher. Fuck the thought of you in a naughty school girl outfit-”

“Hush!” You slam a hand on his mouth as he practically purrs against your hand. You struggle to not laugh, keeping a firm look on your face. “Be good.”

“Yes mommy.” He pouts and gives you big eyes. You laugh then, nearly snorting, then sigh.

“You're ridiculous. Now give me my book, please?”

“Gimme a kiss. Then you get it.” You tremble when he holds his arm high with the book, then the other wraps around your waist, hand burning your skin through your blazer.

“Satoru… when we're back at school Monday, like… it'll be…”

“Yeah, I'll be rock hard looking at your fuck me eyes across my classroom.” His hand brushes down your waist, desire pools between your thighs. “Hard wanting to fuck you in that dorm and make it impossible for you not to scream and let everyone know.”

“Gojo…” You whisper, pathetically.

“Fuck you so good you won't think of anything else.” He whispers those words against your lips, seductive, and you come closer, holding the lapels of his jacket now, pressure in your tummy at the thought. “Can't though, huh?”

“Can't. Bad idea.”

“Terrible idea.”

“Shit idea.”

You both pause, in an office of a courtroom trial, the biggest in years, and you lean up, tilting your chin, your eyes lock. His mirror the desire in yours, pretty face tense, perfect brows low over those eyes. He eases his arm down, then you kiss him, tongue sliding against his lips, pressing in, and the book chatters to the floor.

He moans into your mouth, hands gripping your hips, thumbs pressing in, hands so big they own you. You come up to hug his neck, falling into those kisses, the ones you constantly crave, until he has you pressed on the door, lifting you so effortlessly, hands cupping your ass and shoving up your skirt.

You gasp for a breath when he finally let's you pull away slightly, and Gojo's blue eyes are dark with lust, and he smirks at your reaction, his hand not moving from your ass, just holding you, pressing against you, making you want to grind against him for friction you crave.

"Can't resist me, can you brat?" He whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“Conceited, arrogant…” But even as you say the words, you lean back into him, your body betraying you, hips pressing up for more.

"Mm, but you want it, don't you baby?" He murmurs, his thumb tracing circles on the bare skin of your neck, coming to wrap your throat, a threat of choking that makes you throb. He presses his weight against you, until it's all him. "I can feel it.”

You exhale, a shaky breath, then as he's inching his hand up your thigh, just watching you, a knock comes, right against your back. You tense, and Gojo just shushes you, easing you down off the door, straightening your dress.

“Yep, what is it?” He asks, so casually, picking up your book.

“Twenty minutes.” Comes the bailiffs voice.

“Perfect, thanks.” You let out a held breath, bending over dramatically. He laughs at you. “Hurting hmm?”

“Nope, just fine.” You take the book out of his hands, lips tingling, then Gojo pauses you.

“Let me fix your hair.” You blink a bit, then nod, and he puts the bobby pins back in place. “Bun got messy.”

It feels so good, his fingers in your hair, caring for you…

Fuck.

“Thank you, Satoru.” You murmur, and his hands are on your shoulders as he is behind you, leaning low, breath on your ear.

“Why are we always on time limits? It makes me so competitive with the clock.” You tremble. “Should I see how many times you can cum in-”

The door knocks again.

Gojo cusses under his breath. “Yep?”

The door opens and he lets go of your shoulders, you pretend to look at the book as the D.A. comes back in and talks to Gojo. By the time he leaves, deliberation is almost over, and you look back up at him. He moans, coming and cupping your face.

“The fuck me eyes kill me. Stop it.” You flutter your lashes as you look down, flushing. “Do you blush everywhere, Miss Brat?”

“You're ridiculous!” You hiss, he just grins, eyes lingering on your chest.

“You blush here.” His fingertips trail down the hint of cleavage, making your nipples press against your bra, straining the fabric. You cry out unwillingly, slamming your mouth shut then. But it's too late.

“Gojo we can't…”

“Could I get you off in three minutes?” You cover your face, sighing, then look back up at him.

“Could I do it?” You murmur, and he freezes, eyes wide and glittery, mouth open in an O.

“ Could you ? Have you even…” You're heating up more.

“No, I haven't but… you've pleased me and… it would be… I'm curious… I …”

You're just stammering and looking down, he kneels then, in front of you, holding your chin, tilting it up to look at him. “The thought of that is alone making me fucking precum, mmkay?”

“It is!?” You look right at him, he smirks a bit.

“I think we'll wait though. Till I'd have time to show you how.” You melt then, when his hands go to your face, cupping each side so delicately. Like you're precious.

“But back at school… what if we have no… fuck I'm being bold. Ugh. And making no sense.”

“I like it. This side of you.” He presses a soft kiss on your reddened lips, then sighs. “You know sucking my dick won't help your grades though.”

“Fuck off, Professor Dickhead!” You shove at him, he snorts in laughter, throwing his head back, you huff, smoothing your dress and struggling to function. Before you step out he takes your wrist. “What?”

“With words you've made me more turned on than anyone could. Just words.” You look at him in shock.

“What… I… Satoru you're so gorgeous I don't even get why-”

“Don't even say why I'd want you I'll get really fucking irritated.” He's glaring now, voice clipped. He's still got your wrist.

“I'm like a frog next to you.”

“I'm the frog. You're the princess. Gotta kiss me.” He purses his lips and you giggle. “You're banging ass hot, so please don't think you're not. I'm picky, too.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You peck his lips. “My handsome frog.”

“Ribbet.” You giggle uncontrollably as he makes some stupid frog face, then he is laughing with you, hugging onto you. It feels even better than… no not better than his kisses, but so good. “Never say you're not hot again. I'll use a yardstick on that nice ass.”

“A yardstick!?” He grins, maniacally, but the thoughts whirl through your head.

“You're such a freak, you want that huh? Professor Gojo spanking his naughty student’s ass till it's bright fucking red.” He's whispering the words, and before you can lie, it's time to go.

Jesus you are on edge.

You're edged.

The deliberation is over, and you all file into the courtroom, your heart is hammering in your chest. Gojo seems calm, just talking with everyone. When the verdict is finally read, you find yourself holding your breath. They came back with a completely unanimous decision, though. Not guilty.

As all of the charges are read back to back out loud, all not guilty, the courtroom erupts into chaos, the accused's family hugging each other and sobbing, the prosecution looking stunned and furious. Gojo stands, smoothing his tie, his expression calm, like none of this surprised him, his eyes on you for a moment before the family comes to him.

“You saved my son’s entire life, Mr. Gojo. Thank you so much.” The accused dad, the state representative says, shaking Gojo’s hand.

“She helped too, actually. The phone call records.” He exhales, looking at you and grabbing your hand, bowing over it so formally.

“Thank you so much for helping. Bright future, especially working with him, he’s the best.” He smacks Gojo on the shoulder, and Gojo grins, you flush with pride, you've helped someone. It feels so good.

“Of course, I’m so glad I could help at all.”

“And I am so amazing, aren't I?” Gojo nudges you with his shoulders, and you are rolling your eyes, sighing, then look up at him.

“You are.”

As the courtroom clears out, you both pack up your things, your heart racing at such a thrill, and Gojo seems to be literally on cloud nine, damn near bouncing like a kid with way too much caffeine. He says good bye and takes pictures with his never ending fans outside, then you realize it’s getting to be evening, the sky casting a pretty dark orange glow.

Gojo takes his jacket off, and you smile. “I have a blazer, Satoru, I’m fine.”

He wraps you in it anyway, carefully, and you inhale it, wishing you could just live in any of Gojo’s jackets. He holds your shoulders carefully, looking at you with those big blue eyes. “You look really cute in it.”

You melt.

He sees it, he’s observant.

“I do?” You ask softly, and he nods, as you two stand together, the last people are filing out down the stairs, the wind blows his soft hair around, and you brush it back, watching his eyes shut for a moment.

“You always look cute, Miss Brat.” He teases a bit, after damn near brushing his head against your hand for more.

“Thank you, Satoru.”

On the car ride home you struggle to stay awake, exhausted, until you somehow wake up back at your dorm, drool out the side of your mouth landing on Gojo's expensive jacket.

“Shit, I'm so sorry! I'm always ruining your clothes.” He gently wipes your lips, leaning close, as you blink the sleep away.

“I'd like to make you drool.” He says softly, and you cry out, when his hand is on your thigh, squeezing.

“Satoru… we're… at my dorm. I can't… what…”

“Poor baby can't speak can she?” You manage a glare, yanking off his jacket.

“Fuck off, Professor Dickhead.”

“Didn't you offer to suck me off today?”

“I… you…” He's chuckling at you now. “Ugh, annoying!”

“Thought you were so eloquent, hmm…”

“I'll see you in class Monday.” You manage, and go to leave, he stops you, taking your hand.

“Any plans? Wild parties?”

“Me? No. I'll be studying, but Maki did invite me to some frat party. I'm not sure if I'll go.” You rub your tired eyes a bit, gather your things, and watch Gojo's lips turn down. “What's wrong?”

“Promise me you'll be careful if you go?”

Your pulse hammers in your throat, as his eyes glitter in the dark of his car. “Of course I will. I'll… text you? That's weird huh.”

“Just let me know you're good. Some of the Frat parties have… some shitty dudes. Just watch your drinks, okay?”

“That's so sweet actually…”

“Hush, don't tell anyone.” You smile softly, running a hand up and down his chest then.

“Wish you could go and we could be like…” You both pause at that. “Ignore me, fuck I should sleep. I'm saying dumb shit. Good night, Toru.”

At that, he's got a hard grip on your wrists, you wince a bit, looking at him in confusion. He pulls you close, so close you nearly are on top of him in his fancy little car, one of your thighs sound over his, hands on his chest, and you just pause, looking up at him, at the shadows from the city lights shining in on the perfect planes of Satoru Gojo’s face.

“I love when you call me that.” He says softly, and he leans down, lips a breath from yours, tempting you, right in front of your dorm.

“Toru…” You whisper again, knowing what you’re doing. He moans then, and yanks you on his lap, your thighs spread over him, a position you had not even been in with him. You feel him, growing hard right under your cunt, as he shoves your little black dress up your thighs, his hands now on your waist under your blazer. You’re trembling under his touch.

You both sit there, precarious, just breathing, as if both of you know if you kiss it’ll be over, you’ll be riding your Professor’s cock then and fucking there. You can’t even form a coherent thought as he presses up then, against your soaking wet little pussy, and you grind back, pressing your hips down and crying out. His eyes never left yours, just drinking you in.

“Should I give you something to think about, when you’re getting hit on by frat boys tomorrow?” He whispers, pulling you down again, and you feel how thick he is, how huge even under his dress pants. You cry out pathetically.

“Why, you jealous, Toru ?” You whisper, leaning closer, and he glares then, grabbing your hips and pulling you down hard, arching his own hips up, to where he’s between your puffy, slick folds now. “Ah!”

“You won’t want them, will you?” He whispers, against your lips, not kissing you but shoving you down on his clothed cock, making you soaked. “Say it, brat, that you won’t want anyone.”

“Why do you… care… mnh!” You’re lost in the sensation, grinding against him without even realizing it. His hands are everywhere, pushing up your skirt, exploring the smooth skin of your thighs, and you're so wet, so desperate for him, that you can't help but whimper, just a breath from his lips.

"Aw you want it so bad, don’t you baby?" He whispers, his voice full of smug satisfaction. "You want me to fuck you right here. So fucking desperate for my cock."

“No… I… mmm…” You hiss when he chuckles darkly, his hands moving up, cupping your breasts, as he pushes up again, teasing you with his lips.

“Still a shit liar, Miss brat. Say it, and I’ll get this pretty pussy off.” You get wetter, hotter at the thought, and watch him grin as you’re rocking your hips for more. “Soaking my pants, Miss Brat.”

“I… like to ruin… your clothes… ngh…” You can’t form a single coherent word, and he feeds off it, pouting up at you, mocking.

“I… like… to… grind on your dick, Toru! Mmm!” He mocks the fuck out of you, and you glare, shoving at him, trying to get your throbbing cunt off him.

“Fuck you, Professor Dickhead. Let me go.” He laughs again, softly.

“Admit you want it, Miss Brat. Me to make you cum, like only I ever have.” At his words you’re flushed, overheated, his grip won’t let you go, and you get dizzy in the car, realizing just what you all were doing.

“Satoru…”

“Toru.”

You exhale then, holding his face in your hands, lips hovering over his. “We’re being stupid and reckless, Toru.”

He grins. “Aw, baby, you just can’t admit it huh? Maybe I should ask her…” He runs a thumb over your panties, sticky and wet, dripping with desire. “She seems to like me more than you do.”

“She’s dumb. Mmm!” You clutch his shoulders as he grinds up on you, while shoving his thumb up on your clit, blue eyes wide and dilated, lips tempting you, glossy and full, you want so badly to let go, to give your pussy what she wants.

“Does she want me?” He asks, softer, you nod, and he yanks his hand away, leaving you breathless, confused. “I need you to use your words. Coherent words, Miss Brat.”

“Ugh!” You bend down then, pressing your cunt against his cock, watching him suck in a breath, hands going in his soft hair, yanking it back, making him look up at you for just a change. “I won’t be fucking around at this party, okay? I wouldn’t… I don’t want to.”

He pulls you down, lips taking over yours then, mouth just possessing yours, sloppy, messy kisses, tongues licking and teeth bumping, moaning into each other’s mouths. That all consuming fucking kiss, the one that you could never get enough of, rushing straight to your cunt that’s dripping more on him.

“Only want me, hmm?” You nod, helpless, unable to lie to him. “Say it, and I’ll get this perfect pussy off.”

“We can’t… here… we shouldn’t even be doing this right now.” Your voice breaks in the middle when he presses again, making you hiss at how bad you’re aching, eyes rolling back, and damn near ready to drool again at the sensations. Then you’re kissing again, and he lifts your hips up and slides two fingers in you at once, stretching you out, filling your aching little hole.

“Feel her, pulsing around me already.” He whispers, and the car gets too hot, hard to breathe with how much you want him, your cunt is drooling down his hand, as he tilts his fingers now.

“Want you, I want you. Want you…” Is all you manage, then you’re unbuckling his belt, surprise on his face for a brief moment, and you watch him closely, his face contorting in pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut when you grab his cock.

“ Fuck .” He moans, so sexy, and you’re raised up on your knees now, bending down, your ass on his steering wheel, one of your legs shoved against his gear shift, and all you can think about is that he’s so hot and huge in your hands.

You look down, salivating at the sight, even in the dark you can tell he has a pretty, perfect cock, so goddamn long it’s stupid. You stroke him harder, your hand moving in a rhythm that matches the beat of your insane pulse hammering in your throat, and his grip on one of your hips tightens, his fingers shoving in your cunt deeper, until you see stars, hand faltering for a moment.

“Under pressure, brat, remember?” He whispers, taunting you, and you just buck your hips, riding his fingers, while you swipe your thumb over the tip of his cock, smearing the precum around, and he jolts, his hips jerking upwards, pushing his length deeper into your grip. “Jesus… fucking… ”

“Jesus… fucking… can’t talk hmm Toru? Your words .” You taunt now, and he glares at you, as his breathing turns ragged, his chest heaving, and you feel your own arousal spike as you watch him lose control, bringing you even closer to the edge.

“You’re a fucking brat. Can’t wait to fuck this stupidly wet cunt.” He hisses the words, then he withdraws his fingers, bringing you down, until your cunt is pressing against his length.

“Toru!” You cry out, and you nearly fall, pressed against him, he groans when he feels you.

“So hot, so wet. Need it. Need you.” He yanks your panties to the side, then you both freeze, as a car parks right next to yours. You tense, straddling Satoru Gojo’s cock with just your panties as a sad, pathetic barrier of soaked lace. And he freezes, as you both look out the car window.

Someone gets out of what appears to be an Uber, and you pray Gojo’s windows are tinted enough, clinging to him, not breathing. It’s two seriously drunk girls, though, they’re both giggling, leaning and taking selfies, as you and Gojo just fucking sit there, your cunt throbbing, wanting him inside her, and him, so hard he hurts, leaking precum on your panties, making them a bigger mess.

They finally walk in, and he exhales, the same as you, then you both stare at each other, eyes locking, until you’re blushing furiously, realizing what had almost happened. You ease off him, and he winces, adjusting himself back into his dress pants, running a hand through his silky hair. You adjust your skirt, taking a shaky breath and then stepping out.

He’s instantly in front of you, shutting the car door behind you, and you clutch your books tight to your chest, trembling as he bars you, arms on either side of you against his car. You look up and meet his eyes, hungry, a little bit of pink on his perfect cheeks, his lips parted.

“Toru… we’re stupid.” You manage to say, and he smirks just a bit, shaking his head.

“You’re not stupid, Miss Brat. Well… stupidly hot.” He whispers, and you tense, clutching your thighs together, sticky as your wetness soaks you. “Stupidly tight. Stupidly wet.”

“ Toru… stop. ” You’re whining his name and he groans, cupping your face.

“I can’t handle how good that sounds on these gorgeous lips. Got me wanting to lick you on this hood right now. Make you scream it.”

You whimper, resting your head on his chest, holding your books so tight they dig into your arms. The door opens, and Satoru backs off, as another car pulls up as well, and you both catch your breaths, finally having distance. You can't even look at him, at his gorgeous face, a face that makes you forget your entire life, forget everything but how much you crave him.

“I should go inside.” Your voice is shaky, unsure, and he tilts your chin up, making you meet his beautiful gaze.

“If you need me to… if you need anything text me. Call me. Okay?” His voice is a little strained, and you nod, smiling up, lips stinging from his kisses, wishing you could just do it, right here. Let him lick you on his damn hood.

You hurt.

“Thank you, I will be fine though. Promise. I don’t drink much.”

“That’s worse, no tolerance.”

“You worry about me, huh? So soon?” He pouts a bit, standing straight then, hands in his pockets. You watch the wind whip his hair around, so gently, he looks so beautiful there, it makes your chest tighten. “Will you miss me all weekend?”

“You wish. Brat .” He rolls his eyes, and you smile softly, giggling a bit, earning his glare. “Won’t miss you at all, less of a headache. And less of my cock in pain.”

“I was gonna…”

“Yeah.”

You both damn near jump each other again, then you take his hand gently, enwrapping your fingers with his. He looks down at where they’re joined, bringing your hand up to his lips, kissing it, making you melt.

“Good night, Toru. I’ll see you Monday in class.” You mumble, blushing at the thought of that.

“Night, Miss Brat.” He mumbles back, and you run off practically, struggling to put distance, to get air between you two. You peek over your shoulder, and see him leaned against the car, hand over his face, and you realize…

Satoru Gojo wants you.

How, you can’t quite fathom.

Damn near as much as you want him.

His eyes look at you and you turn and run into the building, like some silly teenager, you can’t handle him looking at you like that, like he wants to eat you. You’re stripping, as is your new routine, hopping in the shower, because you honestly just can’t anymore, you can’t take how bad you want him.

You’ve never wanted something like that, and you both were dumb enough you were about to fuck right in front of your dorm. Oh, and his cock? The biggest and prettiest you'd seen…

Fuck.

***

"Come on, it's just one dance." The guy behind you urged, his breath hot and icky against your ear. He was honestly cute, and you all had talked just a bit, but the thought of it?

“I don’t dance, I’m sorry.” You say, nervously, looking around at the dancing sea of bodies, feeling the loud bass ringing in your ears.

His hand rested gently on the small of your back, on the outskirts of the crowded college party. “I could teach you?”

Gojo had taught you.

Remembering being in his arms nearly broke you, and you tremble thinking about it, about how much you crave him, how much you wish he could just… date you? Like maybe, when you’re done with school, or at least not in his classes, you all could, right, but would he be around, available? Look at how fucking handsome he was, there is just now way.

The thought punches you in the stomach.

You turned to face him, a cute blond guy, his eyes full of hope, and shook your head with a sympathetic smile. "I don't think so, sorry. Nice to meet you though!" You say, and then walk back through the room, until you run right into Maki.

“He was cute, why not dance?” She asks, her green hair was down today, straight, looking gorgeous. You sigh, running your fingers through it.

“I’ll dance with you.” She rolls her eyes, smiling at you.

“Are you pining for hot professor?” She teases, you sigh, rolling your eyes now, shaking your head.

“She’s totally fiending.” Yuta comes, teasing you with a poke. You smack his hand away, sighing.

“I know we can’t… I mean, not now.”

“So you’re what, holding out anther couple years? You’re already like three years dry.”

“Maki!” You glare at her, and she shrugs, walking towards the drink table, grabbing you each a beer. “It’s not like those were good you know.”

“The first time isn’t usually good. I mean, Yuta… he was amazing. Quick though.” She giggles and Yuta glares now.

“That just meant you’re amazing.” She flushes a bit, and kisses him, they were about the same height, both way taller than you. You crave that, but with…

“Ugh, I do have it bad.” You grumble, sipping the beer and grimacing, it was not your drink of choice.

“Listen, at least have some fun. Oooh, beer pong!” Maki bounces up and down, and before you know it, you are actually playing, you end up losing terribly, and you all are going back and forth. It starts hitting you after your third beer, this weird, fuzzy headed feeling.

You are a lightweight, so you back off a bit, and Maki and Yuta go at it with two more of their classmates, laughing as Maki annihilated the boys. You smile, then head towards the bathroom, and by the time you are in there, everything is spinning, and you grow dizzy a bit. You splash a little water on your face, then look down at your phone, contemplating…

You know you shouldn’t, but you’re tipsy.

Your thumbs move almost by themselves, and before you know it, you're typing a message to him, feeling your heart flutter in your chest, looking at the message over and over. Should you? Ugh!

Fuck it.

You: I miss you, Toru.

You freeze, hand on your chest, feeling your heart pounding, thrumming in your ears, overheated. You lean against the bathroom counter, and watch the three little bubbles move. What was he up to, you wonder, what did Satoru Gojo do, when he’s not a lawyer, a professor, a…

Professor Dickhead: You’re tipsy, aren’t you?

You giggle at that.

You: Yeah, a bit. Not gonna lie.

Professor Dickhead: Being safe?

You: Turned down a dude who wanted to dance.

…

Professor Dickhead: Good Girl.

You’re wet now. Great.

You: Wet.

No, did you just…

You: Ignore that!

You panic as he keeps typing, those damn bubbles.

Professor Dickhead: Show me.

Fuck…

You’re trembling, phone nearly falling out of your hand, and you contemplate it, you can’t right? That’s awful It’s making everything worse! No way…

You: What do you mean like… a picture?

Professor Dickhead: Pic, vid, I wanna see her.

You: Scandalous man, wanna see your student’s pussy? While she’s had three beers?

Professor Dickhead: Hmm… you know, I’d ask to finally see those perky tits, but I wanna see them in person first.

You flush.

You: And where are you?

Professor Dickhead: Out with Geto and Nanami. We’re at some fancy martini place and the girls are coming in hoards.

You giggle at that.

You: Bet one of them would show you their pussy, easy.

…

Professor Dickhead: Wanna see yours, though, it’s the prettiest one.

You: Are you rizzing me Gojo?

Professor Dickhead: Do I even have to?

You hop up on the counter then, and your hands shake as you lift your skirts, sliding your panties to the side. Fuck are you doing this? You are, aren’t you? Drunk texting your very hot professor, angling the camera to look at your glistening pussy in the selfie camera, lips puffy from the abuse your vibrator put on it this morning, thinking of him.

You slide your finger between your lips, taking a little video, rubbing up and down once, twice, then you pull the camera up, and lick yourself off your finger. You flush, from alcohol, horniness, and… the thrill, the… you’re nervous? You’ve sent like a titty pic before, but not this.

You hit send, squealing, then hopping off and splashing your face again, hearing someone knock on the bathroom door. You answer it, and it’s Maki, who just stumbles in, along with Yuta, shutting the door. She goes to sit and pee, and Yuta and you just laugh, as she glares.

“What? Like I care. You’re like my boyfriend and my girlfriend.” You sigh, looking back down on your phone, as Yuta looks over at you.

“Oh shit, you’re bright red!” He teases, and you go even redder. “Who ya texting?” Like magic, the sound of an incoming message pops up.

“N-no one!” Maki finishes, washing her hands and peering at your phone, just in time for a text to pop off.

“Professor Dickhead!?”

“Shush!”

“Oh shit, white haired Professor!” Yuta says, peeking too, you hide your phone against your chest. “It was a nude, huh?”

“Shut up you two ugh!” You shove it into your purse then, crossing your arms, chin up in the air. “Was not.”

“Liar!”

That one was in unison.

“That dude is still begging for you. Let’s get home, huh?” Maki says, and you nod, because you want nothing to do with him, with anyone.

You only want…

As you get in the back seat, Maki and Yuta are going at it, and you use the moment of reprieve, seeing that text.

Professor Dickhead: I want to bury my face in that pretty pussy. Drink all that wetness up.

You get wetter, thighs sticking together, and your heart races. You should ignore it. But that’s not what you want, is it? You crave his attention, his touch, his everything. You want him to claim you.

You: Toru… not alone. In a car. Can’t get that horny.

You don’t check the phone until you’re back in your dorm, chugging ice water like crazy and popping two tylenol, preliminarily. You get ready for bed, in your little tank and shorts, brushing your teeth, and it’s not until you actually lay down that you check, it’s like this odd nightly routine now, seeing his texts.

You crave them.

You crave him.

Professor Dickhead: Tell me when you get that nice little ass home safe.

You: I’m home, Toru.

Professor Dickhead: In bed?

You: Mmhmm, bet you wish you were here.

Fuck, this alcohol made you bold.

You: Am drunk. Ignore.

Professor Dickhead: Just makes you speak the truth, brat.

You: Hush. I should sleep.

Professor Dickhead: I’m gonna cum so hard to a five second clip, that it’s actually gonna be embarrassing. Who even am I now.

You feel giddy, it’s as if something so dirty is stupidly romantic.

You: Want me that bad, huh?

Professor Dickhead: You played with that pussy thinking of me last night, didn’t you baby? I can tell.

You: Shut up.

Professor Dickhead: All puffy.

How'd he know!?

You: You’re annoying! Byeee!

He laugh reacts to that message, and you roll your eyes.

He was right.

You: Really gonna masturbate to me?

Professor Dickhead: You act like I haven’t already.

You: What!?

Professor Dickhead: It’s become a nightly routine. Can’t get that perfect pussy out of my mind. Sucks it’s attached to an annoying brat.

You: That’s how I feel about your tongue, so talented, but it’s attached to a six foot four jerk.

He angry reacts that one.

You giggle.

Professor Dickhead: Funny you thought of me at a party, all drunk and getting hit on. And I’m on your mind.

Your heart races at that, at the truth, and Gojo knows how to pull the truth out of you, out of anyone. You did only think of him, you had been since you met, but you couldn’t just say that. Right?

You: My pussy texted you not me.

He hearted that one, making you snort in laughter.

Professor Dickhead: Good, I like her better than you.

You: You’re such a dick.

Professor Dickhead: You like looking at that dick?

You: Shouldn’t you be spending time with your friends?

Professor Dickhead: Didn’t answer me.

You: It’s… pretty and… perfect. It’s huge. You already know it though, don’t need to hear it from me.

Professor Dickhead: Want your mouth on it. Wanna fuck your tight little throat.

You’re gushing wet, you yank off the blanket, whining, covering your face with your hands. Your entire body throbs at his words. Suddenly, it rings, and you freeze, staring at it with wide eyes. Gojo is calling.

“Y-yeah?” You ask, and he’s quiet, you can hear the music and laughter in the background.

“Play with it for me.” His voice is so fucking sexy, especially over the phone, that your hand instantly does as he commands, sliding under your little pajama shorts waistband then, and you cry out. “ Fuck. ”

“I… mmm…”

“Little circles.” He orders softly, and you do so, playing with that swollen little clit, pressing up, imagining his touch. “Wanna drink you up, taste so yummy.”

“I wanna suck you off. Drink your cum.” You whisper then, and hear him curse, something slamming shut. You giggle a bit, then gasp as you slide a finger inside of you, tiny and pathetic. You whine. “Fingers… yours… better, s’much better.”

“You want my fingers in you?”

“Yes, Gojo… fuck…”

“ Toru .” He corrects, biting the words out.

“ Toru. ” He moans softly at it, whispering your name then, urging you on, and you’re close with your own fingers so fast it’s unreal. “ Toru, m’close.”

“Cum for me baby, think of me there, licking it all clean.” He says, husky and quiet, and you start to feel your tummy clenching, and you’re whining, gripping the phone to your ear for more of his breathing. God, even his breathing was so sexy it made you already sloppy pussy wetter. “Let me hear it, baby please.”

“You never… say… please… Toru!” You cry out then, loud as fuck, sounds vibrating in your empty little dorm room, and your hand is now covered in an embarrassing amount of wetness.

“Send a vid of it now. I have to go… you’re making things stupidly hard for me you know.” His voice is gruff, and you giggle, breathlessly.

“You did this to yourself!”

“Send it.”

“Fuck… maybe.”

“Do it and I’ll have a reward Monday.”

“A gold sticker! Professor Gojo!”

“Bye, brat.”

He hangs up the phone, and your damn heart is racing, so fast you think it’ll fall out, there is a ringing in your ears, and your thighs ache. You sigh, then take your phone, spreading your thighs, playing with the soaking mess he made your cunt with a couple of words and some breathing over a call. Then you send it, nervously, before wiping yourself up.

You start to fade out, but you hear a buzz, and jerk a bit, in that stage of sleep where you feel like you’re falling. You bleary eyed look at the screen, and it’s a message from him, from…

Professor Gojo: Prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen.

You: Whass gonna be my rward Toruu.

Your eyes cross, so exhausted. He laughs at your response.

Professor Dickhead: Lol, your fingers left the chat.

You: The fingers did too muchh work.

Professor Dickhead: Go to bed, silly, it'll be a surprise.

You: Am bed. G’night Toruu.

Professor Dickhead: Night, pretty.

You fall asleep smiling, hugging the phone.

***

On Monday, your hangover is finally gone, but the aftermath of that night is lingering in your head, as you’re in Professor Nanami’s class, the one right before Professor Gojo. Nanami is a class favorite, as he was so calm and kind, and of course the girls swoon over him and his model cheekbones. You’re a little lost adrift when he calls on you.

“Yes, Professor Nanami?” You ask, and he gives you a little turn of his lips, hazel eyes soft and tired, he looked like he really needed a nap. You flush when you think how he was there, when you were sending Gojo…

Shit. Focus.

"Can you tell us, in your view," Nanami began, his eyes locking onto yours now. "How does the court's interpretation of the Fourth Amendment in this decision impact privacy in the digital age?"

You fumble through your brain, scrolling through all the open windows that were honestly just Gojo, to get to the books of laws you’d been pouring over. Then you find it in your mind. People in the class are watching you, Yuta is in this one, and he gives you two big thumbs up, mouthing ‘you can do it’.

“Well, Professor, the notion of privacy was rooted in physical spaces, before technology advanced so much. And now, there’s really almost nothing that is private with our digital footprint, is there?”

“Indeed, not much is private. But shouldn’t we still strive for it?”

“Of course we should consider the implications for our digital lives. This decision primarily deals with privacy but also, in court cases, it happens at times where you need to see those things. That’s what subpoenas are for.”

He smiles, and at the end of class he pauses you for a moment.

“Yes, Professor Nanami?”

“Heard you helped in that case for Gojo. Good job.” You blush under the calm praise, as the class has filed out, leaving the two of you. Nanami takes his suit jacket off and you catch a glimpse of those action star muscles.

“Thank you so much, I didn’t do that much.”

“Gojo went on and on about you. So, I disagree. It’s not often a little narcissistic idiot compliments someone.” You laugh then, and cover your mouth, but Nanami laughs with you, the first time you've seen him do it, and he looks far too pretty.

What pact did these three professors make with a demon to look so good, you wonder. A sacrifice surely.

But Gojo?

He talked about you!?

“That’s actually really sweet of him.” Nanami’s eyes narrow a bit, and you tense just a bit.

“Be careful, okay?” He says softly, tone shifting, and you flush bright red, looking around the empty room, stepping a little closer.

“We haven’t…”

“I really don’t wanna know. I’m assuming the worst because it’s Gojo. But where he can get out of anything, your career hasn’t begun. So…” He puts a hand on your shoulder, patting it. “Just be careful.”

“Of course, thank you. I promise I won’t let any studies slip.”

“I wouldn’t think you would. But don’t lose focus. All right…” He unbuttons his wrist sleeves a bit, rolling them up. “Head on out, I have way too many papers to grade here.”

“Of course, have a good day Nanami! I mean, Professor!”

He smirks as he sits down, rubbing his tired eyes. “Nanami is fine.”

You smile shyly then bounce out of the class, shutting the door with a loud click behind you, heart racing. Was your attraction so obvious?

Gojo…

Someone yanks you in a room then, and you hold back a scream, as a big hand comes to cover your mouth, and you look up to those blue eyes, dilated and looking way too intense. So intense you can’t stand it. You blink a bit, and he’s grinning, letting his hand drop.

“Miss Brat. Ready for the surprises?” You giggle breathlessly, before shoving at his chest.

“You’re ridiculous. Scared the fuck out of me.” Nanami’s words run through your mind then. “We need to be careful…”

“I know, that’s why I snatched you up.”

“Like a psycho!”

He waves his hands, then he holds out two bags, one a little black glittery one, like the way he made you when he hit your G spot-

Get it together, damn.

The other was a pretty little white one, also glittery, a bit like Gojo’s silky fucking hair-

Stop it.

“You didn’t have to actually get me anything, I… shouldn’t have even done that, I’m still embarrassed at…”

“Nope. Don’t say it. I have a yardstick.” You feel pressure in your lower tummy then, clutching and unclutching. He just laughs, so fucking gorgeous, throwing his head back. “Freak.”

“You! Heard you were bragging about me hmm?” You caress his chest then, and he tenses, then glares.

“One tiny bit, mmkay?” You grin. “Gonna get a big head.”

“Thank you though… which first?”

“Both are motivational, so they’ll help you succeed.” He’s looking devious, and your heart flips a bit, just what was he up to? “Black or white first?”

“Um… white. Like your hair-fuck!” He chuckles at that, handing you the bag, and you struggle not to blush and tremble under his gaze.

“You’re really cute.”

“Hush.” You gently open the bag, and there is a pretty little white box, long and rectangular. Your eyes meet his, studying your every expression intently. “Gojo, you didn’t have to-”

“Open it, Miss Brat.” His soft, deep tone orders you, and of course you obey, shit you’d do anything when he talks like that.

You gently open it, and it’s a beautiful bracelet, thick rope of silver, with one charm and two big colorful beads, bright blue. You finger the charm delicately, and it’s a charm of the law scales, bright silver. You blink back emotions, looking at it, and then back up at him.

You didn’t have much in the way of parents, and with your lack of boyfriend history, no one had ever gotten you anything like this. You feel tears prick your eyes then, swiping them away and gently pulling it out of the box, struggling to keep yourself together.

“Hey, you okay pretty?” He asks softly, different from his usual teasing tone, and you realize tears are falling.

“It’s so pretty, I don’t… you should have gotten me…”

“It’s motivational. Here.” He takes the clasp, and grabs your wrist, putting it on his chest. “This is because you killed it at court. The more times you excel, I’ll add charms to it.”

“Toru… I…” You’re crying, fuck. He wipes your tears.

“You cryin, brat?” You just nod.

You’re so pretty when you’re crying, those tears flowing down your pretty cheeks, big eyes glittering as you look up at him. You are so small, so open. He’d been dreaming of you constantly, since that random night. Yeah, he’d thought you were beautiful, but when he had kissed you?

Gojo had been with countless women, fuck he’d shared women with his best friend casually, but you? The way you tasted, how wet you get, those eyes after he’d made you cum, it was the most addicting thing. More addicting than candy, Gojo’s only real addiction, you tasted better.

Your hand shakes violently, as the silver bracelet rests on your delicate wrists, and he takes it gently, kissing it, watching your lips part, those fuck me eyes in full force. God, the way you looked at him? It fucked him up, made him want to say fuck everything and fuck you then and there. Keep you well fucked, too, so all these guys he saw look at you would fuck off.

Possessive, he felt possessive, of a girl that he’s not dating. A girl he hasn’t even fucked. A girl with a bright future, that he didn’t wanna fuck up.

But…

For you?

“Toru, no one has ever gotten me anything like this.” He pouts a bit at that, tilting his head, pretty face concentrated on you.

“No one? It’s just a pandora, silly.” He taps your nose, but then he has to swipe more tears. “Not even like…”

“Don’t have a family really.” He pauses, brushing your hair back softly, letting you speak calmly. “And we all know I’m shit at having a life. So no boys.”

“Well, fuck them, anyway. Don’t get so excited. It’s motivation.”

You smile tremulously, hugging him around his waist then. “I love it, Satoru, just perfect. Thank you so much.”

He hugs you back a bit, then taps your back. “You’re welcome. Look all from letting me see a five second tease vid.”

“Satoru!” He snorts in laughter.

“You’re such a crybaby.” He nods to the other bag then.

You were so touched by a bracelet, which was nothing to him, Satoru Gojo was filthy rich, born rich, then busted his ass to get more. But if it wasn’t for the entirety of the situation, he’d have you dripping in diamonds. Fuck, naked, dripping with diamonds, god he needed to see you fully, when and how could you all?

It’s a consuming thought.

You crying was even hotter? Fuck.

“What’s this one?” You hold out a black box curiousy, thicker and bigger, then when you open it, you slam it shut. “Toru!”

He’s grinning like the Joker now, the Mad Hatter, a psycho. “This will be your stressor, keeping quiet and focused when I use it on you in class tomorrow.”

“No! No, no, uh uh!” He just grins wide, and as you’re holding what is literally a vibrator for panties, and he’s wiggling a remote control, you freak out.

“Let’s try it on.”

“Satoru… you psycho…” He’s bending down, on his knees in front of you, and his breath is on your thigh, sliding up your skirt. You fall back, until you’re leaned against the door frame.

“Pressure, Miss Brat. Now… let’s…” Then Satoru Gojo has hooked your panties in his fingers, yanking em down.

What… the fuck were you in for?

Chapter 5

Chapter on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56895382/chapters/146269327

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk gojo #gojou satoru x reader #anime and manga #fanfic #smut #satoru gojo #satoru x you #satoru x reader #satoru x y/n #gojo x reader smut #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x oc

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darqx · 1 year ago

Note

Hi I understand if you don't reply, but I was wondering if you have any advice to beginners who want to start making their ocs a reality? (Like in the sense of having Charecters that have been in your thoughts for a while, but it's hard to encapsulate them into physical form?) As I have some that id like to make either into a game or comic but I'm a little stuck..

Also I'm curious if there will be any other content with the best boy himself rire?? : 0

Hullo! Ah, (physically) designing characters, how fun ❤️ - there is part of a reason why I only have a handful of them lol XD; ANYWAY here are three things that help me, so hopefully they can help you as well :)

(I'll use Demon!Rire as an example as unless you are an old guard of mine, he will probably be the most recognisable of my characs.)

--------------

❓What do you know about them?

First of all since you already have your character in mind, congratulations you are most of the way there already! It's helpful to know the general vibe of them. And I don't mean the super detailed things that may arise from like..."Get to know your OC" quizzes - we are more looking for the core feeling of a character here. If you dumped this character into different AUs what things are going to stay the same/similar? Some things you should consider are:

What is their personality like? Why do they do the things they do?

Do I already have any physical traits for them in mind? Hair/eye/skin colour? Body type? Age? Name??

📝 Write a simple paragraph or some dot points about your character with these things in mind.

---EXAMPLE---

Sophisticated and charming, Rire outputs an aura of power and elegance. His pleasing physical appearance and gentlemanly demeanour usually enchants or commands people. Realistically, he is extremely manipulative and sadistic, and finds entertainment in the reactions of others.

---/EXAMPLE---

🤔 Make informed choices

Ok cool, you know something about your charac! Now build upon what you know to make them real - it is important here to try and match your design choices with the characterisation and "why"s of the character, and less with what you personally think will be cool/cute/whatever. What I mean by this is just pretend they are a person you are describing to a forensic sketch artist - you are giving "facts" as to what you think they look like not making stuff up (eg you would NOT be like "oh yeh she was totally a punk rocker however i'm going to say she wore a long flowing gown cos I think she'd look prettier in it?"*)

*Note that designing a character with opposites in mind can work out if you can at least answer the cursory "why" of it being a part of the character design. For eg maybe the punk rocker is secretly the alter ego of a socialite - flowing gowns and high fashion by day, grunge by night. Like Batman.

📝 Feel free to use dress up doll games and image searches for particular types of clothes/hairstyles/etc if you need inspiration. Thumbnail a bunch of different designs and see what works.

---EXAMPLE---

In my prev example paragraph I highlighted a few things in red. Here I'll break down how they can help craft a physical appearance:

Sophisticated and charming / elegance - to me, these combined make me think of ballrooms and black tie functions and nice suits. A well tailored outfit and someone who knows how to wear them.

Gentlemanly demeanour (well to some degree lol) - since I already know he's hundreds of years old (973 to be exact) I decided that an aristocratic Victorian-esque aesthetic would suit him. Somewhere in between a modern look and something with a bit more fantasy steampunk flair. He smiles quite genially until he's doing it with all his teeth.

Aura of power - he's got to be a bit of an imposing character so he's quite tall (or at least taller than all of my other characs) and carries himself confidently. Hooray for the ability to loom. Dark colours for this character, to cut an impressive figure.

Pleasing physical appearance - kinda stereotypical type of good looks that aesthetically most people would be like "yeh he's pretty". Athletic build - muscular but not bulky, broad shoulders, tapered waist etc etc.

Extremely manipulative - first of all, he looks rather human, for a demon - his entire species is designed very particularly like that. Then there's the sunglasses. The "why" [does he wear them] is they function to hide his eyes (one of the main parts of him that give away his demon-ness), but also as a bit of a red flag to the audience that something isn't quite right with him. I mean, look past his charm and he wears them all the time. The black and yellow colour scheme also ties in as warning colours ⚠️

Put them all together and this was one of my first sketches of Demon!Rire.

*Note that I already more or less knew how he looked other than his outfit; you will probably have a lot more sketch duds as you figure out what your character looks like.

---/EXAMPLE---

🔐 Don't lock yourself in

Despite the fact I've just said "pretend your character is a person", remember you're still their creator so obviously you have final say over them. Sometimes you'll find that they grow and change from what you initially thought of them (or you just evolve in how you draw them). Don't be afraid to make the tweaks and changes that enhance these - whether they be physical or core characteristics - and you'll get closer to the true character you always had in mind.

---EXAMPLE--

I now draw Rire with a more pronounced V-shape, longer, wavier hair, and somehow he ended up with way more pronounced eyelashes than I usually draw on my male characs. Which works out quite well considering how I tend to draw his eyes. Anyway the point of this is that these things developed over time as I kept drawing him.

---/EXAMPLE---

🍀 Try it out with your own characs! Have fun and don't force yourself to try and get it "right" on the first go.

#prettyboysmakegravezz #character design #ref #character design tips #hope this is kinda helpful!#also honestly have fun aye #long post #also as for other content with rire there kinda is but he's not really the main charac lol #also who knows when that will come out im a bit pedantic planning a webcomic #sz

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heyimkana · 1 year ago

Text

24 Hours with You (Satoru Ver.) - Ep. 2

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: The second episode of a mini-series where you’ll live through the hours you spend together with your husband, Gojo Satoru. Pairings: Gojo Satoru x Female Reader Genre: Domestic AU, Fluff, Romance, Humor Word Count: 9K Warnings: no plot, just a compilation of fluffy scenes that you share with your whipped, super annoying husband, Satoru. there's a bit of a smutty scene but it's not explicitly written.

Episode 2: Daylight

07.04 AM

The morning sunray seeps through your windows, kissing your skin with familiar warmth. The red roses Satoru bought you yesterday greet you with their sweet scent as they sit prettily in a glass vase that glimmers like crystal underneath the light. You take a quick scan around, expecting the worst but surprisingly, besides the bedroom, your place is still recognizable despite the drunk antics that you and your husband did last night after finishing a whole bottle of wine to yourselves.

Your work doesn’t start until nine, and although usually, you would leave at 8.15 to avoid the risk of turning up late, after noticing what day it is, you reckon that traffic won’t be so bad. Plus, your home is only around ten minutes away from your office anyway. It’s the main reason why Satoru insisted on buying this condominium in the first place—to give you more time to yourself (and for him to cuddle with you on the sofa because you always look so snuggly in the morning). Maybe you can take it easy today. Brushing your teeth and changing your nightgown into an oversized hoodie (Satoru’s) and a pair of comfy sweatpants, you get yourself to work.

Among the clutters on the floor are your cocktail dress and Satoru’s expensive suit and tie, scattered all over the carpet, giving you a quick flashback of what happened after you arrived home from the fancy restaurant he took you last night. The exchange of heavy, scorching kisses in the elevator… Your spine pressed flat against the wall with his head between your thighs the second the front door was shut close… A bottle of red wine tasted directly from each other’s tongue… And…

You glance down at your hands, feeling heat flaring in your cheeks as your eyes land on the thin, but quite noticeable, purple bruises that circle your wrists like dark bracelets.

Last night was… wild.

“God, we’re not young anymore,” you mumble to yourself, shamefaced, as you head toward the kitchen. There are empty plates and half-filled glasses left abandoned on the aisle, and a pizza box that you ordered at two in the morning for an emergency snack (Satoru always gets hungry after sex), but it will only take you a few minutes to clean everything up, so everything’s fine.

Today’s start isn’t so bad.

The condo that you and Satoru bought together felt too spacious and grand at first. The neat white walls somehow screamed lonely, desperate for human touch. But after living here for three years, three whole years of a happy marriage with occasional fights that never lasted a night, it felt truly like home—the kind that you’ve never had the joy to experience before.

Silly Polaroid photos of the two of you are plastered all over the fridge. A collection of your favorite novels sits on the bookcase among healthy pileas that tumble elegantly over the shelves. Satoru’s favorite Hatsune Miku figures are there too, despite your constant begging to just throw them away, but that’s marriage, isn’t it? You just have to compromise on every single thing. Even when the color of Hatsune’s stupid hair—why does it have to be turquoise of all shades?—ruins your aesthetic.

A huge, beautiful mural showcasing the map of the world can be found painted on one side of the wall. In some countries, there are words written by colorful markers, telling a story of the memorable journeys you’ve had together. Satoru’s messy handwriting used to be there but you scrapped them all because drawing a bunch of arrows pointing at different cities and writing down the words “We did it here” or “We also did it here” and “We toooootally did it here” with wink faces on the sidedon’t exactly seem appropriate, especially since Megumi’s son often comes by to visit his favorite uncle. (The word ‘favorite’ here is self-proclaimed. Megumi never said that. His son also never said that. Satoru is just delusional.)

You catch a whiff of your husband’s perfume, still somewhat lingering close, a sweet reminder of your chaotic days in high school and the moment your romance bloomed during your college days. Oh, also, coffee. You’re gonna need a lot of that if you want to get through all of your work meetings today. The smell of freshly brewed coffee is one of your favorite scents in the world and you smile to yourself as you pour it into your mug.

“Someone looks happy,” Satoru sniffles as he places his chin on your shoulder, long arms winding themselves around the dip of your waist. And cuddly, he adds in his head. Though he always finds himself swooning seeing you in your cocktail dress or work attire, he adores this look the most. Messy bun, bare face with acne patches on your chin and nose, his hoodie covering your body to the middle of your thighs. You're precious.

He won’t say this to you though, not today.

“Someone sounds a bit grumpy.” You tilt your head just enough to peck him on the cheek. “Took you long enough to finish.”

“Well, it would’ve only taken me ten minutes if somebody was kind enough to lend me a hand.”

“What, your two hands aren’t enough?”

“They don’t feel as good as yours.” He’s pouting. Even if you can’t see it, you can tell he is. “I didn’t finish, by the way. Thank you for asking.”

A chuckle escapes you. “Honey, you finished, like, four times last night.”

“You’re missing the point,” he sighs. “I don’t think I’ve told you this but…” He turns your body around, making you face him with your cup between your hands and your back leaning against the kitchen counter. He’s still in his boxer shorts, you notice, but he’s made the effort of throwing on a green pastel shirt, hanging loose on his body and unbuttoned to his chest. Satoru rests his palms on the surface, trapping you between his arms. “I think I’m getting so dependent on you now that I can’t even cum on my own.”

“You can’t do anything without me these days, actually,” you comment, running your mouth without realizing that he’s desperate for your sympathy. He gives you a look, staring flatly at you. “And I can’t do anything without you, my love,” you add with a smile, tapping his cheek. “There. Happy now?”

“Wouldn’t kill you to say it once in a while,” he answers, and you roll your eyes. “I’m just saying, I used to do it so easily, you know? I didn’t even need to look at actual porn to jerk off. I was so in control of my body. Just had to picture you naked on your knees with my di—”

“Careful.”

He cuts himself short. “—and I’d be done in, like, two minutes.”

“I see. And here I thought today was going to be boring,” you reply, sarcasm running thick in each word.

“But these days…” His eyes droop. “It hasn’t been that easy. Sometimes I couldn’t even, umm… get it hard,” he admits, blushing. It’s a bit of a confession that he’s been trying to keep to himself for a while.

“What, really? Like, at all?”

He sheepishly nods. “There’s this one time when you were away on a business trip and it had been so long since we had sex so I wanna… You know…”

“Play with your carrot?” You suggest, taking a sip of your coffee. “Rub the eggplant? Stroke the banana?”

There’s a momentary silence where he just looks at you, unamused.

You, also, stay hushed.

Then, “Caress the fresh zucchini—”

“I think that’s enough, babe.”

“Oh, so when I say it, you don’t like it. But when you say it—”

“You’re not saying it at the right time—You know what? Forget it.” Satoru pushes himself away from the counter, fuming and you laugh.

Catching him by the wrist, you whirl him back to you. “I’m sorry. You’re just so cute. I think this is the first time I’ve seen you act like this.”

“Can you be serious, please? This is actually very important to me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You stand on your toes, kissing his pout away. “I’ll pay attention, I promise. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I’m a bit scared,” he says, his shoulders sagging. He looks like a sad puppy. A giant, 193cm tall sad puppy. Even your puppy didn’t look as depressed as him now when she was on the verge of death. “What am I going to do when you’re away for two weeks and I can’t even jerk off once?”

You know you don’t have to jerk off, right? Your mouth is itching to say the words. “Two weeks aren’t even that long.”

“Of course, they are!”

“Okay, so you can’t jerk off for two weeks. What is the big deal—”

“What’s the big deal?!” He gasps, as dramatically as ever, one hand slapped against his chest. “You’re asking me what’s the big deal?! What if this is a sign of early erectile dysfunction?!”

Hereeee we go. “From someone who came four times last night, what are you saying?!”

“Excuse me, are you a doctor?” His voice drops, his face solemn. “Are you an urologist?”

You sigh. “No.”

“Do you have a penis?”

“Satoru—”

“Do you?”

You’re rubbing your head, headaches incoming. “You wouldn’t have married me if I had one now, would you?”

“Not true but okay. Anyway—”

“Wait, hold up, what does that mean—”

“The point is,” he puts pressure on his words, pinching your nose so you’ll stop talking. “No penis, no opinion. Also, multiple studies by Chinese researchers have shown that in order to avoid getting prostate cancer, men should release their sperm around two to four times a week. And—” He holds up a finger in the air, shutting you down before you even begin to open your mouth. “When you orgasm, your brain releases a surge of dopamine, right? I need that, especially when you’re not around to help me manage my stress.”

You press your lips together, as tightly as you can, afraid that you’ll break into another bout of laughter if you don’t. “I see.” It’s so hard to keep your voice away from shaking. He’s so serious, it’s almost out of character for him to be this serious. “So you’re, uhh… You’re stressed, huh?”

“Oh, I am, baby. I’m so stressed out.” He swats his bangs out of his eyes, pushing back his hair. “Look at me. I just woke up and I look like this. You think it’s not stressful to look this handsome every day? I have to work twice as hard as anyone else in my building just to be taken seriously. Especially by the CEO.”

“You mean your daddy.”

“My CEO.”

“Who’s your daddy.” Right after you hear yourself saying the line, you snort, failing to contain your laughter. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I just had a flashback of the time when you said those words to me in bed and—” You wipe a tear away, your body shaking from your titters. “God, that was cringe.”

Satoru narrows his eyes. “So you are laughing at me.”

“Yeah, but not because of the things you’re saying right now.” The more you try to explain, the more he seems insulted. “Sorry. Continue.”

His nose flares. He would’ve been vexed if you didn’t look so adorable holding back your giggles. “All the other workers think I’m not fit to be next in line—to lead the company. They think I get everything I want just because I have a pretty face and I’m his only son.”

Well, I mean, they’re not wrong, you ponder to yourself, though you know if you mention it out loud, he’s going to cry. “They’re jealous of you.”

“And then of course there’s that guy, Kenjaku, who clearly wants to take my place so he’s been trying to get close to my dad,” Satoru clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Can you believe they went golfing together? Gol. Fing. My dad never even let me touch his golf club!”

Oh, he’s ranting. He’s so upset, he’s ranting like a tired housewife and it’s hilarious. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” You spread your arms, offering him a smile. “Do you want a hug?”

“Okay,” he mumbles cutely, moving toward your embrace with his lower lip jutted out. He goes down to his knees, tangles his arms around your waist, and nuzzles his face against your belly.

“I think they just feel intimidated by you.” You land a hand on his head. For some reason, his hair is always extra fluffy in the morning. “Smart, charismatic, and sexy? They don’t stand a chance against my husband.”

Usually, you would have him go back to his feet (figuratively and literally) right away after hearing such words, but Satoru only lets out a small hum—responding but not quite agreeing—as he buries his nose deeper in your fabric. Seems like this one is serious. “Toru, you’ll be okay.”

“I can’t do it without you, babe,” he says, his voice muffled by your hoodie.

“What, getting that promotion without people judging?”

“No. Cumming.”

“Oh, we’re going back to that.” You chortle lightly, stroking his strands. “Okay, listen.” Cupping his cheek, you lift his face to meet your gaze. “You don’t have erectile dysfunction.” You return the small space between you, your lips curving up beautifully as you bend down and give him a light kiss on his forehead. “And next time, I’ll take care of your needs. Promise.” Noticing how his eyes take a quick look at the kitchen counter, you add, “Not right now, Satoru.”

“Meanie.” Your husband groans, playfully biting your hand. “And how are you planning to take care of me the next time we’re separated from each other?”

“I’ll do something to help you, uhh… do whatever it is you need to do.”

His eyes light up. “Will you FaceTime me and give me a strip dance with Closer by Nine Inch Nails playing in the background?”

That’s… oddly specific… “And why does it have to be that song, if I may ask?”

“No reason, really…” He averts his gaze. “Just… You know, it makes me think about you…” He seems a bit shy.

Wait. Shy? Satoru is?

How does the song go again?

You tear down my reason It's your sex I can smell You make me perfect Become somebody else I wanna fuck you like an animal

You send your husband a blank stare. Look at him. This pervert is asking you this while acting like an embarrassed schoolgirl standing in front of her crush. “If it’s not too much to ask,” he says, so cutely as if he was asking you to make him his favorite dish for dinner.

Of course, it’s too much to ask, are you insane? “Or,” you suggest calmly with a forced smile. “We can do slightly more romantic stuff like calling each other on the phone and—”

“DO PHONE SEX?” Stars in his eyes. There are stars in his eyes.

“Uhh…”

“Please say yes, please say yes!”

That isn’t exactly what you have in mind, but can you even decline when he’s like this? Telling him no right now would feel just as awful as when you (because of Satoru, of course) accidentally revealed the truth about Santa to your nephew, giving Megumi a hard time feeding his son who started a hunger strike as he went into depression mode for three days. (This is a horrible comparison, by the way. One child was asking about Santa while this one is asking for the opportunity to whisper “I wanna fuck you like an animal” in your ear when you’re a hundred miles away from home. Two totally different cases, but you know Satoru will behave the same way as your nephew if you reject his wish. Probably even worse.)

With your head throbbing, you murmur, “Maybe just a little…”

“Promise?” He holds up his pinky, grinning from ear to ear.

All that positive energy you had this morning? Drained. “Promise…”

“Yaay~”

As you break into a cold sweat thinking about the unfortunate event that will soon befall you (aka the phone sex), Satoru, is already back to his giddy and frisky self. Well, as long as he’s happy, I guess.

“What are you having?” He asks, jumping back to his feet. “Coffee?”

“Mm. You want some?”

“Nah. I’m craving hot chocolate.” He reaches a hand toward the high drawer to get hold of his favorite mug, looming above you and intentionally knocking his chest against your face as he traps you in between. He giggles when you glare. He’s childish that way.

“How very girly of you.”

“It’s to relieve my stress.” He pokes you in the stomach. “Also, liking hot chocolate doesn’t make me look girly.”

“Sure, but trying on my skirt does.”

“Babe, come on,” Satoru whines, his earlobes turning scarlet. “How many times are you going to hold me on this? I was just messing around!”

“Honey, you were alone in our bedroom, wearing my maxi skirt and checking yourself in the mirror.”

“It was a dare from Suguru.”

“And taking selfies.”

“So I can send some proof to Suguru.”

“Not the point, Satoru.”

“That is the point! Babe, can’t you see? Saying no to the stupid dare would’ve made me seem less manly than he is.”

“So you’d rather put yourself in a skirt?”

“Well, duh!”

You can’t find the logic in his excuse, you really can’t. “In my defense, though,” he adds. “I thought you were gonna be out for a little longer.”

“What would’ve happened if I were? Gonna put on my thong next?”

“No,” he scoffs, trying to regain whatever amount of dignity he has left. “Also, it’s not like you’ve never done something embarrassing before. Remember that time when we went to Megumi’s birthday dinner and you ended up telling his nana a dick joke?”

“That was also you.”

“No, no. I meant, that one with the salaryman meeting a guy in a horse costume—” His realization falls upon him. “Oh my God, it was me.”

You shake your head, amused. “It’s okay.” You turn to face the counter once again, placing your mug on the surface before you reach forward to grab a bit more cream. “After being married to you for three years, the only thing that will surprise me is if you grow another head. Anything else, I can manage.”

“Why does this sound comforting and insulting at the same time?”

“Because it’s both.”

With his lower lip protruding, Satoru hugs you again from behind, his chin settled on the top of your head this time. This is why he claims to be all stressed out whenever you’re away. He’s so keen on physical touch that he can’t bear even a few inches of distance between you when you’re around. He reaches up to open the counter, grabbing a jar filled with cocoa powder. His chest is pressing against your spine, his other arm never leaving your waist. “I think we run out of sugar,” he says. “Wanna drop by the mart after work? I’m gonna have meetings all day today, but I can ditch the dinner party.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Hell no. Suguru’s hosting. He makes the worst parties.”

“Isn’t he the guy who’s rumored to be in love with you? I heard about it from Shoko.”

“Yeah,” Satoru snickers, very childishly. “I was the one who started the rumor by putting a note on his desk that said ‘I wish one day you’ll look at me the way you look at your wife. Your silver hair and pretty blue eyes have captivated me from the moment I laid my eyes on you. I dream of tasting your soft lips every night.’ It was so easy to copy his handwriting, I just couldn’t help it. Yuki found out about it and she started gossiping and by the end of the day, everyone knew. I took the note away before he noticed. Suguru never found out I did that, didn’t even know what was going on. He was so confused when people tried to cheer him up. I saw Choso giving him a pat on his shoulder, saying ‘We all love you for who you are, never change.’ And Suguru was like, ‘Uuuh, thanks, but I don’t want to be a salesman forever.’ And so both of them were confused.”

Your mouth twists into a grimace. “You are evil.”

“I prefer the term genius,” he corrects you, seemingly proud of his deed.

“Also, soft lips?”

“Aren’t they?” He seductively raises an eyebrow. To be fair, yes, they are. Even on the coldest night, they’re still as soft as a butterfly’s wing. He has claimed many times that he only used a lip balm if necessary but you don’t buy it. There must be witchcraft involved. He puckers his lips, ready to kiss you and make you experience the thick jealousy you have of his pretty mouth—because, really, all these lip balms you have and your lips are still chapped during winter. You dodge, pushing your palm against his face instead. The big puppy that he is, he licks it.

“I think I’ll be out of the office around seven today,” he informs as you scrunch up your nose in disgust, wiping his saliva away.

“Okay. Pick me up first?”

“Like you need to ask,” Satoru smiles, granting a cute kiss on your forehead. He dabs his thumb on the corner of your lips, rubbing off a little bit of sugar from the leftover doughnut that you enjoyed with your coffee. He cleans it off his digit with his tongue, randomly ruffling your hair as he makes his way to the living room.

“Oh, wait, almost forgot,” he says, retracing his steps.

“Hmm?”

Satoru snatches a jar from the counter—the one that you just used, filled with cream—and puts it in the highest drawer, the closest one to the ceiling. “Just a little payback,” he sniggers. “For giving me blue balls this morning.”

With him being 193 cm tall, he simply needs to stand on his toes for a little bit to reach it, but you? “I think you’re gonna need a ladder.” His teeth flash in an irritating grin. “Enjoy your creamless coffee for the next few weeks, Sweetcheeks—OUCH—BABY, THAT’S MY KNEE!”

“Grab the jar.”

“Fine.” He retrieves it with a grumble, handing it back to you. “But I’m reporting you for domestic abuse.”

You raise your wrist, showing the actual bruises he left on your skin. “I’ll see you at court then.”

“Babeeeeeee~”

***

07.21 AM

“Satoru.”

Your dear husband has been lying down on the couch for the past ten minutes, a head of velvety hair—which somehow still smells pleasantly like your favorite shampoo—resting on your lap. With a pair of round glasses perched on his nose, he turns deaf ears to everything that’s going on, focusing on nothing but moving his thumbs to win the next round of Momotetsu. As his eyebrows wrinkle in deep concentration, Satoru punches the buttons on his Nintendo Switch, glaring at the screen and swearing under his breath.

“Satoru.”

“Wait, babe, I just need to choose this card and—NOOOOOOOO!” He launches himself forward, sitting up with his mouth gaping, his eyes shaking in horror. “Did I just—yep, lost a million yen. Fuck this game. A Martha card?! A fucking Martha card?! Oh, I’m gonna—” He slams his console against the cushion. Repeatedly. He’s 29, and he throws a bigger tantrum than Megumi’s three-year-old son.

“Watch your blood pressure, Honey.”

“Who even invented this game?! Stupid as shit. Babe, do me a favor and don’t ever let me play—” His phone rings before he can finish. Throwing one glance at his screen, Satoru mutters, “Oh, great. Here we go.”

The name Dumbass Monk is written on his phone. You wonder who it is.

Satoru answers through gritted teeth. “Fuck you, Suguru.”

Ah, yes, of course.

“No, how the fuck should I know that the card was gonna choose me?!” he barks, his voice bouncing off the walls. “I wanted it to choose you—oh fuck off, asshole, you’re broke as hell, you smell like wet socks, and your wife hates you. Wait, what was that?” He suddenly switches his voice, doing his best impersonation of a nosy old lady talking about the latest gossip. “You don’t have a wife? Not even a girlfriend?” He maniacally cackles. “I don’t know, man, I don’t think I’m the loser here. Unlike you, I’ve got a super hot wife who loves me unconditionally.”

You flip a page of the book you have sitting on your lap. “Only ‘cause you’re rich.”

“And—” Satoru continues yapping on his phone but he makes sure to poke you on your side for your unnecessary comment. “She’s not just hot. She’s a complete package. She smells like daffodils, she makes me breakfast every morning and she looks so fucking gorgeous when she fucks—”

You slap a pillow against his head.

“—feeds me cookies,” Satoru finishes lamely, wincing, one hand raised in the air as a form of surrender before he takes another hit. “No, I’m not gonna pay you, idiot, you won purely by luck!” He then gasps, his jaw dropping low. “Did you just call me a monkey? Oh, that’s it—”

Satoru is on his feet, shouting, growling, fingers jabbing and clenching as his mouth runs wild. You can somewhat hear the other man’s voice, giving you enough idea of what they’re arguing about although you can’t make out every word. Suguru’s tone is always soft and melodious when he speaks, but his insults are truly on another level. Chuckling to yourself at the strings of expletives that tumble out of their mouths, you watch your husband yell until blood pools on his face, “Fine! Don’t come crying to me when you have erectile dysfunction, which, based on all the non-existent sex you’ve been having, I know you will! Good day!” Suguru is still calling him names when Satoru ends the call with, “I SAID GOOD DAY!”

You flip another page of the novel you've been trying—and failing due to someone’s endless shouting—to immerse yourself in. “Seems like you two are close.”

“Oh, he can die, I don’t care.” Angrily, he tosses his device away, landing his head back on your lap with the loudest groan he can muster. “Whatever. I’m still a better player than he is.”

“Of course, you are, honey,” you respond, your hand naturally falls back to his hair, caressing it like you’re stroking a cat’s fur.

It only takes a few seconds before your husband stops shaking in vexation, even looking a bit sleepy from your comforting touches. “Were you talking to me before?”

“Mm. There’s something I wanted to ask you.” Placing a bookmark in between the pages, you close your book and set it down on the coffee table next to you. “About before, when you told me about your co-workers. How did you know that they’ve been thinking about you that way?”

He blinks, not expecting you to return to your previous conversation. “Aaaw, honey, are you worried about me?” From wishing someone to suffer crucially from impotence to wiggling in joy like a thirteen-year-old girl at the slightest sign of affection, your husband really does have an emotional range of a teaspoon.

“Of course, I do. You’re my husband.”

His mouth curves upside-down, his eyes glimmering, “Babeee, that’s so sweeeet.”

Though you're not so sure why he’s so happy when you just stated a fact, you let him be. “So what happened?”

“I heard them chatting when I passed by the smoking room one afternoon. I don’t smoke—you know I quit a long time ago—so I didn’t know they were ganging up on me and talking shit about me behind my back. Isn’t it gross for a bunch of thirty-year-old men to gossip?” His face scrunches up in disgust. He, the same man who spent two hours on the phone talking to the Dumbass Monk about the recently hired secretary, Maki Zenin (who’s apparently so strict and vicious that, in Satoru’s words, “Almost made me cry in fear when I arrived late at my lunch meeting last week.”), actually had the audacity to ask that question.

"What did they say?” You ask him.

“They said if it wasn’t because of my family name, I would’ve never gotten promoted to C-level.”

“But that’s not true!”You catch him off guard with your sudden fervor after spending the last conversation acting so dull. “I’ve seen how much you worked for this! Satoru, you earned that position fair and square!” Your husband might act frivolous almost every hour of the day, but there were times that he missed his sleep trying to come up with a new marketing strategy to promote their upcoming products. There were hours spent with him taking one conference call after another with his clients, even at two in the morning from the comfort of your living room due to the difference in their time zones. He’s the CEO’s son, true, but he worked just as hard, if not more, as everyone else in the company.

The more it sinks into your brain, the more irked you become. “Who said this?” You snap. “Huh? Who talked shit about you behind your back? I want names.”

Satoru lets out a chuckle, his eyes thinning into a line. It’s been a while since he last saw you being this protective of him. It reminds him of the old days in high school when you, despite acknowledging yourself as being his archenemy, were always quick to defend him when someone threw shade at him. “Honey, relax—”

“Was it Naoya? Or was it Toji? It was Toji, wasn’t it? Oh, that bitch—”

“It wasn’t Toji,” Satoru says, holding you by the hand in a futile attempt to calm you down. “Though you could still punch him if you want.”

“Why, did he do something to you?”

“I just hate his face.”

That’s very Satoru behavior of him that you don’t even bother to comment. “Nobody talks shit about my husband. If they think you get things done easy for you, it’s because you’re so smart, you make things look easy.”

He sits up, turning around to face you with warm, round eyes. “You think I’m smart?”

“Are you kidding me? You’re the smartest man I know.” You give him a light punch on his chest. “If I were your dad, I would’ve still given you that promotion, regardless of our relationship. You’re just that good at your job.”

“That’s…” He swallows. “This is the first time you’ve complimented me like this.” It’s a surprise to him, a very pleasant one, causing contentment to fill his heart.

You feel awful once you notice that even though you constantly thought of him this way, you never spoke your appreciation out loud. “Satoru, I’ve always admired you.” You rest your fingers on his knuckles, apologizing. “I know you complain about having to wake up early to go to work every morning, but despite your flippant attitude, you bear a deep sense of responsibility. You always manage to surpass people’s expectations—surpass mine and I already thought highly of you.” You give him a squeeze, smiling more with your eyes than your lips. “You make me proud. Every day you make me proud.”

Satoru mirrors your expression, a soft blush painting his cheeks as his joy engulfs him whole. He wraps his arms around you, sinking his nose in your hair as he pulls you close. “You’re not throwing compliments at me just to cheer me up, are you?” He whispers and it’s only during times like this that he lets his vulnerability show. Satoru always shines like the brightest star, his eyes brimming with confidence, but there’s still a part of him—part that he conceals from everyone else except you—that needs to be consoled. He’s still a little boy who wishes for a gentle pat on the head and you always give the warmest one.

“I’m not complimenting you, I’m telling the truth. But yes, I am trying to cheer you up.” You return his embrace, your hand sliding up and down his back. “I wouldn’t have said this if you were okay ‘cause I know it’s gonna boost up your ego even more. You’re already annoying the way you are, so…”

He titters. “Can we stick to you being nice to me?”

You echo the noises he made, returning the space between you just wide enough to kiss his cheek. You cup his face with your fingers, your thumb caressing his cheekbone. “I’m sorry people said mean stuff about you… Are you okay?”

“I am now.” His smile is softer than the clouds. He leans close, cutely nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours. “This is why I need you in my life. You act aloof around me but you always think about me more than you think about yourself. You pretend to be ignorant, but you never fail to notice all these efforts I made. You care about me more than anyone else.”

Watching him put your feelings into words makes you feel flustered but you don't deny it. Not when he speaks only the truth. “I can also kick everyone’s butt for you.”

“As someone who has witnessed your heroic tales in high school, yes, you can, one hundred percent.” You feel his smile forming on your skin as he kisses your temple. “But just having you around me right now is enough. And it’s fine. I don’t care what anyone else thinks about me, at least not anymore. As long as you’re proud of me.”

“I am,” you say without missing a beat. “I’m proud of you, Toru.”

He takes away your hand that’s been warming his face, kissing your wrist while he maintains eye contact with you. “That’s all that matters to me.”

Your stomach swirls at the intensity of his gaze, his voice—just above a whisper—bears the same kind of tenderness and affection he portrayed on the day he asked you to marry him. His lips rub against your veins, the softest kiss against the softest skin. Your hand seems tiny in his grip but it’s a perfect fit. Every part of you is when it comes to him.

“So, uhh…” You clear your throat. “What are you going to do now?”

“I guess I’ll just have to keep doing my best so I can prove them wrong.” His grin returns. “I’ll make my wife feel even prouder of me.”

He replies to your little chuckles with a kiss, light but sweet. Despite your heart wanting more of his touch, of the heat of his lips against your own, you focus on the matter. “Why have you never told me about this before?”

“Because I never cared about it too much,” he replies with a shrug. “Work only feels overwhelming when you’re not around. When you’re with me, no matter how stressful my workplace is, I’ll feel at ease instantly.” He lays his forehead on your shoulder, rubbing his face against the fabric. “So, don’t leave me, okay? If I have to go out of town, I’ll have you hide inside my suitcase so I can carry you around.”

You chortle lightly. “And if I have to go?”

“Well…” He pulls away, his eyes fixated on the shape of your lips as he caresses them with his thumb. He looks back at you, his fingertips resting on your nape, holding you still. You find your breathing stalled as his own fanned your lips. “I guess I’ll just have to convince you to stay.”

And when he kisses you again, you know that he doesn’t mean with his words.

***

07.34 AM

“Bunny!” Satoru calls from the bathroom, his voice reverberating loudly through the hall. “Baby, come over here!”

Standing in your apron with your hands moving to fetch your chopped onions from your kitchen aisle, you try your best to focus on your cooking while answering him at the same time. “For the last time, Satoru, I’m not interested in taking a shower together with you!” You sprinkle some pepper into the dish, wiping your sweat away from your temple with the back of your hand. You take a glance at the digital clock nearby. “Not when we have to leave in an hour!”

“But I’ll let you shape my hair!”

“Not interested!”

“I’ll even let you give me a mohawk!”

“Not intere—oh shit—” It’s a given, really, that you’d accidentally pour too much salt into your cream soup from all this diversion. Taking a deep breath, you start to glare at your ceiling as you chant don’t get angry, don’t get angry inside your head. This is the reason why you try to keep him off the kitchen floor as far away as possible whenever you’re making food but even when he’s meters away from you, he still manages to annoy you somehow.

“Babe, I couldn’t hear you. Was that a yes?”

“NO!”

***

07.41 AM

“Oooh~ Something smells good~” Satoru chirps, popping back into the living room with a toothy grin and a white towel wrapped around his hips. It’s hanging low on his body, showcasing very distracting V-lines that you (secretly) adore. You look away. No good can come from staring at your husband’s lean, perfectly shaped stomach at this time of the day.

But then you catch a glimpse of the scratch marks you left on his back from last night, your face aflame since you can barely remember how hard you dug your nails into his skin. Satoru always likes it when you’re not careful with him—just like how you love it when he’s rough with you—but were you really that… desperate to keep him close, clutching onto him like that?

You shake your thoughts away. “Dry your hair properly,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the plates you’re currently setting on the dining table. “I just mopped the floor.”

“Okay, Mom.” Dabbing a smaller towel against his hair, Satoru walks closer to your spot and pulls back a chair.

You eye him cautiously. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a seat, what do you think I’m doing?”

“You’re not gonna wear your clothes first?”

“Do I have to?” He takes a sip of your half-finished coffee, smacking his lips before he throws a naughty grin. “I mean, I fucked you right here last night. Surely you won’t mind eating breakfast with me only in my towel?” Before you can say a word—and you have lots to say—Satoru adds, “I’m just giving you a chance to ogle at my body as much as you want as you enjoy your food. I know you’re too embarrassed to ask, so you’re welcome. And if you’re willing to take a day off, I can be your dessert too.”

You make a face. “Gross.”

“And yet, you don’t deny the fact that you’re planning to stare.” Peering into your eyes, he places his chin on his hand, resting his elbow on the table. The haughty look he displays on his face is supposed to irritate you, but what it does is make your heart pound harder. “You’ve seen and touched these babies for years, and you still can’t get enough? Babe, come on.”

“You seriously calling your abs your babies?”

“Yep.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “But if you play nice, I’ll let you call them—”

“Just eat your breakfast.”

***

07.46 AM

“Babe?”

“What?”

“I have something to say but promise me you won’t kill me after I said it.”

“Okay…” You look up from your plate, feeling a bit concerned. “What is it?”

Satoru has never looked this serious in his entire life (because face it, Satoru and the word serious don’t really belong together now, do they?).

Taking hold of your hand, he gently squeezes it, providing the comfort that you might need.

“This soup is salty as hell.”

***

07.58 AM

With the taste of salt still lingering thickly on his tongue (and a bump on his head, a masterpiece done by your fist), Satoru steps inside the bedroom with a yawn, his fingers scratching his undercut. He unwraps the towel from his waist, tossing it onto the sheets without care.

Your husband smiles the second he notices the way you’ve prepared his clothes so neatly on the desk, all the way from his tie, his belt even down to his socks. His dress pants are ironed to a crisp seam, and his phone is fully charged (after being married to him for three years, you’ve learned all of his little habits). You’ve selected a matching dark tie to go with his suit, one that he recalled was given to him as a gift during last year’s anniversary. He loves it. He loves how you always buy the things he needs instead of what he wants, even when he, himself, didn’t realize how essential they were. But what makes him the happiest is when he sees the way it makes you smile so warmly every time he wears it, like a painter landing a final stroke on her masterpiece. For someone who doesn’t speak romantic words so often, your little gesture never fails to portray what’s on your mind. You love him and it shows.

“I’m being spoiled, huh?” Satoru mumbles to himself, nothing but elation in his chest. He spots the little notes you left him on the same table, your handwriting scribbled on a piece of paper. “Ooooh~ A love note?”

Dear husband, If you leave your wet towel on the bed again I’ll kill you.

“Not a love note.” Wincing, he immediately retrieves the towel from the bed, his mind playing a traumatic flashback of you scolding him about it for two hours straight (because suddenly it wasn’t just about the wet towel, was it? The forgotten toilet seat. The countless jackets hanging on the coat rack because he kept grabbing a new one. The pile of hentai doujinshi piling up on the coffee table. All of them.)

With the thought of skipping today’s work lingering in his head, Satoru forces himself to dress. As he turns around to face the mirror, he captures a brief look at the kiss marks blooming on his neck, ones that you painted on him last night. They’re faint because, unlike someone in this condo, you make sure to always be considerate of his appearance (though Satoru wishes you weren’t), but even the lightest shade of red seems vibrant on his fair skin.

Although he acts nonchalant most of the time, your husband is quite the possessive type, so it’s a given that he likes the idea of having his marks on you. He gets a kick out of watching you struggle to hide the love bites he left on your neck, even more so when someone notices it. But, of course, nothing beats the feeling of having your marks on him. If you allowed him to, he would’ve worn every bite and bruise like a medal. Proudly. Contentedly. The same way he exhibited every present you’ve given him. Satoru just loves the idea of having a wife—of having you as his wife—and he would showcase that to the world in every second of his life if he could.

He traces the bruises with his fingertips, drowning himself in the thoughts of you gasping against his ear, your teeth grinding against his neck as he pushed your knees further against your stomach with every thrust of his hips. He wasn’t lying when he said you looked absolutely gorgeous during sex. The way you parted your lips. The way your eyebrows stitched together in pleasure. The little noises you made when you breathed out his name as you bounced on his lap—

Satoru looks down. There it is again, the ache between his legs. Funny how you’re already so distracting even without doing anything—or being in the same room for that matter. Sighing, he grouses, “Guess she’s right. No signs of erectile dysfunction.” Willing his indecent thoughts to go away, he tucks his hands into the sleeves, buttoning up his shirt before he circles his tie around his neck.

“Satoru!” He hears your voice resonating from the bathroom. “Toru, can you come here for a sec? I need your help!”

“Oh, now she’s calling me to have sex with her.” He rolls his eyes. “After I finish taking a shower. So much for playing hard to get,” he scoffs. It’s ironic that he says this because right now he’s the one who’sacting that way. With giddy hands, he unfastens his tie, rushing to take off his pants again and almost tripping on his way out. He dashes toward the bathroom, opening the door while he strives to keep his excitement in check.

“WHOA!” You yelp in surprise, your body nude and drenched, hiding behind the door with only your head peeking out. “Why are you naked?!”

He frowns, confused. “Cause we’re about to have sex?”

Now you’re confused. “Uhh, no?”

“Why did you call me then?”

“I forgot my towel.”

“You’re asking me to get you your towel?” He sounds so appalled as if that thought never occurred to him when it’s supposed to be the first thing that should pop out in his head. Before you can respond, however, his mind, delusional as always, answers the question for him. “Oh, I see,” he smirks. “You’re using codes.”

“What?”

“‘I forgot my towel’—isn’t that, like, our code for ‘let’s have sex in the shower?’”

“Satoru.” You hold yourself back from ripping the silver strands out of his head. He’s testing your patience. Again. “We don't have any secret code.”

“We don’t?”

“Nope.”

“Oh…” It almost feels a bit cartoonish the way his shoulders sag upon hearing your words. There he is, a 29-year-old male standing in front of you in all his naked glory, saddened to his core over the fact of not having a cipher for sex. Well, for three seconds anyway. “So… You wanna make this our secret code, effective immediately, or—”

“Get the damn towel.”

With a stomp, Satoru leaves the bathroom only to return with your towel in one hand and his eyes squinting in a glare. Being the brat that he is, instead of handing it directly to you, he lets the thick cloth fall to the floor just a few inches away from where you’re standing.

“Oh, you’re so annoying.”

“Isn’t that your secret code for saying you love me?”

You throw a jab to his stomach.

***

08.24 AM

Pushing your hair out of your coat, you call out your husband’s name. You examine your appearance one more time in the mirror, tidying your strands until they frame your face perfectly. The condo is fairly clean. Your stomach is full though you can’t seem to wash away the saltiness of your soup just yet. You’re only seven minutes late from your original plan, which isn’t bad. You’re all set.

“Toru, you’re ready to go?”

Your husband is still yawning when he meets you in the foyer, carrying his handbag with his shoulders sagging forward. He’s dressed sharply in a white button-up shirt, combined with a black suit that accentuates the broadness of his shoulders. He looks handsome. He always does.

“Well, well, well, hello, Mr. CMO,” you snicker, pulling him by the tie while seductively batting your eyelashes at him. “Do you have time to spare? I would like to have a private meeting with you.”

He’s so tired, he doesn’t have the strength to keep up with your flirting, which says something since it’s usually the other way around. He spreads his arms wide open, his pout turning more prominent by the second. “Come here.”

“What?”

“I need my twenty-second hug.”

So, apparently, Satoru believes in this theory he found recently on the internet that said when you hug someone for, at least, twenty seconds, your body begins secreting the hormone oxytocin which is known to boost the immune system and reduce stress. He said that but you know that he’s just doing it so he can squeeze your ass, and that’s a fact, not a theory.

“Fine, but don’t grope my ass.”

“As long as you don’t grope mine.”

“I literally never did that.” You bury your face in his chest, tangling your arm around his waist. Satoru’s warmth is really one of a kind, or maybe he’s just as warm as a normal human being and you’re just too intoxicated by his scent that you stop making sense. No matter what the reason is, it’s comforting to be in his arms and if he doesn’t make a big deal out of it every time (acting like you’re the one who desperately wants to embrace him), you’d probably spend hours of your day just hugging him like this.

He buries his nose in your strands. “Your hair smells different.”

“I used your shampoo.”

“Yeah? That’s hot.”

You close your eyes, basking in his warmth and enjoying the smell of his perfume. He’s wearing a different brand today, just for a change, and although it’s not as sweet as his other one, this somehow feels much more comforting. Soft and fresh, reminding you less of summer and more of spring this time. “You smell different.”

“I used your perfume. And your bra.”

You’re not sure if you’re laughing over his terrible joke or his deadpan delivery, maybe a bit of both. Nuzzling your face against his chest, you titter, “Yeah? That’s hot.”

And he’s not sure if he’s smiling over your reply or the way you just sounded so cute giggling like that—no, definitely both. He tightens his arms around your shoulders, squeezing your body against him until you start pounding your fist against his chest, begging for a time-out before he steals all the air in your lungs. “I think we should just skip work today,” he mutters as he releases you. “We can watch a wildlife documentary and count on how many times Benedict Cumberbatch mispronounced the word “Penguin” as ‘Pengwings.’”

“That sounds productive. If you want Maki to kill you.”

He shudders in fear, pulling you back to him. “Just for that, I’m gonna need another twenty.”

Though you feel the urge the roll your eyes, you let him tug you back into his arms and rest his chin on your head. After all, he’s your personal teddy bear. You can spend your eternity just sinking into his embrace like this.

“Satoru?”

“Hmm?”

“Your hands are on my ass.”

“Yeah, but I’m not groping them.”

“You are now.”

“Well now that you mentioned it, I just have to, don’t I?”

You break away, giving a playful slap on the chest. “Enough, we’re running late.”

“Where do you find the energy to go to work every morning?” He asks with weariness in his eyes. “I am this close to throwing myself back to the bed.”

Funny how literally an hour ago, he promised you that he’d work harder to make you feel even prouder of him. “Well, I guess, it all started when I turned into a fully grown woman.” You smiled at him, fixing his tie before you dealt with his collar. He might be the youngest person to enter C-level in his company, but he still dresses as clumsily as a five-year-old if it wasn’t for you to keep his appearance in check all the time.

“I’m a fully grown man too and I still wish I could lay around all day,” he sulks.

“You’re a man-child.” Tugging on his tie, you pull him down until your lips meet his in a chaste kiss. “But I love you. Body, mind, and soul.” You beam at him with your widest grin. “How’s that for your energy booster, Gojo-san?”

To your surprise, Satoru answers you by tossing his handbag to the side and dipping his head down once more to re-attach your lips together. He kisses you with the same fervor he had last night, tongue sneaking inside to taste the minty scent of your toothpaste. You gasp against his mouth, fingers fisting the fabric of his suit as you struggle to maintain your balance. Can’t help but take a couple of steps back from how hard he’s kissing you, you stop only when your spine meets the wall. “Satoru—” You attempt to push him away by placing your hand on his chest but he clamps his fingers around your wrist, bringing it over your head.

With his body pressed against yours, you wonder if he can feel your palpitating heartbeat beating against his own. There’s no stopping him when he gets this aggressive with his kiss and it’s not like you can find any willpower within you to stop him. Fortunately for you, he breaks away, wetting his bottom lip once as his eyes still glaze over your bruised ones.

“Spirits lifted,” he smiles against your lips, sending blood to pool in your cheeks. “Thanks, babe.”

When he lets you go, you find it almost impossible to stay composed. Three years… Three damn years you’ve been married to him and he still knows how to make your knees buckle with a single kiss.

“Babe?”

You push yourself away from the wall, your fingers tangled in your hair when you try to fix it. “W-what?”

Putting on his sunglasses, he casts a smirk, “You might want to fix your lipstick.”

“Oh, I hate you.”

He pecks your cheek. “I love you too, baby girl.”

***

08.32 AM

Despite you being the better driver—better as in I’m not gonna try and bribe an officer with a brand new iPhone whenever I get pulled over or threaten him with my family name when things don’t work out my way—Satoru always insists on having his hands on the steering wheel every time you’re with him. “A gentleman wouldn’t let his lady drive, especially when she looks this pretty in that skirt,” he always says, and yes, maybe this is his gentleman sidetalking—even when the said gentleman had put on the same skirt and caressed his own butt in front of the mirror a few days back. But honestly? You know this is just a part of his master plan to control the music playlist for the next ten to fifteen minutes.

“We’re not listening to Hatsune Miku again,” you say, putting on your seatbelt.

“Oh, we totally are,” Satoru cackles, his fingers sliding up and down the touchscreen. He has seventeen different playlists consisting of more than a hundred songs in total, all taken from his favorite albums. Which is not much, really, considering Hatsune Miku is featured in around two thousand songs by now (a fact that you, honest to God, don’t care but he keeps reminding you of).

“Satoru, if you play one more Hatsune Miku song, I swear I won't put out tonight.”

“Well, if I have to listen to cookbook again—”

“Jungkook.”

“If I have to listen to cookbook one more time then I won’t put out tonight.”

“That's fine with me,” you shrug.

“Fuck,” he clicks his tongue, desperately jumping to the next option. “Okay, uhh… Oh, I know! You’re not getting my credit card ever again.”

You have one finger hovering above the screen. “So which Hatsune album are we listening to today?”

He sends you a dead stare. “Do you only love me for my money?”

“Oh, honey…” You rest your palm gently on his face, cupping and stroking his cheek. “Of course, I do.” You give him a tap that goes a little too hard than you intended but then again, he kind of deserves it. “Now, drive.”

Satoru doesn’t even have the energy to come up with a retort. Exhaling in defeat, he kicks in the gear while you, with your face crumpled in repulsion, try to pick the least insufferable Hatsune Miku song. Unfortunately for you, Satoru catches a title that steals his attention.

“OOOH go back, go back! I want to listen to that one!”

You sigh, selecting his song choice. “It’s too early to listen to—” Beaming with joy and oblivious to the hatred you have for that one song, Satoru sweeps in and cranks up the volume until you feel your ears ringing from the inside.

“Oh my God—” You flinch. If his loud nagging didn’t bust your eardrum, this definitely will. “Does it have to be this loud?!”

“Of course, my goddess is singing!” He shouts, grinning from ear to ear. He starts singing along, just as loudly, if not more. At this point, you swear there are people jogging on the sidetracks looking at your car with their faces contorting into frowns.

“I’m the number one princess in the world, so that's how you'll treat me,” he sings, slamming his hands against the wheel, head bobbing to the beat. “Oh my God, this is the soundtrack of my life!”

Still scowling, you have no choice but to listen further to the lyrics.

It's not like I'm acting selfish, I'm not asking for much I just want you to think from the bottom of your heart that I'm adorable I'm the number one princess in the world Notice me! Hey! Heeey! Keeping me waiting is out of the question Just who do you think I am? Whatever, I think I could go for some dessert! Yes, right now!

You grimace. “It really is.”

***

10.54 AM

11.45 AM

01.10 PM

01.29 PM

02.05 PM

02.29 PM

03.22 PM

04.02 PM

05.28 PM

06.11 PM

07.06 PM

***

AN: Thank you so much for reading! I'm so sorry for the amount of cringe that you had to suffer through while you were reading this 😭

#gojo fluff #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru smut #satoru fluff #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fluff #fics.24hourswithyou

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moralesluvr · 2 years ago

Note

Could I request a hobie x reader with a morning routine?

morning routine with hobie brown <3

♡ pairings & aus: hobie brown x spider!fem!black!reader ♡ summary: morning routine with hobie!! ♡ warnings: none ♡ a/n: this idea was literally the cutest ever! tysm for requesting amor ♡ got a request? | masterlist in the works! ♡

"HOBIE, IT'S TIME TO GET UP." You called out to your boyfriend as you slid a pair of shorts on in front of your mirror, stepping into your white Spider-Man slippers. You heard Hobie groan into one of your pillows, "Mmgh, five more minutes, love?"

"No." You sighed, "Unfortunately, there are bad guys we have to defeat today, just like every other day-- you know this. I love you, but you gotta get up."

Your statement earns another groan from your lover, but you ignore it as you walk over to your bed, pulling the covers off of Hobie. A string of loud curses leave his lips as you toss the comforter onto the ground.

"You're so annoying," He mumbled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. You grabbed his hand and pulled firmly, "Get ready with me?"

Although he pretended otherwise, Hobie loved when you shared your morning routine with him. That definitely woke him up out of his former slumber as he rose up off the bed, following you into the bathroom so that you could start your morning.

You opened the drawer next to you as Hobie flicked the light on, hands taking home on your hips as he stood behind you. He rested his head atop yours as he sighed, "'M tired...think I'm jus' gonna let some people accept their fate today."

"Hobie!" You snap, pulling your matching headbands out of the drawer. You reach above you and hand Hobie his black one, "You can't just say that. We're super heroes and we have to do our job."

"I was only joking," Hobie scoffs, sliding his headband on.

"Handsome, can you tie my braids back?" You asked him sweetly. He nodded eagerly and grabbed a thick hair tie from the cabinet, taking your hair in his big palms and pulling it into a neat ponytail. You thanked him as he stepped beside you, grabbing his toothbrush. You copied his actions as you brushed your teeth, singing the ABCs in your head a couple times to make sure they were clean. You turned the water on and spat, and you nearly felt Hobie shiver.

"I know spitting is necessary in this moment," He starts, "But I have to admit, doll, it is disgusting."

You ignore his statement and roll your eyes, grabbing your face wash. You run your hands under the water for a couple seconds and squirt some into your hands, massaging it into your skin. Hobie follows suit, although he washes his face for what seems like about five seconds.

"Now you know good and well your skin is not clean." You said, eyes screwed shut in hopes to not get the soap in your eye.

Hobie shrugged at your statement as he moisturized his skin, taking the headband off and laying it back in the drawer where it belongs. You finished up your routine quickly, following your lover into the kitchen for quick coffee and breakfast.

"I'm feelin' peckish," Hobie remarks, opening the doors to your shared pantry to find something to eat. You scoff at his use of British slang.

"Peckish? Why not just say 'looking for a little snack' you nerd." You laugh, grabbing one of your mugs from the cupboard. You pop a Starbucks pod into the Keurig, letting your mug sit underneath as you venture back to your bedroom to grab some clothes and your suit.

You slip on a pair of black cargos and a teeny white crop, something that you can easily slip in and out of if need be. You hear footsteps approach the door, Hobie's half-clothed body leaning against the doorframe.

"Wanna match outfits today?" He suggests, taking a bite out of a bagel that's filled to the brim with cream cheese. You nod, "Sure, if you wanna wear somethin' like this, 'cause I don't feel like changing."

"Mkay," He remarks, pulling the first two items out of the drawer that resemble your outfit. He grabs a spiky belt and pulls it through the loops of his pants, the waistband of his Calvin Kleins showing. You take the hair tie out of your hair and stuff it in your pocket, grabbing your keys-- "Are you about ready to go, Hobs? Don' wanna be late."

"Yeah, comin'!" He yells, but you're already heading for the door by the time he's even halfway ready to go. You scoop your coffee up from the kitchen, opening the front door, "Yo, I'm leaving!" You sing song, stepping through the door.

"Y/N, you idiot, wait!"

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 ☻ thank you for reading!

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johnwickb1tsch · 11 months ago

Text

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 14 all chapters

warnings: The Author is choosing not to spoil the chapters with super specific warnings, (honestly they annoy me, sry). From here on out, expect sexual content. This is a yandere fic. If you have squicks, you probably shouldn't be reading this. Ye've been warned. I love you all. Carry on. 😘

-However, when you get back to your hostel, you find the doors are locked. It’s not even that late, and they actually fucking locked you out. Only then do you see the sign outside that proclaims they in fact will do this at the ridiculously early hour of ten o’clock.

“Shit.”

Seemingly calmer now, John slings an arm around your shoulders against the night’s chill. “I’ll get you a room in my hotel;” he promises. “It’s my fault I kept you out so late.”

You would be a liar if you pretended you did not consider the possibilities of this arrangement.

John is staying in a beautiful old boutique hotel with an ornate carved stone façade and wrought iron balconies. As it turns out the room directly next to his is vacant. A miracle, considering it’s the height of the season. He takes you up to get you settled, and brings you one of his t-shirts to sleep in.

Somewhere along the way he’s lost his suit jacket and tie, and you are hypnotized by the sight of him in just his shirt, his trim waist on display.

“Will you help me with my zipper?” you ask. You’re not being completely conniving. A kind comrade at the hostel did assist you in getting dressed in your dorm room.

He helps you like a gentleman with no real funny business, pulling the fine fastening down. You know he can’t help but brush the bare skin of your spine a little with his fingertips, but it is a fight not to squirm with the desire that small touch ignites within you again, moist heat pooling between your thighs. When he finishes the gesture with a seemingly innocent caress of the tops of your shoulders, you burn.

You turn in his arms, feeling the dress falling down your shoulders as you do, and stand on tiptoe to press your lips to his. He freezes for a single moment before his arms wrap around you in answer, holding you so hard you fear your bodies might fuse. He kisses you like he intends to eat you, his tongue sweeping your mouth and warring with yours, his teeth grazing the swell of your lower lip.

A part of you wonders how long its been, since he’s touched a woman. Since his wife passed? Is that why his hands shake as they slide into your hair, pulling just hard enough to get your attention? His mouth finds the line of your neck, branding you with kisses on your sensitive skin. Somehow, your hands work just enough to undo the first three buttons of his shirt, before he catches your mitts in his.

“Wait…” It is hard to tell if it is a request or an order, caught between a pant and a growl. He kisses you again, bending you over backwards and stealing your breath away. “You have had a lot to drink, and I am trying to do this the right way, and I am barely holding on. Please, y/n.” He presses his forehead to yours, as though he can will you to understand what is going on in that mysterious mind by osmosis alone.

“It’s ok,” you try to soothe him, hardly recognizing your own voice. “I want you. I want you so much, and for so long…” If he thinks this all was just a whim of yours brought on by too much alcohol, boy is he mistaken.

A yip of surprise escapes you as suddenly he lifts you in his arms, as though you weigh nothing at all, carrying you to the bed and pressing you down into the soft mattress with hands on your shoulders, breathing heavily. You reach for him again, starving little thing that you are, but he catches your hands in his. “Stop.”

Thoroughly chastised, you freeze. Again, there’s that steely tone. Wide eyed, you look up at him, his hair a wavy mess from your fingers, his shirt half undone. He is beautiful, and there is something wild in his eyes that takes your breath away.

You are so confused. What did you do wrong?

He lets out a ragged sigh as he straightens, running his fingers through his hair.

You are soothed a little, when he touches your lifted knee lightly, running fingertips down the blade of your bare shin. With precise fingers he unties the bows of your shoes at your ankles, removing them from your feet and setting them on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The moment his hands are absent from your skin you whine, knowing you sound like a cat in heat, but absolutely too drunk on desire as much as booze to care.

“Shh,” he says, gentler this time. “We can talk about this in the morning. Right now, you need to get some rest.”

He touches your bare foot, tracing the arch, dwarfing it in his big hands, before turning to go. You sense you really are about to lose him for the night, and in your desperation you play your last card, not knowing where you get the cheek or the bravery to do so.

“But Mr. Wick…” you whine, and he freezes in his tracks. You can see the tension thrumming between his powerful shoulders, fighting with the decision to stay or to go. “Sir, haven’t I been a good girl?”

He turns back to you then, those burning dark eyes narrowed down at you. Just that single look floods you with a searing wave of heat, and you soak through your panties for the umpteenth time that evening. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the agonizing ache this man inspires between your legs.

You’ve never actually done this before with a man, but some woman’s intuition in you knows that at last, you’ve got him in the bag.

“Young lady, do you know what game you’re playing?” he warns, taking a step closer to the bed.

Maybe he’s right to caution you, but you’ve come too far now to care. “I need you.”

At least that much is true.

He lets out a shuddering sigh, taking the remaining step to bring him back to you. You reach for him as he bends down, but he catches your hands again with a tut-tutting sound. You are beginning to think he doesn’t want you to see what’s beneath his shirt—which seems absurd, because from what you felt he’s fucking gorgeous and frankly, way fitter than you.

“These stay here,” he directs, pressing your hands above your head. His tone is not harsh this time, but low, still unyielding as stone. You reckon he’s a man who is used to being obeyed. It’s not your strong suit, but there is something buried in you that finds this new game unusually titillating.

“Or what?”

This wins you a dark little chuckle that lifts the hairs all over your body.

“Or, else.”

Something in that last word makes you squirm, and again you press your thighs, the ache you feel there bordering on pain. “Okay,” you agree breathily, too crazed by lust to care how ridiculous you must sound.

Finally, his lips are on yours again, a soft kiss with the barest slide of tongue that only leaves you wanting more, your nipples drawn to painful peaks. You whimper as he withdraws to kiss your throat, then lower on your chest.

“Shh, you needy thing,” he admonishes softly. “Good girls don’t whine.”

Somehow you manage to catch your next little sound in your throat, though it still comes out a strangled peep. You feel him smile over your breast, before he gives the bodice of your dress the slightest tug. In your current state it’s all it takes to bare your pebble-hard nipple to him, which he kisses with tenderest care, flicking his tongue over the bud. It sends spears of pleasure straight to your loins, and in that moment you think you really might die from wanting this man. You writhe beneath him, and without thinking your fingers find their way to his hair, grabbing soft fistfuls of dark curls in your desperation.

Immediately, he stops.

“What did I say about those?”

Suddenly you are on the edge of tears.

“I can’t….”

He stands, and you watch with fascination as those sure fingers flick open the silver buckle of his belt. He whips the leather from the loops with a crack. The sound startles you, your heart skipping a beat in your chest. The tent in his pants is more than impressive, but there is a sharp glint in his eye, and you can’t help but worry a little about what he intends to do with that belt.

With the leather doubled in his hand he caresses the line of your shins. You cannot help but part your legs a little, and he smiles. It’s almost a cruel curl of lips, but you are a broken thing, and all you can manage is anticipation mixed with the slightest bit of fear for what he has planned for that designer strip of leather.

“You will,” he corrects you, looping the belt around your wrists and making a knot. It doesn’t hurt, but…you are genuinely trapped. “Where do these go?”

With a sigh you return them above your head.

“What was that?”

“Here, Sir.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Those four words utterly wreck you.

He returns his attention to your bent legs, his fingertips ghosting up your thighs, higher and higher to disappear under the lace of your skirt. You sigh with relief when his fingers hook in the sides of your silk panties, slowly drawing them down your hips. He smiles wickedly at the damp little bundle in his big hand.

“These are ruined.” He sounds so very pleased about it as he slides them into his pocket.

“Before we even went to dinner,” you confess, and it’s absolutely true. The sharp look he pays you is a breathtaking mix of awe and hunger.

“You really want me so much?” There is an incongruous vulnerability in this question that tugs at your heartstrings, as though he can hardly believe it.

At this point, you might as well go for broke. Maybe he’ll feel less like he’s taking advantage of you if you admit, “I’ve missed you. From the moment I left I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

A pained sound escapes from low in his throat at hearing it, and he sits on the bed beside your feet, his touch agonizingly light upon the backs of your calves. He meets your eyes unwaveringly as he pushes your legs apart, gentle but exacting.

You are putty in his hands.

He ducks to kiss just the inside of your knee, lingering there as he looks down upon you completely bared to him. You are sure he can see your folds glistening and swollen, needing him with every iota of your being.

Yet he sits completely still, and the next sound you make more resembles a frustrated little snarl.

“Did you just growl at me?” You can tell by his voice that he is inwardly laughing at you.

Wondering what punishment that would entail, you hold your breath to stay silent.

He ducks lower then, nipping at the inside of your thigh with a harsh little suck, and you know there will be a bruise there in the morning.

“You’re like a fierce little kitten with her claws out. Big eyed and soft and so fucking adorable.”

You’re not sure if you like this or not, but his mouth continues downward, and as he nears the apex of your thighs you forget all about it. When his tongue touches your clit you make a sound like a sob; you’ve never felt anything so good in your life. He circles you slowly, paired with hard laps of the flat of his tongue, and you cannot help but arch into him. The sliding pressure of one of his long fingers inside you is heaven, and yet somehow, not enough.

“God, I want you,” you plead as you writhe against his skilled ministrations. “Let me cum on your big cock buried inside me?”

He makes a low sound deep in his throat in answer, the vibrations themselves are nearly enough to push you over the edge. You feel him shake his head no slowly in answer, his tongue a menace and a marvel as it kneads your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Please?”

You forget everything in the throes of your desire for him, maybe even your own fucking name, and that is when you make the mistake of moving your hands again, touching his soft hair with your fingertips to get his attention.

He looks up at you then, and you’re not sure how just the lift of an eyebrow can communicate such volumes, but as his eyes meet yours you know you fucked up.

He abandons you in your need, standing beside the bed again. You are too astonished to say anything, just watching him in pure agony. His eyes flick to your wrists, as though he’s considering leaving you trussed like a Christmas goose, before he releases the belt with two sharp tugs.

“We can try this again tomorrow.”

“John…” you’re finally able to protest, hating the broken sound of your voice, your every nerve at painful attention. “Mr. Wick…”

He doesn’t look back until he reaches the door, turning to look over his shoulder with his hand on the handle. He brings his index finger to his mouth, licking the juices you left there, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Don’t even think about touching yourself. That sweet little pussy is mine.”

Shocked and dumbfounded, you watch as he makes his exit through the adjoining door, and locks it behind him. You hear the click, and in all your frustration you throw a pillow across the room, certain he can hear your enraged little shriek.

He makes no answer, letting you stew in the anguish of your unfulfilled desire.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves #john wick fic #bittersweet john wick imagine #yandere john wick x you #yandere! john wick #yandere #ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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ladykailitha · 4 days ago

Text

Howlin' for Yule

Hello and welcome to my Christmas AUvent Calendar! Every day from now until the 24th I will be posting a ficlet that is 500-1500 from an AU I've done over the years.

All stories will be marked with the tag #12 aus of christmas so you can follow along as I will only be tagging my permanent list for this (it would get too confusing otherwise).

The next one on our list is: Werewolf verse. You can read the story here. All links will be to the first chapter, but the chapter itself will have links to the rest of the story.

Do you know how ridiculously proud I am of that title? Do you? Because I am so damn proud of that title. Also welcome to the one that got away from me. I could have kept it short. They dance, they schmooze, and they go home.

But I wanted to write more with this one and when I realized if I wanted this to end on the 24th, I should have started on the 13th, instead of the 12th, I figured I could extend this and post it Christmas Eve.

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9

Eddie stood in front of a mirror and fussed with his tie. He usually got a chuckle from seeing his reflection in a mirror because according to Wayne that one only became a myth recently with them no longer using silver to back them anymore. But not even that thought could bring a smile to his face.

Because he had to look super nice for his boyfriend’s big Yule Tide ‘do up at the new vampire coven’s place. After the Creel house had almost burnt down when Jason attacked, Chrissy thought it would be better to move the coven somewhere safer. Closer to civilization so that if that happened again, they could get help faster.

They had bought a beautiful mansion in Loch Nora that was able to house all the remaining members of the coven comfortably. It even had a large room just for balls. Which is what this most certainly was.

When Chrissy suggested it back in October, she had merely suggested party including the vampires and werewolves as a way to foster peace between them. But Steve, the beautiful big brained and even bigger hearted had suggested a Yule Ball for all the supernatural beings in Hawkins.

So that meant that all Eddie’s friends were going to be there and he had to look nice.

“You look like you’re going to a funeral,” Wayne groused from behind him. “Probably your own judging from the sour expression on his face.

Eddie whirled around in shock. Wayne was standing there in early 18th century clothes in golds and browns. He looked amazing. “Why can’t I look like that?!”

Wayne looked down at his attire and then back up. “Would you like to?”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “I mean we really don’t have much time to make me something like that.” He waved at Wayne’s outfit. “Because I don’t think your clothes will fit me very well.”

Wayne chuckled. “Oh ye of little faith. You take that monkey suit off, and I’ll play fairy goduncle. Go on.”

Eddie raised a questioning eyebrow but did as he was told. He hadn’t been gone two scant minutes when he came back and all the clothes were laid out on his bed. Silks, velvet, and lace all in black. He would cut a dashing figure for sure.

He hurried to get dressed and then rushed out to the front to the kitchen and poured out a bowl of milk, placing it on the windowsill.

Wayne chuckled from the living room. “She owed me a favor, but I’m sure she will appreciate the treat anyway.”

Eddie shook his head. “It’s just good manners.”

Wayne nodded solemnly. He had raised this boy right. Not just in the ways of the supernatural, but in the ways of being a good human, too.

Then the sound of horses arriving, clattered outside their window and they both exited the trailer to see an elegant coach and four black horses.

“Your boy sure has a flare for the dramatic,” Wayne huffed as he was helped into the carriage by an actual footman. Something that Wayne had never experienced in his long life.

Eddie could only agree. In the last light of the shortest day of the year, the driver and footman seemed to glimmer as though they had a glamour placed over them to look vaguely human.

They pulled up to the coven’s new home and Eddie let out a wolf whistle. “The new Dominus seems to have her own flare for the dramatic.”

“Nah,” Wayne said as he exited the carriage, “that just comes from being a vampire.”

They were shown into what Eddie could only call a ballroom. It was massive. It was currently setup with long mahogany tables with little nameplates in front of every placement. The eating utensils were gold, the glasses were crystal, and plates were fine china.

It screamed opulence and once Eddie would have turned tail and ran. But not anymore. Being a vampire changed that, for sure, but what really cinched the deal was the man, standing next to the Dominus in a beautiful red and gold outfit similar to what Wayne and Eddie were wearing.

Steve Harrington, Roane Pack Alpha.

Day 11 Day 12

NOW WITH PART TWO!

I could have waited until the 23rd to post this one, but there was something symbolic about posting it on the day of the winter solstice. The longest night.

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #the 12 aus of christmas

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agentsnickers · 2 years ago

Note

Prompt: For (Super) Suit and Tie, Davey and Race trying to figure out where to go on vacation but trying to take the local supervillain they'll inevitably have to fight into account.

"Well, if we want to spend two days there -"

"We have to plan on at least three," Tony agrees, nodding.

David pinches the bridge of his nose. "Should we have Jack check in with the locals and see if they've got anything big planned that weekend? I'd really rather not lose the time."

"No, we have to let these things happen organically," says Tony.

"Tones," David says, just this side of a heavy sigh.

"Look, Davey-love, I want to have a fun time on this trip, too," Tony says. He throws an arm around his husband's shoulders. "But we're superheroes! It's part of the gig - just some supervillain tourism, you know."

"Supervillain - Tony!" David says. He's laughing now, though.

"Love you, too, babe," says Tony. He leans over and presses a kiss to David's cheek. "Chill out. If it happens it happens, and if it doesn't, we get an extra day of vacation."

David shakes his head, still laughing. "I wish I had your optimism."

#newsies #ravey #super suit and tie au #finn writes fic

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minwonsgirl · 5 months ago

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a wig and tie.

— minghao x afab!reader

— fluff and angst. LOADS of fluff and loads of angst. but it's super cute you'll like it, I think.

— contents : arrange marriage, complicated relationship with parents, chaebol au, afab reader, unclear endings.

The view of the moon shining over the glassy water looked as if it was was straight out of a movie scene. The clear sky with just a couple of clouds surrounding the large full moon, to give it a theatrical effect.

Y/n just wished her life was also straight out of a one and half hour rom-com, that ends with everyone being happy.

She leans off the edge and starts to make her way towards the bench situated at the middle of the balcony, tucking her hands under her thighs to warm them up and hide them from the chilly november air.

A tear drop tickles her cheek and she nudges one of her shoulders up to wipe it away. "ah— fuck" she whispered, the sequence in her dress had snagged her skin and left a scratch mark.

Y/n sighs, a heavy breath escaping her lips. She could still hear the music faintly coming from a couple floors below her. The reception party was still going strongly even without the presence of the bride or the groom. Her reception party. She was the bride.

The groom. She heard him enter their suite a couple minutes after her. She heard his steps follow her to the balcony, and for a minute she was afraid he would join her, but then she heard him walk away and small thud of the bathroom door closing. He hasn't left the room since.

Another gust of wind passed her, and she felt her scalp start to itch from being trapped under the stupid wig all day. She brought her hands to press against her eyes to stop another round of tears from escaping.

"You need to stop rebelling against things, it is not proving anything, just making me angry." She said, pacing infront of me and trying to control her voice from reaching a loud volume.

The hair dresser did not pay any attention to her and continued her process to cover my short hair so that it would look presentable for my wedding.

I bit my teeth to stop myself from screaming. "I did not cut my hair for your reaction, my dear mother." I said, trying my best to sound nice and obedient, "I did it for me—"

"THAT." she faked a cough while I recovered from my flinch caused by her loud voice, "That. is. not. the point." She said. Her body was shaking from anger. "I expect you to look presentable and traditional. Short hair in not traditional." Her nose touched the air.

I bit my tongue and decided to lose this round. It's not like she would ever listen to me anyways.

Y/n roughly ran her finger nails all over her scalp to loosen the wig glue and disrupt it from its perfect placement. She felt anger coursing through her veins and her blood felt hot and bothered. I hate her. She thought.

I hate the way she raised me. I hate the way she forced me into marriage. I hate the way she hates my hair. I hate the way talks about my body. I hate the way she loves me.

A sob escapes her lips. She leaned back against the bench and looked at the moon again. It had witnessed everything, and it was still shining brighter than ever. That made her wipe all her tears away and pull her legs up to sit criss cross on the bench.

She knew that she had to go to bed soon. She would have to face her husband, and she would have to talk to him. Sooner or later she would have to meet him.

Suddenly she heard the bench next to her squeak with another person's body. She turns, "Minghao..?" She whispers in surprise. How did she not hear his footsteps?

Minghao does not look at her. He continues to stare at the moon. Y/n smiled in relief and turned back to the moon too. Atleast he wasn't speaking to her right now. She did not have the mental strength to converse with him right now.

"Y/n." He spoke, and every bone of relief from her body jumped off the roof. "This is the first time I've been to a party for the bride, without the bride" he chuckled.

She turns to him and raises a brow. He had a smirk playing lazily on his face. "The party is yours just as much as its mine," she said.

Something unknown flashes on his eyes, but before she could investigate he closes them and laughs loudly. Y/n felt her heart skip a beat.

"Touchè, Ms Xu" he said with a lovely smile on his face. "Are you not tired?" He asked.

She turns away from him and faces the moon. "I do not want to share a bed with you" y/n replied, she was proud of herself for not expressing any of her emotions in her voice.

Minghao presses a hand on his heart. "Ouch, that hurt." He said in a dramatized manner. Y/n rolled her eyes and stands up to leave the balcony, but he is quick to grab her hand "I'm kidding. Do you really think I would force a girl I just met to sleep in the same bed as me?"

When y/n doesnt answer, Minghao presses his lips in a straight line and stands up. "I know what your mother expects you to do tonight." He said, and for the first time that entire day, he was serious. "I need you to know that I don't have any of those expectations" his eyes searched her face for any sort of emotion, when he didn't find any he sighed in defeat.

He gently dropped her hand, "Please come to bed and get your rest, it's been a long day for you" he says and then turns to walk away.

Minghao makes it to two steps before his wife grabs his wrist. "Wait." She voiced.

He turns around to face her, his brows raised in surprise. Y/n's face was unreadable, but her eyebrows were furrowed. She took a step closer to minghao and starts to fiddle with his tie. He watches her is slight awe as she smoothly took off the accessory and threw it on the bench.

"You look better without that wretched thing choking your head off" she said, when his lips would not move to form the question why?.

She saw me he thought.

"You are receiving the name, the title, the status, the money and you still do not understand the importance of this union? Tell me son, do you care for me at all" father asked, throwing his arms in the air very excessively.

"Oh please stop with the melodramatic outbursts dad." I rolled my eyes. "I already have everything" I said while making exaggerated hand gestures.

"This girl your setting me up with, does she even know whe she is getting into? Does she know she is basically being sold—"

"DON'T" father yelled. He stops and forces himself to take in a deep breath and stabilize his volume. "Don't you dare" he said in an appropriate volume but a fuming red face.

My face did not betray any of my emotions. And my father took that the wrong way. He pressed his fingers to his forehead and walks away towards the corner of the room. "I can not talk to him, my dear." He whispered in a defeated voice.

My mother leaned off the corner wall and stalked towards me in calculated steps. On her way she picks up the boring black tie that was to be tied around my neck to make me look like a ceremonial sacrifice.

She silently stood infront of me and tied a complicated knot. When it came to lightning the knot she made sure to push it up all the way and remove a strangled sound from my throat.

I looked at her in shock and a little bit of fear. She holds my gaze and harshly pushes me back on the couch. "You will not loosen that tie. You will walk out of this room and feel it clog up you throat and remember how it's a punishment for dishonouring your family." She said in a simple monotonous voice.

She turns around and grabs her waiting husbands arm, " one day you will understand that I am doing this for your own good, minghao" she said to me over her shoulder, and then she left the room.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a small shadow move away from the window, I just hopes the shadow made it out before my parents.

"It was you" Minghao whispered, half stunned and half relieved.

Y/n gives him an apologetic look and tilts her head to the side. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop" she said, "I was just trying to hide"

Minghao laughs lightly, "I get that, and it's okay I forgive you" he smiles at her. Then his eyes have that mischievous look again. Y/n furrows her eyebrows suspiciously and he says, "since we are all coming clean and I think I have to say something," he said with a million dollar smile.

"Um okay, what is it?" She asked with shrug. Minghao doesn't answer immediately, he grabs her hands and pulls her towards the bedroom. He stops her infront of a large mirror and held her gaze in the mirror.

Y/n looked confused, and slightly concerned. She flinched lightly when she saw minghao lift his hand to her head. He pauses and says, "it's your hair. I promise I'm just gonna touch your hair"

Minghao waited for her nod of approval before he continued his feather light touch to remove the wig and undo all the bobby pins and other nonsense that held her real and shorter hair back.

As means of protest, y/n had box dyed her hair red and cut it just above her shoulder at home, precisely a day before her wedding. She smiled at the memory of her mother screaming when she found out.

When she felt minghao's fingers glide through her hair she sighed out contently and close her eyes. For the first time that day she felt safe, and relaxed.

Minghao blushed light at her sound. He clears his head and softly pats her when he's done. He smiles at her through the mirror and leans down to her ear and whispers, "you look cuter with your short hair"

Y/n was thankful for her makeup, it was doing a very good job at hiding her reaction to his words. She turns around to face him. "I get it, okay? we are both nosy" she rolled her eyes with soft smile, "You peeked into my conversation and I peeked into yours."

Minghao laughs lightly and walks back to sit on the edge of the bed. Y/n turns around and leans against the vanity table, her arms folded across her chest.

"So, who gets the bed cause i call dibs..." she starts to say but her voice falters away when she saw that minghao was already picking up his belongings and walking towards the door.

"Don't worry about it," he said, giving her a quick look. She couldnt catch the look in his eye since his face was only partially seen but something seemed off.

"I booked a second room, I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He says, but doesn't wait for her to respond and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Y/n felt a strange feeling course through her body. Something that felt an awful lot like rejection. She turned back towards the mirror and looked at herself.

I'm so stupid. She thought, as she proceeds to remove her jewelery, I let my gaurd down infront of him.

He didn't actually care about her, why would he? They had just met. He just didn't want his wife to be a sad moping mess for the public. He couldn't mess up his image, he had a reputation to uphold.

Y/n went to sleep that night with a growing feeling of resentment. He made me look like a fool. She thought, and she had never felt that embarrassed before.

Maybe it was the betrayal she felt, or just the sour mood that accompanied her since the wedding, but by the next morning, the wig was back on.

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themaevethcometh · 6 months ago

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okay i've had this scene from an au stuck in my head recently so here's 3k of timkon identity shenanigans where kon has been recently taken in by luthor for nefarious reasons and is forced to attend a gala where tim and bruce show up. robin hasn't revealed his identity to the team yet even though they've been friends for years. canon/timeline has been put in a blender and liquified.

Kon takes a deep breath in through his nose, holding it for a few seconds before slowly letting it out of his mouth. It’s a technique that Robin taught the team when he was trying desperately to get them on a more bat-approved training regime, including meditation and an acrobatics routine that Nightwing allegedly used on the Teen Titans years ago. Kon is fully aware that he’s got weird stuff going on with his body’s organs and systems compared to humans, but the slow, rhythmic breathing still brings comfort and helps center him, slowing everything down enough so he no longer feels like he’s going to accidentally fry someone with his heat vision.

He tugs at the collar of his dress shirt, gulping and taking a deep breath again. The shirt and tie feels so much more restrictive than his Superboy uniform, tightening like a noose around his neck, and the inflexibility of the suit coat makes him feel like a stiff, awkward mannequin.

“Stop that,” Luthor says, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder. Kon immediately stills, straightening and trying to relax at the same time.

“These people are vultures,” Lex says, voice low. Kon tries to focus his super hearing on him, rather than the woman with the loud laugh across the ballroom or the clink of glasses down the hall where the staff is continuously loading and unloading equipment. He can hear the steady beat of Lex’s heart, the rhythmic whoosh of air traveling in his lungs, the slight gurgle of his stomach (gross!). Kon decides he doesn’t like listening to Lex Luthor very much.

“Remember what I told you,” Lex is still saying. “Be on your best behavior. Today is about getting your name and your face out there. Be polite, but not a pushover. Never let them see weakness.”

Kon forcibly bites back the retort that his only weakness is kryptonite and makes himself nod instead.

Luthor leads him over to a group of people with his hand still clamped on Connor’s shoulder like a shackle. From there, it’s an exhausting parade of schmoozing with millionaires and billionaires, shaking hands firmly (but not too firmly!), laughing at unfunny jokes, and pretending that he loves dear old Dad instead of wanting to punt him through the nearest wall.

Kon is charming. He knows this. It’s something that he’s known since he freshly came out of a test tube, and it’s something that he’s perfected with smiles and body language and a well-placed word or phrase. Kon can get most people eating out of his hand with barely any effort, but it’s usually normal people a little closer to his age, not rich, egotistical, out-of-touch old people who want to pinch his cheeks but absolutely cannot be allowed to due to his invulnerable skin. Kon forgets everyone’s name almost as soon as he hears it, clutching his flute of sparkling cider like a lifeline (but not hard enough to shatter).

Kon doesn’t know how long he gets paraded around as Luthor’s newest pet, but it feels like forever. Everyone talks around where he’s been for the past 17 years of his life (nonexistent and then in a lab and then gallivanting around with superheroes and then, finally, as of two month ago a little farm in Kansas until Lex Luthor uprooted everything with a few well-placed threats), and Kon lets Lex tell the cover story about how he didn’t find out about Connor until recently, but he’s happy to be reunited with his son now.

Son. Connor isn’t anyone’s son. He was maybe getting to be a family member to the Kents finally, but Luthor threw a wrench into all of that.

Connor had a room at the farm. He had a chore list to do and homemade meals to eat, and Clark has finally stopped flinching when he sees him. Clark grinned at him the other day, not his public smile or a small, polite thing, but an actual, honest to goodness grin. Connor bets he can kiss that goodbye now, just like he can kiss goodbye ever knowing Robin’s real identity, because there’s no way that Batman will let him tell Kon now that Kon is semi-legally under the guardianship of a supervillain, and just like there’s no way that Kon can have anything remotely resembling a normal teenage experience as the ward of a billionaire and forced showpony, and just like–

“I’ll be damned,” Lex breathes next to him, interrupting Kon’s spiral. Kon follows his gaze to the entrance of the ballroom, ears picking up the loud, boisterous laugh of Bruce Wayne clapping someone on the back a little too forcefully. Kon has never seen Bruce Wayne in person, but he’s difficult to miss in the papers, especially with how often he finds himself in trouble. Robin has told him of a few instances when he or one of the other Gotham vigilantes has had to rescue him, and Kon knows that Lois interviewed him once and Clark has informally run into him at a gala such as this.

Clark says he tried really hard to be the journalist from the Planet here tonight once Lex demanded that Connor be there, but it was too late notice. Neither Clark nor Lois are among the reporters clustered in the corner. Kon is alone.

“He didn’t RSVP,” Lex says, miffed. Kon immediately likes Bruce Wayne significantly more because of it. “Oh, and he brought a friend.”

Kon peers around the crowd that has quickly amassed around Gotham’s favorite billionaire and finally spots the person Bruce Wayne has a hand on the shoulder of. It’s a teenage boy, dressed in a dark suit with dark hair parted in the middle to keep it out of his eyes. He’s slight, but not skinny, and he’s not overly tall, probably closer to Robin or Bart’s height than Connor’s. He doesn’t show any signs of discomfort at the press of adults around him, offering polite handshakes and letting the women kiss his cheeks the way some of them have tried with Kon. Bruce doesn’t stray far, taking the boy with him when they finally finish with the crowd near the door and head to the bar. The boy doesn’t seem to mind the attention. Kon, however, does not appreciate the tone of voice that Lex used when he said friend. He’s ready to do some superheroing if he needs to.

“Let’s go,” Lex says, putting his hand on Connor’s shoulder again to steer him through the crowd. “Let me handle Bruce Wayne. The kid is Timothy Drake. He recently became the head of his parent’s company when his father died. This is the first time he’s been seen at an event since the death. Bruce is almost certainly going to adopt him. Timothy stayed with him when Jack Drake was in a coma, plus he has the dark hair and light eyes and Brucie favors in his kids. He’s your focus for the rest of the night. Forget about everyone else.”

“Lex! I didn’t know you’d be here, you old dog!” Bruce calls before Connor has time to process all of that, slinging an arm around Luthor’s shoulders and seemingly crushing all of the air out of him in less than a second.

“It’s my party,” Lex wheezes.

“Good thing I’m here to liven it up, eh?” Bruce asks, elbowing Luthor in the ribs.

Kon really hopes that Bruce Wayne’s obsession with dark haired, light eyed boys is an innocent coincidence, because he doesn’t want to apprehend him for being a pedophile when he’s pissing Lex off so easily.

“Hello, Timothy,” Luthor greets, holding out his hand. Bruce pouts at being ignored while Timothy shakes politely. “May I just say, it’s refreshing to see you out and about. I’m sure running your parent’s company is stressful all by yourself.”

Timothy tilts his head, reminding Connor vaguely of a bird.

“I’m happy to do it,” he says, polite but firm. “It’s what my parents would have wanted, and they left things well organized for me.”

“And I suppose Bruce here has been giving you advice?”

“Now Lex,” Bruce says, wagging his finger at him, “you know that’d be a conflict of interest. Besides, Tim could run circles around me. I should be asking him for advice!”

Connor feels his eyes start to glaze over as Luthor and Bruce volley back and forth, seemingly forgetting that he’s even there. Having Lex’s attention off of him and on someone else is a much needed break, so he’s not about to complain, but it’s also really fucking rude. Connor hasn’t even been introduced to these two.

Timothy catches his eye, sweeping his gaze over to Luthor and Bruce and rolling his eyes. Connor smirks. Timothy raises an eyebrow and Connor mirrors him, just a slight quirk.

Timothy looks pretty nice, up close. His eyes are the promised light blue, but his dark eyelashes are long and thick, framing them beautifully. He’s pale, almost reflective in the glittering chandelier light, and he carries himself with a self-assuredness that Connor envies in this environment. The suit fits him really nicely, hugging his shoulders and accenting his trim waist and long legs. When he raises his flute to take a sip of the drink inside, Kon finds himself tracking the liquid as it disappears past his pale pink lips, his throat flexing as he swallows.

He’s not bad to look at. He could easily turn out to be dull as a brick or a total douchebag, but so far first impressions are good.

“And who is this young man?” Bruce asks, snapping him out of his thoughts. Luthor puts a hand on his back to push him forward a step, and Kon doesn’t have to move, but Lex is going to be mad if he doesn’t and the situation is delicate.

“This is my son, Connor,” Luthor introduces. Kon offers his hand with his most charming smile.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking first Bruce’s hand (better grip than he expected) and then Timothy’s (rougher than he thought it’d be, skin warm).

“Son, eh? He must take after his mother!” Bruce laughs. Lex’s face pinches, but Connor doesn’t have a chance to relish in it before Bruce is sweeping Luthor away with another arm around his shoulder, talking loudly about secret children and parenting hacks. Luthor tries to protest, but it’s quickly drowned out by Bruce, and he doesn’t have a chance to so much as glance back at Connor before they’re swallowed by the crowd.

Kon blinks.

“Bruce will keep him busy for a while, sorry,” Timothy says, not sounding very sorry. He takes another sip from his glass, then leans in. Cologne tickles Connor’s nose.

“Hold your drink by the stem, not the glass,” he says quietly. “It’s supposed to keep your drink from getting warm, an old etiquette thing. It’s small, but it’ll help you blend in a little more.”

Kon looks around the room, taking in the people with flutes like him and where they’re holding it. The majority are holding the stem, and the ones that aren’t are people that Luthor hasn’t bothered to introduce him to yet. Kon adjusts his grip accordingly, off-balance and embarrassed.

“Thanks,” he says. Timothy tilts his head.

“You want to get some air? There’s a balcony over there. Your father will be able to find you easily once Bruce releases him.”

“Yes,” Kon agrees immediately. He’s used to not fitting in, but having the eyes of so many judgy rich people on him when he’s pretending to be Lex Luthor’s human son has been exhausting. No one has been too rude so far, but the weight of Lex’s hand on his shoulder is heavy, and this complicated set of social rules that he still doesn’t understand puts him on edge.

Normally he’d say fuck the rules and do what he wants, but the situation is too delicate for that. Clarke and Robin both told him that he needs to be careful and think twice about every move he makes, and for once neither of them sounded condescending about it. He could tell that they don’t like the situation, either, worry and sympathy clear in their faces.

“Come on,” Timothy says, heading towards a set of double doors. He doesn’t glance back, trusting Connor to follow him, and Connor does, stepping in his footsteps as he expertly weaves through the crowd, deflecting anyone trying to stop to speak to them with smooth excuses and a well-placed smile. In no time at all he’s pushing open the large french doors, releasing them from the ballroom and into the cool night air.

Kon tilts his head up, blinking at the night sky above him. It’s cloudy, obscuring what few stars manage to make their way through the light pollution to reach Metropolis. Connor wishes he could fly up there, feel the dampness of early rain on his face, burst into the dark and escape everything. For now, he keeps his feet on the ground, instead joining Timothy by the railing.

“So, how often do you come to these things, Timothy?” Connor asks, leaning back on his elbows. The other boy perches with a hip pressed against the railing, arms crossed over his chest.

“Tim, please,” he says. “Timothy makes me feel like I’m in trouble or you’re trying to swindle me out of a business deal.”

“Okay. How often do you come to these things, Tim?” Connor corrects, testing the feel of it in his mouth. Tim relaxes at the sound.

“Decently often, but I usually stick to Gotham,” he says. “I’ll have to start coming to more now that I’m in charge of Drake Industries, but I grew up going to galas. Is this your first one since Luthor found you?”

“Is it that obvious?” Connor asks. Tim smirks, but shakes his head.

“I think I’d remember if I’d seen you at one of these before.”

Connor flashes him a charming smile.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.” Tim’s cheeks turn pink, his blush noticeable against his pale skin even with the limited light out here. Kon takes a sip of his sparkling cider, satisfaction making it taste sweeter on his tongue.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re probably the only people under thirty in the whole building besides some of the catering staff,” Tim says.

“You missed the toddler earlier,” Connor hums. “She was throwing a tantrum. I very much sympathized.”

“Did I really?” Tim asks dryly. “What a pity. Oh no. How unfortunate that Bruce likes being fashionably late to everything.”

Connor snorts.

“Bruce Wayne, huh?” he says. “How’d you two meet?”

Tim shifts so he’s leaning back against the railing like Kon. Kon takes a moment to drink in his profile, tracing the sharp jut of his nose, the hair shielding his eyes from him at this angle.

“He’s my neighbor,” Tim says. “I’ve kind of always known him, but our families weren’t really close until a few years ago. When my dad was in a coma, Bruce took me in. My uncle was supposed to get custody of me now, but…”

Tim trails off, searching for words. Eventually, he shrugs.

“He’s fostering me right now. We’ll see where it goes from there.”

“Do you want to stay with him?” Kon asks. Tim considers his words carefully. Connor’s mouth is always running away with him, but Tim seems to have the opposite approach. Everything is measured and careful, cold and tactical. It reminds Kon of Robin in the middle of missions, keeping his reactions even and methodical to counteract the impulsiveness of the rest of the team. Kon wonders if Tim is the type of person to let himself be stupid and emotional around friends like Robin is, or if he always keeps everything bottled up.

“Yeah, I do,” Tim breathes eventually. “But it’s complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

Another pause. Kon does Robin’s breathing exercise, staying patient. Some people need time to talk, and Kon can’t help if he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

“I guess I don’t want him to adopt me because he feels obligated,” Tim says. “He has a family. There’s–It’s a long story, too long to explain now. Sorry, this is a weird first impression, huh? But enough about me! What about you? Where were you before Luthor found you?”

“Uh,” Connor says, still recovering from the whiplash of topics and searching for Luthor’s cover story. “Kansas.”

“Kansas?” Tim prompts.

“Yeah, Kansas. I was in the foster system for a while, then I got adopted by this nice old couple who live on a farm in Smallville, which is just as small as it sounds. I didn’t know anything about my birth parents until Lex showed up.”

“Wow,” Tim says. “This has to be a big adjustment, then.”

Connor scratches the back of his neck.

“Yeah, kinda.”

Kon’s whole life feels like a big adjustment, from adjusting to existing and Clark’s negative feelings towards him, to adjusting to working for Camdus and living in Hawaii, to adjusting to Young Justice and Teen Titans, to finally trying to adjust to Smallville, only to be ripped away from that and forced into Metropolis high society.

“Do you miss them?” Tim asks. “The old couple who adopted you?”

Kon swallows against the unexpected pang that rolls through him. He can almost taste Martha’s pancakes on his tongue and hear the crinkle of the newspaper as Jonathan hands him the cartoons.

“I wasn’t with them very long. Only a few months.”

Tim tilts his head.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Connor shrugs. He doesn’t know what the right answer is here. Martha and Jonathan are the closest thing he’s ever had to parents, but part of him never expected to stay with them. When Luthor ripped him away from them, there was a part of Kon that wasn’t surprised at all, even if a bigger part was in agony.

Martha kissed his forehead when he left the farm and gave him a sad smile.

“You can always come back here, okay? This is your home, no matter what Lex Luthor has to say about it.”

“If they formally adopted you, Lex Luthor’s claim as your biological father isn’t enough to force cut contact,” Tim says, pushing off the railing and taking a few steps closer. “Trust me. I researched this stuff when my dad came out of his coma.”

Kon frowns.

“He didn’t like Bruce?”

Tim wavers.

“It’s complicated,” he offers. Kon snorts.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Tim’s mouth quirks up, giving Connor the shadow of a smile again.

“It’s not really a first meeting story.”

“Guess we need a second meeting, then,” Connor says.

“Yeah?” Tim asks. “My weird family dynamic really captivated you, huh?”

“It was your eyes first, actually,” Connor says. Tim opens his mouth, then closes it again, eyes wide. Kon holds his breath. He says flirty things all the time, both to his friends and to people he rescues who seem like they need a pick-me-up, but it’s been a while since he sincerely flirted with someone he plans to see again. He almost never does it with someone who only knows him as Connor rather than Superboy, much less a boy.

If this goes badly and Tim tells the entire Metropolis elite that Lex’s son is a homosexual, maybe the scandal will be enough for Luthor to send him back to Smallville. If it goes well…

“You have… very nice eyes, too,” Tim says eventually. Connor beams, then beams even more at the sharp inhale Tim draws in response. Tim shifts.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” he asks. “There’s a decent ice cream place open late a few blocks away. We can be there and back before anyone misses us.”

Connor glances towards Luthor in the ballroom. He’s still talking to Bruce Wayne, and they’ve amassed a small crowd around them.

“Bruce will keep Lex busy for a while. He likes to talk. Besides, you can always tell him that you were networking,” Tim offers.

Luthor said that Tim should be his focus for the rest of the night. He never said that they had to stay at the gala.

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing grandly towards the French doors. Tim blinks once, then again, then smiles. His eyes light up with it, and Kon suddenly understands why Tim had to inhale before.

“Come on,” Tim says, leading the way. Kon follows just as closely as he did before, trailing him until they spill out into the Metropolis night and he can stand next to him, almost close enough for their arms to brush.

Maybe living with Lex Luthor won’t be so bad if comes with seeing Tim Drake, too.

#my writing #timkon #timkon fanfic #i feel like i'm not going to have the focus to actually make this the full fic it deserves #the plot would be a bear to figure out even though i have inklings #but i love the idea of kon being forced into this situation where he has no allies and is blackmailed into helping lex #and tim and bruce manage to show up and help him as civilians #because there's no way tim would abandon him with a supervillain and a bunch of rich people #buy back the secrets has inspired a deep appreciation for identity fics so! here we are #anyway. this is my first ever timkon piece of writing and i'm scared! but we're vibing #i might put this on ao3 but i don't want to until i'm certain i won't expand on it and make it a full fic

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