#trying to get around showing up in. tags BUT

[ghouljams]

Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?

Rating: E (MDNI) Words: ~11k Tags: Ghost x f!Reader, Dirtbag!Ghost, strangers -> ???, groping, non-con kissing, coerced consent, oral (F!Receiving), fingering, squirting, piv sex, kidnapping? Summary: A stranger online promises he'll make your parents' Christmas hell, and you're eager to take him up on the offer. You may have bitten off more than you can chew.

<Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?

[casual encounters]

“I am a 35 year old former SAS operator with no A levels, tattoos, and a motorcycle. I can play anywhere from 30 to 40 depending on if I shave. I’m a line cook and I work late nights at my mate’s bar. If you’d like to have me pretend to be in a long term serious relationship with you, to torment your family, I’m game.

I can do these things, at your request:

Openly hit on female guests while you act like you don’t notice

Start instigative discussions about religion and/or politics

Propose to you in front of everyone

Talk at length about my time in the army including what it felt like to kill a man(good or bad your choice)

Pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on(don’t drink much these days, but I know the drill)

Start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see.

Only pay I want is the free meal and the entertainment.”

-do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers

*

RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?” 

To:SASRiley@xxxxxx.xx

From:URHere@xxxxxx.xx

Is this offer still open?

*

RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: URHere@xxxxxx.xx

From: SASRiley@xxxxxx.xx

Depends how far you want me to travel.

-S

*

RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: SASRiley@xxxxxx.xx

From: URHere@xxxxxx.xx

Any chance you’re in the XXXXX area? I’ll buy you lunch and we can talk details.

*

RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: URHere@xxxxxx.xx

From: SASRiley@xxxxxxx.xx

Close enough for a free meal. I’m in XXXX

-S

*

RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

To: SASRiley@xxxxxx.xx

From: URHere@xxxxxx.xx

Let’s meet at Gallery Eats. Also can you send me an ID or something so I know what you look like?

*

RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: “Alone on Christmas? Mad at your dad?”

[attachment] [attachment]

Know you birds get jumpy, send it out to your little friends. 

Tuesday 15:30

See you there 

-S

*

He’s already at the shop when you get there, scrolling through his phone with his legs spread wide under the little wooden table, a full-face motorcycle helmet taking up more than half of the tiny tabletop.

You hadn’t realized how big the guy would be. Even sitting down he’s massive. You’d bet money he’s over six foot, and he easily eclipses the little cafe chair he’s settled in. His craigslist ad wasn’t lying when it said “tattoos.” The guy’s arms are covered in swirling black ink, and you follow the line of it up to the dark collar of his shirt where it peaks out to creep up his neck. He’s perfect. Your folks will hate him.

Dark eyes meet yours and a smirk creeps over his face, it tugs at a thin scar bisecting his lips.

He stands, and you bee-line for him.

“Thank god you look like your picture.” You huff, settling your bag on the chair across from him.

“That any way ta greet your man?” He grunts, holding a hand out. “Simon.”

You take his hand with a smile, and feel thick fingers wrap around your own. You glance down at the dark seal on the back of his hand, the carefully inked numbers already fading with age spelling out “141.” 

“So,” He smiles, leaning so far back in his seat that the chair tips, “How mad are we talkin’?”

*

It turns out Simon’s motorcycle isn’t his only mode of transportation. You roll up to your parents house in a half-wrapped muscle car that Simon claims he’s been “working on” and you can almost smell the distaste radiating off of your folks when they peak through the front window. Simon makes a big show of ignoring you while you try to get the oddly shaped Christmas gifts out of the trunk, lighting a cigarette and checking his phone while you struggle. Finally your parents decide to wander out onto their front step, and your father stalks over to take the bulkier gifts from you while Simon eyes him.

You grin at him, already pleased with his grumbling and glaring at Simon. Simon, for his part, offers a, “Sure it ain’t too heavy old man?” That makes a vein on your father’s temple throb angrily. He ambles after you and your father, and makes a show of giving your mom a once over.

“Sweetheart!” Your mother grimace-smiles at you, “Who is this?”

“This is Simon,” You sigh, leaning against Simon with a dopey smile, “My boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend.” Your mother grits her teeth, “You didn’t say you were bringing a guest.”

“Oh I know, but you can pull up a chair, right?” You gasp, “We’re not messing up your table are we?”

Your mother’s eye twitches. You know her well enough to know she’s already thinking about people bumping elbows at an overcrowded table. You can almost hear your little cousins complain about the lack of space. You also know she’ll never admit her annoyance in front of a guest.

“Of course not.” She smiles tightly, “The more the merrier.” She turns to Simon. “It’s nice to meet you Simon.”

Simon finally takes his cue, tossing his ashy cigarette onto the stone walkway with a flick of his fingers. He exhales nearly into your mother’s face before seemingly remembering last minute that, that’s rude.

“Nice to meet you,” His eyes flick down to your mother’s chest, “Can see where the bird gets ‘er tits from.”

You could scream with laughter the way your mother’s lips tighten into a thin line and her brows twitch down ever so slightly, the picture of barely contained shock and disgust. You can feel your father fuming on the other side of you.

“Why don’t we put presents down?” You chirp, trying to play at oblivious while Simon leers at your mother. She does her best to subtly cross her arms and tug the neck of her sweater closed. “Simon, do you have a hand to help dad?”

“Course, sweet’eart.” He hums, leaning to kiss your temple. A sweet gesture if he didn’t grab a handful of your ass at the same time, angled precisely so you’re sure your dad can see. “Christ you got a fat ass,” He mumbles, his voice low and graveled as he squeezes you again. You feel your cheeks heat in spite of yourself. It’s all pretend, all things you’ve talked about, but that doesn’t stop your body from reacting. His big hand lingers, fingers dragging over your ass as he pushes past your parents into the house. Uninvited.

You ignore your mother’s pointed look under the pretense of juggling presents, pushing into the house after your fake boyfriend.

Simon unceremoniously snatches the gifts from your father as soon as he’s in the house, haphazardly tossing the boxes under the tree while you carefully place your own presents, seemingly ignorant of your boyfriend’s lack of care.

“So how was the drive?” Your dad asks, trying to find something to talk about.

“Bloody awful,” Simon butts in before you can answer, he jerks his head in your direction, “‘ad to listen to the bird’s music the ‘ole time.”

“I thought you liked my music,” You pout.

“When tha fuck ‘ave I ever said that?” He snaps at you. You stifle the flinch and watch Simon’s brows draw down ever so slightly.

When you’d gone through all the details for this he’d told you to try and temper your flinching, assured you that you didn’t need to be scared of him, that if you were dating he’d never lay a hand on you. That didn’t stop his quick, harsh, response from startling you. At least the small crease in his brow made you think he didn’t enjoy the reaction.

“When we first met.” You smile, playing it off. 

“And you believed that?” Simon huffs, “Can’t believe I’m the first one to grab ya off the street with ‘ow gullible ya are.”

You blink at him, and turn to hastily cover for him to your dad.

“A consensual grabbing.” You assure him.

“Think I’m still deaf in my right ear from ‘ow loud ya screamed.” Simon grumbles, digging a finger into his ear as if to demonstrate his hearing loss. You feel your cheeks heat reflexively. Even fictional it’s embarrassing to imagine that you might have met a long term serious boyfriend in a kidnapping attempt.

Nevermind that the idea of someone like Simon grabbing you off the street is a major plot point in some of your favorite videos. You try to keep your mind out of the gutter, a difficult task with Simon’s fingers grazing your ass.

“It was a prank.” You continue covering.

“Bet actually.” Simon corrects in an attempt to make things worse. “Seein’ ‘oo could take the prettiest bird ‘ome.” He nudges your dad as if he’s bringing him in on the joke, “Should’ve seen ‘ow much this one struggled, should’ve known she’d be an ‘andful.”

“Your friends sound-” Your dad swallows whatever distaste boils behind his tongue in an effort to keep the peace, “interesting.”

“Served together.” Simon sniffs.

“Oh!” Your father seems to brighten at this new information.

“Lost a lot of good men, but kept all the worst, eh bird?” Simon tosses a smile your way. The playful grin lights up his face, tugs at his scars in a way that’s far too charming. 

“Where did you serve?” Your father asks, too eager for war talk.

“Went where I was needed.” Simon grunts. It’s an end to the conversation. You can see your father trying to think of where to go from there, if he should push for a different answer or ask about if Simon enjoyed his time in the service. He settles on exactly what you’re sure Simon was hoping for.

“So what do you do now?”

You almost brace yourself for his answer, and you’re glad for the added tension in your shoulders because it stops you from barking out a laugh.

“Beside fuckin’ the bird?” He doesn’t get another word out before your father growls out a loud.

“Alright-” that your mother cuts off with her well timed, if sudden entrance.

“Your aunt is on her way,” She informs you, “She’s excited to meet your boyfriend.”

“You got a lot of people comin’ ta this thing?” Simon asks, as if you hadn’t given him a full guest list.

“Just a few,” Your mother smiles, “my sister lives nearby so she’ll be bringing her boys.”

“Would’ve been nice ta know there were brats comin’ ta this thing,” Simon gives you a look and you pout.

“I told you this was a family thing.” You remind him.

“Didn’t know ya had so much family,” He sniffs, “Brother isn’t comin’ ta this too is ‘e?”

You have to stop yourself from grinning at the family landmine Simon so perfectly walked into.

“Henry doesn’t come to family functions anymore,” Your mother tells him curtly.

“Heard ‘e got tired of havin’ you scare off ‘is girls,” Simon grins, “thought you’d be a bigger bitch.” You choke. You mother’s gaze whips to you and you carefully go about adjusting the presents under the tree just so you don’t have to look at her. 

“Well I don’t know where you heard that,” The high note in your mother’s voice betrays her, the faux-calmness barely covering the boiling anger that’s starting to show, “but it’s not true.”

“Are you callin’ me a liar,” Simon’s voice takes an icy note in response and you glance over your shoulder to watch him roll his shoulders back. You can see the way his musculature moves even under his jumper. The threat is palpable, and also completely inappropriate for the situation.

He’s good at this.

It’s your father’s turn to diffuse the situation.

“You a footie fan?” He asks, because he’s ass at calming your mother (or anyone else) down. You can practically feel Simon’s attention shift, like the air in the room has to adjust to the pressure he exerts.

“City.” Simon huffs. You dad grins, and you know exactly what he’s going to say. Playful ribbing that somehow always ends in a screaming match.

“Manchester boy, eh? Ya find it hard losin’ to Liverpool all the time or do ya get used to it?” Your father jokes. The question hangs dead in the air. Simon hasn’t moved a muscle, so still it scares even you, and you know it’s just an act.

“You like chewin’ your food?” Simon asks, his voice so deathly calm that you grab his arm with  a laugh and pull at him.

“He’s just kidding Simon,” You placate, trying to pull your --wow this guy’s bicep is huge-- fake boyfriend away, “Right dad?”

“Oh come on,” You father tosses your way with a shake of his head, “I can handle a Manc-” He snorts and turns to Simon “-at least better than their players handle the ball.”

Simon flexes under your hands, and you physically can’t restrain him from shaking you off to stalk over to your dad. 

“Simon please,” You plead, you don’t even have to act, the way he grabs your father by the shirt collar you all but leap to wrap your arms around his waist and try to pull him back, “not again!”

“Again!” Your mother yelps as your father holds his hands up, eyes wide with fear.

“It was a joke,” Your father assures Simon.

“Fuckin’ better be.” Simon relents, releasing his hold on your father and turning those dark eyes to you.

“Look’t you grabbin’ me,” He grabs you before you can let him go, your muscles still vibrating with adrenaline. He holds your face with the same hand that had held your father, squeezes your cheeks with his fingers.“Real cute, thinkin’ you could ‘old me back.” Your stomach flips. “Taught you better’n that didn’ I? You want somethin’ you gotta ask, yeah?”

“I don’-” You try to shake yourself back to your senses and Simon squeezes you a little tighter, “Please let go.” Embarrassment settles hot in your stomach at the spark of… something in Simon’s eyes.

“There’s my girl,” He smiles, “Now give us a kiss love.”

You feel your stomach drop out, and you’re sure it shows on your face. Simon raises a brow. Your tongue feels too big in your dry mouth. You swallow and glance at your parents.

“I thought you said no PDA,” You try. This wasn’t in the brief.

“Just on the cheek then,” His smile is absolutely devilish, you wonder where he learned it, “Wouldn’t want ta embarrass you in front of your folks.” Your mother scoffs. Simon turns to glare at her and you rush a quick peck on his cheek just to get it over with.

His stubble is sharp where it pokes against your lips, but his skin is surprisingly soft. You almost hesitate pulling away. Your skin already feels hot with the humiliation of kissing a veritable stranger whose only goal is to antagonize your parents for the evening, so you don’t waste time with the action.

You’re saved by your aunt opening the front door with a loud, excited:

“Happy Christmas!”

Before she freezes in the doorway. Your cousins rush in, seemingly unaware of the tension and you take the opportunity to pull out of Simon’s grip.

“Is this a bad time?” Your aunt asks as tactfully as she can given the energy in the house.

“It’s a great time,” Simon answers for the crowd with a smile. Your mother throws an alarmed look your way and does her best to plaster on something less emotional for her sister.

“I thought you were gonna help with the presents,” Your uncle calls from behind your aunt, who immediately turns to help him get the boxes in. You see her vaguely gesture at the house through the crack between the door and the frame and wonder just what she’s trying to convey. 

This holiday is already off to a terrible start. Which is great. But you can’t shake the feeling that it’s going… worse than you’d initially thought it would.

“When are we eating?” One of your cousins asks, you turn to see the teen, Jack, staring at you. You suppose you’re the only adult that ever really gives any of them the time of day, makes sense he’d ask you.

“Uh,” you blink, trying to come up with a decent answer for him, “probably soon.”

“I wanna open presents,” One of the little ones whines.

“You gotta wait,” Jack tells him. 

“Ok!” Your aunt announces as she comes back inside, now holding gifts, “Looks like you’ve already started the party!”

“Haven’t even started drinking yet,” Simon assures her. Your uncle joins the fray, shuffling past you to set his gifts under the tree as well.

“You drink.” Your mother clarifies with a smile, she’s hiding the horror well.

“I’m the life of the party love,” He tosses your mom a wink and turns to look around. You assume for the liquor.

“What do you drink?” Your uncle asks, good natured as usual. That’ll change.

“Bourbon.” Simon hums, “But I’ll take a beer if that’s all ya got.”

“Sure there’s somethin’ around here somewhere.” Your uncle meanders over to your parent’s short liquor cabinet and starts rifling through the bottles. Your mother shoots you a look that practically begs you to stop him.

“Do you need something mom?” You ask, oblivious.

“It’s just a little early to start drinking, don't you think?” She asks, a leading question. You know what she’s trying to do.

“You sayin’ I can’t get a drink?” Simon asks.

“Let the man have a drink,” You uncle cajoles, “It’s a holiday!”

Your mother’s lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t comment on the glass your uncle pours for Simon, but she does retreat to the kitchen with your aunt in toe. You’re almost tempted to follow them and see what they’re saying. Maybe you could throw some fuel on the fire. Simon throws an arm around your shoulders before you can move, holding you against his side to keep you in place. You glance up at him, he doesn’t look at you. 

You tug your phone from your pocket for something to do, trying to look busy and uninterested in the chaos Simon is sowing, when it’s all you can think about. He manages a normal conversation with your little cousins, going through introductions like a regular person, even commenting on the shirt Jack is wearing. You glance at it and just know that was a fight with his mother. Looks like it’s based off some horror movie, blood dripping off a knife held aloft by a masked figure. Not very Christmas-y.

You can almost hear the argument that must have taken place when he’d put it on.

Simon must be smart enough to figure that out because he’s really hyping up the teen over the shirt. Talking about the movie and complaining about how his mom sounds like a bitch. Your cousin blinks at the swear before you see a grin split his face.

“Fuck yeah, is aunty letting us swear now?” Jack asks, too excited to contain it.

“The fuck is she the queen of England?” Simon laughs, turning to you, “Your mum’s not lettin’ ‘em swear?” You shrug.

“She says it isn’t ‘proper’.” Jack rolls his eyes.

“Fuck proper.” Simon snorts. He shoots you a look as he sips his drink. You’re sure Jack will be cussing the rest of the evening with Simon to back him up. Your mom’s gonna love that.

Your aunt comes out of the kitchen and grabs her husband to whisper in his ear. Your uncle glances at Simon and makes a confused face. One of the younger ones runs up to them and loudly asks:

“What’s fuck mean?” 

Simon averts his gaze and you feel his shoulders shake with restrained laughter. You have to hold it in yourself, the glare your aunt sends Simon’s way is too funny. The kid was bound to hear it from his brother eventually. Really, Simon is saving the teen from being grounded with that one.

Your mom comes sweeping into the living room just in time to save Simon from getting an earful. Your aunt’s glare transfers to her before she can fix her face. Your mother’s lips pucker, an unpleasant understanding that something is happening crossing her eyes. She ignores it, much like every other unpleasant thing you’ve witnessed with her, in favor of normalcy.

“Dinner is ready!” She announces.

“That was fast,” You blink, usually she spends more time milling about and waiting for people to finish a few cocktails.

“Well,” She smiles at Simon, “I thought I’d speed things up so nobody misses any other christmases.”

“Got nowhere to be.” He informs her.

“Oh I’m sure you’re mother would-”

“Mum’s dead.” Simon sniffs.

“Then your fath-”

“If the bastard was still alive I’d kill ‘im myself.” Simon smiles at her over the rim of his glass before knocking back the rest of the bourbon and pouring himself another two fingers, “You got me all night if I want.”

Your mothers lips pucker again, the slightest hint of distaste in her expression before she manages a smile.

“We’re glad to have you.” She offers. You expect she’ll still try to force you out early. “Dinner?”

“Bloody starvin’.” Simon grunts, pushing past her towards the kitchen.

Your uncle is already serving himself from the various pans laden with food. Your father isn’t far behind him, eyeing the roast like a man starved.

You grab one of the Christmas patterned plates and hold it out to Simon, letting him queue behind your father. He glances around and you watch his eyes land on your cousins hovering nearby.

“Adults serve first,” You whisper to Simon when he steps back from the line for food to let the kids cut in front. It’s a quiet motion that presses him into you, he glances back like he might give you an apology before he makes eye contact with your aunt and loops his arm around you instead. 

“What?” He asks loudly, “Your mum tryin’ ta starve the poor buggers or somethin’?” You blink at him. He raises a brow. “No heart under those tits, eh?”

Your aunt gasps and he gives her a once over. You keep your eyes on your little cousins as they happily load up their plates with turkey and mashed potatoes. One of the older boys smothers his whole plate in gravy and honestly, you can’t blame him.

“Can’t be jealous, ya clearly got the better ass.” Simon tells your aunt as you scooch around him to get your own plate. He catches you around the middle and pulls you back, curling over you. He tips your head back with a hand on your throat, thick fingers squeezing just enough to dimple the skin.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks. You barely hear him over the roll of butterflies in your stomach. Your cheeks blaze with heat, and you clench your thighs together tight at the way he glowers down at you.

“I’m gonna make you a plate,” You tell him, he pinches your cheek and lets you free.

“Good girl,” He tells you, “Got ‘er well trained don’t I?” He jokes to your aunt, who you can feel radiating anger behind you.

You don’t really know what he likes, but Simon is a big guy so you get him a bit of everything, loading up his plate like you do this every day. It’s probably too much food, but part of you sort of likes the idea that he’s eating what you “made” for him. You hand him the full plate and he smiles, you turn back to grab your own food --you must still be nervous from having his hand at your throat-- and he smacks your ass. You bite back the yelp that threatens to break free. The sharp sting of pain spreads through you like wildfire, blossoming over your skin even through your skirt.

You quickly pile food onto your plate, hoping your aunt takes your speedy exit as one of embarrassment and not one of- well a different sort of embarrassment.

You manage to squeeze into the seat next to Simon, feeling his thick thigh press against yours like a warm anchor. Your mother gives him a dirty look as he reaches to fool with one of the candles in the middle of the table. You’re sure she heard his loud announcement that she doesn’t care about her nephews. His other hand settles on your leg under the table and you stiffen. Thick callused fingers grip your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh with something you desperately want to call reassurance. He knows no one can see that, right?

You watch the rest of your family fill the table, your little cousins already picking at their food, stuffing salad leaves into their mouths and pretending not to lick the gravy off their fingers. You wait for everyone to take their seats before you pick up your fork and your aunt shoots you a look.

“I’d like to-” your aunt starts only to be cut off by your fake-boyfriend.

“I want ta make an announcement.” Simon tells the table loudly, the conversation goes dead, your mother’s eyes bore holes into you, begging for anything but an announcement. You think she might bend her fork with how tight she grips it watching Simon shove his chair back to drop to one knee. You clasp a hand over your mouth, doing your best to play the part of shocked girlfriend, despite having planned this. 

“Simon!” You squeal as he tugs a black ring box from his pocket.

“Lemme talk baby,” Simon hushes you and you shut your mouth quickly, “I know it’s only been a couple a months-” the look in your mother’s eyes could kill an elephant, “-but I’m mad fer ya, an’ I know birds like you get off market quick so if I wanna keep that ass to myself I bloody well better get ya tied down.” Your mother gasps.

“Shut ya gob, I’m tryin’ ta propose.” He snaps at her, and she leans back like she’s been struck. Simon turns back to you, and you feel a rush of heat drip between your legs at the look in his eyes. This guy should be on TV with how good an actor he is.

“Will you marry me?” He finally gets out and you nod.

“Of course I will!” You fling yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

His big hands find your waist and squeeze. You pull away to take the ring box and he nearly pulls you out of your chair, only to push you back into it as he kisses you.

Your eyes go wide and you struggle to keep your hands on him when all you want to do is lurch away. Not a good look on an excited and newly ringed up girlfriend.

But the way he kisses you makes your stomach churn. His lips cover yours and almost as quickly as you get used to the feeling his tongue is trying to force its way into your mouth. You rush to close your eyes only to feel his tongue, thankfully, retreat. And be replaced by his teeth, biting your lip hard enough to bruise, prying your lips apart to slip his tongue in and lick your teeth. 

Your head swims, your eyes rolling at the way his hands grope and squeeze you, tagging every soft scrap they can find while he attempts to devour you. He does something with his tongue, twists it against yours to tickle the roof of your mouth, and you make a noise without meaning to. It’s all you can do to remember to clumsily slide your lips against his. You’re not sure you make a pretty picture when he pulls away, his spit trailing off your slick, swollen, lips. You suppose this evening isn’t really about painting a pretty picture.

It makes you squirm to feel his big thumb swipe over your lower lip, dragging the poor thing down to see your teeth. 

A chill racks your body as his eyes follow the motion of his thumb.

Your father loudly clears his throat. Your mother looks mortified. Your little cousins are covering their eyes while the teen pointedly looks at his phone.

Simon rubs the ring on your finger, pressing the metal back and forth against your skin. When the fuck did he put that on you?

“I’d like to say Grace,” Your aunt tries to wrestle the evening back into familiar territory as Simon sets you back in your chair. 

Your family bows their heads and you smack your knee on the underside of the table as you jump, unprepared for how high Simon’s hand settles on your thigh. You don’t even hear whatever prayer your aunt is saying with the way the blood rushes in your ears at the wide splay of Simon’s fingers. So. Close. 

You settle your hand on his and try to push him back to safe ground.

Jesus this guy is strong. Pain in your-

“Everything okay over there?” Your uncle asks. You must have looked like you were struggling more than you thought you were. 

“Fine,” You tell him, even though things are decidedly not fine and Simon won’t move his hand, “Just fussing with the ring.”

“Oh yes,” Your aunt holds her hand out across the table, “let’s see it.”

You hesitate before taking your hand off Simon’s. He doesn’t move, seemingly settled with where he’s settled. You hold your hand out for her to grab, let her turn your hand this way and that. Simon had told you he’d grab a ring, so you haven’t actually seen it yet. It’s pretty. A nice pear cut diamond with a trinity of what looks like pearls on either side. You wonder where he got it, you’re just glad it looks less fake than costume jewelry usually does.

“How nice,” Your mother coos, it sounds even less sincere than her compliments usually do.

You’re thankful you don’t need to do much talking at dinner. Simon more than makes up for you. He talks at length about how “mint” your friends are --he’s never met them-- and how his mates are begging for a go with you. He explains to your teen cousin, at length, how his violent video games could be worse, after your aunt bemoans the fact he’s been playing war sims. He makes no move to censor himself, actually from the few conversations you’ve had with him, you think he’s swearing more than he usually does. He even manages to start an argument with your father about “taking the gloves off” during combat.

“Different once you’re in active combat,” He explains like he’s talking to your father, “You do what you have to, keepin’ your ‘ands clean isn’t exactly front of your mind.”

You glace across the table at Jack, the teen looks completely invested in whatever Simon is saying. You can almost hear the look your aunt has fixed you with, you’re sure you’ll get a call later about your fiance “encouraging him to get himself killed.” 

“Oh please,” Your father blusters, “if that were the case the royal service would be under investigation. We’d see it on the BBC: Special Air Service members torture civilians. What a load of horse-” Your mother coughs and your father shuts his mouth.

“Got plenty of men like me givin’ orders,” Simon digs into his pocket to pull his cigarettes, stopping with his teeth around the filter of one when your mother coughs loudly. He shoves them back into his pocket with a grumbled swear. “Like I told ya earlier, ‘s not the good men that come back.”

“You’re so cool,” Jack tells Simon with wide eyes. Your aunt smacks his arm with the back of her hand, reprimanding. Simon’s eyes narrow.

He watches your aunt the rest of dinner. The conversation drifts as plates are emptied. You attempt to stand to help clear the table, and Simon holds you in your chair. Your mother putters around the table with your aunt, you smile and thank them. You’re almost done. Then you can go home and wait for the flood of texts/calls from your mom.

You can just imagine the way she’ll try to convince you to break off your (fake)engagement. You’ll wait a few weeks before spinning up some story about Simon cheating on you. Your family will be so grateful Simon’s gone they won’t ask any questions.

“Does anyone want pudding or are we going straight to-”

“Presents!” Your youngest cousin cuts your mom off, rushing  to the tree as soon as his plate is cleared. Your aunt grabs him and brings him back to the table only for him to run over again. She manages to pull a gift from his little hands, and bring him screaming back to the table. You wince at the sharp sound, the fat tears rolling down the kid’s chubby cheeks, crying about opening presents. Your aunt reminds him shortly that there’s still dessert to get through. It barely makes a dent in the tears. The kid pulls at his mom’s grip, screaming and kicking. 

Simon’s hand on your thigh tippens its grip. 

You know, you know. It’s never fun sitting around with a kid throwing a tantrum, but you’re sure your aunt will handle it-

There’s a sharp crack as your aunt spanks the kid. Hard.

Simon shoots up from his seat.

Your little cousin’s tears turn to sniffles and a wobbly lip as his mom gives him a hissed warning. 

Your hands shake as Simon stalks around the table to grab your aunt’s hand.

“The one thing you’re not gonna fuckin’ do,” He tells her in a low warning tone, “is hit your fuckin’ kid in front of me.”

It’s so different from the anger he’d had with your father over football. You know that, that was acting, but this… It radiates off of Simon like a miasma, dark seething hatred, anger like you’ve never seen. Your aunt looks at him like she’s seen a ghost. Her eyes are wide and scared, her hand still holding your cousin’s arm squeezes tighter, like the child is her only lifeline. 

“Ow!” The kid whines, the sniffles starting again in full, “Mum that hurts.” 

Simon cocks his head, his own grip tightening.

“Let ‘im go,” Simon presses, his anger as cold as death, “Or I’ll break your arm.”

“Simon,” You don’t know what you’re hoping your voice will add to this, not even sure what you should do, all you know is that you brought Simon into this house which makes him your responsibility.

“He’s alright,” Your aunt tries to assure Simon, “aren’t you sweetie?”

“Mum!” Your cousin whines again. Your aunt lets go of his arm like it’s burned her.

“Now apologize.” Simon demands. Your aunt nods sharply and swallows.

“Mum’s sorry baby,” She directs the comment at your cousin but her eyes are fixed on Simon, watching him like a rabbit watches a wolf. “It was just a little spank.” You think the pleading justification makes it worse with the way Simon’s eye twitches. 

“I ever catch you hittin’ ‘im again-” Your aunt’s eyes dart to you, to the fake rock on your finger, “-and it won’t just be your arm I break.”

Your glance to your mother for- God you don’t even know, help? Maybe? She glares at you like this is your fault. Fair enough. Your uncle seems quicker on the uptake.

“Maybe we take Christmas to go,” He chimes in, “Grab the kid’s gifts, since they seem tired.”

Your mother grabs hold of this lifeline as quickly as she can wrap her head around it.

“Absolutely!” She hurries to the tree to start sorting out gifts, “Oh I didn’t realize they’d be so exhausted, we all know fits are just fits, right Simon?”

“I look like I’m throwin’ a fuckin’ fit?” Simon asks her, his voice still cold.

“You know I’m pretty tired too,” Your aunt agrees.

“I’m not.” Jack chimes in.

“Yes, you are.” His mom hisses.

“And it looks like snow,” Your uncle adds, “so we should go.”

You hardly get a word in before your cousins are rushed out the door, no hug or forced familiarity from your aunt as she and your uncle juggle presents and strapping kids into car seats.

Simon takes one of the armchairs in the living room amidst the chaos, dangling his glass with his fingers on the rim as he glowers at your aunt. Your attempt to help them gather presents is stopped by Simon pulling you down into his lap. You stiffen reflexively to try and leverage some of your weight off of him, and he pulls you to lean against his chest. 

Maybe it’s good you don’t say good-bye. You’re not sure anything you could say would sound sincere with the way you’re perched on your fake fiance. You’ll definitely be hearing about this later.

You’ve never seen anyone in your family leave that fast. Your mother must blame you for this social faux pas with the way she glares at you. She’s not even trying to hide it, seemingly having deemed Simon as unworthy of her usual polite routine. She stops just short of yelling at you in front of him. Must be too afraid of what he’ll do to her if he’s willing to break your aunt’s arm over her kid.

You’re not sure when you lost control of the evening, but you’re ready to go. Your aunt’s exit should be your exit too. You even open your mouth to tell your mother it’s been a lovely evening.

Simon beat you to it.

“Let’s open presents.” You’d almost call it an order with how edged his voice is.

“We don’t have any for you,” Your mother attempts, “it wouldn’t be fair to open them now.”

“Don’t need a present,” Simon assures her, “Bird’ll gimme somethin’ later.” Your mother’s eye twitches. Simon’s hand slides over your thigh, his thumb rubbing gently at the sensitive, clothed, skin. Your nerves must be on high alert to feel his touch so acutely. He gestures with his glass at the tree. “Go’an,” He orders again.

The tension in Simon’s form slowly seeps out of him as your parents shuffle presents out from under the tree. His body, which had previously seemed poised to leap at the slightest provocation, relaxes back against the chair as your mother hands you a present. She smiles at you warmly, almost pitying, when you thank her. Simon’s hand doesn’t leave your thigh, possessive in a way that feels too close to reality. 

“Oh wait,” You tell your mother as she pulls one of the gifts you brought from the pile. You slip from Simon’s lap, and for some reason he lets you, bent at the waist to point to a different box. His hand slides over the swell of your ass with an appreciative hum and you have to stop the tremor in your voice as your blood rushes south. “That one first,” You smile, “otherwise this one won’t make sense.”

The normalcy of it is more welcome than you’d thought. Somehow your usual family Christmas doesn’t seem as tense or fraught with conversational landmines now that Simon’s intruded. If nothing else you suppose he’s given you that. It’s certainly easier talking to your parents when they keep casting nervous glances at Simon to make sure this is an appropriate line of conversation. 

Simon, for his part, does little except keep you in his lap as you tear into the paper wrapped boxes. Occasionally his hand moves from your thigh to squeeze your stomach, or your side, as if he’s checking that you’re still all there. It’s not exactly casual, and the heat that builds between your legs as he drags his callused fingers across your stomach makes you want to squirm back into his chest, just to try and escape the ticklish feeling.

You try to focus on the gifts, drumming up the appropriate amount of excitement to look grateful while all of your attention is on the spread of Simon’s fingers. His hand splays wide against you and you try to trace the outline of it, distract yourself from how big his hand is. 

But distracting yourself from the spread of his hand directs you towards the spread of his legs, to the firm muscle of his thick thighs, to the slight softness of his stomach when your back starts to hurt and you lean against him with less stiff of a spine. Your eyes drift to the window as your mother coos over the knitting supplies and class pass to her favorite craft store. It’s so dark out, the sun already disappeared behind the horizon and the streetlights are doing their best to shine even when the night dims them. You’re already tired.

Your phone buzzes and you check it with a glance.

It’s a weather alert.

You scramble off Simon’s lap only to be dragged back into it.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” He asks, his hands grip your sides, fingers just brushing the edge of your bra. You can’t deal with the way being pulled like this makes your head swim. Fuck, maybe he could just grab you off the street and- NO.

“Simon,” You push at his hands, “problem.” 

“No problem love,” He hums. Lips brush the shell of your ear and you stiffen as heat blooms over your cheeks, “‘Cept you gettin’ up oll the time.” “It’s snowing.” You insist, still pushing at his hands.

Your father looks at you with confusion and glances out the window. It’s hard to see when it’s so dark out. You’re suddenly hit with a grim understanding of why the street lamps seem so dim. Your dad walks to the front door and tugs it open only to be pushed by the gust of cold wind and snow that rushes into the house.

The wind is positively howling.

Your father muscles the door shut and your mother nervously clicks on the TV to check the weather. She doesn’t even help your dad brush all the snow off him, worrying her lip as her eyes fix to the screen. 

“Not gonna be able to drive home in that,” Your father grimaces. Your mother shoots him a look before skirting her eyes around you to watch Simon. You can almost feel his smile.

“You wouldn’t mind us stayin’ ‘ere would ya?”

You flip on the lights in your childhood bedroom. Simon looms behind you. Reasonably you understand why he insisted on staying, even why he insisted on sharing a room. As far as your parents know you’re happily engaged, and as far as you could tell there was a blizzard raging outside. Honestly you’ve never seen anything like it, and if you didn’t know any better you might have blamed Simon for it. 

You have never in your life been more aware of another person’s presence. 

“In you go love,” Simon tells you, pressing you forwards with a hand on the small of your back. You stumble into your room and turn in time to watch Simon close the door. He bends down to unlace his boots and you manage to kick off your shoes in the time it takes him to straighten again. Now that you’re alone you feel on edge. All the casual friendly airs that Simon had been putting on when you’d met him before have done nothing to prepare you for the weight of his full attention. You’re only too happy when he turns to survey the room.

“I can take the floor,” You inform him, already gathering the spare blankets and pillows your mom had set on your twin bed. 

“Sit down,” Simon orders, your ass hits the side of your mattress so fast you haven’t even registered the command before you’ve followed it, “You’re takin’ the bed.”

His tone leaves no room for argument. You suppose it could almost be called kind of him to give you the bed.

“Sorry,” You tell him quietly, mindful of your parents in the next room.

“What’re you actin’ sorry for,” He huffs, “Sweet bird like you doesn’t mind sharin’, does she? Besides,” He knocks your knees apart with a big booted foot, “I still gotta get paid.”

You stare up at him, confusion plain on your face. 

“I thought you just wanted the meal.”

“Meal’s not finished, is it?” He tells you, “Never got dessert.”

“Wha-”

“Take your fuckin’ pants off.” His tone is clipped, short, and deep. It sinks into your skin, prickling goosebumps everywhere he’d touched earlier. Which feels like it must have been, well, everywhere. 

You should say “no.” Literally nothing about this man has given you any indication that he’s someone you should want to get undressed for, and he’s spent the better part of the day tormenting your family. Granted you did ask him to do that, and honestly his efforts do land squarely in the “pros” category, but he’s a little too good at playing a dirt-bag. And this? This just seals the deal on that particular observation.

So you should say “no.”

But the way his big hands had grabbed you, the way his tongue had wound against yours, the way he looks down at you now, hungry, makes you desperately want to do whatever he asks you to. 

“My parents are in the next room,” You whisper, glancing back at the wall that separates the two rooms.

“Who gives a shit?” Simon snorts, “Don’t ‘appy couples celebrate their engagement?” Your eyes flick down to his trousers, the implications aren’t lost on you. He must catch you looking because his hand grabs your hair and tips your head back. “Trust me birdy, I’m tryin’ ta be nice, but if ya wanna choke on it…”

You race to get your trousers open, fingers shaking as you push them down. You don’t need to see his cock to make some leaps of logic that it’s just as big as the rest of him, and if he’s offering you the choice between his mouth on you, and your mouth on him-

Simon leans forward and unceremoniously shoves his hand into your panties, your trousers barely down your thighs. Your train of thought comes to a full halt as big fingers stroke through your folds.

“Atta girl,” He hums, “much ‘appier like this, aren’t ya?” He tugs his fingers free, spreads them in front of your face with a pitying pout at the way your slick glistens on his skin. “Least your cunt knows what’s good for it.”

He pushes your head back, tossing it towards the bed as he releases your hair. Your back hits the mattress and you have to work to keep from hitting your head on the wall. Simon’s fingers find the hem of your panties and drag them down your thighs, catching your trousers to discard the lot on the floor. 

You snap your legs shut against the chill of the room and he growls. 

“None of that now,” He advises, prying your legs apart. His fingers dig into the soft meat of your thighs, his gaze fixed on the wet mess between them. The way he stands over you makes him feel massive, makes the way he leans over you feel looming. 

His hands slide over your ticklish inner thighs and you have to stifle the giggle that threatens to spill from you. You doubt Simon would appreciate your laughter, might even think you’re laughing at him. Again your eyes dart to the hard length straining against his trousers as his thumbs spread your folds.

“Pretty,” He says it so plainly, casually, like he’s judging a toy. It blazes through you, lighting up your nerves and making you shiver. Any other protests you might have had die on your tongue as Simon drops to his knees. 

Seeing him between your legs makes your stomach clench, makes your cunt pulse with desire. One of his thumbs rubs up and down the seam of your cunt while the other keeps you half-spread. He presses his thumb firmly against your clit, the pressure makes your hips squirm, makes you ache for more stimulation. The pressure stops, and his thumb traces its way back to holding you open.

He spits.

You flinch when it hits your spread folds, body vibrating with embarrassed heat as it slides over you. Simon’s eyes follow it the whole way down, and his tongue drags it back up.

Simon’s tongue cards through your folds, warm and wet, and he groans low in his throat. It’s positively sinful the way he pulls his tongue slow and flat over you, like he’s trying to savor the taste. You snap your hand over your mouth, stifling the soft whimper that the attention brings to your lips. 

Simon’s eyes flick to your face and he makes a frustrated noise. You feel his teeth touch your skin just before he bites you. You yelp at the sharp pain, your hand shooting from your mouth to his head in an attempt to push him away. Simon tips his head back to bite at the meat of your palm, his teeth digging into the firm flesh before his tongue licks over it. There’s a sharpness to his teeth, chipped edges that scrape at your skin and ache before he soothes them. 

You don’t want him to bite you again.

You don’t think you do.

Do you?

His tongue rolls over your palm, wetting the dry skin with spit and slick. His mouth has a heady sheen to it that makes you want to drag your tongue over his lips, to clean up the light prickle of his beard with your own mouth.

“No sense lettin’ you breath if you’re not gonna scream for me,” Simon informs you. Your face has never felt hotter than when his teeth scrape down your palm to tease your pulse. You’re too enraptured by the way he moves to let spit drip off his tongue and onto your clit to really register what he said.

His tongue rubs against your clit, working the firm bud back and forth before letting his tongue roll over it. Each hot swipe sends a new shudder of heat and pleasure through your body. You whimper, your wet hand tangling its fingers in his short cropped hair just to feel him shake his head like a dog. 

It’s filthy the way he drags his lips over your folds, sucking and slurping at you like he’s trying to be loud. His stubble scratches at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, prickly and sharp next to the warm wet mouth that sucks at your clit. His tongue keeps twisting over it, keeping it sensitive and tingling before he’s ducking down to fuck the slick muscle into your hole. Simon moves his tongue against the entrance to your cunt like he’s hoping to stretch out the hole with it, circling around the delicate outer edge before pressing inside, over and over until your brain feels like it’ll melt out of your ears. 

Then that wet heat is dragged up to your clit, circled and sucked, licked in broad strokes that wiggle against you just so he can hear the way your voice pitches up in pleasure.

He turns his head to wipe his mouth against your thigh, lips parting to lick a long stripe before he sinks his teeth into the meat of it and sucks. Your own lips close tight around the whimper the dull pain of it pulls from you. 

He muscles your leg up against his shoulder, his arm moving to find a comfortable angle as he hooks his thumb in your fluttering cunt. You blink at the intrusion, the thick digit may as well be two of your own fingers the way he pulls at your entrance and stretches you open. That isn’t what steals your focus from his mouth though, what tugs at you is the way his other thick fingers rub over your ass, spreading your slick and attempting to soften the hole into something pliant.

He’s grabbed your hips to roll you onto your stomach before you can raise a protest to the searching fingers, big strong hands dragging your hips up so your knees settle on the edge of the bed as he stands. It forces your face into the quilts, muffling the noise of surprise that the motion shakes out of you. Again you find protests on your lips, you hadn’t even come, and again they’re snuffed by his fingers.

Two of them push into your cunt and you moan low in your throat at the burning stretch that they provide. Your hips rock back into them, your stomach fluttering with need as more heat courses through you. His fingers crook and he thrusts them down into your cunt, hitting some throbbing tightness that makes you cry out.

Simon makes a low cooing noise in the back of his throat and his fingers stroke against your walls. You turn your head to rest your cheek against the bed, your lips pouting and your lashes fluttering as he gives you just long enough to suck in a breath before his fingers are pressing against that soft aching spot again. Your eyes roll, your breath caught tight in your throat at the thrum of pleasure that tightens like burning heat in your aching cunt.

His fingers pump faster and faster into your cunt, and you cry out, your hips wiggling and your fingers gripping at the quilt. The wet squelching noise that comes from his fingers fucking into you makes an embarrassed heat rush over your skin, and you burry your face in the blankets just to gasp out your moans. Your mouth hangs open, drool dripping off your tongue as your breath stops in your throat. The tight heat between your legs feels like it’s winding its way all the way up through your diaphragm. Your muscles are tensed so tight you think you might snap, and you let out a low moan as your breath finally shakes free. You suck in air between sobs, each punch of his fingers into your cunt pushing a new noise free of your lips.

The wet noises just get wetter.

And then something inside you snaps. Your stomach clenches tight and your cunt follows, spasming around Simon’s fingers as they pump in and out of you. Stars dance across your vision and you bite the quilts to stop from screaming. Something trickles out of you and he rewards your orgasm with a throaty chuckle.

He pulls his fingers from you and rubs soaked fingers over your ass before he’s trying to push one inside.

“Been eyein’ this ass all night.” He hums.

The firm pressure hurts the harder he presses, and you whimper out a sniffled reproach to the feeling, a soft “hurts” that you’re sure will fall on deaf ears. Simon stops, pulls his finger back and slicks it in your cunt again, the feeling of his fingers twisting against your soft spot making your eyes roll. It hurts, an overworked burn that makes you whimper for an entirely different reason.

He pulls his thick fingers from your cunt and you feel the tip of one teasing your ass again. It’s barely a pressure when his finger tries your ass again, and he lets out a slow breath as you’re filled.

“Just sunk right in,” He tells you, pumping his finger in and out, the drag of heat has your lashes fluttering, your head spinning at the deep pressure that makes your cunt clench, “Isn’t that pretty.”

His thumb catches your cunt again, tugging at the slick hole. The click of his belt and rustle of fabric clues you in to what comes next.

That doesn’t mean you’re prepared for how big his cock feels nudging at your entrance. A chill runs over your skin, goosebumps raising to meet the air where your jumper has slid down your back. The blunt head of his cock presses against your hole, and you arch your back into the feeling, desperate to find the right angle for it to slip in. 

Simon doesn’t seem as eager. He pushes into you slowly, lets you feel the way you burn and stretch around him, lets you feel every centimeter of that big cock. You feel tight, even as wet as you are, you feel like you’re squeezing the life out of him. Your cunt is hot and tingling, and your clit throbs with the need to be touched. 

You feel his hips press against your ass, and he grinds into you. Another wave of goosebumps rushes over you at the deep ache he pushes into. You squeeze your eyes shut just to stop the way they keep trying to roll back in your head.

Simon pulls back, and you can almost feel the drag of his head against your walls. He grinds the tip against the soft spot near your entrance before punching his cock back into you. You make a choked noise before your throat seems to open and a flood of moans and pleas flows from you. Each push of his cock into you pitches your voice up and you moan in desperate panting sounds.

You ache. You’ve never felt so full. He hasn’t taken his finger from your ass, instead he presses it down to try and feel his own cock stretching out your walls. You shove a hand between your legs to try and stroke your clit only to feel the stretch of your skin around his fat cock. You’re so wet that your fingers slip over your folds, uncoordinated, and you can’t get a good angle. You open your mouth but can’t find the words to ask for what you need.

One of his thrusts pushes you up the bed and your hand moves immediately to push against the wall with a ‘thump.’ 

“Simon,” You whine, “Simon.”

His free hand pets up your spine, bunching your jumper up under your armpits to unhook your bra, before finding its way to your hair. He curls his fingers and finds a tight grip near your scalp. The bite of pain makes you want to push back into him. The deep pressure, the slight sting, from your ass makes your body stutter, your brain crashing into itself.

Oh God.

“Not a thought in that pretty little ‘ead is there?” He asks, the fingers gripping your hair tight pull your head back, you moan your pleasure for him as he gives a hard thrust into you, your bleary eyes opened just enough to focus on the white wall. “Course not,” Simon grunts, a huff of laughter edging his voice, “Wouldn't've responded to my ad if there was.” 

You reach back to claw at his thigh and find it still, painfully, clothed. A burst of humiliation shoots through you at the thought that Simon hasn’t even bothered to get undressed. 

“Stupid thing, really could’ve just grabbed ya off the street.” He mumbles, there’s a touch of fondness to his voice, a smile that doesn’t feel appropriate for the way he fucks into you. Like he’s trying to teach you a lesson.

The only thing you’re learning is that Simon’s cock hits something deep and needy inside of you. The finger in your ass starts to pull out and you scream. Simon groans as you tighten around him, your cunt desperate to keep his cock inside. You’re buzzing with your orgasm, settled right at the edge with nothing to push you over the edge. There’s too much stimulation. His cock pistoning into you and his finger starting to tug at your ass. You’re still sore from his fingers but you can’t stop yourself from clenching tight around him.

“Mad fer it,” Simon chuckles, “tell me what ya need bird.”

“Clit- clit,” You stutter out, still barely able to keep the words straight in your head. 

“Louder love,” He teases, “don’t think I heard ya.”

“Please,” You sob, your moans still tearing from your chest on each thrust, “touch my clit.”

He drops your head back down onto the bed, and you muffle your noise with the quilt clenched between your teeth. His finger pulls from your ass and you scream your pleasure into the bed. It’s so hot, your ass burning with something that isn’t entirely painful. It just makes your clit pulse harder. 

Simon’s fingers find their way between your legs and he pinches your clit between them. One roll of the tight bud between them has your legs shaking. The second has tears brimming at your lash line and your mouth hanging open as you flutter and drip on Simon’s cock. You tense and release around him, your orgasm crashing into you like a train. Waves of it rush through you, shaking your muscles loose until you’re laid like a doll against the bed. Your skin is burning and you ache,

And Simon keeps fucking you.

The smack of his hips against yours fills the room, his breath heavy and his fingers now tight on your waist. You push back into his thrusts and it makes stars dance across your vision. That deep aching part of you makes everything draw tight again. 

Simon’s thrusts grow quicker, rougher, his fingers grip you so tight it hurts. You scream for him again, his hard thrusts pushing you to the edge a third time. The blistering heat of his come hits your overworked cunt and you moan. 

“Too much,” You whine. Everything is sore when he pulls out. You don’t think you can move.

Your knees slip off the edge of the bed and you just lay there.

Simon rolls you back onto your back, and manhandles you into laying on the bed properly. 

You sit up just enough to tug your jumper off and toss your bra to the floor with the rest of your clothes. Simon ditches his shirt and you sleepily take in the cut musculature of his chest as he wanders to turn off the light.

You pass out before he ever gets his pants off.

*

Your parents have already gathered the presents from last night by the front door when you wander downstairs in the morning. Your father doesn’t look at you, but your mother positively glowers. You try not to think about how loud you’d been last night.

Simon’s had his hands on you since you woke up. His fingers splay wide on the small of your back, as your parents attempt to rush you out the door. 

You’re settled in Simon’s car, driving down the street when you finally let the laughter take over. You giggle and snort, pressing your fingers against your mouth to try and stem the flow of them. But really, what can you do? Despite being forced to spend the night putting a dent in your plans it’s worked out perfectly. Your parents won’t be asking about you getting a boyfriend any time soon.

If you’re lucky your mom will never ask you about your relationship status again, even when you “break up” with Simon.

You’re still giggling, glowing with happiness at a successfully executed plan, when you try to pull the ring off your finger.

Something sharp digs into your skin and you yelp in pain. 

“What the fuck?” You question, whimpering when you pull harder and it only sends the sharp bit further into your skin. You raise your hand to look at the ring, and find a sharp tooth just under the diamond, clearly a feature not a bug. Still you glance at Simon. “I think this ring is defective,” You tell him, “It keeps stabbing me.”

Simon hums, turning right down a street. 

“Then stop tryin’ ta take it off.” He advises. You twist the ring around your finger, trying to find  a way to work it off.

“I can’t get it off,” You grunt in annoyance.

“Not suppose ta,” Simon tells you plainly, taking another turn, “That’s how bein’ engaged works.”

Something squirms in your stomach.

“We’re not engaged.” You remind him.

“Wearing my ring,” He reminds you, like he’s explaining it to a child, “said ‘yes’ to my proposal-” A smile splits his face, predatory in a way that makes you press your legs together, “-probably still buzzin’ for my cock too. Sounds engaged to me.”

You balk, your mouth hung open as you gape at him. Is he insane?

Simon doesn’t even look at you, just reaches to the side and presses against the underside of your chin with gentle, firm fingers, closing your mouth. Then he leans past you to open the glove compartment and tug a crumple of papers out onto your lap.

“If ya get bored you can look over those.” He tells you, flicking on his signal to hop on the highway.

You glance down at the mess of papers settled on your thighs, a mass of text and fine print that your eyes can’t focus on because they’re so shaken by the two poised at the top:

“Marriage License.”

divider by @/saradika-graphics

[samaraxmorgan]

Your Roommate Sukuna

“That Time The Heater Broke On Christmas”

Modern no curse AU, Sukuna X Reader

Synopsis: This housing crisis sure is no joke huh? Rent is just too expensive to live alone, so you put out a listing for a roommate and ended up living with none other than the tattooed bad boy Ryomen Sukuna! This is part of a series of drabbles and oneshots showing glimpses into you and Sukuna’s living situation!!

Contains: frenemies to lovers, tooth rotting fluff, mutual pinning

Word Count: 2.44k

Series Masterlist - My Full Masterlist

Christmas is always a hectic time of year, and after spending the last week in an utter state of chaos trying to get all of your friend’s and family’s gifts ordered and in the mail on time, cookies baked and hidden away from your ravenous roommate Sukuna who swears up and down that he doesn’t even like sweets but the ones you make just taste so much better, and staying up until midnight haphazardly taping in messily folded wrapping paper and scribbled “to and from” tags on countless presents, you were more than ready to flop onto your living room couch and pass out.

But you’re just not allowed to have nice things, it seems.

The apartment is freezing cold when you walk in the front door, cool air pinching your skin and the groan of annoyance escaping your throat leaving a puff of white air in its wake. Sukuna left shortly after you did this morning to spend the day with his brothers, and as you rush your way over to the thermostat to turn the heat back on you can’t even begin to fathom why he would bother turning the air off when you were both only gone for the day. Sure, the bills can get expensive, but he’s not seriously that broke… you hope.

But as you push the buttons on the thermostat and the little screen informs you that the air in fact is on, dread rushes through you. A quick call to the landlord ends exactly how you expected it to, sent to voicemail with a cheery little message mentioning that no one will be available until after the holidays.

You may as well just die in here, you think as you sit down on the couch. The cool leather is almost painfully cold, making you flinch when it hits your skin. Silently you contemplate going back to where you spent the whole day; even if there were tons of people and you ended up leaving early because you were dying for some peace, at least it was nice and warm there.

But you push that idea aside, getting back on the train would be a pain, you’d have to trek through the snow again on your way back to the station, you could come up with a million excuses but in the back of your mind there’s this little nagging feeling that you don’t want to admit is the real reason you would rather stay home. You haven’t seen Sukuna all day.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid, but you’ve been so busy and even though the two of you live together it feels like you haven’t been able to see him for almost the entire week. And even though you spent the whole day around people you love, you couldn’t wait to come back home to your dickhead roommate.

Obviously you’d rather die than admit that to him, already picturing that trademarked smirk plastered on his tattooed face, but you can’t deny that something about him is charming. He’s smug and sarcastic and cocky and annoying and- you could really go all day to be honest; but then he has those moments where he can take the air right out of your lungs. Sweet, kind little gestures where this big scary bad guy acts like a total gentleman and it makes your heart race.

You doubt you’ll ever understand how he has that hold over you.

The sound of the door creaking open is your only warning before Sukuna steps into the freezing apartment, pink bangs damp and disheveled falling over his forehead and snow clinging to his black leather boots. He shrugs off his coat with a fluid motion, tossing it onto the stair rail as he fixes you with a sharp grin, flashing his canines mischievously.

“Didn’t think you’d actually beat me back here,” he drawls, a sarcastic lilt in his tone, “Guess you couldn’t go a day without missing my charming personality.”

You roll your eyes, breath puffing out in a faint cloud as you speak, “Missed that loud mouth, you mean.”

“Cute.” Although the word is borderline dripping in sarcasm, you still manage to catch the way a smile subtly tugs at the corner of his lips.

“I don’t suppose you’re any good with fixing heaters?” You ask hopefully, Trying to suppress a shiver as you motion toward the uncooperative thermostat.

He raises a brow, kicking off his boots and stepping into the living room, “The fuck do I look like, an HVAC guy? Just call the landlord.”

“I did,” You flop back against the couch with a defeated thump, tossing an arm over your face, “No one can come out ��til tomorrow, holidays or whatever.”

Sukuna could literally hear the frustration in your voice as he plops down next to you on the cold leather couch, “Tragic.” His tone is teasing, but his crimson eyes linger on your shivering form; with an over dramatized huff puffing an icy cloud in the air he muses, “Guess you’ll freeze.”

You briskly rub your hands up and down your arms, a futile attempt to warm yourself up, “And you won't?”

He peers down at you, posture completely relaxed despite the icy air and an unimpressed frown on his face, “I don’t get cold.”

You can’t help but let out a snort at his audacity, “Yeah?” You prop yourself up on your elbows to grin up at him, “Same way you don’t get sick?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, letting his back sink into the cool leather cushions of the couch, “That was a fluke.”

“Such a big fat liar,” You tease, elbowing his arm. But the playful jab shifts into curiosity when you notice that his skin is actually warm against your frozen fingers. Without hesitation, you wrap your hand around his tattooed wrist, making him flinch and hiss dramatically

“Fucking christ-”

“You were actually serious?” You interrupt, scrambling upright to press your freezing hands into his arms.

“Yes, I was- fuck, stop touching me holy shit.” He swats your hands away, goosebumps forming on his skin, “How the hell have you not died of frostbite? You a fuckin’ reptile or some shit?”

“Are you a living space heater?” You scoot closer to him, grabbing at his forearms in a desperate attempt to warm yourself up.

“Quit grabbin’ me you fucking weirdo,” He stands abruptly, nearly having to yank his arm out of your desperate grip, rolling his eyes at the pitiful groan of disappointment that escapes your throat, “Just- give me a second, hold on.”

You watch pitifully as he jogs up the stairs, the already freezing cold room feeling so much colder without him sitting next to you, even in the mere seconds that he’s gone. It’s almost embarrassing how you came home early to see him, have missed him and his attitude so much, and then god forbid he walks away this cramped little apartment just feels empty. But within less than a minute you can hear his footsteps thumping down the wooden stairs, a large dark red comforter slung over his arm.

He can’t help but chuckle when he sees your eyes light up, gently shaking his head as he tosses the comforter over your head and watches you scramble to wrap yourself up in it, “How long were you home without considering a fuckin’ blanket?”

“Fuck off.” You mumble as you clutch the blanket in your shaking hands; it isn’t exactly warm, still cool to the touch from sitting on his cold bed, but it’s better than nothing. Shivers still run over your skin as you wrap your arms around yourself.

You can feel the cushions shift under Sukuna’s weight when he sits down on the couch. His eyes peer down to your shivering form laying up against his thigh, silently watching you for a moment as if he’s contemplating something. Without saying a word he squeezes up behind you, wedging himself behind you and pressing his chest against your back. His arm snakes over your torso, pulling you flush against him.

Your body grows stiff in surprise, a pink blush rushing to your cheeks, “What… are you doing?”

“What?” he mumbles, resting his chin on top of your head as if this was the most natural thing in the world, “Not allowed to do something nice? Quit complaining.”

You can hear that signature smirk in his voice even without seeing his face, but the warmth radiating from him is undeniable. His arm tightens around your waist to anchor you to him and you could swear that he had heat radiating off of his chest, flooding into your cold skin and seeping through the blanket to chase away the chill that so stubbornly clings to your skin.

Hopefully he can’t hear the way your heart is pounding.

And although you’re grateful for the comforter wrapped around you, you’re silently cursing it for putting a barrier between you and Sukuna. You need more, need him impossibly closer to you, to wrap yourself up in his embrace and tighten your arms around him. You squirm in his grasp to try and free your arms, and an empty cold immediately strikes you when he releases you within a millisecond, parting himself from you and shoving his back into the cushions of the couch.

“Shit, I’m-”

You unintentionally cut him off when you turn around to face him, slinging the deep red comforter over his tensed up body. From this angle you can see his face and he looks… surprised? For the briefest moment you could catch a look of panic in his eyes before he settled, eyes widened and his mouth dropped open into a small oh. As if he wasn’t the one who started this, but he’s silent as his apology is caught in his throat.

You tilt your head down and grip your fingers onto his waist, attempting to pull him back to you, “Why are you all the way over there? Come back.”

It takes him a moment, like he's trying to process what you'd said, before he shifts closer to press his body firmly against yours. You bury your head into the warmth of his chest where you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and your thigh finds a comfortable space to slot between his legs. His arms wrap around you again, but this time he holds you closer like he's trying to keep you locked against him, caging you against his strong torso in a way that feels almost possessive.

But it's so nice, the protective hold in his arms feels so warm and comfortable; and not just because of the temperature difference. You'd be lying if you said you'd never imagined yourself wrapped up with him, but never in any of your guilty daydreams did it ever feel so intimate. You and Sukuna have never been quite this close to each other, usually sharing nothing more than passive aggressive elbow jabs while trying to share the bathroom sink in the mornings, or maybe the occasional moment where he'll grab your hand in his when he sees you're about to trip and his touch lingers just a little too long.

But now you’re wrapped up in him, the smell of cologne on his neck embracing your senses with a warm woody scent, the heat of his body dripping onto your skin until your shivers finally come to a stop. Your racing heart slows to a steady pace and you let your eyes fall shut for a while, enjoying the peaceful quiet sounds of his breathing and his steady heartbeat.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of the old apartment and the distant hum of wind outside. Sukuna’s warmth envelops you completely, seeping into your chilled bones in a way that no blanket ever could.

“Better now?” His voice is low, almost a rumble in his chest, and you feel the vibrations against your cheek where it rests against him.

“Much.” You admit quietly, your breath tickling his neck.

“Good. Maybe now you won’t freeze to death.” He mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. His tone is softer, almost fond, and his hand begins to draw lazy circles over your back.

You glance up at him, his face just inches from yours. His crimson eyes are half-lidded, his usual smirk softened into something gentler. You rarely see him like this, but lately you’ve been witnessing it more and more; he’s relaxed, unguarded. It’s a side of him that’s both unfamiliar and heart-achingly endearing.

“You’re awfully cozy for someone who didn’t want to be touched.” You tease, tilting your head slightly to study his reaction.

He scoffs, his cheeks darkening just enough to make you wonder if he’s blushing, “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be this pathetic about it. Consider it a favor.”

“A favor?” You raise a brow, unable to hide your amused grin.

“Yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles, though his arm tightens around you ever so slightly.

Despite his words, you can feel the contradiction in the way he holds you, his grip firm and unyielding as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. And you can’t help but wrap your arms around him tighter, hoping this so called favor doesn’t have to end.

“You’re warm.” You mumble, almost to yourself.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me,” His voice is a low warning, but it lacks any real edge.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you says a word. The air feels heavy, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. His eyes flicker down to your lips for the briefest second, and your breath catches in your throat.

“You’re staring.” He mumbles, but he doesn’t look away.

“So are you.” You whisper softly.

The tension between you grows, fragile yet electric, until finally, he huffs and shifts his gaze away, breaking the spell, “Go to sleep, idiot. You’ll need it for when the landlord shows up tomorrow.”

Despite the abrupt shift, his tone carries no real harshness, and the arm around your waist stays securely in place. You press your cheek against his chest once more, unable to resist a small smile.

“Fine.” You whisper, closing your eyes and letting yourself relax fully into his warmth.

He doesn’t say anything, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear is answer enough. Whatever this moment between the two of you is, you’ll take it for now, tucked in his arms as the cold world outside fades away.

A/N: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!! And thank you to everyone who has been so kind and supportive and patient with me during my writers block <3 I don’t think I’m fully back quite yet but I’ve made massive progress and I’m hopeful that I’ll be writing regularly again soon :) Dividers by @adornedwithlight

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!

[multimilfs]

Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: Poking The Bear

Summary: Agnes has the misfortune of being called in to work a murder case on Christmas Eve. When she leaves you frustrated, you decide to do what you do best; poke the bear.

AO3

A/N: I said "is anyone going to humiliate this woman in this ultra-specific way?" and didn't wait for an answer. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals <3

Words: 8k

Included: Established relationship, Christmas, Porn with plot; g!p, teasing, somnophilia (implied), dacryphilia, phone sex, accidental orgasm, semi-public sex, humiliation, jealousy, blowjobs, dom/sub, sub space, throatfucking, unprotected sex, masturbation, light breeding kink, light degradation, praise, orgasm denial.

Tag List: @vii-v @absolute-memegarbage @crazycatladycaceta @hannah-0730 @shinysuitcloud @bubbly-moonwarrior @emilynissangtr @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @thelesbianapollokid4 @dmtrxie @notice-shy @vintagegoddess12 @rosie6reyes @softfruity @tragicsapphic34 @msharkness @setsuna1415 @kermidd5 @snickerdoodles-stuff @women-are-so-ethereal @imlike-so-gaydude @lotus-ignis @n0body-is-perfect @goblinscum420 @d-z20 @borntodieedition28 @autbot @ee-bah-sims @kathrynscontroversiallyyounggf @renravens @theothersideofthescreen @sp3c-tr0 @sapphicharknesss @coffeelover245 @madamslaytan @heady-pomegranate @ragnarockz @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @goforgreat @welmelsblog @igoturmoney @mol2311 @obnoxiouslycontemplating @bellatrix-black8 @deathly777 @emmasaviorqueen-blog @greatygreatgreat @chlizets @latedawnearlysunsets92

Through the peaceful, warm silence of the morning, an alarm clock blares.

Agnes growls under her breath as she does every morning, lumbering from the comfort of the bed and over to the windowsill where the alarm clock sits. A particularly rough blow shuts it up.

God, why did she let Vidal insist on this shift?

Her routine is simple enough she could do it with her eyes closed; and does, for most of it. It isn’t until she turns the shower to a cooler temperature that she feels anywhere close to awake. She needs coffee—bad.

Halfway through said cup of coffee and one of the donuts you picked up, she realizes she hasn’t kissed you good morning yet.

You grumble a bit when she turns you over, untucking your head from the blankets, but you don’t wake. You look heavenly, painted in the warm glow of the Christmas tree you insist on keeping plugged in all night. Agnes smiles.

Pressing her lips to your forehead, she murmurs, barely a whisper, “Be good, baby.”

A hand wraps around her wrist and she startles. Pulling back, your eyes haven’t opened.

“Agnes, come back to bed.” You say, voice gravely from sleep.

“Vidal will be on my case if I don’t show.”

“I can make your morning better than Vidal can.”

You stretch, curling back into the blankets, but hold her wrist just tight enough to indicate you’re still half awake. It’s good your eyes are closed; she doesn’t need you seeing all the kinds of fond you’re making her.

Agnes really shouldn’t get you started, but curiosity kills cats, not bears, “Oh yeah? How would you do that, baby?”

“You’d come back to bed and sleep until I say.”

“And then what?” She prods, trying not to laugh.

“Then we’ll have a really nice breakfast. Donuts for you.”

“What would you have?”

“You.” You answer, casual and so matter-of-fact, “I’ll even swallow, out of Christmas spirit or something.”

Agnes jolts at the change. Though true to form, she can feel the familiar coil of arousal between her legs. She really shouldn’t have gotten you started.

She’s half awake, she won’t remember this, Agnes tells herself as she tries to move from her kneeling position on the bed. Your grip on her wrist remains.

“Sleep. We’ll have fun when I get home.”

“It’s Christmas Eve.” You whine.

“I’ll be home before you know it, I swear.”

“Fine. ‘Love you.” You murmur.

You rescind your hand and turn over, pacified as you burrow back under the covers. Agnes shakes her head.

“Love you too.” She whispers.

With one last parting kiss to your forehead, she’s gone, with you none-the-wiser.

—

You wake up a mess.

There’s a half-remembered conversation with Agnes lingering in your mind, but it’s hazy enough to feel like a dream; an unsatisfying one, the persistent throbbing between your legs says. You offered to blow her, you remember that much—it’s all pretty blank after that.

No, there was something about having fun when she got home, too.

You can’t wait that long.

It isn’t until two of your fingers are knuckle-deep and you’re missing the fullness Agnes offers that the idea strikes you. You scramble blindly for the phone on your night-stand. The movements change the angle of your fingers and you whine, rolling your hips, even as the blind grabs for your phone grow more frustrated.

Once found, it is ripped viciously off the charger, and you open it, going through your messages for the quickest access to her number. You grin at the contrast between your long-winded messages and Agnes’ one word responses.

An infinitesimal movement of your hips reminds you of your intention.

The phone is brought to your ear and it rings… and rings… and rings…

…and rings…

“O’Connor.” Her gruff voice comes down the line.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You squeeze around your own fingers at the sound.

“Yes, Detective, I’d like to report a crime.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end.

“Go on.”

“Well, my wife woke me up this morning and got me turned on, and she didn’t even have the decency to fuck me before she left. What kind of woman does that, Detective?”

You can hear the curve of her grin, “A lousy one. That’s a pretty serious crime.”

Maybe it’s the low, lilting drawl of her voice down the line. Maybe it’s the way you can see how she’s sitting in your mind; shoulders back against the seat but hips forward, legs splayed with careless confidence, one hand toying with her belt. Maybe it’s the easy humor she slips into with you that she’s never had with anyone else.

Whatever it is, two sentences from her brings you closer to finishing than thirty minutes with your hand has.

You whimper, “Keep talking.”

Another pause. Then the faint rustle of fabric.

“What are you doing?”

Her tone is utterly serious. Unforgiving. And god if it isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Finally showing your clit some attention, you moan shamelessly. It’s nice to feel full, but your fingers never quite reach the right spots, and you can’t get off on penetration alone—with Agnes or otherwise. It’s fun to work yourself up though; pushing to the heights you can reach there before really giving yourself the stimulation you want.

If she keeps talking, that—combined with the circling motions on your clit—will send you straight over the edge.

The anticipation builds over the line. For a moment, you pull the phone away to make sure she hasn’t hung up. She’s likely weighing the best thing to say to both turn you on and strike the fear of punishment into you.

Instead, her tone is almost pleading, “Don’t do this now.”

An image strikes you of making Agnes beg, of driving her to a point where the easy dominance falls away, and she’s reduced to chasing whatever kindness you give. It brings you so much pleasure it hurts. You need it. But how to get it?

“Is Agent Vidal in the room with you?” You ask.

The idea of Vidal witnessing what you’re doing to Agnes makes your toes curl.

“No.”

“I thought you were stuck with her today.”

“Leave Vidal out of this.” She demands, but it’s strangled.

She’s clawing for control over the situation, scrambling for a foothold. Normally, you’d give it to her. Normally.

“I don’t think I ask for much…” A lie. You make many requests in the sanctity of your bedroom, “all I wanted was for you to fix what you started.”

“Baby.”

You have to pull your fingers away from your clit, desperate to come but not ready yet.

“There are so many ways you could have done it, too. You could have woken me up with your head between my legs… or with you inside me. It could have been nice, right?”

Only the sound of her breathing comes down the line. Heavy, uneven, like when she’s holding herself over you, hips driving her deeper—

God, you’re so close.

You whisper, needing to know that she’s as affected as you, needing to hear her say it, “Are you hard, Agnes?”

“Yes.”

Even though you haven’t moved any part of your hand, the mental image nearly sends you tumbling over the edge.

“Will you come with me?”

“I…I can’t.”

You know. With the shades open, her office is basically an observation room; meaning if she were to do what you ask, there’s almost a guarantee she’d be caught. A sick part of you wants it. Wants to know that you have enough power over her to make her take the risk.

Gently, you begin to toy with your clit again. You can make her do what you ask. All you need is for her to say it—the confirmation that you’ve undone her so thoroughly that she can’t help but fist her cock under the desk where anyone could see.

“Please.” You beg.

You hear her inhale, the sound sharp in your ear. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes are no doubt shifting around the office, searching for the perfect way to hide what she’s about to do.

You’re standing on the precipice.

The harsh beeping of a disconnected call blares in your ear. Yanking it away, orgasm thoroughly ruined, you yell in frustration.

—

An officer pulls open the door before you can reach for it, nodding, “Ma’am.”

The precinct is busy for it being a holiday. Uniformed officers sit around desks, either on the phone or talking with others. You spy the Chief talking animatedly to a few toward the back.

They’ve really done up the place this year. Last year it’d been sad, grey. Now there are a few little trees spread around, some personal decorations here and there, a menorah on the front desk with candles waiting to be lit. It livens up the place.

In the back sits the partial vision of Agnes’ office. The blinds are somewhat closed, but she’s left the door open, allowing you enough of a glimpse to know she’s in there. You can imagine her without having to see; her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hunched over the desk, hand toying with strands of her hair as she frowns over evidence.

Gazes follow as you cut through the center of it all. You do your best to ignore the heat working its way up your neck. Once upon a time, a few of the other officers had tried to catch your attention. You’d entertained a few of them. But they were minnows, and you wanted the shark.

You wanted the unapproachable, stone-faced Detective O’Connor.

And you had been the one to catch Agnes, but her fellow officers couldn’t imagine their illustrious Detective not being the one to do the catching. If only they knew how you could have her eating from the palm of your hand.

A swift knock on the open door and you lean against it. She’s exactly as you imagined. Though there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead and her fingers tap on the desk like she can’t sit still.

She doesn’t look up, barking, “I’m busy.”

“I’ll pass this off to one of the other officers then.”

Her head snaps up and you grin. Hanging from one of your fingers is a white takeout bag. The scent of orange chicken and rice permeates the air, but it isn’t what you’re hungry for.

Work forgotten, she looks you up and down, licking her lips. Her fingers twitch on the desk. You clear your throat and she snaps out of whatever daze she’s in. Clearing her own throat, she sits up, tugging on the bottom of her flannel shirt. Your smile widens.

“Close the door behind you.”

Stepping in, you kick it closed with a low, “Yes, Detective.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My job.” You cross to her desk, dropping the takeout bag on top. You’re perched on the edge closest to her. She looks up at you from her chair, lips pursed, tugging on her shirt again, “What kind of wife would I be if I let you go hungry?”

“None of the other guys get lunch delivered personally.”

“None of the other guys are married to me. Do I get a kiss for my troubles?”

Briefly, she looks out into the precinct—not that she can see much with the shades drawn—then back to your lips. Agnes shifts, licking her own, before nodding.

You lean forward and hold onto the chair by one arm, capturing her lips in a rough kiss. Your other hand palms the length you know pulsates between her legs. Upon contact she grunts into your mouth, hips bucking.

Her hand fumbles blindly for your wrist. Catching it in a firm grip, you can feel the tension in her frame as she decides whether to press you closer or shove you away.

Pulling back just enough to smile, “Poor baby. Have you been like this all day?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Detective?” You murmur.

Her breath hitches. Blue eyes so blown out they’re nearly black regard you, her chest rising and falling as she struggles for an even rhythm of breath. You test her grip and find its slackened. The palm of your hand caresses the entire outline of her through her jeans.

Agnes doesn’t push you away, but she doesn’t pull you closer, either. The hand on your wrist allows you enough movement to stroke slowly from base to tip. Every inch of her seems to jump at the whisper of your touch.

Looking into her eyes, you can see how she’s fighting for control. She just can’t find the path to it. Good. You want her like this—panting and desperate. It makes you clench around nothing.

“What have you been imagining all this time?”

She swallows. Clears her throat, “Vidal will be back soon.”

“I can be quick.”

“Anyone… could see.”

“We have a few options. Your favorite is off the table, though.”

The favorite in question being Agnes bending you over the desk and fucking you hard and fast. It’s efficient, allowing her drive in deep while having the benefit of spanking you as she chases her reward. Her cock twitches at the reminder.

She’s tense, taut with energy like she’s only a few strokes from finishing right here. The thought is hot and you want it, bad—but not all dreams can be reality.

“What do we have?” Agnes asks, finally.

“If I crawl under the desk no one would see what I’m doing.” You offer.

Your hand keeps moving. It’s more for yourself than anything; you like feeling her, hard and wanting, yet so restricted, jumping at the slightest bit of attention. A thumb swipes over where you know the head is and she chokes, hips stuttering from what had been a slow roll into your hand.

“Do it.” She demands.

The subtle authority returning to her voice sends a shiver down your spine. One more swipe of your thumb and she keens, before clamping her mouth shut.

You laugh. Waking up this morning, this is the last thing you expected for yourself from the day; but you can’t deny you’re enjoying every second.

“That’s my girl.” You praise.

Bracing to slide off the desk, there’s a knock on Agnes’ closed office door, and disaster strikes.

The knock startles you. You try to turn and look toward the door, but forget just how precarious your seating situation is on the edge of the desk. You lose your balance. You’re able to get your foot under you just enough to fall into Agnes’ lap, rather than onto the cold tile of the office.

Agnes lets out a cross between a harsh breath and a moan as you fall into her. Your back presses firmly to her front.

“Don’t—god, I’m gonna—”

Strong hands settle on your hips to shove you off, but it’s too late. Agnes grunts. Nails dig into your sides as she ruts helplessly against your backside, unloading spurts of cum with every press of her hips.

You freeze in shock.

Then out of habit your hands find hers. With one, you lace your fingers together. With the other you caress her wrist, brushing gently as you turn your head to meet her eyes, careful to keep every inch of your body where she needs you. Her hips tense, stuttering, whimpering as she fights the orgasm that’s ravaging her.

“It’s okay. Let it happen.” You encourage, brushing a finger against her inner wrist. A war is waging over her face as she’s caught between desire and shame. Desire must win out. Agnes movements pick up speed as she furiously grinds up against you, and you can’t help the praise that falls from your lips, “That’s it.”

Now that she’s given in, she can’t stop, the hands on your hips clenching as she presses closer, harder with every thrust, powerless to the desire she can’t stop shooting. A wounded noise leaves her throat. You empathize; you know well how getting what you want can quickly move into pained-pleasure, when your body just keeps giving and giving.

Agnes’ expression is pained, laced with helplessness to her pleasure. Her eyes don’t leave your own as she rides out the waves. You try to sit still, letting her take what she needs. She allows you to watch every twitch of her expression, hear every noise she lets slip—it’s an act of trust that overwhelms. Lifting a hand to her cheek, you wipe at the perspiration there.

Eventually, she relaxes into the seat, her hips stopping in their frantic search for friction. Her eyes slip closed and you watch her breathe.

You’re eternally grateful that whoever knocked didn’t barge in right after; there is no way you’d have been able to talk your way around what was happening. It’s a mercy that Agnes rarely shuts her office door—now that she has, everyone understands something important is going on.

Running a finger along her cheekbone, you whisper, “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” She growls.

“Given the mess you just made, I’d say you’re on cloud nine.” You tease.

With a sudden show of strength, you’re shoved into a standing position. You turn to take in the weight of Agnes’ glare.

Agnes snarls, “Fuck you.”

“You could have… if you had a little self control.”

Your eyes fall to her lap for emphasis, the evidence of her desire stark against the front of her jeans. Her hands clench on the arm-rests. Blood has rushed to her face, painting her features in red hues that betray her forced calm.

The sight of her so humiliated is doing it for you; and you can see that she sees, regarding you with a loaded, wary look. It will take no shortage of negotiation, but you will be revisiting this again.

You open the take out bag and pluck out the napkins near the bottom. Carefully, you wipe them over the planes of her face, soaking up the sweat that had been clinging to her skin. Agnes doesn’t meet your eye.

“Agnes.” Waiting until she locks eyes with you, “It’s okay.”

She scoffs, “I came in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

“And it was hot.”

“You’re really something else, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m well aware. I also know that you love me for it.”

Agnes rolls her eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

“Careful, O’Connor, I can still give this lunch away to one of your coworkers.”

The bag is promptly snatched from your reach. You laugh.

Now that she’s standing, you breathe a sigh of relief; her flannel is long, perfectly hiding the evidence of your activities from the world. You just hope no one outside was looking in too closely.

Desire rears its head at the thought. You need to get out of here before you do something that’ll get you both caught.

You lean up and steal a kiss, “Enjoy your lunch, baby.”

When you open the door to leave, you come face-to-face with Agent Rio Vidal holding two cups of coffee in her hands. You startle and she raises her brows at seeing you.

“Agent Vidal.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, sweetheart, or I would’ve bought an extra coffee.”

“That’s okay, I was just bringing Agnes something to eat.”

“Take mine.” The coffee cup is held between the two of you. You can see the faint mark of her lipstick on the lid as she leans in, “I don’t need the extra caffeine anyway.”

“Keep it, Vidal. She can have mine.”

You turn so you can take in both of them. Vidal is relaxed, posture brimming with a quiet confidence while Agnes is tense, staring at the two of you like she could throw something—and she would, if she didn’t think it’d encourage the former somehow.

Agnes has always been… odd around Vidal; moreso than the normal awkwardness between two exes. And Vidal has never been subtle with her interest in poking Agnes’ nerves.

Whatever it is, you’re going to use it and see where it takes you.

You accept the offered cup of coffee, making deliberate eye contact with Agnes as you take a long sip. A latte—thank god, Agnes’ black drip would’ve made you gag.

“Thanks for the coffee.” You murmur low. Then you throw your wife a smile, ignoring the promise of pain in her eyes, “See you at home, Agnes.”

—

Coming home you’re delighted to find a few last-minute packages on the porch. Carrying them in, one shifts heavily in your arms, and you know immediately what it is; one of the speakers in Agnes’ car crapped out on her a few months back, so the passenger-side only spits out static where there should be music—or the sports broadcasts, in your wife’s case; you bought her a new stereo system so she wouldn’t have to ‘make do’ anymore.

There’s also a few new shirts, a nice leather belt, and a watch she’d been eyeing but wasn’t willing to buy for herself. You wrap all of them with a smile on your face and slide them under the tree.

The busy work of it all eases the tension in your shoulders and some of the arousal between your legs. There’s a lingering peace in every corner of your home. It’s quiet, barring the music playing from the kitchen, casting a nostalgic glow over you where the lights seem just a little warmer.

You sit down on the couch and take it all in. Ornaments wobble on branches, glittering and winking at you as they twist. There’s a garland draped over the fireplace with dancing lights; you feel warmer inside when you remember how Agnes helped you set it up, shaking her head at your excitement.

With the bustle of the season, you’ve forgotten to take time like this to stop and let it sink in. So many spend Christmas alone, hungry, without a place to go. You don’t have to. You have a wife who will spend every second with you in the warmth of your home. Tears prick your eyes.

You fall asleep on the couch with that warm feeling in your chest.

—

The scent of garlic and butter tickles your nose. You snap awake.

Did you leave the stove on?

You shoot up from the couch and throw off the blanket you don’t remember grabbing. It falls to your feet, twisting in your ankles, and you do all you can not to fall face-first onto the floor. How long have you been asleep?

Wait. Did you even put anything on to cook?

Agnes’ flannel-clad back greets you when you round the corner. A sigh leaves you. One hand settles over your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow to a normal pattern. It all comes back to you; wrapping gifts, sitting down to enjoy the quiet, intending to get up and start dinner afterward.

You step into the kitchen and wrap your arms around her waist from behind, forehead resting between her shoulder blades. A hand lifts your own so she can press a kiss on the back.

“How was work?” You ask, voice muffled by her shirt.

“A waste of time.” She answers. Her form shifts, one shoulder tensing as she stirs what sits on the stove, “It could’ve waited until after Christmas.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Vidal’s a workaholic and fails to realize the rest of us aren’t.”

“You are most of the year.”

Agnes grunts noncommittally, “What trouble did you get into?”

“Wrapped a few gifts, took a nap. I’m surprised some of your guys weren’t beating down my door with how rowdy I was being.”

“Chief would’ve just sent me to handle you.”

“I’d like that… you, handling me…” You murmur, hand moving down her front with intent.

A strong, veined hand grabs your own. She forces it back to its former resting place. You keep your hand where it is directed. The haven you’ve found nuzzled against her back—surrounded by the scent of her cologne and the heat of her—is just as inviting as anything more salacious could be.

Something bubbles and pops on the stove. Agnes jolts, before relaxing. You drag yourself from your haven to look over her shoulder; a pan of sauce is stirred on one burner, boiling pasta churning away on another. Simple, but hearty.

You press a kiss to the skin you can reach, just behind her ear, “You’re getting better.”

Before, her dinner of choice would’ve been a canister of peanuts, maybe a microwave dinner.

“Don’t say anything until you’ve tasted it.”

“I’ll do what I want.” You answer.

“Don’t I know it.”

Jabbing her side with a finger until she cracks a grin, “Let me taste, so I can tell you how amazing it is.”

The wooden spoon is lifted from the sauce and over her shoulder to your mouth. You wrap your lips around it, immediately lulled further into bliss by the combination of onion, garlic, and tomato.

“Agnes, that is delicious.”

Her brows raise. With a flourish, she allows herself a taste.

“You love to stroke my ego.” She says in that self-deprecating tone you know well.

Your hand and mouth move before you think, “That’s not the only part of you I like to stroke.”

Whether by a lapse in understanding or simply because she lets you, your hand finds its mark before Agnes can stop it. The full width of your hand presses at the apex of her thighs. Your mouth drops open.

Agnes is painfully erect for the second time today with little work on your part.

She drops the spoon against the pan and removes your hand again, blunt nails biting into your skin in the way you like. You don’t react, still reeling from the information you’ve gleaned. Agnes libido isn’t what it once was—a reality of age—even if she’s like a well kept oldsmobile; capable of going the distance and then some once you get her properly started. But you’ve done very little in the way of actually getting her started since visiting the office.

“What on earth have you been up to today?” You ask, breathless.

“Don’t start.”

“I’d say you’re well past the starting point, given what I just felt.” A laugh escapes, then you pause, “You didn’t…”

Agnes curious gaze meets yours over her shoulder. Understanding dawns, along with indignation, “Of course not.”

“Needing a little extra help is normal.”

“This is all your doing.” She snaps, “Go sit down.”

“If it’s all my doing, you should let me fix it.” You coo.

In a sudden burst of movement, Agnes is out of your arms, sauce and pasta left behind on the stove. You blink. Did something happen at work? Have you hit a nerve?

She crosses the space to the kitchen table. The chair at the head of the table, facing the stove, is yanked from its resting place. You wince as it shrieks against the floor. But she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, turning the chair and meeting your eyes with a hard look, pointing.

“Sit.”

You move without thinking. There’s a subtle note of steel beneath the command that sends you into submission on instinct, like a pet might jump to obey their owner. The thought doesn’t chafe today; you want to be good, you want to obey.

Plopping down into the seat, hands settle on your shoulders. Agnes growls in your ear, “Stay.”

And you do.

As she finishes dinner, moving the pasta into the sauce with an unsure—but successful—flourish. As she nearly burns herself cutting the garlic bread fresh out of the oven. As she casts quick, dark glances your way every few minutes, as if having to make sure you’re where she left you.

You are the picture of poise and obedience, fighting every desperate urge for nearness to follow her command. But the longer she takes the harder it becomes. Hands settled on your thighs, your fingers scratch anxiously at the fabric of your pants, helpless and without any other way to expel this building energy.

“Agnes.” You whine.

“Quiet.”

It takes ages before she approaches you. She takes her sweet time putting dinner on plates, making it pretty in a way you know is just to drive you crazy; she doesn’t give two fucks about whether or not something looks nice as long as it tastes good.

Dinner is brought over to the table, but you tilt your head. Agnes only brought one plate.

“Up.” She commands, “You’re in my seat.”

You stand. Reaching for the chair next to hers, a hand on the back stops you from pulling it out. There’s the deep sound of porcelain meeting the wood of the table. As she leans around you, the scent of her cologne makes you dizzy.

Agnes snaps her fingers. You jolt, snapping back into your own mind. She points to the floor and your brows furrow. Then, it clicks, and your face grows warm.

You sink to your knees in front of Agnes’ chair as she sits in it.

“I can guess what a perp is going to do just by the way they sit in interrogation.” Agnes drawls, idly tapping her knee as her mind works, “But you… I can never guess how you’re going to act. Look at you now, all good and obedient for me, when you were acting like a whore in my office today.”

So caught up in the dizzying feeling of submission, you’ve been oblivious to the weight of your own desire. Agnes’ words change that in an instant. There’s a needy, pulsing beat between your legs, and you clench your thighs together in an attempt to help yourself. It doesn’t work.

“You started it.” You say, breathless.

You can’t breathe around your desire for her. Oxygen is a secondary need to the feel of her, whether she’s buried deep inside or grazing her fingers over your flesh; you want her and it hurts. But you keep your hands on the tops of your thighs.

Agnes chuckles. It’s a low, rolling thing. Agnes’ usual response to amusement is to grin, maybe even shake her head and scoff—laughter is a rare thing, aged and cultivated until it’s amber laced with smoke over your senses. You feel the heat of it. The intoxication it brings is warm, a weight settling comfortingly over the shoulders.

“I’m collecting on your offer from earlier.”

And with that, her thighs part, and you surge forward without being told. Her belt is unbuckled in one fell swoop. You moan, unable to help yourself, needy for the feel of her skin, to taste.

A testament to the overwhelm of your desire that the concept of toying with her again does not cross your mind. Your hand finds the desperate length of her cock, exposing it to the cool air.

It stands proud, tip flushed and leaking, veins stark against the fair skin. You pant. With single-focus, you lean forward.

An equally fair hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to Agnes’, “How many taps?”

You blink. You’re buried beneath desire, mind clawing its way to the surface.

“T-Three.”

Agnes nods and you’re free.

The first thing you do with your newfound freedom is flatten your tongue and lick a broad stripe up the length of her. The hand on your jaw goes slack in surprise, Agnes’ hips jumping. A groan echoes through the room.

You circle your tongue over the tip, drinking in her taste and the sounds falling from her lips. It’s heady, making the room fuzzy around the edges.

Submission brings with it a strange feeling of power. You’re doing as she bids, being good, but every sound and reaction coming from her is real; the truest manifestation of how well you’re doing to please her.

The world falls away. Your head feels floaty, strangely empty despite the manuevers you’re employing with your mouth. You don’t need words, you don’t need thoughts, you just need to offer Agnes whatever she wants.

Which you do by taking her cock in your mouth until she hits the back of your throat.

A thud sounds from her hand slamming on the tabletop, scrambling for something to grip as she chokes out, “Fuck!”

You do all you can to repress your gag reflex, forcing yourself to just relax everytime she hits the back of your throat. Agnes has her head thrown back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as she pants, whimpering with every movement of your tongue and mouth.

Through it all, her hand remains on the side of your face, a careful guide. You can’t help the hand that sneaks under your skirt; Agnes is shaking with tension, begging to let go and chase her pleasure at your expense, but she’s holding herself back and guiding you through taking her in the way that would do the least harm.

You moan. Agnes’ cock twitches in your mouth and she matches your moan, a semblance of that control slipping with a particularly rough thrust. You gag, tears forming in your eyes.

The hand between your thighs shakes, fumbling for your clit while focusing on what really matters. You’re so wet there’s barely any friction.

You want Agnes to make you gag again. You want her to push into you and take what she wants until you’re crying.

Looking up, you try to will all of that thought and intent into your eyes, but Agnes’ are closed.

You whine.

Blue eyes regard you from beneath drooping lids. You will one thought into your mind and one thought only; use me.

Agnes swallows. The pad of a thumb runs under your eye, collecting some of the wetness there as if to say are you sure? In answer, you take as much of her as you can physically manage, eyes meeting her own the whole time.

Her restraint snaps.

Agnes’ hand travels to the back of your head, her hips moving faster and firmer than you can comprehend. She takes over completely; driving into you for what she needs, making you gag obscenely, without a thought in the world for if it is too much.

Not having to make choices allows you to focus on obtaining your own pleasure. With every tear she forces from your eyes, you swipe over the pulsating bud of your clit. You can feel your own orgasm building low in your gut.

“I’m going to cum.” Agnes groans.

Delight shoots through you. She’s going to cum and it’s because of you; because you were good and gave her everything she needs. It feels amazing.

Why, then, do you pull off and out of reach?

Agnes growls. You blink.

Words. There are words to go with the desire you feel. You close your eyes, searching for them, mentally scrambling at the edges until you can wrap your hands around them and their meaning.

“Can I…” You start, voice rough from the beating your throat has taken, “Can I ride you?”

Agnes makes quite the scene; splayed open on the dining room chair, hair a mess and eyes blown out, cock twitching and needy through the fly of the jeans she ruined only a few hours ago. You clench.

Agnes licks her lips, “Yeah, alright.”

You stand on shaking legs and Agnes holds up a hand, stopping you as she lifts her hips and fumbles in her back pocket. She obtains her wallet and rifles through until she locates a small foil wrapper.

It’s safer, you know. You’ve used one almost every other time for the duration of your marriage.

“Agnes.”

The woman in question pauses before opening the condom. Her brow pops up in an unspoken question.

The words are instinct, comprehensive thought still far away, “I want you to cum inside me.”

Outside, the world rages on. Westview residents race down the street, returning home from last minute errands, gifts in tow that they’ll have to sneak inside. The wind is kicking up and through the trees as snow grows closer with every second.

And then there is you and Agnes, tucked in the warmth of your home, caught in the weight of your words. Stopped in the face of the potential consequences.

Agnes throws the unopened condom on the kitchen table.

“Then come here.”

You stand with your legs on either side of her own, steadying yourself on her shoulders. One steady hand settles on your hip. The other pushes your panties aside and aligns her to your entrance as you lower into her lap.

You could take her in one motion with how wet you are. Yet, Agnes keeps your descent slow, careful. She watches your face with every inch you take—same as you watch hers.

Agnes’ chest is heaving, eyes dark and stormy, face pinched in concentration. She’s the most handsome person you’ve ever seen. You clench around her and her hands tighten on your waist.

“Sorry.” You murmur, out of habit.

Agnes raises a brow, but doesn’t respond, helping you down the last few inches. When you settle fully in her lap you let out the breath you’d been holding.

One hand sneaks under your skirt to trace shapes on the bare flesh of your hip.

“You pulled an interesting stunt with Vidal today.” Agnes says. The hand on your hip tightens, “I’m not so sure I should reward your behavior.”

“Then why let me…”

“Why deny myself just because you’re acting like a brat?”

There’s a small testing thrust of her hips. You clench. She groans, head falling back against the chair. You whimper. Trying to move your own hips, eager for what you’ve been denied, you find yourself held in place.

That’s not fair. All day she’s been teasing you, driving you to the edge of what you want—what you need, just to deny you.

“You started it.” You whine, trying to move your hips again, still finding yourself held stationary as she leisurely thrusts up, “You woke me up and got me all bothered, it’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, baby.”

“Please.” You whine, “It’s not my fault, please.”

Muscles in her arms tremble as she lifts you slightly before sinking you back down onto her. The fullness makes your toes curl but it isn’t enough.

“Calling me at work and getting me worked up wasn’t your fault?”

“…No.”

Agnes laughs, “If you’re going to lie, you could at least be convincing.”

You won’t win this fight by playing fair, not when Agnes is clearly uninterested in fairness.

“You… You feel so good. Can’t think properly.” You breathe, moaning a bit more than comes naturally, “I’m so full of you.”

The thrust of her is uneven. She stops moving you completely and you fight down a grin.

You press a hand between your bodies, applying pressure to your lower stomach as she continues to thrust, subtly picking up speed. Her pants are growing louder, a wheeze leaving her mouth when you press.

“That’s you.” You murmur, leaning forward and ghosting over her lips, tracing the bridge of her nose with the tip of your own. You press harder and enjoy the way she groans, “Nobody has ever been as deep inside me as you.”

“Fuck.” She snarls.

You’re pushed up again, suddenly empty, and whine, blinking at the change. But then her strong hands are on your hips and spinning you around.

Your front is pressed against the table, bent so your cheek rests on the top of it. The texture of her jeans is rough against the back of your thighs as she lines herself and fills you in one thrust.

“Oh, fuck!” You cry.

Agnes sets a brutal pace, chasing that which only you can offer. Every thrust has her cock brushing that perfect spot inside you and you lose control of whatever sounds you’re making.

“Is this what you wanted?” Agnes snarls in your ear, “For me to leave work and fuck you like some bitch in heat?”

“Yes!”

“You haven’t earned it.”

“No, Agnes, please!”

“Hold it.” She orders.

With every move she makes, you do all you can to ignore the pleasure, to pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s somewhat possible when it’s only her cock. But then she leans down and starts toying with your clit and you cry out, fighting not to roll your hips against them.

You want what you’ve been chasing all day, but you still want to be good. You’re her good girl, aren’t you? You have to keep being good even if it hurts.

So, you hold your orgasm at bay, while Agnes chases her own. Judging by the uneven rhythm of her hips it won’t take long.

“Please let me come, Agnes. Please.” You beg.

“Why should I?”

“I’ll give you anything—anything! Please, my love!”

“Anything, huh?”

The tone of her voice is low, dangerous. Layered with a rasp that nearly undoes you.

If she doesn’t let up, it doesn’t matter how good you are; you’re going to cum.

“Anything!”

Agnes phone is slammed down on the table right beside your head. It isn’t on, but you have the sinking feeling that you’ve just landed yourself into something far worse than expected.

Her thrusts stop, but she keeps a light, teasing pressure that grazes your clit just enough to keep you engaged without getting you off.

It is torture. And the silence building as you stare down the upturned cell phone is only making it worse.

“I’m going to make a call and turn on the speaker. Then, I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to let whoever is on the phone hear you as I make you cum.”

The weight of it is like a lead weight of nerves in your stomach, “But—“

“If you want to act like a whore you’re going to be treated like one.” She snarls, then her tone grows softer, “Yes or no, angel?”

Whoever she calls and puts on the line, you’ll never be able to look in the eye again. But you’re so full and eager that you don’t truly care at this point.

Besides, it’s Christmas Eve, maybe everyone will be too busy to pick up.

“Yes.”

A harsh thrust that forces the air from your lungs, then her lips are next to your ear, breath hot, “That’s my girl.”

The echo of your own words from earlier make your toes curl. Her phone is snatched from the table and she continues to toy with your clit as she makes the call.

It rings… and rings… and rings…

Faintly, you hear the line connect, and you gasp.

You can’t make out who the voice belongs to, but you hear a faint, “Yeah?”

Agnes barks down the line, “Don’t say a word.”

The bang! as her phone hits the table again makes you jump, a small shriek leaving your lips. It wobbles. Faintly, you’re impressed she hasn’t broken the thing with how she abuses it.

A long finger slams down on the speaker button and as the phone tilts slightly, you read the name on the screen, and your eyes widen.

Vidal.

Before you can say a word, though, Agnes is back to work. Something in the action of being heard has made her more aggressive. You swear you can feel the bruises forming on your hips where she grabs, leveraging you for every single thrust.

You try to choke down your moans and whimpers, not wanting Agent Vidal to hear you like this, but Agnes won’t stand for it; one hand grabs your jaw and pries your mouth open.

She pushes in to the hilt and you let out a shrieking moan.

“You were so talkative before. Have you lost your nerve?”

“I—please—“

“Calling me this morning and getting me worked up, teasing me in the office, in the kitchen… and incapable of handling your punishment.”

“I’m sorry, Agnes. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Use me. I want—I need you to fuck me until I can’t remember being without you—I need you to fuck me until you cum inside and make me yours forever—please!”

The knowledge that every word from your mouth is being heard by someone else is not forgotten, but you’ve been pushed beyond caring. Agnes is intent on making you beg for what you want and you want it bad.

Agnes’ fingers and cock alternate stimulating you. If her fingers are working, her hips aren’t—and vice versa. You’re frankly astonished she’s been able to last so long because you’re teetering on the edge of pleasure at the barest contact.

But her will has always been steel. And she wants to see you humiliated.

The hand on your clit slides to your lower stomach and presses, mimicking your own actions only minutes before, “When I knock you up, you’re going to feel it right here.”

Something inside you snaps. You wail.

Agnes’ hips are moving at a clip, every inch of her rubbing where you need, setting you alight from within. Her hand doesn’t move. The faster she goes, the deeper she drives, her hips begin to lose their rhythm.

Any words devolve into animalistic grunts as she ruts into you, mouth alternating between kissing and biting at your neck from behind.

You’re so fucking close. If she denies you now, you think you might die.

“Let me cum, Agnes, please—pretty please—I’ll be your good girl, please, I’ll be so good. Let me cum and fill me up, it’s all I want—“

Through gritted teeth, “Go on then.”

Something inside you snaps.

The command is exactly what you need. Your entire body clenches so tight you fear you may never relax again. You lose track of what noises leave your mouth, you think you may even lose consciousness for a few moments.

All you know when you come to is that your throat is raw and Agnes is driving into you, choking out in your ear, “Gonna cum—“

Her hips meet your own at full force and don’t pull back, remaining, pulsing forward as if she can’t get close enough. Every spasm of her cock paints your insides with her desire, marking you as hers. Agnes holds your hips as she presses in with every twitch, struggling to breathe.

Weakly, you reach a hand back to tangle in her hair. Your throat aches, “That’s it, baby. Fill me.”

A groan. Another rough twitch.

It reaches a point where the pressure ebbs. She remains, but she’s not twitching anymore, nor is she fighting to become one with you. There’s only the sound of your breathing in the room.

Agnes moves to straighten and pull out, but you whine, reaching back to grab whatever part of her you can reach.

“Stay.” You whisper.

She pauses.

A hand gently caresses along your spine, “You can’t stay like this, angel.”

“Just let me feel you a little longer.”

There’s a comfort in the fullness; in the knowledge that Agnes is the only woman who can provide this for you. That she even wants to.

It’s all a blur beyond that.

Eventually, you can’t stand being bent over on the table anymore, even if you never want to be without the feeling of Agnes inside you. The call with Vidal is disconnected at some point. You and your wife move slowly, hand in hand, up to your bedroom.

You gently shove her onto the bed while grabbing damp washcloths. Neither of you can stand a shower at this point.

The two of you take your time, being careful to mind the sore spots. You lean slightly into Agnes as you wipe some of the sweat from her flesh.

“You’re so good to me.” You murmur, kissing the underside of her jaw, “Thank you, my love.”

“Consider it an early Christmas gift, angel.”

You tamp down on the urge to say something sappy for her to scoff at. Instead, you guide her down and kiss her, soft and slow.

[karaeilishh]

reader getting rlly horny when g!p billie is walking around in like some loose shorts and like she can see a dick print

a/n — okay, ik you all waited for it

𝜗𝜚 stress b. eilish. . .

your mouth almost watered, when billie finally came home from filming the interview, tired and a little angry. it was so weird because she didn't say a word to you, just walking into the living room and sitting down on the couch to turn on some show on tv. her shirt had ridden up a bit as she got more comfortable, and now you could clearly see the outline of her cock through her jeans.

it was too hard to look away when that bulge was literally beckoning you to come over to her and relieve all her stress. you bite your lip and slowly walk up to billie. as soon as she notices you, her gaze drops to your cleavage, then slides down your entire body. cheeky.

"rough day, baby?" in one step you are next to her, straddling her hips. you could see her cock getting harder after that. billie swallows hard, feeling like all the words are choked in her throat. you smile, accepting her reaction. your hands go to her belt, unbuckling it slowly as your gaze never leaves hers for a moment. "tell me what upset you today, my love.."

you finally free her cock from the grip of her baggy jeans, pushing them down to her ankles. your hand goes to her clothed length, stroking it softly, feeling her wetness beneath your fingertips. she throws her head back against the couch, sighing through clenched teeth. "i won't continue until you tell me."

you feel the indignation in every movement of her body and the sounds she makes. her hand grabs yours, forcing you to wrap your fingers around the thick cock, already pulsing beneath your grip. you squeeze it slowly, pressing your thumb against the head, making her tremble.

"this.. this girl. she was so disrespectful.." she tries to gather her thoughts, tries to explain why she would let herself come home and not even kiss her girlfriend, but it becomes impossible as you push the fabric of her boxers down, now feeling every vein under your hand. "baby.."

"keep talking" you lean down, wrapping your lips around her head, running your tongue down the length a few times, causing her hand to fall to your hair, trying to push you deeper onto her cock. you pull away, kissing her palm, eliciting the most pathetic whimpers from her lips. "is it really that hard?"

she moans, grabbing your hips, pushing you closer to her cock. her eyes are pleading as she looks at you. "fuck me, angel. i need you so badly." her whispers leave you with no choice but to get rid of your shorts and panties, lowering yourself onto her cock at an agonizingly slow speed.

it was at this point that the game was in her hands.

"i told you to go faster" her grip on your hair became painful as you bounced on her cock with a speed that almost made your legs go numb. your moans mixed together, the sounds of your bodies slapping against each other filled the room.

"i—i can't go faster.." you bury your face in her neck, your tongue drawing strange patterns on her pale skin. she almost growls, one hand grabbing your waist and holding you in place as she begins to raise her hips at an animalistic pace on her own, destroying you both with pleasure. "i wanna see your face while i fuck you"

her hand on your neck, forcing you to look into her lust-filled eyes as her cock filled your pussy so perfectly, like it was made for her.

"fuck, baby.." her dominance ended where the approaching orgasm began. the thrusts became messy and sloppy, her mouth parted, gulping air, eyes rolling back into the back of her head. a divine sight. "please, please, can i—please, i need to cum inside"

your hand falls to her face, your thumb wiping a few drops of sweat from her forehead.

"kiss me"

tags - @chrissv4mp, @hkkuugu, @sweet3nerrr, @krosep, @stonerfromlesbos, @loveyoumatthewbernard, @47lake @ohdoyoustillcry, @bilsdillldough, @n0vabug, @bxllxeb, @hopingforgoodblogs, @mybluebossanova

[esouliie]

Christmas at the Romanoff’s

(natasha romanoff x reader) & (platonic!yelena belova x reader)

tags | christmas headcanon – friends to lovers, first kiss, fluff and comfort!

notes | hello, pls take this small headcanon as a thank you for reading and supporting all my fics even though i cannot keep up with demand lmao. i promise to do better in the new year. merry christmas! <3

It’s your first Christmas with Natasha, and you quickly discover that the Black Widow is… not exactly a holiday enthusiast. At least, not in the traditional sense. When you first arrived at the apartment she shares with her sister, you were greeted by Yelena’s unholy mix of holiday cheer and chaos. Mismatched ornaments hung precariously from a tree that was way too big for their living room, a plate of burnt cookies sat on the counter, and garish Christmas music blared at an almost concerning volume. Natasha, however, looked like she was about two seconds away from wrapping the excessive lights around her neck.

“I hate Christmas music,” Natasha mutters under her breath as you hang up your coat. Yelena’s halfway through yelling “All I Want for Christmas is You” with a Santa hat perched at an angle on her head. “She’s been doing this for weeks,” she adds, her voice low like it’s some covert confession. It takes you all but twenty minutes to realise that Natasha has a very complicated relationship with Christmas. She doesn’t hate it exactly—she just doesn’t really know what to do with it. With all the joy. When you try to hand her a burnt gingerbread cookie, she looks at it like it’s some kind of alien artifact. “Why would I eat a cookie shaped like a man?” She asks flatly, before breaking it in half like it personally offended her.

She then proceeded to argue how she’d be more likely to eat one of these ‘monstrosities’ if it was shaped like a woman…

But there are little moments where she tries, and it’s adorable in the most understated way. You catch her quietly fixing the crooked ornaments on the tree when she thinks no one’s looking, muttering under her breath about how “the reds need to go next to the greens.” One night, after Yelena goes to bed, you find Natasha scrolling through YouTube tutorials for how to wrap presents, muttering curses in Russian every time the tape sticks to her fingers.

And then there’s the stockings. Yelena insisted everyone have one, even though Natasha grumbled about it. But before you went to bed on Christmas Eve, you noticed that Natasha’s stocking was the most stuffed. There’s a random assortment of things crammed in there—protein bars, an extra pair of thick socks, a tiny first aid kit. You don’t have to ask to know that she filled her own stocking, long before Christmas Eve. The thought makes your heart ache in the sweetest, saddest way. She spent so many holidays alone that it just… became her normal.

Finally, it’s Christmas morning and Natasha is draped over the couch like a cat, one leg tucked under her, watching as you and Yelena clean up the mess from last night. She’s quiet, sipping a mug of tea, but you’ve learned by now that quiet Natasha doesn’t exactly mean unhappy Natasha. In fact, she looks content—eyes crinkling every time Yelena grumbles about your “lack of enthusiasm” in picking up all the decorative pillows.

What really steals the show, though, is the mountain of presents you’ve brought. You didn’t mean for it to get out of hand, but once you started, it was impossible to stop. You’d see something and think, Yelena would love this, or Natasha would smile at that, and next thing you knew, you were hauling six bags into their apartment like some sort of festive mule. When the gift exchange begins, Yelena dives into her pile like a kid on sugar overload. Her laughter is infectious as she opens each one: a set of retro pins for her jacket, a waffle maker, a framed picture of you and her after a mission (that one earns a rare hug). She’s glowing, grinning so wide it’s almost blinding. Natasha just sits there, watching her sister, her fingers loosely holding the edge of the blanket draped over her lap.

You notice she hasn’t opened her gifts yet—not even the ones with her name written in your careful handwriting. You nudge her gently, teasing, “what’s the matter, Romanoff? Afraid you’ll cry if I outdid you?” She gives you a half-smile, the kind that makes your chest ache a little because it’s soft in a way she rarely lets herself be. “Just... enjoying the show” She says, her gaze flicking back to Yelena, who is now holding up a pair of horrible light-up slippers you found at a charity shop.

When Natasha finally opens her gifts, it’s much slower, deliberate. You’re nervous, even though you know she’ll never let you see it if she doesn’t like something. But the small things you picked—a leather journal, a new cream scarf, a rare first edition of a spy novel she once mentioned—earn a quiet “thank you,” each one accompanied by that little smile. It’s the last gift, though, that gets you. It’s a snow globe. Inside, there’s a tiny replica of a mountain standing tall in the heart of Russia, the one Natasha had mentioned missing when she told you about her childhood. The one she only saw once and yet managed to comfort her throughout her life. Her fingers tighten around it, and for a moment, her expression shifts—just enough for you to catch it. Sadness, maybe, or longing.

She doesn’t say much after that. But when you look at her later, as Yelena’s dancing around in her ridiculous slippers and yelling about how she’s making everyone waffles tomorrow morning, Natasha’s looking at you like maybe you’re the best gift she’s ever gotten. And maybe she wouldn’t mind Christmas each year if you were around.

Later that night, you find her in the kitchen with a mug of hot chocolate she swore she didn’t want. The two of you stand there in the soft glow of the tree lights, listening to Yelena snore on the couch. “I don’t really get Christmas.” She admits softly, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the fake fireplace video Yelena left running on the TV. “But… I think this year was nice.” And when she looks at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips, you know she means it.

Without thinking, you step closer, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her face. “It’s more than nice. I’m so happy.”

And that’s when you hear it—a distant jingle. You glance up, realising Natasha’s holding a tiny branch of mistletoe above your heads, her expression smug but her cheeks just the faintest flush of pink. “Well, would you look at that…” You murmur, before giggling at her antics. She leans in slowly, her breath warm against your skin. The kiss starts soft, hesitant, like she’s testing the waters. But when you cradle her face in your hands, she melts into it, kissing you deeper, with a tenderness that leaves you breathless.

And when you finally pull back, her forehead resting against yours, she exhales a quiet laugh. “Okay,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper, “maybe Christmas isn’t that bad.”

From the living room, Yelena’s snore breaks the silence—loud and obnoxious. Natasha groans, but you can see the affection in her expression when she shakes her head. “Don’t tell her I said that.” She adds, smirking. And just like that, the moment is gone, replaced by the familiar warmth of Natasha’s dry humor.

But later, when you catch her adding an extra blanket over Yelena on the couch, you realise that maybe, Natasha likes Christmas more than she’d like to admit. And maybe this Christmas might bring more than just holiday cheer.

[chancloud8]

Christmas Love {2}

Pairing: bf!skz x reader

Tags: fluff, sugestive

~ gift giving based on this fake texts smau

part 2: minho, seungmin, jeongin

-> read part 1 with chan, hyunjin, jisung and changbin here

Minho - Visiting cats at the shelter

The local shelter is a familiar place for both you and Minho. Three of the five cats you have at home come from here and you also try and volunteer whenever you can, so when you walk in, hand in hand with your boyfriend, multiple people greet you by name. 

‘I can’t wait to see all the kitties, it’s been a while since we’ve been here and they always get so many new strays around the holiday,’ you say, leaning your head against Minho’s shoulder. 

‘Yeah, one of the reasons I hate people,’ Minho murmurs and you chuckle.

‘Just so you know, we're only bringing home one cat,’ you say, wagging your finger in his face as a warning. ‘So don't go falling in love with siblings or duo's that have to stick together.’ 

Minho snorts and snaps at your finger with his teeth. ‘I should be telling you, kitten, remember last time?’ 

‘We're not talking about that right now,’ you reply, poking your tongue out at him. ‘We both have a weakness and we know it.’ 

The two of you easily find your way into the shelter, wave at the people behind the counter and then slip into the room where some of the cats are allowed to wander around and play with each other. Immediately multiple cats come running your way, rubbing their bodies against your legs and purring loudly. 

‘Aww hey, guys,’ you coo, getting down on your knees to properly pet them. 

Minho does the same, sitting down cross legged and within seconds there’s a cat on his lap and one on his shoulder, sniffing his hair. You laugh as he lifts the cat off his shoulder by the nape of his neck. 

‘Bad kitty, you can’t just climb people like a tree,’ he scolds the cat, setting it down beside him. 

‘You sure about that baby?’ you tease, scratching the orange cat next to you behind his ears. ‘What if I want to climb you like a tree?’ 

Minho gives you a heated look. ‘You’re the only exception to that rule.’ 

‘How is that fair?’ you laugh as you get up, walking further into the room to greet the cats that don’t dare to come closer right away. 

‘Life isn’t always fair,’ Minho shrugs. 

You roll your eyes and bend down when you see a small black cat with big green eyes staring at you from underneath one of the cat trees. 

‘Hello gorgeous,’ you say softly, holding out your hand for the cat to sniff if he wants too. 

At first he just looks at it like he’s never seen a human hand before, but then his nostrils flare and his ears twitch as he slowly stretches his neck to reach your fingers. You stay as still as you can to not scare him away and after a few seconds the cat slowly moves forward, its body staying close to the ground. 

‘That’s it, come say hi,’ you coo, keeping your hand still. 

‘Oh he’s adorable,’ Minho pipes up from behind you. ‘Look at his eyes.’ 

The cat lifts his head when he hears Minho’s voice, but he doesn’t run away. 

‘He’s going to need a lot of love,’ you say as the cat turns its beautiful eyes on you again. 

‘Good thing we have plenty to give,’ Minho smiles, shuffling closer to you and the black cat until he’s behind you, his chest touching your back. ‘Cause I don’t think we’re leaving here without him.’ 

You turn your head to look at him, a grin already on your face. ‘Really?’ 

Minho presses his lips to your temple in a soft caress. ‘Really.’

Seungmin - Pink collar

At first you didn’t plan on actually getting the collar, thinking Seungmin was only joking when you asked anyway, but the more you thought about it, the clearer it became to you that he wasn’t joking. He had hinted about it before, showing you images of other collars while wiggling his eyebrows, but you’ve always laughed it away, thinking he was just teasing. 

You also knew he liked wrapping his long fingers around your throat when you were being intimate together, as well as pulling on any necklace you'd wear. So, after careful consideration, you decided to buy the collar he sent you as his christmas present. You also got him his favorite perfume, a new sweater and some of his favorite snacks, just in case it had been a joke after all. If he didn't really want it, then at least you could laugh about it. 

‘What’s up with you tonight, babe?’ Seungmin asks, placing his hand on your thigh when you nervously shift in your chair again. 

‘Nothing,’ you smile at him, putting your hand on top of his. ‘I’m just excited to give you your presents.’ 

Seungmin raises his eyebrows at you and his eyes scan your face carefully. 

‘I promise Minnie,’ you say when he keeps looking at you. ‘Now eat your food.’ 

Your boyfriend however has other plans and pushes his chair back. ‘Nope, I can’t enjoy your delicious cooking when you’re anxious. Come on,’ he says, holding out his hand for you. 

You sigh in defeat and place your hand in his so he can help you up, it’s no use arguing with him anyways. Seungmin interlaces your fingers together and leads you to the living room, only stopping until you’re in front of the Christmas tree. 

‘I still have dessert, you know,’ you say when he turns around to face you. 

‘We can have it after,’ he replies, pushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. ‘Do you want to start or shall I?’ 

You reach down to grab one of his gifts, the perfume, because you’re too much of a chicken to give him the collar right away. 

‘Here, Merry Christmas love,’ you smile, leaning in to press a kiss on his lips while giving him the wrapped present. 

Seungmin frowns when he sees the perfume and your heart sinks when he looks up at you. Shit. Did he not like this perfume anymore? 

‘This is what you were anxious about?’ he asks, pulling you close to him. Oh. ‘Baby–’ 

‘No, no,’ you hurriedly interrupt him. ‘It’s another present.’ 

‘Okay,’ Seungmin says. ‘I’m sure I love whatever you give me, I always have.’ 

You grab the small box from under the tree, eyeing it for another moment in hesitation, before putting it in Seungmins hands. 

‘Open it, but keep in mind that you asked for it and it’s totally okay if you don’t like it.’

Seungmin rolls his eyes at you and takes off the lid, exposing the pink collar. It has the pink bow in the middle, just like the picture it send 

Seungmin blinks, and then blinks again.

When he looks up at you again you can't quite figure out what the look in his eyes mean, but it makes your stomach flutter anyways.

Seungmin carefully takes the collar out of the box.

‘Turn around,’ he says. No, he orders.

Heat spreads to your cheeks and neck, but you do as he asks, lifting your hair up for him so he can put it on. The cool leather touches your skin and you shiver when you feel Seungmin's fingers at the back of your neck where he fastens the collar.

You turn back to him to see his eyes locked on your neck in fascination while his fingers come up to touch it.

‘It looks absolutely incredible on you,’ he groans.

You giggle and bring your own hands up to touch the leather as well. ‘So you like it?’

Seungmin's eyes meet yours and then he hooks his finger under the collar to pull you close.

‘I more than like it, I love it and I think we should skip dessert and head upstairs.’ Without waiting for a reply, his lips are on yours and he starts to walk the two of you backwards and out of the living room.

Jeongin - Matching pyjama’s 

‘No,’ Jeongin says, shaking his head. ‘Nope, nu-uh.’ 

In his hands he’s holding the soft pink pyjama bottoms you bought for the both of you. The fabric is covered in Hello Kitty's and bows in a darker shade of pink. 

‘You said not to get you the grinch pyjamas,’ you pout at him. ‘And you look great in pink!’ 

Jeongin shakes his head again, putting the pyjama’s down on his lap. ‘I’m not sure what’s worse, the grinch ones or these.’ 

‘Obviously not these, we’re going to look so cute together!’ you giggle, leaning against your boyfriend to press a kiss on his cheek. 

‘We’re always cute,’ Jeongin says, taking a hold of your chin to keep you close so he can properly kiss you. 

You hum against his lips and kiss him back, moving your mouth over his. It’s soft and sweet, and when you pull back you feel warm and fuzzy and loved. 

‘I got you something else too,’ you whisper, blindly grabbing the present from under the tree where you put it not too long ago. 

Jeongin accepts the box you set down in his hands, eying you curiously before carefully undoing the bow and opening it. 

‘Oh,’ he gasps. ‘Y/N, it’s beautiful!’ 

Inside the box is a silver bracelet you designed yourself along with a matching pinky ring. You had one for yourself as well. 

‘Do you like it? I didn’t know what to get you, but I figured some new jewelry would never hurt,’ you smile. 

Jeongin looks up at you with sparkling eyes. ‘Like it? I love it, baby. Will you help me put it on?’ 

You let out a sigh of relief and take the box from him, carefully taking out the ring first. Jeongin holds out his hand and you gently slide the ring on his pinky. 

‘This feels weird,’ Jeongin laughs. ‘I should be the one slipping a ring on your finger.’ 

‘Then you should be getting down on one knee,’ you wink, picking up the bracelet next. 

Jeongin freezes, but only for a second and you look up at him in confusion. 

‘You know I’m joking right. I mean, of course I want you to ask me one day, but I’m not like expecting anything now or soon, or I don’t know in the near future,’ you ramble, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. 

‘Hey hey, look at me,’ Jeongin says, his fingers once again grasping your chin as his eyes lock onto yours. ‘I will ask you to marry me. Not today, but I will.’ 

You gape at him and he grins, leaning in close to nuzzle your noses together. 

‘One day you’ll be Mrs. Yang.’

a/n: Happy Christmas Day everyone!! Part 3 with Felix will probably be up tomorrow, I wasn't able to start his yet and it's family time now :) Hope you enjoy <3

taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @hannahisnotblue @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade

[ziminy]

Nightshift rewritten pt1

Having Gojo and Geto as roommates was a problem

Tags: smut, mdni, college au, roommates (obviously), f!reader, rich kid Gojo, the reader is a bit shy and introverted, jealousy, Gojo and Geto are playboys, mästurbation, getting caught, humping, kinda mean Geto (cuz I like him like that *bite lip*), a little bit of misunderstanding but they fuck at the end because of it so we're good, fïngering, thighs fuckïng, the reader have boobs, praises, teasïng, Gojo having a (not so) little crush on you,

Author's note: Personally, I believe that those two can't pull even if their lifes depends on it, 100% zero play. But I like to be delusional so I'mma just close my eyes.

Pt2 Pt3 masterlist

roommates masterlist

You knew that living in a dorm had more disadvantage than benefits, but you didn't think that you'll fight with your roommate the first day you moved in. You lived in a shitty place filled with shitty people, so you couldn't understand why she was trying to cause problems instead of trying to maintain the peace.

You were both adults, you should have think rationally and at least ignore each other. But no, she decided to bring guys over, fucking them in there, sometimes even when you were in the room asleep. One time waking up to her getting fucked in her bed since she decided to be so loud for the whole floor to hear.

She would throw her trash into your side of the room just to not clean, and start arguments left and right because it was fun for her.

What made you snap was when she started stealing your stuff. It started with small stuff like a few pencils here and there, or supplies that you payed money for it. Until she started stealing your clothes and wearing them, showing them off like you didn't know who the right owner was.

You had enough of her, so, you packed your stuff one time when she wasn't there and moved them into the back of your car, spending the next few days at a friend. One more day in that dorm and you'll sure commit murder.

You were embarrassed of your situation, can you believe your really ended up like this? Not having a place to call home and wandering around looking for a place to stay, even your friends were helping you and it made you feel more guilty.

Couldn't you had seen this problem before it happened? You were so excited at first, still remembering the way your heart was beating while sitting in front of the dorm, admiring the building and day dreaming about how wonderful your life would be. And now your hitting your head against every single wall you see, cursing yourself out for being such a fool.

"I know a guy that can help." one of your friends said, trying to reassure you. "We'll figure it out, don't worry." if you weren't surrounded by good people you would have quit and go home. However, you didn't expect to meet that guy the same day. He appeared a few minutes later like he knew he was needed. "Y/N, this is Satoru, the guy I told you about."

"Hi." you kept your words very minimal, trying to study his appearance and figure out what kind of person he was before you decided to accept his help or not. But can you blame yourself when your trust have been broken?

He was tall and well build, broad shoulders and a cocky smile on his face. His white hair was matching his shirt, and it was making him shine under the sun light, attracting all the attention to him. Round glasses on his face, a big designer logo could be seen on the sides of it. He didn't said a word, tilting his head to the right and looking down at you.

You looked the total opposite of him. While he looked like he was bathing in the blood of virgins maidens to remain forever young, you looked tired, like you haven't been able to sleep in the past few days at all. You hair all over the place, not wanting to cooperate with you today and the more he looked at you the more defects he can find. However, you catch his attention.

Even if you looked like a lost puppy left out in the rain, you looked so cute. It only made him feel like he could fix you, shower you with affection and get you at your best. Or, he could give you a few issues that you'd never be able to recover from. Or even worse, you end up fixing him, make him realize how much of an idiot he is and make him to finally settled down.

"Have you found anything yet?" your friend asked him, seeing how both of you looked at each other without saying a single sentence.

"Find what?" he couldn't take his eyes off you, mouth half open as he's still thinking about the possibilities.

"A place for Y/N?" if he's being honest, he totally forgot.

"You can stay at my place." he said, still being affected by your gaze. All that he can remember is the color of your eyes and your lips.

"I can?" you asked, not sure that you heard him right. Will your problems end up this quickly or was he fucking with you?

"Yeah." he said without even thinking.

"Let me see the place first and I'll give you an answer after." now he was finally coming back to his senses.

What have he done? Like, seriously, what did he just say? He can't believe himself, letting himself being swiped off his feet by some girl he just met for the first time.

And now he couldn't help but feel anxious, trying to remember in what state did he left the house, or what if you don't like it.

But he took you there, showing you his not so humble abode and presenting you every single room in the house. Talking about the lore and stuff that happened in there. A few parties here and there, how he ended up buying a new couch or how he got his TV broken. You know, just normal stuff.

"Then.. When can I move in?" you asked when he walked you out, expecting you to say that you'll think about it, or how you're thinking of another place. Anything but the words you just said.

"Whenever you want." he said, still not believing how smooth everything was going.

"I already have all my stuff ready, I can bring them here any time you're free." even better.

"How about now?" he said, wanting to feel your presence for a little longer.

"Sure." and by the end of the day you're already moved in, now unpacking everything in your room.

You were finally at peace. You had a place to stay, your own room and the guy you're living with is a busy person, so he won't even be there most of the time.

That night you finally managed to get a good night sleep. Placing your head on the pillow and shifting into the dream world instantly, dreaming about fluffy clouds and jumping from one to another, even biting some of them to see how they taste.

Everything was so peaceful, enjoying your time, walking around with cute stuffed animals by your side and laughing at your hearts desire.

It didn't lasted long because you heard a loud thunder, making you turn around to see someone far away, looking in your direction, waiting for your next move.

"Don't go, don't go." the squeaky animals said, trying to stop you from going in that person's direction. But you didn't listen, you kept walking forward, getting closer and closer to the mysterious figure.

You didn't even payed attention to the stranger, being more curious of why that place was different from the rest, why it's was so off settling. You looked back for a moment, still seeing the cute stuffed animals calling you back, but once again, you ignored them and turned your head away, continuing waking forward, now finally trying to see who that mysterious figure was. But to your surprise, the whole place became dark. The white clouds now black, the comfortable atmosphere now being suffocating, and the individual walking forward, getting closer to you.

You took a step back, trying to breath, but the closer he got, the more intoxicating the air became. "You're trapped now." a masculine voice could be heard from the person in front of you, leaning down to whisper those words in a mean manner right in your ear.

You gasped for air, finally waking up from whatever that dream was supposed to mean.

You were sweating, clothes sticking to your body and your head was hurting. The whole room was spinning and you couldn't help but think about what just happened.

It must be from the stress, all that negative energy building up, making you feel vulnerable. And now that you finally had time to rest, all that anxiety finally caught up with you. Yes, that must be.

You didn't even question the guy outside your room, waiting for you to get out and make a move.

"What's with all those boxes?" a masculine voice could be heard from outside your room, but it didn't belonged to the white haired man. After all, how could you forget his voice? It was haunting you even hours after you met him.

"About that." now, you could recognize that voice, there was no way it didn't belonged to Gojo.

"You what?" the other person said out loud, making you open your eyes. It was dark outside, who was making so much noises late at night?

You turned around in bed, looking for your phone and turning it on. It was 3 in the morning, tomorrow was a work day and no matter how much you think about it, there shouldn't be a commotion happening. Especially at this time.

Should you go and see what's going on? But it didn't sounded like you needed to get involved. In fact, your presence wasn't even required from the way the other guy was insulting Gojo. It was none of your business, whatever he did, he did it. You're not a witness since you only got here today, you don't know anything about that guy besides his name and the fact that he owns this place.

You'll see what happened tomorrow, it can't be that bad. And even if it was, it was none of your business.

So, the next day you got out your room. For once you managed to wake up early on your own accord, and you decided to see what happened last night.

You doubted that he would be there, especially this early. But the white haired man was in the kitchen, sipping something from his cup with another guy sitting a few chairs away from him.

"M-" you open your mouth, but you couldn't say a word when both of them turned to look at you. You cleared your throat, embarrassed at the way your voice cracked. "Good morning." you bite your lip, lowering your gaze and cursing yourself internally for making the moment awkward.

"Did you sleep well?" Gojo was all a smile, looking at your bed hair, happy to see you in such way.

The one next to him didn't looked happy tho, and if the way he cleared his throat to catch everyone's attention wasn't enough, then he doesn't know what more he needed to do.

"Ah, right. I forgot about you." Gojo laughed, but he was welcomed with his friend looking even angrier than before. "So, like, I don't know if I told you before but I share this place with my friend."

"You didn't mention this before." you said, making the dark haired man to raise an eyebrow, looking at you for a moment and then looking back at the one sitting at the table.

"Well, I said it now." the white haired man tried to excuse his behavior.

"Did he scammed you too?" the long haired man asked, shaking his head in disappointment. "How much did he ask for rent?"

"Not a lot." he told you to pay less than 50 bucks, per year. You were about to run from there when he said that, but then he explained to you how he doesn't need any money and how he's doing this to help you. Which was even more suspicious. "He told me that I can stay here for free." you said, remembering about how he didn't even wanted to accept money at first until you said you'll leave.

"Oh, really?" the dark haired man looked at his friend, still as unhappy as before.

"You're not even paying rent so why are you complaining?" Gojo rolled his eyes, annoyed at how Geto was acting.

"Are you asking me for money?" the way the man said that sounding threatening, like he ready to fight for real.

"Are you going to pay me?" they both stared at each other, questioning each other like they didn't already knew the answer. "Then why do you keep arguing about this?"

"It would have been nice to know before hand that someone is moving in."

"I'm sorry about it." you said, playing with the hem of your shirt. "He showed me the place yesterday, I already had everything packed and he said that I can just move in." the dark haired man just sighed.

"Well, whatever. It's already done." you knew it was crazy too, but you were desperate. But at least now you got to meet your other roommate.

This sounded so bizarre, it was too convenient for it to be a coincidence. Meeting some gorgeous guy, moving in with him the same day and then meeting another guy who's just as good looking as the other. And besides that, Gojo was filthy rich too, which makes this situation even more unreal.

Was this one of those situations of how I met your mother? Or was this some sort of prank and you were going to appear on tv for the whole world to see how stupid you are?

You'd believe it if at the end of this someone appears out of nowhere talking about how this was a big elaborate scheme to take revenge on you. Because there was no way this just happened out of nowhere.

Well, anyway. Now that you know who your roommates are, it was better to stay out their way. Mostly to not embarrass yourself in front of them. One wrong move and you'll throw yourself out the window, it was better to not test the waters at all to save some face and dignity.

And like this, a week passed. The house was as quiet as ever, your presence wasn't even felt and it's like both of them forgot you even existed if it wasn't for the shoes at the door.

It was Friday night, 11 something, almost midnight when you sneaked out your room, making your way to the kitchen. You were hungry, and if you didn't eat anything in that moment you feel like you'll pass out.

All the lights inside the house were turned off, it didn't feel like you were living with anyone. But you understood their schedule at this point. They were always out, only coming back home to sleep for a few hours and then disappear as soon as they wake up.

So, you didn't expect someone to walk in 10 minutes after you sat down at the long dining table. You were enjoying some leftovers and what else you found in the fridge, watching some funny video on your phone and giggling at it.

You almost choked when you saw Suguru walking in.

"It's you." he said, not even looking surprised to see you. But you on the other hand was dying, trying to swallow the food so you could run from there. "I haven't seen you these days." he walked to the fridge, opening it, then turned around to look at the table you were sitting at. "That was mine." you looked terrified, how comes you didn't thought about this before? "It's alright, don't worry. Satoru takes my food all the time." he said and walked towards you, sitting down next to you and taking something from the table to eat.

His friend whined the whole week about not being able to see you. He haves no idea what classes you were taking or at what hours, and now Satoru couldn't even talk to you in his own home.

Geto didn't understand what he saw in you. You were the total opposite of the women he hangs with. He knew his friend inside out, how could he not especially when they have the same type.

You didn't showed off, you didn't wear revealing clothes that made your body pop out. No, you were comfortable, wearing baggy clothes, not even bothering to doll yourself up for them. You weren't faking your personality and you weren't afraid of showing how you felt. You weren't trying to please them in any way, heck, you didn't even looked in their direction.

"You know, I wanted to talk to you about something." he said, seeing how you were trying to escape from there.

"Hm?" you tilted your head, deciding to stay for a little longer to hear him out.

"Me and Satoru shares our chores here. We don't do them everyday as you can see, but we do them once or twice a week." what a dull excuse. "Let me know what you wanna do next time." he doesn't believe shit he's saying.

"I see.." you didn't believe him either, did you? "I didn't know."

"Give me your number. I'll make a group chat so it would be easier for us to talk." Gojo better be grateful for all the work he's putting in.

"Alright." you gave him your number without thinking much about it.

"This is my number, and that's Satoru's. You can just save mine, forget about him." the dark haired man looked at you with the side of his eye, pointing at the phone numbers from the group chat he just added you in. He was testing you, to see what you'll say or do. "Just joking." he said when he saw you weren't reacting. "He'll be sad if you don't add him too."

"I don't think he will." you said, saving their numbers in your phone. Ah, his poor friend, you didn't even knew how you got him acting up in hope to catch your attention.

"Want to see how he'll react about it?" you shook your head. Right, you were a pacifist after all, what did he even expected. "Anyway, are you going anywhere this weekend?" you shook your head again, not having any plans and wanting to rest more. "I'm going to a party tomorrow. Why don't you come with me?" you looked displeased at his words, he noticed the way your nose scrunch.

"I don't like parties." of course you don't. He already knew the answer, but he was hoping he could get under your skin, play with you for a moment just to see his friend's reaction.

"Don't you get bored inside all day?" he would. He feel like he's suffocating staying in the same place for too long.

"Not really. I'm more comfortable here than outside." he really doesn't get what Gojo saw in you. You're so.. bland. You were too domestic.

"Well, the party offer is still available. Text me whenever you change your mind." he'll prove that you're the same as others. You just need a little bit of pushing, and he'll push you over your limits as much as it's needed.

But you didn't texted him that night. He waited and waited and he didn't got a single message from you. And the next day you had the audacity to appear in the kitchen, wanting to talk to them.

"About what we talked yesterday." you said, looking at the visibly annoyed man, and then at Gojo who was half asleep.

"What did we talked about yesterday?" the white haired man said, only remembering about the party he attended last night.

"I could do the groceries next week." you planned on going out to buy a few things anyway, so you're basically killing two birds in one stone.

"You're sure? There's a big list of things you have to buy." the dark haired man said, trying to push you into asking for help.

"Yeah, don't worry. I have a car, it's not like I'm carrying them from the store here." what a disappointment.

"Wait, what are we talking about?" Gojo finally came to his senses, seeing you appear out of nowhere and talking so casual, for once you didn't looked tired or scared to be there.

"Our chores. Suguru told me about it." all Geto did was to look at his friend, trying to telepathically talk to him, but his face said more than enough. Play along, that's all he had to do.

"Then I'll do the laundry." the dark haired man said, a smile appearing on his face. "And Satoru is doing the dishes."

"What, why me?" this was absurd.

"Because I'm doing them today."

"Anyway, I'm glad we managed to settle this." you said, turning around and ready to go back to your room.

"You could have texted, that's what the group chat is for after all." well, yes, but it was better to do some stuff face to face.

"What group chat?" Gojo was so far behind with this.

"Check your phone." that's all the dark haired man said, making his friend to get his phone out immediately.

"Anyway, I'll go now." and you disappeared from there.

Your life was supposed to be peaceful, wake up, do your usual stuff and then go back to sleep only to wake up and do the same thing again. Some would say that it's boring, but that's how your life is, and you don't want to change it.

However, the devils outside your room said otherwise, texting and texting even though it's not necessarily. Asking if you want to go out, or some other stuff that involves too much physical effort. You get it that they're trying to be friendly, but there's some boundaries and they don't seem to mind stepping over that line.

Your roommates are working full time trying to get you out your room. Sending you risky texts (nothing out of pocket, just stuff they wouldn't usually say), being extra extra nice with you, talking to you in a baby voice and if you're being honest, it's annoying. But you didn't said a thing, trying to help them save some dignity, knowing they probably don't even mean those words.

The stupid might not be so stupid after all. They been observing you, studying you, your likes, your dislikes, your body movements and you as a person. Their study so detailed that it had been a month and a half since you moved in, and now they're putting their plan in action.

It was almost midnight when your phone buzzed, your oh so lovely house mate Suguru send you a text. "Got some takeouts" and a photo of your favorite attached. You recognize the package, it was from your favorite restaurant. "Was on my way home and passed by that place, got something of what they still had left" he texted again. Lies, him and Satoru been placing orders left and right for all kind of food, the ones you like especially.

You thought nothing of it, walking out your room with a smile on your face as you went to taste whatever they have got home.

The next day it was Gojo's turn. Getting home a lot earlier, a bag with some black boxes inside, the name of a fancy restaurant written with gold on them.

"Y/N." he called your name, a smile on his face as he waited for you to come running to him. "Y/N." he said your name again, but you seemed nowhere to be found. God, what were you doing to him.

He left the bags in the kitchen, getting out of there and walking towards your room, opening the door without a warning and looking at you who sat in the bed.

You looked at him, looking a lot more relaxed than when he first met you. You were finally getting some sleep, and he feared that some random fucker would try to steal you from him.

You blinked a few times, eyelashes moving prettily, eyes as big as ever, and he had to mentally slap himself to keep his composure. Forget about the food, he wanted to eat you.

"I-" he took a deep breath, trying to figure out why he came to your room in the first place. "Got some takeouts from this restaurant I've been to." he had no idea what he was saying, he couldn't even hear himself. The way you look at him got him mesmerized.

"Okay." you got up, walking towards him, then into the kitchen.

The package looks expensive, and so did the food. You couldn't help but stare in awe, wandering if you're even allowed to look at it in the first place.

"Got invited to this restaurant that just opened." the white haired man said, looking at you eating. He's indifferent about the food, all he cares about is what you think.

"I see." you could only nod, taking a bite of another thing, tasting it and debating which one tasted better. "It's good." you said.

It didn't matter how much your stupid roommates would try to lure you out, if it wasn't food then it wasn't working. But they kept trying and trying, and they always failed.

Invitations to the movies, parties or even just a walk outside, you'd always decline. It didn't matter if all you had to do is cross the street, you'd say no. A part of you being too embarrassed to go out with them, I mean, what would people say if they see you together? Just look at them, you'll attract all the attention and that's terrifying no matter how much you think about it. Or what if people think you're fucking them or something? Oh god, what would your roommates say?

It wasn't like you wanted to keep that distance, it's just.. they're intimidating. The way they look down at you, corner you at the dining table and sandwiches you between them. The man spreading was real, taking all the space you had, making you feel so so much smaller. They would even take the air from your lungs if it was possible.

Was it wrong to say you liked it? How both of the men bend down to talk to you, or just look at you. Broad shoulders that were double your size, big chests that made you look down way too many times than you'd like to admit. It made you feel bad every time you think of it, but at the same time was it really your fault when they were some nymphs?

They don't seem to do a move, and even if they did, you couldn't figure out if it was some sort of hidden hint or if your overthinking it. They were nice, they were good roommates, but sometimes you wanted more than just little hello's here an there. You gotta do a move, but for the moment you have to think of a plan.

"You're home?" you said, walking into the kitchen and looking at the two men who were still in pyjamas.

"We're not going anywhere today." the dark haired man said, taking something out the fridge and walking next to you, wanting to go back to his room. "You're going somewhere?" he asked, looking at the dress you had on, making his friend look up his phone.

"I'm going out with my friends. I'll be back late." how did the tables turned. "Anyway, see you later." you walked out of there, finally going out for the first time in days.

Everything was going good so far. The weather was nice, you were having a great time, and so did your friends. But just like always, something haves to come up and ruin your mood.

"Y/N, you live with Gojo and Geto, right?" a friend of yours asked, finally letting everyone know of your living situation.

"Yeah." you said nonchalantly, not seeing why your friend should bring your roommates into the discussion.

"It's true? Spell the tea, and don't miss a single detail." another person said, but you weren't even sure of what to say.

"Which one have you slept with?" you saw your soul leaving at that question. "You haven't?"

"You didn't? Why?" you weren't sure yourself.

"We just live together, nothing more than the same old small talk." but you couldn't deny that they were tempting.

"You could have done it everyday since you live with them."

"Why are we talking about this?" you asked, confused on why you got in this situation in the first place.

"Don't you know?" you shook your head. "They're known for sleeping around." they are? Who could have guessed? You thought they had zero game.

"They're always out to party, in fact, you can't even call a party party if they're not there." one of your friends said, finally answering why your roommates were out all the time.

"They're so popular, there isn't a single person who doesn't know who they are." this have to be an exaggeration.

"So like.. About them.. You know, fooling around." you can't help but be curious. "How much are we talking about it?"

"I heard they take home a girl everyday." you never saw a single girl in there?

"I heard that they don't sleep with the same girl twice." what eccentrics.

"Haven't you heard about that girl that slept with Gojo three times? She's basically calling herself his girlfriend." what? He's in a relationship?

"No way. I saw him two days ago at a party. I almost went home with him." huh? Even your own friends?

"And you didn't invited me?" your other friend gasped then started laughing.

You were curious, just curious. And this cliche of a plot only got you in your thoughts. So, basically, your very hot roommates who seemed out this world had their own planet where they bang everyone but you. They go party all night and then leave with god knows who while you're at home in your room doing what you usually do.

It was none of your business, and yet you can't help but feel bad. What was wrong with you? Do you not have any kind of sex appeal? Was this why Gojo even asked you to move into his place? Because he knew he could leave you be? He should be happy that you looked in his direction to begin with.

More questions appeared, and you kept sulking for the rest of the day, even when you got home.

You shouldn't had asked, you should have minded your own business because now you can't help be sad. Why couldn't it be you?

"I'm back." you said while opening the front door, wanting nothing more than take a shower and then sleep for as much as possible.

"Welcome back." you heard Suguru's voice while you were taking your shoes off. "How was out?" tiring, but he didn't needed to know.

"Fun." you said, pushing your shoes to the side, out the way so no one would trip over them. "Got takeouts." you bought some without even thinking. It became normal for them to get something home that you did it without thinking twice.

"I'll get them." he got closer to you, picking the small bag from your hand.

He looked at you with a blank expression. You tried to mimic his face, not wanting to let anyone know about your foolish feelings, this jealousy that was eating you inside. And he picked it up fast, realizing you weren't feeling well.

"You're alright?" he tried to mask any kind of concern, not wanting to show that he cared.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I?" you couldn't even smile, even if you wanted to.

"Did something happen while you were out?" that's the only explanation he could came up with. Why else would you feel bad if it wasn't that?

"It's just the weather. Don't worry about it." why was he asking if he didn't cared about you? His dumb pity wasn't making you feel any better.

"You can talk to me if you want. I'm always free for you." he talks like he's not free for others as well.

"It's alright. I'll go take a bath and then I'll feel better."

"If you say so." honestly, he was so annoying.

You walked away from there, to your room when you remembered about that bath. Some warm water and the smell of your body wash would work so good in that moment. So, you turned around, going towards the bathroom.

You were so tired, still in your thoughts, overthinking about this whole inexistent situation that you didn't heard the water running.

You open the door, expecting to see an empty bathroom, but instead you saw that somebody was inside. Back towards you and taking a shower, you could recognize that white hair anywhere.

For a moment you froze in place, your body refusing to cooperate with you when you kept yelling internally to run away from there. Your eyes however still worked, and it wander for a little. It traveled from his head, to his neck, and then on his bare back that was exposed to you. He extended his hand, grabbing the closest bottle that was next to him, your shampoo, and putting some in his hand, making you silently gasp.

Forget about your bad mood from earlier, now you were mad at the fact that Satoru was using your shampoo, next thing you know that he's using your towels as well. What if the other man was using your stuff as well? Was that why his hair was looking way too good lately?

You ran out the bathroom, going back to your room, too angry to even change clothes. You just jumped in bed and fell asleep, hoping to wake up and forget about everything that happened.

The next day came, and you woke up a lot earlier than usually. You were hungry, thirsty and your head hurts. You didn't even drank any kind of alcohol yesterday and yet it felt like you were feeling the worst hangover ever know to mankind.

With small steps you walked out your room, eyes still closed as you were trying to find your way to the kitchen.

"Morning, sleepyhead." that colorful voice, as much as you liked Gojo you really couldn't handle his teasing at the moment.

"Mm." you hummed something, looking for some water.

"Do you feel better?" the dark haired man could act like he doesn't know a thing, but instead he chose to embarras you.

"You drank too much yesterday?" Gojo asked, feeling left out by the fact that you went out to drink and you didn't think of inviting him. He wasn't that much of an alcohol fan but he could have come as emotional support.

"Didn't even seen a single drink yesterday." you said, opening a bottle of water. If you would had looked in a better conditions, you would have looked believable, but no. Your hair was in all directions, you looked tired than you should be, and your dress had seen better days.

"Where have you been last night?" Gojo's voice was too serious, and even his smile disappeared. Geto would have put the same question if he didn't saw you yesterday.

"Here, where else?" it's not like you had anywhere else to go. "Fell asleep the moment I sat in bed."

"What happened yesterday anyway?" Geto asked, trying to find out what got you in that mood.

"Did something happen yesterday?" why was Satoru the last one to find stuff?

"She came back yesterday looking sad."

"Did someone did something to you? Is that why you look like that?" seriously, Gojo was over reacting.

"Fell asleep without changing." you were too relaxed about this. While the men were concerned about something bad might had happened, you didn't even seemed to care. "Was too tired yesterday."

"And why is that?" they're too insisting, and you didn't understand why. This is only ruining your mood. If they don't care about you why are they acting so nice? Now you can't but overthink again.

"It's nothing, really." everyone could see the sudden change, from tired you looked a lot sadder now.

"I'll deal with it, just tell me the bastard's name." you wanted to laugh but you were afraid Gojo might actually do something.

"It's not like that."

"Then?" the dark haired man crossed his arms to his chest, leaning against the wall as he looked at you.

"I heard something I didn't like." that was all? They thought someone was bullying you or picking on you. "I mean, I don't know if it's the truth but it makes sense and that's what I don't like."

"Then don't listen to it." you shook your head.

"I had my speculations and now everything is confirmed." you could only sigh.

"Is your boyfriend cheating on you?" boy who?

"I'm not in a relationship." that's reassuring.

"If you don't like the truth just close your eyes. It's easy to ignore what you don't like to see." that explains a lot of their strange behavior, but at the same time you didn't want to do just like Suguru just said.

"It's hard to ignore it when it's right in front of me." what would they know when they're the cause of your distress? "Honestly, I feel much better knowing that I was right. Now I can avoid causing problems." somehow, neither of the men liked how that sounded. "Anyway, I'm going to take a shower and then go back to sleep." why did you even consider their opinion was a mystery, but you do feel better about yourself knowing that you're just being delusional. Live the way you did before meeting them, easy.

You're playing with their feelings, and yours as well. While they're all open for your opinion, and actually growing to have a soft spot for you, you turn your back on them.

What more did you needed from them? They're trying their best to understand you, they've been so understanding and holding back way too much, but you still don't get the hints.

But they also don't get your almost non existent hints. I mean, can their actions be counted as hints? But perhaps that's what's wrong, the fact that no one is actually trying to imply something.

Can this situation get fixed? You refuse to get out your room until you sort your thoughts out. It got to the point where no one have seen you in a week already and Satoru is so close on kicking your door down to drag you out of there.

Frustration keep building up, from both sides. And it manifested in different ways for everybody. While you went out a little more than usually, trying to enjoy some fresh air, your roommates were out getting from bed to bed, making their name more known that it already is.

It didn't lasted long for you though, and soon you went back being a lazy cat. Your social battery drained quicker than you thought, but not theirs. And one day you woke up with strange sounds in the middle of the night.

You were sleeping peacefully when it happened. Being long gone in the dream world when you felt like you were being dragged out of it. Confused, you looked around, trying to understand the situation, what exactly was going on. You got out of bed, walking back and forth in your room, thinking only the worst about this situation.

Your neighbor is hurt, and those sounds are because of it. Or worse, someone broke into the house and your home alone because of course you are, what do you even expect from the two men who lives under the same roof as you.

You open the door slightly, still paranoid, but you were trying to understand what was going on.

You picked one of the house slippers you had next to your bed, ready to hit who ever came close to where you were.

Feminine moans, and you still couldn't figure it out if it was pain or something else. But you finally understood what was going on after a while.

Who dared to wake you up because they couldn't keep it down? Right, how could you forget about how promiscuous those two guys were. What if you come home with a guy one day? At least you had the decency to think of going to a hotel or something, not here where everybody could hear.

Your mood is ruined once again. Can you believe the audacity? How could you have dream about banging one of them, or both? The thought is still nice, and you're not crazy enough to pass such an opportunity, but still.

It was almost noon when you woke up the next day. And as much as you didn't want to see those guy's faces, you were curious about the girl. What did she had and you don't?

Shy, you got out your room. Opening the door of your room softly and walking as quietly as possible.

You walked past the living room when you saw what a mess it was, making you stop in place and reconsider what happened. Maybe somebody did broke into the house yesterday?

Cautiously, you walked towards the couch only to see Gojo sleeping peacefully on it. A blanket over him and it wasn't even covering him. He was also not wearing a shirt, and you could only imagine how he was feeling in that moment. After all, it was always cold in the morning.

Feeling a little bit of sympathy, you decided to do something good for once, even if he was annoying at times. Lowering yourself, you grabbed the blanket and dragged it over him. What happened last night did ruined your mood completely, but this was his house. Your jealousy can be put aside for a moment.

"Mm." he groaned, turning around to face you. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times and looking at you, then blinking a few more times and trying to figure out if you're real or not.

"Did I wake you up?" your soft voice only made him feel guilty, for everything he did. For the fact that he open his door for you with not so clear intentions and the fact that he kept looking at girls who resemble you in a way or another. Just like he did yesterday, meeting someone who looks too much like you in the dark, bringing her home and fucking her on the couch because he didn't want to bring her into his room, and for you to hear. Good thing he stopped himself from bending her over the dining table, right on the spot you like to sit at or else he wouldn't be able to even look at you right now. "Sorry."

"I was awake." he's not even sure if he got any sleep at all.

"I thought you might be cold." the only thing he's feeling at the moment is stupid, and somehow regret but he's not really sure about that.

"I'm not." he said, finally getting up, sitting on the couch and looking around to see if the place looked the same as he remembers. The blanket fell off him, revealing too much of him. You could see his bare back, and a bit of his thighs which were just as naked as his upper body. He looked at you, noticing the way you were trying to figure out why there was so much skin showing. "I'm not wearing any clothes." he answered to your unasked question. "I'm naked." the look you had on your face was something he haven't seen before, and honestly, this small interaction alone was doing more to him that anything he had done for the past few weeks.

You took a few steps back, making him laugh.

He rested his back against the couch, he wasn't even looking at you but he knew exactly what expression you had. "Why did you ran? Don't you wanna see more?" all he got in response was the sound of you walking away, hurried steps getting out the room and leaving him alone once again.

He's not good at communicating, and he's trying to mask that by a goofy facade, hoping you and everyone else won't notice. But man, it kinda hurts. He can't explain why, since he doesn't know why. He just feel dumb, useless for doing things he doesn't want to and still expect stuff to be the same, or even better.

Can you forgive him? He'll try to do better from now on. Either this or he'll bring girls over and over in hope to catch your attention.

"I'll go out, doubt I'll come back until tomorrow." Geto texted in the group chat.

"Me too :(" Gojo also sent something. "Don't miss me too much." you looked at the texts, and you can't be more thankful. You needed some time alone, like, all alone. Just you,the whole house for yourself and the sound of nothing.

"I'll stay home. I don't have any plans for today or tomorrow." and you're happy with your life.

"Don't get too crazy while we're out." the only wild thing you can do is take a cold shower instead of a hot one.

"I won't." and now you were waiting.

Your day was peaceful, watching a movie and then scrolling on social media. You didn't even noticed when it got dark outside, and now you're bored.

You have the whole house for yourself, you're all alone. No one is here besides you.

You're used to them being out, but now it just feels different. You were alone, and you didn't liked it. It was a shame to not have company on such a beautiful night.

Was it wrong to say you craved for some human touch? To feel the warmth of someone else, and perhaps the embrace of said person. It doesn't even have to be something sexual, or romantic. It can be just a simple interaction, no words needed.

You didn't even realize when you started rubbing your thighs together, your body feeling too hot for your own good. And the more you think about it the more it bothers you.

You're alone right now, aren't you? No one is there to disturb you. You can just.. indulge yourself, I guess?

With a quick movement, your pants were somewhere in the room, your shirt up your body, revealing your breasts and your panties to the side. Some porn playing on your phone and it wasn't much for help. That was until you saw one particular video, a man that seemed familiar in a way or another over a much smaller body. Your pussy twitching at the realization of who that man looks like. It looked just like one of your roommates and you were so ashamed for being turned on, but you couldn't help but look for similar stuff.

You needed more of them, anything that resembles your roommates, you needed to see it. It can be the hair, the body, or the way they just fuck. Anything that sparks something in your head, anything that screams them. You can't help but moan just thinking about it.

With a hand between your legs, you tried to mimic the movement of who ever was on your screen, moaning quietly when your imagination was going too wild.

Lost in your own world, you didn't even heard the front door opening, or the steps that were getting closer to your room. You didn't got a text that would warn you about someone coming home, so you weren't worried. Instead you were focused on that orgasm that kept building up, it was so close and you're trying really hard to keep your mind focus, away from those roommates of yours.

The man outside your room froze in place, your door was slightly open and he had a clear view of your bed and your little alone time. He could say something, but at the same time he didn't want to. Seeing you in that situation was too fascinating. Like, who would have thought the little angel that keeps herself from the world would do something like this?

It got him curious, what were you watching? What got you like this in the first place? The moans you leave out from time to time, not sure yourself if you should let them out or not.

What got him to almost open the door and get in your bed was when you came, holding back a moan that he just knows it would get him weak in the knees. You were trembling, eyes closed and biting your shirt to not let anything you might regret out. And you kept going even after you came, this time looking more desperate than before.

He couldn't keep it like this, he haves to do something. So, without thinking, he turned on his phone.

"Something came up, I'll be back in a few minutes." you got a text, looking at the name of the person that sent it and then letting out the moan you were holding back earlier. Suguru.

It only got you feeling more fucked up than you were already. Letting go of your phone and focusing on that annoying aching from between your legs. "Fuck." you cursed without realizing. Letting out small please as you tried to cum at least one more time before he 'came back'.

To his disappointing, you didn't came a second time, putting your clothes back on quickly and trying to make it look like nothing happened. He had no choice but to walk back to his room and try to sleep this off or else he won't be able to leave you alone for the rest of the night.

He couldn't sleep at all, thinking about your reactions, how his text got you moaning harder than before. What were you watching? Was it something he should be aware of? But he couldn't just take your phone and look at what you were looking.

He refuses to live with this information and let you go off easily. You had to pay for your actions. I mean, how could you not ask for help? And how could you let him see you like that when you didn't planned on letting him have any.

So, imagine how surprised he was to see you act like nothing happened the next day. Making him think there was something wrong with him for staring at you way too intensely. But he got a plan. You had to give up at some points, and he'll just help you give up sooner than later for your own good.

"I'm on groceries duty this week?" the dark haired man asked, already knowing what he he'll do.

"Yep." his friend said, looking in his phone.

"You're coming with me, Satoru." he said, a smile on his face and all he could think of was the sweet taste of your pussy on him.

"Why?"

"Just do it. Don't ask so many questions." and the two guys were off.

Now, Geto's plan would work only if you do as he planned. All he haves to do is deny you for a few days, cockblock you and leave you hanging just enough to become dumb for him. Then he haves to act like the knight in shining armor and help you, since he's a gentleman.

That's why he got Gojo with him, leaving him in the middle of the store and running home just to see what you'd do. And to his surprise, you were acting just like he wanted you to. Stuffing yourself full of your fingers, all in a hurry to release yourself from the previous time you couldn't. A hand over your mouth, trying to not let anything out, to not get too comfortable with this. But it was so hard, and you couldn't help but let a few sounds out once in a while.

He really doesn't get you. Why not asking for help? Both of the men were easy, a few nice words or just a nod and they'll be all over you. Heck he's the easiest person he knows. Give him a pretty look and he'll fuck you just the way you want. So why do you keep refusing to acknowledge them, or him at least?

He gulped, biting his lip before he open his mouth. "I'm back." he said it in a quiet tone, to make it look like he was further away than he actually was.

He loved this, the panicked look on your face and trying to gather your composure. Oh , he'll enjoy playing with you.

At first he would just pop out of nowhere, making sure you don't get any time alone, at least without acknowledging his presence. But now he would invite himself in your room whenever he walked past it. Slightly opening the door to catch a glimpse of whatever you were doing. It didn't matter if it was in the middle of the day or at night when he was supposed to sleep.

He can see how frustrated you were, and he couldn't be more happier than this.

"I don't wanna go." Gojo whined, looking at his phone only to sigh. "They'll force me to stay over the night." he pushed his phone far away from him.

"Then don't go?" you didn't understand why he was complicating himself when he could just stay home.

"Another of your family gatherings, huh?" the dark haired man said, making you realize that it was more than it looked like.

"Ah.." you scratched your neck. "We'll miss you." if he had to go, he had to go.

"I wish that I could take Y/N with me, but they'll never let go of it if I take someone with me." the white haired man groaned.

"Good luck." you can't really say much since you don't know how his family was like.

"Are you doing something tonight?" Geto asked, looking down at you and waiting for an answer.

"No."

"Really? Because you look very busy to me." you didn't understood his words. "Why don't you watch a movie with me then? I don't have anything better to do."

"I also wanna watch a movie." the white haired man whined.

"We'll watch when you come back." his friend said, but he wasn't really sure of that.

"I mean, sure." oh, if you only knew what your sweet roommate actually had in mind.

The time went painfully slow. But now it was dark outside once again. And Suguru could feel his palms sweating. What if everything goes as he wanted? He knows he kept thinking about it, but he can't see himself in an adulterous situation with you.

You're just there. You don't do much, you don't talk much and he's used to that. He's used to think about it, always putting what if in front of his day dreams. He was making fun of his friend for being such a dork but now look at him, actually concerned about this whole situation. What if nothing goes as he planned? Or what if it does?

Fucking without any feelings, that's what he's used to. But now this got him thinking that he should run to the closest flower shop to get some roses. Maybe some candles too?

"Suguru, are you awake?" a soft knock on his door woke him up from his thoughts.

"Y- Yeah." his voice betrayed him. "I didn't even noticed the time." he lied, finally opening the door and stepping into the hallway.

"What are we watching?" you moved your eyelashes so prettily. He's afraid he won't last that long next to you, especially since you're alone.

"I don't know." he didn't think that further yet.

In the end, you turned on the TV on a random channel, watching whatever it was on. A movie about a man trying to be a hero, the same old generic plot, with the same over the top acting and action. Lots of explosion and lots of unnecessary stuff. But it was the perfect movie for your situation.

No love included, no sweet words or couples. It was enough to make the two of you forget about the awkwardness between you two. Or so you thought. Because halfway through the movie the female lead appeared. And some time later the two actors were getting it on.

You couldn't help but stare in disbelief, the sex was so dry that you're surprised they let the scenes in the movie. On the other side of the couch, your roommate was trying his best to not look at you or else he might do something out of pocket.

You, however, didn't feel the same as him. So you turned your head towards him, looking at how uncomfortable he was. "You're alright?" don't look at him, don't look at him, don't- "This movie is stupid." you laughed, thinking that's what he wanted to say as well but he decided not to. "Wanna watch something else?" right, how did he not think of that?

Taking the remote, he changed the channel. And this one was even worse. Without any warnings you were looking now at two other actors making out like there was no tomorrow. And as much as he wanted to see your reaction, he changed the channel without hesitating.

Third time with luck. No explicit actions, just two actors out in the city, walking next to each other.

"I always wanted to tell you this, ever since I first met you." the male actor said, looking at his costar a bit too lovingly.

"I also have something to say." the female actor said, looking a bit shy and red in the cheeks.

"You go first." the male actor said, biting his lip and holding back whatever he wanted to say.

"Do you think this is a spy movie?" you asked, trying to alternate the plot even if it was obviously what was going on.

"I like you." one of the actors said and it made you sigh.

"Never mind." you shook your head.

"It would have been funny it if was." at least he was on the same page as you. And once again, he changed the channel, for your own goods.

"Thanks god it's ads." you could finally breath in peace.

You watch some cartoons and then change the channel again when it got too boring. The movie from earlier where those actors were confessing their love was now filled with obscene scenes. And unlike before, they actually looked they really were in heat. Touching each other like there's no tomorrow, the kisses looks so real that you won't be surprised if they actually start fucking. Even the moans sounded real.

Not wanting to look at that for any longer, you turned off the tv, breathing heavily and hoping you don't look like you're affected by it.

You gulped, wanting to see how the man next to you was doing, but at the same time you didn't want to look because you knew this was going to be a long night the moment you gave him any attention. And he was feeling the exact same, not daring to move an inch because he knew he couldn't keep his hands away from you for much longer.

Curiosity got the best of you, and in the end you ended up turning your head towards him, at the same time as he looked at you.

No one said a thing. The silence was too audible, but somehow comfortable.

"Come here." he said, resting his back against the couch and waiting for your move. You'd probably run, like you always do. That's what he expected you to do, but imagine his surprise when you got closer, looking at him with big eyes and waiting for his next command. He's not convinced yet, I mean, this was too good to be true, there haves to be a catch. "Here." he pat his lap, waiting to see if he could have you for the night or not.

You got on his lap, your legs on either sides of him and your hands on his shoulders. His hands travelled on your hips, moving them up your body, grabbing one of your boobs for a moment before he let go. He dragged you closer, lowering his head just enough to get a better look at you before his lips touched yours.

He's testing the waters, trying to see what you allow him to do, where your boundaries were before he'll let you have more of him.

But you didn't pushed him away no matter what he did. He could explore your body freely, there was no forbidden zone, he could touch all of your body and that only made him greedier.

All the shyness from earlier evaporated, all the awkwardness and doubt went out the window the moment the kiss became a much deeper one. Now you were eating each other out, hands all over the place and dragging the other closer whenever one got a little away.

"Let me take it off." he got away for a moment, taking your shirt off with a single movement. His lips were now on your neck, going down to your breasts and biting them, leaving marks all over the place.

This wasn't his usual style, marking his territory and making out. He usually just gets to the business. And he been lying if he said he didn't like what he's doing now.

One of his hands went to your ass, dragging you closer, moving yourself right on his hard cock that wanted to escape from his pants. He's about to lose it but at the same time he wants to take his sweet time because he haves a feeling that you'll run away from him tomorrow.

He guided you at first, moving you on him so both of you could get some friction, a little bit of relief before the big thing happens.

He kissed you, again and again. From your lips to your neck, sucking on your nipples and then back up. He wanted to know he been there before anyone else or at least before his absent friend.

You moaned quietly, letting out sounds bearly audible, holding back anything louder than that. But it was alright, he'll make you louder later.

The image of you stuffing your pussy with your fingers, desperately to cum was now playing in his mind.

He wants to try that, his cock is twitching just thinking about how warm and wet you must be.

He got you off him, getting up and looking at your disappointed face. "Take off your pants." he tried to keep his words minimal, but it was more than enough to get your face change in a instant.

Your actions holds more power over him than you think. It got his mouth watering just looking at you.

He took you in his arms, walking towards your room, almost kicking the door down so he could get in faster. He placed you at the edge of your bed, taking your panties off and stuffing them in his pocket, not even caring if you noticed him or not. Then he took his shirt off.

Pushing you in bed and hovering over you, placing your legs over his thighs so it would stay open. With a finger, he traveled in between your folds just to see how wet you were. How can he hold back when he haves you like this? He doesn't even think he can put his dick in just yet, who knows when he'll lose his composure and fuck everything up. One moment inside your warm pussy and it's over for him.

"Stop staring, it's embarrassing." your small voice didn't helped him with the demons inside of him.

He bite his lip, getting two of his fingers slowly inside your pussy. It was hard to hold back whatever words he had to say, he especially didn't wanted to let out any praises after you played with his feelings.

You feel a lot better than he expected, and his bars were already high. Somehow you manage to always exceed his expectations. Can you blame him when he started to move his fingers deeper and deeper? He just wanted to see how far he could go, see where your sweet spots are so he could give them the attention it needed.

Curling his fingers to see how you'd react, moving in and out at a fast speed only to slow down and curl his fingers again. You almost started crying when he started rubbing your clit. He was so focused on torturing you, showing you that it was better with him giving you what you needed than doing it yourself.

And when you came it wasn't even better, he kept his hand movement, overstimulating you just to show you that he can. But you too could play his game, tugging at his shirt to drag him closer to you and kiss him, making him stop for a moment. Ah, right. You probably wanted more than just his fingers after all this time he kept tormenting you.

He took his fingers out of you, making you feel empty. Now focusing on kissing you. The way he takes everything so slow was annoying, and you tried to grab his shirt, to get it off him. But that only made him laugh. "I'm not going anywhere." he said with a smile on his face, surprised at how impatient you were.

He can't say he doesn't get it, because he understands how you feel perfectly. And as much as he wants to tease you more, he can't. So he did as you pleased, taking off his clothes. Your eyes on him the whole time.

He got on top of you once again, getting in between your legs and staring at you. His cock resting on your lower stomach, just to get an idea of how much he could fit inside and man, looking at the size now you're a little scared, but still very much aroused.

As much as he wanted to turn a blind eye on this, he couldn't. Not when he sees how you look at him. Guess he was right about not being able to go all the way in today. He'll have to take small steps and he's afraid he doesn't have that much time.

So, he pressed your legs together, placing them over his shoulder, getting his cock in between your thighs. "You can't handle it." his words didn't made you happy. I mean, even if it was true, wasn't he supposed to suport you? Compliment you and tell you how good your doing, that you can take it.

He moved his hips slowly, ignoring the expression you're giving him and focusing on the friction. God, next time he'll get his hands on you he won't leave you alone.

You calmed down, now examining his face, his movement and how you could see the tip of his cock every time his pelvis touched the back of your thighs.

An idea appeared in your head, and you flexed your thighs, looking at the way he groaned, gripping your skin harder.

"You like it?" you were curious, just wanting to know how he feels, but he interpreted your words differently. "Should I do it again?" are you mocking him? Because if you continue like this he'll make this harder for you.

Your eyes had something innocent in them, like you were genuinely curious about his pleasure, yet he refused to believe it. I mean, you had him in such a desperate state, there was no way you weren't laughing at him.

"Close your eyes." he placed a hand over your eyes. He was feeling too embarrassed for his own good.

"I like looking at you." you tried to take his hand away. "You're cute." all he did was to groan in response. "Let me look at you, come on." you spend way too much time thinking about this to not be able to see him.

"Stay put or I'll fuck your pussy so good you'll forget your own name." he kept barking something between his teeth. But you didn't listen to his empty words. You wanted to see him in action not just talking.

"Come ooon." you whined, not listening to his threat.

Instead of any more words, you were met with him spreading your legs and his cock right against your pussy. You wanted to look at him? Then look.

Your heart was beating way too fast, and he wasn't even paying you attention. Slapping the tip of his cock against your wet folds, rubbing it up and down, and the slapping your poor pussy again. Taming brats was one of his favorite activities after all.

No matter how much he wants to show you that he's not just talk, he's true to his words. He'll let this slide this time.

So, to show you that he can still give you something without his cock deep inside of you, he got his body closer to yours. Pressing his thick length against your pussy, right onto your clit, and moving his hips slowly for you to get used to this feeling.

You did know your place after all, and yet you liked pressing his buttons. Lucky you he enjoyed your company or else he wouldn't have taken your teasing that lightly. But the more he thinks about it the more it gets on his nerves.

He started to let some of his weight into you, pressing his pelvis into yours harder, moving his hips faster. His hot breath against your ear, letting nothing but filthy sounds out, moans just for you to hear. And he was met with your nails into his back, dragging him closer, wanting to feel more of him on you, your legs wrapped around his waist and you wished nothing more but to see him from a third view, to have a better look at his back and just him in general.

Your moans, he wanted to eat them up. He was trying his absolute best not to kiss you in that moment. Because if he does, it's most likely he'd get used to it, and he doesn't want that.

"Suguru." the way you said his name got his cock twitching. "Kiss me." he groaned. You'll be too spoiled if he fulfills every single one of your requests. "Please?" he had to bite your shoulder in order to keep a moan from coming out.

Stop playing with him, for fucks shake. Can't you see he's unwell? Look at the way he's moving his hips, always doing what makes you feel good. He's not acting like his usual self. He's not selfish, he's not seeing this as a quick way to get off then say goodbye. All you could do in that moment is not give him attention, make him feel indifferent but instead you want more of him and it pissing him off because he wants more too.

"I want to cum inside you so bad." he let his thoughts out, too lost on how wet your pussy was, leaking out so much that it got on his dick without doing anything.

"Don't." you shook your head, not wanting to deal with any surprises.

He let you have unnecessary request, and yet he's not allowed that much? Perhaps you're the greedier one here. And he too can be mean.

Without much warning, he smashed his lips against yours, devouring you as his cock rubbed against you harder, in a much friendless pace. Trying to suck the soul out of you, muffling any sounds you might let out.

One of his hands on the side of your thigh, rubbing it up and down and sending chills down your spine. His tongue in your mouth and you can't hold it together for much longer.

Wrapping your hands around him, you left out a broken whine, that only got to him. You were so close to your release, he could practically pull that orgasm out of you if he's trying a little bit harder. But he'll be merciful tonight, mostly because he'll lose his mind if he doesn't.

You didn't lasted much longer, and seeing you cum makes him want to cum. And man, he came all over your belly, breathing heavily and resting his head against your shoulder.

"You did good." you said, going with your hand through his hair.

For a moment, he allowed you to praise him, closing his eyes and bathing in your scent and you kept petting him. But it didn't lasted for long because he came back to his senses, getting off you and helping you clean yourself.

He still can't believe he came that hard from nothing. If he stayed in your arms for any more longer he would have screw everything up. Even if he wants to leave you alone, run out your room and don't look back at it at least until tomorrow, he stayed. Watching you fall asleep before he left quietly, doing the walk of shame to his room and rethinking his whole life and everything he did wrong until then.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceres Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Tags: Angst, Found Family, Dark Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy Drama, Unreliable Narrators.

Warnings: Body Horror, Mentions of Emotional Neglect, Pregnancy Complications, Nightmare Imagery.

A/N: The mystery Hunk is finally here! We’re diving headfirst into the start of an alternate ending I had previously intended for this fic mid first scene, so buckle up. I promised this chapter wouldn’t have funny bits, but apparently, Mystery Hunk had other plans. Also, the husbands will be getting an earful of their own shit. If you’re here for cursed energy-infused pregnancy drama and Mystery Hunk stealing hearts with his black cat husband energy while side-eyeing Karens, you’re in the right place, and yes, he’s stealing the spotlight unapologetically. Let me know in the comments: Is he the best worst fake husband ever?

Previous Chapter 4 - The Gravity of Running (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 5 - Something Soft, Something Sharp

You didn’t even have time to react before his hand snaked around your leg. The two of them dragged you out of your hiding spot, your thrashing limbs no match for their combined strength.

They had found you.

“Running away doesn’t suit you,” Gojo said, his tone mocking, dangerous.

You glared at him, removing the scarf from your mouth, your movements jerky, your hands trembling as you shoved both their hands off you. “Don’t touch me.” You tried to stand.

The effort was futile—your legs buckled, and you sank back down. Pain radiated from your swollen belly, grotesque.

Their gazes dropped to your stomach, the sheer size of it impossible to ignore, finally noticing what you’d been trying to hide.

Even at just five and a half months, your uterus had already distended to a grotesque parody of its former shape. The two tornadoes brewing inside you made you look eight months pregnant, their relentless growth stretching your abdominal wall to its limits. Your stomach bulged outward, a taut and swollen orb that seemed to strain against the confines of your skin, as if the very fabric of your body was being slowly, inexorably torn apart from the inside out.

Nanami’s eyes widened. “You’re…”

Gojo’s expression cracked, his six eyes glowing faintly as they locked onto your swollen stomach. “You’re pregnant.”

The twins squirmed beneath their stares, sending sharp jolts of pain through your abdomen. You bit your lip, refusing to show weakness, to clutch your belly, even as your body betrayed you.

You didn’t dignify their obvious revelation with a response, focusing instead on pulling yourself upright. Every attempt to rise felt monumental, the strain making your head swim, but you managed to straighten up, your breathing ragged. Their awkward, hesitant hands reached toward you, only for you to glare them down.

They stood there, helpless, as you hobbled past them toward the living room. Each step felt like dragging yourself uphill in a storm, the strain making your vision blur. By the time you reached the couch, you were shaking so badly that you had to clutch the back of a chair for balance. Lowering yourself onto the cushions was its own Herculean task, the pain so intense you had to bite back a scream. Your hand moved instinctively to your belly, rubbing slow, trembling circles over the taut, aching skin.

You spoke low but firm, “Leave.”

“We’re not leaving,” Nanami replied, his voice firm but strained, his face a storm of conflict. “You’re pregnant, my love. You didn’t even tell us.”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and humorless. “What’s there to tell? It’s just a medical condition, right?”

“At least lie better,” Gojo said, his tone mocking as his eyes lingered on your stomach, then continued, “Although I thought you had had a hysterectomy?”

Nanami’s hand twitched; his jaw tightened at Gojo’s casual demeanor. “Don’t.”

Your anger flared, the months of humiliation and abandonment clawing their way to the surface. “Don’t what? Diminish it? You mean like you two diminished me?”

You had deduced earlier that Gojo’s RCT might have detected your lack of a uterus and classified it as an error, then corrected the said error. Or perhaps it was Nanami’s RCT’s doing, considering he could now heal himself and was immune to attacks like fire since becoming a special grade. Although as far as you knew they couldn’t heal people but it might have changed when they would have been inside you. You didn’t care to find out any more, and you certainly wouldn’t let them in on it.

The words hit like a slap, the air between you crackling with tension.

“It’s none of your business,” you spat, your voice shaking with rage.

“None of our business?” Nanami’s voice was low, his usual calm cracking. “We’re your—”

“You’re nothing to me anymore,” you interrupted, your tone icy. “You made sure of that.”

“That’s not true,” Gojo flinched as if struck, his voice breaking in a way like it was about him, making you hate him more. “We—”

“You abandoned me!” The words tore from your chest before you could stop them. “You left me alone for months! You laughed, you fucked each other, then posted all your OMG-I’m-so-in-love photos online for my employees to stare at and give me looks of sympathy. While... while I sat there and died inside!”

“You left without telling us!” Gojo’s voice rose, desperation creeping into his tone.

“And you didn’t notice for six weeks!” You yelled, your voice breaking. “You were too busy fucking each other to even see me! I could have been tortured, raped, killed and buried long ago with evidence wiped, but you both were too busy fucking each other to see me!”

Gojo’s expression twisted, the pain in his eyes cutting deeper than any accusation. “We didn’t know how to reach you. We thought you needed space.”

“Space?” You laughed again, the sound hollow. “You gave me space to suffocate. 

Nanami visibly recoiled, guilt carving deep lines into his face. “We made a mistake—”

“Mistake?” You cut him off, your voice cracking under the weight of your fury. “Mistakes don’t last for months. Mistakes don’t make someone feel so invisible they disappear. Mistakes don’t force someone to flee halfway across the world just to fucking breathe! You think I’ll forgive you just because you decided to find me now?” You huffed and continued, “Well, guess what? I learned to live without you two a long time before I left, so why don’t you both go fuck each other some more and leave me alone!”

Gojo spoke softly, inching to touch you. “We’re here. We care about you.”

“Care?” You laughed bitterly, tears spilling down your cheeks. “You humiliated me. Your stunt at my office nearly destroyed everything I’ve built. Do you think anyone respects a CEO whose husbands storm her building and beat up her employees?”

Nanami’s gaze dropped to the floor, his fists clenching at his sides. Gojo opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.

“And let’s not forget the internet is a circus, and you’re the clowns.,” you hissed, your voice shaking, ears burning with humiliation. “I’m being dragged into the spotlight for something I never wanted public. All because of you. They’re calling me a sexual deviant and undermining everything I have ever done while simultaneously thirsting over you two, because, of course, men don’t get the same treatment. #TwoHolesForAReason is still trending. What the actual fuck, Nanami? You too?”

Your voice trembled with a mix of anger and despair, and your breathing grew heavier, each word feeling like a weight pressing down on your chest. The injustice of it all clawed at you, the betrayal stinging sharper than any physical wound. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly powerless as the world turned your life into a spectacle, and the very people you loved were at the center of it.

Nanami’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with a mix of anger and sorrow. “We were wrong. We should have been there for you. We should have…” He trailed off, unable to find the words.”

You could see the guilt etched on their faces, the way they shifted uncomfortably, as if your words were a physical weight pressing down on them.

“Tell me,” you said, your voice low and trembling, “did you even think about me when you were together? Did I ever cross your minds?”

Gojo opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he looked at Nanami, a silent plea for understanding passing between them, but Nanami kept staring at your stomach. The moment stretched, and you could feel the desperation radiating from them, but it only fueled your anger.

“Don’t look at him,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “You both made this choice together. You both decided I was expendable.” The image of Gojo grabbing Nanami’s pecks mid-fight at your company came to your mind, and you resisted the urge to bash his head in.

Nanami’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him. “We were selfish,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. 

Gojocut him off, his hands trembling like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “We love you.”

“You love each other,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, breaking. “And I was just... there. An afterthought. An inconvenience.”

Silence.

Nanami stepped closer, his hand reaching out instinctively, but you shrank further. “Please,” he said softly. “Let us help.”

Gojo stepped forward, his hands outstretched, but you recoiled, the instinct to protect yourself overwhelming. “Don’t,” you warned, your voice trembling. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

The hurt in his eyes was almost unbearable, but you couldn’t allow yourself to feel sympathy. Not now. Not when the wounds were still fresh, still bleeding.

“Just go,” you said, your voice breaking. “Just leave me alone.”

Nanami’s face fell, the weight of your words crashing down on him. “We can’t just walk away,” he said, desperation creeping into his tone. “We love you. We want to be here for you. And the babies.”

You wrapped your arms protectively around your belly, your body trembling from the effort of holding yourself upright, the weight of their presence suffocating. “I don’t need you. We don’t need you.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, betraying the pain you’d tried so hard to hide.

The finality of your words made them both freeze, their faces pale and stricken.

You turned your face away, unwilling to look at them any longer. The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing.

(alt ending 1.1)

“You heard her.”

The voice from the doorway made you freeze.

Sukuna leaned against the frame, arms crossed, his tattoos stark against his pale skin. His grin was sharp, dangerous, and entirely out of place in your tiny apartment.

“And who the hell are you?” Gojo snapped, his six eyes narrowing as he turned to face the intruder.

Sukuna’s smirk widened. “None of your concern. But unlike you two, I don’t barge into her life uninvited.”

Nanami stepped forward, his gaze calculating. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does when you’re upsetting her,” Sukuna said, his tone light but edged with menace. His crimson eyes flicked to you, softening slightly. “You good, princess?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I’m fine. Just… please get them out of here, Ryo.”

The way you said his name weakly made Sukuna straighten, his grin turning feral as he rolled his shoulders like he was preparing for a fight. “You heard her. Time to go.”

Gojo stepped toward Sukuna, his grin tight, his energy shifting. “You think you can just waltz in here and—”

Sukuna cut him off by closing the gap in a single step, towering over him. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Try me, pretty boy.”

Nanami's shoulders squared, his gaze calculating. “Leave. This doesn’t concern you.”

Sukuna’s eyes flicked between them, his lips quirking into a smirk. “I’m here because she wants you out. Seems like it’s very much my concern.”

Gojo rolled his shoulders, the first hints of tension seeping into his movements. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, pal. She’s our wife. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Both your wife. Eww, Sukuna grimaced.

Before Sukuna could continue berating them, Nanami moved. His fist lashed out, aimed for Sukuna’s jaw.

Sukuna caught it with an open palm, the force reverberating through the room.

“Oh, we’re doing this,” Sukuna said, voice maniacal, before pushing Nanami’s fist just enough to force him to step back.

Gojo lunged, his speed almost imperceptible, but Sukuna sidestepped him lazily, his movements fluid. “Do you two always resort to fists first?”

“Do you always waltz into someone else’s business uninvited?” Nanami countered, already throwing another strike.

You tried to rise, your voice strained. “Stop—”

Your attempt was cut off by a sharp, tearing pain in your abdomen. A cry escaped your lips as your hands instinctively cradled your belly.

Nanami faltered mid-punch, his head snapping toward you. “She’s in pain. Gojo, stop!”

Gojo hesitated, his fists lowering as he glanced back at you. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

You couldn’t answer, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Sukuna moved before either of them could, crossing the room in a few steps. He knelt in front of you, his large hand resting gently on your knee.

“May I?” He asked, his voice calm.

You nodded weakly, unable to muster the energy to speak.

Sukuna’s hand moved to your belly, his palm warm against the strained skin. A faint glow surrounded his fingers as his RCT began to work. The relief was almost immediate, the tightness easing as the twins’ restless movements stilled.

Nanami stepped towards you, his fists clenched. “Get your hands off her.”

Sukuna didn’t look up, his focus entirely on you. “She needs this. Or would you rather let her suffer while you two throw tantrums?”

Gojo bristled, his hands twitching at his sides. “I don’t trust you.”

“Good,” Sukuna replied smoothly, his tone almost mocking. “I wouldn’t trust me either. But I’m not the one who left her to deal with this alone.”

That struck a nerve.

You let out a shaky breath, your body finally relaxing as Sukuna pulled his hand away. “Better?” he asked, his gaze meeting yours.

You nodded, tears stinging your eyes.

Sukuna stood, his movements unhurried as he turned to face the two men. “She’s carrying enough weight without you two adding to it. If you really care about her, prove it by doing something useful. Like fucking off.”

The tension in the room was palpable as Gojo and Nanami glared at him, their fists tightening at their sides.

Before Gojo could move, Nanami placed a hand on Gojo’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Enough. This isn’t good for her.”

Gojo’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t resist.

“We’ll be back,” Nanami said, his gaze steady as it locked onto yours. His voice was low, carrying both regret and resolve.

Sukuna snorted. “Not if I can help it.”

Without another word, they turned and left.

Once the door clicked shut, the silence rushed in, oppressive and heavy.

Sukuna turned back to you, his expression softening. “You need to rest.”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Stay?”

He smiled faintly, taking a seat next to you on the couch with respectable space between you two.

Your head swam, a sudden wave of dizziness taking hold. They were coming more frequently now, spells that left you breathless and trembling.

But before you could fall off the couch on your head, Sukuna was there, one of his large, calloused hands wrapping securely around your upper arm. The heat of his touch grounded you as he guided you carefully to the other side of the couch.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble. The sharp edge was still there, but muted, like a blade sheathed. “You don’t need to waste energy on those idiots.”

A weak laugh slipped past your lips as you wiped your eyes, though it sounded more like a gasp. “They’re not idiots. They’re just… pain in my ass.”

His eyebrow arched, he chuckled, the sound warm. “Could’ve fooled me. Barging in here like they own the damn place. If it were me—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, shaking your head even as your hand trembled against the couch cushion. “I don’t need more madness, Sukuna.”

His grin softened, though it didn’t lose its devil-may-care quality. “Fair enough. But you’ve gotta be smarter about this. They’re not going to stop just because you want them to.”

“I know,” you whispered, barely audible, as your hands cradled your belly. The motion was protective, almost subconscious, as you rubbed soothing circles on it.

His sharp crimson eyes followed the movement, narrowing as they settled on the curve of your stomach. “You gonna tell me the truth now?”

Your throat tightened, the walls closing in as panic tried to claw its way to the surface. “I—”

“Relax.” His voice dropped lower, almost a purr, as he leaned back against the couch. “I’m not here to judge. Just saying, if you need someone to run interference, I’m your guy.”

You blinked at him, your heart hammering as you searched his expression. “Why are you helping me?” You asked, the words trembling in the air.

His grin returned, sly and self-assured as always. “Because it pisses them off. And because I like you, princess. Not in a ‘love thy neighbor’ way, but in a ‘let me take you on a date’ way. You’ve got guts.”

A laugh bubbled out of you, shaky and wet with leftover tears but real nonetheless. “Thanks, Sukuna.”

“Anytime.” He shifted, his arm draping casually over the back of the couch, though the movement seemed deliberate, protective. “Now, what’s the plan? Because those two aren’t going to stop sniffing around just because I scared them off.”

You let your head fall back, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, heavier than ever. “I don’t know. I just need... time.”

“Then time’s what we’ll give you,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Let me handle the sorcerer boy band.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt a small flicker of hope.

-

Sukuna didn’t waste time. The same night, after Gojo and Nanami showed up, he had you telling him what you wanted packed. His demeanor calm, though his crimson eyes burned with quiet determination.

“We’ll leave at midnight,” he said, tossing your suitcase onto the bed. “New place, new names.”

You hesitated. “Sukuna, this is… too much.”

He glanced over his shoulder, his grin not unkind. “It’s not. They’re sorcerers, princess. And the strongest too, but not stronger than me.” His tone was laced with a smug confidence. “If you want to stay hidden, you don’t half-ass it.”

By dawn, you were in another country; your new apartment was upscale and screamed money, but it was cozy too. The marble floors, high ceilings, and soft leather couches were a far cry from your tiny space.

Sukuna waved off your questions about how he’d managed it all so quickly, his smirk the only answer you’d get. He had taken care of everything—paperwork, flights, even a fake backstory in case anyone asked too many questions.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he said, tossing you the keys. “Welcome to your new life, and just enjoy the upgrade.” He lounged on your new couch, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

He refused to leave your side, and you didn’t argue. It was a relief to have him there, especially since you were certain they would show up eventually. Also, you needed someone around, not just for protection but also because you weren’t exactly the icon of flexpertise right now. The morning sickness and dizzy spells had become a regular part of your day, making even simple tasks feel daunting. Plus, he could help pick things up from the floor and assist you when you needed it. His RCT would also come in handy if you got sick.

The following days blurred into one another, Sukuna taking charge in ways that left you both grateful and unsettled. He was relentless, managing everything from your meals to your prenatal vitamins.

One day he dragged you somewhere the sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the bustling streets as Sukuna pulled you along, his grip firm yet gentle around your arm. You could feel the heat radiating from the pavement, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers and street food. It was a stark contrast to the anxiety swirling in your chest.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked, glancing around nervously. The last thing you wanted was to run into someone who recognized you from the controversy that had followed you like a shadow. The thought of being exposed made your stomach churn, the twins inside you shifting restlessly in response to your unease.

Sukuna paused, turning to face you, his crimson eyes piercing yet reassuring. “Trust me. No one will recognize you here.” He flashed a grin, the kind that made your heart race despite the worry gnawing at you. “Besides, I’ll be your husband today. No one will question us.”

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism creeping in. “Husband? What if someone asks questions?”

“Then I’ll just tell them I’m the luckiest man alive,” he replied smoothly, his tone playful. “And you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And if anyone gets too nosy, they’ll be disposed off.”

You thought he was just joking at the last bit, but little did you know he was serious.

You couldn’t help but smile at his bravado, even as a flutter of anxiety twisted in your stomach. “You really think this is a good idea?”

“Absolutely,” he said, resuming his pace, his hand still firmly guiding you by the arm. “You need to get out, meet other birthgivers, and enjoy this experience. It’s good for you and the brats.”

As you approached the community center, the sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the soft strumming of a guitar. The vibrant colors of the decorations and the cheerful atmosphere were infectious, but your nerves still danced beneath the surface.

Sukuna opened the door for you, his demeanor shifting to one of quiet authority as he ushered you inside. The room was filled with expectant mothers, some cradling their bellies, others bouncing babies in their arms, some even with their partners. You felt a pang of envy at their ease, their confidence radiating like the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“See? Just regular people,” Sukuna said, his voice low and steady as he scanned the room. “You’ll fit right in.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “What if someone recognizes me?”

“Your mask won’t let them. And if someone does recognize you, I’ll tell them you just look like the CEO, but you have been my wife and have never been to Japan,” he replied, his tone light but firm. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll make sure they forget they ever saw you.”

His confidence was infectious, and you found yourself relaxing slightly as he led you to a circle. He settled beside you, his presence a comforting weight. As the instructor began to speak, you felt Sukuna’s hand rest on your knee, a grounding touch that eased the tension in your body.

After a brief round of introductions, the instructor clapped her hands, her voice that chipper mix of optimism and oblivion. “Alright, everyone, before we start our poses, let’s share a bit about our experiences as parents! Who’d like to go first?”

Sukuna leaned back, arms draped lazily over his knees, his smirk sharp enough to slice through the tension. “I’ll go,” he said, his tone dripping with casual confidence. “So there we were—me and my lovely wife—on a little trip to the beach. You know, just a casual day in the sun.”

The other mothers leaned in, their eyes sparkling with interest, while their husbands shot daggers at Sukuna, their expressions a mix of envy and irritation. He was tall, muscular, and exuded an effortless charm that made him the center of attention. You could practically feel the heat radiating from the glares directed at him, but Sukuna seemed unfazed, basking in the admiration like a cat in a sunbeam.

“Of course, I had to carry her to the water,” he continued, gesturing dramatically. “She was so heavy with those twins, I thought I might need a forklift!” Laughter erupted from the mothers, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Turning back to you, his expression triumphant. “So, I heroically carried her through the waves, and she screamed like a banshee when the water hit her feet.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation washing over you. “I did not scream like a banshee!” you protested, but the laughter bubbling up made it hard to keep a straight face.

“Sure you did,” he teased, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I was the brave knight saving you from the evil ocean.”

“Look at him,” one mother whispered to her friend, her eyes sparkling. “He’s like a model or something!”

“Right? And he’s so sweet with her,” her friend replied, glancing at you with a mix of admiration and envy.

Soft giggles bubbled through the room, accompanied by fluttering lashes and whispers. Sukuna exuded a kind of dangerous magnetism.

One mom whispered too loudly, “He’s like... a walking romance novel,” her husband coughing pointedly beside her.

Sukuna caught the comment and scowled. “Eyes up front, lady,” he muttered under his breath, annoyed but not surprised. When another woman blatantly winked, he leaned closer to you, slipping an arm around your waist with exaggerated intimacy. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” he cooed, voice low enough for only you to hear. “These vultures are giving me a headache.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved him off.

The instructor spoke. “Okay! Let’s get into couples’ poses. First, the trust fall!”

Sukuna stood, cracking his neck like he was prepping for a fight. You shot him a warning glance. “Don’t drop me.”

He smirked. “No promises.”

As you leaned back, trusting his arms to catch you, another mom muttered something about his “strong, capable hands.” Sukuna sighed, catching you effortlessly before twirling you upright with unnecessary flair. “Keep staring, and I might start charging admission,” he called out, his voice a mix of annoyance and smugness.

“I got one more.” He didn’t wait for approval, because, of course, he didn’t. “So there we were, me and my beloved wife”—his crimson eyes flicked to you with a smirk that screamed chaos—“on a romantic hike in the wilderness. Out of nowhere, she decides to wrestle a goat because it wouldn’t let her pet it.”

The room froze. A couple of moms paused mid-stretch, their jaws dropping like they’d just heard the start of a soap opera. The dads exchanged side-eyes that translated roughly to, Who the hell is this guy?

“And, naturally,” Sukuna continued, his voice syrupy with faux affection, “I couldn’t let her handle it alone. She’s fearless, sure, but not exactly built for a one-on-one with livestock.”

“Oh my god,” you hissed under your breath, digging your nails into your mat. “Stop lying.”

Sukuna ignored you, gesturing dramatically like he was recounting a battle for survival. “So I stepped in, took down the goat, and carried her—my delicate, fragile wife—back to safety.” His grin widened, exposing sharp canines. “All in a day’s work.”

A collective sigh swept through the room, a mix of disbelief and blatant swooning. One mom muttered, “That’s so... romantic.” Another just stared, eyes tracing the veins in his forearms like she was drafting fan fiction in real time.

The dads? All glaring, but none of them dared to say a word. Sukuna, at 6’6” with biceps that looked capable of cracking skulls, radiated the kind of energy that said, Try me. I dare you.

“Alright, Romeo,” you muttered, elbowing him. “Enough.”

Before he could retort, a woman in leopard print, Karen—yes, she had the haircut and everything—stood up, arms crossed and nose wrinkled like she smelled bullshit.

“Excuse me,” she said, voice whiney, “but that story sounds ridiculous. And frankly, this is a yoga class, not open mic night.”

Sukuna turned his head slowly, like a predator catching the scent of fresh prey. “Oh? Didn’t realize we had a fact-checker in the room.”

Karen puffed up, undeterred. “I just think it’s important to set a good example for our kids. You’re just trying to make yourself look good in front of all these women. What kind of husband are you, anyway? And lying—”

“Lying?” Sukuna interrupted, his tone dangerously sweet. “I don’t lie, sweetheart. Some of us just have a sense of humor. You want proof? I’ll take you hiking. Maybe you’ll end up wrestling a goat too.”

Karen crossed her arms with a smug smile on her face and leaned in with a condescending tone. “So, what exactly makes you think you’re qualified to be a husband? I mean, can you even handle a simple pregnancy without making a joke out of it?”

Sukuna’s voice dripped with mock sincerity. “You’re absolutely right. I’m a terrible husband. I should’ve let her handle the goat alone, huh? Really prove her mettle.” His smile dropped as he deadpanned, “Maybe next time, I’ll wrestle your husband instead.”

The room went silent, save for a muffled snort from someone in the back. Karen’s husband, who had been trying to become one with the floor, suddenly found the need to tie his shoelaces.

“Well, no real husband would let his wife wrestle a goat. And clearly, this yoga class is for serious parents, not... posers. Some of us treat the miracle of life with the respect it deserves. I mean, she probably got pregnant out of wedlock, and you’re probably the chump who got stuck with it,” she spat, her eyes narrowing as she regarded you with open disdain.

You opened your mouth to retort, but Sukuna stood up, towering over her with an intimidating presence. The air crackled with tension as he leaned in slightly, his voice low and menacing.

“For the final time, I. AM. HER. HUSBAND. The kind who’s here to support his wife, unlike some people,” he said, his tone dripping with a dangerous edge. The room fell silent, the other husbands shifting uncomfortably, their glares intensifying as they sensed the storm brewing.

“Back off, lady,” one of the husbands muttered, clearly not wanting to get involved but unable to resist the urge to defend his pregnant wife.

Karen’s husband made a strangled noise, somewhere between a cough and a plea for help. Sukuna glanced at him, sizing him up like he was calculating the time it’d take to fold him into a yoga block. “You good over there, champ?”

The instructor, visibly sweating, clapped her hands again. “Okay, time for the next pose, the Partner Downward Dog! Let’s channel all that energy into our health!”

Sukuna groaned, muttering under his breath, “This woman and her yoga cult...” He shot a glance at you, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. “You good to do this, or do I have to carry you like the delicate little penguin you are?”

“I’m fine,” you shot back, already struggling to maneuver your cumbersome body into position. Your stomach felt stretched beyond reason, and every movement brought a new kind of discomfort.

Sukuna was behind you in an instant, his large hands steadying your hips. His touch was firm but not rough, a quiet kind of reassurance he’d never acknowledge. “Alright, lean forward. I’ve got you.”

You could feel his gaze linger—not on the curve of your belly but lower. “Are you ogling my ass?”

“Shut up and focus on not falling,” he grumbled, though his smirk gave him away.

The instructor clapped again, her forced cheerfulness grating. “Great job, everyone! Now, onto the partner wheelbarrow pose.” 

You groaned, already dreading it. Sukuna, however, was unfazed. He easily lifted your legs, holding you steady as you awkwardly braced your arms on the mat.

Karen, the reigning queen of unsolicited advice, determined to assert dominance. “You’re supposed to engage your core more,” she said, her voice cutting through the room like nails on a chalkboard.

Sukuna didn’t even glance at her. “You’re supposed to shut up, Karen.”

She gasped. “My name is not…How dare you—”

“Don’t care.” Sukuna set you down and stood, cracking his knuckles. “Focus on your own yoga or let’s take this outside, or are you gonna send your husband?”

Karen sputtered, her face turning red as her husband tugged nervously at her sleeve. Now actively sweating. “Uh, babe, maybe let it go.”

Karen turned on him. “Are you scared of him?!”

“...Yes.”

“Don’t you start!” She snapped on him.

“...Okay.” He shrank back, clearly regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.

Meanwhile, the instructor was frantically flipping through her clipboard. “Uh, next pose! Let’s try... uh, partner flying boat!”

Sukuna raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “Flying what now?”

“Just lift me,” you muttered, too tired to argue.

With an exaggerated sigh, he grabbed your hands and hoisted you into the air. The ease with which he balanced you on his feet was almost insulting. He looked up at you, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “See? I’m a natural.”

“You’re a show-off,” you grumbled, though the slight flutter in your chest betrayed you.

Behind you, Karen tripped over her mat again because her husband was clumsy, landing face-first with a muffled shriek.

Sukuna grinned, all teeth. “Careful, Karen. Wouldn’t want your husband to have to wrestle me over that.”

Her husband? Already halfway out the door.

He didn’t stop there. With unnecessary flair, he spun you around, earning gasps from the other moms. “He’s so strong,” one whispered, her voice tinged with awe.

“I can hear you,” Sukuna said sharply, his glare cutting through the room like a knife. “Eyes off.”

The mom in question flushed, looking away quickly. Even Karen seemed momentarily stunned into silence.

When Sukuna finally set you down, his hands lingered on your arms, steadying you. “Alright, you’re done for today,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you protested weakly, already too exhausted to stand.

“I just did,” he shot back, his voice softer than usual as he guided you to sit. His attention was back on you, the rest of the room forgotten. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, leaning against him. Despite his gruffness, you couldn’t deny the safety his presence brought.

Throughout the class, Sukuna was incredibly attentive, fetching water for you whenever you needed it and ensuring you stayed focused. You found yourself laughing openly after months, his unhinged stories and sassy comments bringing a lightness to the atmosphere. He reminded you of Megumi’s dad from years ago, the way he openly showed affection to Megumi’s mom. You couldn’t help but wonder how they were doing after his father passed away long before you reconnected with Megumi in college. The last you heard, his father had left a substantial sum to his mom to start their security solutions business, which Megumi had been managing while also pursuing his psychology degree.

He was quite a few years younger than you, and despite the years of no contact, he had come through for you when you needed him. But you couldn’t reach him now; he had a knack for tracking people down like his father. You remembered Megumi’s frustration when you had to leave your home country to marry the two men. He had been openly against your decision ever since he met them—he could warm up to Nanami, but Gojo? Marrying two men? That was a different story entirely. A wave of nostalgia washed over you as you realized how much you missed your college friends.

As you watched Sukuna’s antics, a swell of gratitude filled your heart. His unwavering support was a comforting presence, even as the reality of your situation loomed in the background.

After the class, as you stepped outside into the warm sunlight, Sukuna turned to you, a satisfied grin on his face. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You shook your head, a smile breaking through your earlier anxiety. “No, it was actually… nice.”

“Good. We’ll keep doing this,” he said, his tone resolute. “You need to enjoy this time, and I’ll make sure you do.”

As you walked back, the warmth of the sun on your skin and Sukuna’s presence beside you, you felt better. Maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to navigate this new life, one day at a time.

A couple of days later, the hum of your laptop was the only sound in the room, save for the occasional clack of your nails on the keyboard. Deadlines loomed, projects needed greenlighting, and your inbox was a battlefield of investors, board members, and department heads vying for your attention. You weren’t just the CEO of your company—you were the company. And even now, with your back aching and your feet swollen beyond recognition, you were determined to stay on top of it all.

Then, of course, Sukuna had to barge in.

“Are you seriously still working?” he drawled, leaning an arm against the door frame with that maddeningly smug look on his face.

You didn’t bother looking up. “I’m busy.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“And?”

“And you’re about to take a damn break,” he said, stalking into the room like a cat ready to knock something valuable off the table.

You scoffed, glancing at him over the rim of your blue lens glasses. “I can’t just stop working. This company doesn’t run itself.”

“Funny, I thought you hired executives for that,” he shot back, his crimson eyes narrowing.

“They still need me.”

Sukuna crossed the room in two strides, towering over you like a thundercloud. Before you could react, he reached down and unplugged your laptop with a decisive click.

“Hey!” you protested, scrambling to grab the cord, but he was faster. With infuriating ease, he tossed the power adapter onto a high shelf you had no hope of reaching in your current penguin state.

“What the hell, Sukuna?”

“Watch me,” he said, smirking. “Your job is to grow those little gremlins, not work yourself into the ground.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. The exhaustion hit like a freight train, your body sagging into the chair as if it finally realized it had permission to rest. Your glare softened, replaced by a quiet sigh of defeat. “I can’t just... stop,” you muttered, weaker now.

“You can,” he countered, crouching to meet your eye level. His voice was softer this time, the sharp edges smoothed out. “The company will survive without you for a few months. You? Not so much if you keep this up.”

He had a point, damn him.

“I still need to make arrangements,” you mumbled, leaning back and pressing a hand to your belly. The twins kicked in response, as if to echo his sentiment.

“Then make them,” Sukuna said, standing up and pulling your ergonomic gaming chair—he had gotten you one in your fav color—away from the desk with a gentle tug. “But from the couch. And only after you’ve eaten something.”

You wanted to argue, but the idea of sinking into the cushions and delegating for once was too tempting. “Fine,” you relented, glaring half-heartedly as you stood. “But only because you’re being annoying.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, penguin.” His smirk widened as he helped you waddle toward the couch, ignoring your threats of retaliation.

And maybe, just maybe, you felt a little lighter knowing he was right there to catch you when you needed to let go.

The pregnancy itself felt alien. Your body, once familiar, now seemed foreign, stretched to the limits of what it could endure. Veins stood out like rivers on a map, and your skin itched with a ferocity that no cream could soothe. At night, under dim lights, you swore you saw the twins moving just beneath the surface, shapes pressing against your belly as if testing the boundaries of their world.

But when you spoke to them, the chaos stilled. Your voice, soft and uncertain, seemed to reach them in a way nothing else could. “You’re being good today,” you murmured one evening, your hand rubbing olive oil on the tight curve of your stomach. The twins stirred beneath your touch, a gentle nudge pressing against your palm as though answering your unspoken thoughts. Tears welled in your eyes as a fragile smile tugged at your lips. You blinked them away.

From the doorway, Sukuna watched, arms crossed and face unreadable. His presence was always imposing, even when he wasn’t trying to be, but tonight there was something almost tentative about the way he lingered.

“They listen to you,” he said finally, his tone an odd mix of observation and something softer, almost vulnerable.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. The moment felt too delicate to break with words.

Sukuna pushed off the doorframe, his steps heavy but measured as he crossed the room. He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the chair, shaking it out with a flick of his wrist before tucking it carefully over you. His hands moved with an ease that belied his usual brashness, adjusting the pregnancy pillows he’d insisted on buying—three of them, because one wasn’t enough, apparently.

You watched him as he worked, the sharp lines of his face softened by the dim light. He paused when he caught you staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

He snorted, clearly not buying it, but didn’t press. Instead, he stepped back, as if retreating to a safe distance.

“Sukuna,” you said suddenly, your voice breaking the quiet.

He stopped, half-turned toward the door.

“Do you want to feel them?” You gestured to your belly, your voice laced with genuine curiosity.

His reaction was instant and comically transparent. His shoulders stiffened, and his crimson eyes darted to your stomach like it might explode. “What? No. Why would I want to do that?”

You tilted your head, your smile turning sly. “Because they’re your kids, oh faux husband?”

“They’re your kids,” he shot back, his voice gruff, but the tips of his ears betrayed him, turning a faint shade of pink.

You laughed, low and amused. “You’re scared.”

“Am not,” he snapped, but the defensive edge in his tone only confirmed it.

You pressed, grinning now. “Big bad Sukuna, terrified of a couple of unborn gremlins?”

He glared, sulking. “I’m not scared. I just... don’t see the point.”

“Right.” You patted the space next to you on the bed. “Come on. They won’t bite.”

He hesitated, looking like you’d asked him to stick his hand into a nest of vipers. But after a moment, he moved closer, his movements awkward and deliberate, like he was approaching a wild animal.

“Here,” you said, taking his hand and placing it gently on your ginormous stomach. His palm was warm and rough against your skin, and for a moment, he didn’t move.

Soon, a tiny kick met his hand, tentative but unmistakable.

Sukuna froze. His eyes widened just a fraction, the briefest flicker of something raw and unguarded crossing his face.

“They’re saying hi,” you teased, your voice soft.

He pulled his hand back like he’d been burned, stuffing it into his pocket and muttering, “Yeah, well, tell them to keep it down.”

You laughed again, a sound that filled the room and made his scowl deepen. But there was no mistaking the way his gaze lingered on you, softer now, as if the weight of the moment had settled somewhere he desperately wanted to acknowledge.

After ensuring you were comfortable, he retreated to his usual spot in the next room. You heard the creak of his bed as he settled in, close enough to hear you if you called out. The bed wasn’t weak; he was just a giant sequoia tree.

Later that night, when the nightmares came—vivid and merciless—you woke trembling; the images of Gojo’s cold eyes and Nanami’s unforgiving hands lingered, still fresh in your mind, as though they were still in the room. Sukuna was there before you could fully sit up, his hands steady on your shoulders.

“Breathe,” he commanded, his voice firm but not unkind.

When your breaths came shallow and quick, he didn’t leave. Instead, he sat with you, his presence solid and grounding as the panic ebbed.

“You’re fine,” he said, his tone gruff but edged with a care he’d never admit. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. Even when his hands trembled just the faintest bit from exhaustion, you knew he wouldn’t let go. You noticed his long nails were filed down now.

His care was relentless, though not without its abrasive edges. He harassed you to eat, to drink water, to rest. When you tried to push back, his response was always the same: “Argue all you want, princess, but I’m not going anywhere.”

And he didn’t. You felt a sense of comfort in that. Your actual husbands, the fathers of your babies, had abandoned you months ago, while this man—who had no obligations to you—loved you as easily as breathing. You could see it in the way he ensured everything was always within reach for you, even when he wasn’t around. If you asked him for water fifteen times in a night, he’d fetch it for you every single time, despite his fatigue. He’d grumble and yell, but he’d still bring it to you without fail.

He hadn’t even mentioned the date he wanted since that day; he gave you the space you needed until you were ready. He did all of this for you without asking for anything in return. Even when you felt like a human submarine, he found ways to compliment you in his own unique manner, while your husbands had long ignored your existence, even before your pregnancy. You felt desirable, but right now, you simply didn’t have the energy to reciprocate anything.

One day the air in the apartment was stifling, even with the ocean breeze teasing the edges of the balcony curtains. You leaned against the railing, letting the salt-tinged wind kiss your skin. Sukuna was out, and for a few minutes, you allowed yourself a moment to enjoy the ocean breeze, to imagine a life where your past couldn’t find you.

Then you saw them.

Gojo’s stark white hair caught the light first, gleaming like a ghost under the streetlamp’s glow. His figure was impossible to miss, a beacon of anarchy, while Nanami’s shoulders were squared, his sharp gaze cutting through the night like a blade, locking onto you with unrelenting sharpness. His arm rose, a silent gesture to Gojo, and together they moved, their silhouettes bleeding from the street into your sanctuary like shadows with intent.

You immediately grabbed your phone.

Ryo: Please come home fast.

The knock was more a warning than a courtesy. Gojo didn’t wait for permission; the door swung open with an ease that felt invasive, wrong. They stepped inside, their presence heavy, oppressive, as if the air itself recoiled from their arrival.

“You’ve been busy,” Gojo said, his voice unnervingly calm. The cocky lilt you knew so well was gone, replaced by something jagged, something that cut.

Nanami’s eyes drifted downward, catching the curve of your stomach. His brows furrowed, confusion twisting into something darker as a ripple moved beneath your skin. It wasn’t subtle—an inhuman and ugly stretch, limbs pressing outward like trapped spirits testing the walls of their cage. You cursed yourself for wearing a crop top, but nothing else fit you these days, and it was too warm here in Schelles. His gaze snapped back to your face, but the damage was done. You saw it: the revulsion, the disbelief.

The air between the three of you crackled, silent but electric. Gojo’s eyes were locked onto yours, an ocean of emotions churning beneath the surface—rage, fear, something almost resembling grief.

“What’s going on?” Nanami finally asked, his voice tight, controlled, but teetering on the edge.

Your throat burned as you swallowed, the words threatening to choke you. Still, you forced yourself to stand straighter, your nails digging crescents into your palms. “Fine. You want the truth?” Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it. “They’re Sukuna’s. I’m pregnant with his twins, and since he’s half a curse, so are they.”

The room plunged into a suffocating silence.

Gojo’s grin faltered, the carefully constructed mask he wore slipping. His hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. Nanami’s face was a study in restraint, but the tightness of his jaw betrayed him.

“You’re lying,” Gojo said, his voice low and icy.

You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “Why would I lie? You ignored me. You left me in a country where I didn’t even understand the language. Sukuna didn’t. He took care of me when you didn’t even notice I was breaking.”

“Disgusting,” Gojo spat, his words venomous.

Your vision blurred, but you refused to break. Not in front of them. Your hands trembled as you gripped the edge of the counter, the only thing keeping you upright. “Then leave. And don’t come back.”

Nanami flinched—a small, almost imperceptible movement, but enough to make your chest tighten with anger. “You expect us to believe that you… cheated?”

“I expect you to believe whatever lets you sleep at night,” you snapped, your voice trembling but resolute. “Because the truth doesn’t matter to either of you. It never did.���

Gojo’s hands shook now, the façade of control crumbling. “You think this is about us? Do you know what I’ve been through? What we’ve been through? I had to kill my best friend. Suguru—” His voice cracked.

“I don’t even know who that is,” you hissed, your anger flaring. “You’ve never mentioned him before. I don’t understand why you’d react like this over killing some long-lost friend I’ve never even heard of. You’ve spent years with Nanami—more time than you ever did with whoever that is, so for all intents and purposes, he should be your best friend. And even if you were so sad over your so-called best friend, why am I the one left to bear the brunt of your grief? What did I do to deserve this?”

You aggressively wiped the single tear that rolled down your cheek and continued, “I begged you—both of you—for any semblance of affection. I told you I was drowning, and you just... left me. You fucked each other for months while I cried myself to sleep in a corner of your penthouse, wondering why I was even there.”

Nanami stepped forward, his voice steady but strained. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it?” Your voice was a blade, sharp and unforgiving. “When I came back to confront you, you were sleeping peacefully in each other’s arms. Like I didn’t exist. Like I wasn’t your wife.”

The words landed like physical blows. Neither of them moved.

“I’m sorry,” Gojo whispered, the words fragile, brittle.

You shook your head, tears burning tracks down your cheeks. “Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t erase what you did. You don’t deserve forgiveness. And even if I could forgive you, I will never forget the night I became an intruder in my own marriage.”

Nanami reached out, his hand hovering near your arm, but you recoiled, crossing your arms protectively over your stomach. “Don’t. You don’t get to touch me!”

Gojo’s voice dropped, desperation leaking through the cracks. “We didn’t know you were pregnant.”

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice shaking with fury. “You didn’t care enough to notice. Even with your six eyes and your oh-so-great curse signature reading abilities you always bragged about, you didn’t.”

When you finally spoke, your voice was quiet but unyielding. “Leave. Sukuna will send over the divorce papers. Sign them and don’t come back.”

They hesitated, their expressions unreadable, but when you pointed toward the door, they obeyed. The sound of it slamming shut echoed through the apartment, leaving you trembling in its wake.

It had to be this way if you were to keep your babies safe, away from the dangers of the sorcery world. You needed to ensure that no one could take them from you.

A few minutes later, Sukuna returned. Finding the front lock broken, he rushed inside, his presence filling the space with a warmth you hadn’t realized you needed until now. He took one look at your tear-streaked face and the shattered pieces of your resolve and said nothing. Instead, he crossed the room, his arms enveloping you in a hug, firm and grounding.

“They were here,” he stated, not asked.

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “I told them the twins are yours; I’m sorry nothing came to mind.”

He tilted his head, his crimson eyes studying you. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of them when they come back.”

“They won’t,” you said, your voice hardening. “They don’t deserve to know them. Or me.”

Sukuna smirked, but it wasn’t mocking. “Good.”

And when he sighed, content, for the first time in a long time, you truly felt that you were safe.

You peered up at him.

Sukuna smirked, his arms still holding you close. “Told you I’d take care of you, princess.”

But even as you closed your eyes, the weight of your choices pressed down on you, heavier than ever.

-

The hum of the plane’s engines was a constant, hollow noise, drowning out the world outside. The cabin was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a reading light over Nanami’s seat. He stared blankly at the leather-bound hardcover of The Myth of Sisyphus in his lap, its pages untouched. Beside him, Gojo leaned against the window, his long legs stretched out in the aisle, his eyes obscured by the darkened lenses of his sunglasses.

Neither of them had spoken since takeoff. The silence between them was heavy, a chasm filled with unspoken truths and raw, festering wounds.

“She’s lying,” Gojo said finally, his voice barely above a whisper, like speaking it aloud would make it more real. “The twins… they’re ours.”

Nanami didn’t respond immediately. He flipped the book closed and placed it on the tray table in front of him, his movements deliberate, mechanical. “I know.”

Gojo let out a hollow laugh, pressing his knuckles against his lips. “She doesn’t understand these things because she can’t see them. Those… those legs under her skin.” His voice cracked, and he turned his head toward the window, the faint reflection of his face pale and gaunt. “That’s not Sukuna’s cursed energy. One of them is mine, and one is yours.”

Nanami’s hands gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white. “It doesn’t matter.”

Gojo turned to look at him, his sunglasses sliding down his nose enough to reveal his bloodshot eyes. “How can you say that? They’re our kids, Kento. She—she’s going to raise them with him.”

Nanami closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, as if releasing the air from his lungs could somehow ease the ache in his chest. The weight of his thoughts pressed down on him, a suffocating reminder of the choices they had made and the consequences that followed. “And what would we offer them, Satoru? A life filled with curses? A life of blood and death?” His voice trembled slightly, betraying the turmoil within. “She’s better off with him, away from us.”

He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the seat in front of him, as if the fabric could somehow absorb his pain. “I’ve looked into him—he abandoned sorcery long ago and holds no loyalty to its hierarchy. He’s free from the chains that bind us, free from the expectations and the endless cycle of violence that defines our lives. He will prioritize her, unlike us, always off on missions with no guarantee of return.” The bitterness in his tone deepened, each word laced with regret. “He will be there for her, keeping her and the kids safe.”

Nanami’s mind raced with images of what could have been—a life untainted by the darkness of their world, where laughter replaced the echoes of sorrow and love flourished without the shadow of fear. He could almost see you smile, the warmth of your presence, and the innocence of their children, untouched by the burdens they carried. But that vision felt like a distant dream, slipping further away with each passing moment.

“Do you think we could have given them that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the thought aloud would make it more real. “A chance at a normal life, free from the horrors we’ve faced? We’ve only ever known how to fight, how to survive. What kind of future is that for them?”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of unspoken truths and the haunting realization that they had failed not just you, but the very lives they had hoped to protect. Nanami’s heart ached with the knowledge that their choices had led them to this moment, a crossroads where love and duty collided, leaving only fragments of what could have been.

Gojo slammed a fist against the armrest, the sound startling in the quiet cabin. “We didn’t even fight for her. Not once. We just… let her slip away. What the hell is wrong with us?”

 The weight of Nanami's eyes settling heavily on Gojo. “We broke her, Satoru. Piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the woman we claimed to love.” His voice was steady, but his words were sharp enough to cut. “And now she’s gone.”

Gojo’s head dropped into his hands, his shoulders trembling. “I thought… I thought I was doing what I had to. After Suguru, after everything, I just—” He choked on his words, his breath hitching. “I couldn’t lose you too. And I did. I lost both of you.”

Nanami’s gaze dropped to the floor, his voice quieter now. “She begged us to see her. To hear her. And we didn’t.”

Gojo dragged a hand down his face, the stubble on his jaw rasping against his palm. “She looked at me like I was a stranger, Kento. Like I wasn’t even human. Like she was scared of me.”

“She had every right to,” Nanami said, his voice carrying a weight of finality. “We left her alone. We left her angry, grieving, and drowning; we made her feel like she didn’t belong in her own home. Then we chased her relentlessly from one country to another. Any woman, pregnant or not, would be scared.”

Gojo’s laugh was bitter, devoid of humor.

The silence returned, heavier now, punctuated only by the muffled sound of Gojo’s uneven breathing. Nanami sat motionless, his hands resting limply on his lap; he looked utterly shattered.

“Do you think she’ll forgive us?” Gojo asked, his voice barely audible.

Nanami didn’t answer immediately. He stared out at the endless expanse of clouds outside the window, his expression unreadable. “I don’t think it matters.”

Gojo’s breath hitched again, and he leaned back in his seat, tilting his head to the ceiling as if he could somehow escape the crushing weight of his own guilt. He murmured. “We could’ve—”

“Could’ve doesn’t change anything,” Nanami interrupted, his voice harsh. “She’s gone, Satoru. And she’s not coming back.”

The finality of those words settled between them, cold and unrelenting. Gojo turned his head toward the window, the light from the wing of the plane catching on the tears that slipped from beneath his sunglasses. Nanami sat motionless beside him, his gaze fixed on the book in front of him.

Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the flight. The weight of what they had lost, what they had destroyed, was louder than any words could ever be.

-

The days after their visit felt heavier than anything you’d endured. The lie sat like a stone in your chest, each passing moment adding to its weight. You told yourself it was necessary, that it was for your children. But it didn’t stop the nightmares that came in fragments, jagged and disjointed, like shards of a shattered mirror slicing into your subconscious.

You stood in a darkened room, the walls pulsing faintly as if alive. A sickly red light seeped through the cracks, casting terrifying shadows that writhed and twisted. Your breath fogged in the cold air, the chill sinking into your bones.

Gojo was there first, his white hair glowing unnaturally in the dim light. His face was obscured, his features blurred as if smudged by unseen hands. But his voice was clear, cutting through the oppressive silence like a knife.

“You’re disgusting.”

The words echoed, multiplying, each iteration louder than the last until it became a deafening chant. His silhouette loomed larger, his hands outstretched, fingers impossibly long and claw-like. They reached for you, dragging through the air, each swipe leaving behind trails of darkness that spread like ink.

You tried to move, but your feet were rooted to the ground. When you looked down, black tendrils coiled around your ankles, slithering up your legs. They were cold and wet, like the touch of something ancient and decayed.

Behind him, Nanami appeared, his back to you. His suit was untouched by the darkness that surrounded you both. You called his name, your voice trembling and weak, but he didn’t turn.

“Ken!” you screamed, desperation clawing at your throat.

When he finally moved, it was slow, deliberate. His head tilted slightly, just enough for you to catch the edge of his profile. His lips parted, but no sound came. Instead, his skin cracked, fine lines spreading across his face like a porcelain doll dropped from a great height. From the fissures seeped black ichor, thick and oozing, dripping down to pool at his feet.

He turned fully then, and you wished he hadn’t. His eyes were empty voids, twin abysses that seemed to pull you in. His expression was blank, his mouth set in a line of quiet condemnation.

“Why did you lie?” His voice was soft but burrowed into your mind like a parasite.

“I had to,” you whispered, though your words felt small, swallowed by the growing shadows.

“Did you?” he pressed, his figure growing distant even as he stood still.

The tendrils tightened, pulling you downward. You clawed at them, your nails splitting as you tried to free yourself. But they only tightened, dragging you into the floor that had become a gaping maw, teeth lining the edges of the pit.

As you sank, Gojo and Nanami stood above you, unmoving. Their faces blurred together, features melding and twisting until they became something monstrous. Gojo’s laughter echoed, sharp and cruel, as Nanami’s voice droned in an endless loop:

“You should’ve told the truth.”

The last thing you saw before the darkness swallowed you whole was the faint ripple of movement beneath your skin, something inside you fighting against the pull. But even that wasn’t going to be enough.

You woke gasping, your hand clutching your stomach as though to protect the life within. The room was quiet, the shadows still. But their voices lingered, whispering accusations in the corners of your mind.

Sukuna was always there in an instant, holding you as you fought through the panic attack. He rubbed circles on your back and forced you to count and breathe.

A/N: So, mystery hunk (™) is officially in the chat, and yes, he’s soft for our girl in his own chaotic way. Also, the part about Nanami reading Camus? That wasn’t just for flavor text—yes, I went there. If you’ve ever wanted to cry about The Myth of Sisyphus and think about how life is just a series of rolling boulders uphill, congratulations—this chapter’s for you! What do you think Sukuna’s Ryo-side would say to Nanami’s Sisyphus-side? Also, people who are grumbling about Sukuna being our guy, I have my reasons; hear me out: Gojo and Nanami are both special grades in this fic, so you need someone stronk who can proteck and attack you/for you. I will write more fics in the future where you'll have your fav guys as your saviors, so in the meantime, if you have ideas or just want to yell at me, send them on my asks. I’m curious: do you think Gojo’s breakdown was justified, or was he being selfish again? Let’s talk about it! Oh, and if you had to wrestle a goat, which JJK character would you pick to help you? (Sukuna’s banned. Too OP.)

Also this is your manz -

And this is what you married -

Even the stable one is weird -

Next Chapter - Will try for Monday

All Works Masterlist

Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy

Disclaimer - I found these memes randomly on Pinterest, so lmk the creators if you know so that I can tag them.

[thesassypadawan]

Toyland (Stephen x FemReader) *Blurb*

Summary:  You’ve been good all December long, hoping that your daddy would shower you with all the toys on your wish list.  Make it a truly magical and memorable Christmas Eve for you.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut.  Bit of a dom nerd, fun toys, special ‘playtime’, and… Stephen’s cute, big dick.

Notes:  Happy Holidays, lovelies!  Welcome to track four of my special holiday mix, Toyland! ❤️💚

- All too familiar feeling tug, pull at the pit of your stomach.  Growing stronger and more feverish as you slip that naughty, buzzing device between your soaked folds.  Further still until it plunges into, stretches your velvety walls.  Excited, elated giggles bubbling and spilling out from around your bright red ball…gag.

- “Like your new toys, angel?”  Perched, lounging on the plush couch.  Stephen smiles smugly, knowingly over the rim of his coffee mug.  “Of course you do.”  Watching with keen interest while you wriggle and writhe on the rug, in front of the tree.  “My little slut loves it when both her stockings get stuffed extra full.”  How you squirm and kick your legs happily when…

- Clicking the tiny remote twice…high-pitched, muffled squeals echo off the living room walls in response.  The vibrations in both your greedy holes becoming greater, so powerful that the humming practically rings in your ears.  Makes your teeth chatter, brain go a tiny bit dumb.  Toes curl ever so slightly.

- “That’s what I like to hear,” he chuckles, hint of condescension in his tone.  Taking one last long sip, he sets aside his drink.  Leaning forward, looming above you.  Free hand winding and encircling his big cock.  “Now why don’t you be a good girl.”  Pumping it slowly…fat tip an angry red, glistening with snowy beads of pre oozing from the slit.  “Show daddy how much you enjoy them.”

- Eagerly you obey, fingers fumbling.  Clumsily sinking your plaything in and out of your cunny.  Thumb sloppily circling and teasing your throbbing nub.  “Go on…”  Hips twitching and rocking in time with his steady strokes; your choppy, uneven thrusts.  Desperately trying to get it to drive deeper, to kiss and bruise your aching cervix.  “Let me see…”

- Another two clicks and your eyes start to roll, vison filling with blinding stars and fading to white.  Back arching slightly off the floor, thick thighs trembling.  “Come, sweetheart…”  From the overwhelming pleasure that shoots up your spine.  The effort and strain of your bouncing body, supporting your burdening weight.  The intensity of Stephen’s hungry gaze.  “Make a nice, big mess…”

- Chest rises and falls frantically.  Shallow, deep breaths and pants escape through your nose.  Teeth biting into, leaving faint impressions in the ball gag; taste of rubber, along with all those sweets you gobbled up earlier, flooding your mouth.  “Maybe then I’ll let you open, use another present…” 

- The coil inside you is so tight, the heat stifling.  Holes flutter and clench like crazy at the sound of rapid, wet slaps.  The symphony of gruff moans, low snarls.  “One that I’m sure…”     Slick trickles down your plump bottom, dripping onto the pile of strewn pieces of festive wrapping and bows beneath.  Mixing and mingling with his juices, to create a jolly cocktail.  “My babe will love even better…”

- Yet again he clicks twice.  Causing you to scream and cry quietly in joy all because…  You're spending a truly magical and memorable Christmas Eve.  Exactly how you wanted…  Spoiled rotten by your dotting daddy…  Surrounded, dwelling in your own personal Toyland…

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @adorbzliz, @sythethecarrot, @divineani, @fuckmyskywalker, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @anakinstwinklebunny, @xhunnybeeex

@hearts4sammonroe, @pitas-star, @sythethecarrot, @naberriess, @steven-grants-world, @valyna27, @elcaballerodragon, @yayyy5678, @anakinsrilgirlfriend, @padme-urlove,  @brattyyybbg, @mrschr1stensen, @rosie-chan92, @beresfordsgirl, @darthdaddi, @icosmiclou

[imjustasugablob]

Feel Me Up pt. 2

trainer! leon x trainee! female! reader

part 1

tags: piv, penetration, teasing, spanking, dick riding, agegap(implied), slight degradation but reader is a smartass back

You lay in bed, staring at the dark outline of the dangling ceiling lamp. The soft snoring of your bunkmate acted as white noise, but you still couldn't sleep.

Did I really just try to hook up with Leon? And then walk away?

You could hardly believe what happened wasn't just a wet dream. Even in a dream you couldn't imagine walking away from that position. But when it came to Leon you acted almost on autopilot, making snarky remarks in response to his questions, trying your best to piss him off, just as he did to you.

You didn't really know why you did it. Maybe to show him that you weren't as weak as he thought. But tonight must have really proved that you could match him.

You got out of bed, grabbing a jacket and tying up your shoes. You realised your hands shook a little.

Fuck, there's no way I'm getting any sleep tonight.

Might as well take a walk.

You weren't going to find him, just going on a simple walk to ease your nerves.

Right?

Then why are my hands shaking?

As you made your way to the yard behind the dorm building, you came across the rooms reserved for senior officials of the government posted here. You didn't know how, but you did end up in front of Leon's private chambers, staring at the engraved nameplate fitted into the mahogany door. A faint light could be seen peeking from under the door, spilling out onto the hallway. You simply stood there, thinking back to the day you first met him, all the way to earlier tonight. How you'd always found him attractive, but it seemed simply improper to think those thoughts, so you buried them away.

Suddenly, you heard a click in the doorknob.

Shit, is he coming out?

You tried to hurry away but your shoes seemed to be welded to the floor beneath you. Like a deer in headlights, you froze in place as the door swung wide open.

Leon, seemingly surprised by your appearance, stood completely still at the threshold. Your eyes took a second to get used to the light coming from inside his room, but the first thing you noticed was that he wasn't wearing a shirt.

Oh, God.

It wasn't the first time you were seeing him like this. After all, it wasn't uncommon for the men you trained with to ditch their shirts halfway through practice, drenched in sweat. But it was different that time. It would have been weird to ogle at him as he explained to you the basics of striking technique, although some of the girls didn't seem to think that it was unprofessional to eyefuck him in broad daylight.

No, it wasn't like this.

Right now, he looked vulnerable. His hair was disheveled, bags drooping under his eyes. He straightened his slumped shoulders, blinking the strain out of his eyes, as if he thought you were a hallucination.

Everything about him looked softer now. Except for his eyes.

You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but looking into the cerulean depths, you could imagine it to be the violent sea crashing against the cliffside with enough force to cut through the ancient rock.

You cleared your throat, having lost all the earlier ferocity with which you had taken control over the older man. "Uhm. H-hey."

He didn't respond, but continued to take you in with his eyes. The tension still lingered, draped over you like a weighted blanket, making it hard to breathe correctly.

"You should go." Leon finally replied after what seemed like ages. His voice sounded gravelly, deeper. His tone was devoid of any emotion, not even a hint or acknowledgement towards what had happened between you two.

"Yeah, I was just- yeah. Okay.", you said as you turned away from his body, slowly yanking your eyes from him, with great difficulty.

You walked slowly, maybe a couple metres, before realising that he hadn't shut his door.

Why isn't he going back?

You paused, not knowing whether you should turn around or not. Was he waiting for you to?

In a split second, a thousand thoughts seemed to be rushing through your mind. Leon consumed all of them. The way his hand felt in yours, his calloused fingers leaving marks in the dip of your waist. How beautiful he was.

Was it even a question?

You slowly looked over your shoulder to find Leon leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, like he just knew that you were gonna go back to him.

Like his fucking lap dog.

However casual his pose was, his eyes gave away how he really felt, as they darkened on seeing the desire in your own.

In just two steps you crossed over to where he was, and he closed the gap between you instantly, pulling you into a deep kiss, your chest flush against his. It felt like you were continuing from right where you left off.

Leon pulled you into his cabin, shutting the door behind him and pinning you against the wall without breaking the kiss. His tongue flicked across your bottom lip, and you parted your lips as he began to explore the inside of your mouth.

"You're not going anywhere now, darling", he said as he reached behind you to lock the door. The word didn't feel endearing, but rather a taunt, inviting you to retaliate.

You dug your nails into his shoulders, causing him to groan into your mouth. "Don't get too cocky now, Kennedy."

A rookie referring to a senior agent like that was bold. Not bolder than having sex with your direct superior, though, you thought as you felt his boner pressing up against your thigh.

He chuckled softly. "Oh, you just have to run that pretty little mouth of yours, don't ya?"

"I think it's high time you stop taking it and show me how it makes you feel", you said.

You broke free from his arms and made your way to his bed. Taking off your shirt, and then your pants as you faced away from him, making sure to give him a great view of your ass.

You heard his low growl, which made the hair on your neck rise.

You felt him approach you from behind before he pushed you into the mattress, landing with your ass up, directly facing him. Before you could get a word out, a hard slap landed on your ass, stinging as he kneaded the soft flesh.

"How it makes me feel? It makes me wanna fuck that dirty mouth of yours till you can't say shit no more."

Another slap resounded in the room, making you moan out loud this time.

"Oh you like that, don't you? You want me to treat you like the little whore you are, hmm?"

You had never really been into degradation before.

I guess this is one way of finding out.

Leon pulled aside your panties as he ran his fingers over your slit, covered in arousal.

"Already so wet for me. You shouldn't have left earlier baby, I would have taken care of your little problem."

He slowly made his way to your clit, rubbing circles over the bundle of nerves, making you grasp at the sheets, desperate for release. God, you were so pent up.

"I need you...", you managed to croak out between laboured breaths.

"Then say it." Leon increased the speed of his fingers on your clitoris now, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. He slapped your sensitive bundle, not hard but enough to make you see stars.

"Leon, I need you inside me! I want your dick, please let me-" you choked up as your orgasm washed over you that very instant, making you writhe in pleasure as he brought you down from your high.

"That fast? Fucking hell." Leon felt the blood rush straight down as he looked at you completely fucked out from just his fingers. You could be as defiant and bratty as you wanted when it came to talk, but the way his fingers seemed to know every inch of you made you completely helpless in front of him, reduced to a blabbering, pleading mess.

Leon flipped over your body, climbing on top of you as he kissed you once more, now with a sense of impatience and desperation. Your little show had affected him much more than he was letting on, and he'd be damned if his dick wasn't inside you as soon as possible.

You tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants, encouraging him to take them off. In the dim light, you could see him rummaging around for a condom in his bedside drawer before hearing the sound of ripping foil.

He positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing his tip back and forth over your slit as his unintelligible murmurs against your ears sent you in a trance, repeating his name over and over like a mantra as he pushed inside. It was definitely a stretch, added to the fact that it had been long since you found yourself in bed with someone.

You gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation. You could feel the throbbing vein on his cock against your velvety walls, making your toes curl in pure, unadulterated pleasure. Leon pulled out completely, leaving you whining. He was teasing the hell out of you, which couldn't have been easy for him, either.

A wave of anger rose at this thought, how he would deny himself pleasure just to see you suffer. You suddenly sat up and climbed onto his lap, positioning his cock just right, and sank down on him all the way to the hilt.

Leon moaned out loud at the unexpected feeling. Your walls clenched around his length, like a prison he never wanted to leave. Grabbing his shoulders, you began rocking your hips up and down, not breaking eye contact.

"Fuck, baby, you're so good at this."

You might have blushed if it was coming from someone else. Who were you kidding, you would never have dared to act this ambitious had it been someone else. But Leon was different. You didn't have to think when it came to him. All you wanted was to make him feel good. To hear that sweet, sweet praise from his mouth, that he had denied you all those weeks at training.

Leon grabbed your hips and pulled them inwards, changing the angle and hitting your G spot. He began meeting your hips with his own, thrusting upwards, drilling even deeper into your pussy. You were on the verge again.

"Come on, baby, come for me. Come all over my dick," Leon said as his thrusts began to grow sloppier.

His dirty words did the job of sending you over the edge, the burning knot in your stomach coming undone at his request. He wasn't far behind, fucking you through your orgasm as he reached his own, whispering your name the whole while.

Your breathing slowly returned to normal as you continued to hold on to him, feeling him going soft inside you.

"God, that was good," you said.

"Training's in an hour, princess. There's still time for some extra lessons, don't you think?"

tw: LONG authors note rambling ahead

thank bloody HEAVENS this is over. I mulled over a completely written out story, decided it's trash, erased it all instead of writing a new draft and wrote something EVEN WORSE. I'm not satisfied by how this turned out at all, but honestly I had to rush it cause I'm going through some personal (DINO) crises. Also can y'all tell I've never had sex before 💀 I really wanted to include oral but I ran out of time and mental energy. I'll write it in some other fic and make it actually good this time. Thank you for reading my story nevertheless and a comment really means the world to me, i really appreciate all the love and support I got on the first part. I never thought I'd get a 100 likes on the first ever work i publish and I'm sorry for this one being a disappointment. I probably won't be writing again for a long time cause I have a really big paper due after the holidays but oh well I wrote the first part in an hour the DAY OF a big submission so we'll see. Thank you once again, and happy holidays!

xoxo

BLOB

[pendingnomdeplume]

hold me hard and mellow pairing: hozier x female!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: Miscommunications/Misunderstandings, Pining, Drunk Flirting, Drunk Sex words: 4.0k

[Read it on AO3]

title from Pillowtalk by Zayn divider by: sylusz

Though your 30th birthday was months ago, it’s difficult to ignore some of the changes that aging has brought on. You’ve noticed a few new gray hairs sprouting where there were none before, and your cheeks have lost some of the cherubic plumpness that made you look like a high schooler attempting to swindle shops for alcohol every time you wanted a beer. These changes don’t bother you. In fact, you’re excited to look a little bit older, more like your actual age. 

What catches your attention is entirely different. Something embarrassing, really. Something that you’ve been mildly self-conscious of while living in a giant, moving tin can with several other people and absolutely no privacy.

It takes exactly one Google search to confirm what you already started to suspect. 

Why am I so aroused all the time??? 

The question marks aren’t necessary, but they feel right given how perplexed you are by this development. What’s returned is page after page of different threads and message boards, all filled with women over the age of 30 confirming that, yes, their libido also increased with age. In fact, it seems fairly commonplace for women to experience their sexual peak a little bit later in life. 

While you’re relieved that this phenomenon isn’t unusual, you’re still frustrated by the fact that you feel insatiable. There’s absolutely no time to take care of yourself as often as you’d like, no space with enough privacy to even try. Your bunk on the tour bus is your only sanctuary, but even then, the curtains are easily ripped from their velcro tabs, and someone is always awake when you’re at your most desperate. 

Hotel rooms aren’t any better. You always end up sharing the space, which you can’t begrudge anyone for, really. It’s a matter of pragmatism made up for by all of the other perks of touring with Hozier—or, Andrew, as he prefers from colleagues. 

Therein lies your other issue: Andrew is currently the bane of your entire fucking existence. Not for any malicious reason, it’s just…well, you have eyes, and he’s an attractive lad. A kind lad. Funny, sensitive, talented—the list goes on. But he’s Hozier, for Christ’s sake. If he’s not a household name by now, he’s very well on his way with the release of “Too Sweet,” perhaps to his chagrin. 

Honestly, it’s just a silly crush that you would handle a lot better were it not for the fact that you live within 20 feet of the man constantly. You’re either singing on stage behind him, or sitting a stone’s throw away from him on the bus. The only reprieve you get is on hotel nights, but even then, you’ve been dragged out for dinner and drinks on several occasions, somehow always ending up either seated directly across from him or squished into a booth next to him. 

Recently, you’ve been trying to maintain a reasonable distance. You’ve stepped out of rooms he’s entered, hidden around corners as he strides by, and recused yourself from group outings for your own peace. It’s not as though anything would ever come of your crush, and it’s better to maintain space than force yourself into proximity to him and suffer at the hands of your own libido.

Honestly, you never expected him to take notice. Sure, he’s kind to you, and he’ll strike up a conversation with you when he’s in the mood, but otherwise, you’ve always thought of yourself as inconsequential. Not like Alex or Rory who have been with him since the beginning. Not like Larissa who enmeshes themself into the fold with their radiating energy and charm, nor Kamilah who is the human embodiment of glee.  

Tonight is another night of planned avoidance. The group is getting ready to go out for dinner and enjoy their evening off before the show the next night. You’ve already declined the invitation in the group chat, already fended off Joy and Mel who follow you with exaggerated pouts and pleas. In the end, they respect your decision to stay behind and promise to bring something back for you. 

With the next few hours to yourself, you curl up in bed and crack open the same book you’ve been attempting to read for the past few days—some fantasy novel with a gratuitous amount of steamy, spicy scenes that are…a little silly, if you’re being honest. But it’s fun, nearly brainless entertainment. A dessert of a novel, or perhaps the after-dinner mint. 

A quiet, polite knock at the door startles you out of your reading not even 20 minutes later. You wonder if it’s Mel, if she forgot her damn room key again, and hop out of bed in your pajama shorts and tank top without another thought. 

When you open the door, you’re surprised to find that it’s Andrew on the other side, hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie. 

“Oh, hey!” You greet, befuddlement obvious in your voice. “What’re you doing here? I thought you went out with everyone else.”

Andrew shakes his head. “Nah, I wasn’t feeling up for it tonight.”

“Ah.” There’s a few beats of silence as you stare at each other, until you finally ask, “Did…did you need something, or…?” Because, really, why the fuck is he here?

He’s quiet as he studies you, head tilting to one side. You’ve never been on the receiving end of his scrutiny before—at least, not that you’re aware of, anyway. It’s slightly intimidating, mostly because of his stature, but also because his attention is solely directed on you in a way you haven’t experienced previously. 

Finally, he lets out a little huff and asks, “Are you avoiding me?” 

Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open. You quickly snap it shut, a flush already making your ears go hot.

“No! Of course not! What gave you that impression?” Lies, lies, lies, but what are you supposed to say to a question like that? 

Andrew looks rightfully unconvinced. “I just…haven’t seen you around lately.” 

He noticed?

“Right, yeah, uh…” You flounder for a response, rubbing your clammy palms against your shorts. “I’ve just—I’ve been busy, y’know? With stuff. And things.” 

“Stuff and things,” Andrew repeats back slowly with a half-smile. 

You nod, smile tightly. “Mhm. Stuff and things. Matters, even! And, um…affairs. States of affairs.” 

“Of course.” He nods sagely. “It just seems like one of those very important matters that you’re tending to might be avoiding me.” 

“Oh,” you reply lamely. “It’s—I’m not—” You’re beginning to panic, trying to think of anything to get out of this conversation that doesn’t involve slamming the door in his face. 

“Because you haven’t gone out with us in weeks,” he continues as you stammer. “And you’re fairly quick to leave any room that I enter. Or, is that just a coincidence?” 

Annoyance buzzes beneath your skin.

“There have been stranger occurrences, I’m sure,” you reply evenly.

“Right. I’m sure.” He pulls a grimace of a smile, lips pressed together tightly as he knocks once on the doorframe before taking a step back. He almost looks dejected, though that’s probably just wishful thinking on your part. 

You’re ready to close the door on him, ready to curl back up under the blankets and try to sleep off your embarrassment. Just as he begins to turn away, Andrew stops and turns back to you with a curious half-smile. 

“Would you like to go down to the hotel bar with me, then?” 

You blink. “What?” 

He shrugs easily, assuredly. “Since you’re not avoiding me, come down and get a drink with me.”

Anxiety grips your heart as your stomach flutters. It’s a bad idea. A terrible one, even. Being alone with Andrew under the influence of alcohol? You can only imagine that being a one-way ticket to a massive disaster that ends with you getting kicked off the tour entirely. God knows what dumb shite will spill out of your mouth the moment you start to feel loose.

His smile turns coy as he tilts his head. “Or I could always bring something up for you. They’ve a lovely wine list here.” 

You swallow, searching his face as he raises a questioning eyebrow at you. 

Finally, you sigh and let your head rest against the doorframe. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” 

Andrew laughs, shakes his head. “No. Unless you tell me to fuck off, of course.”

You can’t help but smile and shake your own head. “I would never. Can you give me a few minutes, though? I can’t go down looking like this.” 

He waits outside like a gentleman, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. He smiles as you reappear in clothes more suitable for a public setting—merely a hoodie and a pair of jeans, but it’s good enough for a booth in the dimly lit, fairly empty hotel bar. 

You order a glass of blush wine, smirking when Andrew requests the bottle for the table instead. 

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” It’s light, airy, asked as a joke and nothing more. 

Andrew looks at you with a sly tilt of his head. “Trying to find reasons for you to stay a while.”

The answer stuns you, your face going pink as you avoid the waiter’s amused expression.

He orders a glass of Woodford Reserve, neat. When the waiter drops it off, he holds it out to you for a taste, and you hold out your wine glass in turn. The whiskey is bitter, spicy, and makes you cough into the crook of  your elbow as the amber liquid burns all the way down to your stomach. 

“Good lord,” you splutter as he grins at you. “That’ll put some hair on your chest.”

You study him as he sips from your wine glass, as he tilts his head in thought and nods to himself assuredly before commenting that it’s actually quite good despite blush wines not being his thing.

“So…” you start, hands folded on the table as you level his stare. 

“So…” he echoes as he rests his head in his hand, elbow planted firmly on the table. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

The question startles a laugh out of you. “Straight to it then, yeah?” 

He shrugs, takes another sip of his drink. “It’s not typically how I operate.” 

“Oh?” You tilt your head, an exaggeration of his own mannerisms. “And what makes me the lucky one to be graced with your focus and attention?”

Andrew chuckles. “I think you’re trying to dodge my question.” 

“And I think you’re trying to dodge mine.” You smirk before taking a sip from your glass. 

There’s a brief pause as he studies your face. “Honestly? I think my ego is a little bruised.” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he continues, “You can’t deny that you’re avoiding me, yeah? It’s been fairly obvious. And I…well, you've been on my mind, is all.” 

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. He’d been thinking of you? Apparently so, and often enough that he’s not only noticed the distance you’ve maintained from him, he’s actually hurt by it. The thought of hurting him at all makes your chest feel tight.

“It’s not personal,” you say weakly. 

“Feels personal,” he retorts. “Have I done something or said something to…I don’t know, make you not want to be around me?”

“No! No. Of course not.”

Andrew frowns. “I haven’t made you uncomfortable, have I? I try not to be too forward, but I suppose it’s the Pisces in me. Or something. Alex told me that once, I don’t know.” 

You blink. “You haven’t made me uncomfortable.” Not in the way he would expect, anyway.

His cheeks turn rosy as he runs a hand through his curls. He seems almost frustrated, as though your answers perplex him further. Andrew takes another sip from his drink, and you decide to follow suit, gulping down the last of your wine. Before you can even reach for it, Andrew takes the bottle and begins to pour a generous refill into your glass. 

You meet his eyes as he sets the bottle back down with a thud before bringing the glass up to your lips again. He watches you carefully, unable to maintain your stare as his eyes flit to your mouth, your throat, your fingers carefully curled around the stem. 

“Good. Grand.” He sighs. “If I haven’t made you…I mean, is there something else, then?” Your puzzled expression makes him frown. “Or, someone else, rather?”

The gears slowly begin to turn in your mind.

“Someone…else?” 

It must be your tone, the obvious confusion in your voice that clues him in, a look of understanding softening his features. Embarrassment quickly overtakes him as he covers his reddening face with a nervous laugh. 

“You—you’ve no idea what I’m—? Oh, Jesus…” He avoids your eyes as he slams back the remainder of his drink in one go, then sets the glass down with a wince and a grimace. “I think we may have a misunderstanding here.” 

Your own embarrassment has you speechless, mouth opening and closing as you process what he’s just said. Surely, he didn’t mean…? No, he couldn’t mean that, because things like that don’t just happen, at least not to you. Not when it’s Andrew of all people. 

It’s the wine that grips your throat and controls your voice, and you laugh incredulously as you ask, “Oh my god, do you have a crush on me?”

He groans into his hands, then smooths them back over his hair before collapsing onto the table with a laugh. His face is tinged pink with drunken embarrassment, and he smiles at you before turning to hide his face in his arms. 

“In no uncertain terms,” comes his muffled reply.

You laugh again and cover your own face, unsure of what to say. Your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest, your pulse thumping as a familiar heat begins to pool in your stomach. 

After a moment, Andrew lifts his head again and pulls himself from the table until he’s upright once more. His eyes are tinged red now, bloodshot from booze. Your own head swims as you rest your head in your hand and smile at him warmly. 

“D’you want to know why I was avoiding you?” You avert your gaze to the table, then sigh before the words tumble from your mouth. “Because you’re too fucking attractive. How am I supposed to get anything done when you walk around looking like this?”

He splutters a laugh as you gesture vaguely towards him. “Oh?” 

The wine bottle is nearly empty now as you encourage him to pour some for himself in the empty glass on the table.

“It’s terribly inconsiderate of you,” you hum, and you catch his grin before he takes a drink.

Andrew grins. “My apologies for being such a distraction. I’d no idea I caused such distress.” 

You chuckle and eye him coyly. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it distress.”

“What would you call it, then?”

“Hmm…” You scrunch your face as you pretend to think. “Intrigue, certainly...and the uncanny ability to make me—” 

“Anything else for you?” The waiter’s voice startles you both, and you whip your head up to look at him wondering how much of that he heard. If he’s heard anything, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he mostly looks bored, and you can see the black booklet in his hand that surely contains the check. 

Andrew is quick to take it and scribbles in his room number for the charge, nearly shoving the booklet back into the waiter’s hands with hasty thanks. 

You’re both drunk enough to make bad decisions that you know you’ll regret come morning, but it’s difficult to care about that when he’s pressing you back against the wall in the elevator and kissing you like you’re his only source of air. When his hands are all over you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“C’mon,” he murmurs as the doors open to let you onto his floor. 

You stumble over yourself with a whispered, “Shit!” as he pulls you over the threshold of his room, and he laughs and apologizes before flipping a light on. 

Andrew is a messy creature, and his room looks as though his overnight bag spontaneously exploded while he was out. It’s weirdly charming, another reminder that he is, in fact, just a regular fucking guy with standard quirks. 

A thrill runs through you when he kisses you again, softer this time as he cradles your face in his hands. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” The question is sudden, his eyes wide as he searches for any hint of doubt. 

You’re quiet for a moment as you turn the question over in your mind. Even in an inebriated state, he’s still so concerned about your comfort, your consent. It’s unsurprising given how anxious he seems in general, but it’s sweet all the same. 

Finally, you rest a hand on his arm and look up at him with a smirk. “What I was saying earlier, about you and intrigue…well, you have a knack for making me weak in the knees, amongst other things. It’s typically based on your proximity, though.” 

You see his mouth turn up in a half-smile just before he crowds closer to you, pulling you flush against him as you wrap your arms around his neck and laugh into another kiss. 

“I don’t normally do this,” he breathes just before moving to kiss along your neck. 

“I feel like I should be the one saying that.” You gasp when he bites down, not hard enough to cause any truly lasting damage, but enough to know that you’ll still be wearing his marks come morning. A thrilling thought, though you’re sure you’ll be mobbed by the ladies and Larissa for details later on. 

Your hoodie is in the way, impeding his access, and he steps away to tug at the hem until you’re helping him peel it off. He stares at your chest, clearly surprised by your lack of bra and the way your nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of your tank top. 

“In my defense,” you say with a smirk, “I didn’t expect all of this to happen.”

He laughs quietly as he walks you back towards the bed. “You’ll hear no complaints from me.” 

The sheets are rumpled and easily kicked away as you shuffle back on the mattress. Andrew drops kisses along chest, teeth grazing your skin and leaving little imprints. You squeak when he shoves your shirt up roughly, and he throws an apologetic look your way. 

“Sorry, just a bit enthusiastic,” he muses. 

You laugh, feeling breathless as his hands wander along your newly bared skin. 

“You’ll hear no complaints from me.” 

His responding laugh— a low, warm sound, sweet as honey—makes you blush. You gasp when he gently bites your nipple just before taking it into his mouth. It sends a shiver through you as he moves to the other, and you squirm beneath him, almost glad that you’re too drunk to really be embarrassed at the moment. 

Once your jeans are off and tossed away, Andrew freezes, his eyes greedily taking in your nearly nude body before snapping back up to meet your stare. He dips a hand beneath the waistband of your panties—a simple black pair without any details or flair, because you didn’t expect to have Andrew’s hand shoved into them like this.

He seems surprised to find you an already slick mess, his fingers dipping easily into you before pulling them back to rub your clit in slow circles. 

“I told you,” you huff a harsh laugh that breaks into a small moan. “Weak in the knees, amongst other things.” 

Andrew’s grin is obscured by his hair that curtains his face. He continues to touch you slowly, methodically, while capturing you in a kiss and swallowing down every little sound that escapes you. 

He breaks the kiss with a small gasp and asks, “What do you—how do you want to—?”

You’re far too impatient for anything that isn’t his cock inside of you right fucking now. You’re aching, feeling empty in a way that you have so many times over the past few weeks. Except this time, the object of your affections is stumbling over himself to rummage through his bag after you ask about protection. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you muse as he approaches you again with something square in hand. 

“So are you,” he shoots back, and he watches in awe as you slip your underwear off and cast them aside without batting an eye, emboldened.

He licks his lips before saying weakly, “Oh, you’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?”

Andrew is far too impatient to remove everything, barely able to focus on even shoving his own jeans down and hastily rolling on a condom with shaky hands. 

The feeling as he presses into you is heavenly, so full, warm, and satisfying. You bury your face into the crook of his shoulder as he sets an even pace. The slick sound of your arousal makes you blush, but it’s obvious how much it spurs him on, delighting in your body’s reaction to him, his touch, his everything.

Weeks of wishing and wanting, and now you can’t hold back your moans as he fucks you the way you’ve imagined. You can feel the way he stretches you as he fills you, and he gasps when you clench around him. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes screwing shut as he takes a deep breath. 

You reach up and brush a stray curl from his face. “Are you okay?”

When he opens his eyes, he gives you a little smile and a nod. “Yeah, yes, grand,” he huffs, then lets his head fall forward until his forehead rests against your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good.” 

He grips your thigh and squeezes gently, a silent bid to get your legs around him. 

At first, he’s slow, taking his time as he kisses you between breathy laughs and whispered swears. It isn’t until you murmur, “You don’t have to treat me so preciously,” in his ear that he hums and shifts to press your legs further, damn near folding you in half. But it’s good, so fucking good, and you can barely form a thought as your eyes roll back and flutter as he picks up his pace.

And, Jesus, how are you already so close to your peak? Another testament to your seemingly insatiable desire. You cry out when he rubs a thumb against your clit roughly, out of sync with his thrusts as you press back and grind against his palm.

The stimulation is enough to send you tumbling over the edge. Tears blur your vision as you let out small, sobbing moans against his neck. Each wave of pleasure has you clenching down around him.  and then he’s snapping his hips one, two, three more times before groaning in your ear while his cock twitches with his release.

Andrew is quick to collect you into his arms after collapsing next to you in bed. He reaches blindly for a blanket to tug over both of you, seemingly more of a courtesy than anything. You allow yourself to relax into him, nuzzling his shoulder before settling with your head on his chest. 

“Wow,” he says after his breathing has evened, and he laughs quietly as he squeezes you. 

“Yeah,” you hum.

There’s another stretch of silence, and your eyes begin to feel heavy as you follow the pattern of his breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest. 

Another small laugh from him stirs you, and you look up at him questioningly. 

“We’re going to feel fucking awful tomorrow, aren’t we?” 

“Oh, yeah.”

“Is a hungover breakfast a proper first date, d’you think?” 

You grin at him and lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Proper? No. But we haven’t done things by the book so far.”

[kaliforniahigh]

birds of a feather, we should stick together - n.s. (part one)

Best friends to lovers, fake dating and best friend Noah <3

Warnings: a mean character, curse words, Noah makes fun of fine line tattoos, lies and reader trying to fit in to the best of her abilities. If I missed something, let me know!

Part 2 is in the works and coming soon!

WC: 4.3k words.

Requests are closed for now / Click here to be added to the permanent tag list <3

To say you were overly excited to meet up with your high school friends would be a total lie. When you told Noah they arranged a lunch date, to remember the good old days, he scoffed, and asked you why you even stayed in the group chat with these people.

Truth is, they weren't all bad. Acually, most of them were pretty nice, It was the Regina George of the group, also known as Jade, who fucked up the vibes.

Jade was a mean girl, and she never understood why you were friends with the awkward emo kid, with the side-swept bangs. This emo kid being your best friend, Noah Sebastian, who was the first person you met when you enrolled in a new school, in the middle of the school year.

It was 6th grade, and you had just moved to Richmond, VA. Your dad was transferred, so you had to find a new home, in a new city.

You and Noah became friends fast, being paired up by your English teacher during reading classes, you talked more than you actually read. He found out, that even though it didn't look like it, you enjoyed the same bands as he did. And that you learned to play acoustic guitar from a pretty young age.

You told him that your dad was in a band during his college years, but, due to adult responsabilities, it became more of a hobby for him than anything else.

Soon, the two of you were inseparable. Walking down school corridors together, him going to your house to do homework, and showing you around the city on the weekends.

You were the one who took school more seriously than him, and you were the one who ended up going to college and getting your Master's degree right after. But he was the one who always took you to watch his band practice, who took you to watch his friends - who were always much older than the two of you - perform.

When you were both 15, Noah told you he was going to drop out of high school. You weren't too happy, because you wouldn't have your best friend with you anymore, but you always knew the time would come, and were surprised he didn't decide to do it much sooner.

And that's how you met Jade and her friends. You weren't popular by any means, but, one day, she approached you and asked you how you styled your hair so nicely, and how she loved your pink tips.

You wanted to tell her that your best friend helped you. When you told Noah you wanted a splash of color in your hair, he went to the store with you to buy the necessary things. He wanted you to do purple, but you settled on pink. You remember him huffing in annoyance, telling you that pink was such a boring color.

At home, he helped you with the back of your head, while you spread the vivid color on the front pieces. It turned out amazing, and you joked that he could be a hair stylist if this band thing didn't work out.

Noah and Jade never really got along. The first day they met, Noah was picking you up from school, waiting for you in the parking lot. You remember Jade making a backhanded remark about his tattoos and the way he dresses, and Noah's face turned sour immediately.

After that, anytime they were in the same vicinity, shady comments were thrown by both of them. Noah always commenting about how the bleach in her hair must've gotten to her brain, and Jade commenting about how Noah was a wannabe rockstar.

Noah asked you many times why you kept her around, instead of dumping her and finding new friends, and you always explained how it wasn't that easy.

This was high school, and everyone already had their group of friends, not really being keen on letting other people in. Besides, without him there, and without the girls, you truly had no one else.

At the end of the day, he understood. Noah himself had a hard time making friends, and to this day, he never understood how someone like you decided to befriend him. He knew how being solitary could ruin your years in high school.

Now, sitting in this overpriced lunch spot they found downtown, you were contemplating your life choices as you tried to eat your Caeser salad without grimacing. All of them ordered fucking salads, and you did the same, not wanting to be the only one ordering chicken parm.

"Girlies", Jade said, wiping her mouth with a napking and setting it back down on her lap. "I know this is a reunion, but I have such good news", she clapped her hands excitedly. Typical Jade, always wanting the attention on her.

Everyone stopped eating to pay attention to what she was saying.

"So, you know how Peter proposed to me last year, right?", everyone nodded yes. "We're getting married in two months!", she exclaimed, reaching inside her Louis Vitton bag and pulling out what seemed to be wedding invitations. "And all of you are invited!"

The girls cheered and started to hug her, you did the same, expressing your happines for your friend.

"It's going to be in the Bahamas, in an all-inclusive resort", she informed, handing out the wedding invitations. Meanwhile, you were wondering with what money you were getting your ass to the Bahamas.

"Peter is paying all the expenses, for everyone, so don't even worry about it", she said, as if reading your thoughts.

Jade got engaged to the kind of person everyone thought she was going to date. Peter was a hot shot plastic surgeon based in LA. You had no doubt he racked up millions of dollars every month just fixing people's faces. Jade herself had something new done everytime you met up.

"What about you, Y/N? Who are you bringing as your plus one?", Emma asked. You guess you zoned out and missed part of the conversation.

"You're bringing your boyfriend, right?", Lily chimed in.

Did they even know if you had a boyfriend or not? You looked around the table, all the girls waiting for your answer. You didn't know what to say. Suddenly, your eyes noticed all of their beautiful engagement rings, and you didn't have the courage to say you were still single.

"Yeah, of course", you answered, hoping you were convincing.

"Uhh, that's amazing! Who is he?", Jade asked, excitment coating her voice.

Shit. Who the fuck would you say is your boyfriend?

"Noah", you said. He was the first person to come to mind, and you didn't hesitate to say his name.

You saw Jade's face twist in a frown.

"You're dating Noah?", she asked, judgment evident in her tone.

"Hmm, yeah, for a while now", you were lying through your teeth at this point.

"Well", she shrugged. "I guess it was always gonna happen anyways", and just like that, the rest of the girls went back to their conversations, while you mulled over what the hell you had just done.

You were already gonna tell Noah to come with you to the wedding the moment she handed out the invitations, which, was going to be a difficult task in itself, since Noah held a grudge against Jade to this day. But you were sure you could convince him with the all-inclusive resort argument.

Now, not only did you have to convince him to go with you, but you had to tell him you told the girls you were dating?

You were already thinking of excuses not to go.

When everyone was finished with their meals, they slowly started to say their goodbyes. You did the same, giving each one of them a kiss on the cheek as you made your way out of the restaurant and to your car.

When you got in, you instantly fished your phone from your purse, dialing Noah's number.

"You need saving from the botox bitch?", Noah answered the phone. You rolled your eyes, but laughed anyway.

"I'm already leaving the restaurant, actually. I was calling to ask if I can come over"

"Since when do you call to ask if you can come over?", he asked, confusion in his voice. He was right, you usually just showed up.

"I don't know? To make sure you're home?"

"You know I'm always home"

"Can I comer over or not?", you asked again, a hint of fake annoyance in your voice.

"Of course you can"

"Then I'll see you in fifteen", you said, hanging up the phone and starting your car.

On the way over to Noah's house, you've been thinking about how you were going to break the news. You still had a little while to think about what you were going to tell him, but, you knew that as soon as he saw your face, he'd know you were hiding something from him.

So, without an actual plan, you decided to tell him today. That way, you wouldn't have to torture youself for days with this information, and you gave him more time to prepare. That is, if he even decided to go.

You trusted your abilities to convince him, though. Noah had a history of doing whatever you wanted just to see you happy, and you never took advantage of that, but desperate times call for for desperate measures. Besides, a vacation to the Bahamas, with all expenses paid, didn't seem all that bad. Even if you had to endure Jade for a few days.

Parking outside, you gave yourself a pep talk before leaving your car and locking it behind you. Using your spare key, you unlocked the front door and made your way inside the living room, announcing your arrival by calling Noah's name.

"I'm right here, what are you yelling for?", he answered from the couch, the PS5 controller in his hands. You just shrugged in answer, and sat next to him.

Grabbing your purse, you pulled out the fancy wedding invitation Jade had handed to you, and set it on the couch beside him and between the two of you. Grabbing it and reading what was written in gold letters, Noah's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Oh, so the queen of botox is getting married to the king of botox?", you gave him a sideways glance, but smiled at his nicknames for the couple. It did suit them, after all.

"Yeah, they are. Jade couldn't help but announce it today", you pointed out.

"Well, are you going?", he asked, setting the invitation back down.

"Hmm. It depends, I guess", you answered, avoiding his eyes and you could tell he already clocked that something is wrong.

"Why?", he asked, a little hesitant.

"Jade said we can bring a plus one"

"Yeah, you usually can at weddings"

"And I was thinking....", you trailed off and looked at him, seeing the exact moment the realization dawned on him, and he immediately started to shake his head.

"There is no way", he said, getting up from the couch and walking over to the kitchen. You got up as well and went after him.

"Why not?", you asked him, a little bit of whining in your voice.

"Are you seriously asking 'why not'?"

"I mean, I know you don't like her, but c'mon, this is gonna be a nice wedding. Besides, it's in the Bahamas, and Peter is paying for everything", you argued.

"Is it's because it's in the Bahamas, I can pay for a vacation for us in the Bahamas, no problem", he crossed his arms against his chest.

"It's not because of that"

"Y/N", he stepped closer towards you. "You know you can just go alone, right?"

"I can't go alone", you huffed in annoyance, because his argument was totally valid, but you did not have that option anymore, all because of your big mouth and will to please everyone.

"Why not?", he asked, confusion etched all over his face.

"Because...", your shoulders slumped as you realized the gravity of your mistake.

"Hey", he grabbed your shoulders, sensing your discomfort. You were never uncomfortable around him, so this behaviour from you scared him a little bit. "You can tell me, what is it?"

"I told them I have a boyfriend", you say, voice low and a little embarassed.

"But you don't have a boyfriend", he observed the obvious, having difficulty in understanding where you were going with this.

"I told them it was you", you looked down towards the floor, fingers going to rub your forehead as you waited for his reaction. The seconds ticked by, and the silence ate you alive.

"You...", he started, but stopped himself in his tracks, head going over what you just told him, to make sure he got it right. "You told them we were dating?", you answered with a head nod, still looking down.

"Y/N", he said your name with a little bit of annoyance lacing his tone. He looked up at the ceiling, as if willing the heavens to give him the strength to deal with you.

"I know, I know", you say, looking up at him. "It was just that they were drilling me about this and I didn't know what to do!"

"Tell them you're not dating anyone?", he deadpanned, and you hated that he kept stating the obvious.

"Yeah, but they already see me as the odd one out, what are they gonna think when I tell them that I'm almost thirty and not dating anyone? They're all engaged, for fucks sake!", you exclaimed and started to pace around the kitchen.

"You worry about what they think of you too much", Noah pointed out. He hated the way you felt like you always had to please them, they way you always thought you had to fit in into their world.

"It's ok, I'll just come up with an excuse so I don't have to go to the wedding", you waved your hand, dismissing this conversation. You were already feeling your head start to throb. You made your way to the couch, grabbing your purse, and the invitation.

Behind you, you hear Noah let out a big breath, before softly calling out your name. You stopped in front of the door and turned around to face him.

"You owe me big fucking time", he pointed a finger at you, and you couldn't help but let a smile dance over your lips.

"You're gonna do this?", you asked, a little doubtful.

"You're doing my laundry for two weeks", he comprimised. "No, three weeks. Fuck it, you're doing my laundry for a whole fucking month"

You cheered at this, not minding it one bit. His laudry was easy since he only had black clothes.

You skipped your way over to him, reaching your arms up and circling them around his neck to pull him into a hug. You couldn't see, but he had a smile on his lips as well.

At this moment, Noah thinks he would do just about anything to keep you happy.

"At least she can't make fun of your hair anymore", you observed, as you parted from him. He groaned in reply.

"Don't fucking push it", he warned you, but there was no real threat to his words.

"Oh!", you snapped your fingers as you remembered an important information about the wedding. "I forgot to tell you something"

"What is it?", he asked, looking at you sideways in suspiscion.

"It's at an all-inclusive resort", you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively. "Besides", you continued "Jade's probably gonna invite so many people, we won't even cross paths with her", you observed.

"I hope you're right"

To say you had a lot of time to prepare was a lie. Time flew by incredibly fast, and in between work, choosing a dress and picking up a suit for Noah - who complained endlessly about having to wear it, you argued that he can't wear a black tank top to a wedding, and he huffed and puffed even more - you were only one day away from boarding the plane.

You were going over everything in your suitcase. Another thing Noah was going to complaing about, you can hear his voice in your head asking you why you needed so much stuff. You zipped it up when you decided that obsessively thinking if you forgot anything was not going to make you magically remember something.

You texted Noah that you were ready for him to pick you up. You both decided it was best if you slept over at his house, and he was asking one of the boys to drive you over to the airport for practical reasons.

It wasn't too long before you heard honking outside, signaling Noah's arrival. You took everything you needed, and looked around you to make sure you locked everything up, and when you were satisfied with your quick inspection, you walked over and opened the front door.

Noah was opening the trunk when he saw you.

"Don't say anything", you raised your hand up to stop the words you were sure were going to stumble from his lips. He raised his arms up in surrender and didn't say anything. But, he did make overexaggerated grunting noises as he hauled your bags inside the trunk. You ignored him and went to lock your front door instead.

Getting in the car and driving away, you pulled your phone from your pocket.

"Jade already texted the flight information", you observed.

"At least she's competent", he retorted.

"Imma need you to try and be civil, at least. Remember we're going to enjoy the beach and drinks", you reminded him of what you've been saying for the past weeks. "And you can't call them botox queen and botox king".

"If she doesn't talk shit about my tattoos, we'll be fine", he argued back.

"Her husband has tattoos", you pointed out, as if that makes the situation any better.

"I bet it's some fine line pussy ass tattoo of a lion or some shit like that", he grunted in annoyance, remembering he's gonna have to deal with Jade AND her husband.

"You know what?", you rubbed you chin in thought. "I think it actually is", you pondered, and you both couldn't help but cackle out loud about the fact that he was most likely right about the tattoo.

The rest of the day went on without a hitch. You ordered some food so you didn't get any pans or pots dirty before traveling, and soon, you were both ready for bed, since you were leaving pretty early in the morning to catch your flight.

You were getting comfortable in Noah's left side of the bed, when he came in the room, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, joining you under the covers.

Plugging your phone to charge, you turn to look at him, doing the same.

"Did you set the alarm?", you asked and he hummed a yes. "Did you set it really loud?", he hummed in reply once again.

He knew you got anxious whenever you had to do something important in the morning. You always thought some entity was going to disable the alarms you set on your phone and you wouldn't wake up in time.

"Don't worry, we'll get there with lots of time to spare", he reassured you, and opened his arms so you could lay against his chest.

Sleep found you easily, as it always did whenever you and Noah slept on the same bed. You were used to sleeping in an empty house, since you've been living on your own ever since you moved for college. But to say your sleep was calm and serene was a lie.

With him, you felt safer, like he could protect you from everything and anything. You trusted him more than you trusted anyone else in your life.

Noah, wasn't as tired as you were, and he contemplated how these days were going to go over as he waited for your breath to even out. It was a ritual of sorts whenever you two slept together. He always waited for you to fall asleep first. And, sometimes, when you had difficulty sleeping, he sang some soft tunes, or rubbed your scalp the way he knew you liked, and that always did the trick.

Next time you woke up, was with Noah's shrill alarm ringing on the bedside table. He really did set it really loud, because you were groaning and telling him to turn it off. He woke up with a yawn, disentangling his arm from under your torso to finally quiet the alarm.

Yawning and stretching your limbs all over the bed, you heard Noah chuckle beside you.

"You're like a damn cat, stretching like that", he pointed out, looking at you with a smile on his face.

He always thought you were the most adorable in the morning. Your hair was a little messed up, and your eyes were all tired and fighting sleep. A part of him wished he could just pull you back to rest beside him and resume sleep. But, the trip from hell awaited the two of you.

Getting up from the bed, he announced he was going to brush his teeth and take a shower, meanwhile, you busied yourself gathering all of the suicases and backpacks downstairs.

As soon as Noah left the bathroom, you went in there and did your morning routine as well as you could with your stuff all packed away. Luckily, you kept a few things over at his place for convenience.

Changing into something comfortable for the airport, you made your way downstairs and found Noah dressed in usual sweatpants and hoodie combo.

"Did you grab your sleep mask? I won't lend you mine this time", you told him. Last time, you had to endure a whole flight without your sleep mask, because Noah had forgotten his, and you had no heart to tell him no when he asked to borrow yours.

"Yes, ma'am. I grabbed my sleep mask", he answered. "I already texted Jolly, and he's on his way to pick us up".

"Did you lock everything up?"

"Yep, already checked the entire house while you were showering"

Noah was used to this. You had a ritual everytime you were travelling, and he learned that getting ahead of you was the best thing to do. That way, you wouldn't get stressed with things he didn't do, or forgot.

Right on cue, you heard a horn souding outside, Noah opened the door and was greeted with Jolly waving from inside the car.

"Ok, let's go", you clapped your hands in a "chop chop" motion.

On the way to the airport, Noah and Jolly chatted on the front seat, while you went over the flight details on your phone, making sure everything was in order for check-in. Noah hated airports, so he left you in charge of everything he found boring.

The drive was short, and soon, you were bidding Jolly goodbye at the drop off zone, and you didn't miss the little pat on the back and the "good luck" he wished Noah before getting back in his car and driving away.

Checking-in, you and Noah found a place to sit while he grabbed some breakfast for the two of you. While you sat there, eating and waiting, you were reminded of a very important detail that you forgot to discuss with him.

"Oh, my God! I totally forgot to talk to you about something", you exclaimed, swatting him in the chest to get his attention.

"This is the second time you forgot to tell me something about this wedding trip", he said.

"When they ask us how we got together, what are we gonna tell them?", you ask him. You've been going over all the lies you'd need to tell during this trip, and you realized that you and Noah didn't have a game plan at all.

"That one day, you professed your undying love for me and then we started to date?", he said, as if the answer was obvious, but you could tell he was sprinkling a little bit of sarcasm in there.

"I'm serious, Noah", you huffed, looking at him. "We have to be beliveable, otherwise, they'll catch on, and ruin the whole thing"

"We can just tell them that we realized we wanted to have something more than just a friendship", he suggested, and the idea wasn't so bad. Jade always said you'd end up together from how much time you spend with each other.

"Out of nowhere?"

"No, we've been hiding our feelings, thinking that the other didn't feel the same way, until, one day, I told you I liked you and you told me you liked me too", you rubbed your chin, thinking over his plan. "It's not overcomplicated and if we stick to the same story, we'll be fine", he reassued you. "Besides, Jade is so self-absorbed she'll probably not even ask anything about us at all"

"That's very likely", you agreed with his reasoning. After all, it was Jade's wedding, so the light is gonna be on her, and not on you and Noah.

"What about PDA?", you broached another subject that you've been avoiding.

"If you wanna kiss me, you can just ask, you know?", he teased you, nudging you with his shoulder.

"It's not what I meant, and you know it", you told him, but you weren't able to hide the little blush covering your cheeks, and he noticed too, by the way he was grinning.

"I can hold your hand. I mean, I kind of already do. But let's just go with the flow. You don't have to worry too much about this, it's just a couple of days, after all", he said, and he was right. You and Noah meshed well and were usually in the same wavelength, so there was no reason to think things were going to go south.

You just hoped you had time to relax and enjoy the beach, the drinks and the foods, which, if you knew Jade as well as you did, were going to be impeccable.

Tag list: @concreteangel92 @foliosgirl @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @stardustsirenmelody @miwomens @concretejunglefm @fadingangelwisp @prettygirlrock126 @dontwantthemoney @tosoundlessdarkistare @babygirlchuuya @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @lacy1986 @romanreigns-supreme @xmads-omensx @missduffsblog @rumoured-whispers @thisbicc @badomensgoodomens @floatingkiwi @collective-heartbreak @dontwantthemoney @dream-machine-love @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @amelia-acero @kenjipepsi1 @montgomery-929496 @daddy-dierkes-girlie @stardustsirenmelody @cheyyyyr @triedbimsoblu333 @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @noyaisasimp @youlookforultraviolet @w0manof-flesh44 @chaoticwineaunt @geminigirlfromfinland @turn-your-life-into-folklore @butterflyeffect07 @zozaline @deardelirium @ferduttini

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave you (Pt. 79)

(Sneak peek)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: It's Hoseok's turn to breed you through your heat, but Namjoon won't let him have it easily.

Tags: Heat sex, knotting, group sex, Sub! m/c, Dom! Namjoon, Sub! Hobi, d/s, threesome, comparing knots, Cumplay, size kink, big dick Namjoon, womb fucking, belly bulge, slight inflation kink, breeding kink, clit torture if you squint, overstimulation, voyeurism, squirting, messiness kink, inspection kink, humiliation kink, implied cuckolding, very brief human furniture, implied puppy play, puppy space Hobi, collars, dominance displays, porn without plot,

W/c: 10.7k

A/n: ahhhhh here it is <3 the second part of last chapter that i split last minute <3 more filth but at least it's hobi filth <3 keep your eyes wide open on the ending! this one is a bit of a cliffhanger <3

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Namjoon leans down, pressing a kiss to your nape. Meanly pressing in further, harder. You are so hot inside, the heat fever tearing through you now that you have a little food in your stomach and more energy to burn. Warm and wet and tight. Your eyes roll back and Hobi can do nothing but watch.

But Namjoon's pace stutters. It's understandable. This is the 5th knot he’s given you in as many hours. It's sometime after mid-morning and it's been probably around 30 hours since he's slept at all. Namjoon's only human. Even the pack alpha can't last forever.

Hoseok's honestly a little surprised that Namjoon hasn't tapped out yet, that his knot isn't ready to fall off.

But Hoseok watches his pace falter and Hoseok's lip lifts. It's an instinct to growl. Namjoon spies it, hackles raising.

Alpha instincts are a peculiar thing.

“You think you could do better?” Namjoon taunts, a little playfully. Arms bulging as he holds himself up, trusting harder into you. Almost in retaliation. Hobi blushes and looks away, successfully chastised.

Hoseok shouldn't be intimidated, Namjoon might be the pack alpha, but Hobi has still seen him put his shoes on the wrong feet before and leave the house- too many times to count.

The growl comes out of his mouth before he thinks better about it.

Namjoon stops moving.

Hobi clamps a hand over his mouth in surprise and the snarl becomes a whine. “Yes! No! Maybe- I think I-.” Hobi hovers unsure, bashful at being caught snarling at the pack alpha. Across the nest Jin lifts his head, woken up by it, hair all fluffy.

Namjoon is not one to let this kind of thing slide especially not during a heat.

Namjoon slides out of you, long and hard and hot. You whimper. You don't like feeling empty. You try to push back on him but are stopped by a hand pressed blank your pussy, Namjoon's fingers brushing your hole, fucked open and messy. Gaping just a little and dripping a pretty spiderweb like strand of cum down onto the nest.

You whine. Loud and grating. Hoseok's instincts make him want to gnash his teeth. It sets him on edge. Across the nest, Yoongi turns, distracted from his task of trying to convince Jungkook to suck on a straw instead of trying to suck on his dick. Alarmed at the sound of your whine and the desperation in it.

“Alright alright, calm down,” Namjoon says, kind of laughing through it, kind of high. Namjoon is the picture of restraint- he's not a knothead. He's not like Hobi. He doesn't snarl and push and fight at another alpha challenging him- No.

Namjoon looks at Hobi, a mean glint in his eye. Namjoon can get a little scary when he's got something to prove, even scarier when he's got a job to do.

Your collar is there by the edge of the nest, taken out when Jimin put on his, black with a golden puppy tag, the twin to Hobi's red one. Your pink one is showing its wear. It's worn at the hole in the buckle, the one that fits you nice and loose. Perfect as a handhold.

Namjoon points and Hobi gets it before he's even registered that he's following a nonverbal order. Flushing as he takes off the bell and then tries to hand it over.

But Namjoon just eyes your throat expectantly.

Making one sub-collar another is- well-

Hobi's hands stutter, shaky with anticipation as he tries to fit it around your throat. It takes him several tries to get it latched properly. Namjoon’s cock twitches as Hobi looks up for his approval. You push into his hands, purring loudly. No longer displeased at not being filled if you can teeth at the scent gland on his wrist.

Namjoon pulls back and away from you. Heavy cock throbbing and pulsing dully. There is a bit of whiteness, leftover cum, that covers Namjoon’s cock. Milky at the tip and pink. your pussy lips are also red and a bit inflamed from the ceaseless friction of his balls flopping forward and hitting where you’re sensitive. namjoon pries you open with two fingers, showing hoseok that you’re already so wet on the inside, full of Yoongi and Jimin's and Tae’s cum not just Namjoon's.

But not Hobi's, not yet. Namjoon should fix that.

Namjoon lets you go and reaches for Hobi's collar and puts it on him with out a word. so deep down in alpha space that even his teasing goes quiet. He tests the give of the collar, pulling hoseok this way and that until he’s satisfied with it. Hoseok whines at being pushed around, tugged almost until he falls over, but he lets Namjoon do it. Obedient.

Namjoon pulls him over to where he sits behind you, almost between your legs.

Namjoon palms blatantly between your legs checking with a dimply smile to make sure Hobi's watching. You mewl. But Namjoon just grins at Hobi. His fingers still hooked in his collar.

You mewl loudly and Namjoon puts his fingers back where you want them. His words summoned at last. "Oh don't be a brat, alpha's right here pup."

Hoseok's cock twitches at being manhandled, especially when Namjoon slides that hand down Hobi's midline, feeling him up and Hoseok lets him. Hoseok would let Namjoon do anything. he doesn't even flinch or growl when Namjoon pushes his thigh apart and pushes down his boxers. Palming his cock, examining him. Wrapping his big hands around it and testing where his knot will form. where it's already half popped. Rubbing at the sensitive skin and slight bulge with talented fingers that have Hobi panting in seconds.

It gives Hobi no small amount of pride that his hand does not cover all of Hobi's cock. He's still sizable. Hoseok's scent fluffs out a little stronger at that.

Namjoon has one hand in you, hooked into your hole to soothe you, and the other wrapped around Hobi's cock. he has both of his pups, right where he wants them. He tugs at Hobi's cock once, twice.

“Show me then, show the pack alpha that you know to breed.”

Coming Saturday December 28th @ 5pm EST (time Zone Adjustments Below)

[mydarlingclaudia]

christmas party hop

note : SECRET SANTA FIC FOR @candlekiss !!! MERYY CHRISTMAS THIS IS EXTREMELY RUSHED BUT I WISH YOU THE MERRIEST CHRISTMAS I HOPE YOU GET EVERYTHING YOU WANTED!!!! the quality inst that good because I didn’t write this in like an hour im so so sorry erm

wc : 1.5k

tags : @withonly-sweetheart @leonsecretsanta

desc : roommates and mistletoe don’t mix well. roommates to lovers, fluff (??), no outbreak au, re4r!Leon, fem!reader, not proofread

It feels like you have to force Leon to do anything that involves socializing. He can manage the dishes and laundry by any other chores himself, but when it comes to having people over, he always shuts himself away in his room. You really shouldn’t care, it’s none of your business and not everyone likes having company over, but you can’t help but wish he’d come out for at least an hour or two and have some fun.

He's always been nice to you, civil, at least. He's appreciative of any dinner you cook for him or taking time out of your day to take care of him while he's sick, he does the same for you, if he's able. It's typical roommate behavior, you think. Maybe Leon's just more comfortable around you than others, though it could also be that it's your friends that come over more than his.

But he's never really had any of his friends or coworkers come over. You've met Chris and Jill a few times, same with Claire and Marvin, but you've never come home to see any of the four sitting on the couch talking with Leon. The times that you've met them you seemed to get along, they had mentioned Leon talking about you and that you seem as sweet as he says, so that's a good thing, right?

So you get the idea of throwing a Christmas party for yours and Leon’s friends, no big deal. It's not like it's a huge thing, just a few more people in your apartment than normal, you're doing this for Leon's sake, anyway.

Only Chris and Claire had shown up thirty minutes early to help set up (which they hadn’t really mentioned to you) along with Sherry, Jill brought Carlos and they both brought more than enough booze, Marvin’s arrival was fine, your own friends came in a little loud, but they brought pies so it was ok.

But now you’re jammed in the kitchen with Sherry whose trying to scoop cookie dough onto the cookie sheet, Claire whose pulling turkey out of the oven, Carlos whose coming back into the kitchen for more beer, and yourself who has been trying and failing to make eggnog. People are still running in and out of the kitchen, squeezing behind everyone cooking, yelling over the Christmas music that was playing.

“I put up mistletoe,”Claire nudges you as she walks past, carrying the pot full of stuffing. “Keep an eye out.”

“You decorated?” You turn to face her, licking some of the eggnog off your finger.

“Sherrys idea,”

“Pssh, sure.”

“Honest! Come on,” Claire laughs, “Is there a problem?”

“I’m not kissing you,” Claire rolls her eyes, setting the pot of stuffing down onto the table and starting to scoop it out into a big bowl. Two of your friends squeeze behind you to get first pickings of the food being set out, Chris and Jill follow after.

“You gotta kick Leon off the tv, the only thing he’s watching is that stupid Christmas baking show.” One of your friends giggles trying to get your attention as you help Sherry slide the cookie sheets into the oven.

“Yeah? What do you wanna watch?”

“Well, we were supposed to turn on Home Alone ten minutes ago…” She mumbled, already shoving turkey into her mouth. You flinch away from the heat of the oven and shake your hands as you pull away, standing upright.

”Alright, alright, I’ll talk to him.” You shove by Carlos and Sherry, through the doorway into the living room and walking towards Leon who is still hogging the remote. Leon can hear you walking towards him, he looks to you, his resting face changing into a smile.

“Got no holiday cheer?” You tease, sitting next to him on the couch.

“I’m filled to the brim with it,” He mutters rolling his eyes slightly.

“Oh my God, let’s just watch some Christmas movies. I spent hours in the kitchen for this, y’know.” You lean on his shoulder and pry the remote from his grip, he sighs.

“You’re so lucky I like you,”

“No shit, come on.” You grab his hand and pull him to stand up with you, dragging him towards the doorway and into the kitchen, getting plates for the both of you while the others continue to rush around the two of you.

You’re sure that if you and Leon had a driveway, Leon would find some reason to be outside shoveling, or if you had decorated outside, he’d find another reason to fiddle with the lights. He does come out of his shell a bit and chimes in to talk to Chris and Claire, he jokes with Sherry, pokes at Carlos and plays up being offended.

He’s not paying attention to the movie, but he taps his foot along to the Christmas music that’s still playing, he follows you around, though.

Leon normally does this if the two of you are ever out together, he trails after you, trying to hold k to your sleeve so he doesn’t lose you in a crowd. You know it’s not typical roommate behavior, but you find it cute, plus it’s not hurting anyone, right?

Even when you and Leon get knocked around by everyone else in your small apartment and end up bumping into each other, he holds your gaze and almost reaches out to grab you so you can stay for another moment and ignore the party.

There are kisses under the mistletoe— all between Carlos and Jill, though.

Leon and you do get held under the doorframe for a moment. It’s when Chris is talking to Sherry in the living room while she was trying to make her way into the kitchen and when one of your friends was trying to come into the living room, both you and Leon were standing and chatting.

Leon didn’t kiss you, unfortunately.

Claire didn’t take down her decorations when the party was over, everyone helped pick up the mess they made, but your apartment looked more holly-jolly than it did before the party.

You’ve already brushed your teeth and changed into your pajamas, Leon’s done the same, but he’s been looking up for the past few minutes.

“What’re you looking at?” You question, setting your cup of water down on the counter and stepping closer as he waves you over. You stand beneath the doorframe with him, looking up at the mistletoe hanging from it.

There’s a kiss pressed to your cheek within the next second, you look back to Leon to see the grin on his face.

“Just on the cheek?” You tease, crossing your arms.

“You want it on the lips?”

“Well, that’s the tradition, isn’t it?” You giggle, bringing your hand up and cupping his cheek, he pulls you in at the same time for the kiss you both expected, only he’s a bit more passionate than you.

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Christmas

A deal is a deal.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Yoongi, Human!Reader, Unstable AU, set prior/during the Jungkook storyline, dystopian AU, space/Sci-fi/cyberpunk-esque, strangers to lovers, Angst, Violence, Drama, romance, adult, eventual smut

Wordcount: 900 Words

-> Masterlist

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Yoongi isn’t one for soft and warm gestures. There’s no point in them.

So why did he wake up way too early to get the stupid little pine tree from the markets, so he can put a very badly wrapped piece of dumb jewelry under that tree? Well, because it might make you happy.

And yoongi likes seeing you happy.

When he wakes you with a hand on your shoulder, you’re disoriented at first- a bit panicked even, unsure if something is wrong since he rarely wakes up before you- but then you see it.

There’s a thin string of neon lights probably meant for a different purpose than decoration wrapped around a very small pine tree- and somewhat next and under it, is a small box. It’s wrapped carefully, paper held together by a simple nylon string.

“..yoongi.” You look towards him, and he panicks a little. This isn’t the kind of look he was hoping for when planning this. God, why are humans so complicated? You look like you’re about to cry even, what did he do wrong?

And then, suddenly, you’re in his arms. Head buried into his shoulder, arms around him, and he can’t even move for a good second or two as he’s bombarded with both your scent and your warmth. Things he’s been thinking about- but that’s what it was. Thoughts.

“thank you.” You mumble into his neck, before you move towards the small plant on the table. “how- did you know about this?” You wonder. “human traditions aren’t really common anymore.”

“No, but information on them is freely available.” He says, trying to control his heart from beating too hard. “you’ve.. been down lately. Your mood has been terrible.” He tries to downplay his actions by attempting to blame it on simple convenience. “I saw it and remembered someone talking about a human holiday that makes people happy.” He shrugs.

“What is it?” You wonder as you pick up the small box wrapped in simple newspaper.

“open it.” He just tells you, unable to hide his amusement when you do so with the outmost care, cherishing his efforts.

‘Do not purr.’ He tells himself. ‘You’re not a goddam pet.’

You look at the chain you take out the velvet bag inside the box, and you’re confused at first. Yoongi notices rather quickly, walking closer to take it from you. “it’s made from Iastine Metal. Lasts longer and.. should be more comfortable than what you wear now.” He says as he points to your identification still around your neck. “it’s.. got your name and ID engraved on here. Can be scanned, too.” He mumbles as he shows you the small Metal tag- looking more decorative than only purposeful. The metal is silver, but with a warm touch, reflecting in multiple hues of purple and red when catching the light.

“it looks.. expensive.” You worry, but he just shrugs, before his hands move to take your collar off at the scan of his own ID chip in his wrist.

“Its an investment.” He tries to justify, before he moves the chain around your neck instead, closing it with an odd snap or crack that startles you a bit. “the connecting piece sparks with a chemical reaction to bind the two ends together on a molecular level.”

“..so I can’t loose it?” You joke, as he looks at your neck, words tumbling out before he can stop them.

“And I won’t loose you.” He says.

It’s quiet after that, and odd tension filling the room, one of his hands still near your neck. “was it.. alright that I hugged you?” You ask quietly.

“I didn’t push you away now, did I?” He responds.

“That’s not a proper answer.”

He stutters a bit at that, deep in thought before he speaks once more, hand leaving your close proximity.

“It was.” He reassures you.

“yoongi?” You ask again, and he sighs in fake annoyance. “now I feel bad. What can I gift you?” You ask him, and he stares you down for a moment, thinking of an answer.

“I just need you to promise me something.” He says, sitting on the edge of the bed with you next to him, patiently awaiting his request. “tell me if it hurts.”

“Huh?” You ask, unsure what he’s talking about.

“I’m still figuring out what.. you are to me. Or rather, what I want you to possibly be to me.” He explains further. “I know humans are emotionally vulnerable. I’m not very soft, I’m not good at navigating someone else’s emotions. So, tell me if what I’m doing hurts you.” He says.

“as long as what you do is done with.. honest intentions, it won’t hurt.” You tell him.

“What if I sleep with you then?” He boldly asks. “just to realize that’s not what I want after all?” He questions, and you shrug.

“Won’t hurt.” You respond. “because I know why you’re doing it. Just..” you drift off.

“just?” He asks.

“just don’t..” you sigh. “don’t say you love me until you’re really sure of it, okay?” You ask, and he nods.

“Deal.”

[mejaemin]

헤어져 ( •̀ ᴗ •́ ) - pfu

wc: 1.5k

summary: pulling a “let’s break up” prank on bf!svt !! | pfu ver | hhu ver | vcu ver |

warnings: not proofread, breaking hearts UGH THEYRE TOO SOFT CUTIE FOR THIS I CANT, no real breakups, angst? kinda? not really? fear of breaking up, lmk if anything should fr be tagged

an: i lowkey hate how juju’s turned out … but it’s okay!!! i really wanted to get this done bc i found the req funny because just hearing the words “break up” reminds me of the kungkungdda video with atz yunho saying 헤어져… its lit been stuck in my head since the req came in

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soonyoung

oh my love, he’d be so confused

you’re lucky the trend happens over text because if you did it in person and saw the pout on his face you’d give in right away !!!

he’s opening his phone after waking up in the morning, swiping his palm over his nose and the rest of his face before checking his notifications, when his heart drops

the first one, from you, saying “let’s talk” … quite ominous, no?

immediately he’s going to your house without asking to go and settle whatever he did right away.

you’ve already distracted yourself, staying busy with absolutely nothing while you leave your phone alone to build suspense. you nearly jump out of your socks when your front door starts wiggling, nearly falling out of the frame when it opens. turning around, you’re met with soonyoung, who’s extremely out of breath, clothes all mismatched as he stands in the doorway.

you rush over to him, “youngie, what are you-“

he cuts you off, grabbing you by your shoulders a little too roughly. his look is so intense yet anxious that he might put a dent in his forehead. “i’m really sorry. whatever i did, please forgive me. but you can’t- well you can, but- just please don’t break up with me, okay?”

immediately upon seeing his face, puffy from sleep and all wrinkled up in concern, you fold, taking him into your arms tightly. “oh soonie, i was joking, i promise.” you kiss his cheek, and his head turns so it lands on his lips. “you didn’t do anything, baby.”

he pulls his head back just enough to look in your eyes, eyebrow raised. “do you promise?”

with his cheeks between your palms you nod, pressing your lips to his forehead, holding them there to show you’re being genuine. “of course. i could never leave you, soonyoung.”

junhui

jun is always so quick to answer your text messages, leaving no time in between before answering you

clearly, when you send him a message saying “let’s break up”, his heart drops faster than it took for him to open the message.

immediately he’s sending a message, full of reassuring words.

“i’m so sorry that something happened to make you feel this way. i’ll be over shortly to talk about it, okay? hang tight, i’ll pick some stuff up on the way. just don’t give up, okay?”

you’re already regretting this at his words, feeling so much love for junhui and the way he takes you so seriously. he may be silly a lot of the time, but he handles serious moments so well. your heart genuinely hurts at the fact that he’s probably so worried right now, and all you’re doing is pranking him. when he gets here, you’ll make sure to give him relief.

there’s a knock on your door, and you rush to open it. junhui is standing there with a small bouquet of flowers and a bag with what appears to be snacks. “i know you might not be interested now, but here.. can we try fixing this?”

once you let him in he sets them down, and as soon as he turns around you’re taking his hands. immediately you’re confessing, seeing his unsure face. “juju.. i was joking. i saw people pranking on tiktok, and i-“

“ahh, i see. i was actually really scared just now.” he chuckles softly, cutting you off. “but forreal, it’s hard to tell tone over text. i’d rather you prank me like that in real life, okay?”

the anxiety fades away, and you’re both all smiles again. since he’s already with you, you sit down together for the rest of the night and spend it watching shows and eating what were supposed to be your break-up snacks.

minghao

we all know minghao’s heart is too tough for a prank as simple and common as this

of course, like anyone who’s madly on love, his heart will pick up at first, but he’s too observant!

you both established healthy methods to communicate the way you were feeling if something about the relationship made you uncomfortable, so when all these keywords and behaviors are suddenly thrown out the window his flags go up

you and him both take preserving the relationship and each other’s feelings seriously so you would never just say “i want to break up”

thus, he plays along

minghao is sitting across from you on the couch, reading a book when you call his name. he looks up, and when he hears you say you want to break up with him, an alarm goes off in his head. he closes the book and sits up straight, grabbing your hands to have a proper conversation.

“can i ask what makes you want to?” he’s so genuine, true concern in his eyes as he tries to hear you out.

you look in your lap, hiding your face while trying to keep up the theatrics. “i just.. don’t feel a spark anymore. i’m falling out of love.”

it’s that sentence that makes him realize what you’re doing. you both agreed that whenever a conversation of this scale occurs, you wouldn’t be vague about whatever you’re feeling. you’d communicate clearly, and make an effort to find a solution.

hiding his smirk, he nods, sighing heavily. “ah, okay. i understand. i’ll give you your space then.” he gets up, a solemn look on his face as he heads to your bedroom. as soon as his back is to you, he’s smirking, amused at the thought of waiting to see how long it’ll take before you crack.

clearly, it’s not long, because as soon as he shuts the door you’re up and running towards him. the door nearly breaks with how rushed you are at opening it, immediately crashing into him. “hao, oh my god, please, i was joking! don’t give me space, please, i don’t want it-“

he cuts you off, grabbing you by your chin to kiss you. “oh, i know, darling. i know every little thing about you, like what you do when you’re trying to trick me. now, let’s not do that again, okay? because i’ll gladly do it back.”

dino

just the idea of pranking chan in this way hurts your heart :(( he’s such a sweet boy !! however…

jeonghan waved quite the pretty penny in front of your face, claiming that it will be yours if you pull the prank on him.

you are very aware of chan being unable to catch a break when it comes to being pranked, but you could only pray that with this nice amount of money, he’ll understand

pulling the prank was definitely painful, though

you’re at an outing with chan and his brothers, hanging out at the porch of a getaway home with some of them. you’re by a fire, drinks in hand as you all chat. when chan notices that your cup is empty, he wordlessly takes it from you to go fill it.

as soon as he leaves, you feel a tap on your shoulder. turning your head, jeonghan is sitting next to you, waving his hand for you to lean in. “i’ll give you…” he digs into his pocket, finding nothing and then reaching into seungcheol’s, taking out a wad of cash and holding it in front of you. “this if you tell chan you want break up.”

immediately you’re looking at him with a bewildered look. why would you ever fumble the sweetest man in the world for money? he’s chuckling at your reaction, waving a hand dismissively. “all jokes, of course, but if you really get him i’ll give you all that. for real.”

jeonghan waves it in front of you once again, and you’ve seen how fat seungcheol’s wallet is. and a few of the digits on those bills were pretty large, so… chan will understand, right? maybe scaring him a little for all this will be worth it, right? you can go out together with your winnings…

you sigh, nodding your head. “fine. but if it ends bad, you’ll clean up the mess. and then i’ll kill you.” you smile, shaking his hand before turning to chan who finally returned.

he hands you your drink with a kids to your forehead before sitting down. “what were you guys talking about?” he’s smiling so sweetly at you, and it makes your heart literally hurt at what you’re about to do.

“chan, i think we should break up.” you’re almost grimacing at yourself, and at that sentence everyone around the fire stops talking. no way the couple who makes everyone believe in true love is about to split.

“um, what..? are you..” he can’t even finish his sentence, swallowing heavily as his vision almost starts shaking.

immediately, being unable to take the torture anymore, you turn to jeonghan, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him vigorously. through many complaints, whining and yelling at the elder, you grab the aforementioned money from his pocket.

triumphantly you kiss chan on the lips, pulling away and showing him your new prize. “i’m so, so sorry, channie, truly i would never break up with you, but look what he offered! please say you understand…”

immediately your boyfriend relaxes, eyes narrowing as he looks at the man behind you. “watch your back, han. seriously. that money almost went towards my funeral funds, i swear.”

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