#tags got ruined again hold up

[marciliedonato]

“if nothing ever happens again” “if this is the end..” shut up shut up SHUT UP.....they took the blows and did it their way....in the face of oppression say fuck you.....GET UP COWARD..... UNKILLABLES.....ARE YOU NOT SEEING IT......

[seithr]

powerful sorcerer with magical storm blood who can still magic and rend minds and transform people btw

[pilotstreets]

god. not to be sad online. but im sad online

[writingsbychlo]

WITHDRAWAL | theodore nott

summary; theo decides to quit smoking, but doesn't realise that his decision would affect his girlfriend, too.

word count; 3007

notes; just a cute, fluffy little piece based on something that I was tagged in about 2 months ago! unfortunately, I cannot find the original post or tagger, but if it's you, please let me know!!

If there was one thing about Theodore Nott that couldn't be denied, it was that he loved with everything he had. 

He loved his friends; he was loyal to a fault and he’d never let them down. He loved his family, he wrote over fifteen letters a week to all his aunties and cousins, and still held onto his mother’s recipe book, even to this day. 

And he loved, adored, his girlfriend with everything that he had. He’d do anything for her, crawl across hot coals if she asked, give up his magic and his money and his legacy, just to make her happy. She’d never asked as such of him, still blushed when he pulled out his wallet when they shopped and smiled brighter than the sun when he gave her a handmade card or something he’d cooked. So, to his eyes, it didn’t seem all that much when he decided to give up smoking for her. 

She hadn't asked him to, never even pulled a face when he smoked. But Theo was damn sick of trying to blow the smoke away from her when she joined him at the astronomy tower, cuddled up to his chest, because he didn’t want that poison near her. He hated watching her shiver on the colder nights, he hated waking her in the middle of the night when he got up to satiate that itch, and he hated thinking of a future where he left her too soon, running short on time, because he ruined himself.

He chucked his last box into the fireplace one impulsive morning, and thought he might go cold turkey. He’d been so moody by lunchtime that he’d almost bitten Enzo’s head off over the way he pronounced ‘tomato’. That afternoon, he’d ditched his classes and trudged through the snow to the floo connection at the Hog’s Head, and picked up enough nicotine patches from a muggle supply store to knock out a fully grown Hippogriff.

He’d torn the packaging off of one in the grimy restroom at the back of the store and slapped it onto his bicep, and almost collapsed from the relief it gave him. It wasn’t nearly as effective as picking up a packet from the newsagent’s stand he’d passed would’ve been, but as soon as his fingers had twitched to pick up a box, your face had flashed through his mind. Your face, smiling at him, your face that morning telling him how proud you were of him when he’d shared his goals in hopes of support, and it was enough to deter him from the purchase.

You were his strength, once again, as you’d always been. 

And truly, you were so proud of Theo. Changing his patches for him every evening, in time with that first one. Reading up on the muggle solutions, and making sure you were fully versed on how to help him. Keeping him busy seemed to help, when he got bored, his eyes started flicking towards the door, and the slight irritability he’d been able to keep a lid on pretty well would begin to flare up. For the most part, he’d been staying at your dorm, in an active attempt to keep away from Mattheo, who wasn’t quite ready to give up his comfortable vice just yet. 

Unfortunately, as the days went on, while Theo seemed to be handling it just fine, you were struggling. The irritability grew, even Draco’s breathing was making you want to snap pencils in half in the library, or throw Enzo off the astronomy tower if he scraped his fork on his plate one more time. You were ravenous, and nauseous, all at the same time. You wanted to eat everything but could hardly hold it down. You were dizzy, and fatigued, and your grades were going to start slipping if this continued, because it had been almost a week since you’d been able to concentrate on any thought longer than a minute, never mind a whole class. 

And now, you were lying in bed, rubbing at your eyes angrily but unable to sleep as you stared at the ceiling. Theo, for once, was sleeping soundly beside you. Since giving up smoking, his sleep patterns had been getting better, while yours were getting worse by the night. Almost a week, and you’d barely gotten nine hours of sleep put together. 

When you shuffled again, pressing yourself a little closer to Theo as you rolled onto your side, he began to surface. The arm over your midriff tightened, pulling you in until your hips were bracketed against his, and he chuckled sleepily into your neck. Burying himself in, he pressed a kiss there, and another, and another. The rough pounding of your heart settled as you clasped Theo’s hand in your own, holding them to your chest as he littered your shoulder with kisses. 

At your sigh, he rolled you over, propping himself up on his elbow and yawning. Shaking his hand free from your own, he stroked the back of a finger along your cheek, and leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. As his hand settled on the side of your neck instead, yours slipped up to cup his jaw, and you melted into the tender love he offered you in the darkest hours. 

“What’s wrong, tesoro? Why are you awake?”

“Why are you awake?” you rebuffed, fingers lifting to comb through his hair, to push it back out of his eyes as he blinked himself a little more awake.

He shrugged, “This is about the time I’d normally go for a smoke.” He murmured, and your eyes flickered to the clock. 

You knew well enough the schedule Theo used to keep while smoking. Your timetable had slowly synched to it over the time you’d been dating. He’d wake up during the night, at some point around two, and disappear for a smoke. He’d take twenty minutes, or thirty if he bumped into Mattheo, and then he’d come back to bed. 

You didn’t mind the disturbance. Not when he’d come back slightly chilled from the night air and snuggle in close to you, wrapping himself around you.

“Actually, this is the time you’d normally come back from having a smoke, and give me my midnight kisses.”

“Is that why my girl is so restless tonight? Because I owe her some kisses?” He teased, leaning down until your noses were bumping, and you could taste the mint on his breath. Normally, he tasted like smoke, not toothpaste, and the shock of his warm lips instead of cold ones made you hum. 

The languid kisses melted the time away, his hand sliding up your shirt, sitting on your ribs and squeezing softly as he lowered himself down, covering your body with his own. Theo had always been your comfort, and your happy place. Being in his arms made you feel safe, and his kisses made you feel relaxed. As he licked his way into your mouth lazily, you anticipated the hazy blur of relaxation that usually followed when he kissed you. 

But, like usual recently, it never came. Instead, when he finally pulled back, and pecked the tip of your nose, he found you frowning, instead of smiling up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” You huffed, frustrated at yourself, at your confusion and the growing irrational irritation. “It’s not the same.”

“What’s not the same, bella?”

“Your… your kisses.” Your words trailed to a whisper, knowing he wouldn't understand, and the hurt that flickered across his face made your heartbreak. 

“They’re not?”

“No. I don’t know why.” His lips curled further at the sides, and the look on his face made you want to cry. It made you hate yourself, aggressively, and if you could tear out your own heart and give it to him just to see him smile again, you would. Just another thing you’d been suffering with lately, an overwhelm of your emotions, worse than any mood swing you got when you were on your period. “It’s not you, Teddy, it’s me. You’re still my happy place, you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s me. I’m the problem.”

“You’re not a problem, bella. But we should figure it out. I don’t want to… kiss you wrong, and see that look on your face. What’s different, tell me what’s changed?” His sweet words made tears prickle at your eyes, and you sniffed sadly as you looked at him. 

“I love you so much, Theo.”

“I know, tesoro. I love you too.” His thumb smoothed over your cheek, “Tell me.”

“I don’t know!” Your snap made his eyes widen. “You’re just… different. You don’t kiss the same way, you used to get all needy when you came back from a smoke, but you don’t anymore, and you taste different! You taste like mint right now, and it just doesn’t make me feel the same way afterwards.”

Your words were jumbled and hurried, rushed out as you smoked them and his brows furrowed as he tried to decipher what you meant. Second ticked by into silent minutes as Theo’s wonderful mind ticked and whirred, thinking the problem through, and playing with the information. Then, before you could say anything else, something clicked. You could see it in his eyes, when the gears stopped turning and the thoughts stopped flowing because he’d found the answer. 

Pulling away from you, he sat up, kicking back the covers and letting in the cold air, before moving across the room and shuffling through his gym kit left in the corner. Pulling out a nicotine packet from the box inside, he shook it out, using his teeth to tear open the packet as he made his way back to the bed. Sitting yourself up, you propped yourself in the pillows as he peeled off the plastic backing, and tried to unstick his fingers from it, holding it by the corners. 

“You’ve only had your patch on for nine hours, Teddy, it’s not time to change yet.”

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head and settling in beside you on the bed, legs folded underneath himself. “This isn’t for me, bella. Take off your shirt.” 

Slipping your arm out of your shirt, you pushed it to the side, watching as Theo brushed cotton fibres off of your shoulder, before sealing the patch onto your skin. He made sure it was properly sealed down, flattening it to your skin, before feeding your arm back through the sleeve of your shirt. He smoothed the top back down your torso, pressing a cheeky kiss to your breast over your heart as he did, and sitting back on his legs to wait. 

“Give it a second, then tell me how you feel.” He whispered, the moment feeling entirely too fragile as his hand took yours, fingers linked together. He kissed along your knuckles, his eyes locked on your face, waiting. And the moment you felt it hit, you knew he saw it too. 

It was like a cool, soothing balm over a raw, aggravated wound. It felt like running cold water on a new burn or healing a painful graze with a quick Episky. “Oh, Merlin…”

“I know, tell me about it.” He mumbled, the smile on his face at victoriously solving the problem melting away as realisation set in. “Cazzo, bella, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have a nicotine addiction, and it’s my fault. All that time you spent with me at the tower, and the smoke on me, and kissing you as soon as I finished smoking. All your moodiness these last few days—”

“Hey!”

“It’s true, baby. It all makes sense.” He rubbed a hand over his face, and squeezed your hand tighter in the other. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I quit because I didn’t want this to happen to you, I didn’t want my problems to poison you, but it’s too late.”

“Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, Teddy.” You demand again, pulling him in, and his mouth collides with yours as he makes a subtle groan of surprise and pleasure. 

His hand gripped the headboard behind you, the other skimming down your side. As you leaned back into the pillows, you took him with you, his body falling over your own, slotting between your thighs as our hearts thudded together where his chest pressed to yours. Your hands slid over his shoulders, skimming down his back, and he moaned again as your fingernails scraped across his lower back as you tugged at his shirt. 

He sat up, letting you pull it off of him, before his arms were back, caging you in on either side as he fell back down against you. Pulling one of your legs up to sit on his hip, he dragged himself away from your mouth, trailing wet kisses down your jaw, to the pulse point on your neck and back up. 

“Merde, bella. What’s gotten into you? Not that I’m complaining.”

“You’re perfect, Theo.” You smiled, leaning up to steal more kisses from his lips that he was happy to reciprocate, “You’re perfect, your kisses are perfect. I knew it was me, not you. I was the problem.”

“A problem I gave you,” He groaned, his hips rolling against your own as you giggled breathlessly. 

“Yeah, whatever. Now we’re quitting together. That’s the promise we made, we do everything together, right?”

“Damn right, tesoro.” He growled, teeth nipping at the underside of your jaw, as he began to make his way down your body. Your fingers were loose in his hair, settling back in the pillows, eyes slipping closed as he kissed along the insides of your thighs, teasingly. Finally, your body could relax, no longer tense and buzzing, but the foggy comfort of the night made your muscles ease into the bed, your body feeling heavy, and you sighed in bliss. 

Theo mumbled something, and you let your legs fall a little further apart, but your grip on consciousness was falling further and further away as the nicotine coursed through your body, finally letting you ease into sleep you’d missed for days.

“Bella,” Theo said, his voice sharper, and you stirred, working hard to force your eyes open, but they’d only made it halfway. His hair was ruffled, eyes wide and lips swollen, but his smirk melted away from his face into a tender smile as he looked down at you. 

“Sorry, what’d you say, baby?” The words slurred out of you, and he chuckled. His fingers unhooked from the sides of your shorts, and he leaned over to kiss your forehead. “M’sorry, I’m so sleepy all of a sudden.”

“S’okay, bella. Never apologise. C’mere, let’s just cuddle.”

Tucking your body into his, you shuffled your hips back into him, and he threw his leg over yours as he held you tight to his body. “You’re hard.”

“It’ll go down, don’t worry.” He snickered, kissing the back of your head. “S’your fault anyway.”

“Sorry…” You whispered, again, sleepily. “I’ll make it up t’you t’morrow.”

“Go to sleep, amore.”

But you’d already drifted off.

It was just as you were closing your History of Magic book, that Theo announced his presence in the common room as he walked in alongside Mattheo. They were loud, and raucous, and thankfully, you were less inclined to bite their heads off for it today. 

In fact, alongside Enzo, you’d been able to catch up on all of the History homework you’d been missing out on for the last week or so, getting you back on track for at least one of your subjects. 

“Patch change time, bella!” Theo announced, making his way over to you as he untucked his shirt and began to undo the buttons down the front. Tugging the tie out of the way, he crashed down ungracefully onto the couch beside you, Mattheo nudging Draco to move up so he could sit down too. 

This had become a regular part of your routine now, and you pushed the edges of his half-unbuttoned shirt aside to reveal the patch sitting on the middle of his left pectoral. Picking at one corner, you peeled it away gently, careful not to tug on his skin as you did, and Theo watched on adoringly in silence as you took care of him. Unwrapping a new patch, you brushed off the spot, before sticking a new patch onto him and smoothing down the bandage. 

He patted it himself, before doing a couple of the buttons on his shirt back up for modesty, as though he hadn't already given half of the common room a show, before he leaned in to peck your lips. His fingers fell to the buttons of your shirt, and he began to undo them slowly. “Your turn.”

He undid just enough to reveal your shoulder, without letting anyone else catch a glimpse of anything underneath, and as he leaned down to begin peeling away the old patch, you caught Enzo’s confused expression. 

“Why are you wearing a patch?” He asked, and Theo laughed to himself quietly as he changed your old one out. 

“Because loverboy here got me addicted too, through kisses and secondary smoke.”

The others burst out laughing, unfettered by your glaring as they made kissy sounds and crude remarks, while Theo buttoned your shirt back up. Your glare turned to him as you caught sight of his smile, and he shrugged, a lopsided smile on his lips. “What can I say, bella? I’m just that good.”

“Oh, shut it,” You smacked his chest, and he took your hand, tugging you forward to cuddle you into his chest as he kissed your temple. 

“I happen to think it’s adorable that as a by-product of how you got addicted, that means you were addicted to me.”

“Mhmm.” Your eyes rolled, and he squeezed you even tighter. 

“You had me addicted to you without any substances at all, bella. Just you.”

“Alright,” You scoff, “Stop sweet-talking me.”

“Never.”

[joonberriess]

t h e b o y i s m i n e

⋆ TAGS — mean!jk, heavy degradation, sub!oc vibes, fingering, creampiess, pussy eating, oc is super sensitive hehe, cock warming in the car, ass play(?), intense cow girl moment, dirty talk, mentions of squirting(?), messy sex, oc is cunty (CUNT CUNT CUNT), RED MF FLAGS, jk ain’t shit and neither is oc, mentions of cheating, possessive!oc don’t play about her bestie, joon n oc moment bc why not, she’s lowkey a bimbo, jk likes mocking oc, nasty sex, jk’s a simp for his bestie, oc whines a lot lol, 4liferrrsssss, oc messy asf but jk is too

⋆ WORD COUNT — 6.2 k

‘Something’s not right.’ Is what Sujin begins to think right off the bat when her boyfriend brings her to meet his “best friend”. Sujin already knew that Jungkook had a “girl” best friend wayy before she even talked to the man. All her friends were against it when she told them she was interested in Jungkook.

“No girl, you’re gonna regret it like big time. That man is going to have you looking like a fool.” They’d say but Sujin seemed hard of hearing..

Sujin knew what she was getting into but nothing could have prepared her for the hot piping mess being served in front of her face. For fucks sake her boyfriend couldn’t even fucking sit next to her because he chose to sit with “y/n”. Sujin wants to think it’s a childhood thing, maybe that’s why they’re so unnaturally close.

“Oh.” Sujin says when y/n tells her that no, they in fact met almost two years ago as college freshmans. (Sujin’s beginning to run out of ideas to make up in her head so she doesn’t go insane over the sight of you casually touching her boyfriend and Jungkook letting it happen?) Jungkook even helps separate your perilla leaf with his chopsticks.

What are you a child? Sujin’s NOT liking this so far.

“So,” Sujin smiles as politely as she can muster, “how’d you guys meet?”

You smile softly back at her, “My brother has a frat house and Jungkook happened to join, we only met cause my brother was forcing his frat guys to help me move into my new apartment. He made them do it shirtless which was pretty funny.”

Sujin nods slowly, “Ohh.. how nice. So like you guys started hanging out or what’s the deal?”

Jungkook shrugs, “I saw her manga books and we bonded over that,” he keeps it curt, like he’s not interested in talking to her (his own girlfriend), “we started chilling and yeah.” Sujin fucking hates when he talks to her like he’s bored already.

“He kept saying I reminded him of Bayonetta!” You pipe back in with a dreamy smile.

“Uh-huh, Bayonetta..” Sujin clears her throat and shifts around in her seat, “Uhh well, I think it’s getting a bit late no? Kinda time for me to get going.”

You purse your lips in a soft pout and nod at her, “I see.. I hope to see you again, you’re really nice and pretty.” You coo, “Jungkookie’s super lucky to have you,” Sujin appreciates your sincerity but she’s not so sure if she can look past how close you are with her boyfriend.

“You didn’t bring your car didn’t you?” Jungkook suddenly says, “C’mon I’ll drive you.” He rises to his feet and holds his hand out for you take.

Sujin’s jaw nearly drops as HER boyfriend slings your purse over his shoulder and helps you up, guiding you out of the booth by a hand to your back.

“Jungkook.” Sujin snaps, “I think she’s got it don’t you think?” Her boyfriend turns to look at her, and proceeds to give her the meanest fucking mug ever. Like if she had the audacity to ruin whatever the fuck was happening in front her. “What?” Sujin raises a brow.

You look up at Jungkook with those stupid puppy eyes of yours, “I can call an uber no biggie.” You say softly.

“Hey, since our meeting was cut so short, how bout I pay for it, yeah?” Sujin smiles while whipping her phone out and pressing ‘request’, like she didn’t have that ride ready to order.

Jungkook does that thing when he’s pissed where he pokes his tongue inside his cheek, he has the audacity to have a staredown with her but Sujin doesn’t back down. “..Yeah, I’ll walk you out then y/n.”

“It was nice meeting you.” You softly say while hugging Sujin tightly before waltzing out the door with Jungkook’s hand over your hip.

Sujin has to pinch the bridge of her nose, on one hand you’re the sweetest thing ever but c’mon you can’t be THAT dense can you? Sujin would have liked you in another world where you weren’t trying to get with her boyfriend.

Sujin looks out of the window and sees Jungkook leaning against the car door while you slip into the back. He’s telling you something and you’re looking at him like he’s hung the fucking stars or something. Luckily nothing happens and Jungkook closes the door before stepping back to watch the car take off.

“Fucking prick.” Sujin mutters under her breath as she steps out with a pissed look. “What the fuck was that Jungkook, huh? You gonna sit there and lie to my face and tell me not to worry about her? Answer me.” She lightly hits his arm.

Jungkook sighs deeply, “What? Fuck are you on right now, the night was going so good I don’t see the problem here.”

His nonchalant attitude makes her seethe even more, “Jungkook, she has no fucking boundaries and you don’t seem to give a shit about that, I’m the GIRLFRIEND here but this fucking turned into me meeting you two instead of her meeting me. It’s fucking humiliating watching her put hands on my boyfriend and worse that you chose to sit with her.”

“And yet you knew I was friends with her. Literally that’s everything everyone’s been telling you before I brought you here to meet her, be prepared for how close y/n is with me. This isn’t brand new to you Sujin.” Jungkook replies while fishing a cigarette out of his pocket.

Sujin watches in disbelief as he lights it and takes a drag like nothing, “That doesn’t make it okay for her to do that though. Close or not I don’t give a fuck Jungkook, you’re either with me or you’re not.” She snaps, “So tell me now before I waste my fucking time.”

Jungkook takes his sweet time, puffing away as he watches the smoke disappear into the night sky, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Sujin tilts her head, “Okay, what?”

“It’s over.” And just like that Sujin’s jaw drops for real this time, she’s utterly gagged into silence as she watches her (now) ex-boyfriend stomp out the cigarette before turning to her with a sinister look in his eye, “Bye.” He passes without as much as a glance, leaving her silent.

Sujin turns her head and watches him leave, “What the fuck.” She whispers.

.

(Not even an hour later.)

“Okay, this one or this one?” You held up two different babydoll dresses—one white with delicate frills, the other silk but more of a bodycon-type but it had a cute bow on it so why not.

Jungkook’s eyes briefly flick up from his phone, he stares at both of the dresses for a cool minute before nodding his head, “The white one.” He leans back with one arm on the bed and both legs spread apart (gosh him and his manspreading).

“I thought so too!” You happily say and carelessly toss it into the pile of clothes lying in your open suitcase, “Okay now help me decide between my sneakers or my ballet flats?” He doesn’t even answer cause he’s busy laughing at something on his phone.

“Jungkooookkk,” you huff irritably but this man does not look up. He just toys with his stupid lip ring while smiling down at his screen.

You let the shoes hit the ground as you quietly saunter over, slipping right into his lap with practiced ease. He doesn’t react because this is an all too familiar scene for him. He hooks his arm around your waist and tucks his chin over your shoulder, still scrolling mindlessly. “What’s up? Hm.” He murmurs.

“I needed your help choosing which shoes I should take.” You hide your face in his neck and lay one tiny kiss on it, “You’re mean.”

“Am I?” Jungkook brings you down with him when he slowly lays back on the bed. He tosses his phone somewhere and rests his arm behind his head. His free hand strokes your backside, cheekily stopping right above your ass before repeating.

Your hands settle over his toned stomach where his shirt has ridden up revealing his beautiful physique underneath. His damn Calvin Klein boxers hug him just right too, hanging low over his hips where a small amount of hair leads down…you know where..

“Mm-hm, ‘s not nice to ignore me.” You nod with a dreamy look, pillowy lips pursed (which make them much more alluring in Jungkook’s humble opinion).

Jungkook hums again and runs his hand over your ass, landing small little pats of appreciation here ‘n there, “It isn’t huh,” he trails off quietly while tattooed fingers make work of the bow tied around the front of your shorts.

You shake your head and come down so that you’re chest to chest with Jungkook, face leveled with his as the two of you stare into each other's eyes. “No,” you softly say, nimble fingers creeping under his shirt to trail up his middle with light feathery touches.

“No.” He softly mimics in a high-pitched tone that’s meant to sound like you, “You’re so fuckin’ cute, but you might wanna get a move on though cause the guys are gonna be here any minute now ‘n you don’t want them to come in and see what a desperate little thing you are? No huh,” he mock pouts while tapping your cheek.

“You’re mean! I’m not talking to you for ten whole minutes.” You huff angrily and get off his lap, “Stop laughing, it's not funny.” You’re whining again before you can even stop yourself. It makes him double over in laughter, shoulders shaking and all too.

“My bad, my bad, I didn’t realize you were still upset over the shoes.” He chuckles while sitting back up with messy hair, “C’mere I’ll make it better.” He waves his hand, “C’mere! I’m not joking!” He laughs because you look at him incredulously.

You fold your arms over your chest and turn away, “No, I have to pack remember?” You’re shoving clothes into your suitcase with a quiet huff.

“Yeah, yeah.” You don’t even notice when he comes up behind and hauls you up into his arms. Jungkook tosses you on the bed like nothing causing you to yelp in surprise as your body bounces off the mattress a little, “If I give you a kiss will you quit your fuckin’ pouting?” He smirks.

You nod vigorously, “I want one here, here, and here.” You tap different areas on your face.

“I said one, not fucking five,” he snorts while peppering your face in small smooches regardless because he could never resist a pretty girl like you, “dumb little thing you are.”

“They don’t count as real kisses.” You smugly reply.

Jungkook smirks, “Oh, and what does hm? Give your Jungkookie a kiss and show me.” Without hesitating you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his.

You’re lips locked, softly moaning as he kisses the fuck out of you. It’s the way his lips glide over yours so smoothly like you’re meant to be kissing. All you can really do is dreamily sigh while his tongue runs over the seam of your lips. Of course you let him in and the kiss gets filthier if possible.

You feel his hand slide up your back slowly until he’s hooking his finger under the strap of your flimsy sleep top. He watches in hunger as your tit slips out from under the top, perky nipple already hard as he leans down to wrap his lips around it. The pleasure is hot when his tongue presses down on the bud, he has you whimpering quietly while burying your fingers through his hair.

“Mmm–Jungkook, wait,” you breathlessly sigh while pushing his face away, “Sujin.” You softly say while playing with his hair, “What ‘bout her?”

Jungkook stares back up at you through hooded eyes, “Who?” He replies to which you grin back, “Hm, just let me enjoy your tits in peace.” He crudely mumbles before taking your nipple back into his hot mouth.

He fondles and squeezes your other tit while sucking on your rather sensitive teat. The heat between your legs is unbearable, Jungkook knew damn well why you hated having your nipples played with yet he carried on without a care. Your poor clit throbbed from neglect and your pussy was slicking up by the second, you fear a glob would slip out if he dared to switch your positions.

“J-Jungkook..!” You huff and press your thighs together hoping to alleviate some of the heat.

He pinches hard causing you to whine, it doesn’t stop him because he’s then using a hint of teeth on your sensitive bud. “Oh..!” Your mouth falls open and your back arches off the bed, thighs shaky and wobbly.

Jungkook pulls away with a string of slick connecting to your nipple, “Turn over baby,” he smacks your ass hard and jiggles your cheek, “arch that pretty back for me, yeahh like that—low.” He darkly comments while watching you turn over with your hips raised high and front flat to the bed.

He shuffles around and gets behind you holding you steady with a hand to your hip. “Pull ‘em to the side,” he says while lazily pushing his sweats down, shoving them low enough till they’re right under his balls, “How desperate are you, hm? How bad do you want this cock baby?” He grins while slapping the tip through your dewy sticky folds.

You bite your lip and reach behind you to hold yourself open for him, “Bad, need it so bad Jungkookie..feel so empty without it.” You pout while pushing back until his cock gets trapped between your thighs, the thick shaft pressing right up against your throbbing little clit.

“Yeah?” Jungkook licks his lips, “Gonna let me have it?” He murmurs as his cock slides through the mess between your thighs, globs of slick coating the shaft.

“Mm-hmm.” You nod.

“Mm-hm.” Jungkook smirks as he lands a rough smack to your ass, “Push me in baby.”

You reach back to rub his cock through your folds, tapping the tip against your needy hole until it catches. Your breath hitches as the tip pops in, he doesn’t make a move to shove himself deeper or anything—he stays perfectly still.

“Jungkook!” You turn to glare back at him, “S-Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not doing anything, if you want it you know what to do.” Jungkook grins while biting his lip, “You know what I wanna see baby, don’t play dumb.”

You grumble under your breath and slowly push your hips back until your ass meets his pelvis. There’s a low squelch as the rest of his cock slips in and as much as you would’ve loved for him to fuck you, this was also good. You pant hotly into the pillow and wiggle around with soft little ‘mm’s as Jungkook rubs his hand over your hip and holds you steady.

“There you go, bring it back for me,” he huskily mumbles while watching the ripple of your cheeks jiggle each time your ass meets his pelvis.

Little clapping noises begin to rise subtly as your pace gets quicker and quicker. You meet him thrust for thrust, there’s a low fopping sound as his balls make contact with your puckered lips, pressing right up against you each time you bottom out.

Jungkook’s eyes are glued to the sight of your pretty pink rim hugging his cock tight each time he backstrokes. His cock is covered in a sheen of slick and he swears every time he pushes back in he comes back out with more.

“So messy,” he lays his thumb over your other puckered hole, “hear that?” He grunts, “Sloppy lil cunt taking me so well, got you creaming for me.”

Jungkook’s breath hitches when his thumb accidentally slips through the tight barrier and into your ass. You loudly mewl and buck your hips in surprise, it doesn’t hurt but it feels weird..weird in a good way though.

“Oh, you like that don’t you?” He licks his lips, “Baby loves having her holes filled up doesn’t she?”

You moan in response and bury your face in the pillow with muffled cries. The pleasure shoots up your spine and has you curling in on yourself. Your cunt throbs like crazy now and everything somehow feels ten times better than before.

“Answer me.” Jungkook slaps your cheek rather hard.

“Mmph–y-yes..!” You whimper despite the pillow being in your mouth.

“Yea,” he laughs as he suddenly snaps his hips up, “you love it don’t you? Can’t get enough of this cock.” He plows into you with repeated thrusts, each one jostling you up the bed and sending you into a pleasure hazed mind.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as Jungkook grips you by the hip with one hand and slams you back onto his cock. Your toes curl from the intensity of his cock slamming into your g-spot while his thumb fills your ass. The heat coiling in your tummy has you squirming and whimpering.

“Too much? Where you goin?” You don’t realize you’re actively moving away from him till his cock threatens to slip out, “You can take it baby, don’t run.” He laughs low while dragging you right back onto his cock.

In fact he follows you down till you’re laying flat on the bed and his thumb slips out of your puckered hole, “Gonna cum? Hm?” He lays flat over your back and hooks his chin over your shoulder, “C’mon, don’t go stupid on me.” He smacks your cheek gently a couple of times.

“Yes..!” You gasp breathily, “S-So, so close..” Your voice sounds wobbly and garbled, and the shaking in your thighs doesn’t stop.

Jungkook coos, “So close,” he buries his face in the side of your neck and leaves marks of his own there, “go on, cum on this dick.”

Your lips part and you let out a high-pitched mewl, your pussy spasms around him with your cunt squeezing and massaging his cock. Your eyes slip shut and you slump against the bed with a whine, the orgasm took the life out of you.

“Fuuckk,” he sighs as he slows down, grinding his cock in and out of the mess between your thighs, “good girl,” he groans softly until he comes to a stop and stills.

His cock throbs and twitches, spurt after spurt of cum filling you to the brim. You can feel some of it slide out with globs of your own slick. Jungkook hums deeply and gives your ass a pat of appreciation, “Shower?” He asks softly.

“Mm-hmm.” You nod still face down in the sheets.

“Mm-hm.” Jungkook copies while laughing to himself as he slips out of your cunt with a lewd squelch. You don’t even have the energy to fight with him right now, you’re just ready for bed at this point.

+

You can’t help the little yawn that escapes as you turn your face to tuck yourself into Jungkook’s side. Whose idea was it to take a roadtrip to Busan, you don’t know but you’re barely even awake after that rough fucking.

You and Jungkook had opted to sit in the back away from everyone and enjoy each other’s company instead. Jungkook’s hand came to rest over your thigh like that’s his permanent spot.

So far the ride is peaceful, Yoongi’s managed to successfully get you all out of the city and onto the highway (thanks to Namjoon’s excellent navigation skills). In front of you Jimin’s knocked out while Taehyung watches something on his phone. Namjoon’s talking with Yoongi about something you can’t bring yourself to care for.

You can feel your eyelids getting heavier by the second and it feels like you’re about to slip into the best sleep ever when Jungkook stops you. Not literally, but it still feels like it with the way he slides his hand up your bare thigh.

“Hm?” You sleepily look up wondering what on Earth he was up to now.

Jungkook pats you, “C’mere, want you on my lap baby.” He mutters as quietly as he can.

You rub your eyes and slip yourself on to his lap, tucking your chin over his shoulder and squeezing your thighs on either side of him. God bless that you chose to wear your thin sleeping shorts and slutty juicy sweater, Jungkook can just about feel your perky tits through the soft material.

“Shh.. not a peep or else I’m gonna gag you with your panties.” He mumbles low in your ear, stroking over your back to keep you calm.

“Jungkookie–”

“Jungkookie needs you to shut the fuck up, can you do that for me?” He squeezes your ass and kneads both cheeks rather roughly, “Good girl.”

“If they look, I’m not stopping. So if I were you I’d keep quiet baby, unless you want Joon and them to know how much of a cock hungry slut you are.”

He sounds so fucking calm but his words are the complete opposite, you find yourself holding in your desperate whines. “Can you..?”

“Can I what?” He slips his hand under your shorts and tugs it to the side alongside your panties, “Hm?”

You bite your lip and lift your hips, “Want something in me, I feel so empty Kook..” You breathe out and wrap your arms around his neck.

Through the drowsiness you faintly make out his soft curses as he whispers under his breath. Jungkook pokes at your slit and slips his fingers through your messy folds.

“Take my cock out,” he mumbles and you happily reach between the two of you to slip your hand into his sweats.

His cock throbs when your soft hand wraps around it, he has to bite his lip when you dig your thumb into the slit and swipe over the messy head. “Don’t tease..” He grunts with a small sharp smack to your ass.

You lift your hips and with his help manage to slip his cock through your dewy folds. You blindly slap the tip against your slicked up hole, the tip catching on your rim.

“Slow,” he sounds calm and collected but the way he swallows harshly tells you otherwise.

You bite your moans back and push yourself until your ass is meeting his thighs. The heat in your belly pools and your poor clit throbs. Is it you or the car feels hotter?

You hide your face in his neck and suck over old and new hickeys you’ve left these past days. Jungkook relaxes into the seat and sighs, luckily it doesn’t sound like it’s out of the ordinary.

“You can sleep now.” Jungkook off-handedly mumbles while closing his eyes, leaving you utterly speechless. You’re not entirely surprised given his little track record of being mean and shit.

“G’night..” You softly mumble and kiss his cheek, you lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes. Maybe if you’re a good girl he’ll make you cum later on..yeah, that sounds amazing, you smile in your sleep and drift off into dreamland with a cunt full of cock.

.

“So hot..” You softly mumble while fanning yourself with a make-shift fan.

Everyone but Namjoon went out today to explore the town and shit. You opted to stay back and wait for the sun to die down to go out later. Namjoon said something about keeping you company so you didn’t mind.

Here you are laying on the ground with your legs thrown up on the couch over Namjoon’s lap. Your pretty babydoll dress rides up your thighs and you occasionally catch Namjoon’s gaze drifting down. What a sight is it to see—veiny big hands plastered over your soft ankles toying with your cherry charm anklet.

“Namjoon, if penguins are related to the bird family, how come they can't fly?” You softly say while looking at him through your lashes.

“I dunno,” He shrugs while stroking over your foot, “environmental and evolutionary reasons maybe?”

You pout and tilt your head back to watch the TV, “I think they’re cute.”

“Why don’t you find one and give it a kiss then?” Namjoon smirks in amusement, “Maybe Jungkookie can save you if it tries to attack you or something.”

“Not funny.” You whine kicking your sock-clad foot at him, but he catches it and tugs on your foot.

You squeal softly as he ends up dragging you upwards just a tiny bit, “Owie let go, you’re squeezing my freaking bone.” You giggle.

Namjoon lets your foot go with a laugh, “My bad, my bad.” He raises his hands in surrender, “You can tell your Jungkookie to kiss it all better when he comes back yeah?” He grins.

“Ugh you’re also mean.” You huff while sitting up feeling light headed cause you were laying on the ground for so long. “You and Jungkook.” You mumble and climb onto the couch with him.

Jungkook finds you two like that. You’re tangled up with Namjoon side by side, legs thrown over his lap as he strokes over your soft thigh. Namjoon’s mindlessly scrolling through his phone and you’re just you watching some animal documentary on the TV.

“Hey.” Jungkook greets while falling on another sofa.

“Back already,” Namjoon hums, “where’s the others?”

“Out, they went to the beach cause Jimin wanted to go. It was fuckin’ hot so I came back, we didn’t do much but walk around the tour shops and shit.”

You lift a leg in the air to admire your pretty anklet, “Did you bring me anything?” You softly ask.

“Yeah, it’s in the bag.” Jungkook replies calmly as he fishes his phone out and does whatever the hell he usually does on that thing.

With both men preoccupied with their phones you decide to head outside to sunbathe. God bless the airbnb for having a private pool. “Where you going?” Jungkook mumbles, not looking up from his screen.

“Sunbathing.” You curtly reply and head outside through the large patio doors.

It’s hot as hell but you don’t care as you kick your socks off and strip out of your babydoll dress. You happily lay your towel out on the grass and set up a mini umbrella. Once you're happy with your setup you lay on your back and slip your heart shaped glasses on.

You can hear Namjoon and Jungkook talking in the background faintly, something about Sujin but you honestly don’t bring yourself to care much. Along the lines Jungkook mentions Sujin texting him again, Namjoon says “oh shit really” and then Jungkook tells him everything.

“..giving… chance… again..?” You can’t make out the entire convo. You crack a slow smile and turn over on your belly, legs kicked up and your feet in the air as you call out to the boys.

“Can someone bring me my phone?” Your voice soft and velvety, you slip your glasses up on your head and flutter your lashes, “Please?”

Jungkook stops talking and looks over the coffee table before stepping out with your phone in hand. “Look at you all cute and shit, enjoying your sunbathing?” Jungkook asks as he squats down in front of you.

“Yep, it’d be funner if you and Joonie joined me though.” You softly hum while tilting your head up and letting Jungkook lay a kiss over your soft lips.

“Yeah..?” He murmurs low. It’s glaringly obvious you have this man wrapped around your little fingers. It’s like you didn’t even have to try with him.

“I’ll be right back.” He says and disappears into the house.

You roll over on your back with a satisfied smile, slipping your glasses back on as you hum, “The boy is mine, I can’t wait to try him,”

+

Maybe Jungkook’s the one trying you right now. It’s not even nine am yet..

Your thighs encase his head like a pair of soft earmuffs, he’s got his tongue dipped between your messy folds with your pussy stuffed in his face. Jungkook doesn’t seem to care though, he’s got his strong big arms wrapped around your thighs as he holds you down and makes you take it.

Your clit’s just as sensitive as every other part of you, and Jungkook just loves to make you shake. He traces the tip of his tongue over your sensitive bud, flicking it back and forth with quick strokes. It has your lips parting and your head leaning back from the cloudy pleasure.

“Oh..” You roll your hips upward into his eager mouth, something that greatly pleases Jungkook.

He slips his tongue lower and flicks it upward to get a taste of all that creamy slick gushing from your empty cunt. You slap a hand over your mouth and whimper when he goes back to your poor clit. This time though he wraps his lips around it and gives it a harsh, mean suck.

Jungkook flicks his dark eyes up to look at you, just watching as you lose yourself on his tongue. The way your tummy goes taut and your body stiff when he grazes his teeth over your clit sends a dark thrill down his spine. He wants to see more, so he’s going to get more.

“J-Jungkook!” You cry out as he stuffs his fingers knuckle deep into your pussy.

There’s a loud squelch each time he slaps his fingers up into your greedy cunt. Your pussy’s literally leaking as small dribbles of squirt oozes out with each passing second. You’re shaking, thighs struggling to stay open and not clamp down on his head. Your lower half shakes slightly from his rough movements and your pussy makes these nasty wet sounds.

“Wait,” you sob and reach down to grip his hair, “ ‘m so close..! P-Please, please,” you’re not sure what you’re begging for—go, stop?

The heat in your tummy builds quickly and you’re teetering on the edge of a powerful orgasm when he suddenly stops. All at once both his fingers and mouth are gone as he pulls away while harshly panting. You can’t even complain but the intensity has your heart racing with excitement and fear.

“Okay?” He quietly asks while stroking your thigh gently.

You take a couple of seconds to catch your breath, meekly nodding as you bite your lip, “ ‘m okay.” You softly reply.

He climbs up the bed and hovers over you, necklace dangling in your face as you stare up at him with glossy eyes. “Kiss?” You softly say while parting your pillowy soft lips. He’s very much happy to oblige of course..

You lazily make out, your lips feel swollen and they’re glossy from spit. He doesn’t let you pull away, he’s quick to chase after your lips and reel you back in with a hand to the back of your neck. His hand tightly grips your hair and teasingly tugs because he knows you’re a little slut for it.

You moan into his mouth and needily press yourself closer to him, hooking your thigh over his hip just so you could press your needy pussy against him. Everything feels hot and you don’t like it, Jungkook’s not helping with the way he drops his other hand down to your ass cheek, gripping it tight and using his grip to yank you even closer.

Body to body, you’re rolling your hips up to feel the tent in his boxers. It’s mouth watering when the curve of his thick cock presses into your inner thigh, so close to where you need him the most..

Jungkook tightens his grip on your hip, it’s bruising even as he presses himself into you and rubs his cock over your soaked pussy. The rough friction has your toes curling and another needy gasp escaping. He pulls away from the kiss with a wild look in his eye, he pants quietly as he shoves his boxers off and tosses them somewhere.

“Hold yourself open for me baby,” he holds his heavy cock in his hand, stroking over it slowly as he looks down at your glistening cunt, “just like that..” He mumbles darkly.

You hook your arms around your thighs and pull them up to your chest so that your pussy is laid out bare for him. You bite your lip in anticipation and try your best to stay still when he taps the tip over your swollen clit.

“Look so pretty like this,” he muses as he slips his cock in inch by inch, “prettier down here too.” He grins as he lays his thumb over your clit and rubs it side to side slowly.

You let out a long “mm” as his cock fills you over and over again, filling you in the right places combined with his gentle strokes over your clit. He’s got you dripping even more as his cock re-surfaces covered with your creamy slick.

Jungkook rolls his hips into yours slowly, you can hear the quiet grunts and moans slip from his lips as he remains focused on the spot where you’re connected. His face is scrunched in pleasure, and his thumb becomes jerky as he messily swipes over your bud.

You get the urge to ride the fuck out of him, he’s been nothing but doting and now you want to return the favor. Always the giver but never the receiver, and you’re going to change that.

“Jungkookie,” you softly sigh as his eyes snap up to your face, “wanna ride you,” you pout, “can I pretty please?” You purposely squeeze around his cock as he back strokes slowly.

“Yeah,” he softly breathes out and lifts you up into his lap as he switches places with you.

You huff as his cock somehow slips deeper in the new position, “No, you lay back and let me do it.” His eyes widened slightly at your demanding tone, “I wanna make you feel good too..” You pout and wiggle around in his lap.

Jungkook bites his lip and lets his hand fall to your thighs, “Fuck–okay, yeah,” he lays his head back on the pillow and swallows harshly as you smile down at him and lay a soft kiss on his lips.

“Fuck,” he groans when you turn around in his lap to ride him reverse cowgirl. He lays his hands over the fat of your ass and smacks each cheek repeatedly while you grind yourself in his lap.

Your moans spill from your lips as you arch your back and roll your hips back and forth. Behind you Jungkook sounds like he’s having the time of his life as he holds your ass tightly in both hands. The noises he makes only fuel your desire more as you rock yourself in his lap.

“Mm–fills me up so good,” you tilt your head back with a teasing smile, “can feel it so deep in my pussy.”

Jungkook growls low and spanks you harder, “Yeah? You like knowing you’re the only one taking my cock like this huh,” he smirks, “ ‘s all yours baby.”

You huff softly and look at him over your shoulder with puppy eyes, “Mine only.” You nod, “Not hers,” you roughly slap your hips back, catching him off guard as he grunts, “Right?”

“Only you.” Jungkook sighs as he tugs you back so that you’re grinding over his cock the way he likes, “Always yours.” He murmurs.

You smile happily and begin bouncing in his lap, your ass claps against his pelvis as low fopping noises build up. The bed creaks a little and your skin smacks together as you get a little wild with it.

Your moans rise in volume alongside his as the two of you lose yourselves in your rough fucking. Your pussy clamps down when the tip of his cock brushes over your g-spot repeatedly. You have to put your hands on the bed for support as you whimper and grind quickly on his lap.

“F-Fuck..” You whimper low as your thighs begin to tremble again.

Jungkook throws his head back with a low groan as he holds your hips tightly, “Fuck keep going baby, almost there,” he whispers breathlessly, “you can do it.”

You let out a cry and slam yourself on his lap until you go still as your orgasm hits you out of nowhere. It’s mind blowing as your cunt tightens up and a wave of hot pleasure comes crashing down on you. You shake in his lap and whimper out a garbled version of his name.

Jungkook quietly moans as he holds you still and bucks his hips up a couple of times until he’s filling you with his cum. His cock twitches and pulses through his orgasm, dully reminding you that you’re on planet earth still and you need to come down from your high.

“My pussy hurts.” You softly whine while looking back at him.

“My pussy hurts,” he mocks softly, “but who just got the dicking of their life hm? You did.” He pokes your cheeks and brings you back so that you’re laying with him, “You okay?” He chuckles.

You hide your face in his neck and nod, “Nap now, food later?” You softly ask.

“Yeah, I like the sound of that.” He grins.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan @lilyflowerguk @sayokodiary @babycandy111 @looneybleus @ash07128 @gyukookswhore @rrosiitas

[strang3lov3]

Jingled Balls

What has four paws and ruins not only Joel’s Christmas, but his orgasm, too?

Alternatively, you and your cat stay with your dad’s best friend over Christmas.

Tags - dbf!joel, smut, age gap, unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, JOEL JORKS IT IN THE SHOWER, sexual tension, blow jobs, rough/angry sex, first aid, Joel is all grumpy and the target of all sorts of misadventures including but not limited to cat claws in Joel's balls and his butt cheeks, cats pushing shit off of Joel's counter, destroying Joel's house, etc. Some mentions of blood and injury but it’s not bad, I promise. 6.8k words. A/N - this fic is based on a true story of real crimes that have been committed by my dear Gizmo. Names have been changed out of respect for the victims. @endlessthxxghts thank you for editing babyyy i'd be lost without ya

My submission for @beefrobeefcal’s festive failure! I hope everyone has a safe holiday!!

December 20

Joel twiddles his fingers as he waits by a row of empty seats at the baggage claim area of the Austin airport, trying not to pace. He got here too early, been waiting a couple hours for your flight to land. He just couldn’t sit still at home. Already twice cleaned the house top to bottom, fluffed the guest room pillows three times each. 

You. You’re staying with Joel this Christmas. It was a last minute thing; your family, well…they forgot about you. It wasn’t intentional, all accidental. Your parents offered up every and any extra amount of room they have to extended family and in doing so, gave away your old room. Whoops. 

And so Joel got a call from your dad, his best friend. Joel was supposed to spend Christmas with your family anyway, so your dad reached out to Joel to ask if he’d be willing to take you in while you visit Austin for the week. Joel, of course, didn’t hesitate to say yes. He’d do anything for you, the sweet little girl he watched grow up. He’s missed you a lot since you left home. 

Finally, there you are. He’d recognize your smile anywhere. You wave excitedly at Joel, doing your little jog to greet him. Joel takes long steps to meet you halfway, in total disbelief at how grown up you are. Where did the time go? It was only yesterday that you were barely tall enough to reach Joel’s waist, and that was standing on your toes. He remembers teaching you to ride a bike and cleaning up your scraped knees with hydrogen peroxide, and after he bandaged you up he’d let you punch him in the arm as hard as you could to make it square. Look at you now - a beautiful woman, all grown up. 

You set your carry-on on the ground and wrap your arms around Joel, squeezing him so fucking tight it steals the oxygen right from his lungs, not that he minds. But the way you kiss his cheek makes his skin burn and his heart pound harder.

“Joel,” you whisper excitedly, hugging him tighter.

Joel lets out a wheezy chuckle. “Hey, kiddo. I missed ya,” he tells you. “S’been too fuckin’ long.” 

“Indeed,” you agree. 

Joel notices the suitcases from your flight begin to come out on the conveyor belt and squeezes your side twice to alert you, “Better go grab your suitcase, hm?”

“Oh, yeah. Duh. Here–” you laugh, pulling away from Joel to bend down. You pick up your carry on and put it in Joel’s arms, and he grunts at the surprising weight. “Hold this. Be right back.”

Joel inspects the boxy bag you placed in his hands. He turns it to the side and behind a mesh screen are two big green eyes, all wide and untrusting. “Uhhh…” Joel murmurs, further inspecting as he raises an eyebrow. It’s a cat - black fur all puffed up, growling at Joel as its eyes dart left and right. The cat hisses at Joel, causing him to nearly drop the carrier. 

You greet Joel once more, this time with your suitcase rolling behind you. “Uh, hey. Who’s this?” Joel asks, suspicion lacing his tone. 

“Gizmo!”

“Huh. Gizmo.” The cat hisses again at Joel, startling him. “You didn’t tell me that Gizmo here would be a guest of mine.” 

“Oh, I know. I’m so sorry, Joel. It was all so last minute - I found out I was staying with you and then I called kitty daycare,” you begin explaining, Joel leading the way out of the airport and to his truck. He takes your suitcase and carries both that and the carrier. “And get this - they told me they wouldn’t allow me to board Gizmo because he was too bad the last time. Can you believe that?”

“Yeah, how ‘bout that,” Joel mumbles, not so surprised.

“I know. It’s bullshit. But don’t worry about Gizmo, Joel. You won’t even know he’s there.”

“M’not really a cat person, you know,” Joel says. “Pretty sure I’m allergic to the bastards, actually.” 

Joel puts your luggage in the backseat of his truck, then opens the door for you to get in the passenger side. “Watch your step,” he warns, giving you his hand as you slide in. Joel closes the door, rounds the front of his truck and joins you, promptly starting the vehicle. The loud engine makes Gizmo cry. 

“So…” Joel begins, turning onto the busy highway. “How’s it all going? How’s work and whatnot?”

“Good,” you answer. “I don’t know. You know - work’s work. You?”

“Yeah, I hear that,” Joel replies. “Work’s work and Tommy’s…Tommy.” His joke earns him a little giggle from you. “What else is new? Got a boyfriend?” You give Joel a look, and he shrugs. “What?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, old man?” you tease, talking over Gizmo’s crying. “No, I do not. What about you, Joel, do you have a boyfriend?”

“Cute. Yeah, I do actually. Your father.” Another giggle. Joel laughs too, and he has to fight himself to keep his eyes on the road. You just look so fucking beautiful. 

Gizmo whines some more, and Joel looks both irritated and concerned. “It’s okay, Gizmo,” you coo, reaching back to touch his carrier, though the effort does little to soothe him. Joel’s truck chimes when you unbuckle your seatbelt and throw your torso over the front seat, your ass right next to Joel’s head makes him cough and clear his throat. 

“What the f-”

Thump. You land in the backseat and open Gizmo’s carrier to pet him and calm him. “It’s alright, Giz- oh, Gizmo, did you have an accident?” Joel’s mouth drops as his eyes dart frantically between the road ahead and the rearview mirror to watch you in the backseat. He’s got a bad taste in his mouth about this.  

Now at home, Joel listens to the awful sounds of Gizmo wailing and your shrieks as you bathe the cat after his accident. He had to clean the backseat of his truck, but he didn’t tell you that. When you’re done washing Gizmo, you wrap him in one of Joel’s nicer towels, the one he set aside for you. 

It’s evening when you come downstairs, clutching your soggy cat in his towel. You’re already in your pajamas, and Joel’s at the door paying the delivery person for the pizza he took the liberty of ordering. 

“Ooh, is that pizza?”

“Sure is. Plain cheese and pepperoni. Sit down, I’ll serve ya,” Joel says. “What would you like?”

“Cheese. Please and thank you.”

You smile as you sit down on Joel’s couch, scratching Gizmo’s damp little head as he purrs happily in your arms. With hands full with plates and cans of pop, Joel makes a disgusted sort of face as you kiss Gizmo’s nose. “Here,” he says, handing you a plate. Gizmo hops off of your lap. 

“Thank you.” You take a can of pop from Joel as well, cracking it open as Joel sits right next to you. He turns the TV on, Die Hard already a quarter through on whatever channel his TV was set to. It’ll do. 

You and Joel eat pizza together, talking here and there until the conversation fades away and only pizza crust remains on your plates, which are haphazardly set on the coffee table in front of you. At some point, you’ve slid closer to Joel, now pressed against his side with your head resting on his shoulder, dozing off to sleep. He smiles warmly, you poor thing. All worn out after a long day of travel. He doesn’t mind being your pillow.

Scrrraatchk, skrecht. Joel hears the odd, rhythmic noise of…something. “Hey, hon–” Joel wiggles his shoulder. “What’s that noise?”

“Mm?”

“That sound, it’s–”

Out of the corner of his eye, Joel catches Gizmo scratching on his leather recliner - his favorite recliner ever. La-Z-Boy just doesn't make them like they used to. “Oh, god bless it. The fuckin’ cat’s scratchin’ on my chair.”

“Oh, shit. Psst,” you whisper, patting the couch to get Gizmo’s attention, who gives you and Joel that deer in the headlights look. “Knock it off. You know better than that, baby,” you scold in the sweetest, most indulgent tone. Joel rolls his eyes. This is getting old already. “Sorry, Joel. He’s just nervous, trying to make himself feel at home.” 

“Mm,” Joel grumbles. “You know, this is exactly why people get their cats declawed. You never considered that for Heathcliff there?”

“No,” you deadpan. “It’s inhumane.” 

Joel raises his hands in surrender, then eyes Gizmo as he walks around the perimeter of the living room, stopping to sniff and bat at Joel’s Christmas tree. “Watch him,” he warns, voice dripping with irritation. 

You smack his arm. “Oh, relax, old man. He’s not gonna do anything. Pretty tree, though.” 

“Thanks. Decorated it myself.” 

“I can tell. It’s missing ornaments in the back,” you tease. Joel rolls his eyes, though unoffended. “Still. It’s nice to be around a Christmas tree. I don’t have one this year.” 

“You don’t?”

“Mm-mm. Gizmo’s too naughty.” 

Joel turns to look at you, baffled by your cognitive dissonance. He just shakes his head, and you go right back to almost-snuggling him. 

Gizmo loses interest in Joel’s Christmas tree and continues making his rounds, checking out the window and pawing at the blinds, which makes Joel cringe. Before Joel can say anything you shiver, tucking yourself closer into his side. “You cold, kiddo?”

“A little. But I’m fine.” 

“Bullshit.” Joel nudges you away from him so he can get up, then pulls a blanket from a basket on the floor. It’s one of those fleece tie blankets, with the repeated logo of the Dallas Cowboys patterned on one side, plain navy on the other. You made this blanket for him, actually. Years and years ago. It’s his favorite - used to be soft at one point, but it’s all scratchy and worn now, well-loved by Joel. He drapes it over his lap and holds one end up, inviting you to get cozy underneath it. But before you do, Gizmo jumps on Joel’s lap. “Awwwh,” you murmur, smiling warmly at your cat. “He stole the blanket.” 

“Yeah, but s’alright. We’ll jus’ move him,” Joel says, reaching for Gizmo. 

“No, no, he’s fine,” you insist, petting Gizmo’s back. “I think he likes you.” 

“Oh, great,” Joel says sarcastically. Gizmo curls up happily on Joel’s lap, kneading the blanket right over Joel’s crotch, which is an uncomfortable sensation. Joel winces and grunts when Gizmo paws his balls. “Watch it, you little shit.” 

“Be nice,” you scold, swatting Joel in the arm.

“Uh-huh.”

You and Joel finish the movie and start another, all with Gizmo sleeping happily on Joel’s lap. At some point, you’ve curled yourself up and are now sleeping on your side, feet pressed against Joel’s thigh. “Alright. Time for you to fuck off.” Joel pushes Gizmo off his lap, earning a disgruntled meow from the cat. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, shooing him away before pulling the fleece blanket over your sleeping form. “If it were up to me, you’d be sleepin’ in the garage. So don’t you wake her,” he warns, wagging a finger in Gizmo’s direction. “Asshole.” 

December 21

A bit of golden light peeks through Joel’s curtain, gently waking him up. He yawns and checks his digital alarm clock, though he can barely make out the time. Meh. It’s sunrise, whenever that is. 

You’re probably still sleeping, Joel guesses, so he’ll grab the first shower. If you’re anything like when you were younger - and you are - if Joel doesn’t shower first, he’ll never get any hot water. He doesn't understand your unique inability to ever shower under 45 minutes, but he can work around it. 

Groaning, springs squeaking with his shifting weight, Joel gets out of bed. He takes lazy, heavy steps toward the bathroom, hair sticking up in six different directions with bags under his deep brown eyes. He turns on the water and lets it warm up for a moment, grunting as he tugs his boxers down his thighs, erection slapping against his tummy. He’s hard as a fucking rock - morning wood. 

You. You shouldn’t be in his head, but you are. Joel dreamed of you all last night, doing all sorts of filthy things with you, to you. It’s probably nothing - you’re a pretty girl, and Joel’s not gotten laid in however long. Biology. Inappropriate. Wrong. But biology, nonetheless. 

Joel steps into the tub, facing the showerhead. He wets his hair, water trickling down his broad, freckled shoulders. He first scrubs his hair using some 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, tangling his fingers in the sudsy strands, then rinses and finger-combs his hair back. Next, he grabs a bar of soap and lathers it in a rag, washing over the broad planes of his chest, his soft tummy, all down his legs, then rinses and wrings out the rag. 

His left hand on the wall, right hand palms his cock. Joel wraps his fingers around himself, sliding his hand all the way down, squeezing the base of his shaft. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, dragging his hand back up. 

Joel fucks his fist with abandon, and in his head, he’s picturing you. “Oh goddamn, kiddo,” he moans, eyes squeezed shut. Your eyes are all big and wide with your mouth full of his cock, drooling down his shaft and onto his balls. Or you’re on top of him, hands on his chest as you fuck yourself on his cock. He’s behind you, big hands gripping your waist as he pounds against your ass, leaning over you to lick and taste the skin between your shoulder blades. 

With his eyes closed as he pumps his cock, what Joel doesn’t see is Gizmo. Gizmo, wedged between the shower curtain and the liner, sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, tail swinging wildly back and forth. His pupils are big as droplets of water roll down the clear liner. 

Joel’s dick is red and throbbing, his cheeks are flushed pink as he approaches orgasm. “Fu- oh,” he pants, quickly reaching for his damp washrag. He bites the fabric to quiet his noises of pleasure. His brow knits together, the wrinkles on his face handsomely defined as he grimaces when his cock begins to throb. He’s about to fall over the edge when it’s all ruined - a sharp pain in his ass cheek, dragging down his flesh. “AHHH!” Joel screams in both shock and agony, looking for the source of his pain. 

Of fucking course - Gizmo. Gizmo, with his little, fuzzy arm raised high, claws poking through the shower liner and right into Joel’s ass. He’s squirming, stuck like that of course, go figure. “Get the fuck out of here you fuck-” Joel yells, violently shaking the shower curtain. Gizmo sprints out of the shower and around the bathroom in circles, anxiously pawing for any way out. “God fuckin’ - SHIT,” he rages, stomping out of the tub sopping wet and inadvertently kicking Gizmo with every step he takes. Joel frantically opens the bathroom door, wet hands slipping on the handle. “Scram, you fuckin’ asshole,” he spits, watching Gizmo slip out of the bathroom. 

“JOEL?!” 

Gizmo jumps right into your arms, and Joel gawks at you. 

“What did you fucking do to my cat?”

“What did I do?” Joel seethes. “He clawed my fuckin’ ass cheek!” 

Joel can’t believe his eyes. You’re shooting him dirty looks as you kiss Gizmo’s little head, and Gizmo’s headbutting your face in return. He rubs his cheeks on your nose and curls his furry little body into yours, and you pout as you soothe him. “Yeah, sure. Worry about the cat. I’m fuckin’ fine, I guess,” Joel bites, catching a glimpse of a small amount of blood running down his thigh from his ass. 

Joel shuts the door then, and gets back into the shower. He washes the scratch with soap and water, wincing at the sting. When he’s done with his shower - and only his shower, as it’s now too late for him to make himself come, Joel apologizes to you for losing his temper. 

“Well, don’t apologize to me, Joel. Apologize to him.”

Joel pauses, jaw twitching, balling his hands into fists as he glares at Gizmo purring contentedly in your lap. “Sorry.” It’s the most painful, undeserved apology he’s ever had to make.

Between the holidays and your cat, Joel can already tell it’s gonna be a long fucking week. 

December 22

Joel’s current job site isn’t too far from home, so instead of eating a packed sandwich in his truck, he decides to come home one afternoon to make himself something for lunch.

He enters his house through the garage and sees you napping peacefully on his couch, snoring ever so quietly. Your lips are pouting, drooling a little onto his leather couch as the TV plays at a low volume. Joel chuckles quietly, shaking his head. It makes Joel happy to see you comfortable like that, so at home at his house. 

He strolls into the kitchen and opens his refrigerator, grabbing some lunch meat and cheese. He tosses them onto the counter, then grabs a jar of mayonnaise and a loaf of bread sitting on top of the refrigerator, sets those down too. Joel grabs a plate, and when he turns back around, Gizmo’s on the counter. 

“Get down from there,” Joel hisses, shooing away the cat. “Go on, git.” 

Gizmo blinks at him nonchalantly, which pisses Joel off. He knows that fucking cat speaks English. So Joel takes the liberty to shove Gizmo off of the counter, Gizmo landing on all fours with a thump and a discontent meow. “Yeah, shut up. Overgrown fuckin’ rodent.” 

Joel pulls two slices of bread from the loaf and opens the jar of mayonnaise, spreading a thin layer on each piece. He moves the jar out of the way and begins assembling his sandwich, and Gizmo hops right back onto his spot on the counter to stare at Joel.

“Oh, you little…” Joel whispers, trailing off and shaking his head. Joel cuts his sandwich on the diagonal, then begins making another - for you, of course. You always told Joel sandwiches taste better when he makes them. You’re a master fucking manipulator, with Joel wrapped tightly around your finger. 

Gizmo reaches for the cheese. “Don’t even think about it, shithead,” Joel gruffs, swatting his paw away. “The sandwich is for her. Not. You.” 

Joel puts your sandwich in a little baggy and places it in the refrigerator before writing a note for you on a post-it. When he returns to the counter, Gizmo’s surreptitiously dipping his paw into the mayonnaise. “Hey!” Joel snaps, “Get yer filthy goddamn mitts outta there.” 

December 23

It’s late at night when Joel wakes up to a horrible suffocation. His eyes fly open and his heart pounds with the heavy weight on his chest, and in his hypnagogic state, he begins to panic. Fuck, he’s having a heart attack. Confused and scared, he tosses his body with the little strength he has, and that’s when he feels it - two paws rhythmically pressing into his chest, a low purr. 

Gizmo. 

“Get the fuck off of me,” Joel whispers, pushing Gizmo off his chest. 

Gizmo makes a little mrrp noise on the floor, then leaves. Joel rolls his eyes and tosses onto his stomach, then tries to drift off to sleep. 

But he can’t. Joel’s up now, as there’s nothing like a middle of the night panic to jolt the nervous system wide awake. So Joel groans softly as he sits up in bed, yanking the blankets off his body. He takes slow, sleepy steps out of his room and down the stairs, grabbing himself a glass from the cabinet above the sink. “Fuckin’ cat,” he mumbles quietly as he fills the glass with some water. Joel takes a few sips, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of his house. In his living room, he can see some ornaments are strewn across the floor, lights pulled off the branches of his Christmas tree. As if on cue, Gizmo brushes up against Joel’s leg. “I know what you did, you motherfucker,” Joel grumbles, gently pushing Gizmo away with his foot. Joel sets the glass of water down, then makes his way to the living room. 

He first puts the lights back on the tree, and then he gathers the ornaments and places them back on the branches. 

Skrrrch.

Joel looks back to see Gizmo on the counter, nudging Joel’s glass along the surface with a gentle bat of his paw, inching it closer and closer to the edge. “HEY,” Joel whisper-yells, warning the cat, “I fuckin’ dare ya, cat. Jus’ watch what happens.” 

Gizmo makes direct eye contact with Joel as he pushes it off, and it lands with that signature, awful sound of broken glass.

“God bless it.” 

Joel stomps over to Gizmo, who frantically jumps down off the counter and skitters off into another room. Joel chases him down and turns on a light, then corners him and grabs his little body. He cradles the squirming, whining cat and inspects all four paws to make sure he didn’t step on any glass, then tosses him back onto the floor, where Gizmo then runs up the stairs and into Joel’s guest room to join you in a peaceful slumber. 

Joel sweeps up the broken glass, defeated. 

December 24

Joel’s off work for both Christmas Eve and Christmas day, so finally, he gets to spend some time with you. He’s in his pajamas making eggs and toast for you at the stove, and you’re at the kitchen table, sipping on the orange juice Joel poured for you. “Vitamin C,” he’d said. “S’good for ya.” 

Joel plates your eggs, done just how you like them, and butters your toast. “Here ya are, darlin’,” he murmurs, setting down both yours and his plates at the table. 

“Thank you, Joel,” you smile. Gizmo’s weaving in and out between your feet on the ground. With the side of your fork, you cut off a small bite of your eggs and drop it on the ground, smiling at the way Gizmo darts out to eat it. Joel just watches, completely dumbfounded. 

“You and that cat,” he sighs. “You know, he’s been causin’ me all sorts ‘a trouble all week.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” you argue, leaning down to scratch Gizmo between his ears. 

“Well, you should, ‘cause he’s the fuckin’ devil. Broke a glass last night.” 

“Did not.”

“Did too. An’ he’s been fuckin’ with my tree,” Joel adds.

You roll your eyes. “It’s just a little cat, Joel. Are you being bullied by a tiny little cat?”

“As a matter ‘a fact, yes. I am.” 

You and Joel spend the rest of the day relaxing and watching Christmas episodes of sitcoms together. Joel has you wrap his presents, claiming it’s what you owe him for allowing you and your devil cat to stay. 

In the late afternoon, you and Joel get ready to go to your parents’ house for Christmas Eve dinner. Joel wears a dark green flannel and runs a comb through his hair, and you put on a nice dress, one that hugs your curves beautifully. 

You knock twice on his bedroom door. “Joel?”  

“Yeah, kiddo. C’mon in.” 

“Just wondering if you can zip me,” you ask quietly, spinning around for Joel to pull the zipper up your dress. 

“Can do,” he answers. He puts a hand on your waist and tugs the zipper all the way up, then smoothes out the fabric. “Y’look beautiful,” he tells you. “Know that?”

“Joooel,” you murmur bashfully, elongating his name. 

“I mean it,” Joel says, spinning you around and pushing a bit of hair out of your eyes with his pinky finger and smiling at you, which makes you all flustered. Joel clears his throat then, ushering you out of his room and down the stairs. “M’nervous about leavin’ that cat of yours all alone, you know. If we get home from this and that asshole destroyed my fuckin’–”

You squeeze Joel’s arm. “Relax,” you tell him, but your words do little to soothe the man. The whole time at dinner, all Joel can talk with your parents about is how awful Gizmo is. All the trouble he’s caused, and how you think the little bastard can do no wrong. “Your daughter feeds him,” Joel tells your dad, watching your reaction. You scoff and roll your eyes. “Right from her plate.” 

The night comes and goes, much like it always does. Christmas comes so much faster than it ever used to, and it doesn’t last as long. Joel drives you both home and to Joel’s surprise, his house is in one piece. But not the present he got you. 

“Goddamn it,” Joel grumbles, seeing the gift bag he left under his tree for you in shreds. He picked out a little black cat ornament for you, and thought you’d like it. He put some cat treats in the bag too. Go fucking figure that Gizmo ruins it. 

You help Joel clean up the mess of shredded paper and plastic, all the cat treats are, of course, eaten. “Fuckin’ cat’s probably pukin’ in my bed,” Joel gruffs. 

You put your ornament on Joel’s tree and squeeze his shoulder sympathetically. “You’re thoughtful,” you tell him. 

Joel smiles with his lips pressed together. He’s so ready for this week to be over. He’ll miss you - god, will he miss you when you’re gone, but he will not miss your asshole fucking cat. “How ‘bout another Christmas movie, hm?”

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling. 

“M’takin’ requests. Got any?” Joel opens his entertainment center cabinet to show you his array of DVD’s, the Christmas movies all already set out. 

“This one.” You tap the Bad Santa DVD case. “‘Cause he’s hot.” 

“Who is? Billy Bob Thornton?”

“Mhm,” you nod, smirking. 

Joel makes a disgusted face and gives you a look, but puts the movie in the DVD player anyway. Some of the vulgar jokes make Joel blush, which is uncomfortable for him and entertaining for you. 

When the movie’s over, it’s time to go to bed. For real, too. You and Joel have to be at your parents’ house again in the morning and will likely spend the entire day there, getting no alone time or space from anyone. Joel bids you goodnight and kisses you on the cheek, then heads to the bathroom for a night time shower. He doesn’t wanna fight you for it in the morning. 

Joel keeps only the night light on in the bathroom. He’s exhausted, eyes are dry and stinging with tiredness. He pulls off his t-shirt, unbuckles his belt and slides his jeans and boxers down his legs together, then toes off his socks, yawning as he scratches his balls. In a sleepy haze, Joel gets into the tub and turns on the shower. 

He’s met with that sharp, awful, excruciating pain of claws in his skin, only it’s not in his thighs. Not in his ass. 

His fucking balls. Your cat’s claws are in Joel’s balls, and dragging down his sack. Joel feels like puking as it happens, and at the same time he’s being blasted with cold water as Gizmo panics and scratches his body further. It’s like a cartoon, when two characters fight and it���s just pure chaos - a cloud of screaming and other concerning noises, concerning noises that startle you awake.

“FUUUUUUCK!!” Joel yells, scrambling to get out of the tub. He clutches his scrotum and wraps a towel haphazardly around his waist, feeling dizzy as he bleeds into his palm. “Fuck - y–” 

You fly out of bed and sprint to the bathroom, where Gizmo is clawing at the bottom of the door. “Joel?” you knock frantically. “Joel!”

Joel unlocks the door and Gizmo sprints out, soaking wet and leaving a path of water droplets in his wake. Joel’s white as a fucking ghost. “Joel?”

“H- he-” Joel can’t even get the words out. Still holding his towel in place, Joel checks the palm of his hand and sees a mess of crimson. “Oh my god,” he says with a weakened voice. 

“Joel, what the fuck? What happened?!” 

Joel shakes his head, vision going spotty as he waddles to his bedroom and sits on the bed. You follow him, shutting the door behind you and turning the light on in his room. “Joel.” 

Joel says nothing, only peeks slightly at his crotch. He does his best to protect his modesty with you there but fuck, he’s gonna faint. And unfortunately, you might see more than you should, should that happen.

“Did he scratch you?” Joel only nods, swallowing thickly. “Okay, alright. Where’s your first aid stuff?”

“Bathroom vanity,” Joel chokes out. 

You hurry to the bathroom and grab Joel’s first aid kit, then return quickly to him. 

Joel has a strong stomach, however, the sight of his mangled scrotum is too much for his heart to take. If he looks, he might puke and faint and that’ll make everything worse. “You gotta do it,” he tells you, urgency in his voice. “I can’t look. Cat fuckin’ butchered me. I’m a eunuch.”

“Okay, okay,” you whisper, sitting beside Joel. You take his hand in yours, the one that’s clutching his towel shut. He’s shaking, trembling, and you move it to the side so you can open his towel. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” Joel says. 

“You’re fine,” you reply calmly, though in all honesty you’re pretty nervous too. “I’m gonna open up your towel, okay?”

“Yeah, go ‘head and do it. M’so sorry, kid. Jesus christ,” Joel groans. He leans back so that he’s laying flat on the bed, palms pressed into his eyes as his tummy rises and falls with panicked breaths. 

You open the towel and asses the injuries. 

It’s not bad. 

Really. 

It’s not. But you still wouldn’t trade places with Joel, right now. There’s quite a few scratches here and there, some deeper and longer than others. Nothing a little cleanup and some antibiotic ointment can’t fix. “Okay, Joel. I’m gonna be right back, I need to get a soapy rag.” Joel gives you a weak thumbs up. 

You run the water on warm and lather a clean rag with some soap, then return to Joel to wash the scratches. “Might sting,” you tell him, dragging the rag gently over his sack. You do your best to remain professional or something of the sort, to ignore how Joel’s cock thickens at your touch. His thick thatch of hair spattered around the base of his dick, gray, wiry hairs sprinkled amongst the brown. He’s thicker than you would have guessed, longer too, curved so beautifully. And his thighs - gorgeous, toned. Belly is soft, arms are strong. He’s gorgeous, all laid out like this.

Joel’s…Joel is feeling every emotion. Embarrassment, because his best friend’s daughter is between his thighs and carefully tending to his lacerated balls. Rage, because her fucking shithead cat is the reason he’s in this predicament. Aroused, because he’s only a man, and you’re too fucking pretty for him to not get hard from your touch. 

“Are you doing okay, Joel?” you whisper.  

“Ask me later.” Joel wipes some sweat from his brow. “Sorry about the…my…uh…”

“It’s fine,” you assure him. “Didn’t know you were hung like that, Joel.” 

“Jesus Christ, kid, don’t say shit like that.” 

You stifle your laughter as you toss the rag to the side, the bleeding now stopped. You unscrew the cap of some Neosporin, then squeeze a generous amount onto your fingertip. 

“I’m gonna touch you,” you warn. “Just some Neosporin. Okay?”

Joel nods. “Go for it.” He clears his throat when you touch his shaft, moving it slightly out of the way so you can dab the ointment on his scratches. Fuck, he’s struggling to conceal his moans and his stuttered breathing. 

Gizmo hops on the couch then, and headbutts Joel’s bicep. 

“Get that goddamn cat away from me before I put him through the fuckin’ wall,” Joel seethes. 

You don’t push. You know Joel means business, and Gizmo really did fuck up this time. “Psst, Gizmo. Get down. Leave Joel alone,” you whisper, swatting Gizmo onto the floor. “Gizmo’s really sorry,” you murmur, still rubbing ointment onto Joel’s balls. “He didn’t mean to, Joel. He must’ve thought—”

Joel holds up a hand to stop you. “Don’t. Jus’ don’t.”

“Okay,” you whisper. You lift Joel’s ballsack to see if you missed any scratches, but you didn’t. “You’re all done, Joel.”

Joel scoffs, and you stroke his thigh soothingly to calm him. He says nothing, only collects his breathing. His cock is still achingly hard, a pearly, pretty bead of precum at the tip. 

It’s a risk, but you take it anyway. You lean down and press a kiss right against his ballsack, conscious to avoid any scratches inflicted by Gizmo. 

“Woah, woah, woah-”

“Shhh,” you whisper. “Do you want this?”

“Yeah, but-”

“But nothing.” You kiss Joel’s sack all over as much as you can, and once you’ve exhausted that, you kiss up his hard shaft. “I’m kissing it better.” 

You lick up the length of Joel’s shaft, then circle your tongue a few times around the tip. With one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, you rest the other on his tummy. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel sighs, voice dripping with relief as his hips thrust up, almost as if to chase your mouth. He sits up and reaches for your head, softly dragging his nails over your scalp rhythmically. “You’re a good girl.”

You take his tip into your mouth, working your way down his cock to take him fully inside. Joel tastes salty, sweaty, heady and so masculine, just like you always imagined, and it makes you wet. And you, with your warm and wet and inviting mouth, Joel’s imagination didn’t come close to mimicking this. You bob your head up and down his shaft, bouncing your nose into his pubic hair. 

“Jus’ like that,” Joel grunts. “Attagirl.” 

His words only worsen your growing arousal, and you can feel yourself making a mess of your panties. You fuck Joel’s cock with your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and spitting down his shaft and your knuckles. 

Joel pulls your head away from his cock. “Wait a second,” he tells you. “Wanna look at the mess you’re makin’,” he mumbles, admiring the slick, wet mess of your saliva on his cock. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he murmurs, then pushes you back down onto his cock. 

Joel thrusts into your mouth a bit harshly, though maintaining a certain gentleness to it. He ruts into your mouth, grunting your name as you drool on him, just as he pictured before. 

You reach into your skirt and pull your panties to the side, the cotton is all but soaked with your wetness. Dragging a finger up and down your folds, you moan onto Joel’s cock, sending vibrations down his shaft. 

“Whatcha doin’ there, kiddo?” he rasps. 

“Nothing,” you murmur, pressing kisses against his dick. 

“Sure don’t look like nothin’. C’mere.” Joel pulls you close to him and tugs the zipper of your back down your dress, then helps you out of it. He unclasps your bra and pulls your soaked panties down your legs, clutching them in his fist before shoving them behind his pillow. 

In a swift motion that has you yelping excitedly, Joel flips you on your back, the bed beneath you warm with his body heat. Joel settles between your thighs and pushes your knees back toward your chest. “Yeah, s’it. This what you wanted, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, settling into his pillows. Joel’s hot breath fans over your hot, pulsing sex as he places his large, meaty hands on the backs of your thighs. Fuck, the way you smell has Joel’s head spinning, dizzy with lust. He presses kisses against your inner thighs first, working his way toward your center where he kisses sloppily over your clit. 

“Makin’ a mess of my sheets, y’know that, kid?” Joel teases, admiring the puddle of arousal you’re dripping onto his bed. He feels the heat of your cunt radiating against his face, inviting him in. He squeezes the meat of your thighs as he licks one long stripe up your pussy, then rubs your skin in circles with his thumbs. 

With a flattened tongue, Joel continues licking, rounding your clit before repeating the motion. He memorizes your folds, your taste, your scent. You moan his name and clutch his head against your cunt, your wordless plea for more. 

“I’ll give ya more, sweetheart. I know what you want,” he says, tongue now circling your entrance before dipping inside to taste you. He drags his tongue back up and flicks it up and down over your clit. Urgently, you tug on his graying, dark curls, pleasure blooming in your gut. You’re soaking his face as your climax approaches, thighs twitching beneath his palms. “Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant. 

“Let go, darlin’.”

You’re about to come when -

CRASH

It’s a loud, thundering crash, the sound of broken glass and heavy objects hitting the floor. Joel growls against your pussy and violently punches the bed on either side of you before tearing himself away from your cunt and stomping downstairs with a renewed anger for your cat. 

“I swear to fuckin’ Christ,” he fumes, seeing the mess Gizmo, of course, made. You’re right behind Joel, your jaw dropped in shock. 

Ornaments all over the floor, some shattered and others still in one piece. The Christmas tree is somehow in two pieces - god only knows how gizmo managed to do that. The Christmas lights are strewn all over the place and there’s your precious cat, tangled up in the mess. Joel seethes as he makes his way toward Gizmo to free him of the lights, “You get the fuck outta here,” he hisses. 

“It was an accident!”

Joel turns around, chest heaving with his angry breaths. “Not another fuckin’ word,” he says, grabbing you by the arm and forcing you over the leather recliner. Joel laughs without humor when he sees that it’s been further scratched by Gizmo.

He parts your legs with his foot, then lines up with your slick hole and enters you in one swift thrust, the action both mind-splittingly painful and pleasurable. 

“Joel,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to grab at his thigh as he sets a quick, brutal pace. 

“You are…” he starts, “Never…bringing…that fucking cat…here…ever again,” Joel pants, fucking you with anger. “Do you fuckin’ understand me?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper, voice muffled with your face pressed into the chair. 

Joel draws out of you all the way, admiring your milky arousal glistening on his cock underneath the glow of the ruined Christmas lights. He plunges back in, then fucks you harshly. He draws in and out of you so quickly and steadily, the head of his cock brushing over your g-spot with each of his thrusts. “Fuck,” he grunts, pulling you by your hips onto his cock repeatedly. 

He breathes loudly through his nose, fucking fuming with rage as he uses your cunt to relieve himself of the stress you - yes, you caused him. That cat may be Satan’s spawn but he’s still yours. You are responsible for this.

Pleasure builds quickly in you, and Joel can tell. He leans over you to press his fingers against your clit; he doesn’t even have to move them to make you come. Just the pressure and the motion of his rough fucking is enough to send you over the edge, pussy pulsing and gushing on Joel’s stiff cock, making a mess of him.

Joel pulls you against his chest and bites your ear as he pounds into you, chasing his own orgasm. His balls tighten and his body tenses before release, and then he’s spilling into you, spurting milky white ropes of his hot come inside you. “Fuck, goddamn,” he grunts, fucking himself through his climax. When he’s finished, he pulls out of you unceremoniously, your combined arousal spilling onto the ground. What’s another fucking mess to clean up.

Joel rounds the chair and plops onto the couch, pulling you down with him. You yelp as you fall but he catches you in his strong arms and hugs you close against his body, kissing your forehead and cheeks. “I fuckin’ hate that cat,” he tells you, panting. 

Gizmo mrrps then and jumps onto Joel’s lap with you, walking over both of your bodies to greet Joel specifically, bunting Joel’s face as he purrs. 

“He’s really sorry,” you giggle. 

“Yeah, m’sure.” Joel surprises you both and brings a hand to Gizmo’s face, gently petting his head. “I mean it,” Joel warns. “Never. Again.” 

IF YOU ENJOYED!!! Please leave me a comment or say something nice in your reblog, or send me an ask ♡ i love when you make this blog feel like a community ily. ty so much <3 <3 <3

[kurooh]

MIGHT LET YOU MAKE ME JUNO ! — HAIKYUU

⊹₊˚. featuring timeskip! miya atsumu, miya osamu, kuroo tetsurō, iwaizumi hajime, & suna rintarou tryin’ to knock up their pretty wife !

warnings ★ 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, breeding, cuddlefucking, doggy, talk of kids & pregnancy, fluff, creampies, shower sex, minor cockwarming, squirting, full nelson, mirror sex, mention of lactation, mating press, cum in panties (offscreen), not proofread.

xoxo, juno ★ my namesake?! hehe, cheers to the surviving haikyuu fuckers on my blog <33 ty for your patience!! as always, send in some asks/reblog if you enjoyed, i love reading comments/tags

— MIYA ATSUMU

“go ahead ‘n slut yerself out all over my cock, baby.. fuuuck, jus’ like that.”

atsumu’s lips part around a needy moan, jaw hanging slackly in some kind of disbelief. after such a lengthy, tiring day, he found himself trudging into your shared bathroom to greet you.

he’d gotten hard in seconds, seeing your tits pressed against the glass door as well as your face, lidded eyes and cute pout enticing him to come join you. when he got onto his knees to get you ready, you’d bent over and tossed him a knowing smirk over your shoulder.

“lemme see that ass move again.. shit, ‘s perfect. yer perfect.” you giggle, throwing your ass back onto his cock, eyes rolling back when his tip kisses your cervix just right, sending sparks of pleasure right through your veins.

“tsumu, this isn’t all that fun,” you huff, the wild need for him to truly ruin you growing by the second. “wan’ you to fuck me, and make me yours.”

“baby, yer already mine,” atsumu lands a slap on your wet asscheek, startling you enough for your legs to spread further. “good girl,” he praises, hushed and under his breath. he reaches upwards and pulls the shower head down, pushes it into your hand and changes the setting.

“use this on yer clit, ‘kay? when yer feelin’ like ya wanna cum, don’t. hold it ‘n we’ll cum at the same time, yeah baby?”

you nod, and he smacks your ass hard, leaning backwards. atsumu pushes a hand through soaked gold strands, chuckling lowly although his voice has a serious edge to it. “‘s not how we say yes, is it?”

“y-yes, tsumu. at the same time.”

he draws his hips back, then finds himself advancing forward brutally. he doesn’t think about anything beside you — you, you, you. with the scent of your body wash tangling in the hot air, the beautiful curves and slopes of your body, the noises you make for him only.

your chest heaves when the steady spray of the shower head soon reaches your clit, immediately proving to be overwhelming and intense paired with him fucking you.

“so god damn tight,” atsumu hisses, nails digging crescent moons into the plush skin of your hips as his own collide with your ass. the bathroom is full of steam and the rhythmic clap of skin against skin — it’s hard to keep from trembling with how good everything feels, all over.

frantic panting cuts through the sound of your whimpers as atsumu feels himself nearing his peak. it’s nasty, downright filthy, the way your nails drag down the wall tiles as you desperately hump your ass back into him.

gasps of your name and affectionate nicknames fall from his lips like a sacred prayer, blending into a whiny harmony as atsumu’s thrusts grow rougher.

“baby,” he chokes, voice tight. “ya better be close, can barely last.”

“tsumu, cum inside me,” you beg, skin burning and pussy squeezing uncontrollably, squelching growing louder. “p-please, i can’t— i’m gonna cum, ‘m gonna—” your body tenses, and the shower head falls to the floor with a clunk that neither of you register.

luckily atsumu looks down at the right moment, sees you squirt, pussy gushing onto his pelvis. as if your back arching and your clenching pussy wasn’t enough, he ends up cumming too hard, ribbons of white gushing deep into your awaiting pussy.

“fuckkk,” he groans, overstimulation setting in way too quickly and causing him to pull halfway out of your fluttering cunt.

“no, tsumu,” is all you can heave out, pushing back hard enough to send him into the wall behind him, muscled back hitting the tiles as he lets out a startled oomph. “wanna keep it inside, feels so good.”

— MIYA OSAMU

“samu,” you mumble into his lips, tossing a leg over his hip. he grunts, nose nudging your cheek as he pulls back. “yeah? what’s on yer mind, angel?”

“had a dream about a baby,” the words are spoken softly, and osamu’s fingers lightly graze your chin as he makes you look up at him. “i know it’s kinda stupid, but it was so..” your voice trails off sheepishly and there’s a pause before you admit, “you were such a good dad, samu, ‘n so sexy too.”

your bare bodies are bathed in the morning sunlight, warm and comforting as it peeks in through the curtains. this is the perfect moment with him, skin to skin, his cock still inside you as you kiss and talk about dreams of the future.

in his chest, feelings stir and ideas come to life in his head; osamu presses his hips forward with a hushed moan.

“well, i’ll give ya a baby, angel,” large hands smooth over your hips as he helps you turn away from him; then they pull you close, grabbing at your tits and tugging your nipples between his fingers.

“samu,” you sigh, words fading into a content moan as you feel his hips draw back, then advance forward, against your ass. “i want you to fill me up, give me everything.”

“only if ya take it all,” osamu huffs, tucking his face into your shoulder and closing his eyes as he starts to fuck his cock into you deeply. the thick tip kisses your sweet spot over and over, and if that wasn’t already overwhelming enough, your hand wanders towards your swollen clit.

somehow, osamu’s faster than you, releasing one of your tits and swatting away your hand before he’s finding your clit with his index finger and rubbing it in messy circles.

“s-samu, fuck— jus’ like that, don’t stop!”

your back arches against him, hips twisting as a heat spreads through your veins, fiery and intense in the best ways possible. the movement of your body and then the frantic clenching of your pussy is too intense for him; sharp whines escape his throat, muffled as osamu bites into your shoulder desperately.

“i-i— shit, ‘m gonna fill you up,” is all you can make out from his rushed mumbling, and you turn your head quickly, desperate for his lips.

“kiss me, samu. kiss me as you cum inside, please.”

it’s as though the words break him — his face twists as he kisses you, whole body tensing. he presses his cock deep, thickening and throbbing before he’s gushing cum and can’t seem to stop.

“ah, fuck,” he tosses his head back, fingers scrabbling at your nipples as his chest heaves against your back, heart pounding steadily.

you cum with a whine, grinding down on his cock in an effort to get him impossibly deeper. as you ride out your highs together, trembling deliciously, he can’t help but dissolve into giggles of pure happiness.

“angel, ya got that baby for sure, jus’ like ya wanted, hm? ah, i can’t wait for a mini-me or a mini-ya. yer gonna be the prettiest mom, swear.”

— KUROO TETSURŌ

“fuck, babe. you’ve got no idea about what i saw today,” tetsurō huffs, warm breath fanning over your tits as they bounce, controlled by your bra.

spices clatter as tetsurō sweeps his arm across the kitchen counter behind you, clearing the space so you can lean back a little easier. his grip on your thighs doesn’t waver, nor does the ruthless tempo of his hips.

“tetsu, what’d you see?” you gasp, tears threatening to pour over your waterline.

“well, i saw this family,” he grunts, thrusting into you particularly hard now that he’s recalling the memory. “the dad had their kid on his shoulders, and the mom was pregnant. they looked so happy, and it made me think of you.”

“is that so?” you ask, spreading your legs impossibly wider as an invitation. you bite your lower lip, rolling your hips against his in an effort to get his cock deeper.

“tetsu,” he raises his eyes from the mess between your legs to your face, earnest and flushed. “kiss me, baby.”

tetsurō obliges, lets you tug him forward by the chin, mesh his lips with yours. it’s warm and sweet, the aftertaste of the dessert you’d been making as his surprise for when he’d come home. your tongue slips between plush, parted lips and moves with his gently, quite a contrast from the rough way he’s fucking you.

“ah, shit,” he moans, struggling to kiss you back when he feels your sticky walls clenching down on his too sensitive cock.

tetsurō leans forward and buries his flushed face in your shoulder, kissing the tender skin a few times before nipping it and then finally biting down into your shoulder.

he practically loses it when you wrap your legs around his back, heels digging into muscle as you push him forward. in a hushed tone and into his ear, you say sweetly, “tetsu, fuck a baby into me.”

“oh, i fucking will, princess.”

although, despite his rough words, he’s wheezing and whining every now and then into your shoulder, hoping it muffles his sounds.

your hand slides up his neck and tangles into dark tufts of hair, pulling tight as your own orgasm approaches. your pleasure mixes with his own, and just before the knot in your belly snaps, you feel a strong pulsing deep within your pussy.

he groans loudly, burying his cock deep just as it starts to gush, painting your walls white. your nails dig hard into his scalp and the sting of pain only seems to make him get a little more vocal.

tetsurō pants into your neck, trying to find his bearings now that his limbs feel like jelly.

“hold me?”

— IWAIZUMI HAJIME

“h-haji, this was a good call..”

“oh yeah?” hajime’s voice rumbles in his chest, strong and steady against your back as he keeps your legs wide open. “have we ever tried this one?”

“i don’t think so, but we definitely will in the future.”

“feels that good, princess?” hajime chuckles, eyeing your reflections in the mirror mounted across the bed. for a moment, he considers the two of you puzzle pieces — he sees that his cock fits snugly inside you, and the thought that you may be made for each other briefly crosses his mind.

“of course it does,” a sheen of sweat glimmers on your face, skin glowing beautifully in the mirror. “god, hajime, y-you’re so deep..”

he notices your eyes falling shut, head tipping back, and he raises his hand to lightly smack your cheek. “mm, princess, gotta keep watching. i want you to see yourself cum, alright?”

“fine,” you huff, feet dangling in the air and bouncing every which way as he fucks into you, heavy balls smacking your pussy with each stroke.

“what made you wanna try this?” you ask, knowing you should save the question for later, but you’re too curious not to ask. why would your husband come home someday and randomly want to try a new position you’d never heard of?

“well, you know..” in the mirror, you catch the flush on his tanned cheeks. “we’ve both caught the fever recently, and this is a solid position for makin’ babies.”

you gasp sharply when hajime turns his hips ever so slightly, and the resulting sensation causes pressure to build in your pelvis. “shit— right there, haji, just like that..”

he grunts, body stiffening as he tightly holds you in place and fucks into you like it’s the last time you’ll ever be like this together.

“wanna get you pregnant,” hajime groans, abs flexing with the effort of maintaining his merciless pace, “i wanna—shit—wanna breed you.”

“you want it that bad?” you breathe, just barely keeping your eyes open and focusing on your bouncing reflection. “fuck me full, then, haji.”

hajime doesn’t question it, thinks of you with a swollen belly and milky tits all for him to hold and take care of. you, with your glowing skin and beautiful body from all the pregnancy hormones.

the idea of it all is too much to bear, not to mention cumming deep inside your cunt, this time with the intent to breed.

he can’t even muster the words to warn you that he’s cumming as hard as he is; after a choked, tight groan, he falls silent and rocks his hips into you.

“fuck it deep, haji,” you whisper, on the edge yourself. obedient and too far gone in his fantasy, he does exactly what you ask, whining very quietly from the sensitivity.

shaking on top of him and watching the reflections in the mirror, you cum hard, dissolving into unmatched pleasure. and you’re thankful you keep your eyes open, moaning at the very sight— hajime doesn’t even pull out, he’s still pushing his cock in and out of you, but cum races from your cunt in thick white rivulets.

“i’m trying,” he huffs, sensitive when he glances up and notices how intently you’re watching the mirror. his cheeks flush lightly when you both notice that most of his cum ends up dripping down his balls and out of you.

“don’t worry, princess. i’ll cum however many times it takes, sound good?”

— SUNA RINTAROU

“you want a few brats? oh, i just felt your pussy squeeze up. ‘s what you want, huh?” rintarou bites, harshness of his thrusts drawing whimper after whimper from your kiss-swollen lips.

“i want it, rin,” you feel one of his palms smoothing over the plushness of your lower stomach, just above your pelvis. “w-what’re you doing?”

he laughs at your stutter, keeps your legs steady over his shoulders. rintarou draws his hips back, leaving just his tip inside your quivering pussy. then, he presses down on your lower stomach and slides in, adding more pressure with each inch.

“rintarou!” you wheeze, jerking your hips to the side in a pathetic attempt to run away from the overwhelming pleasure he gives you with every movement, big or small.

“nuh uh, pretty girl,” his free hand grabs ahold of you tightly, tugs you towards him and then settles to rest on your neck. rintarou’s fingers are loose on each side of your throat, hand placed there in a demonstration of control. but what’s the point of that, when he’s already made it clear by hoisting your legs over his shoulders and folding you in half?

“you’ll take it, all of it.”

“but ‘m sensitive, i’ve cum too many times,” you can’t even recall a number or remember how long he’s been fucking you like this.

you’re both sticky with sweat, your thighs stained white with dried cum from previous rounds and marked with love bites he’d given you in his excitement to get a taste of your pussy.

it’s so fucking messy because rintarou’s the one who can’t stop asking to eat you out and push the cum back inside; you always say yes, then cum until you’re dizzy and can’t see straight.

you taste yourself from earlier on the corners of his lips when he bends forward and gives you a chaste kiss. “l-last time, okay? i’ll give you your brats, pretty girl.”

the sweet pout on your lips that’s quickly replaced with something else and wail of his name that leaves you when he starts jackhammering your pussy turns him on to the max.

incoherent babbling of what he’ll give you and how good you feel blend together, and before you can fully register it, rintarou’s folding forward with a deep groan. “shit, i’m gonna cum so fucking hard, i—”

he shuts up and gives you a few more thrusts before he’s pushing deep and cumming — he’s not done when he pulls out and covers your pussy in cum.

“r-rin, keep it inside,” you whine sadly, watching as he collects it on his tip and then plunges it back inside.

“jus’ needed some extra lube,” he says coolly, but he really just wants to cum all over you. “how’s it feel inside, pretty baby?”

“like i need some more.”

rintarou laughs at the way you turn away, cheeks hot in embarrassment because you were the one who wanted a break. “we are going out later, hm?”

your nod makes him smile, green eyes crinkling at the corners. “how about i cum in your panties and you walk around with ‘em?”

[sleep-0-deprived]

So I'm not sure if your still taking request now, if your not then sorry for sending you this.

But if you are then imagine Sanemi with a reader who got sent the wrong uniform that happens to be girls and designed by the same perverted glasses wearing Kakushi who made Mitsuri uniform.

Reader decideds to wear it just to see what they look like in it before sending it back but Sanemi comes in, sees them wearing it, and proceeds to rearrange their guts for the rest of the day.

DomTop Sanemi x male slayer reader thoughts~! ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა

WC:. 818

Tags: wall sex, mirror sex, amab anatomy, reader in female clothes, cross dressing, p N’ A sex, rough sex, neck biting, degrading, hair pullin, bottom male reader ໒꒰ྀི´⸝⸝> ˕ <⸝⸝ ꒱ྀིა

A/N: I jus haven’t been feelin like writing a fic recently so I jus did some thoughts

Taglist: @yyuinaa @asher-is-hotxp @unstab1eperson2 @silvern1006 @kimisbunny

Just thinking bout sanemi coming over to your estate finding you all dolled up in a skimpy uniform that looks like borderline lingerie on your body, walking up behind you and gripping hold of your pecs, massaging them through the fabric of your uniform while whispering irritated remarks like “who knew one of the slayers best men liked to dress like a woman?” He’d shove you agaisnt the mirror you were standing in front of and just make you look at yourself and watch as he roughly grabs and grips at all your plush spots. Sanemi would reach his hand down under the short skirt part and make you lift your leg up just enough the skirt rides up and exposes your ass for him.

Just thinking bout sanemi who just goes silent seeing your stuff cock standing up under the skirt, he’d retract his hands from your body completely making you let out a disappointed whine while he reaches back and grabs hold of a handful of your hair, jerking it making your eyes meet his in the mirror while he mumbles lewd things in your ears about “what a fucking whore you are, I bet you dressed like this on purpose just wantin to get fucked huh?” You can’t even respond to that because he reaches his free scarred hand down and starts stroking you under the uniform since the uniform didn’t come with any boxers you were already nude underneath.

Just thinking bout sanemi talking you through it, his hand stroking your cock flicking his wrist having your ass pressed to his bulge making you feel what you were gonna take while he has you all hot and bothered dropping your hair letting your head fall and giving the globes of your ass a hard pinch leaving them all tender “you’re leakin a mess pretty boy” sanemi was cocky and he had the strength to back that up so of course he was gonna make it known when he belittled you with pet names, how could he not when he had your cock leaking like a faucet in his hand- god you were so fuckin perfect, if only he wasn’t to prideful to tell you, he’d have to just show you then.

Just thinking bout Sanemi who finally fucks you, he has you mounted from behind huffing in your ears like a wild animal with his hands tight on your hips bitting at your neck while his cock violated your insides leaving them squished and clenching around his cock, if he pulled out he’d bet his cock would glisten from how slick your cavity felt around his dick. “Feels so fucking good around me— you got the pretties cunt I’ve ever felt baby” those words just make you twitch and clench up around him, you were so humiliated seeing yourself getting ruined by the pillar and the worst (best) part was you were wearing a perverse uniform, your legs felt numb but Sanemi reached his hand down and lifted your thigh up again making you squeal when his cock head reaches that tender spot inside you making it feel like a warm sensation trickled down your thighs.

Just thinking bout Sanemi who only comes inside you, he doesn’t wanna waste his seed anywhere unless he knows it’s planted nice and deep inside you, load after load getting pumped into you and you could barely let out a coherent moan when he’d just re positing you and fuck you in a new angle, if there was one thing hashira’s didn’t lack it was stamina because the wind pillar held lots of it. By the end of the day you were all bloated laying on your back with your legs spread wide up in the air getting fucked in a mating press in your bedroom in your estate, you had practically lost most feeling in your legs and all Sanemi could say “c’mon baby I know you can give me one more can’t you? Just one more f’me”

Just thinking bout Sanemi who’s terrible with aftercare, he’d go to Shinobu to get creams for your bite mark covered flesh and for all the places he had fucked raw, come oozing past your weakened ring of muscle, he almost feels pride seeing you laying face down whimpering all sleepy and sore with your ass raised up showing off the handy work he did you you. The uniform still on with the skirt half ridden up to your waist and your pecs practically spilled out of the heart shaped window like a pair of plump tits making him wanna start all over again with you— the hashira meeting wasn’t for another couple of hours so he maybe will…”do you think you can handle a few more rounds for me [name]?” You’d just let out a loud whine at his words not even fitting when he crawled back on top of you.

[nereidprinc3ss]

strange perfections

in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!

series masterlist

fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses

The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf. 

Stupid scarf, you think. 

Stupid door. 

Stupid wind. 

Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient. 

You look at the stack of papers and sigh. 

Stupid Lord Byron. 

Stupid cafe. 

Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly. 

One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable. 

Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust. 

Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance. 

Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once. 

Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café. 

As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk. 

It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor. 

Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here. 

“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up. 

“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”

The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you. 

“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”

You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that. 

Think of something normal to say!

“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”

You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.

“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”

You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?

“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”

He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing. 

“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”

Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?

But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out. 

“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”

He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles. 

All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go. 

Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone. 

“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot. 

“How did you do that?” 

His cheeks turn slightly pink. 

“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”

“How did you read that fast?”

“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”

You scoff, taking another look through the stack. 

“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently. 

“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble. 

“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”

“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look. 

“Does that make it better?”

“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”

You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels. 

“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second. 

“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”

“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”

He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself. 

He was totally in love with me. 

And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again. 

All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while. 

The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it. 

I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café. 

What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi!”

Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout. 

He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer. 

Spencer. Spencer. 

It feels important. 

“I see you’ve upgraded.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away. 

Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you. 

Spence. 

Reality sets in. 

“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”

It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk. 

“I am a creature of habit.”

Another wave as he walks away. 

The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way. 

“Who was that?” 

“Uh… I don’t actually know.”

Yeah. Reality definitely sets in. 

Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up. 

Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality. 

Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.

But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character. 

He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination. 

This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression. 

“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”

 Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading. 

Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more. 

“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”

You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?

While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table. 

“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin. 

“Uh… hi?”

“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”

“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”

That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real. 

“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”

“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”

“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”

What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—

“Garcia!”

Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed. 

Adorable? Get a grip. 

“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”

“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges. 

You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?

“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.

“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”

“Yeah! Um, definitely!”

“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”

“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”

“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley. 

Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents. 

So that’s cool. 

You’re cool with that. 

Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer. 

“Hotch?”

“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers. 

“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet. 

Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again. 

You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it. 

Nah. Boys are dumb. 

You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it. 

It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?

But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone. 

He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line. 

Weird.

You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?

“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”

It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it. 

He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second. 

“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”

“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”

“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”

“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”

He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless. 

“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”

It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long. 

“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”

“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”

Your brow furrows and you laugh. 

“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”

“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”

You say it before you can think too hard. 

“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”

And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid. 

After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice. 

One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.

It ceases. And then it starts again. 

Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible. 

“Do you think you should…”

His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air. 

“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”

You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company. 

But his job is important. 

“What if you have a case?”

“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”

Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.   

“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”

As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present. 

“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”

Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer. 

You balk.

“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”

“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”

“Where would this hanging out take place?”

Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits. 

“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”

He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly. 

“Restaurants.”

There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.

“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”

You look down. God, your face feels warm. 

“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”

Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now. 

“I would.” 

More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted. 

Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair. 

“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”

“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”

Spencer chuckles. 

“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Not, what?

Not, you’ve never been on a date before?

Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?

With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way. 

He says none of that. 

“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards. 

“Sounds like a good first step.”

Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real. 

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.

“I’d love to.”

He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair. 

“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”

His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute. 

“I should—”

“You definitely need to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”

You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper. 

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

He’s so weird. 

A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go. 

-

part four

[veenriu]

❝DON'T CALL MY PHONE, BITCH !!❞

i want you to stop! feat. t. fushiguro, g. satoru, g. suguru, k. nanami ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ✰ pov : your boyfriend/husband gets a call while you're sucking him off . . . ✰ tags : fem!reader, smut, blow jobs, swearing, hair pulling, face fucking, praise, nicknames (baby, princess, sweetheart, darling, cutie), mdni ✰ an : this was gonna be a toji fanfic but i got to thinking and i was like ... well, yes!

TOJI FUSHIGURO ☆

his grip was firm on the crown of your head, fingers entangling in your hair as he guided your mouth up and down him—finally putting that filthy mouth of yours to good use. the way his dick effortlessly slid down your throat was soo good, and the sight of your eyes fluttering and rolling back in your head every time he hit your uvula was the icing on the cake for him. "just like that, princess. that's it—milk my fuckin' dick, yeahhh," he whispers, your throat relaxing around him as you anticipated the moment he filled your mouth. you could feel it coming, with the way he was twitching and the guttural sounds he lets out as threw his head back against the couch. so close, so close, so— buzz buzz, there it was again. that incessant buzzing that had drawn him out of the moment for the last time. who the fuck could even be calling him at this hour, anyway? "who the fuck—hold on, princess," you let out a whine as he eases his still hard dick out of your mouth, letting it fall against your face as he picked up the still ringing phone. "it's shiu, behave." he warns, smirking wickedly at you as you nearly threw a tantrum below him. your ears tuned out the unimportant drone of small talk between the two men as you sat between his legs, your head resting idly on his thigh as you stared up at him. as you neared the border of sleep, your eyes shot open as you got an idea. your eyes were still locked on him as you inched closer to him on your knees, your fingertips pressed against the floor as you sunk your mouth back onto him and eased him back down your throat. "shit, shiu lemme call you back," toji gritted, quickly ending the call and haphazardly tossing it next to him as he grabbed you by the scruff of your neck, yanking you off of his dick as he moved his grip back to your head. "think y'er so funny, don't you?" he glared, squeezing your cheeks together in his hands and pressing your lips together. "such a mean lil' thing, ain't ya? don't worry, we'll fix that. open up."

GOJO SATORU ☆

his eyes were shut tight as you swirled your tongue around him, moans of pleasure bordering on whimpers as you expertly sucked him off. he didn’t even know you could use your tongue like that, just happened to find out one night after a dare. and boy did he have plans for you after that night.

“christ, y-you’re so good,” he gritted, his bony fingers knotted deep in your hair as he forced his cock deep in your throat—gag reflex be damned. he was so loud, so lust drunk he barely noticed the buzz of his phone until it nearly clattered to the floor.

“shit—y-yeah, suguru?” of course it was suguru, it was always suguru. it was like he had a third eye that opened as soon as you two got it on, it kinda freaked you out a bit.. but nevertheless, you weren’t about to let him ruin this moment. not this time.

you pulled your mouth off of gojo’s dick as he rambled and moved down slightly lower, to his heavy cum-filled balls. he was always so sensitive down there and combined with the way he was feeling extra needy tonight, he was in for it. with a little kiss and squeeze, he was practically melting, quite literally whimpering into his mic as suguru fought back giggles on the other end.

“toruu,” you purred, placing another chaste kiss on his sacks before tracing one of the more prominent veins on his dick right up to the tip, swallowing him back in your mouth as you fondled him simultaneously. the look on his face was priceless, his eyes rolling back and the hand holding his phone going slightly limp.

“satoru? you still there?” geto questioned, hardly making it through his sentence as gojo jumped at the sound of his voice, “yyyeah! yeahyeahyeahyeah, i’m here.. lemme uhh—fuck, call you b-back, ‘kay?” he didn’t even wait for a response before hanging up the phone and letting it clatter to the floor next to you.

“god, baby you’re gonna kill me one of these days.. keep going, please.”

GETO SUGURU ☆

you watched from between your boyfriends legs as he spoke to his best friend; phone resting on the couch, joint rolled neatly between his lips as his head dipped back and his arms spread out on the back of the couch. he looked so pretty, his long dark locks tied up in a bun as the smoke clouded around you two.

“i’m serious, suguru! it was like—this big!” gojo exclaimed, spreading his hands out to imitate the size of whatever he was on about. you could see his bright blue eyes bouncing around on geto’s phone, clearly ecstatic to relay his day back to him. it would’ve been a cute moment if not for you currently slobbering on his best friends dick.

“mhm?” geto purred, fighting back constant heavy breaths and groans that were sure to come out of him sooner or later. it was a wonder gojo didn’t know just what you two were doing, and with the way you were sloppily sucking him off, it was a wonder he could hear geto at all. your train of thought was cut short at the feeling of geto’s dick twitching and throbbing before you felt your mouth fill with his thick cum.

yanking you off of him by the crown of your head, geto held your jaw in his hands and brought you closer to him, entirely tuning out gojo’s incessant babbling. “swallow for me, cutie,” he cooed, watching your throat as you swallowed his seed, his eyes lighting up as soon as the motion happened.

“good girl,” he praised, placing a kiss on your glazed lips. you could swear he was about to push you back down until he turned his attention to the whining that wasn’t coming from you, “suguruu! you’re not listening to me! what the fuck are you doing anyway?” you heard gojo ask, pushing his eye all up in the camera.

geto sat in silence for a moment before he looked down at you wickedly, his lips slowly turning up at the edges as he brought his phone up off the couch and held it over you, turning the camera around to show gojo exactly what he was doing, “say hi, baby.”

“hiii, satoruu,” you giggled, tapping geto’s tip against your tongue, listening to the quiet “woah” gojo pushed out. “yeah so, i’ll call you back, hm?”

KENTO NANAMI ☆

you were sat between your husbands knees as you listened to him speak to his colleagues, something about business. you knew how serious he got when he was on his business calls, but you couldn’t help but be needy.

his hand was on your head as you rested it on his meaty thigh, constricted by his slacks. you couldn’t help but notice that the little bit of swelling in his crotch every time you shifted just a little bit. you’d never seen anything more tempting.

you shifted once more and took his hand off your head, snuggling up further between his legs and inching yourself closer to his bulge as you looked up at him with pleading eyes. “sweetheart—“

oh, how he just wanted to throw you over his desk and absolutely wreck you. you were gonna be the death of him, that was for sure. he attempted to swat your hands away from his belt while simultaneously trying to be inconspicuous enough to not get caught fooling around with his wife while doing important business, but ultimately failing as his belt ends up unbuckled before he could even realize it.

“darling, i don’t think this is very wise—“ “kento? are you listening?” you watched as his head snapped back up to his screen as an awkward smile graced his lips, his hand finding its way back to your head and threading itself deep in your locks, “yes—sorry, my pet just wants some attention. please, continue.”

he pulled on your hair slightly and you took that as the go ahead. you pulled his fly down and eagerly freed him from his boxers, his thick cock springing out from his pants causing his jaw to clench as soon as he was free.

you wasted no time in sinking down onto him, wrapping your lips around him and taking him in as deep as you possibly could without gagging, not wanting to make any noise that’d blow your cover. your eyes stayed on his face as you bobbed your head up and down, watching his fist clench and unclench as he fought back those grunts and groans that were desperately trying to escape him.

soon enough, he was getting close. you could feel him getting restless as he attempted not to squirm in his seat, taking more effort than usual to make his words sound like he wasn’t doing anything. he couldn’t take it anymore. with a quick excuse and an even quicker click of his mouse to hang up the call, his attention was all on you.

“you’re going to get me in trouble one of these days, princess. ah ah, now i didn’t tell you to stop, did i?”

[roosterforme]

Mr. Right Now Part 1 | Hangman x Reader

Summary: When Jake picks your ID up from the floor at the Hard Deck, he has no expectations that he's about to be in for a wild ride. But when he learns that you're looking for Rooster and why you're at the bar in the first place, he starts to feel more possessive than he should. You're young and stubborn and about to get yourself into trouble. Maybe he would prefer it if you got into it with him instead.

Warnings: adult language, mentions of sex and virginity, 18+

Length: 2800 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Why is Jake on my masterlist!? Mr. Right Now masterlist

It was a typical Friday night with the typical Hard Deck crowd, and to be honest, it was a bit exhausting. Jake knew if he picked up a random girl to take home, it would all feel pretty pointless the next morning. He should probably just head home now before he ruined some desperate girl's night by kicking her out of his bed in about four hours.

"Jesus, it's not even ten o'clock yet," he muttered to himself as he checked his watch. He'd only had one whiskey sour, but he was ready to leave. The two girls in matching pink dresses had been eyeing him up all night, and they both looked like the type who would cry if he suggested getting them an Uber after hooking up, no matter how clear he made it that he only ever kept things very casual.

He hated when girls got it twisted. Jake loved women. He loved their bodies. He loved making promises to them and then delivering. He loved the little noises they made when he fucked them. But that was all he had time for. He wasn't going to meet anyone that made him think it was worth pursuing more when he spent all of his time at work, at the gym, or at a bar full of tag chasers. 

He signaled for Penny to close out his tab, and even she looked surprised. "You're heading out?" she asked, glancing at his friends who were still playing pool with the girls in pink. 

"Yeah," he said with a sigh as he signed his name on the receipt and collected his credit card. "Thinking about an early night and a long run on the beach first thing in the morning."

"Right," she said, giving him a little smile. "Be safe."

He winked at her and turned just in time to see a young woman drop something as she tried to squeeze through the crowd. "Hey!" he called out as he picked up her driver's license and held it up in his hand. "Leather mini skirt!"

You glanced over your shoulder, your eyes questioning as you turned away from the pool table to face him. He watched you look around to make sure nobody else was wearing a black leather skirt before you faced him all the way. 

"Yes?" you asked a little cautiously, and Jake took in the sight before him. You looked pretty young and a little out of place here. You had paired your little skirt with a black tank top and some Converse sneakers, and even though you didn't look like anyone else, you certainly didn't look bad.

Then he remembered he was holding your license, and he glanced down at his hand only to realize it was literally the worst fake ID he had ever seen. Your name was pretty, if that part was even real. The photo actually was you, but it looked like it had been taken in bad lighting, and according to your date of birth, you were thirty just like he was. One more look at your face told him that was a blatant lie.

"This yours?" he asked, holding it up between his thumb and index finger.

You rushed forward, clearly embarrassed, and you tried to take it from him with a muttered, "Thank you."

But he pulled it out of your reach, and your hand grazed his chest instead. "Nice fake, kiddo. Don't get drunk, okay?"

You shot him a look of vexation, clearly having no idea who he was or that he was one of the best fighter pilots in the country. "I'm not here to get drunk, okay?" When you reached for the plastic card again, Jake held it a little higher just to see what you'd do. "Seriously?"

He glanced up and looked at the first and last name once again before saying them out loud. "Then why are you here? And with the world's worst fake ID to boot."

You eyed the card, still out of reach, and placed your hands on your hips. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm actually looking for someone named Rooster, if you happen to know who he is?"

Jake lowered his hand slowly, and you snatched your card back and tucked it inside your little purse. "What do you want with ol' Rooster?" he asked, eyeing you a little closer while you were glancing down. You were cute if not a little too innocent looking for him, but your words once again had him engaged.

"That's classified, sailor. Now do you know who he is or not?"

Jake laughed. "Yeah. I know who he is. But I'm not a sailor. I'm an aviator. Got more air to air kills than anyone else on active duty."

You gave him a bland look. "That must be very nice for you, aviator. But I'm on a bit of a mission here, so if you don't mind..." As you turned back toward the pool table, Jake followed behind you. 

"He's the big one with the mustache and hideous shirt."

You stopped, and he bumped into you, steadying himself with his hands briefly on your shoulders. "Oh," you replied. "Wow. I mean, it's not going to be a problem for me, that's for sure. I just hope he's into it."

Still confused, Jake said, "I wouldn't bother him in the middle of a game of pool unless you come bearing the gift of a beer or a nice set of tits."

You spun around and looked him right in the eye. "What exactly is wrong with my tits?"

"Nothin'," he replied, trying not to look at them in your snug top. "Just trying to give you the lay of the land is all." 

When you glanced over your shoulder, he let his eyes dip down below your neck. Certainly nothing wrong there. "Is that his girlfriend?" you asked, turning back to Jake and jerking your thumb in the direction of Phoenix where she stood near Rooster.

"No," he laughed. "But I'd also avoid interrupting her without a beer or your tits ready to go."

"Well, thanks. You've been very informative. One more question," you said, just inches away from Jake in the crowd. "What kind of beer does this Rooster guy like?"

He studied your face closely. He considered himself something of an expert when it came to women, and things weren't completely adding up for him right now. Your words and posture seemed bold and sure, but your eyes were giving you away. There was a nervousness behind them that made him anxious to get answers from you.

"I'll tell you if you finally answer my question."

"What was your question?"

"Why are you here? And what do you want from Rooster?"

"That's two questions," you said with a smirk, leaning a little closer, and Jake just wanted to wrap his arm around you and yank you all the way in. 

"You're a real smartass, kid. And I like that in a person. But just humor me with an answer, and I'll buy you the beer myself."

Your lips parted as your gaze drifted down to Jake's chest. Every time you blinked, your eyelashes brushed your cheeks, and it was taking all of his willpower to keep his hands off you. With a deep breath, you almost met his eyes as you said, "I'm here to get laid."

Jake cocked his head to one side until you did meet his gaze. Your eyes still looked unsure. "Explain."

You just shrugged. "What is there to explain exactly? I'm looking to have sex."

He closed one eye and squinted. He could have sworn he only had one drink, but nothing was making sense right now. "With Rooster?"

"Yes. I'm going to try to get him to take me home."

Jake burst into laughter, and you took a small step away from him. "You're not going to have to try very hard, I can tell you that much for sure." You were actually cute as hell; any guy you had your sights set on would be ready to leave at the mere mention of such activities. 

"That's what I'm hoping for," you muttered before pressing your lips together.

"Wait, wait," Jake asked with his hands held up in front of his chest in surrender. "Why Rooster?"

You looked a little embarrassed now as you switched your bag from one hand to the other. "My friend told me he was good in bed," you muttered.

"I am so confused," Jake replied, pushing his fingers through his hair. By this point, you were starting to look annoyed, and he didn't want to push, but he wanted to know. If you were going to parade around the Hard Deck in a mini skirt with a fake ID, he needed to know that you were okay. "You're young and attractive. Why did you come here of all places to acquire a hot fuck?" And that's when he got the answer that surprised him as you finally snapped. 

"Because, if you must know, I'm a disgrace of a twenty-year-old virgin, and I'm trying to get Rooster to take care of that for me."

"What?" Jake's mind was reeling. He looked from you to the aviator at the pool table and then at your face once more. Then he jerked back a step. A virgin. Huh. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen one this close up before. Not around here, anyway. And, frankly you were hot enough that it did surprise him a bit, even though you were young. 

"You heard me," you muttered, playing with your skirt. "Don't make it into a big thing." You shook your head and glanced toward the bar. "What kind of beer does he like? It looks like he has a bottle of Stella."

You were definitely nervous right now, and Jake didn't like that one bit. "Oh, no. You don't want to hook up with Rooster."

"Yes," you insisted, clutching your little purse now. "I do. Because he won't even have to know about any of it. He'll just fuck me. And then I can get on with my life."

When you took a step toward the bar, Jake reached out for your hand. "He's drunk. You want your first time to be with someone who won't have the mental capacity to make sure you enjoy yourself, too? Make sure you come?"

Instead of pulling your hand free, you stopped and looked at the place where your fingers were connected with his. "I'm not worried about coming. I just want to get this over with."

Gently he pulled you closer until your chest bumped his, and then Jake took your chin carefully between his thumb and index finger. "How old are you, really?"

"I'm twenty."

He stroked your lip with his thumb. It was soft and plump and more than kissable. "Twenty," he echoed. "That's not too old, you know." 

You smirked. "Thanks. But I'm just trying to be sensible here. I don't need to be in love or anything like that. I'd rather have the experience. Rather get it out of the way so it doesn't hurt when I'm with the guy who keeps asking me out. And this way I'll know what to do."

Once more he touched his thumb to your lip and said, "Show me your real ID."

"Why?" you asked, frowning as his hand fell away. "That was my actual name on the one you saw."

"Just humor me, kid," he said firmly, holding out his hand. If you were only eighteen or even younger, he was going to have to ask you to leave or maybe even get Penny involved before you did go home with one of these horny assholes. 

With a huff, you handed it to him. According to the real one, you lived in San Diego. You turned twenty about two months ago. And that really was your name. "When you get a fake, you're supposed to fake the name, too. Everyone knows that. You're in college?"

You snatched it from him and tucked it away with the other one. "Yes, I'm in college."

"Then why the hell are you here right now?" he asked. "You want to lose your virginity so bad tonight? Go stand outside a dorm, and the guys will be lining up for a cute thing like you."

The annoyance and apprehension left your face and were replaced by something different. "Do you really think that's a better alternative than a slightly tipsy, attractive man in his 30s? Because I do not. I'm going for Rooster. But thanks for calling me cute."

Jake was getting so used to your smirk that as soon as you turned away from him again, he missed it. You were heading off toward Bradshaw, and for some wild reason, he was just unwilling to let you do this with him. Rooster wouldn't ask if you were a virgin, and you certainly wouldn't tell him. It might be good for you, and it might not, but Jake thought you should at least be with someone who would try.

"No no no no." He had his hands around your waist, pulling your back against his front. "It's not happening," he muttered next to your ear. "I can call a ride for you, or I can drive you home myself, but that's not going to happen."

You spun around and glared at him. "You said I was cute. I can handle this."

Jake sighed and tipped his face toward the ceiling for a beat as he held you in place with his hands at the middle of your back. "Not with any of those guys," he practically growled through gritted teeth. "I don't know how to make myself any more clear."

You weren't struggling in his grasp, and he knew he should let you go anyway, but he wanted you to agree to letting him get you an Uber. But then you leaned in a little closer with a glint in your eye and asked, "Who's going to do it then? You?"

"Me?" he asked, wide eyes slowly drifting down to your lips. He could feel the leather of your skirt against his pinky as his fingers flexed with the need to keep you close. He could smell your skin and see your pupils growing wider. Your softly parted lips were right there.

You nodded slowly and said, "I mean... I don't even know your name, but I'm sure you could show me the ropes, aviator."

He swallowed hard, eyes never leaving yours. "I'm Jake," he said, his voice lower and needier than he anticipated. "And I need you to tell me what you're going to do if I say no."

Your smirk was back. "Well, Jake the aviator, if you say no, then I'll go ask Rooster and keep my fingers crossed that he's into it."

It wasn't that Jake wasn't keen on the idea of getting his hands all over you, because he was. And that was the problem. He wasn't any better than the rest of the guys. Not really. He didn't deserve to get to have you. But the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced he'd make it good. He wouldn't hurt you or do anything you didn't welcome. And he wouldn't kick you out after a few hours. 

"It's a bad idea," he said, and then your lips were on his. You caught him off guard, and after that one gentle kiss, you started to pull away. Your eyes were wide and innocent, and he couldn't stop himself. He chased you for another taste, and it was the sweetest thing he could ever remember. Your hand crept up to rest on his chest as he drew your tentative lips back to his, pulling you snug against his body. Soft kiss after soft kiss left his nose bumping against yours as he whispered, "I said it's a bad idea."

Then you were kissing him again. Harder this time. Your hand went around the back of his neck, and he took a palm full of leather as he squeezed your ass. Oh shit. You were a nice handful for him. Honestly, he could get hard for you right here, and now you surely felt it as he rolled his hips forward against yours. 

And then you moaned into his mouth as your fingers slipped up into his hair, and Jake knew it was hopeless. You nibbled on his lip before you pulled a few inches away, looked at him with desire filled eyes, and whispered, "I think it might be a good idea."

"God damn it."

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

Is Jake actually any better than the rest of the horny guys? Is this a bad idea or a good idea? The problem is Jake likes stubborn girls who give him a hard time. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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[chrisevansonly]

Playing With Fire

Max Verstappen x Female Reader

summary: you and stella are max’s world, and he’d be damned if he let his father speak ill of either of you.

warnings: angst, jos (ew), angry max, slight mentions of crying, fluff at end

a/n: this is a re-upload to see if it shows up in the tags 🥲

When Stella was born, it was one of the best days ever for Max, seeing his baby girl come into the world, and the way she practically latched onto him from the minute she was welcomed into the family. He knew right then and there he would be the absolute best father to his daughter, just as he was the best husband to you, and always had been.

If there was one thing Max nor you completely enjoyed it was family events when everyone got together, including Jos. Max’s father.Max and his father have a complicated relationship, in a way they seem close but there’s always that edge to his dad that keeps all of you on the edge of your seat. You in particular seemed to still be an issue to him, and every once in a while, you’d become the punching bag at the dinner table.

Stella was sleeping in your arms as you sat next to Max at the dinner table, Jos across from you both and his mother on the other end with the rest of his family and some friends that had joined for the monthly get together.

“So when is the next Verstappen coming?” His father asked looking at you. Stella was only 6 months old so you and Max were happy to just enjoy the time you have with her now, not even thinking about another baby.

“Oh, well i’m sure someday we’ll have another…”

“We’re in no rush” Max butted in, assuming it would stop his father’s line of questioning.

“Yes well, it’s just you had a baby girl…there has to be a boy in the equation…”

You furrowed your brows, fixing Stella’s blanket as she continued to sleep, oblivious to the rising tensions in the room.

“I don’t think so? There’s nothing wrong with having girls..”

“Who’s supposed to carry on the name?”

Max sat up straighter, his hand squeezing your knee gently

“Stella will just as our next baby will eventually, regardless of their gender.”

Jos shook his head taking a sip of his water as he sighed, before looking back at you.

“All i’m saying is you should be trying for a boy.”

“Well it doesn’t work that way.”

The table was getting quieter as the father and son squared off, Jos not backing down and Max not about to let his father attack you in anyway. Not on his watch.

“I knew the second you had a daughter it would make you weak, let alone marrying her and having that baby! She’s useless if she can’t have a boy! You’re wasting your time Max, I knew from the second I met her it would ruin our family.”

Used to his harassment you didn’t cry, but it didn’t stop tears from welling up in your eyes as you almost deflated in a way, hugging Stella closer to your chest. The minute your eyes looked to Max, long gone was his soft stare and gentle smile, replaced was a look almost predatory as he looked to his father.

“Watch your fucking mouth when you’re talking about the mother of my child.”

“Max-”

“No, get out.”

“Excuse me?” Jos’s eyes widened and he shook his head

“GET THE HELL OUT!”

Max yelled, slamming his hands down on the table, seconds later Stella stirring before whimpering in your arms. The dutchman froze and looked apologetically at you as you excused yourself to go up to the nursery, only then turning back to look at his father.

“If you ever so much as think about speaking about my wife and daughter again, it’ll be me coming after you. Now get the fuck out.”

Jos didn’t even offer to say anything else, pushing back his chair and storming out, effectively cutting the dinner to an end as everyone left, Max’s mother sticking around to help clean up and of course comfort you afterwards. She had always been close to you and Max and in a way she was like a mother to you too.

“Baby?”

Turning at the sound of your husbands voice you smiled, still holding Stella in your arms, only this time she was much calmer, her eyes lighting up as she spots her dad.

“Hi, everything okay?”

“I should be asking you that…”

Shrugging you let him take Stella from you, his demeanour much more relaxed with his baby girl in his arms as he placed a few kisses to her cheeks.

“I know what your father is like, yes it hurts but I love you and you love me and that’s all that matters…we have a beautiful baby girl, and that man will never be able to change what we have.”

Max nods, bringing you into his side and leaning down to kiss you softly

“You’re right, he can’t. I’ll never let him ever disrespect you like that ever again. No matter what I have to do.”

“I know you won’t Maxie…and I love you very much for it, Stella too, huh baby?”

Stroking her cheek gently she babbled happily, leaning on Max’s shoulder, her hand patting his chest gently

“My girls…I love you both so much, i’ll always protect you both, with my everything.”

Nothing else needed to be said in the moment, all Max needed was his girls and he felt whole. Nothing else mattered because to him he had everything he’d ever wanted in his life. Despite what he went through growing up, Jos had never made his heart turn cold, he made it big enough to hold the love he had for you two, and would always hold, no matter what happened.

Besides, everyone knew messing with the Verstappen girls, was playing with fire.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 18.2k (don't kill me) tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: I'm dead, ik i said i wouldn’t write again for a couple days but i had a moment of epiphany series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Walking through the long, but suffocating hallways of the office is excruciating for Satoru—it always is. Today, it feels extra excruciating. He’s been out of the office for a few days now, ignoring his business responsibilities and family, he knows he’ll probably face hell today. How painful.

“Good morning, Mr. Gojo.”

“Hello, Mr. Gojo.”

“Nice to see you, Mr. Gojo.”

“Mr. Gojo!”

A voice says, one he clocks as his secretary. He sighs, but continues to walk forward, forcing Aiko to practailly sprint just to catch up with him. There’s stacks of papers in her arms, her cheeks red with a small sheen of sweat painting her skin. And it’s only the start of the day. He almost starts feel bad for her. “Mr. Gojo! Where have you been? I’ve called and texted, I even went to your house and you weren’t there!”

“Vacation.” he says curtly, not breaking his stride. His tone is clipped, his voice devoid of any real emotion, and it’s enough to make Aiko falter for just a second.

“A vacation?!” she exclaims, breathless. “You didn’t even leave a notice! Do you have any idea how many calls I’ve had to field from your father’s office? They were—”

“Livid. Yeah, I’m sure.” Satoru waves a hand dismissively, rounding a corner and heading toward the elevator. Aiko scrambles to keep up, adjusting the stack of papers precariously balanced in her arms.

“They’re expecting you in the boardroom at ten,” she says, her voice slightly frantic. “And Mr. Gojo said if you didn’t show up this time, he’d—”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” he interrupts, pressing the elevator button with unnecessary force. The tension in his shoulders is palpable, but his face remains a mask of indifference. 

“Yes, but—” Aiko stops herself, hesitating. Her voice softens. “Are you okay, sir?”

For a moment, Satoru freezes. The elevator dings, the doors sliding open, but he doesn’t move. The question hangs in the air like a challenge he isn’t ready to face. “Peachy,” he finally says, stepping inside. Aiko hesitates before following, fumbling with the papers in her arms. Once she’s inside, Satoru presses the number 15, doors soon closing. The ascent to the highest floor of the high rise office building begins. As the elevator begins its rising, the silence is thick and awkward. Satoru leans against the mirrored wall, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the glowing numbers above the doors. “You’ve got a lot to catch up on,” Aiko ventures, breaking the silence. “There’s the overseas partnership meeting at noon, and your parents are waiting to—”

“They’ll wait,” Satoru cuts her off, his tone colder now. “I’m not on their clock.”

Aiko flinches but doesn’t argue. She adjusts the papers again, her gaze darting nervously to him before focusing on the floor. “Mr. Gojo, they seemed very serious today, more than usual. Your mother was even holding back tears, but she didn’t look sad, she looked…angry.”

His mind turns into uncertainty. His mother’s here and she’s crying? Did he piss them off that much? Well, she’s always been quite the dramatic woman. It can’t be that bad. When the elevator doors open, Satoru steps out without a word, leaving Aiko to scurry after him in usual form. The sound of his shoes clicking against the polished marble floor echoes through the hallway as Satoru walks toward his personal office. Aiko struggles to keep up, her footsteps hurried and uneven behind him.

He caresllesy pushes his doors open, going over to plop himself down in his chair behind the desk. Heavily exhaling while ltilting his head back, eyes fixated on the bare ceiling above. Seems like his carelessness is going to catch up with him today. Although he’d rather not deal with anything business related right now, especially his parents, he’s been gone more than he should. He can already anticipate he’ll leave late today, the monotonous voices of the businessmen, the disapproving words from his parents, the headache that will break through around noon, and the lingering, mundane question in the back of his mind of what you and Koji will be eating tonight for dinner. Maybe I should send her some money to eat out, or to buy a few groceries?

However, another thought makes its presence known by her very…unpleasant voice. He almost forget about her.

“Satoru!”

Aiko squeaks as she’s negligently pushed to the side by Himari, some of the papers flying out her hands—to which she bends down to pick it up, giving the other woman an annoyed glance. Himari plops into Satoru’s lap, arms instinctively moving around his neck. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick, baby. I thought something happened.”

Satoru doesn't react at first, his head still tilted back, eyes glued to the ceiling. His jaw tightens ever so slightly, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Himari presses herself closer, her fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck as she leans in. Her voice softens, pink lips downturning into a pout, dripping with almost a faux sense of concern. “You didn’t answer my calls, Satoru. I thought we were past all this disappearing nonsense. What’s going on?”

Aiko straightens up from the floor, her lips pressed into a thin line as she shuffles the papers back into order. “Excuse me, Ms. Nakamura,” she says tightly, her eyes flicking toward Satoru. “Mr. Gojo has a full schedule today. If you need to discuss personal matters, perhaps—”

“Not now, you,” Himari cuts her off without looking, her attention solely on Satoru. “This is between Satoru and I, not the help.”

Aiko bristles but doesn’t argue, standing stiffly by the door.

Satoru finally moves, letting out a low sigh as he straightens his posture, forcing Himari to shift slightly on his lap. His hands rest limply on the armrests of his chair, making no effort to return her embrace. “Himari,” he says flatly, his voice void of any attempt at warmth. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” She pulls back just enough to look at him, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing. “Too busy to call me? To even let me know you’re alive?” Her voice rises slightly, her frustration barely contained. “You just vanished, and I had to find out from your secretary that you weren’t even in the office!”

His lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. “And yet, here I am. Alive and well.”

“That’s not the point!” Himari huffs, her grip on him tightening as if to keep him from brushing her off. “You can’t just disappear like that, Satoru. It’s irresponsible. It’s—”

“Unprofessional? Reckless? Embarrassing?” he interrupts, his tone sharp enough to make her flinch slightly. “Yeah, I’ve heard it all before. What do you want me to say, Himari? I have my own life too, baby.”

She stares at him, her lips parting as if to respond, but no words come out. For a moment, the air between them is thick with tension. Her expression shifts, the frustration giving way to something colder. “You’ve been acting strange lately,” she says, her tone accusing. “Ever since—” She stops herself, her eyes narrowing. “Ever since last time I saw you.” Himari doesn’t move from his lap immediately, her arms tightening around his neck as if trying to pull him closer. Her perfectly manicured nails graze his skin, and she leans in, her voice then dropping into something softer, more coaxing. “You know I’m only upset because I care about you,” she says, her eyes searching his face. “You can’t keep shutting me out like this, Satoru. I’m your girlfriend, for heaven’s sake. I’m supposed to be the person you lean on.”

Satoru doesn’t respond right away. His head tilts slightly, his expression unreadable as he studies her. The silence stretches on long enough for Himari to shift uncomfortably. His eyes move to hers, the first real spark of emotion flashing across his face. “You have to understand, okay? I’m… going through stuff right now, I just needed a break.”

“A break from me?”

“Himari.” His voice is quieter now, the edge in it is unmistakable, but also resigned. He continues, willing himself to react calmly, “you’re not helping by showing up here unannounced.”

“Unannounced?” she scoffs, her tone sharpening again. “I wouldn’t have to if you actually answered your phone. Or your emails. Or—oh, I don’t know—told me where the hell you were!”

“I needed space,” he repeats simply, his gaze drifting toward the window behind her.

“Space?” she repeats incredulously. “From me?” Her voice trembles slightly, though whether it’s from anger or hurt, even she doesn’t seem sure. “You can’t just disappear without saying anything, Satoru. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is to have your parents calling me, asking if I know where you are? To have my parents asking why their future son-in-law is MIA?”

Future son in law. That makes his brows furrow, a frown taking place on his face. “I didn’t ask you to answer for me,” he says evenly, his eyes meeting hers again.

“No, you didn’t,” she snaps, pulling back further now. “But you also didn’t give me a choice. What was I supposed to do? Just sit there and let everyone think I don’t know what’s going on with my own boyfriend?”

“You could have,” he says with a shrug, the corner of his mouth lifting in a ghost of a smirk. “Might’ve been easier.”

Her jaw drops, and for a moment, she looks genuinely stunned. “Are you serious right now? You’re impossible, Satoru. Absolutely impossible.”

“I’ve been told,” he says lightly, but there’s no humor in his voice.

She gets up abruptly, smoothing her Valentino Garavino dress with quick, agitated movements. “This isn’t funny,” she says, her tone colder now. “You think you can just brush me off like this? Like I don’t matter? I’m the one who’s been by your side all this time, Satoru. Me.”

He sighs. “Just stop, please.”

“I’m just saying,” Himari presses on, her voice a little too sharp, “I’ve been dealing with this mess all on my own, while you’ve been out who knows where—doing who knows what—and now I’m supposed to just pretend everything is fine? That’s not how this works.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Satoru says with finality, his patience running thin. “I didn’t ask you to sit here, waiting for me, wondering where I’ve been. I needed a break. A chance to breathe.”

“From me?” she asks again, disbelief written across her face.

He decides to concede. “Yes,” he says quietly. “From everything. You wouldn’t understand.”

Himari falters for a moment, her face flickering with a mixture of hurt and frustration. “And I don’t matter enough for you to tell me why?”

His gaze softens, just for a second, but it quickly hardens again. “I don’t need to explain myself, Himari.” He looks away from her, not trusting himself to speak without snapping. There’s a quiet but heavy tension hanging in the air.

“I thought we had something,” Himari says after a long pause, her voice quieter now, though the hurt still lingers in her tone. “I thought I meant more to you.”

“You do,” Satoru replies, the words sounding almost empty, even to him. “But right now, I need time to sort things out. Can you understand that?”

She glares at him for a moment longer before letting out an exasperated huff. “Fine. Fuck it, ignore things like you always do.” She grabs her bag, turning on her heel. “But don’t think I’m just going to sit around waiting for you to figure things out. You owe me better than this, Satoru.” She storms out, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, leaving Aiko awkwardly standing in the doorway.

Satoru remains frozen in his chair, staring at the empty space she left behind. He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face as his mind drifts back to the other matters weighing on him. The silence feels suffocating, and even though his thoughts want to wander to her—to you—he forces himself to focus. But something lingers, something unsettled that he can’t shake.

Aiko clears her throat, stepping forward cautiously. “Um… should I reschedule your morning meetings, sir?”

Satoru leans back in his chair again, closing his eyes briefly. “No,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just… give me five minutes.” Aiko nods, backing out of the room and closing the door softly behind her. Alone now, Satoru exhales heavily, the weight of the morning and what’s to come settling over him like a thick fog.

Jesus Christ. Can I just have one day without everyone breathing down my fucking neck?

“And so, this is why my team and I believe it’s prevalent to keep things neutral, but cordial with the Nexus Group.” The head of the negotiation team, a sharp-dressed man in his late forties with a voice as dry as the monotony of the topic at hand, clicked through another slide of the dull PowerPoint presentation which casted faint shadows over the darkened boardroom. The screen displayed a web of connections and partnerships that Nexus had with other firms, none of which particularly interested Satoru.

Neutral and cordial. Two words he had no patience for today.

He slouched slightly in his chair, his fingers drumming against the polished wood of the table. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses—his mother would’ve had a fit if she saw him disrespecting the board by doing so—but he felt the familiar strain behind his eyes nonetheless, holding back a heavy sigh.

“Mr. Gojo?” 

The sound of his name snapped him out of his haze. He blinked, realizing the room was waiting for him to respond. All eyes were on him, some expectant, some wary. “Hm?” he hummed, sitting up just enough to look like he was paying attention.

The negotiator cleared his throat. “Your thoughts on maintaining a neutral stance with Nexus, sir?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on the projector screen, though he wasn’t really seeing it. The weight of everything—the meeting, his parents waiting to speak with him, you and Koji constantly in the back of his mind—made it impossible to focus. He just wishes these imbeciles could make a single decision without confiding in him first. Finally, he sighed, leaning back and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think…” he began, his voice softer than usual, almost detached, “that we’ve been through this already.”

The negotiator hesitated. “Well, yes, but we wanted to ensure the approach aligns with your vision—”

“My vision?” Satoru interrupted, his tone bordering on tired amusement. He dropped his hand and glanced around the room, his expression almost blank. “My vision is that we don’t waste time overthinking what Nexus might do. If they’re going to cause problems, we deal with it. If they’re not, we move forward. Simple.” 

A few people exchanged uneasy glances, but no one argued; they know better. “Understood, sir,” the negotiator said, his voice quieter now.

Satoru didn’t reply, turning his gaze to the window instead. The faint reflection of the room in the glass blurred with the skyline beyond. He couldn’t remember the last time he truly cared about one of these meetings. The discussion carried on around him, voices blending into a low hum. Every so often, someone would glance his way, but he didn’t react. His thoughts drifted, heavier and heavier, to the inevitable confrontation waiting for him after this meeting. He sighed slowly, shifting in his chair. The tension building in his chest had been there for days, clawing at him, and this—this pointless back-and-forth—only made it worse.

“Satoru,” Nanami’s voice cut through the fog, quiet but firm, “want to wrap this up for today?” Satoru blinked at him, then at the rest of the room. Everyone was waiting, polite smiles masking their unease. He straightened a little, though it felt like dragging himself through water

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Let’s revisit this later.” The meeting adjourned, and as the others filed out, Satoru stayed behind, staring blankly at the table. He knew he couldn’t avoid the next part of the day forever, but for now, he just wanted to sit in the quiet, even if it was only for a moment.

Nanami stays behind until the last man leaves, taking this moment to face his colleague with his usual bored—but calculated gaze. “What’s up with you? First, you go AWOL for days on end, and now you come back and look like you don’t know about a single thing that’s happening. That or you don’t care.”

“I never truly do,” Satoru replies, swiveling. 

Nanami shakes his head, running a hand through his blonde locks. “Seriously, Satoru. Can you just fix up your act for the next few days, at least?”

Satoru raises a thin, white eyebrow. “Next few days, hm? Why, what’s happening in these next few days?” He uses air quotes.

“For fuck’s sake,” Nanami groans, arms crossing. “You forgot?”

Satoru tilted his head, feigning thought, though the blankness in his eyes betrayed his apathy. “Hmm... enlighten me.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. “The annual board dinner, Monday evening. The one where you’re expected to charm the investors and keep them from pulling out of their contracts. The dinner that your father has been planning for months.”

Satoru hummed, his head falling back against the chair with exaggerated dramatics. “Oh, that dinner. Right. The one where I play puppet for a bunch of old men who care more about profit margins than people.”

Nanami didn’t rise to the bait, though his gaze hardened. “The dinner where your family’s reputation is at stake, Satoru. It’s not optional, and you know it.”

Satoru swung his chair in a slow circle, his long legs stretched out as if the conversation wasn’t happening. “Guess I should dust off my charm, huh? Or maybe I’ll just stand there and look pretty—that usually does the trick.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his patience clearly wearing thin. “This isn’t a joke. You’ve already caused enough waves by disappearing last week. If you don’t show up, or worse, if you show up like this…” He gestured vaguely at Satoru, encompassing his disheveled demeanor. “…then don’t expect your father, especially your mother to forgive you anytime soon.”

Satoru stopped spinning, his chair facing Nanami now. He rested his elbow on the armrest, propping his chin in his hand. “You sound like her, you know. Should I start calling you ‘Mom’ too?”

Nanami rolled his eyes, clearly done with the conversation. “Do whatever you want, Satoru. Just don’t screw this up.” With that, he turned and walked towards the doors. Stopping for a second and giving one last thought. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to stop running from your responsibilities, it’s catching up with you.” Then, the sound of the door shutting behind him follows, leaving Satoru alone in the silence once more.

For a long moment, Satoru stayed where he was, the room empty except for the faint hum of the projector. He stared blankly at the table, his mind a tangle of thoughts he didn’t want to undo. He let out a heavy puff of air, the sound filling the silence. “Yeah,” he muttered to no one in particular. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” He shakes his head, the density of Nanami’s words settling over him like a heavy cloak. The idea of the board dinner—of facing his parents, the investors, the endless expectations—made his chest tighten. But even that wasn’t the heaviest thing on his mind. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. His finger hovered over the screen, debating whether to send a message. Whether to ask you if you were okay, if Koji had eaten, if you’d even want to hear from him. Instead, he locked the phone and tossed it onto the desk, leaning back in his chair. For now, all he could do was sit in the quiet and try to pull himself together before the next storm hit. 

Nanami’s right, it’s catching up to him. 

“Where is that little bastard?”

“Mrs. Gojo!”

“Where is he?”

“I-I believe he’s still in the—”

The doors abruptly opening causes Satoru’s head to swivel in the direction of them. He almost wishes he just sink into a hole. The face of his mother, looking pretty damn pissed off, is glaring at him. A familiar look to her son. He still doesn’t know what he did wrong—besides ignoring the business for a week. Still, she’s that upset? “You,” she points a red nail in her son’s direction, to which he stands up. “Get your ass in your father’s office, now.”

“For what?” Satoru asks, though he’s already making his way to her. He then yelps out in surprise when his mother reaches her hand up and pinches his earlobe between her two fingers. “Ow! Mom! What the hell?!”

“Shut it, boy.” She snaps out, hauling his ass down the corridor to his father’s office. The employees watch on, eyes wide with curiosity and surprise as their boss is practically getting manhandled by his own mother like he’s a child all over again. 

“Seriously, Mom, let go!” Satoru hissed, trying to pry her fingers off his ear without much success.

“You don’t get to make demands today, Satoru,” she snapped, her grip tightening. “Not after the mess you’ve made.”

“What mess?!” he exclaimed, stumbling slightly as she yanked him forward.

“Oh, don’t act clueless. You’re in enough trouble, don’t you dare add stupidity to the list,” she shot back.

By the time they reached his father’s office, Satoru was basically limping from the awkward gait forced upon him. His mother flung the door open with so much force that it banged against the wall. His father, seated behind his imposing desk, barely glanced up, though the faint crease in his brow betrayed his irritation. “Ah, the prodigal son,” his father drawled, setting down his pen and folding his hands neatly in front of him. “We were wondering when you’d grace us with your presence.”

“Trust me, this wasn’t my idea,” Satoru muttered, rubbing his ear as his mother finally released him. He straightened his jacket with an exaggerated sigh and flopped into the chair across from his father. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t drag you here sooner,” his mother said, slamming the door shut. She crossed her arms and went to stand beside her husband, her sharp gaze fixed on her son.

Satoru rolled his eyes. “Alright, what’s this about? I already know you’re mad about last week. Can’t we just skip to the part where you yell at me for being irresponsible and I promise to do better?”

His father didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached into a drawer, pulled out a folder, and slid it across the desk. “We’re not here to rehash your usual antics, Satoru. This is about something far more… shocking.”

“What’s this?”

“Open it.” His parents say in firm unison. 

Satoru frowned, his carefree demeanor wavering as he picked up the folder. He opened it lazily, but his body went rigid when his eyes landed on the photograph inside—a picture of him, arms wrapped around Koji, with you standing to the side, your expression tender, smiling. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting the sudden tense silence suffocate the room.

“What the hell?” Satoru whispered, his mind racing.

His mother’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Care to explain, Satoru?”

For once, he had nothing to say.

“I….” he gulps, fists clenching around the photograph. His jaw ticks, brows furrowing in the middle. “Where did you get this?” Satoru’s voice was low.

“We could ask you the same,” his mother snapped, her tone icy. “Who is that child, Satoru?”

Satoru doesn’t answer, instead hyper-fixating on the picture. His father didn’t wait for him to respond either. “We had to hire someone to track you down after you disappeared. Imagine our surprise when they came back with this.” He gestured to the photo. 

He looks back at his parents, meeting them with an equally deathly stare, blue eyes bouncing off one another. “You’ve been fucking spying on me?”

“You gave us no choice,” Akane responds, upset with her son’s tone. “You disappeared, we were worried, and now—” she huffs in disbelief. “Now we come to find out…this! What is this, Satoru?”

“Don’t talk about him like that.”

“I’ll do whatever I damn well please,” his mother counters. 

Her son’s eyes turn dark, and anger beginning to rise up beneath his flesh. Willing himself to calm down and not snap. He looks between his father and mother, not even sure what to say at this moment. First, he’s pissed they sent someone to watch and follow him, second, how did he not notice? And third, they know. They fucking know. He’s barely figuring shit out on his own and now his parents are involved in the mix. 

Yamato reels in a long breath, standing up from his chair. He walks out from behind his desk and stops in front of his carbon copy. “Satoru, who is that boy?”

A rhetorical question, it has to be. They just want him to admit it. They know who it is—who he is to Satoru. They’d be blind if they didn’t. Satoru gulps, biting the inside of his cheek before slowly responding. His words are hushed and careful, but filled with pride. “My son.”

Akane huffs quietly from her spot. “Oh my god.” She runs her hands through her hair, taking a seat in her husband’s chair, shaky hand fanning herself.

Neither son nor father looks at her, continuing to practically look into one another’s soul. It’s funny, he thinks. Two fathers face to face. If this was a different situation, Satoru probably would have made a snide remark about his old man looking hilarious with his wrinkly frown. The latter would then battle and say he’s not wrinkly.

But this isn't a different situation. This is a moment steeped in tension, every second thick with the weight of unspoken truths. The air feels like it's pressing down on Satoru’s chest, and the silence between them stretches unnervingly long. Yamato doesn’t break eye contact, his gaze cold, cutting through the room like a blade. "Your son," he repeats, as though testing the words in his mouth, as though the very utterance holds the power to shatter everything Satoru thought he knew about his own life.

Akane's nervous laugh breaks the heavy stillness. "I can’t even... this is just—" Her voice falters, the shock settling into a mix of disbelief and growing anger. She stands up again, pacing behind the desk, as if the movement might release the pressure building in her chest. "You’ve been hiding this? From us? All this time, Satoru?"

Satoru’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. He wants to lash out, to unleash the storm building within him, but he forces himself to stand tall, to mask the inner turmoil. His pulse is loud in his ears, the rush of blood roaring through him as his parents' words sink into him like cold nails.

But it’s Yamato’s next words that really cut deep. "You’ve been living a lie. And now it seems, so have we." Yamato’s voice is calm, but the edge is there, like a blade just under the surface, ready to slice through the fragile veneer of Satoru’s carefully constructed world.

Satoru looks down at the ground. “You guys don’t understand, I…I just found out too.”

His mother whips her head in his direction. “You what?!”

“What the hell do you mean just found out?” His father adds, in even more disbelief and confusion. 

Satoru takes a slow breath, his shoulders tense as he looks up at them, meeting their incredulous stares. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he’s caught between the desire to explain everything and the overwhelming urge to stay silent, to protect the fragile piece of truth he’s only just begun to wrap his mind around. “I didn’t know,” he mutters, the words sounding foreign even to him. “I didn’t know I had a son. Until about a week ago. All of this… it’s new to me too.”

His parents stand still, processing the revelation, but the shock on their faces quickly shifts into something darker. Yamato’s expression tightens, a storm brewing behind his cold eyes. Akane's mouth opens and closes as if she’s trying to find the words, but none come. "You’re telling me," Yamato finally speaks, his voice low and menacing, "that you just found out about your own son? How does that make any damn sense?" His voice cracks on the last word, the authority and power he’s wielded for so many years suddenly slipping, revealing an underlying fury that Satoru has rarely seen.

Satoru looks away, his voice strained. “It wasn’t my choice.”

Akane's face flushes with anger, her hands shaking as she grips the edge of the desk. “This—this is absurd! We don’t even know this child!” Her voice rises in frustration, but Satoru isn’t looking at her anymore. His eyes are focused on the printed photograph still clutched tightly in his hand—the child that isn’t just a stranger, but a reflection of his own blood, staring back at him from that moment he hadn’t even known to be real.

Yamato steps closer, his gaze narrowing as he tries to force the puzzle pieces together. “You just found out… And yet, you're so protective of this child that you didn’t tell us as soon as you found out? What, you expect us to believe you’ve been kept in the dark all this time?”

Satoru’s fists clench, every nerve in his body screaming to either stand his ground or walk out. But this conversation—this confrontation—is unavoidable. He swallows hard, speaking through the tension in his chest. “I’m not lying,” he says, his voice firm, though his hands tremble. “I only learned the truth just recently..” The room falls silent. Yamato stands there, his expression unreadable, but there’s something shifting in his eyes. Something dangerous.

Akane walks over to snatch the picture out of Satoru’s hands, pointing to your figure. “Is this who I think it is?’

He nods without a second thought.

“Jesus Christ!” Akane throws her hands up, walking back to the desk. “I thought—since when—I thought you two broke up years ago, Satoru! She’s had your son this entire time?!”

His parents remember you—quite vividly, actually. The young, and sweet, but out of the league for their son. They remember the way you’d walk into a room, quiet but full of something they couldn’t quite put their finger on—strength hidden beneath the surface, even if you never showed it outright. They remember the way you’d smile shyly when they’d speak to you, eyes bright with a warmth they hadn’t seen in anyone in years. To them, you were everything they never imagined for their son—too sweet, too grounded, too otherworldly for someone like Satoru.

They remember the first time they met you, how you’d seemed so out of place in their world. They'd been skeptical at first, unsure of how you’d fit into the carefully curated life they’d built for their son. They knew Satoru, with all his charm and charm and reckless pursuit of every distraction, was always destined for someone like Himari, someone who could navigate the glitzy world they lived in. So of course, when they first heard of you, they were hesitant—maybe even disapproving. They advised Satoru to end things with you quickly, but their son was always stubborn and did things way. 

You came into the picture, with your quiet resilience and soft smile, and for the first time, they saw something in their son they didn’t recognize—vulnerability. Something about you brought that out of him. And that terrified them. They thought you were the kind of woman who could have his heart in a way no one else could. They didn’t know if that was a good thing or a dangerous one. Now, looking at the picture in front of them, that same woman stands on the other side of it, framed by the memories of everything that went wrong. And in the background, a child—their grandchild—who they never even knew existed.

As charming as Satoru is, you were the first girl he brought home. With this came the first time he came to his father for ideas on what girls like for their birthday, the first time they accidentally walked in on you and Satoru in a compromising position, and the first time they heard–-consoled their son after a major heartbreak. 

The first and only time, actually. 

Yamato’s voice is like ice, cold and calculating. “You finished things with her, Satoru. You let her go, and you let her leave with your son. How did you have not one clue about her pregnancy?”

Akane, still shocked, looks between her husband and son, her face pale. “You were too caught up in your own damn life to notice, weren’t you? Too busy with everything else to see the consequences of it all. I thought you were having safe sex!”

Satoru grimaces slightly, guilt twisting in his gut. “I didn’t know... I didn’t know she had him. I didn’t even know until now.”

His parents exchange a glance, their expressions unreadable. Then Akane speaks, her voice sharp and cutting. “Does it matter? Does it matter that you didn’t know? What’s worse, Satoru? That you let her get away with it, or that you didn’t even care enough to find out sooner? A responsible man makes sure nothing like this happens, especially a man of your status.” Satoru can’t answer. He can’t give them what they want to hear.

Nobody says anything for longer than Satoru finds comfortable. His father leaning against his desk and rubbing a tired hand over his greying stubble. His mother continuing her dramatics, downing some water and muttering something about how she feels faint.

Finally, Yamato speaks once more, with finality in his tone. “Bring them to us.”

Satoru, immediately on the defense, shakes his head. “No, I’m not having you two chew her out and scrutinize them. They don’t deserve that.”

“No, but what we do deserve is a solution to this…” his father wants to say mess, but with a look at his son, he decides against it. “A solution. This…this changes a lot of things, Satoru. Fuck.” He sighs.

Satoru’s chest tightens at the word “solution,” as if his father is already calculating how to fix what he sees as an inconvenience, a mistake to be swept away. His hands clench into fists, but he holds his ground, knowing this conversation is about to take a turn he’s not prepared for. “I’m not having you two tear into her or my son. They’ve been through enough.”

Yamato doesn’t flinch, and doesn’t show any sign of backing down. He only looks at his son with that same icy expression. “You think I care about how you want things, Satoru? I’m telling you, this changes everything. You’ve been playing around with your life, our lives, and now there’s a child involved. You think we’re just going to let this go?” He pauses, sighing deeply as if the weight of this situation is finally starting to sink in for him, but the resentment still lingers in his voice. “This... this situation, whatever you want to call it, has consequences. And you don’t get to hide behind her or the kid forever. This isn’t just about what you want anymore.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens. “I’m not hiding behind anyone. I’m doing what’s right, even if you don’t agree with it.”

Yamato’s eyes darken, his gaze like ice, and his voice drops lower, more calculated. “You’re not doing anything, Satoru. Not yet. You don’t have a choice anymore. This changes everything. You’re going to fix this. You’re going to fix it. You’re a grown man, the heir to my legacy, and a father now apparently, so you damn well better start acting like it.”

Akane stays silent for a moment, her eyes wide as she watches the exchange, but the tension in the room grows unbearable. Finally, she speaks, her voice quieter, yet filled with frustration and disbelief. “This... this is going to affect everything. What the hell were you thinking, Satoru?”

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up from deep within him. “I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t aware. But I’m not going to let you two dictate how I handle this. I’m not going to let you bully her and my son into some... I don’t know... some solution that doesn’t even make sense.”

His father’s words press down on him like a vice, and for a moment, Satoru can’t breathe. It’s not just about his son, it seems—this is bigger than that. His legacy. His future. His family. It’s all crumbling, and the pressure of it all suffocates him, the walls closing in as he tries to find the right words, something to push back against this tidal wave of expectation and control. But there’s nothing. No words that can change what’s been said. Satoru clenches his jaw, his hands trembling at his sides. He’s had enough of this, of the coldness in his father’s eyes, of the way his mother’s stare cuts through him like a blade.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Sunday. I’ll tell her to meet me at my place. But the second—and I mean the very second you two start raining it down on her, on my son, I’m kicking you both the hell out. You’re right, dad. I am a grown man, I am the heir, and I am a father. So I’ll start by protecting what’s mine—my family.” The word feels a little foreign on Satoru’s tongue. But he needs to acknowledge the reality of the situation. Sure, this is still pretty much because you couldn’t man up and tell him, but now that he’s here and involved, he’ll help. In any way he can. And that starts with making sure his parents don’t treat you like shit.

“Sunday,” Yamato repeats. “Seven sharp.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Perfect.”

“Sure is.”

Satoru turns on his heel, heading for the door, but not before he shoots his father a final, burning glance. "And don't think for a second that I'll let you use my son as some kind of leverage in this mess. You cross that line, and there will be hell to pay."

Yamato watches him leave, his expression unreadable, but his eyes cold with something unreadable. Akane, still fanning herself, watches the exchange with a mix of disbelief and frustration, but says nothing. The air in the room thickens, a silent understanding hanging between the three of them. Satoru slams the door behind him, the force of it vibrating through the walls. As he steps into the hallway, the weight of the situation settles on him like a stone. His fingers curl into fists at his sides, his jaw set.

He'll do whatever it takes to protect you and Koji. Even if it means standing against his own parents. The idea feels strange, foreign even, but it’s the only way forward now.

This is his family.

And he’ll burn the world down to keep them safe.

Walking Koji back home from school that day, he’s chatting your ear off about the cool bugs he found on the playground that day. As you walk beside him, Koji's excitement is almost contagious. His small voice is animated, recounting every little detail about the bugs he discovered—how the ladybug was red with black spots and how he tried to catch a dragonfly but it flew away too fast. You smile softly, nodding along to his rambling, your eyes flicking down to his eager face.

“Sounds like you had a good day today, baby.”

“I did! I love school so much, Mama. Mr. Ito says I’m the smartest kid in class.”

You grimace at the mention of his teacher. You’ve luckily been able to miss him when dropping Koji off and picking him up today; but it still doesn’t deter from the fact that you’re uncomfortable that man is teaching your son, around him and many other children every day. You entertain the idea of switching schools, but you don’t think that’s possible. The other closest school is a forty-minute walk, a fifteen-minute drive. And you can’t afford that. Not to mention the tedious paperwork you’d have to go through. As long as his teacher keeps his advances in tow and doesn’t try anything funny with your son, you think you can stand seeing his face every day for a few more months until the school year ends. 

The two of you make it to the lobby of your complex before you see Mr. Sato leaning against the counter, talking with the receptionist. Your lips purse, steps faltering for a slight moment before making your way over to him. “Hello, Mr. Sato.” You visibly see him stiffen; which confuses you. “I…I’d like to discuss the money issue with you.” 

He gulps down his coffee, almost hesitantly turning to face you. “...Ms. Y/N.” The way he greets you feels even more weird. Why is he suddenly acting so scared? Weren’t you just threatening my ass a few days ago? Never mind that. You shake your head, clearing your throat. “I wanted to tell you that I don’t really…have the money right now. I know it’s an inconvenience for you and a burden on my part, but I’m willing to do whatev—”

“No need,” he cuts you off, hand waving in the air.

You stop, head tilting. Did you hear him right? “I-I’m sorry?”

“I said no need. I already got the money.”

Now you’re really confused. Brows twitching as a wave of cautiousness passes over you. Is he tricking you? What the hell do you mean you got the money? “You…what? But, how? I didn’t….”

“Your husband paid it yesterday.”

“What?! I don’t have a husband.”

“Oh,” Mr. Sato tilts his head, looking down at Koji. “well, his father. He paid it yesterday.”

It’s like a bucket of ice cold water is dumped over you. Huffing out in disbelief, confusion, and annoyance. “Wait, wait. He…paid it? All of it…?”

Mr. Sato nods, then shifts on his feet. “And then some, I’ve applied it to next month, so you don’t have to worry about that..”

A knot forms in your stomach. You can’t process it. Why would Satoru do that? The money, the rent, the fact that he paid it all without saying a word. Without asking you first. You’re supposed to be handling this on your own, not relying on him to bail you out. But the reality of it settles in, cold and heavy. He knows you’re struggling–-pretty damn badly too. Your heart races, a strange mix of emotions stirring within you—confusion, anger, humiliation. "I didn’t ask him to do that," you mutter, your hands trembling slightly as you try to steady your thoughts. Is he going to confront you about this too now? Say how horrible of a mother you are that you can’t keep a shitty apartment? Is he building up reasons to take Koji?

Mr. Sato shrugs, then turns away from you once more. "Doesn’t matter. It’s done. He seemed pretty intent on making sure everything was covered for you.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. The idea of Satoru swooping in like some kind of white knight, fixing things without a word, twists something deep inside you. Why? The simple question hangs there, unanswered, heavy in the air between you. You glance down at Koji, who’s still holding your hand, oblivious to the tension building between you and Mr. Sato. “Thanks, I guess,” you say, your voice distant, almost hollow. It feels like the only thing you can say, even if it doesn’t feel like enough.

Mr. Sato offers a quick nod. “No problem.” 

As you and Koji walk away, your mind races, the question lingering in the air: What does Satoru want from all this? And more importantly, why the hell didn’t he tell you? It feels strange and almost invasive to have him literally pay your rent for you. Does he think he can just come in and save the day? Does he think I need him that bad? Why didn’t he tell me?

It feels like a violation, in a way. Like he’s come in and taken control of something that was supposed to be your responsibility. It’s hard to swallow. The pride you’ve worked so hard to hold onto, the independence you’ve clung to, feels shattered with just a few actions and no explanation–-and with such little ease. As you walk into your apartment, you feel the weight of his decisions hanging over you like a dark cloud. Why couldn’t he just let you handle things? You’re blatantly reminded of just how different you two are, of how much better he can provide for Koji than you can.

The problem isn’t just about the rent. It’s about him stepping in without a word, without so much as a “Do you need help?” Does he think I can’t do this on my own? You feel a sting in your chest, like a raw nerve exposed, and the overwhelming urge to scream at the world for being so damn complicated. Koji’s chatter fades into the background as you make it to the door, choosing to sit down on the couch, and pulling your knees up to your chest. What now? You’ve never asked for help from Satoru before, and now it feels like he’s swooped in and taken control, expecting gratitude in return. But how do you even thank someone who’s come in, solved your problems without asking, and left you feeling like you were never meant to stand on your own? What’s he trying to prove? You don’t know if you’re angry at him for doing something you couldn’t or angry at yourself for feeling so vulnerable, like a little piece of you just slipped away. The worst part is that you don't know how to feel about it all.

Thankful?

Happy?

Annoyed?

Angered?

Which of those is valid enough for this situation? 

The minute you’re on break at your second job, you pull out your phone and call the devil himself.

He picks up a ring later.

“Hel—”

“What are you doing?”

There’s a pause. “Um…in the office?”

“No, you idiot. I mean what the hell do you think you’re trying to prove here?”

“...that I’m a good worker?”

Jesus, could he be even more stupid? “You paid my rent for me?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, and you can almost hear him thinking, trying to figure out how to spin this. "Yeah, I did," he finally admits, and there's no apology in his voice, just plain confession.

"Why?" The question comes out sharper than you intended, a mixture of frustration and confusion. "Why would you do that without saying anything? Do you think I need your help? Is that it? Just swoop in like a damn knight in shining armor?"

He doesn't immediately respond, and you’re almost certain he’s frowning on the other end. Finally, his voice breaks through the tension. "Listen," he starts, a little too casual for your liking. "I really don’t understand why you’re angry about this, okay? Your landlord came over when you were at work and said you needed four thousand dollars. I just didn’t want you to worry about it, and I didn’t want Koji to see you stress over something like that. It’s not a big deal, it’s handled."

You roll your eyes, the anger simmering beneath the surface. "You don't get it, Satoru. This isn't about whether or not I’m stressing or angered over it. It's about you barging in and making decisions for me, like I can’t handle my own life."

His sigh comes through loud and clear, like he’s just too tired to deal with you right now. "I didn’t make the decision for you, I just—"

"—Paid my rent without asking? You don’t get to play the ‘I’m just helping’ card here! You could’ve at least talked to me first. Why didn’t you tell me? Why hide it from me?"

There’s a shift in his tone, like he’s getting a bit more fed up as the conversation continues. "I didn’t think it was necessary. You’ve been so damn silent about everything. I don’t know if it’s pride or what. But I get it—believe me, I do. But sometimes, pride gets in the way of... I don’t know, survival?"

"Survival?" You nearly choke on the word, incredulous. "Is that what you think this is? Some kind of game to you? You think I can’t survive on my own?"

The silence stretches between you two, thick with unspoken things. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head, and then, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks. "Look, I did what I did because I wanted to," he says quietly, the weight of the words heavier than anything he’s said so far. "But if you’re angry about it, then...I won’t do it again. It wasn’t meant to make you feel like... like you can’t handle things. I just thought, maybe it’d be one less thing for you to worry about."

You’re quiet for a long moment, still processing his words, the mixture of emotions swirling in your chest. "You’ve got a funny way of showing care, Satoru," you mutter, and there's a bitter laugh on the other end of the phone.

"Yeah, I know," he admits, voice tinged with regret. "I don’t always get it right." A small, reluctant part of you softens at the sound of his sincerity, but the rest of you remains hard, unresolved. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thoughts. "You just—you have to tell me in advance about these things. This is a big deal to me.”

He nods, though you can’t see it. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you feel inferior, I promise.”

You close your eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. "Just... don’t do it again."

He’s quiet for a moment, and then—"Alright, alright. I’ll back off, Y/N. But you will tell me next time if you need help, understood?"

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the unexpected, but familiar warmth spread through you at his words. "Understood," you mutter, rolling your eyes again even as you can feel the beginnings of a reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

It’s a mess. But at least he’s trying. At least you are.

You’re about to say your goodbye when he stops you. “Hey, um…so I was actually going to call you too.”

“Oh,” you reply, leaning your back against the wall. “Okay well, did you need something?’

“Yeah, I need to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

He pauses again, mulling over how to exactly give this to you easily. “So…my parents found out. About Koji.”

You don’t say anything. The words hang in the air between you, and you feel a chill run down your spine. Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s joking. But the seriousness in his voice tells you that this is no joke.

His parents found out.

You push yourself off the wall, your hand instinctively curling into a fist at your side. "What do you mean, found out? How? When?"

He lets out a long, heavy sigh. "They’ve had someone watching me for a while now because I haven’t been to the office. Apparently, the guy showed them a picture of me with Koji and you, and they…yeah."

The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. "Great," you mutter, voice tinged with disbelief. "So now they know. What, are they gonna show up at my door and demand answers too?" 

There’s an uncomfortable pause on the other end of the line before Satoru responds, his voice tight. "It’s not like that. They won’t do anything... yet. But they want to meet Koji, see him, and... they want to talk to you. They’ve got a lot of questions."

Your chest tightens. You feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Talk to me? "I’m not doing this. I’m not putting my son through that," you snap, your tone colder than you intended. "Why would they even want to meet him? He’s not some... pawn in their game."

"I know," Satoru says quickly, almost like he’s trying to reassure you. "But they’re my parents, and they’ve always been controlling. They think they have a right to know him, to know everything. I’m just telling you because I didn’t want you to be blindsided."

You take a slow, steadying breath, trying to push down the rising anger and panic that’s swirling inside you. This is bad. This is really bad.

"They want to see us?" you ask, your voice quieter now, more composed.

"They do" he answers reluctantly. "But you don’t have to. It’s your choice, okay? You don’t have to see them again if you’re not ready."

You close your eyes, your mind racing through the possibilities. You didn’t want this—didn’t want your life tangled up in his family’s politics and power games. But now, it feels like there’s no escaping it. "I’ll think about it," you say, voice soft but firm.

"Take your time," he replies, his tone gentler now. "Just know that... I’ll be there, no matter what you decide."

A part of you wants to believe him, wants to trust that he’s not just playing at being the hero. But another part of you is cautious, knowing the situation is far from simple." Okay," you finally say, the word heavy on your lips. "When did they wanna see us?"

“Sunday. At seven, my place.”

“Fuck,” you heavily breathe out, using your hand to sift through your hair. “That’s…that’s really soon, Satoru.”

“I know, I’m sorry. They just told me all this today.”

You bite your lip, conflicted. You know it is an inevitable thing to see his parents again. But it’s been so long and times have most definitely changed. You’re not sure if you’re exactly ready for that. But would you only be prolonging this? 

“Just let me know by tomorrow—preferably,” Satoru adds.

“...okay. Yeah.”

“Okay.” 

There’s an awkward gap between you two. Not sure if you should keep this conversation going. It almost feels like your first time calling each other. The silence stretches between you both, thick and uncomfortable. You can almost hear the uncertainty in his breath on the other end of the line, as though he’s unsure what to say next, or perhaps he's waiting for you to take the lead. You want to say something, anything, but the words feel stuck in your throat. There’s so much you could say, but none of it feels right. You’re not sure what he expects from you, or what you expect from him. Finally, you break the silence, your voice quieter than usual. “I’ll think about it. But...this isn’t just something I can decide on a whim.”

“I know,” Satoru responds, his tone more serious now. “I’m not rushing you. I just... I just want to make sure you’re okay with everything.”

You exhale sharply, not sure if that reassures you or not. The weight of the situation feels heavier now, but there’s still a part of you that wants to believe he’s being genuine. That he’s trying to do the right thing, even though you know deep down that the stakes are much higher than just making it through a conversation with his parents. “Right,” you reply, your tone quieter, more resigned. “I’ll... I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

“Take care,” he says, the words soft but weighted with meaning.

"Yeah. You too," you mutter before ending the call, the finality of it leaving a lingering tension in the air.

As you slide your phone back into your pocket, you let out a long breath, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. You're not sure what to expect anymore, not from Satoru, not from his family, and certainly not from yourself. But one thing is certain: this is only the beginning, and you wonder if you’re ready for what comes next. All you know is that you have to protect Koji at all costs. And now, it seems, you have to face the consequences of Satoru’s family knowing the truth.

The next day is bright and sunny, contrasting with the chill of the wind that threatens to break your skin out in goosebumps if it weren’t for your thick layers. Snowfall is supposed to begin soon, Koji told you after learning it in school. He’s excited, which makes you happy to see. He’s always loved snow, you’d make snowmen, throw snowballs, and make snow angels. You have many pictures stored in your phone of him with the white mess of cushion around him, or him holding a snowflake, anything. You take a lot of pictures of your son, mundane or not. Memories you’ll forever cherish so you can look back on them when he’s older.

Walking through town with your little boy for a little day out. The money you were saving up for the rent is now being put to use for some sweet treats and little action figures. The sound of Koji’s laughter fills the crisp air as he hops excitedly from one foot to the other, clutching the small action figures of Spiderman and Ironman in his hands, his cheeks flushed from the cold. His excitement is contagious, and for a moment, the worries of yesterday feel distant, pushed away by the simple joy of spending time with him.

You pass by a few familiar shops, your eyes catching on window displays that seem to taunt you with their prices. You shake your head, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as Koji pulls you towards a small toy store. The lights in the window sparkle with the holiday season, and for a brief moment, it feels like you could stay in this little bubble, far removed from everything else—Satoru, his parents, and the looming uncertainty about what comes next. But even as Koji chatters away beside you, excitedly telling you about the toys he's picked out, the weight of your situation still lingers in the back of your mind. You glance down at your son, trying to focus on the here and now. You’re doing this for him. He deserves moments like these—moments where life feels simple, filled with nothing but happiness and warmth.

“Mom, look!” Koji pulls your attention, his face beaming as he holds up a small snow globe he found in the shop window. The glittering snowflakes inside the glass swirl around, and you can see the way his eyes light up. “Can we get it?”

You smile, reaching down to gently ruffle his hair. “Of course, we can.” As you walk into the store, the bell above the door jingles, and for a second, it feels like you’re stepping into another world. It’s warm, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla filling the air, and it’s so different from the cold outside. For a brief moment, everything feels manageable. Just you and Koji, making memories.

But then, the thought of the phone call from Satoru yesterday creeps back into your mind. You promised you’d think about it, but now, with Koji so happy beside you, you wonder: Can you really keep up this facade? Can you keep pretending like everything is okay when you're not sure where any of this is headed? You shake your head, trying to push those thoughts aside for the time being. Right now, there’s only Koji, only the two of you enjoying a quiet moment of peace in a world that feels anything but peaceful. 

“Let’s get that snow globe,” you say softly, even though you know it’s a small treat in the grand scheme of things. But maybe that’s all you can give him for now. Small moments of happiness.

After your purchases, you two make your way to a stand selling hot chocolate. A delicacy that your boy absolutely loves. As you’re paying for the small drink, opting to share with Koji, a familiar voice catches your ears. You turn to look in the direction of the loud voice.

“Thank you all for coming out today, I know it’s a little chilly. But we’re having many fun activities planned, with prizes. Who’s excited?”

The small crowd whoops in agreeance. 

With interest, you’re guiding Koji over to the voice, tilting your neck up. You see Suguru standing with a microphone in hand, smiling kindly. The tip of his nose is tinted red, adorning a shirt that says, "Building futures, one child at a time." You recognize it as the slogan on his business card that he gave you. 

It’s been a while since you last spoke to him or saw him, the last thing you remembered was him finding out your personal information while you were broken up with Satoru all these years. A frown pulls at your lips, but it’s hard to keep it up when young children rush up to him. Shouting “Mr. Geto!”

You’ve always known Suguru was very good with children, but seeing him now in his element feels wholesome. Cute, you think.

“Mama, that’s your friend. Do we go say hi?” Koji asks, sipping his drink.

For a second, you hesitate. Fearing it’ll be awkward, but you decide it wouldn’t hurt. So, with a nod, you two are walking through the crowd and to Suguru. 

As you make your way through the crowd, you notice Suguru’s easy interaction with the kids. They surround him, tugging at his sleeves and laughing as he kneels to their height, his smile never faltering. The sight of him in his element makes you feel a strange mixture of warmth and hesitation. He’s clearly a natural with kids, and it’s hard not to admire how comfortable he seems, especially after all the tension that has hung between the two of you.

When you finally reach him, Suguru notices. His eyes widen slightly before he straightens up. A soft smile forms on his face, and he straightens his shirt with a little chuckle. "Well, look who decided to show up." he says, his tone light and friendly, almost as if there’s no time at all between now and the last time you spoke. “Hi, Koji,” he greets, his voice warm as he crouches down to your son’s level, who’s holding a drink in both hands and looking up at Suguru with wide eyes.

"Hi," Koji replies enthusiastically, his eyes bright. “What are you doing here today?”

Suguru laughs, his gaze flicking back to you for a brief moment before he answers. “I try to help however I can. It’s all about giving back to the community, especially for kids like you, Koji. You’re the future.” He winks at your son, causing him to giggle and squirm a little from the attention.

You can’t help but smile at the interaction, but the knot in your stomach tightens. It’s hard to shake off the awkwardness of your previous encounters with Suguru. You’re not sure what to say now, especially since Koji is so at ease with him. Suguru shifts his attention to you, his expression gentle but knowing. "How’ve you been? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?" His tone isn’t pressing, just an easy question, though you sense the unspoken weight behind it.

You nod, still caught in the familiarity of his presence, but unsure of how much to reveal. "Yeah, it’s been a while." You pause, taking a breath before adding, “So, what’s all this?”

“Fundraiser, we hold one every month,” Suguru explains with a warm smile, his voice carrying an easy confidence. “We do one every month. All the proceeds go to local programs for kids. Things like scholarships, school supplies, and community events. It's a way to give back, especially to kids who might not have access to these kinds of opportunities otherwise."

You take in his words, surprised by how much he’s dedicated to this cause. "I didn't realize you were this involved," you admit, watching as more children approach Suguru, clearly looking up to him.

“Yeah," Suguru chuckles, glancing at the growing crowd. "I really believe in it. This is what I want to do with my life now, and it’s been a rewarding journey. Kids are the future, you know? It's just about giving them the right tools to grow."

You can’t help but be impressed. Suguru always had ambition, but hearing him speak so passionately about his work hits differently now. There’s a quiet weight to his words, as if he’s found his purpose. “You've come a long way,” you say, not able to hide the slight smile tugging at your lips. "I'm glad to see you're doing something meaningful."

Suguru waves it off, his smile a little sheepish. "It’s really the kids who make it fun. I’m just happy I can help make something like this happen." There’s a brief pause between you two, the familiar tension that used to hang in the air now replaced by a quieter, unspoken understanding.

Suguru looks at you. “But, thank you, Y/N. It feels good. And it’s nice to see someone who remembers where I started." The familiarity of the moment hangs in the air between you, the unspoken history still lingering. You remember the time when things were simpler, before everything became complicated and messy. Suguru was always someone you could rely on, someone who was easy to talk to.

Koji pulls on your sleeve, his voice bright. "Mom, can I play the game over there?" You glance over at the game booth he’s pointing to, noticing it’s one of those dart-throwing games. You’re about to nod, but Suguru cuts in. 

"Let me give you both some tickets," he says, already reaching into his pocket. "For the games. My treat." You’re about to protest, but Suguru’s gaze stops you. “Really, it’s no problem. It’s the least I can do after everything.”

You swallow the retort on your tongue, a mix of gratitude and reluctance bubbling inside you. “Alright, thanks,” you say quietly. He hands you the tickets with a smile, his demeanor still easygoing.

As you two are walking, watching Koji play games, he decides now’s the time to actually talk. “Y/N, I’m sorry about—”

“You don’t need to apologize again,” you cut him off, putting your hands in your coat pockets. “I heard you, so don’t worry.”

He purses his lips. “Are you sure? I mean, I understand if you’re still put off, I would be too.”

You watch Koji and go silent for a moment. His words lingering in your mind before you switch the subject. “Did Satoru tell you I spoke with him?”

“Oh, yeah,” he scratches at his head. “How was it? I heard it from his perspective, but what about yours?”

“Could’ve been better, could’ve been worse.” Suguru nods, not wanting to pry anymore. Your vague answers are enough. “His parents found out too.”

“What?” he asks in bewilderment. “T-They did? How? What did they say?”

“Satoru said they sent someone to watch him because he was missing from work for a while. They weren’t very happy, and they want to see Koji and me tomorrow.”

“Shit,” Suguru shakes his head. “Are you going to?”

“I feel like I have no choice but to. It’s not like I can avoid this forever.”

“You always have a choice, Y/N.”

You glance at him, his words catching you off guard. “Do I, though? They’re his family, Suguru. And like it or not, Koji deserves to know where he comes from.”

“I get that,” he says, crossing his arms, his expression thoughtful. “But just because they’re family doesn’t mean they automatically get to dictate everything. You have a say in this too. Don’t let them push you around.”

You nod, appreciating his words but still feeling the overwhelming pressure of the situation. “I’ll try. I just...I don’t want to make things harder for Koji.”

Suguru places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You won’t. You’re his mom. As long as you’re looking out for him, you’re doing what’s right.”

His reassurance is a small comfort in the sea of uncertainty you’re swimming in. You give him a faint smile, grateful for his support. “Thanks, Suguru.”

“Anytime,” he replies, his voice soft but genuine. “And if you need backup, you know where to find me.”

You laugh lightly, the tension in your chest easing for just a moment. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Walking home after that day out, putting Koji to take a nap, cleaning up a bit, you send Satoru a text. 

“We’ll come. Send me your address.”

You arrive to Satoru’s penthouse with Koji in tow thirty minutes early. Koji was wowing the entire train ride here, even now as he looks up at the large and tall building before him, his eyes are wide with child-like amusement. A part of you feels bad that he’s getting this excited over buildings and nice lights, but hey, you would be too if all you were accustomed to was the other side of town. 

The two of you step out of the cab, Koji’s small hand in yours. It practically glows under the evening sky, reflecting the city lights like something out of a movie. Koji’s awe is palpable, his mouth slightly open as he marvels at the sheer size of the structure. “Mama,” he tugs on your hand, his eyes not leaving the building. “Do people actually live in places like this? Like...all the time?”

You chuckle softly, though there’s a slight pang in your chest. “Yeah, Koji. Some people do.”

“It’s so cool,” he breathes, craning his neck as far as it can go. “Do they have their own rooms? And toys? And candy?”

“Probably,” you say with a light laugh, gently guiding him toward the entrance. “But don’t get too excited, okay? We’re just here to visit.”

As you step inside, the pristine marble floors and sleek, modern design hit you instantly. The lobby is massive, with floor-to-ceiling windows and expensive-looking furniture scattered about. Even the air feels different—cleaner, cooler, like it’s filtered or something. A well-dressed doorman greets you with a polite nod, and you awkwardly return it, not quite sure how to act in a place this fancy. Koji, however, is too busy looking around, his eyes darting from the chandelier to the grand piano in the corner. “Mama, look! That’s a real piano! Like the one on TV!”

“Yeah, I see it,” you murmur, trying to stay focused. The feeling of being out of place creeps up on you, but you push it aside. This isn’t about you—it’s about Koji. When you reach the elevator, you press the button for the top floor, and the doors slide open with a soft chime. Stepping inside, Koji bounces on his heels, still brimming with excitement. “Do you think it’s like the movies where the elevator talks?” he asks, his voice full of wonder.

You smile, ruffling his hair. “We’ll see, bud.” The elevator glides upward so smoothly that you barely feel it moving. Koji’s little gasp of excitement when the numbers light up makes you chuckle again, though your stomach tightens as you near the top. You realize Satoru’s space is on the highest floor. Thirty seconds later, the doors open to reveal a sleek, private hallway with only one door at the end. “This is it, Koji,” you say, taking a deep breath as you step out of the elevator. “Are you ready?”

Koji nods enthusiastically, gripping your hand tighter. “Ready!”

You walk toward the door, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. It feels heavier with every step, but you keep moving forward. Reaching the door, you hesitate for a moment, then press the doorbell. A moment later, the door swings open to reveal Satoru, looking as casual as ever—with a hint of nervousness in a loose sweater and jeans. His bright blue eyes light up when he sees Koji. “Hey, you two made it.” he says, stepping aside to let you in. “Come on in. Koji, welcome to my place.”

Koji’s jaw drops as he takes in the massive living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. “This is your house?!”

Satoru grins, picking him up. “Sure is, kiddo. What do you think?”

Koji looks up at you with wide eyes. “Mama, this is way cooler than the buildings outside!”

You laugh nervously, squeezing Koji’s hand. “Yeah, it’s...something.”

Satoru walks around his place, watching the two of you with a small smile. “Make yourselves comfortable. And hey, I promise this’ll go smoother than you think.”

“You’re saying that now,” you mutter with a grimace.

“C’mon, just trust me. I’m here.”

The phrase causes you to clear your throat awkwardly, a sudden memory hitting you—one you push down quickly. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Want some water? Juice?”

“No juice for him, he had a candy on the way here.” 

“But Mamaaaaaa,” Koji whines, dragging out his words. “Please, I want some of Papa’s juice.”

“I have all kinds of juice, little man. Red juice, pink juice, green juice.”

“Green?!”

“Mhm.” 

“I wan—”

“Satoru.” You say, firmness in your voice. Arms crossing. “I said no juice.”

Satoru’s smile falters as he registers your intonation, his eyes flicking to yours like he’s trying to decipher something. The room feels heavier suddenly, like the air between you is crackling with something unspoken. “Alright,” he says softly, straightening up. “No juice. Got it.” The tone of his response catches you off guard, almost making you feel like you’d scolded him instead of your son. You shift uncomfortably, glancing at Koji, who’s now frowning. Satoru sets him down, to which he gets easily distracted by the shiny skyscrapers outside, rushing over to the large floor to ceiling windows. 

Satoru steps back, running a hand through his hair. “I was just trying to—” He stops himself, shaking his head with a dry laugh. “Never mind.”

You exhale, feeling a pang of guilt but unsure why. “It’s not... Look, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in, his tone lighter but his eyes saying something else. “You’re right. Mama’s rules. I’ll stick to them.”

There’s an awkward pause, and you find yourself staring at him, searching his face for... what, exactly? He catches you looking, and for a brief, jarring moment, you’re back in a place you swore you’d moved on from—a place where his charm felt like safety and his presence could undo you. Your stomach is already feeling warm. You snap out of it quickly, clearing your throat. “Thanks. For understanding.”

Satoru tilts his head slightly, his gaze lingering. “Always.”

It feels like a strange promise, one that hangs in the air too long before Koji interrupts, shouting, “Mama! Look, it’s snowing!”

The tension breaks, and you turn to the window, grateful for the distraction. “Wow, it is,” you say, forcing a smile.

Behind you, Satoru’s voice is quiet but pointed. “Snow’s always a fresh start, right?”

You don’t respond, unsure if he’s talking about the weather—or the two of you. Focusing on the snowfall, Satoru takes this moment to side-glance at you. He almost curses himself for wanting to comment on how pretty you look. Not now. But for some reason, his hand is inching up as it it’s about to move a strand of hair out your eye, until you look at him. “Can I use your bathroom?”

He coughs out, quickly bringing his hand to his nose and wiping at it. Real smooth, Satoru. “Yeah, sure. Down this hall to your right.”

“Thank you.”

“Mhm,” he can’t resist watching you leave, eyes moving down to your ass. His stare lingers even when you’re out of sight. The sound of Koji’s voice bringing him back down to Earth.

“Why do you stare at Mama like that?”

“What? I’m not staring.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“Why are you lying, Papa?”

“Kid…”

“But it’s normal, right? You and Mama are married.”

God, his innocence is too sweet for Satoru. How exactly can his explain your relationship to the young boy? Not now at least and especially not without you. Hopefully when his son learns the truth one day, he won’t grow to somehow resent him. Or you. Satoru’s throat tightens at Koji’s words. The boy's wide, trusting eyes make the situation ten times harder than it already is. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to think of a response that won’t shatter Koji’s innocence or dig himself into a deeper hole. “Well, uh…” he starts, stalling. “Sometimes grown-ups have… complicated relationships.”

Koji tilts his head, frowning in confusion. “What’s complicated mean?”

Satoru lets out a nervous laugh, ruffling Koji’s hair. “It means… not everything is simple, kiddo. Like math problems that don’t make sense at first.”

Koji wrinkles his nose. “I don’t like math.”

“Exactly,” Satoru says with a relieved grin. “Neither do I. Let’s stick to the fun stuff, okay?”

“Okay, they’re here.”

You take in a deep breath, holding Koji closer to your chest as he sits on your lap. Satoru’s dining room chairs feel too stiff for a situation like this. He’s standing—pacing, and checking his phone constantly after his mother just texted him they were coming up. The tension in the air is suffocating. You grip Koji just a little tighter, your fingers absentmindedly brushing over his soft hair as a way to ground yourself. The stiffness of the chair beneath you feels like punishment, but maybe it’s just nerves crawling into every corner of your body.

Across the room, Satoru paces like a man trying to walk off a bad decision. His long legs carry him back and forth in front of the large windows, the city lights behind him casting an almost surreal glow. He checks his phone again, the screen lighting up briefly before he shoves it into his pocket with a frustrated sigh. You bite your lip, trying not to snap. “You pacing like that isn’t helping.”

He stops mid-step, glancing at you with a mixture of guilt and irritation. “You think I don’t know that? They texted ‘coming up’ five minutes ago. How long does it take to ride an elevator?”

You arch a brow. “You live on the thirty-fourth floor.”

He huffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t change the fact that this feels like the longest elevator ride in history.”

Koji, oblivious to the storm brewing between the adults, tilts his head up at you. ���Mama, why are you squishing me?”

“Oh,” you blink, loosening your grip immediately. “Sorry, baby.”

Koji giggles, wiggling to get more comfortable. “It’s okay. Papa’s the one acting funny.”

You glance at Satoru, who’s resumed pacing, his jaw tight. “Yeah,” you mutter, half to yourself. “He’s definitely acting funny.” Before either of you can say more, there’s a sharp knock at the door. It’s like the room collectively holds its breath. Koji perks up curiously, his innocent smile the only light in this tense moment.

Satoru freezes, staring at the door as if it might explode. “Okay,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. “Here we go.”

He crosses the room in a few long strides, his hand hovering over the doorknob for a split second before he pulls it open. And there they are. His parents, Yamato and Akane Gojo, standing like an imposing force just outside the threshold. Yamato is tall and sharp-eyed, his tailored suit as immaculate as his demeanor. Akane, with her perfectly styled hair and the kind of elegance that demands attention, steps in with an unreadable expression. For a moment, the room feels even smaller. Their eyes sweep over you and Koji, pausing on the boy who’s now hiding his face in your shoulder.

“Hello,” Akane says, her voice smooth but laced with something unplaceable. “I believe we have a lot to discuss.”

You gulp and nod as they come closer, Satoru closing the door and quickly making his way to sit beside you. “Nice to see you two again.” The phrase feels hollow and fake on your tongue, but what exactly should you say to them?

Yamato hums as he and his wife sit across from you and Satoru. Their eyes instantly landing on Koji who regards them with a nervous, child-like expression. “This is the boy.”

“Yes,” Satoru answers. “Koji.” 

Yamato’s gaze lingers on Koji, sharp and calculating, as though he’s analyzing every detail of the child. Koji squirms slightly under the weight of the attention, pressing closer to you. You instinctively wrap an arm around him, protective. Akane's expression softens just a touch, but it’s subtle—barely enough to ease the tension in the room. “He looks like you, Satoru,” she comments, her voice light but with an underlying edge.

Satoru shifts beside you, his posture stiff. “Yeah, well… genetics and all.”

You glance at him, suppressing an eyeroll. Now’s not the time for his half-hearted attempts at humor. Yamato finally speaks, his voice low and measured. “And how long has this been… a secret?”

The question feels like a slap, even though you were expecting it. You glance down at Koji, unsure of how much to say in front of him. Satoru clears his throat, leaning forward slightly. “Look, I didn’t find out about Koji until recently,” he admits, his tone surprisingly steady. “And as soon as I did, I took responsibility. That’s why we’re here now.”

Yamato’s eyes flick to you, cold and questioning. “And you? Why keep this from him?”

You feel your heart drop, but you refuse to let their judgment pin you down. “I had my reasons,” you say, your voice firm despite the way your palms are sweating. “It wasn’t an easy decision, but I did what I thought was best for my son.”

“And best for Satoru?” Akane interjects, her tone calm but pointed.

You hesitate, unsure how to answer without sounding defensive. Before you can respond, Satoru leans back, his arms crossed. “Enough,” he says, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “This isn’t about blame. It’s about Koji. He’s here now, and I want him to be part of my life. That’s all that matters.”

Kaede studies him for a long moment, then shifts her gaze back to Koji. “What about the boy? Does he even know who we are?”

Koji glances up at you, his small fingers clutching your sleeve. “Mama?” he whispers.

You force a smile, brushing a hand through his hair. “It’s okay, baby. These are… your grandparents.”

Koji’s eyes widen, curiosity replacing some of his nervousness. “Grandparents? Like in the stories?”

Satoru can’t help but chuckle softly, breaking some of the tension. “Yeah, kid. Like in the stories.”

For a moment, the room feels lighter, but Yamato’s expression doesn’t waver. “Then we’ll need to decide what role we play in his story,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. Your stomach twists, and Satoru’s jaw tightens. This conversation is far from over.

Satoru leans forward, his hands clasped on the table, tension rolling off him. “You don’t get to ‘decide’ anything, Dad. Koji is my son, and I’ll handle how he fits into this family.”

Yamato’s lips press into a thin line, his gaze hardening. “You think this is just about you, Satoru? This affects all of us—the Gojo name, our reputation. Your actions have consequences, and it’s my job to ensure they don’t spiral out of control.”

You bristle at his tone, your arm tightening around Koji. “Koji is not some ‘consequence,’ Mr. Gojo. He’s a child. Your grandson. Maybe you should start there instead of worrying about appearances.”

Akane's gaze flickers between you and her husband, her expression unreadable. “Yamato,” she says softly, placing a hand on his arm. “Let’s not lose sight of what’s important here.” Yamato exhales sharply, but he doesn’t respond, his eyes still locked on Satoru.

“Look,” Satoru says, his voice lowering. “I get it. This isn’t ideal for you. But Koji is here, and I’m not going to let him feel like he’s some kind of mistake. He’s part of this family whether you like it or not.”

There’s a pause, heavy and suffocating, before Akane finally speaks. “He’s very handsome,” she says, her tone softer now. “I see the resemblance to you, Satoru. But I also see… her.” She glances at you, and for the first time, her expression isn’t cold. However, that doesn’t mean there’s complete acceptance there. She looks down at her lap with a sigh. “If only it was someone of higher class.”

You and Satoru equally clench your jaw, eyes narrowing.

Koji looks up at you, then at Satoru. “Papa, what’s a ‘rep-…repu-shun’?”

Satoru chuckles despite himself. “It’s something adults worry about too much, buddy. Don’t worry about it.”

Yamato’s lips twitch as if he’s holding back a retort, but Akane cuts in before he can speak. “Koji,” she says gently, leaning slightly forward. “Do you like sweets?”

Koji nods, his nervousness giving way to excitement. “Yes! I like cookies and cake and green juice!”

Kaede smiles faintly. “Maybe next time you visit, I can make some cookies for you. Would you like that?”

Koji’s face lights up, and he nods enthusiastically. “Yes, please!”

You’re caught off guard by the gesture, but you stay silent, observing the interaction. First she bashes your status and now she’s trying to be the sweet grandma. Satoru shifts beside you, his hand brushing against yours briefly. It’s so subtle you almost miss it, but the warmth lingers, grounding you. You could’ve sworn he lets it linger there purposely. 

Yamato clears his throat, “You understand your role as heir, yes, Satoru? Having children of your own to pass the legacy down to,” he says, his tone clipped.

You purse your lips. “I don’t want my son being involved in something he doesn’t have to.”

“This isn’t a choice,” Akane responds. “Although this situation is less than savory, and although we woul’ve much preferred a…different candiate. This is the reality, so your father and I have made arranagemnts.”

“You’re not doing anything without telling Y/N or I first. This is our son.” Satoru firmly says.

Yamato cuts in. “Listen, Satoru. This is just how it is. When he grows older, it’s up to you to teach him and pass things down. As of now, no one will know. Not the public, the company, investors, nobody. Until we, ourselves, have a better hold on things, this will stay under wraps.”

Your stomach twists as the weight of their words sinks in. Their calculated demeanor, their cold insistence—it’s everything you despised about this family’s way of thinking. Koji isn’t just some pawn in their grand scheme; he’s your child. “Under wraps?” you snap, unable to hold back. “What does that even mean? You expect us to keep Koji’s existence a secret like he’s some kind of dirty little secret? That’s not what I want for my son, I want him to have a normal and innocent childhood.”

Akane's expression barely falters. “This is for his protection, as well as the family’s reputation. The world can be… cruel, especially when it comes to matters like this. It’s better to control the narrative than let it control us.”

Satoru scoffs, crossing his arms. “Control the narrative? He’s five, Mom. He doesn’t need a narrative. He needs parents who care about him, not a PR strategy.”

Yamato pinches the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t up for debate, Satoru. You’re the heir. Koji is your responsibility, but he’s also ours. You don’t understand what’s at stake here.”

“I understand just fine,” Satoru fires back, his voice rising. “You want to shove him into your world of deals and power plays without even thinking about what’s best for him. I’m not letting that happen.” You glance at Satoru, momentarily caught off guard by his unwavering stance. It’s rare to see him so serious, so resolute. For a moment, it feels like you’re on the same page, like you’re fighting together.

Yamato sighs, his patience clearly thinning. “We’re not trying to take him away from you. But this family operates a certain way, and if you’re unwilling to cooperate—”

“I’m unwilling,” you cut in sharply, surprising even yourself. “Koji isn’t going to grow up like this. He’s not going to be molded into some heir, forced to carry on legacies he didn’t ask for. He’s going to be a kid, my kid, and that’s all. If the time comes when he’s old enough to make that decision, then so be it. But right now…we are making it.” Satoru looks at you, a look of almost tender reliance in his face. He can’t help but scooch closer to you in his chair, the back of his knuckles grazing your thigh as he focuses back on his parents. You don’t move, for some reason.

Akane narrows her eyes, her perfectly composed exterior cracking ever so slightly. “You may not understand the gravity of this situation, Y/N, but you’ll come to see it’s for the best. We’re not here to argue with you. We’re here to ensure the future.”

“And I’m here to ensure my son’s happiness,” you bite back, standing as your chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “If you can’t respect that, then maybe we’re done here.” The room falls into a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken words. Koji, oblivious to the weight of the conversation, hums softly to himself, playing with the edge of his shirt.

Satoru finally speaks, his voice quieter but no less firm. “You don’t make arrangements for Koji without consulting us. This isn’t the company. You don’t get to call the shots here.”

Yamato frowns, standing up as well. Insticvively, Satoru follows, getting in front of you and Koji slightly in a protective stance. Finally, he crosses his arms, looking at the little family before him. Two of them looking exactly the same, for a second, Yamato feels like he’s talking to the past and future version of his son. In a way, he is. “...fine. You two are his parents, then fine. But it is my duty to ensure nothing wrong happens. My point still stands, it’s not wise to reveal Koji to the public eye yet,” he meets your eyes again. “You said you want him to have a normal childhood. Well, you should’ve thought about that before deciding to keep him. If you know what’s best, you’d agree with me.”

Without another word, Akane follows her husband to the door, and the two leave; the door slamming after them. The sound of the door slamming reverberates through the room, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake. Satoru uncrosses his arms, running a hand through his hair as he exhales sharply. You glance at Koji, who’s watching the door with a curious expression, seemingly oblivious to the tension that just passed.

“That man,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Who does he think he is, saying that?”

Satoru turns to you, his jaw tight but his voice calm. “That’s just how he is. Always has to have the last word, even if it’s total bullshit.”

You shift Koji on your hip, brushing his hair back softly as your mind replays Yamato’s parting words. You should’ve thought about that before deciding to keep him. The sting of it makes your chest tighten, but you force yourself to push it aside. “Are you okay?” Satoru asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you lie, though your voice falters slightly. “I’m just…angry. I know we’re not exactly best friends, but he has no right to talk about my decisions like that.”

Satoru watches you for a moment before sighing. “You’re right. He doesn’t. And you know what? Screw him. You’ve done everything for Koji. He doesn’t get to sit there and judge you from his high horse.”

The unexpected sincerity in his words takes you off guard, and for a moment, you can’t meet his eyes. “Thanks,” you murmur, focusing instead on Koji, who’s now fiddling with a string on his shirt.

Koji suddenly pipes up, breaking the tension. “Are they gone?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Satoru says, taking him from your arms. “They’re gone. You don’t have to worry about them.”

“Good,” Koji says with a pout. “They were scary.”

You chuckle softly. “They’re just loud, that’s all. You don’t have to be scared of them.”

Satoru leans back in his chair, his gaze flicking to you. “So, what now?”

“What now?” you echo, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. About them, about Koji, about…everything.” The question hangs in the air, heavy and loaded, but for once, it doesn’t feel like it’s just your burden to bear. You meet Satoru’s eyes, and for the first time in years, it feels like you’re standing on the same side of the battlefield. “I guess we figure it out,” you say softly. “Together.”

Satoru nods, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at his lips. “Together, huh? I like the sound of that.”

It’s not a solution, not yet. But it’s a start. You can see a flicker in Satoru’s expression before he walks with Koji over to the living room. It’s one of hesitance, you understand. He doesn’t entirely forgive you, let alone trust you. But he’s trying, for Koji. This mess happened because you kept your mouth shut, so maybe it’s time you start trying too. You and Satoru are in each other’s lives now, so is there a rush to mend things between you two?

The annual board dinner is just as horrible as Satoru expected. Lavish decorations, stiff small talk, and the overbearing weight of expectations pressed down on him like the overly starched collar of his tailored suit. He’d tried to duck out of it, but his father’s suggestion—which was really an order—left no room for argument. “Smile, Satoru,” Yamato had muttered through gritted teeth when they entered the grand hall. “You’re representing this family.”

So here he was, nursing a glass of expensive champagne that tasted like regret and counting the minutes until he could leave. He glanced around, catching sight of familiar faces mingling and laughing, some of them stealing glances his way with the kind of superficial interest he loathed. “God, this is insufferable,” he muttered under his breath.

Having to charm old men into doing business with his father, flirt here and there with the older, taken women. Smile, smile, smile. For presentation sake. 

“Oh, look who it is.”

He groans, looking to the side and being met with the hard and chiseled face of Sukuna. A long term enemy of Satoru’s. Though he keeps it cordial in front of everyone else, he can’t help but engaged in the quiet back and forth. “My number one fan.” Satoru remarks simply, head tilting in a patronzing way.

Sukuna smirked, his sharp features twisting into something smug and self-assured. “Always the comedian, Gojo. I’m surprised you even remember how to crack a joke with how far your head is stuck up your family’s expectations.”

Satoru’s jaw clenched, but his grin didn’t waver. “And here I thought you showed up just to kiss my ass. Flattered, really.”

Their exchange was quiet enough to blend in with the hum of chatter around them, but the tension was palpable. Sukuna, with his sharp suit and predatory air, looked like he belonged here, but his presence was always unsettling. Pink hair that pokes up in a way that just barely reminds him of a certain someone. “I hear the old man’s got you busy charming fossils and bored housewives. Must be exhausting, all that fake smiling. Oh, wait, you’re used to that.”

Satoru’s laugh was light, but his eyes glinted with irritation. “What can I say? Some of us don’t need to rely on intimidation tactics to close deals. Or...whatever it is you call your little power plays.”

Sukuna stepped closer, the faintest hint of challenge in his stance. “Careful, Gojo. You might hurt my feelings.”

Satoru didn’t back down, his posture just as relaxed, his smile just as infuriatingly calm. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, someone’s got to keep you entertained, right?”

Sukuna chuckled darkly, taking a sip from his glass. “You’re lucky this is a formal event. If we were anywhere else—”

“You’d what?” Satoru cut him off, his voice dropping an octave. “Throw another tantrum and lose? You’ve got quite the track record there, Sukuna.”

The older man’s jaw twitched, but he only gave a low, mirthless laugh. “Enjoy your little victories while you can, Gojo. You won’t always have Daddy to clean up after you.”

“No, that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” Satoru grins, patting the other man’s shoulder as everyone begins making their way to the tables as the speaker is about to begin.

Satoru finds his spot next to his parents, arms crossed and one long leg over the other. His dark suit ruffles as circles his shoulders up and down in a fit on annoyance for the tight material. 

The speaker, an older man with graying hair and a polished suit, steps up to the podium, his presence commanding immediate attention. The room quiets as he clears his throat, adjusting the microphone with practiced ease. “Good evening, everyone,” he begins, his voice rich and steady. “I hope you’ve all enjoyed the pre-dinner mingling, and I trust we’re all ready to get down to the business at hand. I won’t keep you long, but I must take a moment to reflect on the state of our industry, where we stand, and most importantly, where we’re going.” He pauses for effect, letting his gaze sweep over the gathered crowd. The eyes of the room are trained on him, but Satoru’s attention is divided, flicking between the speaker and the people seated around the table.

“Now, as we all know, times are changing. The landscape of business, both locally and globally, is evolving at a pace none of us could have predicted just a few short years ago. Innovation is at the forefront, and it is only through strategic alliances and forward-thinking leadership that we can continue to rise above the challenges that face us.” The speaker’s voice carries on with the rhythm of a man used to holding the room’s attention. “This is a pivotal moment, not only for our companies but for the future of the industry itself. It is with great anticipation that we look toward new ventures, new opportunities, and a commitment to excellence that can only be achieved through collaboration.”

A murmur ripples through the room as people nod in agreement, sipping their drinks, seemingly in sync with the speaker’s words.

“We have much to look forward to—be it through acquisitions, technological advancement, or our ongoing partnerships. The work ahead is exciting, but it requires unity, dedication, and a shared vision for what we can accomplish together. As we continue to push the boundaries, we must remember that this is more than just business; this is about legacy.” The speaker’s eyes flick over the audience, and for a split second, he meets Satoru’s gaze, offering a nod of acknowledgment.

“Tonight, we celebrate not only our past accomplishments but the bright future ahead. Let’s raise our glasses to the partnerships that have gotten us this far, and to the many more we will form in the years to come.”

A polite round of applause erupts, and the speaker steps back from the podium, signaling the end of his speech. The chatter begins again, and Satoru leans slightly forward with a soft smirk. “Business as usual,” he says under his breath, his tone light but with an edge of something more.

Satoru follows as everyone raises their glasses for a toast, clinking sounding throughout the large hall. Until, there’s small murmuring. It doesn’t faze Satoru as he sips, but then there’s gasps and whispers that sound like confusion mixed with shock.

Glancing around, there’s folks looking at their phones, talking to one another in a quiet voice, and then…looking directly at Satoru and his parents. His brows furrow. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?” His father responds, too busy drinking his glass, even drinking his wife’s. 

“This.” Satoru says with finality, jutting his chin up. His father and mother finally pay attention. Noticing the extra amount of attention of them tonight. Satoru spots Sukuna sitting at his table, eyes narrowing as one of his colleagues show him his phone. And then, Sukuna looks up, meeting Satoru’s eyes. Suddenly, everything feels wrong. He can make out the malicious smirk on the douchebag’s face, the laugh he doesn’t even try to hide.

What the fuck?

The Gojos continue glancing around with confusion, Satoru with growing annoyance. Until finally, Nanami briskly walks up to his father. “Mr. Gojo,” he clears his throat. The three turn to the man, Satoru can see a foreign trace of nervousness in Nanami’s demeanor. That’s not like him at all. 

Nanami can barely seem to articulate the correct sentence before turning his phone towards the Gojos. 

And their blood runs cold, Satoru’s world momenatrily stopping. 

It's a news article from Kyodo News+—the headline screaming in bold letters: 

"Gojo Satoru’s Secret Love Child Surfaces: The Hidden Son of a Billionaire."

The scream shatters the tension in the air, sharp and filled with raw emotion. Himari’s voice echoes down the halls, a guttural cry of frustration, shock, and betrayal that causes everyone within earshot to freeze. She doesn’t care that her perfectly styled hair is being whipped around as she pushes her way through the staff, her hands trembling in a mix of fury and disbelief. The phone she had been holding moments ago crashes against the wall, the screen cracking as her thoughts spiral out of control. Her breath is ragged, each step fueled by a mixture of hurt and anger as she moves with purpose, her eyes burning with a desperate intensity. “SATORU GOJO!” she screams, her voice cracking as the words leave her lips, the weight of them crashing down on her. “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” 

The maids scatter in her wake, unsure of how to respond to the chaos unfolding. But Himari isn’t looking at them. Her focus is elsewhere—on the person who just shattered the carefully constructed world she had built, on the one who, in a single moment, has upended everything she thought she knew.

She doesn’t even notice as she storms past the door to her parents’ private quarters, the sound of her footsteps growing louder with each step. The fury in her chest roars louder than the world around her as she moves toward the only people who could possibly understand the devastation she feels.

It’s not just betrayal anymore. It’s the crushing weight of a life built on lies. And Himari has had enough.

“Pffft!”

“Hey! You just spit on me, you asshole!”

Naoya’s voice rings out, practically shrill with laughter. His excitement is palpable, and it only serves to irritate Toji even more. "Toji! Toji! You have to see this!" Toji’s eyes narrow, his broad arms crossed over his bare chest as he leans back in his seat. The view of Lake Como stretches before him, but it feels distant, almost irrelevant compared to his cousin’s incessant enthusiasm. Vacation my ass, he thinks bitterly, wondering why he bothered to come here in the first place. He sighs, irritation lining his features. "Look at what?"

Naoya, unable to contain himself, thrusts his phone right into Toji’s face, nearly shoving it into his nose. "Look!" he repeats, bouncing on his heels, a look of sheer excitement on his face.

Toji groans, rolling his eyes. “I thought we agreed, no phones while we’re on vacation.”

Naoya ignores him completely, his grin widening. “Oh, trust me, this is worth it.”

With a heavy sigh, Toji finally reaches for the phone, taking it reluctantly. He presses the screen, waiting for the phone to wake up. The moment it does, his eyes meet the image that fills the screen—a photo of his business rival, Satoru Gojo, accompanied by a headline that stops Toji dead in his tracks. His brows furrow, the usual calm expression faltering for a moment. The headline’s words are seared into his brain, and Toji feels a pulse of confusion and something else he can’t quite name. He leans in closer, then back again, as if trying to process what he’s seeing.

"...What the hell?" he mutters under his breath. The image before him shows Satoru with a woman, someone Toji doesn’t recognize, and a child—Satoru’s child, if the headline is anything to go by.

Naoya’s grin only grows as he watches Toji’s reaction. “Pretty wild, huh? Didn’t see that coming from Gojo, did you?”

Toji’s fingers tighten around the phone, his eyes narrowing further. He doesn’t respond at first, too absorbed in the strange mix of shock and calculation churning in his mind. This isn’t just some random leak; it’s clearly orchestrated. “Where the hell did this come from?” Toji asks, finally looking back at his cousin, who’s still watching him with amusement.

Naoya shrugs nonchalantly. “Don’t know. Just saw it on a news feed. Looks like Gojo’s got some explaining to do, huh?” Toji just shakes his head, his mind already spinning with possibilities. 

He tosses the phone back to Naoya. “You’ve got some sick timing. Let’s see how this plays out.”

Naoya chuckles, oblivious to the wheels turning in Toji’s mind. “You know, you might want to take advantage of this. Could mean something for the company, or at least an edge over Gojo.”

Toji’s lips curl into a slight smirk, but it’s more predatory than playful. “We’ll see, Naoya. We’ll see.”

You feel like you can’t breathe, like nothing’s real. Staring at your TV screen with complete and utter shock, frozen in place. The world around you feels like it’s fading, as if you’re watching everything happen from a distance, disconnected from reality. Your eyes are locked on the TV screen, but you can’t process what you’re seeing—everything is too surreal.

“Hey, that’s me!” Koji happily exclaims, pointing to his young face on the screen, being carried by Satoru. From the looks of it, the picture was taken yesterday, inside Sator’s penthouse. But the picture is from an outside perspective.

The realization hits you like a cold wave. Who the hell took this? The blood drains from your face as your heart pounds even harder. How did they get this shot? Your stomach turns, a knot tightening in your chest. Isn’t this illegal?

Satoru’s name comes out of your mouth like a whisper of panic. “Satoru…”

You can barely hear your own voice over the buzzing in your ears, as your mind races, trying to process what this means. How could anyone have gotten this close? How could someone have been watching? The image on the screen—the calmness in Koji’s face, the warmth in Satoru’s arms—makes your blood run cold. Koji’s innocent voice cuts through again, “Mama, why is it on TV? Are we famous?” He giggles, clearly unaware of the danger that’s now in your midst.

You mouth emits a breathe of air that faintly resembles a chuckle. But you’re not laughing. You’re too frozen in fear to say anything, to even move. You can’t shake the feeling that something is horribly wrong, that the peaceful life you’ve managed to carve out with your son is hanging by a thread. You hold your breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

How many people know about this? How much further can they go?

How much further can you go?

The woman leans back in her chair, the flickering light of her computer screen casting shadows across her face as she watches the confirmation of the transaction appear before her eyes. Her lips curl into a snarky, satisfied grin. It’s the kind of smile that’s dangerous, the kind of smile that tells you she’s one step ahead, and there’s no turning back now.

A low, almost guttural laugh escapes her—deep and malevolent, echoing in the quiet room. The money is more than just a transaction; it’s power, it’s leverage. And the best part? No one even knows it’s her. Not yet.

She pauses, letting the silence stretch out before her next move. She takes a slow, deliberate breath, savoring the moment, then leans forward. “Wonderful…” she whispers to herself. 

a/n: i'm sorry if things seemed rushed, chap was getting looong. but enjoy!

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[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Feelings Thawed

Character; Cater Diamond

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, pining, ice skating (to various degrees of success)

Word Count; 650+

Author's Note; This is a present/thank you to my mutual @i-like-forgs. I hope you enjoy this ice skating scene with Cater, and that you get to skate soon!

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

The brisk wind bit at your nose, and you pulled up your scarf, trying to keep away the offending wind. Around you it was a winter wonderland, all made possible in the temperate conditions thanks to Cater, who was filming you skating around on the frozen pond’s surface.

“You know,” you hollered, making sure that you caught his attention, “you should join me! It’s fun!” You came to a stop by the pond’s edge, where Cater was standing with a large thermos.

Cater just shot you a wink, handing you the thermos. “This is for you though, silly!” 

He was deflecting, you could tell; behind that bright and cheery smile that he always seemed to wear around others, you knew when there was something off with Cater. You accepted the thermos though, and took a sip of the spicy apple cider, still piping hot.

You gave him a look and pulled lightly on his coat sleeve. “Yes, but it’s more fun with others, come on Cater!” You stepped back onto the ice, and slowly skated near him, waiting with an eager smile.

He looked at you, and then back at the ice, but he stayed standing in the light snow, shooting you that smile. “But I can’t take photos if I’m out there with you!” He scratched at the back of his neck.

Liar. “Cater,” you looped back around and stepped onto the bank, balancing on your skates, “do you not know how to skate?”

Cater’s smile turned sheepish, and his ‘ahahaha, looks like my gig is up’ chuckle made its appearance. He had been found out. “Never got the chance to,” he hid his face slightly in his scarf, either to keep the cold at bay or to hide that his cheeks were turning pink. “So I’d just slow ya down.”

You took his hand into yours, “Well, I could teach you if you wanted. Just a warning though, you’re gonna fall on your butt a lot, might get a few bruises.”

Cater looked down at your entwined hands. Mittens and gloves separated your skin from touching one another, but Cater could swear that he could feel the sensation nonetheless through the layers of fabric.

“You would? Even if I pull you down with me?” 

The last question wasn’t just about the ice skating; Cater didn’t want to force you to do anything that you didn’t want to… and that included being his friend. His heart seemed to whisper stronger emotions though, but he didn’t want to ruin what the two of you had.

You walked him out to the ice, and the both of you swiftly fell down on the ice, hard. But you just laughed and got right back up again, “Well, we did just fall. There isn’t anything scary about falling down; yes it stings and might leave a gnarly bruise, but in order to move forward we have to fall and get back up. So yes, is what I guess I’m saying.”

Cater looked up at you, the sun illuminating you and the snow glittered behind you. You were holding your hand out again, waiting for him. And Cater took your hand. 

It took him a while to get the hang of it, and he fell down quite a bit, but every time he fell down you helped him back up. And by the time that the sun was setting in the west, the both of you were cold, and both were going to wake up tomorrow with some bruises. It was fun though, which is all that mattered… but that whisper in Cater’s heart was by now singing, and maybe he would listen to it, but for now, he was happy with how the way things were, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, especially with how much you had smiled today. Your smile and knowing that you had fun with him was enough.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tags; @eynnwwyjth, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @silvers-numberonefan, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

[florencebirdsong]

Wolf Hunt

Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Rio needs to get out some of those animal instincts

Tags: primal play, biting, Rio has fangs and claws you’re welcome, strap on (r receiving), predator/play, wolf Rio, prey reader, 

Authors Note: I definitely didn’t make Rio a wolf because Death is a wolf in puss and boots. It was absolutely not a deciding factor. Ahem. Anyway, short and not so sweet

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You feel her before you see her. Her heady presence fills the small clearing and you eagerly look into the dark. The fire has ruined your ability to see far but the sound of shifting dirt points to where she’ll pop up. You resist the urge to get up when you can make out her silhouette. Being too eager means you’re more likely to get stuck away from the warmth of the fire.

You tilt your head curiously as she stops outside of the firelight. Her hood isn’t up and the flickering fire light shows that it’s not her skull face. She smiles and you smile back. It takes you a moment to notice the shine of her teeth. Of the fangs poking past her lips. 

You freeze. Her smile widens. Your eyes drop to her hands which are now tipped in claws. You bolt like a rabbit. Her deep laugh echoes behind you.

Branches claw at you and roots try to trip your feet as you run. You can’t tell how close she is and you don’t risk looking back. A wolf howling behind you turns your racing heart into a gallop. You take a wild turn and then another. There’s a river that, if you can get across it, you might be able to use to lose her.

You try and zigzag your way towards it. Unpredictable moves giving you an edge in your race against Death. But they’re also a risk. 

Another sharp pivot puts your foot into a tiny shrub. You crash to the ground but use your momentum to roll and shove yourself up again. The precious seconds cost you. Huffing growls fill the air behind you and you try to force down the panic. She’s gaining with every step. Your shoulder catches the trunk of a tree and you stumble. She’s so close you swear you can feel her breath. You prepare yourself to hit the ground. The shock is always what does you in. It comes a second later.

She tackles you but you’re quick enough to wriggle out of her grip before she can cage you in. You think you’re free until her claws wrap around your ankle and you slam into the ground. Her hands are quick to find your legs and hold them down.

You try to kick her off of you but it’s too late. She kneels where her hands were. She slams your shoulders onto the ground. Her claws dig into your skin. Trying to shove her off is useless so you go for her elbows. They don’t bend. She growls and moves one hand to push your head back, baring your neck to her. Your hands move to her shoulders to get some leverage as you try and buck her off. Then you try to unbalance her by shoving her chin up. She growls and bites your fingers. You yelp and pull back instinctively. She huffs a laugh. You bare your teeth at her but stop when she does it back. Her fangs are so much sharper than yours. 

You grip her wrist to try and free your head but she pushes until you feel a strain and you have to stop. Your hands hover, unsure what to do next as her eyes run over your captured form. You decide fuck it and jab at her throat. She chokes at the feeling but Death doesn’t need to breathe. Your hands are forced down beside your head and she growls in your face. 

You growl back, but it turns into a whimper when she sinks her sharp fangs into your throat. You don’t attempt to push her off, knowing ripping her teeth out of you will only hurt worse. Your body goes limp. She growls in satisfaction. 

Her hips grind against you and you whimper. She’s got her teeth into you. There’s no escape now.

She ruts against you and the sharp ache in your neck makes it take too long for you to notice the hard thing hiding in her pants.

She finally releases your throat and you whimper at the fresh sting. She tries to pull your pants down and growls in frustration, ripping them open with her claws instead. You flinch but they don’t snag you. She lines up her strap and fills you with one thrust before her hand returns to your wrist. You hadn’t even thought to move it. There’s no thoughts now.

Rio doesn’t give you time to adjust or work you up. She ruts into you like the animal she is. Grunting and growling as you whimper and mewl below her. Her nose in your neck constantly nudging the wound on your neck, her hot breath doing nothing to soothe it.

You sloppily meet her thrusts as the stretch turns from painful to delicious, breathing heavy as pleasure floods through you. She bottoms out every time, skin slapping yours as she chases her own high. 

She grunts and bites you again, right above the first mark. A sign she’s close to coming. You whine and struggle against her hold. You aren’t close enough yet. Her jaw clenches tighter, her nails dig into your skin and her thrusts turn punishing. One hand leaves your wrist and finds your clit, pinching harshly. A high-pitched sound leaves your throat and you arch into her, sharp pleasure crashing into you. Her hips do that stuttering thing that shows she’s coming and you fall over the edge together. She’s no nicer, taking what she wants, but you’re too full to care. 

She stills, still inside of you, before laying down on top of you and nuzzling your neck. The movements zing along the lingering pleasure.

Panting, you lay there as the waves ebb out of you. Rio nuzzles and licks over her new marks, knowing it takes you longer than her to come down. You whimper when she hits a particularly tender spot. You can feel her purr. 

Her tongue pokes and prods until you’re limp under her. Satisfaction rolls off of her in waves. You won’t be about to run again and she’s marked you for all to see. You’re hers until the next hunt, when she’ll need to prove her claim all over again.

[leighsartworks216]

Kiss-Proof

Sylus x implied fem!Reader

Inspired by this fic by @peachlynnie

Also inspired by an Archie comic lol

Warnings: fluff, kissing, established relationship, lipstick, implied sexual content at the end

Word Count: 948

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First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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How he got roped into this situation, he has no idea. Not that he's complaining. What could be better than his partner straddling his lap, kissing him over and over again?

You plant a kiss at a bare spot on his cheek without ceremony. You pull away, hopeful, only to deflate when the vibrant imprint of your lips are left behind. "Ugh, this one transfers, too." The tube of lipstick is tossed off to the side with the other failures.

Sylus grabs the makeup wipe from the previous attempts (almost completely covered in various shades of pink and red). His hand holds your jaw warmly, thumb on your chin, as his other thumb brushes the wipe over your lips.

He could suggest taking you shopping to the high end stores that would most certainly have lipstick proven not to smudge or transfer, but then you'd have to get up and stop testing it. His lips still have some red staining them, and his cheeks, neck and forehead are almost completely covered. He'd hate to stop now.

"How many more do you have to test?" he asks.

You shift in his lap, forcing him to stop his ministrations in favor of holding your hip to support you. You grab another lipstick tube from a pile andshift the remaining ones around. "Like, five more? At least one of these has to work."

He shifts his legs, settling you back into place, and draws your attention back to him so he can wipe away the last smidge of tint at the corners of your mouth. "If none of these work, I'll buy you some more," he promises. He nods slightly as he sets the wipe aside. "Go ahead, try this one."

You use a little compact mirror to help you get the shade on right. It's a warm red, bloody and tempting. It’s the same shade as his eyes after a couple glasses of Gin Fizz, when he looks at you with unbridled affection, enhanced with his slight intoxication.

Sylus would be the first to admit how much he loves watching this. He loves the comfort you have to propose this silly idea, to crawl into his lap with a bag of lipsticks and makeup wipes and the intensity of an executive making a pitch to a board room. He loves getting to watch the concentration on your face as you glide the applicator over your top lip, following the natural line to ensure it's perfect. Loves the mild frustration when you mess up the corner. Loves that you trust him to fix it with the wipe wrapped over his thumb nail. Loves the quiet thanks you mutter before you get back to work.

Fully applied, you hum impatiently as you turn the tube over to read the directions. "'Wait two minutes.' Damn."

"The best results take time," Sylus teases.

You shoot him a half-hearted glare. "Fine. What should we talk about for two minutes?"

He hums as he taps a finger on your hip. "I don't think I ever asked: Why are you so eager to find a lipstick that doesn't transfer?"

"Well," you wipe your thumb along his lip, dragging the lingering color with it, "it's embarrassing to drink from a glass and leave a big smudge behind."

He chuckles. "That's what's got you so worried, sweetie?"

You trace the rouge up to his prominent cupid's bow. "Mm, not completely." You wonder what he'd look like with lipstick on him properly. You're sure he'd look amazing. Hell, even like this, covered with all your kisses, he looks good. You're damn near convinced he can pull any look off.

He squeezes your sides. "Tell me," he implores, voice soft and tender.

You sigh. "When we go to auctions, I feel like I can't kiss you," you admit quietly. "Everyone there is so... imposing. I don't want to, well, do this to you," you gesture at all the lipstick stains, "and ruin your reputation."

"Sweetie." He cups your cheek in his large hand. It holds you perfectly, always. You lean into it without a second thought. He smiles. "My reputation isn't that fragile. Besides..."

His voice gets lower as he draws you in. You could get high on the way his eyes flicker to your mouth. His nose brushes yours, hot breath shared in the centimeters of space left between you.

"How else will they know who I belong to?"

Your breath hitches. His mouth is on yours, seeking, claiming, drawing you deeper into him. You feel the creamy texture of smudged lipstick as you hold his face, slide your fingers along his neck into his hair. It streaks along his perfect skin.

His tongue licks the seam of your lips, begs for entrance. You tug at his hair as you let him in. He groans into your mouth, sighs a wanton rendition of your name. Your shirt slips up your waist as he dives a hand below the fabric to press against your bare skin.

You pull away sharply. "The lipstick!"

His eyes look murderous for being disturbed, by you of all people. Still, he contains himself enough not to dive right back in. Just barely. What he can’t contain is the furrow in his brow and the frown he wears.

You ignore the smudges of color on his skin, matching stains on your hands, as you tilt his head up to better look at his lips. They're still stained with that light red from before, but-

"Sy! It worked! This one didn't smudge!"

"Perfect." He pulls you roughly back down to him, biting your colored lip before licking it sinfully. "Let's take it for a test run, shall we?"

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy