#this is my way for celebrating the series

[yueebby]

𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 (𝐢) – 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

contents. period piece, forbidden love, ooc, angst (eventual comfort), yandere emperor!gojo, lovesick!gojo, servant!reader, obsessive behavior, lowkey unreliable narrator, time skips, 7.2k words of gojo unable to process his feelings

notes. sorry for leaving everyone hanging after the prologue (make sure to read or reread since it's been a hot minute!) TT but here it finally is!!!...not proofread soz :x

series masterlist | chapter 1/2

You haunt his dreams, he’s sure. Gojo never believed in superstitions or the supernatural despite what all those old geezers preached. That was until your figure started to appear every time he closed his eyes.

The familiar scene of you gets cloudier every time it appears in his dreams, but he knows it is still you. It’s nearly comical how even his subconscious knew of your everlasting beauty. Everytime, the same sequence replays: a grand celebration he had hosted in the palace in honor of a prosperous year of his reign. The two of you were overlooking the guests, seated at the head of the room.

You’re wearing court attire that was altered to fit solely you (it hugged your body in such ways that made Gojo’s head spin), fabrics and dyes all originating from foreign lands. In your hair sits beautiful hair ornaments, swinging with every movement you make.

However, Gojo knows it is not the materialistic items that make you beautiful, no, he knows that it was simply you.

“Has anyone told you how unnerving your eyes are?” You quietly comment, eyes still trained on the party in front of you. Satoru cracks a slight smile, not ashamed in the slightest that he was caught ogling you.

“I thought you said you loved them?” He blinks at you, attempting to lean closer to show off his blue orbs. “You’re starting to hurt my feelings, beloved.”

You purse your lips, subtly leaning away before he can initiate improper conduct. He does not take your action well, snaking an arm around you to firmly cage you in his hold. Normally, you would welcome his advances but you’d rather not be publically humiliated in front of the entire Imperial Court and all of the influential clanheads of Japan.

“Please have mercy on me, Your Grace,” You whisper, eyes flitting across the room, making sure there were no eyes on you. Luckily, everyone was too absorbed with the luxurious goods Gojo had imported for the occasion. It was the anniversary of his coronation, after all.

He makes a noise of disapproval, “Can’t. Must let these people know that you’re mine.” Gojo closes the gap between you and sniffs your neck, softly moaning at your scent. He knows that if the geezers looked up from their silver spoons they would have a heart attack at his public display of affection. Not that he cares. His unorthodox ways may make them livid, but Gojo knows they won’t do anything. He was going to pave the way for the Golden Age of Japan— with you by his side.

“Your Grace!” You giggle at the ticklish sensation left by his warm breath. Any attempts of shying away from him are fruitless.

“Don’t run away,” His other hand firmly places itself on your clothed thigh, restricting your movements. All of this is hidden by the table that sits in front of the two of you.

You’re looking at him with those shiny eyes of yours, silently pleading with him. “Can’t this wait until tonight?”

He huffs, “I have suffered enough today without your presence. Ijichi kept begging me to finalize the preparations, but who am I to care? My flower was too busy having fun without me.” 

“You and your dramatics. I was only away to tend the gardens in the Consort’s Pavilion. Which, might I remind you, is fading by the moment because someone refuses for me to stay there.” You tut, picking up your chopsticks to eat the delectable fish placed in front of you. 

Gojo’s stare never falters as he watches you pick up a small piece, eyes shining as if he were watching a spectacle. “You know I can’t sleep without you.”

“And I, you.” You pop the piece inside of your mouth, chewing happily at the flavor that fills your tongue. “You know, I–” You began, but were cut off by the sudden seizing of your throat. 

The chopsticks in your hands clatter loudly with the porcelain they are dropped on. 

Gojo's breath hitched, his eyes wide and trembling with horror as he watched you struggle for air. "My love?” he choked out, his voice cracking under the weight of rising panic.

Your hands immediately travel to your neck to alleviate the sudden burning feeling that blossomed in it.

“[Name]!” He shouts, large hands quickly rising to cup your cheeks. In a desperate attempt, he squeezes your cheeks to get you to spit it out. 

"Poi–poison," Your voice was hoarse, your face losing its color by the second. Satoru was frozen with fear. “Don’t eat it…Satoru.” With those parting words, you lose consciousness.

“[Name]?” Satoru’s hoarse voice can’t stop repeating your name like a prayer, hands lightly tapping your cheek as if it was going to bring you back to life.

Gojo wanted to laugh. Even when you were dying, you worried about him. Not that it mattered. You weren’t going to die. He refused.

Sometime during your struggle the chatter had stopped, and all eyes were on you. Satoru looks up from you to bark orders to the guards he had placed around the room. They leave to summon the Imperial Physician while Gojo is left clinging onto your limp body, praying to the Heavens above that they will grant him one more miracle.

—

Back in his chambers, Gojo’s head pounds, but he’s not sure whether it was the speed he shot up from his bed or the dream itself. He feels hot, sweat running from his bare chest that heaves to bring oxygen to his quickly pumping heart. He’s nearly certain his chest is going to cave any second with the way it constricts with pain. It was like he was a geezer, he humors silently.

“Your Grace?” A delicate hand cups his cheek. 

He follows the direction of the hand, eyes slowly trailing up the feminine body it belonged to, barely covered as a result of the thin silk nightgown that highlighted her natural curves. “Are you alright? It was only a nightmare.” She cradles his face, moving slowly in his vulnerable state.

Satoru breathes heavily, eyes widening as they travel from her breasts to her face, beautifully illuminated by the sparse moonlight leaking from the window. Her dark hair falls past her shoulders, obscuring some of his access to her skin. His beautiful mistress. He’s sure that she is whispering sweet nothings into his ear, but the images of his memory keep replaying in his mind, occupying it from functioning properly. ”Himiko, how did you–”

“I heard you and I couldn’t bear it.” Her finger softly caressed his flushed cheek, trying her best to ignore the bewildered look on her lover’s face. 

THE PRESENT —

The journey to the Inner Palace was a blur. After a long goodbye, a horse drawn carriage was sent to the front of Yaga’s estate the very next morning. Your mind was elsewhere the entire time, too busy mulling over your past and now damned future. 

That is why when the carriage comes to a complete stop in front of the servants’ quarters, you are startled to meet two awfully familiar faces.

The two are silent, eyes carefully watching you exit the carriage. The purple set of eyes steps forward first to take your bags from you. 

“Ah thank you Mister—“ Your voice trails off, eyes looking up from the dark robes in front of you only to be surprised with a familiar face. “L-Lord Geto?” 

His lips quirk up slightly upon recognition. “Welcome back, [Name].” Your heart throbs at his indifference from the last interaction you had. It is quickly concealed by the excitement in your voice when your eyes spot a comforting pair of eyes.

“And Kento?” You light up.

Suguru raises an eyebrow at your familiarity with the Imperial Chancellor. He knows he should be relieved that you held no malice towards himself and Nanami, knowing the struggle you were subjected to when banished. However, there was a foreboding feeling gnawing deep within his soul. Guilt? Fear? It was hard for Geto to put a finger on it.

Nanami simply nods in acknowledgment, but stays silent under Geto’s watchful gaze.

“[Name],” The black haired man starts. Your eyes return to his face. “I wanted to be the first to greet you here, but I suppose Lord Nanami must have had the same idea.” He chuckles lightly, but the mirth never makes it to his eyes. You don’t notice Lord Nanami stiffening up.

“To say I am flattered would be an understatement, Lord Geto.” You return the same sugarcoated pleasantries. 

Geto must have noticed your unease, reminding you, “Please, there is no need to keep your guard up around me. I don’t bite.” His voice has a teasing lilt. It does little to soothe you. 

“Can you blame me, Lord Geto?” Your eyes meet his purple ones that narrow at your allusion.

“I suppose not.” He hums. “Though I must tell you that the incident was out of my power. I must carry that burden everyday, so I implore you to forgive me, [Name].” He throws out your given name once again like you were familiar. 

When you don’t respond, he continues, “I know, it is easier said than done.”

“You don’t say.” You bite your tongue as soon as the words leave your mouth. He fails to acknowledge how your last interaction was your banishment, served just by the man in front of you.

A sigh escapes Geto’s lips. "As a gesture of my accountability, I place myself entirely at your disposal. Simply name a favor, and it shall be fulfilled." You can’t detect anything but sincerity in his words, leaving you speechless. “Of course, it had to be within my power, but I shall grant you one request in return for your forgiveness.”

“I—” You were too shocked to form a thought. “I don’t know what to say.”

Suguru’s eyes crinkle, "Our last encounter may not have been pleasant, but I still consider you a dear friend, after all.”

“I am flattered to say the least that you had decided to grant me such honor,” you gape.

Geto shakes his head softly, “You shouldn’t hold me to such high regard. I could hardly bear the weight of your disfavor.”

“You know I don’t harbor any ill feelings towards what happened,” you say softly. It wasn’t Suguru’s decision what happened that night.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself otherwise,” the black haired man in front of you pushes. You relent. Perhaps you should just bite your tongue and accept the opportunity presented. “Please. Just think about it.”

You watch in silence as Geto turns around to walk away. His sudden offer leaves your mind racing. A man of his caliber, second to none but the emperor himself, would be able to grant any of your desires. Perhaps you should ask to import Western literature, tales of great fantasy— or, you could think bigger and ask to move back with your clan. Though you highly doubt he will entertain the latter, considering your indentured servitude to the Inner Palace. 

Your racing thoughts are diverted when you hear someone clear their throat to capture your attention. You perk up when you realize that Lord Nanami was still here, and you have completely ignored his presence.

“I am just as surprised to see your immediate return to the palace.” Nanami adjusts the glasses on his face, sympathetic eyes never leaving you. You flush under his gaze. It was quite embarrassing knowing the entire palace probably had caught wind of your incident with the emperor.

A nervous chuckle escaped your lips. 

“It wasn’t my intention,” you mumble. “But I suppose if fate has decided, there is not much I can do.”

“You truly believe that it was fate that brought you here?” Nanami asks, the hold he had on your arm tightening enough to catch your attention but not enough to hurt. 

“I-” You begin, words failing to conjure. “I’m not sure.”  You had thought that your banishment was fate, but now that you had been brought back, it felt like you were simply at the mercy of something cruel.

Nanami watches your eyes staring wistfully at the blue sky above, his own flickering to each of your features. He wonders if you know that your expressions gave you away. It’s more endearing than anything, from the flutter of your eyelashes, the wrinkle of your nose, to the furrow of your eyebrows. Only a blind man would deny the fact that you were easy to fall in love with. However, it would make a foolish man to dare to pursue you.

 He’ll appreciate you and your charm from afar where his head may stay attached to his body.

The comfortable silence shared between the two of you is disrupted by a flock of handmaidens passing by. Nanami tenses his jaw when the voices become audible. 

“Is it really her?”

“It’s said that she tried to sneak into the Emperor’s chambers.”

“Is that Lord Nanami? My, we must warn him about that whore that tried to seduce the emperor!”

“Poor Lady Himiko.”

Anger swells in your chest. Though you’re not sure what tale had managed to escape the servants�� quarters, but you pray that they may never reach the emperor’s ears. It was simply profane to the beloved consort, an offense that you know Gojo would never forgive you for. You can deal with nasty gossip, having previous experience, but you doubt you can handle being beheaded for conspiring against the emperor and his consort.

“I’m afraid no matter how much time has passed, the palace rumors seem to never die.” Nanami sighs, exhaustion evident in his gravelly voice. “I advise you to brace yourself. Within these coming days, the fire will only get hotter.” He doesn’t bother elaborating on his words, choosing to lead you to your new chambers.

“Thank you for the advice Nanami,” you exhale. “However, I am sure I’ll be able to manage on my own. After all, I’ve been doing it for quite some time.” The moment the solemn words leave your mouth his eyes soften. You quickly look away, flustered.

“I know you can, [Name]. I suppose my anxieties are misplaced, forgive me.” You can feel his stare bore into the side of your face. He sighs, “it is a habit that comes natural to me.” He worries for you. The words go unsaid, but you are able to decipher his double meaning.

Your heart flutters at his kind implications, eyes too shy to meet him once more. Instead, you choose to fix your gaze on the doors to the servants’ quarters. The blonde man beside you takes the liberty to open the doors to your new room. 

At the sight in front of you, your heart lurches.

Before you stands a familiar head of white hair, standing tall with his back turned towards you. His head was tilted slightly, as if scrutinizing something unseen, before he slowly shook it. Then, with an unsettling calm, he turned to face you, his gaze heavy with unspoken intent.

“I’ll take her from here,” Gojo’s icy voice breaks the silence that had overtaken you and Nanami.

“Of course,” Nanami bows deeply. You turn to bid the man goodbye, but he leaves hurriedly without sparing you so much as a glance. You can’t help but furrow your eyebrows in confusion, eyes longingly watching your old friend walk away.

The moment the shoji doors close behind him, Gojo clears his throat.

“[Name],” he tests the waters, his movements deliberate as he takes a slow, tentative step toward you, the air between you thick with an unspoken tension.

“Your Majesty,” You respond shakily, retreating a step as your breath catches.

“Please,” Gojo mutters breathlessly, his voice trembling with unspoken desperation, his eyes pleading with an intensity that only deepens the pit in your stomach. He takes two deliberate strides forward, the gap between you vanishing as though drawn by an invisible force.

“No,” You shake your head, pain flashing across your face. You won’t let him waltz right into your life after carelessly tossing you away, not without consequence. It is to no surprise that words seem to go unheard to the man in front of you. His eyes glistened in the dim lighting, fixed intently on your face, tracing each feature with a quiet focus, as if he were trying to burn them into his memory.

The world seemed to stay still just for the two of you. But it only lasted for just a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” Gojo mutters, a strong hand flying to the back of your neck tugging you towards him for a searing kiss. The instant his lips crash against yours, he lets out a soft whimper, as though the very act consumes him. Despite the passage of time, your body responds instinctively, like it was always meant to be this way.

It felt like the only thing that mattered was the fact that he was right in front of you, your fast beating hearts making contact with the way he had your chest pressed to his. All while pushing you against his body, Gojo allows his hand to trail down your back, revisiting every valley that he had once memorized.

“Mph,” your traitorous hands find their way into his head of white hair. He smiles into the kiss upon hearing his name leave your mouth.

“Yes?” He leaves a wet kiss at the base of your throat, bending down to continue his frenzy.

“This isn’t right,” the words came out of your mouth in a whisper, as if you almost didn’t believe them yourself.

“You’re wrong.” He inhales deeply, attaching his mouth onto your collarbone, ”I was made solely for this.” A small whine leaves his mouth when you hesitantly try to push him off. He uses his innate strength to fight your attempts.

“May I ask something of you?”

A kiss was placed on your jawline. Another on the base of your throat.

“Anything,” he breathes.

“Do you..” Your voice falters. “Do you love her?” Like you loved me? 

The trail of kisses come to a complete stop. For a second you fear you may have overstepped. The emperor’s silence was palpable. The only sound that filled your ears was the harsh thuds of your own heart. 

“[Name]...” he slowly stands up to tower over you with his height. The distant look in his eyes forms a pit in your stomach.

“Answer me,” you whisper, the pit deepening.

“I am just a man,” he reasons. Your heart drops at his answer.

“You could not even take an oath of monogamy,” you spit. “You are nothing but a weak man.” 

His eyes shoot up from their trance frantically. You fear that the lust he had been tempted with had worn off, and now you were left with nothing but wrath.

“I understand that I was nothing but a spoil of war, but you could have done me one last favor by allowing me to leave on my own accord. You did not have to cast me away,” your vision starts to waver with the tears that puddle in your eyes. “If I knew your heart had yearned for another I would have left.”

The set of blue eyes that stare at you are no longer the lively shade that you had grown to love. They have been replaced by an uncertain stormy grey. It was almost laughable. A man, so big, who had the world in the palm of his hand looked so small.

A cruel part in you enjoyed seeing the turmoil in his eyes after the events that had transpired.

“Had I known the tribulations I put you through, perhaps I would have put a second thought before choosing you.” Gojo exhales, pinching in between his eyebrows. “But I must assure you that you weren’t the only one suffering.” And for a moment you think you see lightning strike in those stormy irises of his. 

Your eyes widen at his confession.

He lets out a deep sigh, “The head maid will be here any minute. I bid you farewell. I pray that with our next interaction, your heart learns to soften.”

Ever for dramatics, Gojo leaves before you can get the last word.

—

True to his word, the head maid soon comes to assign your duties. You’re not surprised at your new set of responsibilities: tending to the emperor’s garden, sweeping the floors to his chambers, and overseeing his meal preparations. 

It is nothing out of your skill set, and you’re more than willing to accept your predicament rather than being burned alive for offending the emperor on numerous accounts. You suppose even Gojo was kind enough to spare you from that cruel fate. It almost softens your heart enough to decide to forgive him of his transgressions. Almost.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud clang of a pot. When you turn your head towards the direction of the sound, you’re met with the head maid’s stern gaze. Her eyes narrowed on the wooden spoon you had been mixing in the broth. 

Ah. She wanted you to perform the mandatory poison test before serving the food to the emperor.

However, just as you bring the spoon to your lips, it is violently swatted from your hand, clattering to the floor. Your eyes sadly linger on the spilled broth before snapping to the culprit, your gaze filled with disbelief.

"There were strict orders to ensure that the task did not fall to you," the head maid, Ogami, declared sharply. The elderly woman, with silver hair neatly tied in a tight bun and skin etched with the marks of years spent in service, raised a wrinkled finger in your direction.

You blink, taken aback by her sudden reprimand, the sharpness in her gaze leaving you momentarily frozen. It didn’t make sense—there had been no mention of any such orders, no one had informed you of any changes. You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat, swallowed by the weight of her unyielding stare. 

How strange.

Days pass by like a blur, your routine falling into place. When dawn arrives, you’re up to prepare the emperor’s garments for the day. Your mid-mornings grow even busier as the palace comes alive with activity. Whether mending torn hems or ensuring the ceremonial robes are free of imperfection, you move like a ghost through the corridors with hopes of going unnoticed. The emperor’s unusual antics, however, make it nearly impossible to slip by unnoticed. He seems to have a knack for drawing your attention. His antics often begin at ungodly hours, long before the sun graces the horizon, as he attempts to coax you into sharing the first meal of the day with him. You decline each time, yet his persistence never wavers, a boyish grin always accompanying his invitations. By the time the sun reaches its zenith, Gojo finally departs to attend to his imperial duties. It’s only then, in the quiet lull of his absence, that you find the chance to make real progress with your work.

“To say I am relieved because of your presence would be an understatement, [Name].” Nanami and you overlook the palace’s main courtyard. 

You smile, hands filled with silks that needed washing, “I could say the same.” The emperor’s outrageous requests were driving you mad. Your mind flashes to earlier that week when he had insisted on hand feeding you honey! You wonder how he survived without a personal servant before you took the position.

“His Majesty is as eccentric as ever, I assume.” Nanami’s eyes crinkle. 

You laugh, “You know him too well!”

“I didn’t have much choice,” he shakes his head, smile ghosting his lips. “We’ve known eachother since our youth.”

You perk up at the news, your curiosity piqued. The confusion must have been written all over your face, prompting Nanami to offer a quick clarification.

“It was brief, our time at the academy. But we were both under the instruction of Yaga,” he elaborates. Huh. What a small world, you think as Nanami paints an unexpected connection. 

“I am struggling to imagine you and him studying under the ever serious Yaga,” you giggle.

“I was in the year below him. It was Lord Geto and Shoko who were first hand witnesses to his nature.” Nanami tells you. 

You nearly dropped all of the emperor’s clothes, “Shoko?” The revelation that your own friend was acquainted with the emperor stopped you dead in your tracks. Had she known him personally all along? If so, she made no effort to reveal it. Instead, she appeared almost disgusted by him, though you had chalked it up to her disdain for the new ruling dynasty rather than a personal vendetta against the man himself.

“I am aware you were well acquainted with her in your time in the Outer Palace, no?” “Yes, but–” you pause, before eyes snapping back to Nanami. “How did you know?”

Nanami blinks, momentarily caught off guard. His eyes widen a fraction, and he opens his mouth as if to explain, but then falters, his words stumbling.

Before he can say anything, a soft, familiar voice drifts from behind you.

“[Name]!” A servant of Lady Himiko calls urgently, her voice laced with a sense of urgency. You turn to face her.

“Yes?”

“The emperor requests your presence in the ceremonial hall. He says it is of great importance and that you must make haste!” The girl exclaims, grabbing your only free arm and tugging you toward the hall.

You glance back at Nanami, your eyes silently promising him that this conversation is far from over. He gives a small nod, acknowledging your unspoken words as he bids you farewell.

“Ah, may I ask what the emperor requires of me?” you ask, trying to maintain some control over the situation.

“You’ll see,” she replies, her tone clipped. Without sparing you a glance, she pulls you forward with determination, clearly focused on her task.

Like a lamb heading toward slaughter, you find yourself helplessly being dragged through the grand doors of the ceremonial hall, your thoughts swirling with questions you can’t yet answer.

The expansive room was eerily empty, a stark contrast to its usual grandeur. The sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting long beams of light that danced across the polished floors, illuminating the intricate tapestries and the grand pillars that lined the hall. But your gaze soon shifted, focusing on the emperor’s seat at the very end of the room.

You had expected the usual scene: Gojo slouched in his throne-like chair, whiny and complaining about the mountain of paperwork he despised. But what greeted you instead was something far more unexpected.

A figure stood poised at the head of the room, commanding the space with an elegance that was undeniable. Anyone familiar with the court could recognize her signature choice of kimono—the rich plum silk embroidered with intricate gold patterns, delicate yet striking. Her hair, black as midnight and flowing like a river of silk, cascaded down her back in perfect waves, a stark contrast to her porcelain-like complexion.

It was Lady Himiko. Her beauty was legendary, whispered about among women across the nation, often compared to a living work of art. The rumors of her grace and poise weren’t exaggerated. Standing there, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting, who remained perfectly still and attentive at her side.

Her eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, your breath was stolen. The stillness of the room was palpable, and you couldn’t help but wonder why she was here, in the emperor’s seat, with not a whisper of Gojo in sight.

“Ah, just the one I was looking for!” her eyes light up when she sees her servant return with you in her hand. The gleam in her eyes fill you with unease.

“Lady Himiko, it is an honor,” you bow.

“There’s no need for that! Please, stand.” She waves her slender fingers at you, or so it seems, but at her silent command, her ladies-in-waiting begin to move toward you.

You take a step back, instinctively using the emperor’s garments, still damp from your earlier washing, as a shield against their sudden movements. The soft rustling of fabric is almost deafening in the silence that follows.

Lady Himiko’s eyes narrow at the motion, her sharp gaze flicking to the garments you hold between you and her. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays at the corners of her lips, but it does nothing to ease the tension thickening in the air.

“I understand the unspoken animosity between us,” she says, her voice smooth, but there's an edge to it that sets your nerves on edge. “I pray you will accept my humble apology.” She clasps her hands together, but her eyes remain calculating, never leaving yours.

Her words hang in the air, heavy with implication. “I had not expected the emperor to kindle such… passion for me so suddenly. It was neither of our intentions that fateful night we reunited after the days of our youth.” She shakes her head softly, laughing nervously. "How rude of me, I doubt you of all would want to hear about Satoru and I."

Your breath hitches, caught between surprise and a tightening knot of discomfort in your chest. The weight of her words presses down on you, and you struggle to maintain composure.

“I do apologize for bringing you here on such deceptive terms, but I had to get your attention somehow,” she continues. “As one who has been a former concubine, I wanted your counsel on how I should navigate this delicate matter.” If you didn’t know any better, you would say she was mocking you. But you knew Himiko wasn’t one you wanted to offend, so you bite your tongue.

Instead, you nod, steeling yourself against the discomfort crawling up your spine. “What is it that you need from me?” you ask, your voice betraying none of the wariness you feel.

Himiko’s ladies-in-waiting close in around you swiftly, subtly guiding your every step toward the emperor’s stand. The grand hall feels even larger as you’re led deeper into its heart, each step reverberating through the space.

At the end of the room stands Himiko, watching you approach with a distant gaze. The soft glow from the nearby windows catches on the polished surface of the wooden desk before her, where inkstones, brushes, and stacks of paper lie in disarray.

You pause, your gaze falling upon the desk, and that’s when you notice the manuscript she’s pointing to. Her perfectly filed nails trace the edges of the paper with deliberate slowness. Though you cannot read the characters from this distance, the emblems that adorn the papers are unmistakable. They belong to some of the most powerful clans in the empire, each one a mark of authority and influence.

As your eyes skim across the paper Himiko’s hand rests on, the characters seem to leap off the page in a rush of realization. It’s a proposal– one written by the notorious Zenin clan. You can almost feel the air grow heavy as you piece it together. The words speak of demands for more autonomy—an increase in their power, more control over the lands they already possess. And you know, instinctively, that if this were to pass, everything Gojo has fought for, everything he’s struggled to protect, would crumble into dust. His fight against the rigid clan-based hierarchy would be for naught.

For a moment, your mind reels. This is no mere conversation or request for guidance. This is a game of power, one where you’re being used as a pawn. Her eyes lock with yours, and the air between you thickens with unspoken understanding. She must’ve taken you for a mere tool to execute her own plans.

But you’re no fool, and that realization comes like a slap to the face. You straighten your posture, eyes hardening as the weight of the situation settles in.

“These seals...” Your voice falters as you stare at the emblems, your hand hovering over the manuscript as though touching it might implicate you further. The weight of the realization crashes down on you like a cold wave. You look up at Himiko, bewildered, your heart pounding in your chest. Meddling with state affairs, let alone tampering with the emperor’s documents was a crime punishable by death.

“Does the emperor know about this?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and indignation. “This—this could be considered treason!”

“Careful with your words,” she says softly, her tone calm. “It is not treason when it is for the betterment of the empire.”

Your mouth opens as if to respond, but no sound escapes.

“The emperor has always held you in high regard,” Himiko says with a wistful sigh, her eyes narrowing on your figure. “I’ve no doubt he would find it impossible to refuse any command spoken by you.”

Her cryptic words linger in the air, their implications sinking into you. You’re left reeling, unsure of whether her remark is meant as flattery or a thinly veiled mockery of your banishment. 

She scoffs, her delicate façade cracking as her tone turns venomous. “The emperor may not know, but I see right through you. Seducing him to claim yourself as some spoil of war and twisting his mind to lead our nation to ruin—it’s sickening. Truly, a shame the assassination attempt failed.” Her words lash out like a whip, her civil mask shattering entirely.

You gasp, her implications cutting deep even as your heart hardens against the venom. Had she known–?

“Perhaps that is what the entire Court believes of me,” you manage, your voice trembling yet steady enough to carry your conviction. Months of whispered rumors and vicious gossip had thickened your skin, and you refused to crumble under her scrutiny. “But I will not allow you to sully the emperor’s reputation.”

As much as you detested Gojo, your disdain for the corrupt elders burned hotter. They had plotted your downfall, attempted to take your life, and now sought to undermine everything Gojo was fighting to build. You could not allow them to gain any more power in the Court  than they already held.

Himiko’s lips curl into a cold, triumphant smile as she picks up an inkstone and brush from the emperor’s desk. “As his Honored Consort and future Empress I command you to hold this for me while I pave the way for a greater future.” Her words are laced with mockery as she extends the inkstone toward you.

You recoil instinctively, shaking your head. “No. I refuse—” Your rejection is firm, your voice sharper than you expected, as you pull away, clutching the emperor’s garments protectively against your chest. 

The next few moments unravel in slow motion, as though fate itself had decided to humiliate you. Himiko’s gasp pierces the air as your sudden movement causes the inkstone to slip, spilling its dark, viscous contents over her elaborate kimono. The silk, undoubtedly crafted from the finest threads in Japan, drinks in the stain, the deep black spreading like a wound across the fabric.

“My lady!” Her servants rush to her side, their collective cries of alarm startle you. They push you aside as they fuss over her, their movements frantic as they attempt to salvage her now-ruined garment.

You stumble back, staring in disbelief at the disaster you’d unwittingly caused. “I—I am truly sorry—” you begin, but your words falter under the weight of the situation.

“What is going on here?”

The booming voice echoes through the hall like thunder, freezing everyone in place. You whip your head toward the source, your pulse quickening as your eyes land on the figure now standing in the doorway. The emperor himself, Gojo, commands the room with his presence, his expression a mixture of confusion and rising fury as he takes in the scene before him. By his side stands the owner of the voice, an elder, with an expression carved with barely restrained anger piercing through you.

Himiko lets out a sharp cry, her voice trembling with a convincing mix of distress and indignation. Gojo reacts instantly, rushing by her side, his features hardening with concern.

“I found her forging His Majesty’s signature,” Himiko exclaims, her voice wavering just enough to sound genuine. “When I tried to intervene, she lashed out and attacked me.” She trembles as she buries her head against the emperor’s chest.

It hits you—the full realization of her calculated scheme. This was her plan all along.

“I-I didn’t!” you stammer, your voice raw with desperation. “That wasn’t what happened at all– she was the one tampering with imperial documents. I tried to stop her!”

Gojo’s piercing blue eyes snap to yours, cutting off your explanation. His gaze, once warm and teasing, now burns with unrestrained fury. The bile rises in your throat as you see it. Anger, disdain, and worst of all, disbelief.

“Himiko,” he murmurs, his arms tightening protectively around her trembling form. Her soft sniffling only adds to the spectacle.

“To be caught tampering with imperial records is one thing,” Gojo finally says, his voice icy and cutting, “but to stoop so low as to accuse Lady Himiko? Was this an act out of jealousy? Spite? How pathetic. This is beneath even you, [Name].”

You feel your knees weaken, the tears you’ve fought to hold back beginning to pool in your eyes. “Please, you have to believe me,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of his words.

His expression darkens further, the light in his sky-blue eyes replaced by thunderclouds. “Why would I believe you?” he sneers, his tone laced with contempt.

A single tear escapes down your cheek, followed by another, and then another, until you can no longer stop them. The dam of your resolve breaks, shattered by his cruel dismissal.

“Why?” Your voice trembles, breaking as the tears come freely now. “Why don’t you believe me?”

Gojo’s lips curl into a bitter smile. “Don’t make me laugh,” he says coldly. “How could I ever believe in one as base as you?”

His words cut deeper than any blade, piercing through the walls you’d built to protect yourself. You’d convinced yourself you were immune to his indifference, but the searing pain in your chest proves otherwise.

“Leave,” he commands, his voice sharp and final. “Do not look back. Your very presence stirs nothing but disdain within me.”

You stagger back, his words striking harder than any physical blow. He might as well have drawn his sword and ended it here. The infamous tales you had heard about Gojo were once glorious images that were painted of your beloved. You had never thought you would be on the other end of his blade. 

Without a word, you turn and run, your vision blurred with tears. The emperor’s garments slip from your hands, forgotten in your haste to escape the suffocating anguish. You don’t look back, even as the echoes of his disgust chase you out of the hall.

If there was one undeniable truth that Geto Suguru knew, it was that his best friend, Gojo Satoru could be an utter fool. Perhaps it was the inevitable result of a youth stolen too soon, replaced by the crushing weight of an empire resting on his shoulders. The brilliance that made Gojo a formidable emperor rendered him hopelessly inept when it came to navigating the labyrinth of his own emotions.

And as his closest confidant, bound by loyalty and friendship, Geto Suguru couldn’t help but feel the urge to shake some sense into him—to force him to confront what he stubbornly refused to see.

That is why, when your trembling form hurries across the courtyard, tears streaming down your face, Geto Suguru can’t help but halt you in your steps. 

“I’m leaving.” you declare, your voice raw, your eyes red and swollen. The words, so resolute despite your trembling tone, catch him off guard.

“What?” he asks, his brows knitting together in confusion.

“My favor,” you say firmly, though your voice wavers. “I want to leave this place.”

For a moment, Geto says nothing, his sharp mind scrambling to process the abruptness of your request. Then he shakes his head, his expression softening. “You know I can’t do that.”

Your incredulous gaze snaps up to meet him. “So you lied to me?”

“No, not at all,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “I meant—I can grant you time off. But as someone under the emperor’s direct supervision, I can’t allow you to leave permanently. What I can do is give you one lunar cycle away from court.”

You hesitate, weighing his offer before giving a sharp nod. “I’ll take it. Just let me leave,” you reply, sniffling.

Geto watches you for a moment longer, his chest tightening at the sight of your despair. “I’ll make the arrangements right away,” he says gently. “I’m sorry we seem to meet only under such terrible circumstances.”

“I’m sorry too,” you murmur, your tone hollow.

He hesitates, searching for the right words to offer some semblance of comfort. “Whatever he did, I’m sure—”

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, your voice colder now. “He made his disgust for me perfectly clear.” You march past him, your steps resolute despite the trembling in your shoulders. “Thank you for understanding, though I must beg you to keep this between us. Who knows what might happen to either of us if he finds out.”

Geto exhales slowly, his composure steady but his mind racing. Just what, exactly, had his best friend done this time? Gojo’s antics always seemed to leave Geto cleaning up the aftermath, but this—this was something else entirely.

Just as he promised, there is a carriage waiting for you outside of the servants’ quarters. With heavy bags in hand and an even heavier heart, you make your way toward it, each step weighted with reluctant resolve. The irony of the moment doesn’t escape you, a sense of déjà vu washing over you, as though life had played this scene out countless times before.

You turn sharply, your bleary eyes meeting the calm, hazel gaze of someone you hadn’t expected to see.

“Nanami?” you breathe, disbelief coloring your tone.

He inclines his head in a polite nod. “Forgive the intrusion, but I insist on accompanying you,” he says, his voice as composed as ever. “The roads beyond the palace can be dangerous, especially for someone traveling alone.”

For a moment, you simply stare, caught between gratitude and confusion. The warmth in your chest battles against the ache that lingers from your earlier ordeal. “And what of the emperor?” you ask, forcing a faint smile. “Would he not throw a fit in your absence?”

Nanami lets out a quiet, mirthless laugh, the sound more bitter than amused. “Perhaps,” he admits, adjusting the luggage in his hands with ease. “But he was never one to share, was he?”

taglist. @wr4inn @sukioyakio @siopaoxcc @thejujvtsupost @bakananya @catobsessedlady @fiannee @sleepycow21 @kirashuu @deluludyslexic @isaacdaknight @bathroom-sand @arehzhera @lostinneocity @victoria1676 @uziwork @alexatiu @taenosaurrr @sukunasleftkneecap @toecurlingstories @yandere-stories @dreamsarenicer @hiyaitssans @getoicious @docosahexaenoic-san @goldenglow149 @amiorcani @step-on-me-melissa @erensswife1 @roses-and-reeses @ssc7514 @hyunsuks-beanie @crankyarchives @wooasecret @theiridescentdragon @mshitachin @kieralive @cake-with-the-cream @miffysoo @msvalsius @drthymby @sherryuki-callmeyuki @anonymous-creep @altgojo @aesukuni @sadmonke @luna-v-roiya @hightoasterr @rebeccawinters @paprikaquinn @frozenmallows

[lovieku]

INTRO ⋆ 정국

you’re jeongguk’s secret santa this year, so you give him the best gift he’ll ever receive.

⋆⁺₊❅. 1/6 from christmas & chill

pairing virgin!jk x fem reader

genre smut, fluff, friends to lovers, first time

warnings painfully oblivious jk, even more painfully oblivious oc, mutual pining unlike anything you’ve seen, jk being a hot nerd ceo who’s loaded rich and unaware of his potential, please imagine him as nam joohyuk in start up, oc just creaming her pants for jk, hand job, lowk strip tease, dry humping, nipple play (m&f), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, jk is so needy and impatient but also very polite, smut is kinda rushed because well… it’s his first time! sawrry! also i open gifts on xmas eve please don’t come for me and my traditions (it’s lich just because i’m impatient)

word count 8.3k

author’s note hello hello hello!!! i’m so nervy to post this because it’s what finally inaugurates c&c!!!! i hope it can be a pleasing (intro)duction to the series hehe… either way you’ll get something totally better from miss lyssa tomorrow so stay tuned Wink 🩷 luv u always

banner by the talented @awrkive ⟡ ݁₊ .

Secret Santas have become the only way you’ve been able to deal with Christmas. When it comes to gift-giving, you’re embarrassed to admit that creativity in that department doesn’t exactly come naturally to you.

You try your best, truly. But you either end up going over budget, striving to please all your loved ones with unnecessarily expensive gifts which will only leave you with empty hands and an empty wallet, or having your brain completely stop working, if not to come up with the most basic and useless options that will get you forced smiles and polite nods in fake recognition.

It’s exhausting, demoralizing, and frankly, a recipe for holiday burnout.

So when two years ago, on the brink of giving up entirely and seriously contemplating hibernating through winter, your dear friend Jimin swooped in and suggested Secret Santa, it completely reshaped your next Christmases.

Exactly a month before Christmas Eve, you reunite over drinks and food at Jeongguk’s house to draw names. His place always ends up as the default spot for dinners, movie nights, or even football matches. Those don’t usually get the attention of everybody, especially of some of the girls, and it wouldn’t get yours either.

But you never skip game night. Correction, you never miss an excuse to be in Jeongguk’s space, even if it means sitting through 90 minutes of men chasing a ball on a screen. After all, you’re never truly paying attention, always stealing glances at the boy who seems almost even more uninterested than you.

It’s about witnessing him in his house— which, truthfully, is more of a mansion. The spacious, cozy interiors mirror a part of him that’s hard to miss: his perfectionist side, the one that likes to keep things understated but can’t help leaving subtle, telling marks of his presence on everything he touches, is woven into every corner.

Over time, you’ve naturally come to associate the place with holidays, laughter, and celebrations that fill you with a sense of belonging. Being here, surrounded by your closest friend, makes you feel profoundly grateful.

And there’s so many traces of you all, too. The faint wine stain on Jeongguk’s carpet that is only still noticeable if you squint, the one that spilled from your glass when Hoseok’s jokes had you laughing too hard; the long, slim scratch on the kitchen door, courtesy of Eunbi, who thought learning how to balance glasses on her forehead would get one of her coworkers to finally fall for her; the wobbly vase on the coffee table that was knocked over during one of Jimin’s overly enthusiastic attempts to kick a water bottle open.

Watching Jeongguk deal with the chaos you all force into his space might be another big reason why you love being here. It seems to squeeze out his most genuine reactions and quirks, and you can’t help biting your lips at those, almost pornographically so.

For someone who works so hard to appear composed, and who’s also extremely shy and reserved, Jeongguk is hilariously transparent when things don’t go his way. Brows furrowed, as if that’s where he keeps all his control. Although, no matter how flustered he gets, Jeongguk almost never gets choleric. His instinct is never to lash out but to scramble, a picture of barely contained stress insisting that everything is fine.

And the more he insists, the more you find yourself wishing it wasn’t fine. Sometimes, you want to see him lose it— especially at you.

You’ve tried, too. You’ve pushed boundaries, done little things to test the limits of his patience, all for the slim possibility of seeing him crack, just for you. But it never works. The best you get is an awkward smile, maybe a quiet laugh. It’s not nothing, but it’s not what you want, either.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this crazy about someone before. Not in the way where everything he does sends your brain spinning with possibilities. It’s maddening. His obliviousness is maddening.

Chiefly tonight, when you’re trying extra hard to keep it under control, the whole group gathering in a circle around the bowl that holds all your names, each one carefully folded into a little square, waiting to be drawn.

But when your slim fingers brush against one of the many crumpled pieces of paper and decide your fate, you send a small prayer to whoever might be listening. Please, don’t let it be Jeongguk.

It doesn’t really come off as a coherent request, especially considering how much your body has betrayed you tonight. Your thighs have been pressing together most of the evening, a subconscious reaction every time your gaze wandered — lingered — on Jeongguk’s lower half. Those low, slouchy grey sweatpants, hanging effortlessly off his narrow hips, have been the source of many inappropriate thoughts that you wish would make you grow some shame within yourself. Instead, they only make you grow hotter in your seat.

No, you would love to be Jeongguk’s Secret Santa with the blatant, embarrassingly huge crush you have on him. You think you’d be happy about it in any other universe, except this one.

Jeongguk is difficult. And not because he’s ever been argumentative, looking to start quarrels, never willing to agree or see past his nose. He’s far from those. He’s one of the easiest people to be around, rarely judgmental, even when you were drunk off your mind and you jokingly grinded on very-gay Jimin to make up for your lack of sexual activity. On those occasions, you didn't exactly see judgement in his eyes. Just reticence. Maybe. It wasn’t clear.

What is clear is that Jeongguk is incredibly particular. He’s picky about what he likes and even more so about what he doesn’t, though dislike might be too soft a word. When he hates something, it’s impossible not to know. He doesn’t even try to mask his disappointment.

It’s not malicious, of course. He’s not the type to be spiteful. It’s just how he is, an open book, his expressions giving him away without fail.

It’s one of the many reasons you love watching him, other than hoping your eyes would telepathically convey your undying desire to fuck him and cuddle him close to your chest afterwards. But most of the time, studying the shifts in his features is a way for you to decipher what he’s thinking.

And that’s why this moment feels so high-stakes. The last thing you want is to be on the receiving end of one of Jeongguk’s polite smiles or barely-there nods of acknowledgment, the kind he gives when he’s unimpressed. It would crush you, the ultimate failure in your short-lived career as a gift-giver.

It’s not just that he’s hard to please. Jeongguk is also the last person who seems to need anything. He’s loaded, his success as a game developer has afforded him a life where anything he wants is within reach. And yet, despite his wealth, there’s no arrogance about him. If you didn’t know him so well, you might think he was just another college student scraping by.

Who else but Jeon Jeongguk could walk around in a hoodie and square glasses, looking like he just rolled out of bed, while being the CEO of his own company?

But, of course, none of this is important. Because as you unfold the piece of paper in your hand, it’s there. Jeongguk.

You don’t think you enjoy Secret Santa as much anymore.

With the bowl continuing its journey around the circle, you spend the rest of the game staring holes into the back of Jeongguk’s head, desperately trying to figure out what in the world you could possibly get him. Your monthly budget feels laughable in comparison to his lifestyle, but you’re already prepared to go way over it if that’s what it takes to impress him.

You wonder if he’s as insecure as you are when he quietly unfolds the small, paper square he picked up and scans the name. His bug eyed expression doesn’t hide an evident surprise, the twitch of his eyebrows managing to conceal a possible disappointment.

For someone who’s usually so easy to read, Jeongguk seems uncharacteristically guarded in this moment, and it drives you crazy. You squint at him, frowning as you try to decipher any small detail on his face. Is he annoyed? Or worse, completely indifferent?

Either way, it doesn’t look like a positive reaction. If it ends up being you, you’ll rethink back to this moment and cry yourself to sleep.

With the first step out of the way, the night goes on following its usual rhythm. Only by the end of it, Jeongguk’s space starting to empty, you quietly help him put some order to the mess left behind by a too drunk Hoseok paired with his too drunk best friend Taehyung.

You keep yourself busy with storing some leftover food, managing to keep your tone unbothered when you ask, “Hey, Gguk. Wanna help me with the party planning this year?”

Always obliging to your every request, he only stutters slightly in his movements, the glasses he was cleaning clinking together. He clears his throat, “S—sure. I’ll help you, goldie.” The stammer doesn’t seem to be caused by any kind of hesitation, just an usual consequence to his nature. Reserved, quiet.

You nod, gulping way too loudly at the special nickname he has for you, and both of you keep your focus on your doings instead of witnessing the faint blush dusting your cheeks, “Cool. I’ll text you the details tomorrow.”

Details texted, your efforts to divert the conversation into something remotely playful failed miserably. Jeongguk is painfully formal, methodical as ever, hyper-focused on the party. When you sent him a TikTok you deemed adorable enough to nudge him toward a different matter, maybe hint at the dog being the cutest thing he’s ever seen and that you two should definitely adopt three of them and move in together, he still doesn’t get it.

gguk🤍: Oh… I asked my brother to keep Bam for Christmas Eve. I thought he would be too much of a hassle, especially with Iseul not being fond of dogs.

You had stared at the ceiling for a long moment after reading that text. Jeongguk is endearingly dense, and you don’t mind it most of the time. But it’s starting to cause quiet bursts of frustration when it comes to whatever undefined thing you two have, and what is clearly simmering for the eyes of everybody to see, except his.

You’d thought giving him his first handjob when he quietly confessed he’s never been touched, his voice a tremble in the calm aftermath of a chaotic group sleepover, would be enough to make him see. His quiet whimpers were hypnotizing calls that only you were meant to hear, and your fist pumping his girthy length with intent was speaking all you were afraid to voice.

Jeongguk came hard and unannounced all over your hand, pleasured sounds muffled in the side of your neck, and you’d assured him it was okay; he did good; that you would get something to clean him up. You didn’t sleep that night, and he didn’t either, spending the rest of it next to each other on his couch talking pointless conversation.

If that hadn’t opened his eyes, you were beginning to wonder what would.

“So… Do you have any idea what to gift your person?”

Jeongguk stirs his latte for the fourth time. You’d decided to meet at a café halfway between your cramped flat and his mansion, because it was the easiest way you managed to make your busy schedules merge.

“No, Gguk,” you acknowledge his question without meeting his eyes, focusing on the grocery list on your laptop instead.

What would? You’re starting to think subtlety isn’t cutting it. Maybe it never has. Perhaps the only way to break through that frustratingly thick skull of his is to go full throttle, strip naked right here in the middle of this café and spell it out for him.

Your eye involuntary twitches at the thought in relation to his question. Crazy Christmas gift, you reason as you stare maniacally at your bright screen. Yeah. Totally crazy.

Shaking your head, you can’t resist glancing up at him. The idea doesn’t seem so irrational anymore, not when your insides twist at the sight of his absorbed expression, his brows furrowed as he scribbles out unheard-of maths on a piece of paper to figure out group expenses.

With your chin resting in the palm of your hand, you abandon your pretense of being productive and let yourself watch him work. A teasing lilt slips into your voice as you prod him in your usual way, “Why should I believe you already don’t know who it is?”

He blinks up at you, promptly, like he always does when you speak to him, and he stumbles, “Huh— I don’t—”

“You so do. You probably already guessed it all with your nerdy brain.”

Despite looking mildly offended, his ears turn red anyway, “Nerdy brain—”

“Glasses look cute on you,” that shuts him up; his mouth, his brain. Completely unable to cater to any of their functions.

You smirk at the way he diverts his gaze, pointer finger unconsciously fixing the specs on the bridge of his nose, and you wonder how much longer it’ll take for him to notice that you don’t just go around calling everyone’s glasses cute.

Sighing, you continue, “Anyways. It’s not you.”

“W—what? Is it really not?” When he looks up at you with even wider eyes, you feel bad for lying to him but you still shake your head. He mutters, “Shoot. I was so sure I had it.”

A playful scoff escapes you, “See! You did sit in your nerdy room and tried to guess!”

“Stop calling me a nerd,” it’s a request grumbled in the most adorable way you’ve heard, and there’s no real heat behind it. Especially when he goes back to be exactly what he doesn’t want you to refer to him as, “Well, if it’s not me, it must be Taehyung.”

You pretend to busy yourself with your touchpad as you ponder on his eagerness. Then, you voice the result, “What’s the fun in knowing right now?”

Jeongguk hesitates for a moment too long before admitting, “I don’t know. I guess it makes me less anxious.”

It’s a raw kind of honesty, much like what he was painted all over with when he came from your touch, and it has you shifting your gaze back on him, now absorbed in doodling stylized portraits of Bam right next to numbers and additions.

You don’t know if it’s the hot chocolate still simmering in your tummy, the warmth from the coat laying on your legs, the café’s natural heat or Jeongguk’s proximity, but you buzz with something homely.

Ariana Grande’s version of Last Christmas replays for the third time in a row, and at this point you’re starting to believe it’s a conscious choice, but you don’t mind it.

Jeongguk belongs to the world the soft melody is building, hugged by a woolen white sweater, the wide glass window behind him giving the perfect view to a classic winter scenery, snow softly resting on any surface it finds and unconsciously bringing magic to dullness. Or maybe it’s just him adding that last bit.

You smile at his small confession, reassuring with your tone, almost drowning in the lively chatter of the place surrounding you, “You don’t have to be.”

Jeongguk only nods, tapping the pencil on his temple as he studies what he has so far with sudden doubt. He looks at your laptop, scanning the long forgotten visual board on your Pinterest, then back to his calculations.

Giving one more glance at the screen, he concludes, “By the way, I really don’t think that color would look good in my living room.”

Ugh.

You think you want to strangle him when he deflects so easily from these moments. And mostly, the burgundy he’s so easily refusing happens to be one of your favorite shades. Do your tastes ever match?

God, as much as you want him, you hope he’s not your Secret Santa.

────⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆────

Jeongguk is your Secret Santa.

And on Christmas Eve, he’s pacing the length of his living room back and forth, his socks brushing against the polished wooden floor with each step. You’re supposed to arrive any minute now to help him with the final touches before the others come for dinner, and the idea of having you here alone is enough to make his hands clammy and his thoughts stumble.

The neatly wrapped gift with its shiny red paper sits tucked under the towering Christmas tree, the one adorned in messy decor that his friends jumbled up together. The item hidden inside the bag doesn’t share his anxieties, though he suspects his downstairs neighbour might have caught on to it with the incessant pacing.

When you ring the doorbell he’s jolted out of it and, practically tripping over his own feet, he rushes to the door and yanks it open. He would have let you in just as rapidly if his brain didn’t stop short at seeing you standing there.

You’re cladded in a soft sweater that looks two sizes larger, its beige tones complimenting the warm brown of his own jumper, and your short skirt peeks out beneath its hem, edged with lace ruffles. At your feet, a pair of chestnut Uggs that he can only hope are enough to make up for the cold shivers on your bare legs. Not that he’s staring, so intently he has to gulp down an impulsive thought. No, he’s just a naturally observing guy.

And that brings him to notice that your hands are empty, save for a small purse and a bottle of wine. No bag, no box, no sign of a gift.

When his gaze flickers back to your face, your eyes are wide and darting nervously between his own, narrowed by the frown that he can’t quite hide but bug sized the moment he catches a trace of insecurity in your shaky voice, “Hi.”

It could be the cold causing the brief greeting to tremble, small snowflakes laying on your neatly styled hair, shimmering for a brief moment before melting away. It pulls him out from his unabashed study of you, and he steps aside to let you into his much warmer space.

Your vanilla scent inebriating his senses has him forgetting all about your seemingly non existent gift, and how he suddenly finds himself wishing he truly did get something messed up in his calculations, that you’re not his Secret Santa.

But you are.

Many drinks later, filling up everyone’s stomachs along with shared food and belly laughter, it’s time to exchange gifts and the expression on your face is unlikely anything he’s caught on so far.

A huge contrast to the mellow Christmas tunes indistinctly playing in the background, your eyes are impassive as you word your excuses, “I’m sorry, Gguk. I forgot your gift at home.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” he says quickly, the words spilling out with genuine ease. And it really is okay. He’s not upset— far from it. The thought of you giving him anything at all, even belatedly, is enough to make him feel content.

But now, as the group’s attention turns toward him, his heart races for an entirely different reason. His gift for you, a lavish, over-the-top gesture that far exceeds the modest budget they all agreed on, sits waiting on his lap.

When it finds a new home atop your own crossed legs, you’re eager as you rip the paper, but your eyes don’t follow your movements. Instead, you focus on the nervous boy sitting across from you, your very own Secret Santa who’s monitoring your hands for you while subtly rocking from one side to the other.

His anxiety is endearingly soft, but you can see something more to it, almost an irrational fear of tripping on the wrong step, messing up something that’s supposed to be simple.

You hear it before you see it. The whole room inhales sharply in a collective surprise, with some gasps muffled behind hands pressed to mouths. You scramble for an explanation in their expressions, jumping from one face to the other, stopping on Jeongguk’s own, gaze glued to his fidgeting fingers, head bowed down to his lap.

When you slowly look down at what’s resting on yours, you almost wheeze. If they could, your eyes would leap out of their sockets.

Your palm instinctively presses on your lips as you look between the gift and the gifter in a frantic attempt to catch any sign that this is not what it is. With the music being the only sound eerily filling the sudden silence, you add to it, even if barely, with your voice a whisper, “What is this?”

Jeongguk gulps and finally meets you, “It’s m—my gift for you.”

It’s not like you even opened it yet. But the simple sight of the box had you grasping for support. On the pale, textured surface of the square box, the unmistakable gold lettering is what’s making your orbs shake in confusion: Dior.

You trace the sign with your pointed finger, tilting your head up to look at Jeongguk through your lashes, and you don’t know how else to put it, “Ggukkie… Were you there when we set the budget?”

Jimin butts in with a scoff, “Yeah, that’s like fifteen thousand won multiplied by another fifty thousand.”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what he should say. He’s scared of the deafening silence that follows, the way Jimin’s comment seems to linger in the air, the way you seem to struggle with finding something to say in response.

He begins, tries to, “I—”

“Fuck, Gguk,” the simple sound of your words has his mind spiralling, palms clammy with doubts that question his every choice leading up to this moment, feeling foolish for even thinking this could be right, a shot worth trying. What if you think he’s showing off? Or worse, overcompensating?

But what he fails to notice is the toothy grin that follows your shameless surprise, your fingers gingerly lifting the lid of the box, and really, if only he had the courage to look up at you he’d have avoided the worries.

He misses your reaction at the reveal: the prettiest earrings sit on a soft cushion, gleaming gold with delicate CD initials and cream pearls dangling gracefully beneath them.

“These are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I love them. You didn’t have to.”

Jeongguk’s head snaps up. He meets your face painted with the most beautiful grin he’s ever seen you wear, your cheeks burning with red and your nose scrunching as you carefully slip the earrings to take a better look at them. With you, everybody else around him seems in awe, too. Their soft, endeared whispers begin to fill the earlier suffocating silence, melting into a sweetness reserved entirely for Jeongguk.

He exhales quietly, the welcomed warmth in his chest replacing the cold. He admits, no stutter, no fear, just a sheepish smile, “I wanted to.”

Jeongguk really did want to. It felt like his one shot. A desperate, last-ditch attempt at making you see him the way he’s always seen you; a declaration wrapped in gold and pearls.

He wants you to see him as more than the shy, awkward boy who stumbles over his words and blushes too easily. More than the nerd who spends too much time working on equations and codes half the world doesn’t know about. More, just to have you look at him a bit closer.

He wants to be a man, one who badly wants you, in your eyes.

They’re gleaming with adorable excitement as they flicker back to his, sheepishly accompanying your quiet request, “Can you… put them on for me?”

Jeongguk is at your side in no time, handling the earrings with care while trying to keep his usual clumsiness at bay as he fastens the dainty jewels in place. He begins to understand why it’s hard to see him as anything else but gawky when he feels his heartbeat speed up from the simple way his skin is brushing against yours.

Namjoon’s voice cuts through the spell, playful, “Oh, what a pretty princess. Jeongguk truly has an eye for this stuff.”

With the group following with chuckles and mindless banter, Jeongguk feels uncharacteristically bold, gaze fixated entirely on you as he lets himself spill something meant for you only to hear, “I think it’s just you. You’re beautiful.”

You’re clearly caught off guard, and it stings a little when he realizes the only reason he doesn’t get to see you this flustered often is because he’s usually busy being the flustered one. Blinking up at him through your lashes, your laugh comes out a little breathless, and the sweet way you let your cheek rest on your shoulder has him daring to hope.

“Nerd.”

But no. There it is again.

That’s all he’ll ever be in your eyes.

He forces a smile that barely reaches his eyes, but you’re too engrossed with having your pearls admired by the rest of the group to notice. Those weren’t a waste; he would do it all the same. You deserve everything that makes your eyes shine, that brings the corners of your lips into that grin that shakes him, that can ever bring you joy. He just wishes it could bring you more than that; bring you to a bigger sentiment, a bigger realization.

Perhaps that’s why he can’t shake off the awful mood that pervades his senses throughout the rest of the night, the earrings hanging from your ears catching the twinkly, warm lights and mocking him with delighted amusement. There’s nothing else you can do, you nerdy boy.

Perhaps that’s also why, when the house starts to empty and you’re in his kitchen making yourself helpful with dishes, he slips on composure when you accidentally let a glass slide from your dainty hands.

It breaks the moment it meets the ground, and the sound penetrates his ears, both of you jumping at the impact. He hisses, “What— what the heck, ___!”

You’re startled, blinking up at him. It’s not the chaos from the glass, not its tiny pieces covering the floor and reaching your feet. It’s the deliberate frustration of his tone, one he’s never let free, especially with you.

You pant for apologies, but they can’t seem to be let out. Wide eyes jumping between his own bug ones, your brows draw up in shame. It has never been this easy to get him bothered. Hell, you’ve even struggled to.

Jeongguk only sighs, dragging a hand across his nape, and he regrets the quiet sharpness in his voice the second he lets it out, “God. Be more careful next time.”

He’s still quicker than you on his feet, moving to sweep the mess you’ve created before you can even react. You seem to move in slow, infinite motions, kneeling down to pick up the bigger pieces, all while keeping an unusual silence.

He steals a glance up at you, biting his lower pierced lip in sudden guilt, “Are you okay?”

Your hands pause, clutching a fragment of glass as your eyes flicker up to meet his. You nod, distant, and it does nothing to convince him.

He doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to your hesitant confirmation, rather he’s hyper-focused on your fingers, and before you realize the shift in his expression, he alarmedly blurts out, “Goldie. You’re bleeding.”

The sting barely registers for you until his words bring it to your attention. Looking down, you see a sharp, red line running across your finger, small but enough to make Jeongguk spring into action.

You’re lifted off the floor and ushered to the bathroom in fractions of seconds, letting yourself be handled like you don’t own your body. The only thing you want to be aware of is the switch in his behaviour. He’s back to normal once he’s in his quiet bubble of concentration, movements precise as he cleans the barely visible wound and carefully places a band aid over it.

All while he can’t stop apologizing, “I’m sorry for yelling at you. That was not your fault. But, this. This is my fa—”

“Jeongguk, it’s just a scratch.”

The way he meets your eyes with his face drawn tight and brows furrowed makes you rethink your statement. Maybe it’s more than a scratch. Maybe it’s the only thing that snapped him out of his frustrated daze.

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve that.”

Your first instinct is to giggle; it’s a resonance of the butterflies childishly swarming in your belly from the proximity and his careful words. Both your gazes soften as you accept each other, even the faulted versions of tonight, and a timid smile stretches over his lips.

You hesitate before speaking again, your mouth opening only to close, reconsidering your words; but then you finally let out what you had foolishly planned as your next desperate attempt to cling to him.

“Can you… My car is… Can you take me home?”

What you’re now sure you like the most about Jeongguk is how he caters to your needs before you even have to voice them. The soft kindness in his eyes, the way his body instinctively shifts to act before his mind even fully processes the request. He’s already nodding, ready to make it happen for you.

“Yeah. Of course.”

The heat in his car fans over your cheeks, dusting them with a soft red that has his Adam’s apple bobbing every time he turns to steal glances at you at stoplights. You keep talking, filling the air with contentment about the night’s events, and it’s like that subtle slip of his never happened.

It’s almost too easy to surrender and pretend that everything is fine, that he doesn’t feel the ache of wanting more. If staying a nerd in your eyes means getting to be this close, to hear your laughter, to see the slight curve of your lips as you speak, then maybe it’s enough.

His subtle gestures — adjusting the temperature so you’re comfortable, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter when your giggles spill into the cabin — don’t go unnoticed. They settle into you and have your heart beating anticipatedly.

God, you won’t regret what you’re about to do.

By the time he pulls up in front of your place, you promptly turn to him before he can offer anything else, voice a bit too eager, “Would you like to come inside?”

“Huh—”

“I’ll show you my gift.”

Jeongguk sits on your couch, because you tell him to wait there. And of course, he’s a great listener. Very obedient, willing to follow your every order.

His fingertips drum restlessly on his thighs and he can only busy himself with his surroundings, every detail speaking for you. What’s definitely more prominent is the intoxicating scent of vanilla that clings in the air, of which he hopes his lungs inhale the entirety of, never getting enough of everything that is you.

When you come into his vision again, walking down the stairs in quiet steps, you’re tightly hugged in a trench coat, the textured belt cinched snugly around you and accentuating the small of your waist. Under it, your legs are bare. It has his mouth drying and his legs spreading stiffly on the couch.

He thought he got better at hiding his concerning infatuation. He hopes he did.

That’s why he initially manages to chuckle and attempt a joke, “Are you going somew—”

“Ta-da.”

Jeongguk doesn’t think he’s breathing. He doesn’t think he can even breathe anymore. His blinking fastens, brain stumbling over itself as it tries to make sense of what he’s sitting in front of.

You’ve loosened the coat just enough for the fabric to fall and reveal what you’ve carefully wrapped for him. You’re a gift coming in a red lingerie set clinging to your perfect curves, your boobs deliciously spilling out from the sides of your lace top and the line of your panties thin enough to leave little to the imagination.

He pants, scanning over your body once, twice, three times, questioning if the wine was perhaps laced with stronger substances, “What— What is this—”

“It’s my gift for you. Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

Meeting your face again, he nearly groans. You’re almost bare before him, yet you still sport a crimson blush and your teeth graze your bottom lip in a sheepish smile, in a way that is so achingly you. He can feel himself throbbing painfully in his pants. Thinks he could cum just from this view, tip over the edge without a single touch, no matter how bad he needs it.

“Fuck.”

You’ve barely ever heard Jeongguk curse throughout the time you’ve known him for. He only sometimes reserves that for his monitor, Overwatch games causing his composure to slip in adorable loud whispers.

But it’s like you’ve broken his dam, and he only lets more slip as you walk slowly but certainly closer to him, coat discarded on the floor, “Oh my, fuck. Holy shit. Thank you. Thank you. I— I don’t know what to do.”

It’s a quiet plea, the one that’s hidden in his strained words but clear in his full eyes glazed over with anticipation, his hands hovering uncertainly over his thighs, chest still heaving and struggling with manual breathing. He’s begging to feel deserving of this, to have you prove to him that it’s what you truly want for the both of you, to have you touching him and to be touching you.

He can’t help the moan that escapes him when you position yourself in between his spread legs, bodies close yet not touching, but he’s dying to feel you.

Now your turn to bend at his every request, your head tilts and your smile widens the more he’s forced to crane his neck up to keep your gazes connected, pending off your every syllable, “You don’t have to do anything. Will you let me take care of you?

“Yes, please,” the confirmation is immediate and empty of hesitance. Under you, Jeongguk nods promptly with his lips agape, watering with want when you straddle his lap to sit yourself on him.

He wails, throwing his head back and searching for all the strength it takes from holding back his instinct to snap up against your core, snuggled atop his raging hardness. At his shameless desperation, your giggles fill his ears, and when they’re followed by your cold hand on his cheek redirecting his gaze on yours, he feels feverish.

Delirious, eyes barely keeping from rolling back, his brain reduced to senseless blabbering, “My God. Thank you for this.”

With his brows adorably drawn up, he focuses on your dilated pupils now that your faces are mere centimetres apart, and you close the distance with small pecks that trace his jaw, up to his ear lobe, whispering against the skin, “Are you seriously thanking God while I’m about to take your virginity?

Jeongguk hisses in a frenzied surge, his hands still unsurely keeping from touching you, and your sarcastic pun has him full on rambling, “Shit, sorry. I don’t even believe in God. This just feels too good to be true. You look like a fucking angel.”

“Ggukkie, language!” Your seductive tone along with your chuckle reverberates right against his chest, your hands moving to lead your own palms up and down his broad front, and when you subtly roll your hips against his clothed length, he breaks into a cry.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ll come so soon,” you don’t know if it’s the adrenaline of the moment, but you’ve never witnessed such a bold Jeongguk. It only spurs you further, your hand traveling down, and down, until it sneaks under his sweater.

When you find his nipple, you playfully roll it between your pointer and thumb, his trembling body bucking up in an unstoppable urge, quiet whimpers working to keep his tone down. But you want to hear him scream under you, just as loud as you can feel his heart beating.

You bite your lip as your eyes drift downward, watching where your bodies meet in slow, teasing drags. His wide palms press into the cushions on either side of you, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip, and when you lift your gaze to meet his face again the delicious buzz pooling low in your stomach intensifies, your lips parting instinctively. A pretty blush creeps up his neck, painting his sharp jaw and cheekbones in shades of red, and his eyes, clouded, desperate, and burning with unfiltered need, lock onto you with a gaze that makes your knees weak even as you straddle him.

The simple grinding through the layers of clothing you still have on has you releasing whiny gasps in the air, his cock sliding torturously between your folds, and if you’re so affected by every shift you can hardly fathom what he must be feeling under you.

So you wonder out loud, voice rough the more you feel his stiff nipple under your fingertips, “How long since you’ve been touched properly, hm?”

His body hiccups, shaking with the barely contained lust, “Since— Since you last did, goldie.”

You coo, slowing down your movements and bringing your fingers to the hem of his jumper only to lift it and toss it behind you carelessly, “You’re so sensitive, aren't you?” At the view of his exposed chest, you can’t help roaming the expanse of it and feeling the tensing muscles under your skin, and by now you’re sure your panties must be ruined.

“Puh— please,” the plea is barely coherent, whispered out messily through high-pitched moans, but he begs again, “I wanna touch you too.”

“Then…” You let your hands speak for you, moving them to lead his own big ones to rest at your thighs, letting them drag up the curve of your ass. You’re impossibly close to his lips now, fanning against them, “Feel me, Gguk.”

Unable to resist, you fall forward and catch his mouth with yours in a kiss that struggles to find a rhythm, that has your tongues tangled in an uncoordinated dance, but that inevitably has you both humming loudly in an effort to almost devour each other, and his hands digging in your bare skin only force a gasp out of you.

In an impatient rush, you urge him to unclasp your bra, his unpractised and shaky fingers being joined by your experienced ones to finally free you from the tight confines, and as much as he wants to make kissing you a sport just to win every gold medal and break record after record, he can’t help separating from your lips with a wet sound to look down at your exposed breasts.

Jeongguk groans, and this time he doesn’t need you guiding him. It’s his own palms moving to cup you, and the innocent, light feather touch causes you to throw your head back and resume your slow grinding on top of him.

Both of you are panting messes, his moans significantly louder the more he gets to knead at your softness only to slice his thumb over your hardened nipples, the contrast making his brows furrow in hazed need, and when you arch your back into him he squeezes your tit to his mouth, eliciting a surprised wail from you.

Even when he gets closer, your sensitive nub engulfed by his swollen lips, he keeps looking up at you for approval with wide, teary eyes that beg for you to praise him. And with a hand gripping his wavy locks, you nod repeatedly for him to keep going, “Fuck, baby. Just like that, oh my God.”

He hums lowly with his mouth stuffed, his fingers digging in your flesh the more you drag your cunt mercilessly over the outline of his thickness, and he has to release you with a pop and rest his head on the couch behind him, palms keeping you somewhat still by the waist, panting out a desperate request when he feels himself throb dangerously close to his high, “G—Goldie, I can’t. Don’t— Don’t wanna cum like this.”

You lift your hips just enough for the both of you to whimper at the loss of friction, and you murmur through a string of kisses along his exposed neck, “How do you want to cum then, huh?”

He only whines, cheeks flushed with want and eyes glossy, forehead creasing with the way his brows are stressing, “Please.”

You show no mercy, flashing him with a wicked smirk and a teasing tilt of your head, “Ah-ah. Say it.”

Gulping with effort, his waist twitches up unconsciously to seek for your touch once again, and with his face turned to the side he admits in the smallest voice, “‘Nside of you.”

“Good boy. Gonna give you exactly what you want.”

He voices a loud cry just from the sound of your promise, only echoing more intensely when you hastily work at his zipper. It’s messy, uncertain, and it elicits breathy giggles from the two of you, drunk on adoration and high on desire.

Eventually, he’s stripped free from his confines, and his cock stands proud and hard, veins pumping the blood that has it throbbing against his toned stomach.

Jeongguk can feel your hooded eyes on him, can sense his tip wettening with the simple way you seem starved and eager to taste him, your hand coming too close to where he needs you the most before he gently grabs your wrist to stop it.

Automatically, your head snaps up, and the look on his face is one of nervous desperation, “Wan’ you to kiss me, please.”

You’re ready to comply to his every demand, and this one is as easy as it gets. You want to give him everything— whatever he wants, however he wants it.

Your lips mold with his in worldless acceptance, absorbing all you were afraid to voice to each other, making up for all the time you wasted, devoting to a sealed promise, the one that dances between your connected tongues, saliva making it wet and breathless.

Even more when your slim fingers trail down his torso before wrapping around his length, your wrist expertly flicking in a teasing touch, and his moan is unrestrained as it tears through the kiss. You swallow the sound greedily, steadying you against his chest rising and falling in frantic pants.

Before he can protest, his own hips bucking up in a silent beg for more, you steal the air from his lungs when you move your panties to the side and align your entrance with his tip, just to sink down on it.

The drag is slow and it has both of your eyes rolling back, pleased groans filling the air and straining against your throat when you fully sit yourself wrapped around his dick. You search for him, “You okay?”

“Shit,” Jeongguk seems hypnotised by the view of his thickness wrecking you in half, and his palms come to rest at your waist where his fingers dig into the skin. Your own playing with the hair on his nape only seem to make him more vulnerable, “This is perfect. You feel so good and warm, fuck.”

You’re not used to hearing him curse so openly and so often, and it naturally makes you giggle, the sound tickling his ears and leading his dilated pupils to look up at you through his lashes. Your sweet laughter fades into a lasting smile, one he can’t help but kiss, even if it’s all teeth, the contagious sight of your happiness getting to him too.

The moment is sickeningly sweet, bodies connected in more ways than one. With your kiss only deepening and your chest melting against his, you pull him impossibly closer by the back of his neck and start attempting slow motions on top of him.

You hear him through his thundering heartbeat, “Goldie… I— I don’t think I can last any longer, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Oh, shit, baby,” one particular shift has his length, deeply stuffed in your tight walls, finding your spot and teasing it with an electric buzz that travels through your body, “It’s okay. I’m so close too.”

The moment you try a firmier bounce and feel him find you again, you can’t help the way your movements fasten, your moans thick and low against your throat, his own louder and ricocheting through the walls.

You steady yourself with one of you palms on his thigh, leaning your weight back and finding a new angle to fuck yourself on him. He watches in awe as you work your fingers on your clit, rapid circling movements causing his mouth to hang open at the squelching sounds.

He pants, his wide hands guiding your riding, pushing you up and down, “Can— Can I touch you?”

You hum, but it sounds more like a whine, “Hm, of course, pretty boy,” the hand that was stimulating your sensitive nub now comes behind you to help support yourself on both of his muscular thighs, flexing under every shift.

Jeongguk is unpracticed as he leads his thumb to rest at your clit, applying a soft pressure and mimicking the same pattern he observed from you. He only seems to be focusing on his doing for the first few moments before he searches up for the reaction on your face, and he whimpers when he finds your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, your brows drawn up in pleasure.

You smile at the unconscious twitch of his chin, and give him just what you know he wants, “Always seeking my approval. You’re so good.”

The simple praise only has him working on you with more confidence, collecting some of your wetness and sliding it up along your lips. He learns fast, listening to your every sound and centering on your pleasure, as best as he can with his own knot getting closer to bursting.

You’re clearly affected by the simulations, your hips stuttering and riding around him, but you still make sure to concentrate on him first, “I’ll tell you when to cum, hm? You’ll listen to me, right?”

Jeongguk nods before he even knows what he’s agreeing to, “Y—yes. Yes, yes, fuck. I’ll be good. Wanna be so, so good for you. Wanna c—cum for you.”

“You’re so filthy, baby. Naughty boy. Fuck me.”

His hips meet you up with harsh thrusts that have you lose your balance on him, and you can only throw yourself with your arms around his broad shoulders, face hidden in the crook of his neck as he lets his desire take over, fucking up into you with a desperate need for release.

You think you see stars with the way he relentlessly pounds your hole, wet folds sliding along his length and causing a mess between you, his own slickness mixed with yours trailing down and pooling at the base. The sounds are inglorious, and they merge perfectly with your wails.

Breathing in his scent, you know he’s close from the way his thrusts are stammering sloppily, and his moans are closer to strained whines. You concede, “F—Fucking cum, Gguk. Cum inside me, fuck.”

He nods, slamming you down to meet his movements, desperate to feel you before he can stop himself, “Cum with me, pleas— Oh.”

When your walls spasm around him with your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave, causing you to shake in his embrace around you, he feels himself cum unannounced, hard and thick, sprouts of white liquid relentlessly pumping inside your warmth.

You milk him dry, both your wails drained with the effort and fading into breathless gasps, his arms around you falling limply at his sides. You’re sprawled on his chest, emptied from any energy, and he is just as spent with his head lolling against the back of the couch.

But you feel it in your heartbeats syncing, the realization of what happened, what finally happened. You feel it in his face moving down to find your lips and catch them in a sweet peck, his fingers trailing up again to trace lazy patterns on your back before tangling in your hair, grounding himself in you.

It’s your own smiles breaking through the kiss, lashes tickling, and both of you laugh senselessly as you come down from the moment.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk breathes out, voice raspy, “This was the best Christmas gift ever.”

You snicker, biting your lip to hold back your amusement, “Oh, baby. It was just an excuse to fuck you. I actually did forget your gift at home.”

“W—What?” His brows shoot up, his post-orgasm haze momentarily replaced with incredulity as his cheeks redden even more.

When Jeongguk straightens on the couch, so do you, steadying your weak frame with your hands splayed against his chest. Sheepishly, you confess, “Yeah. Bought you that Mario game yo—“

“Princess Peach: Showtime?”

“Yea—”

Jeongguk gasps dramatically, his excitement so pure it’s almost jarring considering what just transpired, and that he’s no longer a virgin, “God, I fucking love— that game. That is the best Christmas gift ever.”

You can’t hold back your laughter this time, shaking your head at how easily he slips back into his usual self, the one that had you buying a Victoria’s Secret set in that shade of burgundy he said he didn’t like just to attempt a crazy chance at having him.

Leaning forward, you press a lingering kiss to his lips that brings you back to the realization that you finally did get to have him, before murmuring against them, “Well, that and a second round. What do you say?”

“Please.”

[residentsweatgoblin]

I'm only coming from the perspective of Ireland and Spain (Just Cataluña really) but "golliwogs" (the racist dolls mentioned above) havent been a thing since the 80s (still recent enough to merit discussion but not something ive ever seen in my living lifetime) and while the dutch are definitely very weirdly defensive about their "Minstrel Shows" (the festive blackface) I cant say I'm familiar with any other european yuletide traditions that are still practiced today that are particularly racist/offensive (I am open and encouraging folks to challenge me on this with citation btw). Anway, let me share with you some actually good european winter solsticetime traditions. In Ireland we sit around and drink from dawn til dusk around a warm fire with friends and family because its too fucking cold out and most everyone has work off, and we watch prince of egypt / ben hur / high school musical. Theres not really a name for it, thats just what christmas day/stevens day is about. As for a more localised tradition, remember that bit where I said its too fucking cold out? Yea well aparently all the leaded fuel really did a number on us Dubliners because come christmas day, without fail you'll see folks congregate at docksides, launches and beaches all around Dublin for a 'Christmas Swim'. Now, diving into briny water in late december at the same lattitude as Hudson Bay (thats in Canada), should probably be a death sentence, but Irish waters are fed into by a series of warm atlantic currents, so while still being pretty cold, its actually not terrible to swim in. And yea, people just go do it, on christmas day, because there wasnt shit else to do on christmas day back in the day. I dont know if this tradition extends to other coastal areas of the country but it probably does, maybe not up north cus its fuckass cold up there.

Now in Cataluña, *smacks lips* oh theyve got the best shit ever.

First of all, the nativity scene, the iconic centrepiece of christmas, such a pristine diorama, youve got the iconic trio joseph, mary and joseph, the donkey that worked so hard to get them here, some gentle well kempt shepherds, angels, cherubs, a divine star, theres even three kings that happened to be passing through town...but arent you forgetting someone? Arent you forgetting the most important figure in the nativity? Arent you forgetting...

EL CAGANER

Or to roughly translate: the shiterrrrrrrrrrrr

This guys a little figurine included in the nativity scene, typically placed outside the stable (the guy has a sense of decency he just had to go is all) its a predominantly Catalan tradition, but its common down the mediteranean coast and even Portugal and Naples.

Traditionally its just a little peasant guy wearing a red catalan beretina but theres shops around Barcelona where you can get celebrity Caganers.

this shit is better than funkopops in literally every conceivable way

But you know whats also a classic scatalogical festive season tradition in Cataluña?

Tió de Nadal

Look at this jolly little guy! Originally he didnt have the face or the legs and wasnt so small, once upon a time he was just a big log that you dragged into the house and assigned some personhood to for the hollywood season. Starting from the feast of the immaculate conception, every night before bedtime you give the tio a little bite to eat, and is covered in a red blanket to stay warm, then on chirstmas day or christmas eve, the kids beat the tio with sticks while singing songs, usually with lyrics ordering tio to defecate. After all the song and dance is done, you lift the blanket up and low and behold, tio has shit you out a beautiful pile of presents! Typically comprised of nuts, torons, candies, dried fruits and small toys, what a swell guy! Anyway, to get back to the topic of the post, im not trying to detract from the broad points, but for real it was kinda making it sound like every European country is the Netherlands and we're all out here cheering on blackface on christmas day. Again, if anyone knows of any other sickeningly offensive european holiday season festivities let me know, Im open to education and not just making shit up about other peoples of the world.

my only advice is to BE CAREFUL posting about holiday traditions around europeans. you'll post something casual like "anyone else watch the old Grinch movie every year? what a classic" and a european will appear as if summoned and say some shit like "funny how USAmericans always CONVENIENTLY forget that Not Everyone On Earth is from The USA…….. no of COURSE we dont watch 'the grunch' or whatever the fuck that is…. our tradition is to attend a community showing of Glummdorf the Racial Stereotype"

[alygator77]

.˚✶˚. motherhood and matrimony ・❥・ wrapped in love .˚✶˚.

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

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

ꨄ chapter summary. christmas morning at the gojo estate has always been a display of elegant grandeur—but this year, the true magic is found in the quiet, heartfelt moments shared with you. for satoru, it’s a holiday that finally feels like home.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. pure tooth rotting fluff. satoru being the best step dad. lots of domesticity. it does get a bit suggestive at times.

ꨄ words: 12.6k

ꨄ a/n. this is a part of my series motherhood and matrimony, however it can also be read as a fluffy holiday oneshot (you'll probably appreciate some of the references more if you've read the series though!) this entire ch is written from satoru's perspective! also, for those that have read the series, i would definitely read this after ch 7 ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist ꨄ series masterlist ꨄ

side ch // wrapped in love

Christmas had always been a spectacle at the Gojo estate. Extravagant decorations that seemed to glisten with the weight of their price tags, a towering tree so grand it nearly grazed the vaulted ceilings, and a meticulously curated guest list for the Gojo’s annual holiday gala.

Business, wrapped in tinsel—topped with a bow.

Yes, for Satoru Gojo, Christmas always felt cold. Not the kind of cold that nipped at your nose or made you long for a crackling fireplace—it was the emptiness of grandeur.

Growing up in the Gojo estate, Christmas wasn’t a celebration; it was a stage. Takemi Gojo orchestrated the performance with precision, weaving an illusion of family warmth while the frigid reality of their relationship sat heavy within the corners of the mansion.

Twinkling lights adorned every surface, crystal ornaments shimmered under the tree’s glow, and tables overflowed with feasts meant to impress, not to savor.

His father had called it tradition. Satoru had called it lonely.

And from a young age, Satoru had learned that gifts were currency, not sentiment—the meaning of the season buried beneath layers of duty and pretense.

But this year… something was different.

Satoru lounges on the couch, long legs sprawled out as he watches you and Haru at the tree. You crouch low, holding an ornament in your hand, gently guiding Haru as she reaches up to find the perfect spot.

Her giggles fill the room like the sound of bells, bright and contagious, and she claps her tiny hands when the ornament finally stays.

Turning to her, your smile and the warmth in your expression is enough to melt something in Satoru’s chest.

It’s a feeling he can’t quite name—foreign, yet achingly familiar. Like standing outside during the first snowfall—the cold biting at your cheeks, but the beauty of it stealing your breath.

For the first time, Christmas doesn’t feel like an obligation. It feels like… home.

But it isn’t the decorations, nor the estate’s grandeur—it’s you. It’s Haru. It’s the way you’ve taken this cold, hollow place and filled it with laughter, warmth, and life. It’s the way you’ve turned this house into a home—a home he doesn’t want to leave.

“What do you think, Satoru?”

He blinks, glancing up at you—your voice pulling him out of his reverie. You were holding up two ornaments, one red and one blue, with a quirked brow and a soft smile.

Haru, meanwhile, was standing on her tippy toes, trying to reach the highest branch she could manage.

“Oh, uh… hmm?”

You roll your eyes with mock exasperation, shaking the ornaments for emphasis.

“Red or blue? We can’t have both; it’ll clash. Focus, Gojo.”

His lips twitch into a lazy grin as he leans back, folding his arms behind his head.

“Oh, definitely blue,” he says with a teasing lilt. “It matches my vibe better. Don’tcha think?”

You snort, rolling your eyes with a grin—muttering something about his ego—and as you turn back to Haru, Satoru takes the opportunity to watch you again.

The sight of you—your hair falling loose over your shoulders, the way your smile makes even your oversized sweater seem elegant—It isn’t just the room you light up. It’s him.

‘Gifts are just another transaction, Satoru. A display of wealth and power.’

His father’s voice lingers in his mind, sharp and cold as ever. But you—you’ve shown him a different kind of wealth. One that can’t be bought, or wrapped in shiny paper.

And for the first time, he feels it. Not the chill of the season, but… the warmth of belonging.

But with that warmth comes something else—something he’s not used to.

Panic.

Christmas is just days away, and for the life of him, he has no idea what to give you.

He’s Satoru Gojo. He could buy you anything. Diamonds. Designer clothes. Hell, an entire island, if he felt like it. Money has never been an obstacle—it’s always been a solution.

But when it comes to you, every option feels… wrong.

You—who sighs in exasperation at the estate’s staff, grumbling about how you’re perfectly capable of pouring your own glass of water, thank you very much.

You—who pokes at the extravagant feasts from world-class chefs, saying they could feed an entire village, yet they still couldn’t make your favorite comfort food the way you liked it.

You—who wrinkles your nose at his pretentious lifestyle, rolling your eyes every time he casually mentions the price of something without even realizing.

A necklace dripping in diamonds? You’d probably say it was heavy to wear. A vacation to a private island? You’d tell him you’d rather spend the time with Haru in the backyard, making snow angels.

A car? A house? Exquisite art? Fuck, a horse?

None of it feels enough.

He groans quietly, running a hand through his hair, cursing himself under his breath.

When did this happen? When did he get so comfortable letting his guard down around you, so at ease that now, sitting in his own home, he feels utterly vulnerable? Utterly lost?

And worse, he knows you can probably sense it.

“Satoru.”

Your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, drawing his attention back to you.

Standing a few feet away, the soft glow from the Christmas tree casts a gentle light on your features—a slight furrow to your brow as you tilt your head, holding a new ornament in your hand.

“Are… you okay? You look like you’re plotting something.”

He straightens instantly, schooling his features into an easy grin, but it’s a little too late for that—you’re watching him too closely, as if trying to unravel the puzzle in his head.

“Me? Plotting? Never.” He leans back, resting an arm across the top of the couch. “Just wondering if we need a bigger tree. This one’s lookin’ a little small.”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously, and for a moment, he wonders if you can see straight through him.

You always do.

“Satoru,” you deadpan, and fuck—he knows he’s lost. “This tree is ten feet tall.”

He shrugs, as though you’ve just proven his point.

“Yeah… but like… wouldn’t fifteen feet look better? That’d be a real statement.”

Your groan comes with a roll of your eyes, but it’s paired with the grin he was hoping for.

“Sure, let’s just knock down the ceiling while we’re at it. Maybe put the Empire State Building in here for good measure.”

He chuckles, relieved by your sarcasm, and for a moment, his deflection works—you turn away, back to the tree. He watches you carefully loop another ornament onto a branch while Haru tugs at your sweater, babbling about a penguin ornament.

But as soon as your attention has shifted, it’s back—that gnawing uncertainty, that quiet panic clawing at the edges of his mind.

Good lord, when did this get so hard?

He’s Satoru Gojo. He can charm his way through anything, pull the strings of the world’s most powerful people, and yet he’s paralyzed by the thought of picking out a gift for you.

The longer he thinks about it, the worse it gets. You deserve something perfect—something thoughtful. But what does perfect even look like?

What do you give someone who doesn’t want anything money can buy? How does he give you a gift that carries the weight of what you’ve given him?

“Santa’s gonna like our tree, right, Mama?”

Haru’s voice rings up like a bright chime, tugging him back to the room—to reality.

He watches as you glance down, and a soft smile blooms across your lips as you tuck a loose strand of hair behind Haru’s ear. That look—the one you reserve for her, the kind that could thaw glaciers—hits him squarely in the chest.

“He’ll love it, sweetheart.”

Your voice is as light and sure as the snow falling gently outside the frosted windows, and Haru grins, pivoting to Satoru now.

“’toru!” her face lights up like the tree behind her, “Santa’s coming! He’s gonna bring presents, and cookies, and he loves hot cocoa!”

Raising a brow, Satoru slouches further back into the couch with that practiced ease—masking the chaos still whirling behind his nonchalant façade.

“Hot cocoa, huh? With marshmallows?”

Haru nods so hard, her little curls bounce and her entire being vibrates with conviction.

“He loves marshmallows! And cookies. And maybe waffles too.”

Satoru huffs out a soft laugh, his smile easing.

“That’s a pretty sweet deal for Santa,” he murmurs.

With all the grace of a puppy on ice, Haru scrambles up onto the couch cushion beside him, wiggling her way into place. Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, though it’s far from quiet.

“Mama makes the best hot cocoa. We should have some.”

The confidence in her tone makes him snort quietly, and he raises a brow—playing along.

“The best, huh? Mmm.. I dunno. That’s a pretty big claim, kid.”

“It’s true!” she insists.

And then there’s your laughter—soft, light, and entirely unguarded as it floats from behind him. It’s a sound he’s learned to treasure, one he’d bottle up if he could, a warmth that sinks beneath his skin and quiets everything else.

He swears it’s one of his favorite sounds.

“You know what? That’s a good idea,” you say, ruffling Haru’s hair as you step behind the couch.

But then, you pause beside him, leaning down to press the faintest kiss to his temple—a feather-light touch, and it strikes him like a match catching fire, warmth unfurling from that single point of contact.

Oh, how he loves the touch of your lips.

“I’m gonna grab some hot chocolate—with marshmallows, of course,” your hand brushes briefly through his hair before pulling away. “Watch Haru real quick, yeah?”

Tilting his head back to look at you, he swallows down the tightness in his chest, masking it all with another lazy smirk—because he doesn’t know how to show you just how much that tenderness means to him. How much he loves when you touch him like that, so unthinking, like it’s natural.

And for Satoru, masking it is second nature—it always has been.

“Yeah, yeah… I’ve got it covered,” he waves you off with a dramatic flick of his hand.

You roll your eyes with an affectionate huff, and he lets himself watch you for a moment longer as you disappear into the kitchen, your humming trailing softly behind you like a ribbon that tethers him to you.

And then, silence.

The moment the door swings shut, he lets out a slow, quiet exhale, the tension uncoiling from his shoulders as if he’s been holding himself together for too long.

He slumps back against the couch, his head tipping against the cushion, feeling the ghost of your touch where your fingers had been in his hair. With a sigh, he runs a hand through the same spot, smoothing the strands down absently as if he can capture what’s already gone.

It’s ridiculous how much you’ve undone him. How a single kiss, a fleeting touch, can dismantle the person he’s spent so long pretending to be.

Because in those fleeting moments, when it’s just him and the lingering warmth of you, Satoru Gojo—the man who never lets his mask slip—realizes just how tightly wound he’s become. Just how much of himself he’s spent trying to hold it all together when, in moments like that, you make it so damn easy for him to fall apart.

He closes his eyes for just a breath, letting himself feel it—the calm, the weight of it all, the way his heart stirs.

But then—

A sudden rustling sound shatters the quiet, pulling him sharply from his thoughts. One eye cracks open, blinking lazily as he scans the room.

His gaze lands on Haru, and the breath leaves his chest in a sigh that’s somewhere between disbelief and resignation.

There she is—somehow, in the span of seconds—teetering precariously on the armrest of the couch, her tiny arms outstretched like she’s on a tightrope, her face scrunched in determination.

Satoru stares at her for a beat, utterly disheveled and utterly defeated. His head tilts lazily to the side as he watches her.

“Oi,” he drawls, dragging a hand down his face with a groan that’s more exasperation than anything. “Munchkin. What do you think you’re doing?”

Haru doesn’t even flinch. She grins, wide and triumphant, wobbling dangerously like a baby deer.

“I’m tall, ‘toru!”

He blinks at her, deadpan, before letting his hand fall limply to his lap.

“Yeah? Well, you’re also gonna fall on your face.”

“Nu-uh!” she insists, wiggling her feet against the cushion for emphasis.

“Kid…” He straightens with a reluctant sigh, reaching out with one hand, just in case she topples over. “You’re gonna get me in trouble. You do realize your mom’ll murder me if she catches you pulling stunts like this, right?”

Haru giggles—loud, unbothered, entirely unfazed.

“It’s okay. I’m good!” she declares proudly, as if she’s just conquered Mount Everest.

“You sure about that?” Satoru raises a brow, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays him. “Because… you’re about two seconds away from face-planting into the tree. And I’ll tell ya right now—Santa’s not gonna bring you anything if you wreck his setup.”

Haru freezes, her expression suddenly serious.

“He won’t?”

Satoru shrugs, as casual as ever, though there’s a sly gleam in his eye.

“Nope. Santa’s big on the whole naughty or nice thing, you know? Pretty sure ‘tree-destroyer’ lands you on the naughty list.”

Haru’s jaw drops like he’s just shattered her entire world.

“But I’m nice!”

“Yeah, well…” he sighs dramatically, “You’re not exactly convincing me right now, short stack.”

She gasps—a flurry of tiny limbs as she clambers down from the armrest in a dramatic tumble onto the cushions.

“I’m nice!” she insists again, louder this time, as if sheer volume might make it more convincing.

Satoru huffs out a laugh, ruffling her hair in an act of surrender.

“Yeah, yeah… crisis averted, princess. You’re nice. I’ll put in a good word for you with the big guy. Just… no more stunts, kay? Santa’s watching.”

She squints at him suspiciously, like she’s testing the limits of his authority over Santa Claus, before finally settling back with a small huff.

But then, Haru shifts entirely to look at him—her brows pinching together, her tiny face suddenly serious.

The shift catches him off guard—how a two-year-old can go from giggling chaos to this kind of weighty focus will always baffle him.

“‘toru.”

He quirks a brow, leaning an elbow against the back of the couch.

“…yeah?”

“You hafta tell Santa to get Mama something.”

The words catch him off guard. His grin falters just a fraction as he blinks, straightening a little to study her tiny, earnest face.

How the hell does this kid always seem to know exactly what’s on his mind?

“Oh yeah? Something for your mom, huh?”

Haru nods solemnly, as if she’s just handed him the most important mission of his life.

“Mhmm. Santa forgot last year.”

At that, his heart stumbles, the smile fading from his face.

“W-What? He… forgot?”

“Uh-huh.” Haru props herself on her elbows, swinging her feet idly against the couch. “Mama didn’t get a present.”

The simplicity of her words hits him like a punch to the gut. Innocent and unassuming, but full of a truth she doesn’t fully understand.

Satoru doesn’t respond right away, his mind suddenly swirling.

That unsettles him. The fact that no one thought to bring you anything at all?

You—who pours so much of yourself into others, who has brought a warmth into his life he didn’t think he deserved—spent last Christmas with nothing?

No gifts. No family. No one?

He hates the thought. He knows it shouldn’t surprise him though... you’ve never asked for anything, and it’s not hard to fill in the blanks.

You don’t talk much about your family—he knows there’s distance there, silence where there should be connection—and Naoya, well… he was never part of the picture. But still, the realization knocks something loose in Satoru, a quiet ache settling into the spaces he didn’t know could hurt.

“It’s no fair, ‘toru. Mama’s nice too!”

Satoru swallows hard, dragging a hand through his hair as he forces a smile back onto his face.

“Yeah… you’re right, kid…” he murmurs quietly. “Your mom’s on the very top of the nice list.”

Haru beams, her hands clasping together like she’s already imagining the magic of Christmas morning.

“Tell Santa, ’kay? Mama needs something really nice.”

The simplicity of her words hits him like a sledgehammer.

Something really nice.

As if it’s that easy, as if fixing the pieces of your world can be done with one perfect gift. But to Haru, it is that easy. Because to her, Santa fixes things.

And for the first time in his life, Satoru Gojo feels the weight of expectation—not from a boardroom, or a title, or the world that demands he be untouchable—but from a tiny girl who trusts him implicitly to fix the one thing he’s been so afraid to get right.

Fucking hell. Now he’s back to square one. What the hell is he going to get you?

He leans back into the couch, one arm draped lazily along the back, but his mind is already turning—the gears clicking into place.

“Something… nice, huh?” he says softly, more to himself than to her.

Haru beams, her little legs kicking against the cushion again as she settles back, satisfied that her request has been heard.

“Yup!”

Satoru tilts his head toward her, studying her with a thoughtful squint. Kids always seem to know the answers to things grown-ups can’t figure out. She’s managed to pry into his thoughts with frightening accuracy already, so maybe—just maybe—she’s his best shot at figuring this out.

After all, who knows you better than Haru?

“Well…” he says after a beat, angling a glance toward her, “what do you think Santa should bring your mom then?”

Haru gasps—like this is the most important question she’s ever been asked—and sits up straight, her little face lighting up.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He flicks her nose lightly, earning a squeak and a giggle. “You know your mom better than anyone, right? So… what do you think she wants for Christmas?”

Haru’s brows furrow as she thinks very hard, her tiny hands tapping against her chin for emphasis.  Satoru watches her expectantly, the smallest spark of hope flickering to life in his chest.

“Well…” she starts slowly, drawing the word out as though she’s stalling for time. “Mama likes cookies.”

Satoru blinks. “Uh… cookies?”

“Uh-huh.” She nods solemnly, as if this is the most serious answer in the world. “Chocolate cookies. With milk. I like them too.”

Ah… right. To Haru, the solution is simple—because to a two-year-old, happiness is simple. And for a moment, Satoru envies her for it.

Satoru exhales sharply through his nose, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he humors her.

“Of course you do, princess. Alright. Noted. So Santa’s supposed to bring your mom cookies. What else?”

Haru’s face lights up as another thought strikes her, and she bounces slightly in place.

“Oh! A teddy bear!”

“A teddy bear?” Satoru quirks a brow, half-amused, half-resigned.

“Yeah!” Haru stretches her arms out as wide as they’ll go, as if trying to contain the sheer size of her vision. “A big one. Pink! Really fluffy. Mama can hug it.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. So much for getting a serious answer out of her.

“Okay... so cookies and a big pink bear… anything else?”

Haru pauses again, tapping her chin with her finger like she’s pondering the great mysteries of the cosmos. Then—her eyes go wide, and she gasps, louder this time.

“A pony!”

Satoru stares at her, deadpan. “Really? A pony.”

“Uh-huh!” Haru nods emphatically, little curls bouncing with enthusiasm. “Pink! With sparkles.”

“A… sparkly pink pony?”

“Yes!” She beams, practically vibrating with excitement. “Mama can ride it. I can ride it too. And—and we can give it cookies!”

That does it.

A sharp bark of laughter escapes him before he can stop it, his shoulders shaking as he slumps back against the couch.

With a deep groan, he drags a hand down his face like she’s aged him ten years in two minutes.

He’s getting nowhere.

“Kid… you’re killing me here. Cookies, a teddy bear, and a pony? You’re just listing stuff you want.”

Haru puffs out her cheeks, crossing her arms in protest.

“Nuh-uh! Mama likes ponies. And cookies. And bears.”

Satoru sighs again, tilting his head back against the couch with an exaggerated groan.

This kid.

Her world is so simple—so bright and innocent. Cookies, teddy bears, and ponies.

Haru doesn’t overthink it. She doesn’t make it complicated. To her, happiness is just that—simple.

And maybe… that’s what he needs to remember.

They’re terrible suggestions, but she’s right about one thing: you deserve something really nice. Something that makes you smile—something that feels as bright and simple and warm as Haru’s world.

And if Santa won’t fix it, then damnit, he will.

“Everything okay in here?”

Your voice calls out lightly, followed by the soft clink of mugs. The moment Satoru hears you; he straightens a little, his casual mask snapping back into place.

Stepping in, a tray balances carefully in your hands, three steaming mugs of hot chocolate wobbling precariously as you nudge the door shut with your hip.

The smell hits the room before you do—sweet, rich cocoa laced with the sugary promise of marshmallows—and Satoru thinks that it might as well be magic, with how Haru perks up.

“Mama!” she bounces on her knees so enthusiastically; Satoru thinks it’s a miracle the couch doesn’t catapult her into orbit. “Yay!! Hot cocoa!”

“Mhmm. Hot chocolate delivery!” you announce proudly, lowering the tray onto the coffee table with a dramatic flourish and a smile of pure satisfaction. “Marshmallows included, as requested.”

The soft glow of the Christmas tree dances in your eyes as you kneel in front of Haru, carefully handing her a small mug.

“Two hands, Haru. It’s hot, okay?”

Haru nods solemnly, as if you’ve just bestowed upon her the Holy Grail itself. Her little fingers curl reverently around the mug, and she murmurs softly, “’kay.”

Rising, you hand Satoru his mug next, and he clears his throat—mumbling a quiet “thanks.” When you settle on the couch beside him, he doesn’t miss the way your shoulder brushes against his—your own mug cradled in your hands.

For a moment, it’s calm. The Christmas lights flicker across the room like soft, lazy stars, the cocoa steaming faintly in the air, and Satoru almost lets himself believe this is pure perfection.

But then you ask it.

“And what were you two talking about?” you peer between the two of them with a teasing smile. “I heard lots of giggling.”

Satoru freezes, his mug halfway to his mouth. He’s ready to spin some ridiculous excuse—he’s a master at bullshit, after all—but before he can get the words out, Haru beats him to it.

“We were talking about presents!” Haru announces proudly.

Fuck. That tiny traitor.

Satoru schools his expression, plastering on his best lazy grin as if Haru hasn’t just sold him out for free. He doesn’t need you catching on to the fact that he’s been silently losing his mind trying to figure out what to get you for Christmas.

You arch a brow, amused as you blow lightly on your cocoa.

“Presents, huh? What about presents?”

Haru doesn’t even hesitate. She launches into her list like a kid on a mission.

“Mama, ‘toru is gonna tell Santa we need cookies. And a big pink bear. And a pony!”

Satoru lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relaxing fractionally against the cushions. Of course. The kid’s list is nonsense—pure, two-year-old chaos—and she’s so earnest about it that you’ll never suspect Satoru was fishing for information.

He’s safe.

“Uh-huh,” you hum, nodding indulgently as you sip your drink. “Sounds like quite the Christmas list, sweetheart. Anything else?”

Satoru almost smiles into his mug. It’s ridiculous how close he was to panicking—there’s no need.

But as Haru stops, her face scrunches in concentration before it lights up again. She looks straight at you, eyes wide and earnest, as she adds brightly:

“And I want a little brother!”

Oh, shit.

Satoru chokes—actually chokes—mid-sip, sputtering and coughing like he’s forgotten how to drink liquid. You don’t fare much better, nearly inhaling your cocoa as your head jerks up, eyes wide as saucers.

“A—what?” you croak.

Satoru’s shoulders shake, one arm flung over his face as he tries to muffle his laughter. It’s no use—his wheezing breaths betray him, and he can’t help but grin through his coughs.

“Haru, kid—”

“A little brother!” Haru repeats, utterly unfazed by the chaos she’s unleashed. Her tiny hands still cradle her mug, looking up at you with innocent conviction. “Santa can bring one. Like how he brings the toys.”

Satoru peeks out from behind his hand, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as his laughter tumbles out in unfiltered bursts.

Oh, this is gold. Pure gold.

You whip your head toward him so fast he thinks you might pull something. Your cheeks are flushed—whether from the cocoa or mortification, he’s not sure—and your glare could cut steel. It would have him worried for his life if it weren’t so damn funny.

“Satoru Gojo, what did you say to her?”

“Me?!” he splutters, desperately trying to get his composure back. He throws his hands up in mock innocence, laughter shaking in his shoulders. “Hey, don’t look at me! That’s all her!”

Haru blinks at the two of you, her expression perfectly innocent.

“Santa brings presents, right? So he can bring a brother. A nice one. And he’ll ride the pony with me.”

Your hand flies to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose as you shake your head, biting back the laughter threatening to spill out.

“Haru… sweetheart, that’s… not how it works.”

“Why not?” she asks, and it’s like she genuinely can’t fathom why Santa wouldn’t pull through on such a reasonable request.

Satoru, finally breathing normally again, leans forward with his elbows on his knees—the smirk on his face nothing short of diabolical.

“Yeah, Mama,” he drawls, dripping with mischief. “Why not?”

Your glare sharpens as you turn toward him. “Do not encourage her.”

“Hey,” he’s utterly unrepentant as he leans back lazily, one arm draped over the back of the couch. “I’m just saying—if Santa’s listening, we wouldn’t want Haru to be disappointed, right?” Tilting his head, he smirks at you. “Looks like Santa’s got his work cut out for him this year.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands as Satoru lets his laughter spill out again, unbothered and thoroughly entertained.

Meanwhile, Haru hums to herself, swinging her legs and sipping her hot chocolate contentedly.

“It’s okay, Mama,” she assures you with a confident nod. “Santa’s magic. He can do it.”

ꨄ

The past few days had been a blur of snow, laughter, and tiny hands tugging Satoru in every direction.

If someone had told Satoru Gojo that he’d spend his holiday season wrangling a two-year-old in the snow and actually enjoying himself, he would’ve laughed them out of the room. But here he was, standing knee-deep in the white fluff while Haru shrieked with glee, launching another snowball his way.

“Take this, ‘Toru!” she cried.

The kid’s aim was absolute trash, her snowballs missing him by a mile, but the way she shrieked with delight when Satoru “pretended” to get hit—well, it made it impossible for him not to play along.

“Kid, you’re ruthless,” he’d groaned dramatically after she tackled him into the snow for the third time.

And then there was you. You—standing off to the side like some winter painting coming to life—warm coffee in hand, wearing that smug smile he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss or wipe clean with a snowball.

He swore you’d been the one to tip Haru off about aiming for his knees. Traitor.

The snow had been Haru’s personal playground—and, by extension, his. For days now, his life had been an endless stream of winter chaos: sledding trips that left his muscles aching (Haru’s favorite phrase seemed to be “One more time!”).

Oh, and inside the Gojo estate? More chaos, pure and simple.

Haru’s Christmas cookie baking turned into an all-out war zone—flour dusting the countertops, chocolate chips mysteriously vanishing before they made it into the dough (a crime Satoru was not-so-secretly guilty of), and Haru wearing more icing than she’d used.

Still, the chaos didn’t bother him. He was struck, again and again, by the realization that this—this messy, chaotic, perfect life—was because of you.

And the high-end galas you’d been forced to attend as the faces of the Gojo Corporation—the press, the flashing lights, the constant conversations—all of it felt easier with you beside him.

And you? Well… you carried yourself with a poise that Satoru was genuinely impressed with. But beneath that, he could tell that these past few weeks had taken a toll on you.

You were exhausted.

The late nights catching up on work, the charity events, the endless holiday prep—you hid it well, but Satoru noticed the way your shoulders slumped when you thought no one was looking. The way you sighed as you kicked off your heels by the door.

And it bothered him more than he cared to admit.

It wasn’t just the exhaustion, though. It was this look in your eyes—something wistful, like you were watching all the joy and chaos around you, but holding yourself at a distance.

Satoru didn’t like that. Not one bit.

And still, despite everything, he hadn’t figured out what the hell to get you for Christmas.

The frustration simmered under his skin, gnawing at him whenever he thought about it. You deserved something perfect—something that would remind you how much you were loved. But every time he thought he had it, every idea felt wrong.

Too extravagant, too impersonal, too damn meaningless.

And now, tonight, as he sits at the kitchen table pretending to sip his hot chocolate (while sneaking glances at you sorting through Christmas cards), the idea struck him like a light bulb flickering on.

If he couldn’t figure out the gift just yet, there was one thing he could do.

He could give you a moment. Just one night to breathe—to feel cared for.

Leaning back in his chair, his legs stretch out underneath the table as he watches you—that little furrow of concentration in your brow. You aren’t even faintly aware of how tired you look, or notice when his voice breaks the quiet silence.

“Hey.”

You hum absently, still focused.

“Tomorrow night, don’t make any plans.”

Your gaze lifts, brows raising slightly as suspicion flickers across your face.

“Okay… why?”

“Mmm… ‘cause I’m kidnapping you,” he teases, folding his arms behind his head. “Just dress warm. It’s a surprise.”

That earns him a proper look—you eyeing him skeptically, your lips twitching like you were already fighting back a smile.

Bingo. That’s the look he lives for.

ꨄ

The night air is crisp, biting at his cheeks in a way that’s sharp but oddly pleasant, like winter itself is showing off. Snowflakes drift lazily from the dark sky, glowing gold as they pass through the light of the estate’s lanterns, and the world is blanketed in that perfect kind of quiet—soft, still, almost fragile. A nice kind of quiet.

It’d be perfect, really, if not for the sound of your increasingly dramatic sighs cutting through it.

Satoru tugs his scarf higher around his neck, not because he’s cold—he never seems to feel the cold—but because he’s trying to hide the grin pulling at his lips. He glances over his shoulder to find you trudging through the snow like a grumpy little marshmallow, bundled so thoroughly in your coat and scarf that you look like you’re about to tip over.

“You’re gonna freeze to death if you keep trudging like that,” he calls easily over the snow, making no effort to hide the amusement in his tone.

“I wouldn’t have to trudge if you’d slow down, Gojo,” you snap back, and your exasperation is muffled slightly by the scarf wrapped around your face. “Not everyone has legs like a damn giraffe.”

The laugh he lets out is rich and unbothered, a puff of white against the dark sky. Deliberately, he slows his steps to a near-comical saunter, his boots sinking into the snow with every exaggerated step.

“Better, princess?”

“Barely…” You catch up, though you don’t look particularly grateful about it. “I swear, if you keep dragging me through the Arctic tundra—”

“Oh, come on,” he interrupts, stopping in his tracks. His grin is pure mischief, bright even in the dark. “Where’s your holiday spirit?”

“It died about twenty feet ago,” you mutter, shoulders hunching as you try to burrow deeper into your coat.

He holds out his hand to you with a dramatic flourish, fingers wiggling like he’s offering you salvation itself.

“Here,” his sighs affectionately. “Before you collapse and I have to carry you.”

You stare at his hand for a long moment, clearly torn between taking it and smacking it away. The tension only makes his grin widen.

“C’mon now… you’ll bruise my ego if you say no.”

With a sigh that sounds like a thousand reluctant decisions being made at once, you slip your gloved hand into his. It’s small and warm, even through the layers, and Satoru’s grin falters for just a second when he feels your fingers curl around his.

Did he just get butterflies? That’s dangerous. He’s gotta keep it together.

“Atta girl…” he says softly, a bit too softly for his own comfort. But he covers it up with a gentle tug, pulling you closer as the two of you trudge forward.

The path winds through the trees, the branches drooping under layers of snow. Some of them stretch over the walkway, woven with twinkling lights, so it feels like you’re walking through some kind of enchanted tunnel.

It’s the kind of thing that could make anyone believe in magic, and Satoru would probably be soaking it all in… if he wasn’t so preoccupied with watching you out of the corner of his eye.

Your nose is pink, your cheeks dusted with color from the cold, and there’s a light in your eyes that makes something stir in his chest. He tugs his scarf a little higher, like that’ll help somehow.

Then, just ahead, golden light spills onto the snow. A sleigh comes into view, and Satoru slows his steps as you round the corner and see it.

It’s impressive, even he has to admit. The carriage looks straight out of some over-the-top fairytale, polished black and draped with garlands of evergreen—dusted in fresh snow. Strings of soft golden lights wind along the edges, glowing warmly in the dark.

The horses, two massive creatures with sleek dark coats, stand tall and still, their breath misting in the air. Tiny bells dangle from their bridles, giving a soft jingle every time they shift.

It’s almost too picturesque, like something out of one of those cheesy Christmas movies Satoru always pretends to hate.

He doesn’t look at the sleigh, though. He looks at you.

Your eyes go wide, your mouth parting slightly in surprise, and for a moment, you’re so still he wonders if the cold finally got to you. The snowflakes catch in your hair, the glow of the lights reflecting in your wide-eyed expression, and there it is again—that quiet spark that makes his chest tighten.

“Well?” he breaks the silence with a quiet murmur. “Was it… worth the trek through the Arctic tundra?”

You blink, dragging your gaze away from the sleigh to look at him. There’s something different in your expression now—softer, quieter.

“You did all this?”

He shrugs, slipping his free hand into his coat pocket and forcing a grin onto his face.

“What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

“Ridiculous…” you murmur, shaking your head with a faint smile, but there’s no edge to your words. Just that quiet disbelief, like you’re still trying to figure him out.

He gestures to the sleigh with an exaggerated sweep of his hand.

“Well? You gonna stand there and let the snow bury you, or are you getting in?”

The driver steps aside with a polite nod, and Satoru’s already moving to help you—steadying you as you step up into the sleigh, his hand lingering at your waist.

When you settle into the plush seat with a quiet exhale, Satoru’s brain takes a quick pause to tell himself that he’s absolutely screwed.

Because if Satoru thought walking through the snow with your hand in his was dangerous, this is a death blow.

But he still climbs in beside you, moments later—tugging the blanket over your laps as the sleigh jolts softly forward.

The bells chime faintly as the horses’ hooves crunch against the snow. They carry you both down the path, allowing the forest to melt away completely as the sleigh crests a small hill, and suddenly, the town comes into view—a world awash in color and magic.

Lights shimmer from every surface—woven through trees, strung like ribbons between lamp posts, wrapped snug around shopfronts as though the entire place has been dipped in starlight.

Shop windows gleam with warmth, framed by wreaths and garlands dusted with frost, while displays of tiny trains, glowing reindeer, and spinning nutcrackers turn slowly behind the glass.

As the sleigh turns fully onto the main street, Satoru glances at you, and predictably, you’re completely mesmerized.

He knows, because you’ve gone completely still beside him—your breath visible in the cold as you take it all in—and he doesn’t even bother to look at the lights anymore, not when you’re staring at them like you’ve stumbled into a dream.

That glow in your expression—soft and open—that’s what mesmerizes him. And the reflection of the lights in your wide eyes gives him the urge to bottle this moment—keep it tucked in his coat pocket forever, so he can pull it out and look at it whenever the world gets too loud.

The bells from the horses chime softly, blending seamlessly with the hum of life ahead—children laughing, carols echoing, the soft crunch of fresh snow.

But Satoru can’t focus on any of that.

Snowflakes have caught in your hair, little flecks of white like frost spun from the lights above. Your lips, soft and faintly parted, are far too close to his line of sight, and his gaze catches there for longer than it should.

Satoru’s brain is short-circuiting.

He’s never been good at this. Restraint. Holding back. Not when it comes to things he wants, things he craves—and God, does he crave your lips so badly.

You shift slightly, burrowing deeper into his side with a soft hum of contentment that nearly knocks the wind out of him.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” you murmur suddenly, as soft as the snow.

He clears his throat lightly, tipping his head back in a lazy attempt at distraction—trying to focus on literally anything else.

“Yeah… not bad,” his voice carries the faintest edge of smugness. “Bet you’re glad I dragged you out here now.”

You hum softly, a little laugh under your breath.

“Yeah… guess I’ll give you this one.”

But as you shift slightly again, your head tilts, and your gaze lingers on something ahead.

In the square below, a father spins his daughter in his arms as she shrieks with laughter—bright red mittens flailing in the air. The mother stands beside then with a warm soft smile, brushing the snowflakes gently out of the little girl’s hair as she settles still.

It’s simple—a fleeting moment of joy—but Satoru notices the way your expression changes. The glow in your eyes dim, just slightly, fading into something distant, something far away.

He doesn’t like it.

It’s not the first time he’s seen that look either. It’s lingered in your eyes at odd moments during the month when you think he isn’t watching.

“Hey… you okay?”

The question snaps you from whatever memory you’ve fallen into. You blink quickly, turning to him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“What? Oh… yeah. I’m fine.”

It’s a lie. A bad one.

Satoru knows it instantly because your voice wavers, just slightly, and your hands fidget under the blanket like they’re looking for something to hold onto.

He doesn’t push right away. Satoru isn’t great at handling fragile things—he’s all big, teasing words and careless confidence—but seeing this?

You—retreating into yourself, suddenly quiet? Yeah… it never really sits right with him.

“You know…” he starts carefully, voice softening as he watches you, “you’ve already heard all about my old man. But you… you don’t really talk about your family much. What was Christmas like for you growing up?”

The words settle like snow between you—soft, quiet, but heavy. You stiffen slightly.

Fuck. Maybe he’s said too much. Regret flickers in the back of his mind. He’s half-expecting you to deflect.

You hesitate, staring at the lights again as though they’ll save you from answering, and for the first time, Satoru curses those damn Christmas lights. They feel like they’re pulling you away from him.

But then you sigh, and the sound makes something twist low in his chest. It’s too careful. Too practiced.

“Mmm… there’s not much to talk about,” you admit quietly. “My parents weren’t exactly… involved, so Christmas wasn’t really a thing for us.”

Satoru doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting. He knows there’s more, and he’s careful not to push, not yet.

“I used to watch all the Christmas movies, though,” a faint wistful smile tugs at your lips. “The ones where families sat by the fire… wrapping gifts and baking cookies, singing carols together. It felt… magical. Safe. Like they belonged there.”

The smile slips slightly, and Satoru sees the moment the words shift—when they stop being a memory and start being something else entirely.

“But…” your voice dips to a whisper, “Honestly it was like watching through a window. I felt like a spectator. Always outside looking in.”

There it is.

The words hit him square in the chest, sharp and unrelenting, and Satoru hates it. Hates how small you sound when you say it, like you don’t realize how wrong it is for someone like you—you—to feel that way. It makes his jaw tighten, his fingers twitching faintly under the blanket.

“That’s not fair,” he blurts out, faster than he means to. The sharp edge in his voice surprises even him, but he doesn’t care. “I hate it. It’s not right. You shouldn’t have had to feel like that.”

Your head turns slightly, your eyes flicking back to him, startled.

“Satoru—”

“It’s not fair,” he repeats, reining it in slightly this time. He shakes his head, turning to look at you fully now. “And you know what? It’s not like that now. You’ve done the exact opposite.”

You blink again, your brows furrowing faintly.

“What do you mean?”

The surprise on your face makes him huff a quiet laugh. He can’t believe you don’t see it.

“C’mon now sweetheart… I mean, look at Haru.”

Your expression softens at the mention of her, and Satoru feels that familiar twist in his chest—this inexplicable warmth that’s only grown stronger since you and Haru came crashing into his life.

“She’s a happy kid,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve made her a happy kid. Kind of a little terror sometimes—definitely gets that from you—but happy nonetheless.”

You roll your eyes faintly, but there’s a tug at the corner of your mouth that you can’t quite hide.

“Seriously,” he continues, a smirk teasing at his lips now. “That kid lights up at the dumbest stuff—like that ornament she found with the penguin in a Santa hat. You’d think she struck gold. She made me stare at that thing for ten minutes straight.”

You groan, pressing a gloved hand to your face, but there’s a small laugh behind it now.

“She did the same to me.”

Satoru chuckles, low and easy, though his expression softens as he looks at you.

“Because to her, it is magic. You made that happen. You gave her something real, something she’ll hold onto forever. The kind of magic you didn’t have.”

You open your mouth like you want to say something but can’t quite get there yet, and he leans in closer.

“And it’s not just her…” he murmurs hesitantly. “You’ve done that for me too.”

His blue eyes fix on yours with a quiet vulnerability, and your brows furrow faintly as you stare at him.

“What? Really?”

For a moment, Satoru freezes.

Vulnerability isn’t something he’s good at—it doesn’t come naturally to him; he’s always kept people at arm’s length. But somehow, around you, it slips out easier than he expects. Like you’ve managed to dismantle his walls one smile, one moment at a time.

Around you, he doesn’t have to try so hard. And it’s fucking terrifying.

His throat tightens, but he shrugs, playing it off like it’s nothing—even though he knows it’s everything.

“Look… I used to sit in these massive rooms my dad filled with people. All the decorations, all the noise—he made sure it looked perfect. Trees the size of small buildings, tables stacked with enough food to feed an army.”

Satoru pauses, his blue gaze flickering to the snow-dusted path ahead before settling back on you.

“But… none of it mattered. I’d sit there, surrounded by hundreds of people, and still felt so damn alone. Like I wasn’t really there, y’know?”

Your face softens, and he feels it again—that warmth that only seems to exist when you’re looking at him like this, like you can see straight through him. You always do.

“But now?” he exhales, breath curling into the cold air like smoke—his eyes meeting yours fully. “Christmas feels… different. Doesn’t feel so empty anymore.”

“…yeah?”

“Yup…” he shakes off the tension with a sigh, and smugly adds, “You’ve officially ruined Christmas for me, sweetheart. Thanks a lot. Can’t have it any other way now.”

Your laughter comes quietly, and God, there’s that sound that he loves again. Your gloved hand finds his underneath the blanket.

“Well…” your fingers curl around his. “Thanks to you, I finally don’t feel like a spectator anymore… ‘cause you’re in my life.”

Shit.

Satoru swears his heart trips over itself. For a guy who never feels the cold, he’s never felt this warm.

The sleigh jolts suddenly, rolling over a bump in the snow, and the movement sends you swaying against him with a soft gasp.

You’re so close—close enough that he can see the faint blush on your cheeks, the soft part of your lips as you glance up at him.

Your gaze flickers—just once—down to his mouth.

That’s it.

He leans in, his hand slipping out from under the blanket to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly along your skin as he kisses you.

The first press of his lips against yours is careful, tentative, but then you sigh softly, tilting your head slightly, and Satoru’s restraint snaps like a wire pulled too tight.

The kiss deepens, slow but deliberate, as Satoru tilts your face up to meet him properly. His other hand finds your waist, the curve of it fitting perfectly under his palm as he pulls you closer—closer, because he needs you like he needs to breathe.

He swears he’s losing his mind.

You respond just as eagerly, your fingers curling into the front of his coat, and Satoru groans softly against your mouth—equal parts relief and desperation.

He’s screwed. Utterly, completely screwed.

Because now that he’s kissed you, he doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to stop. All he can think about—all he wants—is to pull you into his lap right here on this stupid sleigh and kiss you until the world stops spinning.

His mind betrays him, flooding with images he has no business thinking about right now. Your legs straddling his hips, your coat slipping off one shoulder, coaxing sounds from you that he’s dying to hear—fuck he’s losing himself completely.

He wants to take you—away from the prying world, away from everyone—somewhere that’s just the two of you—home.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only because even Satoru Gojo can’t survive without air forever. But he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests gently against yours and his thumb brushes softly along your jaw.

The corner of your mouth curves faintly and your eyes linger on him—just enough to make his heart skip like it’s forgotten how to work.

It’s torture. Absolute, pure, devastating torture.

His thumb drifts lower along your jaw, reverently tracing the soft line of it. He could stay here forever, just like this—your breath mixing with his in the cold air, your lips pink and kiss-bruised from him.

God, you’ve never looked more beautiful. He wants more.

Shifting slightly, his breath fans across your lips as he murmurs, “You’re so perfect… you’re making this really hard for me, y’know that?”

Blinking up at him, your lips tug into a soft, teasing smile. “Oh?” you murmur, breathlessly. “And what exactly am I making hard, Satoru?”

His breath hitches. Shit. You’re going to be the death of him. He chuckles softly—strained and fraying like his self-control.

“Careful, sweetheart. Keep asking questions like that, and I might just take you home right now.”

Tilting your head, your voice lowers—a quiet challenge.

“…why don’t you, then?”

God, what the fuck are you doing to him?

For a moment, he wants to say screw it. Forget the stupid sleigh, the town, his plans. Forget the world and take you straight to bed where he doesn’t have to hold back anymore.

Take her. Have her all to yourself.

But then your wide, daring eyes lock onto his, and it hits him—you’re playing him—you’re winning. And Satoru Gojo does not lose.

With a slow, shaky breath, he pulls back just slightly. The smirk curling at his lips is lazy, practiced—masking the fact that he’s literally about five seconds from falling apart.

“Mmm… tempting,” he drawls, brushing the pad of his gloved thumb against your bottom lip. “But I’m not that easy to break, sweetheart. Besides, we’ve got more to explore.”

Your eyes narrow faintly, suspicion flickering beneath the teasing curve of your lips.

“You’re unbelievable…”

“Mm, you say that now,” he sighs, “But you’ll thank me later.”

You scoff quietly, rolling your eyes as you lean back just an inch.

“More to explore, huh?”

“Yeah.” His grin widens, lazy and lopsided. “And if you’re good, I might even let you hold my hand the whole time.”

ꨄ

“You’re going to rot your teeth, you know,” you say, watching as Satoru unwraps yet another snickerdoodle cookie—his fifth, by your count.

“Excuse you.” He pauses dramatically, holding the cookie up like it’s a priceless artifact. “I’m single-handedly funding this poor vendor’s retirement. Call me generous.”

You snort into your hot chocolate.

“More like you’re single-handedly making sure they run out of stock before dinner.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He takes a slow, deliberate, obnoxiously loud bite, eyes locked on you the whole time. “I’m boosting the economy, sweetheart.”

“You’re boosting your dentist’s next paycheck, honey.”

Satoru groans, tossing his head back like you’ve just deeply insulted his honor.

“You wouldn’t understand. You don’t appreciate the artistry of sweets like I do.”

“Oh, I appreciate them,” you retort smugly, tugging him away by his coat sleeve before he can eye the next vendor’s table. “I just don’t inhale sugar like I’m storing it for winter.”

“Amateur,” Satoru quips, biting into the cookie with dramatic flair. “You’ll learn.”

“Yeah yeah… I’m cutting you off before you go into a sugar coma.”

“Cutting me off?” He presses a hand to his chest like you’ve insulted his entire existence. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would,” You grin victoriously, striding ahead of him through the snow-dappled streets.

“Cold. Heartless. A tyrant, really.” Satoru’s voice follows dramatically as he trudges after you, shoving the final bite into his mouth with zero shame. “This is abuse, I tell you.”

“You’ll live.”

“Barely.”

The two of you wander together through the town, your shoulders brushing every so often as you pass small stalls and shops.

The shop windows glow faintly, wreaths and garlands framing every corner, and the air smells of roasted chestnuts and warm cinnamon.

You stop suddenly ahead of him, your steps faltering as your gaze locks onto the massive Christmas tree at the center of the square.

Satoru follows your gaze, and the thing is ridiculous—exactly the kind of over-the-top nonsense Satoru’s father would brag about back in the day. Towering, glittering, competing with the stars like it thinks it has a chance.

But for once, Satoru doesn’t care about the ridiculousness. He only cares about you.

You stand perfectly still, staring up at the tree with something quiet and awed in your expression, like you’ve forgotten the rest of the world exists.

The golden lights catch in your eyes, snowflakes drifting lazily into your hair, and the faintest pink lingers across your cheeks from the cold. You’re glowing—and maybe it’s the lights, or maybe it’s just you.

You look perfect. You look his.

There’s that urge again—capturing this moment, bottling in up, keeping it for himself.

The feeling is so sudden, and before he can second-guess it, his hand slips into his coat pocket, pulling out his phone.

The shutter clicks.

Your head whips around instantly, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

Satoru freezes, phone still half-raised, trying to look as nonchalant as a man caught red-handed can. “Nope.”

Your eyes narrow further, shifting on your feet. “Satoru.”

“I was… texting someone,” he says weakly, his grin betraying him.

“Texting who?” you press, eyebrow arching.

“Santa,” he deadpans. “Telling him you’re being mean to me. Again.”

The flat look you give him is priceless. “Good lord. You’re impossible.”

Satoru grins triumphantly, twirling the phone between his fingers like a magician showing off a trick. “Fine, fine. You caught me. I couldn’t help it. You looked cute.”

The faint flush of your cheeks deepens slightly—probably the cold, he tells himself, but he’ll take it anyway.

“Let me see it.”

“Not a chance.”

Your glare sharpens, and Satoru swears you’re plotting his demise. “Satoru. Hand it over.”

He snorts, immediately shoving the phone into his coat pocket. “You’re cute when you’re bossy, you know that?”

You step closer, determination lighting your expression. “I will fight you.”

“You wanna wrestle me in the middle of town?” Satoru raises a smug brow, delighting in the way you’re glaring up at him. “With kids around? Heartless, sweetheart. Absolutely heartless.”

Before you try to snatch his phone from his coat pocket, he moves faster—his arm looping lazily around your waist, tugging you into his side with practiced ease.

The suddenness knocks you off balance for a moment, and you let out a soft, startled laugh. Satoru can’t help but grin, using the moment to pull you even closer.

“Alright, alright…” he murmurs, pulling out his phone. “Here. Let’s take one together. Our first real photo together—no work, no press. Just you and me.”

You blink, your eyes flickering up to meet his, the faintest surprise crossing your face. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, though the warmth in his voice gives him away. “Gotta document the occasion. Might be the only proof I have that you tolerate me. C’mon, lean in.”

You roll your eyes, though there’s no hiding your smile as you let him pull you closer. He adjusts the camera, keeping his arm secure around you.

“Alright,” he says, angling the phone just right. “Say ‘Gojo Satoru’s the love of my life.’”

You snort, laughing as you nudge him. “I’m not saying that.”

“Mmm… I’ll wait.”

Your laughter bursts through the square, bright and unrestrained, just as the shutter clicks. Before you can recover, Satoru leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek as he steals another shot—your laughter caught mid-breath.

“Hey!” you yelp, pulling back to glare at him, but you’re still smiling.

Satoru grins down at the photo as he flips the screen to show you. “Look at that. Photographic evidence that you adore me.”

You gape at him, incredulous. “Adore you?”

“Yep.” He winks, tucking his phone back into his pocket before you can swipe it, catching your hand instead. “Captured for infinity. You’re welcome.”

Your grip tightens on instinct, and you open your mouth to argue, but Satoru beats you to it.

“C’mon,” he swings your hand lightly as he starts pulling you forward again. “The candy stall up ahead has fudge.”

ꨄ

The two of you wander back through the streets, hand in hand as the shops blur by in warm, golden streaks of light.

Satoru doesn’t mind wandering—especially when it means you tugging him along by the hand, pausing every so often to peer into window displays. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you light up at the smallest things.

But then you stop abruptly in front of one shop in particular.

It’s so sudden that Satoru nearly keeps walking, your hand tugging him gently to a halt. When he glances over, he follows your gaze straight to the window of an antique shop tucked snug between two cafes.

And there it is. The locket.

It rests beneath a glass dome, perched on velvet as though it’s worth more than the shop itself. The silver surface gleams faintly under the soft, golden light, delicate and timeless, and engraved across the front is an infinity symbol—curved and flowing endlessly into itself.

Satoru tilts his head slightly, his brows lifting in quiet curiosity as he watches you stare at it—as if that locket holds the entire universe within it.

“See something you like?” he murmurs, looping his arms around your waist and pulling you gently into his chest.

He feels the way you relax into him almost immediately, your hands curling lightly around his forearms.

“Infinity…” you whisper.

He hums, burying his face into the curve of your neck, nuzzling there like he’s trying to steal the warmth of you.

“Hmm?”

You don’t answer right away, your gaze still locked on the locket. Satoru takes the opportunity to press a lazy kiss against the soft skin of your neck, his lips curving into a grin when he feels you shiver slightly beneath him.

“What’s got you so lost in there, huh?” he teases.

“Hmm? Oh…” You blink, your cheeks tinged faintly pink as you glance back at him. “I was just thinking about what you said. About infinity.”

He raises a brow now, a slow grin spreading across his face as he straightens just enough to nudge his chin toward the locket.

“Yeah? You been pondering the mysteries of the universe without me?”

You turn slightly in his arms, your gaze lifting to meet his, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you.

“Well,” you begin, smiling faintly, “I’ve been thinking… you’re… well, you’re kind of like infinity, aren’t you?”

Satoru blinks, his grin faltering for a split second.

“Me?”

“Yeah… you’re always moving, always bigger than life, like there’s no end to who you are. You don’t stop—don’t ever really slow down. You’re... limitless.”

For once, Satoru’s brain stalls. Completely. He’s torn between a smug She thinks about me like that? and the sudden ache in his chest that he doesn’t know what to do with.

He sees the way you’re looking at him—soft, honest, like you’re laying something fragile and important at his feet—and it hits him harder than anything he’s prepared for.

Satoru tightens his hold on you, pulling you closer as though that’ll somehow ground him.

“You really think that?” A softness creeps into his voice. “That I remind you of infinity?”

You nod slowly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. Your gaze drops for a moment before lifting again, steady this time.

“Yeah… because no matter what... you’ll always protect me. You’ll always be here, won’t you? Like infinity. Always.”

Satoru’s breath catches. For once, he doesn’t have a clever comeback. He doesn’t have anything except this overwhelming, all-consuming feeling swelling in his chest.

He dips his head, brushing his lips softly against your forehead. It’s the only answer he has.

“Mhmm,” he murmurs quietly. “Always.”

For a moment, he lingers there, his forehead pressed to yours, your breath mingling in the cold. Then, with a small grin tugging at his lips, he pulls back slightly, arms still secure around you.

“C’mon,” he sighs affectionately. “There’s still fudge with my name on it.”

You let out a soft laugh, your hand slipping back into his as he tugs you gently forward. But as you fall into step beside him, Satoru’s gaze drifts back to the shop window, to the locket resting beneath the glass.

Infinity, huh?

The faintest smile plays on his lips as he squeezes your hand lightly. He finally knows what he’s getting you for Christmas.

ꨄ

For Satoru, Christmas morning felt… surreal.

The Gojo estate, usually silent and polished like a showroom, had transformed into something far more, filled with a warmth—Haru’s delighted squeals echoing down the halls, filling the empty spaces with pure, unfiltered joy.

“Mama! ‘Toru! Wake up! Hurry, hurry!”

Her voice carries like a one-person parade, punctuated by the rapid thump of her tiny feet sprinting towards the tree, and Satoru groans into his pillow—dragging a hand over his face as if that would erase the early hour.

The sun wasn’t even properly up yet, and here he was, reluctantly dragged from the cocoon of his bed by the infectious energy of a two-year-old.

He shuffled down the hall in his pajama pants and hoodie, stifling a yawn as he dragged a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

Rounding the corner, he caught sight of Haru—a blur of bedhead and reindeer pajamas, arms flailing as she skidded to a halt in front of the Christmas tree. Her tiny hands clapped together as her wide eyes took in the mountain of carefully wrapped presents beneath it, glittering under the soft glow of twinkling lights.

“Mama! ‘Toru! Look! Presents!!” she squeals, bouncing on her toes, so full of excitement that Satoru half-expects her to rocket straight into the air.

He leans lazily against the doorframe, watching her with an amused grin. This kid… she was like a wound-up toy, running purely on joy and Christmas spirit. It tugged at something in him—a place he didn’t even realize had been empty until now.

“How does she have this much energy so early in the morning?” he mutters, glancing over his shoulder just as you appeared behind him.

You looked impossibly cozy—wrapped in your pajamas, your hair tousled from sleep. In your hands were two steaming mugs of coffee, one of which you handed to him without a word.

“She’s almost three,” you say simply, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. “And it’s Christmas. Welcome to parenthood. This is her prime time.”

“Prime time for chaos,” he quips, taking a careful sip of his coffee.

He shoots Haru a mock-suspicious glance as she darts around the tree—tiny hands hovering over the presents like she’s trying to decide where to start.

“You sure Santa didn’t slip her a double espresso in her stocking?”

Your laugh is quiet and warm, the kind that made the corners of his mouth tug upward instinctively, and he couldn’t help but think how ridiculously domestic this all felt—Haru bouncing by the tree, you standing beside him with that soft, sleepy glow.

It was almost unsettling how much he liked it… how much he cherished it.

His gaze shifts back to Haru, who was now crouched in front of the tree, examining the tags on the presents like a tiny detective—a kind of joy so radiant it made something tighten in Satoru’s chest.

It hit him then—here he was, watching Haru’s eyes light up with the same wonder he never got to feel growing up. His Christmases had always been all flash and no magic. Gilded parties, perfectly wrapped gifts that lacked thought, and a cold sort of extravagance that filled rooms but never hearts.

But this?

This was different. Seeing Haru’s excitement now felt like reclaiming something he didn’t even know he’d lost.

“Mama! ‘Toru!” Haru’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts as she holds up a box triumphantly. “Look! Look! For me!”

“Man, Santa really outdid himself this year,” Satoru drawls, stretching an arms over his head as he plops onto the couch beside you.

He made a show of sipping his coffee like he hadn’t been the one painstakingly arranging the presents under the tree just hours earlier.

You’d handed him ribbons to tie, smirking as he fumbled with the tape, and rolled your eyes as he huffed about how ‘unnecessarily complicated’ wrapping paper was.

And then there’d been the cookies and hot chocolate Haru had left out for Santa, which he devoured with exaggerated flair. You’d caught him red-handed, crumbs still on his face, and he grinned sheepishly, muttering something about how Santa worked hard and deserved a snack.

It had been... nice. Warm. Like stepping into a life he always thought was meant for other people, not him.

But Haru?

She didn’t care about Satoru’s epiphanies. She was too busy shredding wrapping paper like her life depended on it.

The morning quickly descended into a delightful chaos—a whirlwind of torn ribbons, squeals of delight, and an ever-growing pile of toys. Haru didn’t just open her gifts; she paraded each one around the room like a prized trophy.

A dollhouse, a pink fluffy stuffed bear (that was for you, right?), and a set of art supplies. Every present came with an enthusiastic ‘Mama, look!’, making you laugh while Satoru grinned like an idiot.

And his attention… well, it kept drifting back to you.

The way you tucked your legs beneath yourself on the couch, leaning slightly into his shoulder as you sipped your coffee. The way your eyes softened whenever Haru ran to you, clutching another gift—her excitement bubbling over.

The way the light from the tree caught in your hair, making you look like you belonged in this moment… more than anything else ever had.

“Mama, look!” Haru gasps yet again, holding up a small box wrapped in gold paper. “Santa didn’t forget you!”

You blink, momentarily startled, as she thrusts the box into your hands before darting back to the tree—already rummaging for her next gift with boundless energy. Your gaze, however, shifts toward Satoru, narrowing with playful suspicion.

“Oh really?” you arch an eyebrow, grinning.

Satoru scratches the back of his head, feigning nonchalance even as a smug grin begins to tug at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t look at me,” he shrugs. “That’s between you and Santa. Guy’s always been a softie for you.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention to the package, peeling back the carefully wrapped paper to reveal a small rosewood box.

The craftsmanship immediately catches your eye—with rich, dark wood, smooth to the touch. Two turtle doves are etched with breathtaking detail across the lid—wings entwined in a delicate dance of devotion. As you trace the design with your fingertips, the doves seem to almost flutter underneath—a stunning work of art.

And as you lift the lid, your breath hitches.

Nestled inside is the platinum heart-shaped locket, glinting under the soft glow of the Christmas tree. Encircling the heart is a delicate band of diamonds, each stone catching light like tiny frozen stars. And there, at the center of the locket’s face, is that infinity emblem you know so well—etched with graceful precision.

Your breath catches—your chest tightening as you carefully lift the locket from its velvet cradle. The weight of it is delicate yet grounding in your palm.

“Satoru…” you murmur in awe.

Beside you, he nudges your shoulder gently—his grin softening into something quieter, something more vulnerable.

“Open it.”

With careful fingers, you undo the clasp, and the locket falls open, revealing the secret it holds.

On one side was the photo he’d snapped of the two of you in the town square—you laughing, your cheeks pink from the cold, while he pressed a kiss to your cheek with that obnoxiously smug grin.

On the other side was another photo—one you hadn’t even known he’d taken—a candid shot of you and Haru in the kitchen, flour dusting your nose as you helped her decorate cookies.

Your smiles were radiant, unguarded, and completely at ease.

For a moment, you just stare, your lips parting slightly as you tried to form words. Satoru leans closer, his hand brushing lightly over your shoulder.

“You said… infinity reminded you of me,” he says quietly. “So… I thought maybe this could remind you of us.”

Your eyes lift to meet his, shimmering with an emotion so raw and overwhelming it makes him hold his breath. Then, without a word, you reach up, cup his face with both hands, and kiss him.

It’s soft, deliberate, and unhurried—the kind of kiss that makes him feel like maybe the universe doesn’t have to be so vast and infinite. Not when it can be filled with moments like this.

Before he can fully bask in the moment, Haru’s delighted squeal cuts through the air like a firework.

“Mama! Look! A big one!”

Satoru turns to see her tiny hands tugging at a large, carefully wrapped box partially hidden behind the tree. She tries to drag it forward, but honestly the box is way bigger than her.

You laugh softly, already stepping up from your seat to guide her hands away.

“Oh… that one’s not for you, sweetheart. It’s for Satoru.”

Satoru blinks, caught off guard. For him?

He doesn’t even have time to process it before Haru’s face twists into the most dramatic pout he’s ever seen—complete with trembling lips and misty eyes. She crosses her arms like she’s about to stage a sit-in protest right then and there.

“What? No fair!”

Satoru chuckles, setting his coffee mug aside as he pushes himself up from the couch with an exaggerated groan.

“Alright, alright,” he ruffles Haru’s hair as he crouches beside her. “How about this? You help me open it, and I’ll share whatever’s inside. Deal?”

Haru’s pout vanishes like snow in the sun, replaced by a radiant grin as she nods enthusiastically.

“Okay!”

With Haru leading the charge, they attack the wrapping paper like a two-person wrecking crew. Satoru makes a big show of struggling with the ribbon, grunting and pretending to pull with all his strength. Haru giggles at his theatrics, and finally, the last shred of paper falls away.

As the box opens, Satoru stills.

Inside is a telescope—sleek and polished to perfection. His hand trails over the smooth surface, and suddenly he was eight years old again, lying on his back in the garden with a telescope propped on the grass, mapping constellations under a vast, endless sky.

But then, his eyes widen as his fingers brush across something etched on its side. Engraved with precision, is the constellation Lyra—the harp.

Satoru knows enough about stars to understand its meaning. Lyra represents love, devotion, and music. It’s the constellation of Orpheus and Eurydice—a love story as infinite as the stars themselves.

For a long moment, all he can do is stare, his thumb brushing lightly over the engraving as if to ground himself. He doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until your voice pulls him back.

“You recognize it?” you ask softly.

He glances up at you, the grin on his face softening into something quieter, something real.

“Mhmm... It’s Lyra.”

You step closer, the faintest hint of nerves in the way you tug at the hem of your pajama sleeve.

“I thought… I thought you’d like an upgrade…” you say shyly, “You love the stars, and I thought you deserved something that made you feel… closer to them.”

Satoru’s throat tightens, and he can’t speak right away, but before he even has the chance to, Haru tugs at his sleeve impatiently, breaking the moment.

“What is it? What is it?” she demands, eyes wide with curiosity.

Satoru lets out a breathless laugh, pulling her onto his lap as he turns the telescope slightly so she can see.

“This, my little star, is how we can see the sky up close. The stars, the moon, even planets if we’re lucky.”

Her eyes widen. “The stars? I wanna see the stars ‘toru!”

“Okay, princess. Tonight, I’ll show you the whole sky.”

“Yay!!” Haru gleams, bouncing on his lap.

Satoru chuckles, steadying her with one arm, but as Haru chatters away, his gaze drifts back to you.

You’re standing quietly a few steps away, watching the scene unfold with that soft, knowing smile that always makes his heart trip over itself. The glow of the Christmas tree casts a faint halo around you, and for a moment, Satoru wonders how he ever existed without this—without you.

Wordlessly, he tilts his head, beckoning you closer. When you step forward, his free arm slips around your waist, pulling you gently down to sit next to him.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then finally your lips—slow, unhurried, and laced with everything he can’t quite put into words.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

It’s not just for the telescope. It’s for this moment, for this morning, for you. Your fingers trail softly over his cheek, and he swears you’re glowing.

“Merry Christmas, Satoru…” you murmur quietly.

“Merry Christmas… sweetheart.”

There’s a warmth in your eyes that feels like home, and for the first time in his life, he understands what it means to be content.

This—this moment, this family, this love—it’s everything. It’s infinite.

And as the three of you sit there, bathed in the glow of the Christmas tree, Satoru realizes something he’s never dared to believe.

He finally belongs.

a/n. i got in my feels writing this. as someone who struggles around the holidays, this was real cathartic to write. hope you guys have an incredible holiday season with the ones you love—thanks for reading, sending hugs! ♡

taglist:

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @acowboykisser @mikyapixie @rosso-seta

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christiancj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @illianasa @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail

[shitsndgiggs]

Hey there is this one fic where you did kenan going through our text messages can you do one where we are going through his text messages

Ty🐧

TABLES TURNED - KENAN YILDIZ

You reacting to Kenan’s DMs

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, the kind where you stay in pajamas and lounge around with no particular plans.

Kenan and I were sprawled on the couch, his head resting on my lap as I absentmindedly ran my fingers through his hair.

I had my phone in one hand, scrolling aimlessly, when I suddenly remembered the TikTok trend that Kenan and I had done the other day—where he read through my DMs and reacted to the chaos in them.

The memory of his over-the-top reactions, dramatic sighs, and occasional bouts of jealousy still made me laugh.

“What’re you laughing at?” Kenan asked, tilting his head up to look at me, his brown eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Oh, nothing,” I replied, grinning mischievously. “Just thinking about how hilarious you were during the DM thing.”

Kenan groaned. “Don’t remind me. Your DMs were a lot.”

“Exactly,” I said, poking his cheek. “And now it’s your turn.”

His eyes widened. “Wait—what?”

“You heard me,” I said, grabbing his phone from the coffee table before he could react. “We’re doing ‘My Girlfriend Reacts to My DMs.’”

Kenan shot up from my lap, attempting to snatch the phone back, but I dodged him, clutching it like my life depended on it. “Oh, no you don’t!” I teased. “You had your fun with my DMs—this is payback.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, trying to sound casual, but I caught the nervous edge in his voice.

“Kenan,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” he said quickly. Too quickly. “But you know how people can be in there… It’s not worth your time!”

“Oh, it’s definitely worth my time,” I shot back, unlocking his phone. “Now let’s see what we’ve got here.”

I started scrolling through his Instagram DMs while he sat next to me, shifting uncomfortably.

The first few messages were harmless—just fans expressing their admiration for his game or wishing him luck.

“Aw, this one’s sweet,” I said, showing him a message from a little kid asking for advice on how to become a football player. “See? This isn’t so bad.”

Kenan relaxed a bit. “Yeah, those are fine. That’s most of them, honestly.”

“Hmm, let’s see about that.” I scrolled further, and that’s when the real fun began.

“You’re so fine. If you ever need a rebound, hit me up. I’d take care of you better than your girl ever could.”

I read it aloud, my voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Oh, really? ‘Better than your girl ever could,’ huh?”

Kenan’s jaw dropped. “Who even says that?! Delete it. Block her. I don’t know her!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

“No! Absolutely not,” he said, looking genuinely distressed. “She’s delusional. You know that.”

Next DM: “I have dreams about you, Kenan. Just one night is all I’d need.”

I choked on a laugh. “What do you even say to this?”

“I don’t say anything!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “I don’t even open them!”

“Sure, Mr. Modesty,” I teased. “I bet you love the attention.”

“Only from you,” he said, trying to butter me up.

Another one: A voice memo. I played it, and an overly dramatic voice purred, “Hey, Kenan. Just saw your game… You looked so hot out there. Maybe we could celebrate your win sometime? My treat.”

I looked at him with a mock-serious expression. “So… do you take her up on the offer, or…?”

Kenan groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Y/N, stop. This is so embarrassing.”

“No way,” I said, grinning. “This is amazing.”

Then came the kicker: A series of messages from someone who had clearly been trying to shoot her shot for months. Each one was thirstier than the last.

The most recent read: “If you ever get tired of your girlfriend, just know I’m waiting for my chance. I’d treat you like the king you are, baby.”

I dramatically gasped. “Kenan, how could you not reply to such a devoted admirer?”

“I didn’t ask for any of this!” he defended himself. “You know I only care about you.”

I leaned in close, pretending to scrutinize him. “Hmm. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

By the time I finished going through the DMs, Kenan looked like he’d been through the wringer.

His face was flushed, his hands in his hair, and he kept muttering about how unfair this was.

“Relax,” I said, setting his phone down. “It’s all in good fun.”

“For you, maybe,” he grumbled, but I could see the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You survived,” I teased, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “And now I know you’re not secretly entertaining your fan club.”

“You didn’t have to do all that to know that,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around me. “You’re the only one I want, Y/N. Always.”

I couldn’t help but smile, my heart melting a little at his sincerity. “Good. Because I’m not sharing you with anyone.”

“Same goes for me,” he said, pulling me closer.

“But just so you know… I’m never letting you go through my DMs again.”

“Deal,” I said, laughing. “But only because I already got the content I needed.”

“You’re impossible,” Kenan muttered, but his grin gave him away as he kissed me.

[helloliriels]

HELLOLIRIELS WRAPPED 2024

🎁 36 VIEWS OF LONDON :: a FTH gift for @thegildedbee

A patchwork image of John & Sherlock’s London, as seen through their eyes. This is Plot Without Plot (which I'm told is 'the good stuff'). 😎😋📸 Meant to be taken in bite-size chunks. It is a fully finished fic. I hope you enjoy!

💝 PRETTY in (a Frankly Alarming Shade of) PINK &

🎁 NEVER TRUST TO GENERAL IMPRESSIONS [COVER ART] :: two FTH gifts for @thetimemoves

a.k.a. Never Judge A Book By Its Cover (unless its cover is smexy) 😉 my second FTH gift for their gorgeous fic of the same title!!

💌 THE REMEMBER ME MAN by helloliriels - (WIP) a continuation of Remember Me {Though Poppies Grow series} ongoing series

🎄 CHOOSE YOUR OWN JUMPER :: (WIP) Experiment at Baskerville. A new fanfic adventure awaits in this holiday special!

🐝 God Save the Queen :: Sussex & bees never looked so dangerous

🐝 Protect the Hive :: A beekeeper has two rules ...

🐝 You've Disturbed a Beekeeper ... :: There’s nothing that I or anyone else can do to stop it now …

💎 Liri's Treasure Chest :: Hoarding treasure from WoW like a dragon, and decided to start making art of my favourite pieces.

✍️ Better Luck Next Time :: (WIP) Mike had meant it in a kindly way ... but John was in no mood for platitudes.

🏆 New Achievement Unlocked! :: a series of bloggable cheevos.

🎭 MAY IS FOR LIMERICKS :: 20+ limericks full of johnlocked angst. Welcome to limerick hell. Inspired by Calaisreno's may prompts!

Found Fandom (Found Family)

Cardiac Arrest

Pining Idiots

Fitting In

Buried Deep

Open Carefully

Awkward

Operation Wedding

Lurid Ringtone

I (May) Have Miscalculated

Made You Look

Weather Together

Smooth Move

(That's Why He Stays)

Five Minutes

Dammit Sherlock

One Last Dance (Inamorato)

Idiot (Affectionate)

Red Pants (I Imagine They Sparkle)

Examine Me

The Dying Detective

C A L A I S R E N O

Forgiven?

✍️ One More Time (With Feeling) for @totallysilvergirl :: Sherlock gets help from another Doctor. A chance to change his answer and maybe even change his future?

✍️ Warm Open :: Siri ... play 'The Game is On' ...

✍️ Open Your Eyes :: FFF#249

🏆 HELLO AWARD SEASON 2024 :: Hey, if Oscar can do it ... we're gonna have a Wilde time!!!

🏆And the award goes to ... Arwamachine

🏆And the award goes to ... Salambo06

🏆And the award goes to ... Ceruleanmindpalace

Where do🏆awards come from?

🏆And the award goes to ... Silvergirl

🏆And the award goes to ... Barachiki

Where do 💧 awards come from?

🏆And the award goes to ... Chrys

🏆And the award goes to ... Floccinaucinihilipilificationa

When You're In 🌍 Fandom Spaces

📜 One Thousand and One (Words on the Tip of My Tongue) :: a poem. John is processing his grief.

✍️ A Johnlocker Walks into Heaven :: insane wish fulfillment

🎭 S4 Goes Wrong! :: The Goes Wrong Show takes over BBC's Sherlock for the 4th season with disastrous results!

Celebrating 167 Works & 375,000 words on AO3! 🎉

2023 | 2022 | 2021 | 2020 | HELLO POETRY | HELLO PODFICS

@johnlocky @chinike @rhasima @fluffbyday-smutbynight @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @ghostofnuggetspast @calaisreno @sarahthecoat @khorazir @iwlyanmw @raina-at @chriscalledmesweetie @7-percent @safedistancefrombeingsmart @kettykika78 @aquilea-of-the-lonely-mountain @whatnext2020 @londonlock @lisbeth-kk @meetinginsamarra @a-victorian-girl @naefelldaurk @impalaparkedat221b @dragonnan @loki-lock @gaylilsherlock @inevitably-johnlocked @elwinglyre @jobooksncoffee @amyreadsandstresses @jawnn-watson @holmesianlove @sgam76 @janetm74 @ninasnakie @peanitbear @safedistancefrombeingsmart @discordantwords @bluebellofbakerstreet @john-smiths-jawline @topsyturvy-turtely @gregorovitch-adler @lololollywrites @solarmama-plantsareneat @blogstandbygo @justanobsessedpan

[blazehedgehog]

For the last 10-15 years I fall asleep listening to music, but following my mom dying in 2022, the intrusive thoughts were so loud and so difficult to ignore that just listening to music wouldn't cut it. So I started trying to listen to podcasts, but I was used to having the music on so softly it was barely audible, since I'm also a pretty light sleeper. So listening to a podcast at that level with speakers near my bed was tricky.

Until I caught a head cold about a year and a half ago and happened to fall asleep in bed with my headphones on. That turned into one of the most restful sleeps I'd had in months if not years. So I started trying to engineer a situation where I could sleep with headphones on, and ultimately ended up breaking two pairs of headphones as a result.

So... last christmas I ordered one of these.

It's a sleep mask with ultra-thin bluetooth headphones built in. If you're a side sleeper it's not always super comfortable on your ears, but it's better than destroying a $45 pair of headphones because the rigid plastic wasn't meant to bend that way.

So the long and short answer to the poll is that I listen to podcasts on Youtube while I fall asleep now. Phone is plugged in, charging, and I have the developer mode option enabled that doesn't let the phone go to sleep as long as it's plugged in (because Youtube will pause playback if the device goes to sleep). I also put it into do-not-disturb mode because the eyemask will receive notification sounds and I don't want to get those piped directly into my ears when I sleep.

And it helps! It helps a lot. I generally fall asleep faster now than I used to, in some aspects.

Which has lead me to discover a whole subgenre racket on Youtube of podcasts designed just for people falling asleep. The most notable one is Get Sleepy, which carries celebrity endorsements and half a million subscribers. They release a new story/episode every two days, which sounds amazing when you see that a lot of their episodes are 3-5 hours long:

The truth, which I discovered because I still occasionally have trouble falling asleep, is that a lot of these stories are only about 15-30 minutes long. The remaining hours and hours of audio is just, like, sound machine noise. Wind and soft string instruments and a little bit of piano.

It's a racket because, obviously, most people fall asleep and leave the podcast running for the full length. Which is mostly the equivalent of dead air. And in terms of Youtube payouts, view counts largely don't matter anymore and haven't mattered in ages -- what Youtube counts for advertising revenue is view length. So they're putting out 30 minutes of content and making bank on four hours of view length.

And I personally hate it. When I listen to Get Sleepy now, all I'm doing is listening for the story to end and the sound machine to begin. So I tend to look for a more substantial podcast or video series, just for peace of mind if nothing else.

Which is a minefield in itself! Get Sleepy is the genre leader here and the eagle eyed among you may already be able to tell all their thumbnails are AI generated. It's all down hill from there. For example, recently I found a channel called "Pure Unintentional ASMR"...

I put on the "Sleepiest Voice Ever" one once, one night. And it's just this old guy going on about his spirituality, and you quickly get inundated with a lot of recommendations for self-help sleep hypnosis. Things to help you ease your anxious mind, help you get a restful night's sleep, help you overcome negativity in your life, and...

...feed you ugly conspiracy theories.

Sleep safely, friends.

please reblog I'm curious

[funnyjb]

To All of the Boys I Loved Before

……………………………………………………………………………

Summary: you have always fantasized about finding the one but never knew who that one would be. You wrote about your love in letters and spilling your feelings for whom ever your one may be. What happens when one of those letters get sent?

………………………………………………………………………….

“Y/n Taylor!”- Katie (your sister)

You bounced out of bed from your sister yelling out for you from the kitchen downstairs. It was the first day of junior year. You weren’t as nervous as you thought you would be. You were going into junior with a great best friend and the courage to try out for the cheerleading squad again and hopefully get in for the second time.

You quickly brushed your teeth and did your hair and subtle but cute makeup. You then quickly changed into your first day of school outfit.

“Y/N!”- Katie

“Coming!”- you

God she’s so annoying

You grabbed your school bag and headed downstairs.

“Let’s go.”- you

Katie grabbed her helmet.

“Why do you have that?”- you

“Because you’re driving.”- Katie

You rolled your eyes

“Get in the car.”- you

……………………………………………………

The hall was filled with squeals and laughter from friends not seeing each other for so long over the hot summer break. There was chatter and even new gossip just from being in school for not even ten minutes. The air was cold from the ac and backpacks slightly hitting you trying to make your way through the crowds to get to your locker.

“Y/n!”- Alexa

“Alexa!”- you

Alexa ran up to you and gave you a big hug.

“I know we saw each other yesterday but it feels like we haven’t seen each in years.”- Alexa laughs

“I know right!”- you

You unlock your locker and put away some notebooks that probably won’t be used since you have five others in your bag.

“So, tyler hooked up with jade over the summer and now jade is ghosting him. You should have seen the look tyler gave her in the hall just now.”- Alexa

You laugh

“Heads up!”- Joe

A football lands right near you and almost hit your head.

Joe runs over.

“I am so sorry, y/n. Are you ok?”- joe

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”- you

Joe smiles

Is his smile always so perfect?

He grabs the football from next to you.

“Sorry about that, again. How wa-”- joe

“YO, Burrow!”- tyler

Joe turns around and gives tyler a bro hug.

“We got to go check out the new locker room.”- tyler

“Oh ok.”- Joe

He looks back me.

“See you later, y/n.”- joe waves bye

I give him a small wave.

Alexa stands there like she’s just seen her celebrity crush Justin Bieber.

“What?”- you

“You-you, just talked to THE Joe Burrow.”- Alexa

“So, I have know him since sixth grade which is a little bit longer than I have known you!”- you laugh

“Ok, but he’s the hottest guy in school even though he is taken.”- Alexa rolls her eyes

Joe is dating one of the cheerleaders. Her name is Ellie. She is the kind of girl who has beautiful long blonde hair and whenever she flicks her hair out of her face it makes everyone stop in there tracks and think she has been sent form heaven, but in reality she is rude and selfish and only thinks about her social status and if her instagram followers have gone up. She doesn’t care about Joe. You can tell.

———————————————————

(Later)

“So, anyone you think is cute? Tyler looks like he’s off the market.”- Alexa

We were hanging out in my room. Alexa was sitting on my bean bag while I was on my bed writing down my homework.

“No, he’s not my type.”- you

“Good, because I wanted him.”- Alexa

We both started laughing.

“Do you ever wished you had a boyfriend?”- Alexa

“Sometimes. Why?”- you

“Just you never dated anyone and when I start to date tyler we could have double dates.”- Alexa

“Seriously you have an obsession with that guy. But I’m focused on school.”- you

“Ok, whatever you say!”- Alexa

————————————————————————-

MY NEW SERIES!!!

Hope y’all love!! Plz send me ideas or anything for It! it’s based of off the movie!

[projectjasper]

ARCHER'S (UNHINGED) STARLYMPICS 2024 HIGHLIGHTS

for those curious enough to read but not curious enough to watch

general sweet moments between so many different people who we don't often see together that will be lost to time soon, so i suggest you seek them out if you wish to 'awwww' a little

both teams - 'lightning cheetah' and 'shadow eagle' - having a pair to represent their team, except lightning cheetah's was pond & phuwin and shadow eagle's was nanon & tu, which i (as a lightning cheetah fan) can only interpret as shadow eagle being homophobic /j

skynani being on different teams (likely because they were composed before gmmtv realised how popular they would be) and the whole operation trying to constantly find a way to place them into the same context despite it

some participants straight up wearing jeans, indicating that they do not at all give a shit about the sports aspect

the members of the two teams always supporting each other despite the competitive nature of it all

most people being really bad at basketball (with the exception of joss, gawin, and tee) and football (with the exception of fourth)

pond (lightning cheetah) willingly carrying members of shadow eagle on his back and helping everyone stand up before returning to the game (gods bless him, he was not meant for competitive sport)

a mini-game (that did not affect the results, to be fair) which entirely depended on whether the person covering a basket was tall enough to dodge the ball aiming directly at it

marc (lightning cheetah) celebrating aou (shadow eagle) scoring, because 'we are means love' ykwim

phuwin missing his shot but pond (never having scored before) catching the ball and nonchalantly throwing it directly into the basket in a move that can only be described as impressive in the literal last minute of the basketball game (their team still lost, but hey, it was cool as hell anyway)

book only coming out to "play" for one minute, not doing anything, and ending up with a gold metal and an award, because his team still won - as it should be, btw, he is people's princess

namtan coming to the event in bright lime green kicks (and NOT coming to play, in the metaphorical sense), winning women's racing and thus guaranteeing the only award her team (lightning cheetah) would get in the entire starlympics

ciize (lightning cheetah) wearing a cheetah print headband and skirt with boots, which is definitely not athletic wear, but looked really fucking iconic, so who cares

chen doing actually quite well as a goalie and making me cheer for my chosen team's competitor until nanon suddenly decided to take his place, promptly missing two goals

fourth carrying the entire football game on his back, scoring all three goals for his team, and literally physically not being allowed back on the field in the first half of the second part of the game

win metawin scoring a goal in ridiculous expensive shoes that have little bags on them

nanon, despite being a goalie, showing off on the field multiple times, with no detriment to the game, as everyone was so bad at football that they couldn't even score a goal while the goalie was literally not at his gate

lightning cheetah's goalie paul seeming really good and almost (indirectly) convincing me to name my firstborn after him, only to miss every single penalty kick in a move that could only be described as him suddenly deliberately switching teams

a series of penalty kicks, most of which were disappointing to both teams, excluding the ones, where ohm (footballer) went up against nanon (goalie) and did not manage to score, followed immediately by leng kicking nanon in the balls with a football during his penalty kick, which was - and i'm sorry to say this - hilarious for all the reasons that you're thinking of

credit where credit is due, fourth and gemini's penalty kicks were also great, and they were the only lightning cheetah footballers to actually score for their team (gemini did that while wearing converse too, which is insane)

lightning cheetah easily winning the mini-game of tug of war, with great sapol looking so nonchalant and relaxed (read: extremely hot) while playing it that i am sure he gave at least a couple people a heart attack

despite there being only two teams, the team of losers was consistently awarded with "silver medals" for their... loss / winning of second place (out of two)?

in general, there were four awards: for basketball, football, men's racing, and women's racing - shadow eagle won all but one (women's racing)

the concert after the games was generally very wonderful, with everyone you can think of (and even some people you can't think of) having their own performances

whoever decided on the lineup definitely cooked because we got 'sadistic' by project jasp•er as the opening number and such amazing back-to-back performances as markpoon & aouboom and winnysatang & forcebook

prim & tu starting to perform 'tilt' (23.5 ost) together, seeming iconic at first, until nanon joined them out of nowhere, which probably constitutes that performance as some kind of a homophobic hate crime

phuwin, rushing out of the green room to watch project jasp•er do their first ever live performance, and pond later rushing out of the green room to watch phuwin perform 'to you'

pond wearing new light brown contacts, which i will forgive, as they are a step in the right direction (no contacts)

force wearing a show-stopping tits-out outfit during his and book's performance (seriously, look it up)

first & khaotung singing 'destroy love' together and it sounding so incredible that i will now forever miss first's voice in that song when listening to the regular version

gemini & fourth deciding to sing gemini's song (someone like me) together for some reason, with gem completely forgetting that it was now a duet and stealing fourth's part jjgkfdjglfjdgk

'charm' by lykn, joong & pond being so iconic that it was first performed in full during the concert and then once again as the closing performance

me having so much unbridled fun despite the whole thing lasting around eight hours <3

[babyangelsky]

My Favorite Performances of 2024 💖✨

Welcome to Babyangelsky's 2024 Wrap Up! To commemorate my second year of watching QL dramas, and my first year of actually talking on my blog, I've compiled a series of lists to celebrate all the QL things I loved this year!

Please feel free to take my categories and make lists of your own and tag me in them if you do!

💜 All the lists can be found here! 💜

AKA, the "I Love Everything You Do With Your Face" awards. I mostly mean that figuratively but I also mean it literally because expressions are my favorite part of acting. However, it isn't only expressions that make a performance stand out to me.

♡ Chris Chiu & Kurt Huang (Unknown)

It's been months and I can still hear Chris' scream in this scene. It was gutwrenching. It hurt. Some actors are great with expressions, some with line delivery, but Chris is all-rounder. He acts with his entire body. The control this man has over his microexpressions and his body language is incredible to watch.

And Kurt is no slouch either. This man can create tension by simply entering a scene. He draws focus even when he's in the background. There's this intensity to the way he uses his eyes that almost makes you hold your breath. He's mesmerizing.

♡ Benjamin Tsang & Liu Dong Qin (The On1y One)

The sheer number of times I had to pause every episode of this show to have a breakdown about how much I loved this man's face and what he was doing with it. I'm obsessed and in love with him and his microexpressions.

The effect that Benjamin's face has on me can only be matched by the effect this man's voice has on me. He's so careful with his line delivery. He injects the perfect amount of emotion and nuance and breath into everything he says and keeps you hanging on every word.

♡ Fort Thitipong & Peat Wasuthorn (Love Sea)

I was so enamored with every single little thing that Fort and Peat did with their faces as Mahasamut and Tongrak that from the second episode onward, I posted about my favorite expressions every single week starting with this scene.

So much of acting is in an actor's expressions and body language and the two of them embodied these characters so well that you could always tell exactly what they were feeling and thinking.Their acting in Love Sea was leaps and bounds ahead of where it was in LITA and I am so proud of them both.

♡ Kim Nu Rim & Lee Sun (Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo)

I truly believe that there are only really two reasons why something is difficult to watch: either it's done poorly or it's done well. This show is an example of the latter.

Everything is done well. It was done so well and acted so beautifully, in fact, that it was brutal to watch almost the entire way through. Do Hoe's expression upon seeing his reflection in the mirror as he contemplated killing his father is something that's going to stick with me for years.

As is Ju Yeong taking off his cross necklace so he could confess to Do Hoe through the wall. It's absolutely insane to think that this was Lee Sun's first lead role. He did a spectacular job.

♡ Kamimura Kenshin (Our Youth)

This. Man's. Eyes. The way he can go from showing the most devastating, heartbreaking vulnerability to being the sultriest little minx you've ever seen would piss me off if I wasn't so delighted and impressed by it. He's intoxicating to watch. I've thought about that popsicle scene and the "infect me" line every single day since I first watched them.

♡ Becky Armstrong (The Loyal Pin)

Becky's portrayal of Anin was rich and nuanced and complex and I loved it. She was able to strike such a great balance between being so bold and ballsy when Anin was standing up for herself, being soft and loving with Pin, and being regal and intimidating when the situation called for it.

That scene at Pin and Kuea's engagement? Hoooo boy. Magnificent.

♡ Bible Wichapas & Fuaiz Thanawat (4 Minutes)

I waited so long to have Bible back on my screen and he did not disappoint. Great was a character that experienced a lot of fucked up things and complex emotions about those things and Bible was able to portray all of them beautifully. The way he carried himself as both versions of Great and how he interacted with his environment and other characters was a delight to see.

As for Fuaiz, every time I see him his acting gets better and better and I have a feeling that's not gonna stop any time soon. We got him in two roles this year and seeing him go from sweet innocent White in DFF to tormented, grieving, seductive Tonkla in 4 Minutes was a treat. He shined so much in this series. He drew you in, made you feel for him, made you root for him. Just an incredible job all around, I'm genuinely so proud of him.

♡ Lee Tae Vin (Love for Love's Sake)

From the very beginning of this show, it was so clear how much care Lee Tae Vin put into his portrayal of Myung Ha and how important it was to him to do it well, especially considering his past experiences. This is an actor who loved the character he was playing and there was never a second he was on screen where that was in any doubt. He bodied this role.

♡ Top Piyawat & Mick Monthon (Every You, Every Me)

Top and Mick each played several different characters in this show, all with different dynamics between them, but X and Namping were by far my favorites. Top's portrayal of Namping was so delicate and alluring with such an undercurrent of sadness beneath it all. The POV shots were a gift.

And Mick's X was so helplessly and hopelessly entranced by him. The way he looks at Namping like he's the most breathtaking work of art he's ever seen and also like he wants to devour him with his eyes is fantastic. I love the choice to let the silence and tension simmer between them because it was in those moments that you could really feel what they felt for each other.

♡ Yin Anan & War Wanarat (Jack & Joker)

The way Yin and War tore everybody's hearts out in episode ONE and then put them back and ripped them out again and continued in that cycle for eleven more episodes is insane. These two men are spectacular criers. They're spectacular with their eyes and body language. The Jack and Joke we saw pre-time skip may as well have been different characters entirely from the Jack and Joke that existed post-time skip.

And then on top of that, War had the extra challenge of portraying different characters every time his character took on the Joker persona and they ALL FELT DISTINCT. You can always tell when an actor puts their all into a role and Yin and War did that and then some.

♡ Namtan Tipnaree (Pluto)

I will always be impressed by someone who can not only play twins but play them well and man, can Namtan do it well. The styling obviously does a lot of the heavy lifting to help distinguish the two characters but she's got the mannerisms and microexpressions down so cold that even if the styling wasn't distinctive enough, you'd still be able to tell Ai-oon and Ob-oom apart easily. Even her voice changes between the two characters. Phenomenal job all around.

♡ Kim Yun (See Your Love)

Because the character that he's portraying is deaf, Kim Yun's performance relies entirely on his expressions and body language and he is doing a beautiful job. The fight he has in the hospital with Raiden's character where he breaks down and the conversation he has with his parents are his two best scenes so far. You don't have to hear his lines to feel the emotion he puts into them.

♡ Up Poompat & Poom Phuripan (My Stand-In)

You know what I really admire? When an actor can make me want to throw a character in front of a train and then turn around and put me in all my feelings while I still hate them and then slowly make me love them. That's what what Up did with Ming and I enjoyed every moment of it. This man plays toxic SO well. Ming was the worst the entire time and I still fucking loved him because Up is just that good.

Meanwhile Poom was over here doing devastating and wonderful things with those beautiful expressive eyes of his and hurting and delighting me in equal measure. He's insanely, insanely good at acting with his eyes but there were also so many little body language moments I deeply appreciated.

♡ Force Jiratchapong & Book Kasidet (Peaceful Property)

Force and Book were really only in one part of one episode of Peaceful Property but their story made such an impact that it left everybody watching crying on the floor. Their performances as Phoom and Vicha were incredible. The brought those characters and the love between them to life in such a beautifully poignant way.

I'm so excited to see them in Melody of Secrets next year. I know they're going to do great things with a more challenging script.

[szariahwroteit]

FUNGIRL A Trent Alexander-Arnold + Original Character Erotic series.

Chapter 7

18+ Minors DNI

The thin cotton of Amber’s T-shirt clung to her pert nipples as she raised her arms, pulling her hair into a messy bun. Trent smiled lazily over the FaceTime call, melting into his seat as he relished the visual.

As he sat there, his gaze drifted to the three elegant bouquets of velvety roses arranged neatly behind her. The vibrant red of the petals caught his eye, pulling at the corners of his consciousness. A cloud of uncertainty settled in his stomach, and his smile wavered slightly. “Someone’s pleased with you,” Trent remarked, trying to mask the surge of anxiety that twisted within him, betraying his feelings at that moment.

“Thank you! We closed on a case that I’d been working on for a few months. My colleague Kenneth gave them to me,” Amber explained, a soft smile spreading across her lips as she glanced over his shoulder at the flowers she’d been gifted earlier.

“Congratulations!” Trent smiled, clearing his throat as he attempted to stop his mind from going to the worst places.

Outside of her—her body, the way she viewed the present world, her surface-level likes and dislikes, and physical wants and needs—he didn’t know much about Amber’s life, and the revelation made his heart sink.

He had always been drawn to her vibrant energy and infectious laughter, but the more he learned about her professional life, the more he realized how little he truly understood her. The roses were a symbol of her success, but they also highlighted the distance between them—both physical and emotional.

“Thanks! It was tough, but I’m really proud of the outcome,” she said, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Kenneth helped me with some of the finer details of the case, we spent months and countless late nights working to get a win, I’m over the moon.”

Trent nodded, forcing a smile as he tried to mask the unease brewing inside him. “Congratulations. You deserve it. You’ve worked hard.”

The truth was, Trent had no real grasp of the effort that had been poured into the case that she had successfully championed for her client. As he reflected on their relationship, he began to understand the depth of her words when she remarked that he saw her as little more than a source of pleasure. The woman who existed beyond the warm, intimate cocoon they had spun around each other was an enigma to him, a puzzle he was increasingly eager to solve, yet felt wholly unqualified to approach because of his own doing.

He felt terrible.

Every match he asked her to attend, she attended. Whenever he asked her to make the commute from London to Liverpool for him, she did so without question, and he didn’t know much about her day-to-day life outside of what she did as an occupation. 

She’d even faced scrutiny from his friends, degradation and disrespect yet Trent hadn’t paid any attention to the world around her that made Amber Webb the woman she was. 

He finally understood why she was so hesitant to accept the earrings he sent her and threw his flowers out. It was Trent doing what he thought was right, not what she actually needed of him. 

“Are you doing anything to celebrate?” Trent asked in an attempt to mask his current inner turmoil.

“Not really, we’re having after-work drinks on Friday and then it’s on to the next case I guess,” Amber shrugged. 

“Do you have any other plans this weekend?” Trent asked, the knot in his stomach tightening ever so slightly. 

“No,” she confirmed. 

“Then would you like to come up to Liverpool after your work drinks?” Trent asked, the cogs in his head already turning. 

“I’d like that, but the commute…” Amber trailed off. 

“Leave it to me,” Trent interjected. “I’ll figure it out,” he continued, surprised by the vulnerability present in his voice.

And so, when Friday rolled around Amber and her colleagues made their way out of the office for the weekend, she messaged Trent to let him know the name of the bar they were heading to and left the rest up to him. 

She knew that yesterday evening’s football match against a team she couldn't remember the name of was the last game of the week for Trent and his teammates and that was about it. 

Whenever they exchanged words over the phone, he had consistently kept his plans under wraps, leaving her in a state of suspense. Despite the flutter of nerves that churned within her, Amber found herself relishing the thrill of uncertainty and spontaneity that came with it.

“I need a whole bottle of wine to myself,” Amber’s colleague Isabella sighed dramatically as both women climbed into the cab set to take them over to the bar. “This week has been tedious.”

“It has,” Amber agreed, a smile creeping onto her face when her phone vibrated in her hand, the black screen coming to life as a response from Trent came through. 

Trent: Have a good time with your colleagues, we’ll have our fun later 😏

The message was rather flirty and made Amber’s cheeks warm as she read it over, before responding and putting her phone back into her purse. 

“Who has you smiling like that?” Isabella asked teasingly, playfully poking Amber’s dimpled cheek as she attempted to sneak a peek at her phone. 

“No one,” Amber blushed, dulling any suspicion as Trent took over her thoughts, holding them captive as they drove through the city. 

“Is it Kenneth?” Isabella asked, her eyes widening in shock. 

“No, it's not Kenneth. It's someone else, he's…a friend.” Amber explained trying not to give too much away. 

“Would you ever go there with Kenneth?” Isabella pressed, her curiosity piqued.

Amber hesitated, the question hanging in the air. Kenneth was a great colleague, she appreciated his mentorship, and he was incredibly easy on the eye, but the thought of anything romantic with him felt off. “No, I don’t think so. He’s more like a big brother to me. I really value our professional relationship.”

Isabella nodded, but her expression remained skeptical.

“What?” Amber asked in amusement as she took in Isabella’s expression, it was clear she had more to say. 

“It's obvious he likes you, have you never noticed?”

Amber rolled her eyes and laughed, shaking her head as she leaned back in her seat, the soft hum of the taxi driving through the night serving as background noise. "Isabella, we're colleagues. Yes, I think he respects and maybe even fancies me, but professionally, nothing's ever crossed the line. He's never made a move, and I've never considered him as anything more."

"Sometimes as women we don't always notice these things," Isabella argued with a raised eyebrow. "Your job's high pressure and your focus is always elsewhere, it's not unusual for people to feel unnoticed if someone's interested but never expresses it."

"Fair point," Amber conceded, though she still didn't see Kenneth in any other light than a valued mentor. As for potential suitors, she had no room in her mind for anyone besides Trent, and lately, that connection had become increasingly complicated.

“As handsome and friendly as Kenneth may be, my attention is elsewhere,” she continued vaguely. 

Isabella pressed her lips together, still appearing unsatisfied with Amber's response. "Well, if he's such a good colleague, you should at least consider being kind to him. Someone might miss out on feeling special if you keep passing him up."

"Who says I'm passing him up? Like I said, he's more like a brother to me. I value the professional relationship we have," Amber defended, her tone a touch firmer now as they pulled up to the bar.

The neon lights of the establishment cast a gaudy glow over the vehicle as they climbed out onto the sidewalk, their heels clicking against the pavement. As they stepped inside, the familiar hum of conversation and clinking glasses enveloped them like a warm blanket.

Isabella stopped at the bar, ordering a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for herself before turning to Amber. "I'm heading to the ladies' room. Do you need anything while I'm in there?"

“Just for you to come back out with a change of heart and at least flirt with him,” Isabella smirked. “The same for you?” she asked as the bartender placed a crisp glass of wine in front of her. 

“Yes please,” Amber smiled before turning on her heels and heading in the direction of the restroom. 

After relieving herself, she lingered at the sink, enjoying the refreshing feel of cool water as she thoroughly washed her hands. Once dry, she reached into her purse and retrieved her favourite lip gloss, the shimmering tube catching the light. With a careful application, she coated her lips in a glossy, vibrant hue, adding a touch of glamour to her appearance. Satisfied, she ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing the strands into place, before making her way back out to the lively atmosphere of the bar.

“There she is!” Isabella smiled as she held up Amber’s glass to her, now joined by a few of their colleagues including Kenneth who had changed out of the suit he wore earlier in the office into a more casual outfit of jeans, sneakers and a knitted sweater. 

Amber felt a flutter of nerves as she approached the group, her heart racing slightly at the sight of Kenneth. He looked effortlessly handsome, his dark tapered waves shaped to perfection and his smile warm as he caught her eye. She returned his smile, but the moment was fleeting as she was quickly swept into the lively banter of her colleagues.

“Amber! You made it!” one of her coworkers exclaimed, pulling her into a friendly hug. The atmosphere was electric, laughter and chatter filling the air as they settled into their evening.

“Cheers to a successful week!” Isabella raised her glass, and the others followed suit, clinking their drinks together in a toast. Amber felt a wave of camaraderie wash over her, the weight of the week lifting as she took a sip of her wine.

As the night wore on, the conversation flowed easily, and Amber found herself enjoying the company of her colleagues. They shared stories, jokes, and laughter, but every so often, her gaze would drift to Kenneth. He was engaged in conversation with another colleague, but every now and then, he would glance her way, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Are you going to keep staring at him, or are you going to say something?” Isabella teased, nudging Amber playfully.

Amber rolled her eyes, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I’m not staring! It's… you made things awkward now.”

“I didn't do anything wrong,” Isabella winked, and Amber couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, okay, maybe I’m a little distracted,” she admitted, her heart racing at the thought of Kenneth’s attention. But her mind quickly flickered back to Trent, the anticipation of their plans later that night sending a thrill through her.

“Speaking of distractions, what’s the deal with that guy you were texting earlier?” Isabella asked, her tone shifting to a more serious note. 

“It's a little complicated,” Amber said honestly, her heart fluttering as she thought about the rather complex situation she’d found herself in. 

As if Trent had a sixth sense Amber’s purse began to vibrate as her phone rang inside of it. Placing her glass down on the bar, she lifted the flap on her bag and pulled out her phone. 

She couldn't help the smile that took over her features as she Trent’s call and placed the phone to her ear. 

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice warm and inviting, cutting through the ambient noise of the bar.

“Hi, beautiful,” Trent replied, his voice smooth and familiar, sending a rush of excitement through her. “How’s your evening going?”

“It’s great! We’re just getting started, actually. Everyone’s in here,” Amber said, glancing around at her colleagues, who were laughing and chatting animatedly. “How about you? I watched your game last night, congratulations.”

“Not too shabby on both of our parts. We’ve both won,” he chuckled, and she could almost picture the lazy smile on his face. “But I’m more interested in hearing about your night. Are you having fun?”

“Definitely! It’s nice to unwind after a long week,” Amber replied, her heart fluttering at his praise.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Trent asked instantly, making Amber’s eyes widen in surprise as she looked towards the entrance of the bar.

“Are you here?” Amber asked, her voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. Her cheeks flushed a warm shade of pink as she envisioned the intricacies of her arrangements. The thought of her Premier League star friend with benefits mingling among her colleagues sent a flutter through her stomach, blending excitement with a hint of anxiety about how the evening would unfold, and the questions that would be asked. 

“I’m outside, but I wanted to make sure you were okay with it first,” Trent replied, his tone light but earnest. “I didn’t want to crash your evening.”

Amber bit her lip, weighing her options. She could feel the energy of the bar pulsing around her, the laughter and chatter of her friends creating a warm atmosphere. But the thought of Trent being there, of seeing him in person, sent a thrill through her. “No, I’d love for you to come in! Just… give me a second to prepare myself,” she said, her heart racing.

“Okay, I’ll give you a second,” he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “See you soon.”

Amber hung up and took a deep breath, her mind racing. She quickly scanned the room, spotting Isabella and the others still engaged in their conversations. She felt a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. What would they think?

The volume of the bar seemed to increase towards the entrance of the bar, bringing with it the patter of Amber’s heart in her chest. Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard someone utter Trent’s name. 

When their eyes met across the room, a jolt of electricity surged through Amber. He stood at the entrance, tall and confident, his presence commanding attention. The dim lighting of the bar highlighted the sharp angles of his jaw and the playful glint in his eyes.

Clutching her glass Amber let out a breath she’d been holding as she walked towards Trent, who had been pulled into a conversation with a group of men who asked if he'd take a picture with them. 

Amber slowed down slightly as she made her way towards Trent, trying to calm her nerves. She couldn't help but notice the way his broad shoulders filled out his casual grey sweater, and the way his dark curls had grown slightly since she’d seen him last, his hairline lined to perfection as if he'd just stood from his barber’s chair.

He took a deliberate step away from the conversation, letting the noise around him fade into a dull hum. He could feel the weight of curious gazes upon him, each one filled with a mix of intrigue and recognition. He sensed the silent speculation in the air as onlookers tried to piece together why his face seemed so familiar or, more than that, concluded his identity.

Trent's eyes traced over Amber’s figure as she stood before him, the lowcut blouse, jeans and heels she wore equal parts casual and sexy. 

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice low and husky as he took in the sight of her. “You look stunning.”

Amber felt a blush creep into her cheeks at his compliment, her stomach fluttering with excitement. “Thank you! I wasn’t expecting your company, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Trent stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating towards her. “I couldn’t resist crashing the party when you’re celebrating a win,” he said, his tone teasing, but there was an earnestness behind his eyes that made her heart race.

With a fleeting glance over her shoulder, Amber noted her colleagues, engaged in their conversations and completely oblivious to the presence of her unexpected guest. She turned her focus back to Trent, her expression softening into a warm smile. Gently, she extended her glass towards him, the polished surface catching the light as he reached out, fingers brushing against hers. He took a careful sip, savouring the drink while their eyes locked for a brief, electric moment.

“Are you going to introduce me to any of your people?” Trent inquired, his brow furrowed in curiosity as he scanned the crowd, trying to decipher which group Amber belonged to. Just then, Isabella turned away from her conversation, her gaze suddenly drawn to Amber. He noticed a flicker of surprise cross her face, her eyes widening as she recognized the woman standing a short distance away.

“Amber, is that…?” Isabella didn’t even finish her sentence before her expression shifted to one of realization and excitement. “No way!”

Trent chuckled, his confidence soaring as he caught the eye of several of Amber’s colleagues, who were now gaping at him in shock and awe. “Hi,” he said playfully, flashing a charming smile that only seemed to terrify them even more.

Amber’s heart raced with a mix of pride and nervousness as she leaned closer to Trent, feeling his warmth seep into her. “Okay, come on. I’ll introduce you,” she said, trying to shake off her wide-eyed disbelief and pass it off as normal behaviour. She led him toward the small cluster of her colleagues, who had momentarily paused their banter, captivated by the presence of the football star.

“Guys, this is Trent,” Amber announced, gesturing towards him. “He's a friend of mine.” She felt her cheeks grow warm as she admitted it, unsure of how her colleagues would respond.

“Trent, this is Isabella and Kenneth,” she continued, pointing out each one. Kenneth's expression was bemused, his mouth slightly agape, as he absorbed everything unfolding before him. 

“Wow, nice to meet you!” Isabella said, flashing a smile of genuine enthusiasm while the other colleagues introduced themselves, their excitement palpable.

Kenneth, however, was still standing a beat too long in silence, assessing Trent with a guarded expression. “So, you’re Amber’s, um, friend,” he remarked, tone casual but with an edge of something more possessive underneath. 

Trent turned his attention fully to Kenneth, eyebrows raised with playful challenge. “You could say that.” He shot back with a sly smile, his teasing tone igniting an internal tension that sparked to life igniting the air between them.

Trent had never been an insecure man, nor was he a controlling one in arenas he didn't have to be, but there was something about Kenneth, something about his proximity to Amber that he didn't feel. 

She wasn't his girlfriend, but given their situation, there was a level of possessiveness that Trent had adopted when it came to Amber. 

The idea that the two good-looking twenty-something-year-olds spent hours on end together was a fact he didn't want to ponder on and in an instant, he'd to his verdict. 

He didn't like Kenneth.

Trent stayed close to Amber as he engaged in small talk with her work friends, doing his best to keep his wandering hands at bay. 

“Can I get a round of drinks?” he asked, purposefully slipping his hand around Amber’s waist, leaning into her as she said something enthusiastically to Isabella. 

“Wines good,” Amber confirmed, holding up her half-empty glass, her breath hitching in her throat when she felt Trent’s fingertips on the skin of her stomach as he listened to the orders of the rest of the group. 

As Trent carried their drinks back to their cluster, his fingers brushed against Amber's lower back, sparking a tingle that ran through her. He placed her glass in her hand, his touch lingering just a beat too long, making it clear that he was as affected by their intimate moments as she was. 

Trent's gaze softened as it met Amber's, the air between them charged with a current of tension and desire. For a fleeting moment, the noise of the bar faded away, leaving only the two of them suspended in a cocoon of raw emotion. 

But reality snapped them back in an instant, their surroundings demanding their attention once more. Amber sipped her wine, her thoughts racing as she tried to process the surreal situation; Trent standing among her colleagues, making small talk as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

As the evening went on, Amber found herself fully at ease in the moment, slightly giddy from a combination of the wine she’d consumed and Trent’s presence. 

But beneath the surface of her carefree laughter, she could sense the tension; Kenneth and Trent were exchanging glances, a silent battle of wills playing out in the backdrop. Kenneth’s practised charm felt a touch too deliberate, while Trent’s confidence exuded a raw, lingering energy directed solely at her.

“Another round?” Kenneth asked, attempting to divert the attention back to the drinks, his voice smooth as he regarded Amber. “How about a shot to celebrate your victory?” He leaned closer, his fingers brushing against her exposed collarbone. The contact sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, though she couldn't ignore the discomfort that flickered in Trent’s eyes as he watched.

She noticed Trent’s relaxed demeanour shift slightly, tension curling at the corners of his mouth.

As Kenneth leaned in closer, Amber could feel the warmth radiating from him, but it was an oddly misplaced warmth—one that made her acutely aware of Trent's presence just a breath away. She turned her gaze back to Trent, whose expression had shifted. A subtle tension gripped the space between them, and Amber's heart raced in response.

“Maybe we should skip the shots,” Trent interjected, his tone light but layered with something deeper, an underlying challenge that only Amber seemed to notice. 

“Oh come on, Trent,” Kenneth said, his voice dripping with casual confidence. “Amber has just achieved something incredible; she deserves to celebrate.” The way Kenneth's gaze lingered on Amber made her feel exposed as if she were caught in the crossfire of a power play.

“I have a surprise waiting on her,” Trent replied, his smile never faltering, but the intensity in his eyes spoke volumes.

“Oh really?” Kenneth’s brow furrowed slightly, leaning back as he assessed the situation. “What kind of surprise?” The amusement in his tone was at odds with the tension radiating from Trent, who stood protectively close to Amber, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back.

Trent didn’t break eye contact with Kenneth, his expression a mix of amusement and defiance. “Let’s just say it’s something that’ll take us away from this place for a while.” 

Amber’s heart raced at the thought. She felt a rush of excitement and curiosity flood through her alongside the growing tension. “What do you mean?” she asked, looking back and forth between the two men, trying to gauge Kenneth’s reaction and Trent’s intent.

Trent’s eyes flickered toward her, softening momentarily. “I arranged for us to take a helicopter ride back to my mansion in Liverpool after your drinks. I thought it might be a fun way to kick off the weekend.”

Kenneth’s demeanour shifted. The confident smirk slipped from his face as the reality of the situation set in. “A helicopter ride?” he repeated, trying to mask his surprise and jealousy.

Amber bit her lip, trying to process the grand gesture. The idea of soaring through the night together, feeling the wind tousle her hair as the city lights twinkled below them, sent a thrill through her. Yet she couldn’t ignore the weight of Kenneth’s glare, a silent challenge in his gaze.

Amber wasn’t sure what any of this was, but until Isabelle had taken the time to point out Kenneth’s behaviour towards her, she hadn’t noticed it. 

The unspoken energy between the two men was palpable, hanging heavy in the air like a storm cloud on the horizon. Kenneth seemed to bristle at the suggestion, his earlier carefree attitude evaporating, replaced by an uneasy silence.

Amber felt caught in the middle, torn between two different worlds—the life she led with her colleagues and the whirlwind of intimacy she shared with Trent. She could sense the undercurrent of jealousy emanating from Kenneth, an emotion that stoked the simmering tension.

“Are you ready?” Trent asked, his voice low and inviting, drawing Amber's attention back to him. The warmth in his gaze made her heart race, and she felt a thrill of anticipation ahead of the adventure he had planned.

Isabelle and Kenneth watched the interaction between Amber and Trent, as they readied themselves to leave the bar and head to Liverpool. 

“Do you have everything?” he asked softly as she pulled her thick winter coat over her shoulders and fastened the buttons. 

“Have a good weekend,” Isabelle smirked knowingly, already anticipating her catch-up with Amber on Monday morning at the office. 

“Be safe,” Kenneth added, his tone a mix of concern and something else—perhaps a hint of possessiveness that Amber couldn’t quite place. She caught his eye, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with unspoken words. 

“Thanks, Kenneth,” Amber replied, forcing a smile as she felt Trent’s presence beside her, a reassuring warmth that made her feel bold. 

“Let’s go,” Trent said, his voice steady and confident as he gently placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. The gesture sent a thrill through her, and she couldn’t help but glance back at Kenneth, whose expression was a mixture of disappointment and something darker.

As they stepped outside, the cool night air hit Amber’s face, invigorating her senses. She looked up at the starry sky, feeling a rush of excitement at the thought of the helicopter ride. Trent led her to a sleek black car waiting at the curb, the driver stepping out to open the door for them.

“Ready?” Trent asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he slid into the back seat beside her.

“Absolutely,” Amber replied, her heart racing. She felt a mix of exhilaration and nervousness, the thrill of the unknown ahead of them.

As the car pulled away from the bar, Amber glanced out the window, watching the city lights blur by. She could feel Trent’s gaze on her, and when she turned to meet his eyes, the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down her spine.

“Tell me more about this case you won,” he prompted, leaning in slightly, his voice low and inviting. “I want to know what you’ve been working so hard on.”

Amber smiled, grateful for his interest. “It was a complex case involving the separation of a merger that joined in the early 2000s. There were thousands of documents to go through and hours of emails, but I was able to come to an agreement that both parties were happy with. It was exhausting but rewarding to see it all come together in the end.”

Trent nodded, genuinely intrigued. “It sounds like you put your heart into it.”

“I had to,” she agreed. “My dad always says you either took up law because you're crazy or you love it,” Amber smiled softly, making Trent do the same. 

“Sounds like you’re a little bit of both,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with admiration. “But seriously, it’s impressive. I love that you’re so passionate about your work.”

Amber felt a warmth spread through her at his words. “Thanks, Trent. It means a lot to hear that from you.” She paused, her expression turning slightly more serious. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and it’s nice to have someone recognize that.”

Trent leaned back in his seat, his gaze steady on her. “You deserve all the recognition and more.”

Amber’s heart fluttered at his sincerity. “Thank you, Trent,” she blushed. “I really appreciate it. It’s been a while since someone told me they're proud of me.”

Trent smiled, his expression softening and his heart cracking, he pitied her. 

“I’m proud of you, Amber. You’re doing incredible things, and I want you to know that I see you,” he said, his voice sincere. “Not just as the woman I’m attracted to, but as a talented professional who’s doing something and making her mark in the world.”

Amber felt a rush of emotion at his words, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper. “That means a lot to me, Trent. I sometimes feel like I’m just wading.”

“You’re not a distraction,” he replied firmly, his gaze unwavering. “You’re someone I want to be around, and I want to be part of your life, not just the fun parts. I want to know everything about you—the good, the bad.”

Amber smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her. “I want that too. Life is just crazy, I guess.”

Trent reached out, taking her hand in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing gesture. “We can figure it out together. Just take it one step at a time. And tonight, let’s enjoy this adventure. No pressure.”

Amber nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. “You’re right. Let’s just enjoy this.”

As the car approached the helipad, Amber’s excitement bubbled over. She could see the helicopter waiting, its blades spinning gently in the night air. The sight sent a thrill through her, and she turned to Trent, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked, his voice low and playful.

“More than ready!” Amber replied, her heart racing at the thought of taking to the sky. 

As they stepped out of the car, the cool night air enveloped them, heightening Amber's senses. She looked up at the helicopter, its sleek design gleaming under the moonlight, and felt a rush of exhilaration. Trent's hand remained firmly clasped around hers, a reassuring presence as they approached the aircraft.

“Just a few safety checks, and we’ll be on our way,” Trent said, his excitement palpable. Amber could see the thrill in his eyes, and it made her heart race even faster.

The pilot greeted them with a nod, and Trent helped Amber into the helicopter, ensuring she was securely seated before taking his place beside her. The interior was surprisingly spacious, with plush seats and large windows that promised breathtaking views.

“Ready?” Trent asked, his voice low and filled with promise. 

“Yes,” Amber replied, her pulse quickening. She could hardly believe this was happening.

As the pilot began the pre-flight checks, Amber turned to Trent, her heart swelling with affection. “Thank you for this. It’s incredible.”

Trent smiled, his gaze warm and sincere. “You deserve it. I wanted to do something special to celebrate your success. You’ve worked hard, and I want you to know how much I admire that.”

Amber felt a flutter in her chest at his words. “It means a lot to me, Trent. I’ve never had anyone go out of their way like this for me before.”

“Then let’s make it a night to remember,” he said, his voice filled with promise.

The helicopter lifted off the ground, and Amber felt a rush of adrenaline as they ascended into the night sky. The city below them sparkled like a sea of stars, and she couldn’t help but gasp in awe. The view was breathtaking, and she turned to Trent, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Look at that!” she exclaimed, pointing out the twinkling lights of the city. “It’s beautiful!”

Trent leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against hers. “Just wait until we get higher. It’s even more crazy up there.”

As they climbed higher, the world below faded away, and Amber felt a sense of freedom wash over her. The worries and stresses of her life seemed to dissipate, replaced by the exhilaration of the moment. She glanced at Trent, who was watching her with a soft smile, and her heart swelled.

“Thank you for being here with me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his gaze steady and sincere. “You deserve it.”

Amber felt a warmth spread through her at his words. Everything felt a little too perfect and it scared her. 

The journey from London to Liverpool was filled with laughter and shared stories, the hum of the helicopter blending with their voices as they navigated the heights together. Amber felt a sense of connection with Trent that she hadn’t fully grasped before, a bond that transcended their physical attraction and ventured into something deeper.

As they soared above the city, the lights twinkling like stars beneath them, Amber couldn’t help but steal glances at Trent. His profile was illuminated by the soft glow of the cockpit lights, and she admired the way his eyes sparkled with excitement.

Her heart raced as the helicopter climbed higher, the wind whipping through the open windows, creating a thrilling sensation that added to her excitement. She could feel a heady mix of adrenaline and longing as she reached out, her fingers brushing against Trent's arm as she pointed out various landmarks below, her excitement bubbling over.

“This is amazing! I can see the river! And look at the skyline!” she exclaimed. The world below was a patchwork of lights, shimmering like diamonds scattered across velvet fabric.

Trent turned to her, his expression a mixture of pride and endearment. “Just wait until we’re over the water. The view is even more breathtaking from there.”

His words sent shivers down Amber’s spine, not just because of the awe of the scenery, but because of the intensity of his gaze. At that moment, she realized just how much he meant to her. As the city continued to fade into the distance below, she felt liberated—free from the constraints of her thoughts that often weighed her down.

As they flew over the shimmering waters of the Mersey, Amber couldn’t help but turn to Trent, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is the most incredible thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Trent’s expression softened, his eyes never leaving hers. “You deserve everything good in your life, Amber.” 

A flutter of warmth spread through her at his words, and she felt a thrill course through her veins. Their eyes held steadily, each heartbeat echoing like drum beats, further closing the gap between the two, bringing them closer to that tension they both felt but had yet to fully acknowledge.

Within those electrifying moments, the helicopter banked gracefully over the coastline, the night sky wrapping them in a cocoon of serenity and allure. Amber marvelled at the rolling waves illuminated by the moonlight, casting an ethereal glow over the water.

By the time the helicopter landed Amber felt as though she was stepping out of a dream as Trent helped her climb out of the aircraft. 

“That was amazing,” Amber gushed as took in the sprawling fields around them, turning to look at Trent who had pulled out his key to unlock his car parked a few yards away from the helicopter. 

Holding out his hand to Amber, he guided her towards the svelte black car, the way he moved with confidence making her heart flutter. 

When they finally made it to Trent’s house, Amber removed her heels eager to rid herself of them before heading upstairs to his bedroom to finally decompress after a long and rather precarious day, with Trent following close behind. 

“Finish whatever you’re doing and come to me,” he murmured softly against Amber's lips, his breath warm and inviting. With a teasing grin, he pulled away, playfully catching her lower lip between his teeth for a brief moment before releasing it.

Amber felt a shiver run down her spine as she watched him turn on his heel, his confident strides carrying him across the room and out of sight. Left alone in the intimate setting of his bathroom, she could hear the faint sounds of his movements in the distance as he settled on his bed, awaiting her.

Her heart raced with anticipation as she reached for the hem of her blouse, she pulled it over her head, the fabric grazing her skin before she tossed it casually into Trent’s laundry hamper. Next, she turned her attention to her jeans, unbuttoning and sliding them off with a fluid motion, sending them to join her blouse in the hamper. Now standing in Trent’s bathroom clad only in her delicate lingerie, she felt an intoxicating mix of vulnerability and boldness, the anticipation of what was to come taking over her movements. 

Making her way out of the bathroom Amber slowly made her way into Trent’s bedroom, her breathing steady as their eyes met. 

“Come here, Amber,” Trent commanded, his voice soft yet filled with dominance as he eyed her hungrily. 

Amber stepped closer to him, the anticipation that hung between the palpable as she stood at the end of the bed. 

Sitting up, Trent shifted toward the end of his bed, his eyes never leaving Amber's as he reached out for her, pulling her to stand between his parted legs as his hands traced the curves of her shapely hips and thighs, leaning forward to press a soft kiss just above her pantyline as his eyes flicked up to her face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice filled with want. “I want you in every way.”

Feeling a wave of desire come over her, Amber titled her hips towards Trent’s lips, her breathing uneven as she looked down at him. 

“I want you too,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of longing and urgency. The heat radiating from Trent's body was intoxicating, and she felt herself drawn closer, as if an invisible force was pulling her into his orbit.

Trent's hands moved with a gentle yet firm touch, exploring the delicate fabric of her lingerie, his fingers tracing the lace edges as he savored the moment.

Amber's heart raced as she leaned down, her lips brushing against his in a soft, tentative kiss. The connection ignited a fire within her, and she deepened the kiss, feeling Trent respond with equal intensity. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer until she was pressed against him, the heat of his body enveloping her as he pulled her into his lap.

Trent's strong hands roamed over Amber's body, feeling the softness of her lingerie beneath his fingertips as he devoured her lips in a passionate, dominating kiss. She melted against him, her curves fitting perfectly into the contours of his muscular frame.

As their tongues danced, Trent slid a hand up Amber's side, his thumb brushing the side of her breast before finding the hard peak beneath her bra. He pinched gently, eliciting a gasp from Amber that he swallowed as he deepened the kiss.

Breaking away, he leaned back to trail kisses down her neck, his breath hot against her skin as his hands found the straps of her lingerie. He worked at them, uncaring of the scraps of fabric that fell away until Amber was bared to him, her skin glistening in the dim light of the room.

There was a lack of control that Amber brought over Trent that no other woman was able to conjure from him. 

And despite being a man of self-control and discipline, with her he loved to exercise his reckless side and lean into his lack of control. 

Despite the vacant king-sized bed above them, Trent and Amber had found themselves on Trent’s bedroom floor, his hands gripping Amber’s behind her back as she rode him. 

“There you go, sit all the way down on it,” Trent coached through his teeth as he looked up at Amber through heavy, hooded lust-filled eyes. 

Amber moaned lowly, her hips rolling languidly against the rigid length of Trent’s dick, their bodies slick with sweat as she adjusted herself to take him fully.

"Just like that," Trent grunted with a furrowed brow, his grip on her wrist dropping so he could palm her ass, his grip tightening as he watched her work him into her pussy.

Amber’s muscles clenched around Trent as she started to move, rocking her hips in a sensual rhythm that had them both panting with desire. She leaned down to kiss him again, her tongue dancing with his as she set a pace that left them both breathless and needy.

“Trent, I’m going to cum,” Amber whimpered helplessly, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as her back arched into him. 

As Amber’s orgasm moved through her, her body flopped against his before going stiff as she moved through the motions of a powerful climax. 

Trent let out a moan as he felt her teeth press into his neck, her lips brushing over it as she whispered sweet nothings against his warm flesh. 

Raising his hips, Trent tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of Amber’s head, tugging it backwards as he peeled her face from his chest so he could look her in the eye as he rearranged her from the inside out. 

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you since I woke up this morning,” he grunted as he felt his end nearing. 

Drawing out their sex for as long as he possibly could, Trent decided to exercise the power he knew he had over her. 

“Who do you belong to?” he asked as he buried himself inside of her, his filled with a mix of desperation and possessiveness. 

“Only you,” Amber gasped, her voice laced with surrender as her words hung in the lustful air between them. A declaration of their undeniable connection and the ever growing passion between them. 

Trent's hands left imprints on her skin as they reached the peak of passion, her eyes rolling shut as she caught her breath far too suspended in pleasure to do anything but sit there, Trent’s softening cock still buried inside her. 

As the final waves of their shared ecstasy faded, Amber remained in her blissful daze, resting her forehead against Trent’s. 

Much like the effects of alcohol, the act of intimacy had a profound ability to unearth deep-seated emotions. As Amber nestled her head against Trent's broad chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat provided a comforting backdrop to her thoughts. A haunting melody, begging for reflection and clarity, clarity that she had been trying to avoid the admittance of.

In the case of Trent Alexander-Arnold; she was his without regard—even though she knew he wasn't ready to give himself to her in the same way. 

[cherrirui-official]

Friendlocke Violet Gijinkas (Part 7/7)

HOLY SHIT CHAT THE FINAL THREE WE'RE HERE WE'RE IN THE ENDGAME RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!! /POS

All gijinkas linked below (in order of canon catch order) vvv

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six)

!! These will contain personal headcanons I have for the cast, little fun facts, and also spoilers for Friendlocke Violet (for both the edited vids and the streams) !!

@saltydkart-reblogs

Designs under the cut!

COOKIE:

If you aren't born with immortality, then there are ways to take it from those who were. However, you must make sure that you don't mess up when doing so. If you do, then you better PRAY that the other party is merciful to you… whoever Cookie messed with wasn't so merciful.

Cookie has been around for at least a century. Years ago, he was cursed to age rapidly, with the only thing that can temporarily reverse his aging being the blood of other pokemon. When Peppy found him he was only a week old, take that information with what you will.

Cookie's name came from the fact that he loved to bake before he was cursed. Now he's far to busy to pick it up as a hobby again.

Luke was the one that gave Cookie his IPad as a gift, much to the dismay of Sara. He likes to watch anything he can find on there along with Puppie (though they stuff they watch is moderated of course). Cookie has never once let go of that IPad.

Cookie is very quick to learn things, but his attention span can be a little short at times. No shame in that!

Cookie has only ever had two fears: death and fires.

DA CHEFF:

Da Cheff has his very own restaurant! However it is impossible to to go there without flying... huh.

Da Cheff can speak in multiple languages, this is good for customers who don't primarily speak english.

The horns on his head can switch between horns and wings, it depends on the day.

Most of his cooking materials was made by Da Cheff himself! Of course, only the best chef needs the best cooking utensils, and only Da Cheff knows how the best utensils should be made. He won't take anything less.

Has horrible eyesight, he needs to keep his glasses on at all times, otherwise he won't be able to see at all.

Very VERY harsh when it comes to critiquing others' cooking. So harsh to the point that everyone agrees that it's best to just let Da Cheff cook for everyone rather than vice versa. Thankfully Da Cheff is more than happy to cook for his friends!

PUPPIE:

Puppie isn't computer-savy, to say the least, however she is really good when it comes to modern phones. She even has one herself!

Wears her raincoat at all times because she doesn't like getting rainwater all over her.

It is unknown why Puppie was alone when the others found her, especially when she comes from a HUGE family of bellibolts, but she doesn't seem to be too upset over that. Or rather she just doesn't dwell too much on it. Who knows?

Her ears and tail are little lights that can float around. She likes placing her ears over her raincoat hood because "she looks like a frog!"

A fan of TONS of different celebrities, from Ariana Grande to Hatsune Miku. Ask her about any of them and you WILL be forced to listen to her ramble on about said celebrity.

Her favorite move, Zap Cannon, is exactly what it says on the tin. Yup, Puppie owns a cannon (well, its more of a rocket launcher than a cannon... but whatever) and knows how to use it. Thanks Pastey.

AND WITH THAT I'M DONE!! YEAAAAH!! If ur here then thank you so much!! I put a lot of work into these so it makes me very happy to see people enjoy my funny little gijinkas for the funny pokemon rp series lol! It genuinely means a lot to me :]

This isnt the last time im posting abt friendlocke tho haha. Be on ur toes. Be ready. /silly

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Sacrifices (Book 2 of 3 BTR Series) a Jhea Fanfic.

Chapter 28: Mamba.. why?

Jey led Morris through the quiet halls of his and Rhea’s home, his jaw tight as he tried to keep his emotions in check. He could still hear the faint sounds of the party outside—the laughter, the music, the sense of family and celebration—but it felt distant, like a memory slipping away as the tension in the house thickened.

As they neared the stairs, Jey came to an abrupt stop, noticing Morris lingering behind. He turned to see the man standing in front of a photo on the wall—a framed picture of Jey and Rhea. In the image, Jey stood behind Rhea, his arms wrapped protectively around her, his hands resting on her stomach, a symbol of their future together: their first child.

Morris’s lips curled into a faint smile as he reached out, his fingers hovering near the glass. “My Mamba,” he murmured softly, the words laced with a kind of wistful possession that made Jey’s blood boil.

“Don’t,” Jey snapped, stepping between Morris and the photo. His glare was sharp enough to cut. “You don’t get to call her that. Not here. Not ever.”

Morris raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk widening. “Relax, Joshua,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “It’s just a memory. Nothing more.”

Jey’s patience was hanging by a thread. “This ain’t about memories,” he said through clenched teeth. “Now move. My office is this way.”

Morris lingered for a moment longer, his gaze flicking back to the photo as if he were burning it into his memory. Then, with a slow nod, he followed Jey down the hall and into the office.

The room was quiet, the weight of the conversation to come pressing down like a storm cloud. Jey took a seat behind his desk, his posture rigid, while Morris remained standing, his demeanor calm but unsettlingly confident.

For a moment, neither man spoke. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension, until Morris finally cleared his throat. “I took care of Mamba’s problem,” he said, his voice steady, almost casual.

Jey’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, you took care of it?”

Morris leaned slightly against the edge of the desk, his hands resting casually at his sides. “My snakes,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact. “They’re gone. I made sure of it.”

Jey’s stomach churned. He didn’t need clarification to know what Morris was implying. Still, his voice was sharp as he responded. “We didn’t ask you to do that.”

Morris shrugged, as if the decision had been obvious. “You didn’t have to,” he said simply. “I would do anything for Mamba. You know that.”

Jey’s hands curled into fists on the desk, his knuckles whitening. “So why are you here, Morris?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. “If you’ve already done what you came to do, what’s the point of this visit?”

Morris’s smirk faltered, his expression shifting to something more serious. He straightened, his gaze locking with Jey’s. “Because there’s a snake that isn’t mine,” he said, his tone grave. “And I can’t find him.”

Jey felt a cold chill run down his spine. The weight of Morris’s words hung heavy in the air, their meaning clear but their implications even darker.

“And what exactly does that mean?” Jey asked, his voice steady despite the unease growing in his chest.

Morris’s eyes hardened, his calm demeanor cracking just enough to reveal the intensity beneath. “It means you’ve got a problem of your own,” he said. “And if you’re not careful, that problem’s gonna strike when you least expect it.”

Jey’s mind raced, but his face remained unreadable. “You know something I don’t, Morris?”

Morris smiled faintly, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe,” he said, pushing off the desk, “Or maybe I’m just giving you a friendly warning. Either way, watch your step, Joshua. Not all snakes hiss.”

Jey’s eyes followed Morris, his movements calculated, his expression betraying nothing. “This isn’t a game,” Jey said firmly, masking the unease bubbling beneath his calm demeanor.

Morris tilted his head slightly, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of his lips. “But it is, Joshua,” he replied, his voice cool and deliberate. “A game of chess. Only our pieces are snakes, and the stakes… well, they’re everything.”

Jey’s jaw tightened, his hands resting on the edge of his desk. “What are you trying to say? Speak plain.”

Morris moved closer to the bookshelf, idly trailing a finger along its edge, his tone measured. “Someone had whispered to my snakes. Told them lies. Told them that Mamba… could be touched.”

Jey froze, his breath catching for a split second before he regained his composure. “Touched?”

Morris turned, his expression dark. “Yes. Someone planted that idea, Joshua. They wanted my snakes to test the waters, to see if they could reach her. They wanted to see how far they could push before the beast woke up.” He chuckled bitterly. “And they found out the hard way.”

Jey’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension in the room. “Who whispered to them? Who told them that?”

Morris let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “That’s the thing—I don’t know. But whoever it was, they knew exactly what they were doing. They didn’t just want to rattle the cage. They wanted to set it on fire.”

Jey’s fists clenched, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the implications. “So, what? You’re here to tell me you’ve got no answers? You’re supposed to be the guy who knows everything, Morris.”

Morris raised an eyebrow, his expression cold and calculated. “I know this much: whoever it is, they’ve moved their piece. They’re gambling everything on the idea that I’ll clean up their mess. But this isn’t just only about Mamba anymore, Joshua. This is about you and Mamba.”

Jey narrowed his eyes. “Me?”

Morris nodded slowly. “You’re the knight. The piece that protects the queen. And as long as you’re standing, the game stays alive. That makes you a target.”

Jey’s voice dropped, calm but dangerous. “And what about you? What’s your role in all this?”

Morris smiled faintly, the kind of smile that sent a chill down your spine. “I’m just a player who knows how to read the board. But whoever’s pulling these strings isn’t here to win. They’re here to destroy the game entirely. You think they’re after Mamba, but they’re aiming for the king.”

Jey took a step forward, his tone sharp. “What’s their next move?”

Morris shrugged lightly, his demeanor maddeningly relaxed. “That’s for you to figure out. The best chess players don’t just react, Joshua. They anticipate. Know your enemy’s next move before they make it—or this whole thing collapses.”

Jey stared at him, weighing every word, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Protect your queen, Joshua. But don’t forget about the king. Without him, there’s no game left to play.”

“Jey, baby, are you in—” Rhea’s voice trailed off as she opened the door and her eyes landed on Morris. The shift in her demeanor was immediate; she stood still, her gaze locking on him with an intensity that only deepened as Morris’s familiar smile spread across his face.

“The Black Mamba,” Morris said softly, his tone reverent as his eyes settled on her. His attention lingered on the curve of her stomach, his expression flickering with something almost tender. Slowly, he reached out his hand toward her.

Jey, still seated, stiffened, his sharp gaze darting between the two. “Morris—”

But before Jey could intervene, Morris spoke in Polish, his voice smooth, carrying an air of familiarity. “I trust he has taken care of you.”

Rhea’s brows furrowed slightly, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she placed her hands gently over Morris’s, guiding them away from her stomach. Her response, spoken in fluent Polish, was calm and measured. “He has.”

Jey stood, his presence commanding, as he stepped beside Rhea. “What the hell is this?” he asked, his voice low but laced with authority. “You speak Polish now?”

Rhea glanced up at Jey, her eyes soft but steady. “It’s from… a long time ago,” she said, her tone holding a weight that Jey immediately recognized as something she wasn’t ready to explain fully.

Morris, unbothered by Jey’s rising tension, chuckled lightly. “She is full of surprises, isn’t she, Joshua?” He stepped back, folding his hands behind him. “Mamba always had a way of commanding a room.”

Jey’s jaw clenched, his protective instincts flaring. “Enough of the cryptic talk. Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here, Morris? Because this sure as hell isn’t a social call.”

Morris tilted his head, his eyes flickering between Jey and Rhea before he finally took a step back toward the door. “I’ve said what I needed to say. The snakes are quiet—for now. But remember what I told you, Joshua. This game of chess isn’t over.”

He turned to Rhea, bowing his head slightly as if she were royalty. “Mamba,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of finality before he exited the room, leaving the tension behind him like a coiled spring.

The door clicked shut, and Jey immediately turned to Rhea, his eyes searching hers. “What the hell was that about, Rhea? Polish? Morris acting like he knows you better than I do?”

Rhea sighed, stepping away and placing a hand on her stomach, her expression troubled. “Jey, it’s complicated.”

“Then uncomplicate it,” Jey said firmly, his tone softening as he moved closer. “I need to know, Rhea. Especially now.”

She looked up at him, the conflict evident in her eyes. “It’s not something I can explain in just a few words. But… I’ll tell you. Just not tonight. Tonight’s about Jaciyah. Let’s not ruin it.”

Jey exhaled heavily, clearly unsatisfied but respecting her request. He pulled her into his arms, placing a protective hand over hers on her stomach. “Fine. But when Jaciyah and Daya leave for their movie date, we’re talking. No more secrets, Rhea. Not now. Not ever. I’m getting sick of it.”

She nodded, leaning into his chest, her mind spinning with thoughts she wasn’t ready to face. But deep down, she knew the truth wouldn’t stay buried for long.

—

12:11 AM

Jey, Trinity, and Jon sat in the living room on the couches, their expressions unreadable as Rhea stood at the center. Her hands fidgeted nervously at her sides, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. Jey’s piercing gaze didn’t leave her face, his silence urging her to speak.

“What I say here tonight,” Rhea began, her voice steady but heavy with emotion, “could get me thrown in jail for life.”

The room remained silent, the tension thick.

Rhea inhaled deeply before continuing, her eyes flicking between the three of them. “When I met Demetri, he was just a small-time drug dealer. He started taking me along on his runs, introducing me to his world. That’s when I first met Charles—his supplier.”

She paused, her voice faltering slightly. “At first, Charles was just a name to me. But he started noticing me, talking about how I could ‘tap into the wrestling world’ to expand their operations. I didn’t know what he meant at the time.”

Trinity interrupted, her voice sharp. “Wait—are you the reason we had to take drug tests every month from 2018 to 2022?”

Rhea’s face fell, and she nodded reluctantly. “Yes. I only dealt to Tegan and Bayley at first. They started sharing it with others on the roster, and it spread.”

Trinity leaned back, crossing her arms in disbelief. “Unreal…”

Rhea sighed, forcing herself to continue. “Once Charles realized how much money I was making, he had Demetri ‘train’ me.”

Jon’s brow furrowed. “Define ‘train.’”

“Let me finish,” Rhea said, holding up a hand. “Demetri taught me how to shoot—precisely. He called it ‘preparation,’ but I didn’t understand why at first. Then he talked to Morris about my aim, and Morris brought me on. That’s when I became The Black Mamba.”

Jon exchanged a wary glance with Jey, but neither interrupted.

“Demetri was Viper,” Rhea continued, her voice growing steadier. “His friends—Thomas was Cottonmouth, Adam was Copperhead, and Brent was Ball Python. Morris… Morris was our King Cobra.”

Trinity gasped softly, but Rhea pressed on.

“Me and Demetri would make monthly runs to Phoenix, moving product and completing jobs. We always got paid when we came back. It was good money, but…”

Trinity raised her hand again, this time more gently. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but why did Demetri start hitting you?”

Rhea’s expression darkened, her voice softening. “I made a pass at Dustin,” she admitted, her gaze dropping to the floor. “From that moment on, every time I tried to stand up for myself, Demetri would ‘correct’ me.”

Jon’s voice broke through the tension, his tone laced with anger and confusion. “Why would you even do this, Rhea? NXT pays well. I don’t see why you’d need to get involved in this kind of mess.”

Rhea hesitated, pain flashing in her eyes. “Because my mom got diagnosed with breast cancer,” she said, her voice breaking. “At first, I sent my salary to help with her treatment, but it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t getting by, so I kept doing it.”

Trinity’s face softened, but her voice remained firm. “So you did this… for four years? From 2018 to 2022?”

Rhea nodded, her shoulders slumping. “Yes. It’s what you do when you want to keep your mom alive.”

The group fell silent, the weight of her confession settling over them like a storm cloud.

After a moment, Jon urged her softly, “Go on.”

Rhea swallowed hard, her voice trembling slightly. “In 2021, Morris and I…” She paused, the words catching in her throat.

Jey’s voice cut through, low and steady. “Finish it, Rhea.”

Rhea exhaled shakily, her gaze locking with his. “In 2021, Morris and I made a pact. He promised to protect me from Charles and Demetri, but in return… I had to make sure certain shipments got through. Clean and untouched.”

Trinity’s eyes widened. “What kind of shipments?”

Rhea’s hands fidgeted again, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Weapons. High-grade ones.”

The tension in the room thickened as Rhea's words hung in the air.

Jey's voice broke through the silence. "Anything other than weapons?"

Rhea exhaled heavily, her hands gripping the edge of the table, her fingers trembling. "Morris' personal shipments of his money," she said, each word weighed down with the gravity of the confession. "I had to make deposits in Switzerland. In total, I moved around... 800 million."

The room went still, the weight of what Rhea had just revealed sinking in. Jon's eyes widened.

Trinity blinked, her mouth slightly agape. Jey, however, stayed quiet, his jaw clenching as he absorbed the numbers.

"800 million?" Jon repeated, voice barely a whisper.

Rhea nodded, her gaze flickering around the room. "It wasn't just money. It was the logistics of it. I was a runner. But then, something went wrong."

She paused, gathering her thoughts.

"Morris was raided by the feds. I didn't know it at the time, but Demetri told me-and everyone else-that he had been named King Cobra," Rhea continued, her voice faltering. "But the truth is... I was actually supposed to be in charge. I never knew. I never got the chance."

Jon's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean you were supposed to be in charge?"

"Demetri stole from Charles," Rhea went on, her eyes flickering to the ground. "He killed him during one of our runs in Phoenix. Demetri took over everything. And then..." She looked up, her voice breaking. "You know what happened after that. I ended Demetri's life in May."

Jon leaned forward, pressing. "But you ended his lite because he sold you as a sex slave, right?"

Rhea's lips parted, but no words came out. The silence stretched painfully.

Jey, unable to hold his emotions any longer, shot up from his seat. "That's why those Polaroids said YOU LIED!" he snapped, his voice raw with fury.

Rhea struggled to find the words, her body tense as she shook her head. But before she could speak, Trinity stepped forward, her hand held out to Jey in a gesture of calm.

"Jey," Trinity said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You need to let her speak."

Jey stood frozen for a moment, chest heaving as his anger simmered just below the surface. He shot a glance at Rhea, his eyes filled with frustration, before finally sitting back down.

“I didn’t lie… I just saw a way out.” Rhea said.

Trinity looked at Rhea, her eyes soft but determined. "I know you have your brain injury, Rhea, but... what do you remember? What happened?"

Rhea exhaled slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Ever since Titusville..." She paused, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I remember everything."

Jey's heart clenched at her words, but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"The three men," Rhea continued, her voice cracking, "they were the ones that raped me. Thomas—he was the one that broke into the house in Titusville. But there's one thing I don't know..." Her voice trailed off, as if even speaking the words pained her. "I don't know who put them together. I thought it was Matt, but it wasn't."

Jon's expression hardened. "What do you mean, it wasn't Matt?"

Rhea's face twisted with confusion, her brow furrowed. "I don't know. I thought it was him. But the way everything happened... the way they were put together? It wasn't Matt. I don't know who it was. But they had been planned, had been brought to me... to us."

The room was eerily quiet, everyone processing the enormity of what Rhea had just revealed.

Jey's fists clenched at his sides as the implications of her words washed over him. His heart twisted at the thought of her pain-of all that she had endured without him knowing.

Rhea wiped her face with her sleeve, tears freely falling now. "I never wanted to bring this up. I thought I could protect you. I didn't want you to see me like this... broken. But I don't know who to trust anymore. I don't know who I'm dealing with."

Jey's voice softened, a mixture of concern and pain. "We'll find out, Rhea. We'll find out who's behind all of this. And we'll take care of it."

Rhea looked at Jey, a mix of uncertainty and relief in her eyes. “You’re not mad?” she asked, her voice emitting worry.

Jey studied her for a long moment before responding, his tone even but serious. “Is this the last time? No more surprises?” He paused, looking at her closely. “Cause you speaking Polish threw me off.”

Jon and Trinity, who had been silent until now, exchanged confused glances. “Polish?” they both asked in unison, their eyebrows raised in surprise.

Rhea sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. She glanced at them before answering, her voice carrying the weight of years of hidden truths. “I speak it fluently,” she said, a hint of frustration in her voice as if the revelation had somehow exhausted her.

Jey, still processing everything, leaned in and kissed her gently, his hands cupping her face. “Whatever happens, we will stay together,” he said, his words firm but full of emotion. “Jeremiah, Jesse, and Jeremy will stay here as long as they need to.”

Rhea nodded, her breath catching as she held him tighter, grateful for his reassurance. Their hug lingered, a moment of comfort in the midst of the chaos.

Trinity, breaking the silence, spoke up, her voice casual yet probing. “I mean… what happened to Demetri’s brother, Dustin?”

Rhea’s gaze shifted to Trinity, her expression hardening slightly as the memories flooded back. “He went with his girlfriend, Valerie, to Texas after everything,” she explained, her voice cold and distant.

Trinity nodded, her face thoughtful. “Well, that crosses him off the list,” she said, as if putting a mental mark on Dustin’s name.

Rhea exhaled, the weight of everything she had been carrying now more apparent. “Yeah, but there’s still so much left to figure out,” she murmured, her mind racing through the tangled web of lies and betrayal.

Jey rubbed her back comfortingly. “We’ll figure it out,” he said with quiet determination, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice too.

Trinity raised an eyebrow, looking between the two. “I think we need to keep a closer eye on things. We can’t let anyone slip through the cracks.”

Rhea nodded slowly, her resolve hardening. “We can’t afford to trust anyone anymore.” She looked at Jey, her eyes softening. “But with you… with all of you… I think we stand a chance.”

—

8:11 AM March 8th, 2025

Somewhere outside of Raleigh, NC, Morris sat in the back of his SUV, his mind racing with thoughts of the past and present. The world that he had carefully crafted around him, the empire built on fear and bloodshed, was suddenly feeling fragile.

The hum of the engine and the quiet of the morning did little to settle the unease gnawing at him.

Instead of his trusted bodyguard, Ken, it was Brandon, another bodyguard that use protect Charles. Brandon's eyes flickered nervously in the rearview mirror, his grip on the steering wheel tighter than usual. The silence in the car felt heavy, like something was about to break.

Brandon suddenly pulled over into the agreed upon gas station. The engine cut off, and the headlights cast long shadows across the empty parking lot despite the sun gleaming. Brandon unlocked the doors to the SUV.

He turned to Morris with a look of guilt in his eyes.

Morris raised an eyebrow, his irritation rising.

"Why'd you pull over?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Brandon hesitated, swallowing hard before responding. "I'm sorry, boss."

Before Morris could react, the door on the opposite side of the SUV opened silently. A figure in dark clothing stepped inside, moving with calculated precision. In one fluid motion, the figure produced a cheese slicer, its blade glinting under the dim light.

Morris' eyes widened in shock, but there was no time to react. The blade was pressed to his throat, cutting deep, swift, and lethal. His body went limp, blood pooling beneath him. The once-feared drug lord of Orlando, FL, was now nothing more than a lifeless corpse.

The figure stood over Morris' body, their eyes cold and unreadable. They turned their gaze to Brandon, who was frozen in shock, his face pale.

"Let's start, shall we?" the figure said, their voice calm, almost detached. The words carried a chilling finality.

[etclouie]

i loved your hotch fic from kinktober, could you write 2 and 20 from the first group of prompts please? the 50 prompts list

˚୨୧⋆｡ prompt/s; 2) “do you think things would be different?” “how so?” “i mean, if we hadn’t met at a strip club” and 20) “i love you” “i don’t care anymore” — from 50 dialogue prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ warnings; hotch x stripper!reader, uh kinda a breakup??, angst tho, that’s it really but if i missed any lmk

˚୨୧⋆｡ a/n; i got my car on friday, so i’ve been dealing with that mainly (sorry for not writing much)

— thank you for celebrating 600 with me || submissions are now closed

towards the end of your shift, Aaron had shown up at the club. 

you’d pulled him aside and outback, away from prying eyes and the nosey guys that would always try and keep you to their selves. 

but the look in his eyes told you that whatever had to say was serious, so you waited. 

he gave you a ride home, and his whole demeanour was avoidant. 

he stood in the doorway to your bedroom as you got changed, his eyes flicking from you and away again. a churning feeling in his gut as his eyes grey half lidded. 

his suit blazer had long been discarded, yet his shirt still remained creasless— his expression remained just as guarded as it usually was, but tonight the usual walls between them seemed a little thinner. 

you still had your heels on, the sound of them tapping against the hardwood floors mirroring the beat of your heart. 

for the past few months now, Aaron had been trying to balance his world with yours. 

he’d never been one for casual relationships, told you so when you first starting seeing each other—especially not with someone who’s life was so different to his, complicated in a sense. 

yet somehow, you both had found each other amidst the chaos. 

“do you think things would be different?”

his voice broke the silence, he hadn’t intended to speak aloud but the question had been sitting on his tongue for longer than he liked. 

glancing over your shoulder towards him, eyes quickly searching his for an answer you weren’t sure you were ready to hear. 

“how so?”

you asked, your tone measured but soft. you let your eyes pull away from him as you sat on the edge of the bed, finally peeling off your heels as he watched. 

he pushed off the doorframe and walked towards you slowly, staying a foot or two away. 

“i mean… if we hadn’t met at a strip club. if i hadn’t walked in that night, would we have still crossed paths?”

your fingers lingered on the intricacies of the heel, his words settling in as you placed the heel on the floor. 

hands moving to work off the other one, and for a long moment you didn’t answer. 

the truth was you’d thought about it too. 

your life before Aaron had been a series of stripped down, fleeting encounters. and as some would say, unsurprising for a woman who worked as a stripper— only for what you could offer in a few minutes of attention. 

but that night when he’d walked into the club with the rest of the team, it was different. there was something in the way his eyes lingered on you, not with judgment but instead curiosity. 

it was the first time in years you’d been seen, really seen. for who you actually were beneath the surface. 

and you hadn’t been able to shake it since. 

“i don’t know”

you finally said, voice tinged with uncertainty as you set the other heel down by the first. 

standing from the bed and moving through your dresser, pulling out clean pyjamas and setting them on top. 

“maybe it would’ve been easier, you know? if we hadn’t met that way. but at the same time, i’m not sure i’d want that. maybe it’s the only way it was supposed to happen”

you shrugged, finally turning to face him again. and you couldn’t help the sigh that pulled from your chest at the sight of him. 

he took another couple of steps closer, close enough for you to feel the warmth that always radiated off of him. 

“i don’t want to regret it”

he said softly, not just to you but to himself too. his eyes met yours, and the softness behind them remained but it was mixed with something else. 

you swallowed the lump in your throat, the rawness in his voice hitting you harder than you expected. 

“you’re not regretting this, are you?”

his eyes searched yours again, for a long moment. the weight of his gaze felt heavy, like he was reading into every part of you and stringing together fragments of your past and present. 

finally, he exhaled a breath and shook his head. 

“no”

he told simply, but you sensed a ‘but’ coming. 

“but sometimes i wonder if we’re just living in two different worlds”

you took a step back from him, your back hitting the dresser and knocking something sat on top of it. 

the distance between you remained small, but it felt like a chasm. 

you’d always known this wasn’t easy.  ring with someone like Aaron, so tightly bound by duty and a life of danger and trauma—while you danced for men in dimly lit clubs for a living. 

you loved your job, even if others told you that you shouldn’t. but you couldn’t help but notice the wedge it had driven between you and Aaron as of lately. 

the silence between you grew heavier as you searched his eyes once more, the softness had dissipated and been replaced by something sadder. 

“i love you,”

you whispered, voice almost breaking slightly on the words. the admission felt like it carried a weight of its own, something you’d been holding onto for far too long. 

Aaron looked at you, but his expression hardened from its sadness seconds ago and the air seemed to crackle with a newfound tension. 

“i don’t care anymore”

he said, his voice tight almost as if it physically hurt to speak the words. 

you recoiled, a sharp sting of pain hitting your chest. you’d expected it, in a way. 

there was no way this relationship—your life— could be simple, no matter how much you tried to make it work. 

Aaron stepped back, his gaze never leaving yours and the hurt in his eyes was almost more painful than the words he’d spoken. 

“i’m sorry. i just.. i can’t keep pretending that this is okay. that it’s sustainable”

that stung. 

you couldn’t even pretend that it didn’t. 

but you nodded slowly, trying to keep the tears from pooling in your eyes. you had known deep down, that this day would come. but that didn’t make it easier. 

the man you loved, the one who had seen you beyond the stripping and the shadows, was telling you that it was time to let go. 

“i get it”

you whispered, your voice barely audible but the words felt final. 

“maybe this was just a chapter that ended too soon”

for a long moment the room was filled with nothing but the soft sound of your breathing, the tension so thick it could be cut through with a pair of scissors. 

finally, Aaron moved closer to you again. his large hand cradled your face, and despite the urge to pull away you let him. his thumb soothed across your cheek as he mumbled out to you. 

“i never wanted to hurt you, but sometimes i think loves just not enough”

your throat tightened and though you fought to keep yourself composed, your emotions broke free in the form of a single tear that escaped down your cheek. 

you wiped it away quickly, refusing to let him see how much it for at you. 

“i know”

you whispered softly, voice barely audible. 

“but it doesn’t change how i feel”

Aaron sighed, pulling you into his chest. his hand that held your face now lay on the back of your head as it lay against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat grounding you despite everything. 

even though everything inside you screamed to stay, to fight for this love that you both knew had no clear future. 

in the end, some love stories were written with a beginning and an end that no one could control, no matter how hard you tried to keep the pages from turning. 

and it ate you up inside. 

but now, as he held you—all the pain and tears disappeared, if only for a moment. until he left, you still had him but once he did leave you knew all the pain would come rushing back all at once. 

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[veryfashionabledesigns]

Me going to the optometrist in real life: wow this is just like the miserable mill by lemony snicket

[kuulpenguin]

Cupcakes!