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joemama-2 · 1 month ago

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velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 12.9k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The minute you, Koji, and Satoru step out of the mall, a small group of five reporters are hounding you guys. It comes as a surprise—a very unpleasant and unexpected surprise. You’ve never been involved in things like this, you’re still not used to it. You never will be. Your steps falter, leaning back and placing a protective hand on Koji’s back to steer him further into your body.

“Mr. Gojo! Is this your family?”

“Mr. Gojo, what do you have to say about the people who suspect you of keeping it all a secret?”

“Mr. Gojo, were you ashamed or embarrassed?”

“Y/N L/N, how does it feel to have Satoru Gojo as the father to your son?”

The questions are relentless, each one sharper than the last, and the flashing cameras blind you for a moment. Your heart races as you tighten your grip on Koji’s shoulder, your protective instincts flaring. Koji looks up at you with wide, frightened eyes, his small hands clutching at your coat. Satoru steps forward instinctively, his towering frame blocking you and Koji from the onslaught. His usual easygoing demeanor is replaced with a rare seriousness, his jaw clenched and his voice low. “Back off,” he warns, holding up a hand to shield his face. “You’re scaring my son.”

The reporters barely falter, emboldened by Satoru’s reaction. “Is that confirmation then? He is your son?” one of them presses, leaning closer with their camera.

Satoru exhales sharply through his nose, his tone now icy. “I said, back off.” He moves with precision, steering you and Koji toward the parking lot.

Koji clings to your side, his face buried in your coat as he mutters, “Mama, I don’t like this.”

“I know, sweetheart,” you murmur soothingly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “Just keep walking, okay?”

“Y/N,” Satoru says firmly, his hand brushing your elbow before grabbing onto it with a firm gentleness. “Stay close to me.”

You quickly pick your son up, holding him tightly to your chest and keeping his small face hidden in your neck. The crowd doesn’t let up, following you to the edge of the parking lot. They’re throwing more questions your way now, their voices rising as if to compete with each other.

“Y/N, do you think Satoru will take responsibility as a father?”

“Will there be a public statement?”

“Koji, do you know your dad is famous?” It’s one thing to ask his son a question, but it’s entirely another thing when that same reporter hounds just a bit too close to you, causing your footsteps to stumble a bit backward in order to not get hit by the obvious camera.

At that, Satoru stops dead in his tracks, eyes and face flitting with anger, but they don’t even express half of it. He spins on his heel, his height and presence instantly silencing the crowd. His gaze is sharp and unyielding. “You’re done,” he snaps, shoving the camera back, the reporter tripping over his own two feet and falling on his ass. “No more questions. No more photos. If I see any of you near my family again, you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”

The authority in his voice makes even the most persistent reporters step back, the one who just fell cradling his camera that now has a broken lens. He waits for a beat to ensure they’ve gotten the message before turning back to you and Koji.

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice softer now as he reaches for you two. You don’t resist when he takes your hand, holding on firmly as if grounding you. His other is on the small of your back. The three of you walk in silence to the car, leaving the paparazzi behind. He guides you into the passenger seat before strapping Koji in his car seat in the back. Walking around the car to get into the driver’s side, closing the door with an exasperated huff. After a few still seconds, you finally exhale, slumping back in your seat. Satoru glances at you from the corner of his eye, then at the rearview mirror to make sure Koji is okay. Luckily his car’s windows are almost completely blacked out. His expression is unreadable. “You okay?”

You nod slowly, fingers dancing along your thighs. “I’m fine. Just… not used to this.”

Satoru’s lips press into a thin line. “You shouldn’t have to be. I’ll handle it.”

This outing was supposed to be a simple one—a wholesome one. Satoru insisted on taking Koji out, but Koji insisted you come with them. After debating, you decided what’s the worst that could happen? This, apparently. Satoru reaches behind him to place a couple of things he bought for Koji behind his seat. You told him that since it was so close to Christmas, you didn’t see the need to buy things for Koji. His response: “So? I want to spoil him every chance I get.” You understand, in a sense. But you still need to have a proper talk with Satoru about keeping his money and riches to a minimum when it comes to Koji. The last thing you want is for your son to get used to something that you wouldn’t be able to maintain yourself.

“You okay, Koji?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. He receives a feeble nod from his son, patting his little foot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect this to happen.” Satoru’s tone is laced with guilt as he turns to face forward again. Koji’s wide eyes dart between you and Satoru. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. I promise.”

Koji looks up at him hesitantly before mumbling, “I don’t like the flashing lights, Papa. They’re scary.”

Your heart clenches at his words, peering back and holding out your hand. He takes it and you rub his little knuckles with your thumb. “I know, sweetie. It’s over now. You’re safe with us.”

Satoru exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll do better,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. “Next time, we’ll go somewhere quieter. Somewhere they can’t find us.” You glance at him, catching the rare vulnerability in his expression. Despite your frustrations with the situation—and with him—you can tell he means it. His guilt is genuine, and that softens your own edges just a little. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he stops himself, his jaw tightening. He shifts in his seat, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel. “We’ll figure it out,” he says quietly. He turns the key and starts the engine, beginning to drive off.

The rest of the car ride is subdued, the weight of the earlier encounter and the unspoken tension settling over the three of you. Koji eventually drifts off, his small frame relaxing against you, and you lean your head against the window, watching the city lights blur past. You know you have a lot of conversations to do with Satoru that aren’t over—some haven’t even started. There’s so much left unsaid, so much you need to sort out—for Koji’s sake and for your own. But for now, you focus on the steady rhythm of Koji’s humming to the song playing and the faint hum of the car engine, holding onto the fragile sense of calm that has settled, however temporary it may be.

This is the first time Gojo’s getting a good look at your interior decorations. Koji’s watching TV and you’re watching Satoru trying his best not to judge. Outwardly, at least. The decorations you’ve put up are a little uncoordinated, he can tell some are quite old. There are a few things with stains from presumably the previous year, like your tablecloth. The only item he thinks is new is the pinecone-y candle lit in the middle of the kitchen counter. At least something in here is pretty, he looks at you. Never mind, you’re already here.

“Well…” Satoru starts, and you cut him off as soon as he does.

“I know, you don’t have to say it.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Then what was I going to say?”

“You were going to judge and put in your unwanted two cents.”

He scoffs with rolled eyes and a frown, arms crossing as he watches you go over to the sink to wash what was left in there from this morning. “Unwanted?” Satoru repeats, his tone is dramatic as he leans against the counter. “I think my two cents are worth at least a dollar, thank you very much.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, arching a brow. “Then keep your dollar to yourself. We’re not taking handouts.”

His lips quirk into a thinner line, and he straightens up, walking over to stand beside you. “Handouts? Who said anything about that? I was just going to say…” He pauses, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “This place has character.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head as you rinse a plate. “Is that your polite way of saying it’s outdated?”

“No,” he shrugs, though he gives himself away with a sigh. “Okay, maybe a little. But it’s not terrible. I kind of like it. It feels... real.”

You glance at him again, this time surprised by the sincerity in his voice. His eyes are scanning the room, and for once, they’re not filled with the usual analytical glint. Instead, there’s something softer, something almost nostalgic. “It’s not much,” you admit, drying your hands on a towel. “But it’s home. It’s all I can manage right now.”

Satoru turns to you, his expression shifting as he studies your face. “You’re doing a good job,” he says quietly. “Better than good, actually. Koji’s happy. That’s what matters.”

His words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’re so used to his playful jabs and over-the-top confidence that this genuine side of him feels… different. Why is he being so nice today? Does he feel bad about what happened earlier and he’s trying to kiss your ass? Yeah, must be that. “Thanks,” you mutter quietly, meeting his gaze.

He casually lifts his shoulders up and down, the corners of his lips lifting into a small smile. “Don’t mention it.”

The moment lingers, the two of you standing in the small kitchen with the faint sound of cartoons playing in the background. It’s the closest you’ve felt to being on the same page in a long time. And though you don’t say it out loud, you’re grateful for it. That feeling only lasts a second before you remember just how different things are. Clearing your throat, you peek over to make sure Koji is engrossed in his show before speaking to Satoru. “Look, we have to talk.”

He nods, silently gesturing for you to continue.

“I understand you want to give Koji everything you can because you have that luxury, but I don’t want him to grow up like that, okay? He can have gifts, but you’ve been buying him at least ten new things every time you see him, Satoru. He’s starting to ask me now for toys and books and I don’t have that money right now to spend leisurely. So please, just…keep the gift-giving to a minimum. Christmas is already coming up.”

Satoru listens, his arms crossed and head tilted slightly, a contemplative look replacing his usual playful expression. When you finish, he exhales softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it,” he says after a moment. “I do. I don’t mean to overdo it; I just...I don’t know, I feel like I missed out on so much already. Giving him things feels like a way to make up for that.”

You soften at his admission, but you hold firm. “I understand that, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t give him anything. It’s just… he needs to learn that he can’t always have everything he wants. He has to understand boundaries, Satoru. Life isn’t always going to hand him the world on a silver platter.”

Satoru ponders for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. “But I also want you to understand that he’s a kid, my kid. If I want to buy him things, I’m going to do that. I don’t need to run that by you and ask for your permission, Y/N. You’ve already made enough decisions for me.”

The little remark doesn’t go unnoticed by you. How could it? He’s right, you know that. But does he really need to bring that up right now when you’re trying to handle things like a mature adult and parent? You’re trying to make things better right now, not take his snide comments to face. Your jaw tightens, but you take a calming breath, trying to keep your composure. “I’m not trying to control what you do for him, Satoru. I’m just asking you to think about how it impacts him—and me. I’m the one who has to deal with the fallout when he doesn’t understand why I can’t give him the same things you can.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, the tension between you two growing heavier. “And whose fault is that?” he asks, his voice lower now. “You’re the one who kept him from me. I would’ve been there, Y/N. I could’ve helped you.”

There it is—the resentment bubbling to the surface again.

You set the dish towel down a little too firmly on the counter, turning fully to face him. “I know, okay? I know I screwed up by keeping him from you, but I can’t go back and change that. I’m doing the best I can now, and I need you to meet me halfway here, Satoru.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Then, he sighs and looks away, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I’ll try,” he mutters, though his tone is tinged with bitter reluctance. “I’ll try to dial it back. But I’m not making any promises.”

You nod, knowing that’s probably the best you’ll get from him right now. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, the tension still thick but beginning to ease. The faint sound of Koji giggling at the TV filters into the kitchen, a reminder of what really matters. “I just want what’s best for him,” you say quietly, your voice softer now.

Satoru looks at you again, his expression hard to read. “So do I,” he replies, his tone matching yours.

And for a brief moment, it feels like you’re on the same side again. It reminds you that the only thing you two have in common is your son’s happiness and well-being and that Koji is the only reason you have this strained and awkward connection. Co-parenting. You don’t know how some couples did or are currently doing it. Even little conversations like ‘How’s your day?’ feel so forced with him, but you know it’s what comes with the job. What comes with hiding your kid and being tossed into the realm of co-parenting. You don’t have to like him, he doesn’t have to like you. You two are only in this for Koji—and that’s it.

So, why do you feel a small stab to your stomach when an annoyingly familiar name pops up on his screen with an incoming phone call? The picture of them kissing feels like it’s laughing right in your face, fingers curling into your palms as you coerce yourself to look away and pretend you’re busy with something else. Satoru keeps his voice hushed, like he’s trying to ensure you or Koji don’t listen. Only for a moment, you think: he’s acting like he has something to hide. And he shouldn’t. You two haven’t been together in years. But the fact that it seems like he’s trying to lessen whatever blow his relationship has on you, like he thinks—knows you’re not that happy with it, that makes you annoyed. Does he assume he still has the same effect on you? Does he think you still hold some secret feelings towards him?

Is he still as arrogant and conceited as he was before?

Maybe he believes that you’re still hung up on him. Yeah, must be. Because why else would he be apologizing to you after he hung up the phone with her, giving you that sympathetic gleam in his eyes that you recognize all too well. The same look he would give you after he knew he did something you didn’t like or didn’t approve of, and you would reprimand him for it. “I’m sorry, but I have to go soon.”

You nod, biting your tongue to hold back a snarky remark like why are you apologizing? I don’t care. “Just say bye to Koji.”

He nods, putting his phone in his pocket. Lips lying like he’s debating how to bring something up. “Before I go, I was thinking something. Since Christmas is coming up, I…I want to spend it with him, with you guys. If it’s okay, I’d like to come over then. We can cook and open presents together, I’ll bring what I bought for Koji that day.” His tone is cautious, almost like he’s unsure if the idea is good himself, but he pushed through somehow.

You blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion. Spend Christmas together? Like some picture-perfect family? It almost feels laughable, considering the complicated mess the two of you have found yourselves in. But when you glance at Koji in the other room, blissfully unaware of the tangled web of adult emotions, your resolve softens. “Christmas?” you repeat, just to confirm you heard him right.

Satoru shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean, I know things aren’t exactly…simple between us. But I thought it’d be nice for Koji. You know, give him something to look forward to. A memory he can hold on to.”

There it is again—that maddening mix of arrogance and sincerity that only Satoru Gojo can pull off. You hate that he’s making sense. You hate even more that a part of you wants to say yes. Not for his sake, of course, but for Koji’s. “I don’t know,” you start warily, crossing your arms. “I don’t want him to get confused, Satoru. He’s young, but he’s not stupid. If we start doing things like this, he might think…” You trail off, not wanting to put it into words.

Satoru’s expression softens, and for a moment, you see the man you once loved—the one who could convince you of anything with just a look. “He won’t think anything, Y/N. He’ll just be happy. That’s all I want for him.” He hesitates before adding, “That’s all I want for us.”

You swallow hard, caught between the weight of the past and the fragile threads of the present. “I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice quieter now.

His lips twitch into a small smile, relieved. “That’s all I ask.” He doesn’t press further, doesn’t push his luck. Instead, he steps into the living room, kneeling to Koji’s level to say his goodbyes. You watch from the kitchen, arms still crossed, heart still conflicted. The sound of Koji’s chuckles and his own goodbye fills the space as Satoru ruffles his hair, promising to come back soon. When he straightens up and heads for the door, he glances back at you one last time, his gaze lingering in a way that makes your chest tighten.

“Think about it,” he repeats softly before stepping out into the cold.

And just like that, the house feels a little emptier, a little quieter. You sigh, leaning against the counter as Koji returns to his cartoons, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in your chest.

Christmas. Together. You’re not sure if it’s a recipe for disaster or something else entirely. But, it’s for Koji. It would be his first Christmas with his father whom he looks up to like he’s some kind of superhero. A super rich superhero. It would be wrong of you to deny him of that—them both of that. And like Satoru said, you’ve already made enough decisions for him.

With a deep breath, you walk on over and sit next to your son on the floor, arm around his shoulders. “Koji?”

“Yes, Mama?” Koji hums back, eyes still fixated on the bright screen.

“I have a question for you.”

At this, he turns his head and looks at you, tilting it in a childish curiosity. “What?”

You bring him closer to your side. “Christmas is coming up, are you excited?” He nods enthusiastically. You smile and continue. “So, would you like Papa to come over on Christmas? He’ll play games with you and—”

“Yes!” he shouts, scooting closer to your face as he expresses his excitement with vigor. “I want Papa to come! I want Papa to come!”

You laugh softly, though the knot in your chest tightens. Koji’s innocent enthusiasm is infectious, and his wide grin makes it hard to feel anything but love for your son. “Okay, okay,” you say, ruffling his hair gently. “I’ll let Papa know you want him here.”

Koji bounces up and down, clapping his hands together. “Yay! Can we make cookies? And put out milk for Santa? And open presents together?”

“Of course,” you assure him, pulling him into a warm hug, and kissing the top of his white nest of hair. “We’ll do all of that.” As you hold him, your heart aches a little. Koji doesn’t understand the complexities of the situation, nor should he. To him, Christmas is just about family and joy and all the things that make the world seem big and bright. But to you, it’s a delicate balancing act—a chance to give Koji the kind of Christmas he deserves while keeping your own emotions in check. The last thing you want to do is start an argument on that special day and ruin it for your son. Just pretend, that’s all. For Koji. For Koji.

Later that evening, after Koji is fast asleep and tucked in bed, you pick up your phone and hesitate for a moment before sending Satoru a quick message:

Y/N:

He wants you here. Don’t make me regret this.

You put the phone down and stare at the ceiling for a while, wondering what the holidays will bring. For Koji’s sake, you hope it’s nothing but joy. For your own sake, you’re not so sure. A few more days. The buildup, anxiety, anticipation, it’s all killing you slowly. On one hand, you don’t want to see Satoru and pretend you’re all a happy family. But on the other, you know Koji wants him and the same goes for Satoru. You’ve taken away enough opportunities. You’ve wedged a big enough gap between this already small family and if you make it larger, you fear you’ll screw things up for good. It’s the holiday season, it’s not time to sit around and mope about your shitty life. It’s not the time to compare yourself to others and it’s most certainly not the time to brew in jealousy about the fact that Satoru was spending his past Christmases with another woman.

Shut that off, immediately.

What it is time for is to be happy you’ve lived to see another year, and happy your son has had a great year. And finally, it’s time to start thinking more about other people’s feelings. Including Satoru’s.

But, you’ve been doing that this entire time. Haven’t you?

Koji’s last day of school was Friday, now starting his break. “Thank you, Sana. I know the longer hours are a little annoying, but I’ll raise the pay by a dollar.”

“No need, Ms. Y/N,” the younger woman waves you off with a smile, in the middle of coloring with Koji. Her blue-dyed hair pulled up into a lazy bun. “I love Koji, I’ll watch him anytime you need me.”

Your smile turns sympathetic, letting out a small sigh and rubbing her shoulder. “You’re so sweet, thank you so much. You’re a big help around here.”

“It’s my pleasure.” She hugs you back and locks the door after you leave. The morning air feels nice to breathe in, not as cold as it was yesterday. You remind yourself to get a little gift for her. Maybe a gift basket? Or a gift card? Or more money, she’s a college student.

Walking to work that morning is the same as always. Waiting for the same crosswalk to turn green, passing by the usual bakery and donut shop, seeing that same old man doing his own morning walk. It all feels mundane—normal. Something that feels very much needed, more often than it would have last month. You’re still not entirely used to how much things have been integrated into your life, for the better or worse. Either way, it’s your life now. Time to embrace that in some way.

Walking into the cafe, you see a few of your co-workers readying and tidying up the place. Giving them a brief ‘good morning’ and nod, you head to the back to place your purse and coat down. It’s a quiet morning today, which is a little odd because usually, you would hear Hana’s fingers typing away on the keyboard to the computer. Or she would greet you hello. Turning your head, you see her; sitting at one of the chairs and completely engrossed in whoever she’s texting on her phone. She has a small, giddy smile on her face, letting out a quiet huff of laughter at what the other person said. “Hey?”

She snaps her head up, locking her phone and standing up. “Oh, hey. Sorry, didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” You raise a brow and chuckle, walking over and nodding your head in the direction of the phone in her hand. “Who’s that?”

“Oh…” her cheeks grow slightly pink, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a shy manner. “Um…no one. Just a guy.”

“A cute guy?” You wiggle your eyebrows, and she responds by elbowing you.

“Not like that, Y/N. I barely know him.”

“For now.”

“He’s just a regular.” Hana plays it off, but the growing smile on her face juxtaposes her feigned nonchalance.

You grin, leaning against the counter as you cross your arms. “A regular,” you repeat, emphasizing the words with air quotes. “But give it a week, and I bet I’ll be hearing wedding bells.”

Hana rolls her eyes but can’t suppress the small smile creeping onto her face. “It’s nothing like that. We’ve only been talking for a few days.”

“And yet here you are, all smiley and distracted at work,” you point out with a playful laugh. “Come on, spill. What’s his name? What does he do?”

Hana hesitates for a moment before sighing, as though resigning herself to your curiosity. “His name is Naoya. Naoya Zenin,” she admits, the blush on her cheeks deepening. “I think he has something to do with business? Or real estate? He hasn’t said much about his job yet.”

“Naoya Zenin,” you repeat, testing the name on your tongue. “Have I ever seen him?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. He’s only just recently started coming in because of something like ‘he saw a pretty girl at the cashier and couldn’t resist’.”

You huff. “Sounds like a smoother talker already.”

“Y/N!” Hana protests, swatting at your arm. “He’s not like that! He’s… actually really nice. Sweet, even.”

You laugh, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll take your word for it. But don’t think you’re off the hook. I’m going to need updates. Daily updates. I live vicariously through you when it comes to your love life, you know that.”

She groans, but there’s a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep it between us.”

“Scout’s honor,” you say with a smile, though you’re already mentally filing this away to tease her about later. “This top secret of yours about your little boy toy will stay between you and I only, no outsiders.”

Hana nods, but the little smile on her face remains as she pockets her phone and joins you at the counter. Something tells you this Naoya guy might be worth hearing about after all. You think for a moment that it’s a little strange you haven’t ever seen or served him, but he obviously must’ve been in after you leave; sometime in the afternoon.

You’re curious, rightfully so. Hana hasn’t talked about a guy since the last man, which was about a year ago. You’re glad to see her out on the market again, opening herself up. She and this Naoya guy have only been talking for a few days, but she obviously has taken a quick interest in him. You could only hope he’s feeling the same, and not messing with her feelings. It’s the protective friend in you speaking.

Time flies before you know it, ringing up customers and making their beloved—but occasionally off coffee drinks. The small tune of the music playing on the speakers quells your mind, giving you something to hum to every now and then. The steady hum of the espresso machine, the clinking of mugs, and the soft murmur of conversations blend into the background, creating a comforting cadence. Customer after customer comes through, each order oddly more specific than the last. The overly tedious ones make you concerned sometimes. There are a few ordinary ones, of course.

“An oat milk latte, but can you add three pumps of hazelnut, and one pump of caramel, and make it extra hot? Oh, and no foam, please.”

You resist the urge to sigh, offering a polite smile instead. “Of course, coming right up.”

Hana, stationed beside you, exchanges an amused glance. “How do they come up with these combinations?” she whispers as she froths milk for a cappuccino.

“Beats me,” you reply, carefully measuring out the hazelnut syrup. “But hey, keeps us employed, right?”

The lively beat playing over the speakers catches your attention, and you continue to hum along absentmindedly as you finish up the drink. Moments like these make the chaos of the morning rush feel a little more manageable—a small comfort amidst the constant motion.

By the time noon rolls around, the rush has died down, leaving the café bathed in a peaceful lull. The scent of freshly brewed coffee still lingers in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of pastries from the display case. You glance at Hana, who’s leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone during the quiet moment.

“You doing okay over there?” you ask, wiping down the counter.

She looks up, a sheepish grin on her face. “Yeah, just checking my messages.”

“From Naoya?” you tease, and her blush tells you all you need to know.

As she laughs and shakes her head, the door chime rings, signaling a new customer. You straighten up, slipping back into your friendly barista persona as you greet the newcomer.

“Welcome! What can I get started for you today?”

It’s a woman, nicely dressed and a bit older. There are some graying hairs at the front, but she holds her aged wrinkles well. Smiling at you with red-stained lips, lifting her sunglasses up to rest them on her head. “Hello, how are you?”

“Good, how are you?”

“Good,” she hums, eyes wandering up to the menu. “This is my first time here, may I ask what you recommend?”

You nod. “Our cookie butter latte is highly recommended, along with our raspberry matcha and horchata latte.”

The woman’s red lips curl into a thoughtful smile as she considers your suggestions. “Cookie butter latte? That does sound intriguing,” she says, tapping a manicured finger against her chin. “Is it too sweet?”

“It’s a bit on the sweeter side, but we can adjust it if you prefer something less sugary,” you offer.

“Hmm… I think I’ll try it as is,” she decides, returning her gaze to you. “A small one, please. Oh, and can you make it extra hot?”

“Of course.” You punch in her order and give her the total.

As she hands over a crisp bill, she glances around the café, taking in the cozy décor and warm atmosphere. “This place is lovely,” she remarks. “Do you enjoy working here?”

You smile, sliding her change across the counter. “I do. It’s a nice little escape from everything else. And the regulars make it fun.”

“I can imagine,” she says, her voice carrying a certain kindness. “It seems like the perfect place for a little pick-me-up.”

You chuckle softly, grabbing a cup to start up her order. “Of course.”

She watches you make her drink, which is normal for you since many other customers do that too. Either to ensure you’re doing everything right, or that you’re not messing up their order. Or simply they just want to know how to make that drink at home. This woman continues the conversation with you, however. “I love your necklace, it’s very beautiful.”

You glance down at the gold moon, peering back up at her with a thankful nod. “Oh, thank you. I got it as a gift from a co-worker last year.”

“It’s lovely.” She responds, keeping her holy smile on her face. You return the favor before finishing up her drink. Securing the lid on top and sliding a cover on the middle before turning back to her, and handing the drink over.

“Here you go, Miss. Have a good day.”

The woman takes the cup, but instead of leaving, she lingers, her eyes scanning the café again before settling on you. “You’re very efficient,” she says, her tone thoughtful. “And polite. Not everyone has that kind of composure while juggling multiple tasks.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, slightly caught off guard. Compliments like that aren’t exactly rare, but there’s something in her tone that feels... deliberate.

She sets the cup down on the counter, her red lips curving into a subtle smile. “Forgive me if this seems forward, but are you happy working here?”

The question startles you, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to answer. It feels a little invading, but you’re not the type to be outwardly rude to a customer. Unless provoked; but even then, you hold your composure well. “I... I like it. The people are nice, and it’s steady work.”

“I see,” she says, nodding slowly. “You seem like someone who could do more, though. Someone with potential.”

You blink, not sure whether to take her words as a compliment or a critique. “Well, I try my best,” you say, keeping your tone neutral., lips pursing awkwardly.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a sleek black business card, sliding it across the counter toward you. “If you’re ever looking for a change, my company is always in need of someone capable. We’re hiring for a personal secretary position right now.”

Your eyes flicker down to the card, where her name and title are printed in elegant gold lettering. Beneath that, the name of a foreign, but well-known corporation—one you’d only ever dreamt of working for.

Evelyn Carlisle.

Founder & CEO of:

Carlisle & Harlow.

Carlisle & Harlow is a luxury lifestyle and real estate industry that specializes in high-end properties, exclusive concierge services, and premium lifestyle management for elite clientele. It has a reputation for catering to the wealthy, ensuring that every detail of its clients’ lives is managed to perfection.

You hesitate, staring at the card. Eyes wide, lips parting and closing in surprise and confusion. It feels like a golden ticket has just been thrust in your face. And for what reason? You have absolutely no idea. “I—I don’t know…”

“It’s just a thought,” she says smoothly, picking up her latte again. “You’re under no obligation, but I think you’d do wonderfully. If you’re interested, give me a call.”

Before you can respond, she offers you another one of those warm, knowing smiles and turns toward the door. The second her back is to you, she’s on her phone, texting something. “Have a good day, dear.”

You stand there for a moment, holding the card in your hand, unsure of what to think. The logo on the card gleams in the café’s warm light, and your mind races with possibilities—and doubts. Could this really be an opportunity, or is it too good to be true? How did this just happen so…suddenly? If her business wasn’t so well known, you would’ve assumed you were being scammed and thrown the card away as soon as she left. But, it feels like an opportunity, nonetheless.

A bright opportunity that screams money.

A part of you is still very much hesitant about what just happened, but the desperate part of you is telling your brain to make that phone call as soon as you have the chance. Just think about it, if all of this is authentic, you would have a good-paying job. No more rushing back and forth between two, no more sleep deprivation (hopefully), and you would be a bit more stable. Maybe if you save up enough, you could buy a new place.

Okay, thinking too far ahead.

You pocket the card, smiling to yourself. For once, it feels like a small beam of light is being cast your way. Like you’re being chosen. It turns your stomach in delight and excitement.

But, you can’t stop the lingering, pressing question.

Why did that feel a little…organized?

“And this here, we have our newest version of RavenX.”

Yamato nods in astonishment, watching the mechanical crow tilt its head, the red circle in its eye prominent as the crow blinks. Its purple wings demonstrate a high altitude while the screen in front of him and his son shows the view of what the crow is seeing. Satoru stands cross-armed next to his father, silently praising the meticulously engineered drone.

Mei Mei steps forward, her tone confident and composed as she gestures toward the screen showcasing the RavenX drone's perspective. “The RavenX is designed for both surveillance and tactical operations. Enhanced AI ensures decision-making capabilities in real-time, and the thermal imaging allows it to identify targets even in low-visibility conditions.”

She turns to Yamato with a faint smirk. “It can operate autonomously for up to 48 hours without recharge and has a flight speed that outpaces any similar product on the market. Its compact size makes it nearly undetectable by radar.”

Yamato’s lips curl into a subtle smile as he leans closer to examine the live feed on the screen. “Impressive,” he murmurs, nodding slowly. “And you’ve managed to keep the design sleek. Functionality without sacrificing form.”

Satoru tilts his head slightly, his usual business-y tone replaced with one of genuine curiosity. “What about security? How resistant is it to hacking or signal jamming?”

Mei Mei casts him a sidelong glance, clearly prepared for the question. “The RavenX operates on an encrypted frequency that’s nearly impossible to intercept. Even if someone managed to breach it, the drone has an auto-lockout protocol. It will wipe its data and return to base immediately.”

Yamato raises a brow, clearly impressed. “You’ve outdone yourself again, Mei Mei.”

Mei Mei keeps her poised smile, her confidence unmistakable. “Why thank you, Mr. Gojo. The RavenX isn’t just a surveillance drone—but it’s a masterpiece of precision engineering. With a flight range of over 500 miles and an adaptive AI capable of learning terrain in real-time, it ensures maximum efficiency in hostile or unpredictable environments.”

Yamato leans forward slightly, adjusting his glasses, his expression one of genuine intrigue. “Interesting. And the resolution on this feed?”

“4K with thermal imaging,” Mei Mei replies, tapping the screen to zoom in on a distant object. The clarity is undeniable. “It’s designed to thrive in low-visibility conditions. Perfect for search and rescue, military applications, or even high-security industrial work. The AI is coded for rapid response to potential threats—watch this.”

She waves to one of her team members, who approaches the drone with a metal rod. As soon as the drone’s sensors pick up the movement, it lets out a synthetic caw and gracefully maneuvers upward, evading the perceived threat.

Satoru raises his brows, shifting his weight. “Not bad,” he murmurs, clearly impressed but keeping his tone casual.

Mei Mei tilts her head, catching his eye. “Not bad? That’s high praise coming from the Satoru Gojo. I’ll take it.” Mei Mei clears her throat, tucking some hair behind her ear. “We’ve also designed it to respond to its owner’s call. Like this.” She whistles and quickly, the crow swoops down, landing on her outstretched arm as if it were an actual animal. Mei Mei’s grin deepens as the RavenX perches gracefully on her arm, its wings retracting with a faint mechanical hum. She lightly taps the drone’s head, and its eyes blink, the red circle fading into a neutral glow. "Fully programmable for voice commands," she explains, "and adaptable to any user profile. It recognizes not just my call but also pre-set vocal patterns. This makes it irreplaceable for high-security operations or personal defense."

Yamato watches the display with a mixture of intrigue and admiration. “Quite remarkable of you and your team,” he states, walking forward to eye the drone better. “How does it differentiate between allies and potential threats? Is the AI pre-programmed, or does it learn through interaction?”

Mei Mei nods, her expression one of quiet pride. “The AI starts with a baseline program, but it continuously evolves through machine learning. It identifies allies by biometrics, such as voice and facial recognition. And in cases where immediate action is required, it calculates probabilities based on behavior patterns. For instance—"

She steps closer to Satoru, her smile taking on a sly edge. “Care to test it, Mr. Gojo?”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. “You want me to scare your fancy bird?”

Mei Mei chuckles. “If you think you can.”

Satoru steps forward, his presence commanding as always, and makes a sudden, exaggerated swipe toward the drone. In an instant, the RavenX lets out a sharp synthetic caw and takes flight, circling above them with its crimson eye scanning. Mei Mei whistles again, and the drone lands back on her arm, unbothered and perfectly still.

“Responsive and calm under pressure,” she states, stroking the metallic head. “Exactly what you’d want in the field. Or at home, for that matter.”

Yamato smiles faintly, exchanging a glance with Satoru. “What do you think, Satoru?”

Satoru tilts his head, his head tilting in thought. “I think it has personality. Not bad, Mei Mei. Not bad at all.”

“High praise,” Mei Mei quips, lowering the drone to its docking station. “But don’t just take my word for it. Schedule the live demonstration, and I’ll prove that the RavenX is not just another toy—it’s the future.”

“Seems like it’ll bring in great revenue for Corvid Dynamics,” Satoru hums, the faintest flicker of amusement in his tone. He’s testing her, poking at the edges of her confidence.

Mei Mei’s lips curve into a slow, calculating smile, her gaze sharp enough to slice through steel. “Oh, Mr. Gojo,” she drawls, her voice smooth but laced with something darker. “If there’s one thing you should’ve learned by now, it’s that I always get my payday. No matter the cost.”

Her words hang heavy in the air, a subtle challenge, as if daring him to uncover just how far she’d go.

Satoru’s brows knit slightly, facing her cockiness with his own growing peculiarity and slight indignation. Yamato’s eyes gleam with interest, and he nods. “We’ll be in touch.”

As Mei Mei leaves the room, Yamato leans back, hands in his pockets, his gaze lingering on the drone. “I like her,” he says with a casual chuckle. “But I like the bird more.”

“You do realize she’s been attempting to sell us the same product for years now, right?” Satoru replies, giving his father a look. “Not much has changed except for her persistence and lack of connections with other investors. She’s desperate.”

Yamato's eyes remain fixed on the docking station where the multiple of the RavenX rest, their red eyes dimmed. He hums thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his chin. “Desperation doesn’t always mean a bad deal, Satoru. Sometimes it means someone is willing to give more than they take.”

Satoru scoffs lightly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Or it means we’re being pitched a polished-up version of the same old tech because she can’t get anyone else to bite.” His tone is sharp, but there’s a glint of curiosity in his gaze as he glances back at the drone.

“You underestimate her,” Yamato replies evenly, turning to face his son. “Mei Mei might not have the connections now, but her ingenuity is undeniable. Persistence like hers doesn’t come without talent.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his frown faint. “So what’s the play? You want to throw her a bone? Out of pity?”

Yamato chuckles, shaking his head. “No. I want to see how far she’s willing to go to prove herself. Desperation has a way of bringing out either brilliance or recklessness. Either one can be valuable… if handled correctly.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, his posture relaxing but his mind clearly working. “You think she’s banking everything on this deal?”

“Possibly,” Yamato replies. “And if that’s the case, it’s an opportunity for us to gain leverage. Let her prove the RavenX’s worth. If she succeeds, we gain a strong partner. If she doesn’t, we gain insight into her limitations.”

Satoru scoffs. “So we’re dangling the carrot. Making her sweat a little?”

Yamato’s expression hardens slightly, his tone measured. “We don’t play games, Satoru. We make calculated investments. Mei Mei is smart, but she needs to prove she can be consistent. We don’t just invest in technology—we invest in people.”

“She’s a money-hungry woman who has proven to throw her own family under the bus.” Satoru huffs, face scrunching in disgust. “Why would we want to do business with that?”

Yamato gives his son a long, measured look, his expression sharpening slightly. “And what makes you think she’s any different from any other businessperson out there? Everyone has a past, Satoru. You can’t throw someone out because of a few bad decisions or some family drama. You need to look at the bigger picture. Her motivations, her drive. If she’s willing to risk it all for this, we need to understand why—and if it’s worth it for us.”

Satoru’s eyes flash with irritation, but he keeps his tone steady. “And what if it’s not? What if she’s just too volatile? We don’t need someone who’s going to blow up in our faces when things get rough. Besides, we need to be careful of who we trust and partner with. Anyone of these people could be the leaker. What if she’s the reason my family has been put in danger?”

“It’s not your family if you’re not married.” Yamato simply utters, turning to walk out the building.

Satoru tenses his jaw, following his father out into the cold December air; each wearing long black coats. “Don’t. We’re talking about my son and his mother, it doesn’t matter if we’re not married. They’re still valuable to me.”

Yamato stops in his tracks, his breath visible in the frigid air, and his gaze lingers on Satoru, weighing his words carefully. “I know they’re valuable to you. But you have to separate your emotions from business, Satoru. This isn’t about family drama. This is about leverage, trust, and the bigger game. You can’t afford to let personal stakes cloud your judgment when there’s so much on the line.

Satoru’s hands ball into fists, his frustration evident. “And what about loyalty? What about looking out for the people who matter to us? You can’t pretend it’s all just numbers and strategy when lives are at risk.”

Yamato turns his body fully, looking at his son with an intensity that’s both fatherly and businesslike. “You’ve got to protect what’s yours, yes. But you have to know when to fight and when to step back. Mei Mei is a risk, but so is anyone else. We make calculated moves, not emotional ones.”

Satoru exhales sharply, his breath mixing with the cold air. “Calculated moves...You keep saying that like it makes everything easier. But what if she’s too dangerous? What if this deal blows up in our faces?”

He sighs. “Listen, okay? You’re right,” Yamato says, his voice quiet but firm. “Koji and that woman are valuable. But there’s a difference between protecting them and letting fear cloud your judgment. If we start making decisions based on fear of the unknown, we risk losing everything.” His gaze hardens slightly, the unspoken weight of responsibility hanging in the air. “We need to think strategically. If Mei Mei’s involved in this leak, we’ll find out. But we can’t let that stop us from moving forward.”

Satoru clenches his fists, frustration building as the cold air bites at his skin. “Her name is Y/N. And I don’t want to be blindsided, Dad. I don’t want to end up paying for a mistake I didn’t see coming.”

“I know,” Yamato replies. “And that’s why we don’t rush into anything. We take the time to assess, to understand what’s really at stake here. If she’s the leaker, then we’ll handle it. If she’s not… then we make sure she’s a valuable asset to this company, and we don’t let her get too comfortable. At the end of the day, our real issue is with the mastermind behind all this, who wanted it out for us—you—in the first place.” Yamato’s face hardens, his voice low but firm. “And this is a chance you take in this world. It’s not all clean and easy, Satoru. But in the end, it’s about understanding the person you’re dealing with. You don’t just protect your assets—you protect the people who can help you build something greater.”

Satoru doesn’t respond right away, his jaw tight as he processes his father’s words. The snow starts to fall lightly around them, a silent reminder of the cold world they’re navigating.

“I’m not letting anyone—especially someone like Mei Mei—jeopardize Koji,” Satoru finally says, his voice more resolute now, though there’s a layer of uncertainty still lingering. “I can play the game, but I’m not playing with fire just because someone’s trying to get their foot in the door.”

Yamato watches him for a moment, his eyes unreadable, before nodding slowly. “I know. But sometimes, Satoru, you’ve got to light the fire to control it. You don’t have to trust Mei Mei right away—but you’ll need to see her for who she truly is before you make your final move.”

The two of them continue walking in silence, the sound of their footsteps crunching in the snow a steady rhythm. In the distance, the city skyline looms, full of promises, dangers, and opportunities that will inevitably pull them further into the storm. The black Escalade waiting for them in the distance. “I’m going to keep my eye on her. I won’t sacrifice my own for the sake of business. Unlike you.”

Satoru speaks with finality, walking ahead of his father and getting into the backseat as the driver opens the door for them. Yamato, watching his son’s back, feels a twinge of guilt at the truth behind his son’s honesty. But he hides that behind his usual serious expression, shaking away his guiltiness with frustration. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

The two men don’t even make it three steps back into the first floor of the office before Himari is bounding up to her boyfriend. Arms instantly wrapping around his neck and she shamelessly latches her lips onto his. Yamato, along with a few other working employees look away, his father not bothering to hide his displeased sound. Satoru, caught off guard, pulls away, hands to her shoulders. “Himari, what are you doing?”

“Oh, what? Now you don’t want me to kiss you in front of people?” The bitterness in her voice doesn’t go undetected, sparing Yamato a glance before batting her lashes up at Satoru. “I was waiting for you, I didn’t know you went out.”

“Because I didn’t tell you.”

“And because you’re still keeping secrets from me.”

He really doesn’t want to argue with her right now, especially here. Instead, he sighs, grabbing hold of her hand and leading her to the elevator. “Please don’t make a scene, okay? I’m working.”

Himari’s expression hardens as the elevator doors close, turning to Satoru. “Oh, ‘a scene’? Is that what you think it is? You’re my boyfriend—mine. If I want to kiss you, I’ll do that.”

Satoru closes his eyes briefly, exhaling in frustration as the elevator ascends. The tension between them is palpable, and he knows that Himari’s possessiveness is starting to bleed into every aspect of their relationship. He’s never been one for confrontation with her, but he can feel the cracks starting to form, the weight of the secrets, and the pressure of expectations pulling at him. “Look, Himari,” he starts, his voice low but firm. “You’re right, you’re my girlfriend, and I don’t mind being affectionate with you. But not like that—especially not in front of my team and father. I don’t need the office to think we’re some kind of soap opera.”

Himari crosses her arms over her chest, her lips pressed together in a tight line. “I’m not the one making this difficult, Satoru. You’re the one hiding things from me, playing these little games. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m by your side, but you’re always pushing me away. And for what, her?” She dramatically scoffs at the idea of you.

Satoru focuses on the rising numbers of the floors, willing himself to handle this calmly. “We’re not talking about her right now, Himari.”

“But you’re thinking of her.”

They get to the right floor and Satoru quickly steps out, making his way to his office. Himari is right on his tail, clinging to his arm.

Satoru pulls the door open to his office, his movements stiff as he enters, trying to shake off the tension from the elevator. Himari follows closely behind, the weight of her presence already grating on his nerves. The office is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside the large windows.

He sets his briefcase down on the desk, his mind still swirling with the earlier conversation with his father. Mei Mei’s drones, the possible business partnership—everything feels like it’s spinning out of his control. But with Himari here, focusing on her, is the last thing he wants to do. She steps in front of him, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. “You’re avoiding me now?” Her voice is sharp, tinged with a mix of frustration and hurt.

Satoru exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not avoiding you, Himari. I’m just trying to focus on work.” His words are clipped, and tired.

Her gaze softens, but there's still a touch of bitterness lingering. "Work, huh?" she repeats. "Or is it her? Are you really telling me there's nothing going on with you two? She was at your house the other day, acting as if she lived there."

Satoru closes his eyes briefly, willing himself to stay calm. “She doesn’t live there, Himari. And I don’t have time for this right now. I’m dealing with a lot. I’m trying to keep everything from falling apart.” His tone is low, strained.

Himari’s expression falters for a second, the usual arrogance in her stance dimming just slightly. “I just want to know where I stand with you. I want you to be open with me. I want to trust you.” Her voice softens.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not hiding anything, Himari. But there are things I need to handle before I can talk about us. I need you to trust me on that.”

She looks at him for a long beat, her lips pursed in thought. Finally, she steps closer, her fingers brushing against his chest. “I want to trust you, Satoru. But you’re making it hard.” Her voice is barely above a whisper now, the sharp edge replaced with a quiet vulnerability.

He’s silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. The weight of her words presses down on him, but he knows that there’s too much at stake right now. With everything that’s going on—this new possible business deal, the leaks, the company’s future, his son, and you—he can’t afford to focus on this relationship as much as he might want to.

“I’m doing the best I can,” he says quietly, voice almost too soft for her to hear. “But you need to understand, Himari… it’s not just about us. There are bigger things happening right now.”

She stares at him, eyes searching his face, as if trying to decode every emotion there. “Promise me something, then. Just give me that little bit of reassurance.” Her hands find home on his cheeks, tilting his face down toward hers. “Nothing is going on between you and her. You’re still mine, right?”

Satoru hesitates, feeling the heat of her hands on his cheeks, the pressure of her gaze locking him in place. Her words hang in the air, a demand wrapped in uncertainty, and for a moment, he’s unsure of how to respond. He wants to reassure her, wants to calm the storm brewing in her eyes, but the truth is far more complicated than a simple promise. There’s only one answer he must give her. He swallows, his thoughts swirling. “Himari, you know I’m not good with promises,” he murmurs, his voice low and tinged with frustration. “But I can tell you this: there’s nothing between me and her.” He forces his gaze to meet hers, trying to convey the sincerity in his words, even though the uncertainty weighs on him. “I’m still here. And I’m still yours.”

Her eyes soften, but the tension doesn’t fully lift. She searches his face for any sign of hesitation, any clue that might betray him. For a long moment, they stand there, her hands still cradling his face, as if willing him to prove himself. As if the longer they stay like this, his words might actually feel more like the truth than a bandaid. Finally, she nods, though there’s a flicker of doubt in her gaze. “I want to believe you, Satoru. I really do.”

“You really didn’t have to buy us presents.” You mutter, opening the door to your visitor. Still making sure to keep your volume to a low since Koji is sleeping in his room.

Suguru smiles warmly, stepping in and shaking off the snow before placing two presents under the tree. One for your son, and one for you. “It’s okay, Y/N. I wanted to.”

It’s pretty late at night, but Suguru had told you he had a pretty busy week up ahead and this was really the only time he could drop off his presents for you and Koji. You showered and ate a quick dinner before he came. Muscles sore and feet tired from standing all day, but you still find it in you to show your gratitude. “I appreciate it, really.” Closing and locking the door behind you, you sigh. “I feel bad, I haven’t gotten anyone a gift besides Koji. I’ll buy you something with my next paycheck.”

Suguru chuckles softly, his eyes warm with understanding. "You don’t have to worry about that, Y/N. I don’t expect anything in return." He gestures to the presents under the tree. "This is just a small token of appreciation, nothing more. It’s Christmas, everyone deserves a gift."

You feel a faint blush creeping up your neck at his words. The sincerity in his tone makes you feel both grateful and a little guilty. It’s hard to accept his kindness sometimes, especially when you feel like you’re not able to give back as much. “Well, thank you again,” you say quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “You didn’t have to go through all the trouble.”

Suguru gives you a reassuring smile. "It’s no trouble at all. I’m just happy to see you and Koji doing well." He glances toward the hallway where Koji’s room is. "How’s he been? Sleeping well?"

You nod, walking over to the couch and sitting down with a sigh. "Yeah, he’s been good. He hasn’t been napping during the day lately, so I guess he’s just getting more tired at night. Which is good, I suppose. More time to rest for me too." You run a hand through your hair, glancing at the tree in the corner. "I just wish I had more time to relax… but you know how it is."

Suguru sits down beside you, his posture relaxed. "I know exactly how it is," he says with a knowing look. "But you’re doing the best you can. That’s all anyone can ask for." He pauses, then adds softly, "And I’ll always be here to help when you need it."

You give him a small, thankful smile, the weight of the day finally beginning to lift a little. "Thanks, Suguru. I really mean it."

He nods, his smile warm but gentle. "Of course. You’re not alone in this."

As you sit there, the quiet comfort of his presence fills the room. You know that no matter how much you try to do on your own, Suguru will always be there, offering support when you need it most. He’s always been like that. You remember times when you and Satoru would fight and Suguru would help comfort you. It’s something you had come to rely on, and while it’s not always easy to accept help, you’re starting to understand that sometimes, it’s okay to lean on the people who care about you. That relationship between you two still feels strained, though—weird.

“So…” you start, wanting to fill the empty silence with something. “How was your day today?”

Suguru tilts his head slightly, his expression thoughtful for a moment before he answers. “Busy, as usual. Lots of meetings, a bit of paperwork, and some follow-ups. Nothing out of the ordinary. But it’s nice to finally have a bit of a breather now.” He chuckles softly. “I’ve been looking forward to this more than I probably should’ve. Being able to just sit down and talk without worrying about the next thing on my to-do list.”

You smile a little, appreciating his honesty. “Sounds like you’ve earned the break, then.” You stretch slightly, feeling the strain in your muscles from standing all day. “I get that feeling too sometimes, when everything feels like it’s moving too fast and I can’t catch my breath.”

Suguru nods in understanding, his gaze gentle. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s hard to slow down when there’s so much going on. But you do a good job of juggling everything. I admire that about you.” His voice is low, and there’s a sincerity in it that makes your chest tighten a little, a smile hiding on your lips.

You glance down at your hands, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “I try my best… but it’s not always easy. Some days, I feel like I’m failing at everything.”

Suguru reaches over, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re not failing, Y/N. Trust me. You’re doing everything you can, and that’s more than enough. I see how hard you work, how much you care for Koji. You’re doing a great job, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”

His words settle over you like a warm blanket, easing the tension you didn’t even realize you were holding. You take a deep breath, trying to push away the doubts that have been lingering in your mind. “I appreciate it, Suguru. I really needed to hear that.”

He gives you a soft smile, the kind that says everything without needing words. “Anytime.”

You make eye contact with him, feeling a blizzard of strange emotions pile down onto you. The smile he adorns causes your own to come out of hiding, and before you know it, he’s softly chuckling. Looking back down at his feet. The sound of his laugh causes your heart to beat just a little faster. Clearing your throat. “You can take your coat off. I have some leftover wine.” In your head, you’re confused as to why you suddenly made that suggestion; mentally face-palming. “Unless you drove here, then never mind.”

“I won’t get drunk off some wine,” he shakes his head, standing and stripping himself of his coat to reveal a cotton white shirt. “Lead the way.”

With a small, but amused huff, you get up from the couch and walk over to the kitchen. Reaching up to open the cabinet you don’t request very often. The hem of your shirt rises slightly, revealing a teasing hint of your lower stomach. Suguru forces his eyes to stay on your hands, biting the inside of his cheek.

You pull out the bottle of wine, twisting the cap off and setting it down next to two glasses on the counter. As you pour, you feel the weight of Suguru’s gaze on you, though you don’t look at him directly. The air in the kitchen feels different now, charged in a way that makes the space seem smaller, and more intimate. “You didn’t have to bring me a gift, but I’m glad you did,” you say, trying to break the tension with casual words. You pour the wine, handing him a glass first. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got tonight.”

Suguru takes the glass with a smile, the faintest trace of something unreadable in his eyes. “I told you I didn’t bring it to get anything in return. It’s just a little something to show I care.”

His tone is steady, but there’s a subtle undercurrent that makes your heart race. You try to mask your unease with a small grin as you take a sip of the wine, letting its warmth settle into you. “I appreciate that. I really do.”

You move to lean against the counter, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the silence that hangs between you two. Suguru stands a bit closer than you’re used to, the space between you two too small now. His eyes flicker to your lips for a second before he quickly looks away, but the faint moment lingers in the air, thick with unspoken words. You let the wine sit on your tongue a bit longer, trying to steady your thoughts. Something has shifted—maybe it’s the closeness, or maybe it’s just the quiet understanding between the two of you. But you’re keenly aware of how his presence fills the room, how his proximity makes everything feel heightened.

“How have things been with you and Satoru?”

Holding back a grimace, you take another sip. “I mean, as good as it can be, you know?”

Suguru nods, his expression softening as he leans against the counter, his arms crossed. “I get it. Relationships are complicated, especially when you’re balancing so much already.”

You exhale a quiet sigh, setting the glass down a little too firmly. “Yeah. There’s always something, isn’t there? Between work, Koji, and everything…it’s hard. Stressful and overwhelming.”

Suguru watches you take your sip, frowning slightly in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it’s a lot, but I can’t imagine being in your position. But it’s one day at a time, you’ll get through this. It’s easier said than done, but you could do it. You have help now. Satoru, Shoko, me.”

When you look at him, you feel yourself once again slipping into a tranquil state. Mirroring his kind facial expressions with one of your own. His words feel like a soothing balm, it feels like you’re being heard—being listened to in who knows how long? There’s a nagging voice in the back of your mind that warns you of the invisible line. Playfully, you nudge his arm. “Okay, preacher.”

He scoffs softly, nudging you back. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You push him again, he follows suit. It’s a small, spirited moment that makes you feel light. That soon comes to an end when your glass, half-full of red wine, spills not only onto the counter but onto his shirt—leaving the pristine canvas with a circle splotch of deep maroon. You gasp. “Shit! I–I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head as he looks down at the stain on his shirt. “It’s fine, Y/N. Really. It’s just a shirt.” He steps back a little, his hands raised in mock surrender as he waves off your apology, setting down his glass. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve had worse.”

You feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, quickly grabbing a dish towel to dab at the stain, though you know it won’t help much at this point. "I’m so clumsy. I didn’t mean to—"

“Hey, hey.” Suguru cuts you off with a laugh, gently placing a hand on your wrist to stop you from dabbing at the stain. “It’s alright. Really. Just... relax.” He pauses for a moment before adding with a joking grin, “Though I might need a new shirt, I’ll survive.”

Your eyes meet his, and for a second, you see that familiar warmth in his gaze, the kind that always made you feel safe. The kind that, in another life, might’ve made you believe in something more between the two of you. But just as quickly, you pull yourself back, reminding yourself of the boundaries you’ve set. The ones that have to stay intact. “I’ll grab a new shirt for you,” you murmur, still embarrassed but trying to laugh it off. You turn toward your bedroom, your heart racing a little faster than before.

Suguru doesn’t stop you, though you hear him muttering something about "next time, at least aim for the carpet," as you walk away. The air between you both feels thick with something unspoken. You open your drawer for a fresh shirt, sifting out the biggest one you know you have. A simple black short sleeve you could only hope will suffice. Walking back out to the kitchen, you frown. “That was an accident, Suguru. Really.”

“I know,” he nods, meeting your frantic worries with his own set of serenity. “Thank you for the shirt.”

His hands move quicker than you had expected, your pupils blowing wide and holding back a startled noise. You gulp hard, forcing your eyes to focus on a random spot on your kitchen wall. However, you can’t help them wandering every so often as he unbuttons the now red-stained shirt. Your throat almost dries at the peek of his collarbone. Again, looking away. Don’t, that’s not right.

But if it��s not right, why does it feel like the opposite? Why is it suddenly making you nervous—flustered? You even jolt a bit at his calming voice interjecting the silence. “It’s alright, you didn’t mean it.”

You can only offer a weak nod, not trusting your voice to give away your inner turmoil and confusion. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, your heart thudding too loudly in your chest as Suguru drops his shirt onto the counter. His movements are unhurried, and calm, as if he doesn’t notice the storm brewing inside you.

Or maybe he does.

Holding your hands together awkwardly, peeking back over to see if he’s done. You almost wish you hadn’t. His perfect chest greets you hello. Abs practically beckoning to be felt up on and his tan nipples make you shake away an intrusive thought.

What are you thinking? This is Suguru for crying out loud!

Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been particularly…achy lately. You haven’t gotten some in quite a long time and this is literally the first time you’re seeing a man’s naked chest in front of you since Satoru. Since his best friend. God, you’re so weak.

You hold out the clean shirt for him. “Thanks,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing against yours as he slips the black tee on. You wish he hadn’t. It was the largest thing you had in your place, but still too small for Suguru. So it fits more tight, more cropped, cutting off just after his belly button—just before his v-line.

You look down, pretending to busy yourself with wiping the already spotless countertop. Anything to avoid the way your pulse quickens under his steady gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“You already apologized,” he smoothly waves you off with a comforting smile, walking over to the hamper you pointed out and dropping the dirty shirt in. Walking back over to the kitchen, he notices the fact that you seem to be looking anywhere but him.

And when he sees the pretty blush that you hide on your cheeks, his insides stir like a washing machine. Clearing his throat apologetically, hands rubbing in a fidgety manner. He turns his head to the side. “Sorry.”

“No,” you protest, a little too quickly. “…it’s okay, I…I didn’t mind.”

The silence that follows feels so loud. You both don’t know what to say, if there is anything to say in the first place. You’ve just seen him half-naked. Thinking about that, actually processing it, it makes you feel hot. It should be nothing, yet you’re acting like a hormonal teenager.

But, he looked so…good.

You peek over at him from the corner of your eye, distinguishing him doing the exact same thing you are. You two look away at the same time, staring at the sink in front of you guys. Maybe the silence is better than speaking. It stretches out, heavy and palpable. It’s not awkward, but it’s loaded with something that neither of you can name. You catch yourself sneaking a glance at Suguru again, only to find that he’s doing it too—his gaze drifting away when it meets yours. You swallow hard, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. “You, uh... you’re comfortable, right?” you manage, focusing on something, anything other than the tension you feel growing between you two.

Suguru doesn’t respond immediately, and when he does, it’s with a small smile that seems more like a reassurance to himself than anything else. “Yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry about it.”

You nod, still not looking directly at him. The words feel like they hang in the air a bit longer than they should. This is just a friend helping you out, you remind yourself. This is just Suguru. But the more you try to convince yourself, the less you’re sure you believe it. The heat in your neck refuses to fade, and you feel restless, a sense of yearning you can’t quite place crawling up your spine.

Suguru clears his throat again, a bit sheepishly this time. “Hey, uh… would it be alright if I stayed a little longer? I promise I won’t make it weird. I know we’re both probably feeling… well, something right now, but I don’t want to just leave like this.”

Your heart skips a beat, not sure if it’s the wine or just him standing so close to you that’s making your head spin. You don’t know how to respond. You want to say something to ease the growing discomfort between you, but it’s like every word feels loaded now, heavy with implications. The space between you feels too small, even though you know it shouldn’t. You glance up at him, meeting his eyes. The vulnerability in his gaze is unmistakable. Suguru is there—as much as you are—and whatever this thing is, it’s lingering in the air between you, waiting to either break or blossom.

“I—” You stop yourself, trying to catch your breath. “I don’t mind. If you want to stay, I… I’d like the company.” The words come out quieter than you intended, but they’re honest. Suguru’s face softens, a little surprised but clearly relieved. He takes a step closer, just a tiny one, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You sure?”

You nod, your breath shallow as your eyes lock. For a moment, time slows. Everything around you seems to fade away except the two of you, the tension, the way your bodies are just a little too close, the way you can feel the weight of everything unspoken between you. His hand brushes yours again, his fingers lingering just for a second longer than necessary before it pulls away. However, it's enough to send a spark of electricity through you, making your heart race all over again.

“Yeah,” you say again, softer this time. “I’m sure.”

And just like that, the moment extends out, waiting for something—anything—to break the stillness. You both know it, you both feel it, but neither of you is sure how to move forward.

It’s nothing, you both think. Just friends.

a/n: happy early new yearrr!! should i do a new year drabble too? hmmm....

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

Text

'𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐰.

pairing: contractor!joel miller x f!reader

genre: no outbreak au, modern au, explicit smut, minors dni

word count: 3k

summary: joel is used to asshole clients, and when one of them calls him an old man and basically demands him to finish his girlfriend's kitchen in time, he expects you to be the same. But you're the opposite. when he learns how you've been treated, he comes up with a plan to get back at your boyfriend.

warnings: hints of reader being in a toxic relationship, age gap, daddy kink, piv, dirty talk , revenge sex and filming it, infidelity (reader cheating on her bf), praise kink

a/n: This was completely spontaneous, normally I was going to finish one of the haunted hoedown entries but I saw a ✨ s p i c y ✨ video and instantly got up to write this because that video was something else I tell you. Sucks that they don't credit those things on twitter so I can find more of the guy he was also older hence the age gap fgbgfbf

thank you to @johnwatsn for beta'ing this (and sorry for all the typos lmaodfbfg) and thank you to @pedrorascal for the stunning gif 💜

“I’m not paying extra if you do overtime, old man. You said a week and you’ll finish in a week. I don’t care if your knees hurt or you have a heart attack in the middle of hammering a nail—you finish my girlfriend’s kitchen in time. Got it?”

Joel had a lot of unpleasant customers. John was just one of many but his comment had stuck with him. And it wasn’t the rude comments or the tone that basically told Joel that John thought of him as dog shit; no, it was none of that. It was the old man that had bugged him. The hissed comment of his age slithering under his skin and agitating his body.

Joel knew that it only bothered him because it was true. He was an old man. His daughter in her last year of college, doing her absolute best and growing while he was getting old. His skin creasing at the eyes every time he laughed and his hair more salt than pepper.

The thoughts continuing to swirl in his head, with a sigh, he knocks on the door of John’s girlfriend, expecting a woman as equally as unpleasant and demanding.

You’re far from what he expected. Your smile is bright, your eyes kind and lips looking soft and shiny. Joel has trouble gathering himself when you extend a hand, not a care in the world. His eyes drop to where your sweetheart neckline pushes your breasts together, slightly spilling over the fabric. His mouth goes dry, cock twitching under the denim.

Guess some parts of him didn’t get the memo that he was an old man now.

“Joel, right?” you ask, voice unsure and timid. Your eyes gradually take in the height of him, moving to explore the broadness of his shoulders and stopping at his eyes. “John mentioned you.”

Joel’s stomach suddenly turns sour, it’s enough for him to snap out of the sudden lustful gaze he found himself in. He grabs your hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “That’s right. Joel Miller at your service, ma’am.”

He might be imagining it, but he swears your breath hitches just a little when he takes your hand.

“How chivalrous,” you smile and move to the side. “Come on in, Mr. Miller.”

“Joel is just fine,” he grunts, reminded of the old-age comment. How young were you, he wonders. Late twenties, early thirties? He has no idea. He’s also not sure if he wants to know.

You close the door behind him and nod, “Alright then Joel,” you step in front of him, walking towards what he assumes is the kitchen. Joel dutifully follows. “I’m sure John told you about what needs to be done, so hopefully you don’t have any questions.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, confusion swirling in his expression. You don’t turn to look at him, entering the kitchen, you continue, “I had something else in mind originally but he told me to trust him so... I guess that’s what I’m doing now.”

“That don’t sound right,” Joel mumbles. He gives the area a once over, he sees a lot of pink, clean, and polished furniture. The windows are large, allowing the sun to bathe everything within. He vaguely remembers John mentioning a dark, minimalist look but he wasn’t really listening at the time. “Isn’t this your kitchen?”

Your shoulders raise at his question and you finally turn to face him, kind eyes now tainted with a hint of sadness, “It’s going to be our kitchen soon. He probably thinks it’s too girly.”

“That’s no reason to leave you out of the design process,” Joel answers, taking a step closer. You smile helplessly with a shrug, your eyes dropping to his lips before averting them. His pulse races, something wicked forming in his head. He stops an inch away from you, a mere breeze would’ve been enough for your bodies to touch but he keeps still and so do you. You’re flustered, he can tell. “You wanna tell me what you had in mind?”

Your eyes briefly go wide, something like shame crossing your face but the expression is quickly replaced by understanding, “Oh the design,” you murmur, voice barely a whisper. “I honestly would’ve loved some more counter room since I love to bake.”

“Well, you’re in luck darlin’ because I don’t remember much of the details your boyfriend gave me,” he smiles when your brows furrow with confusion. “Meanin’ you have to lead me with the design.”

He swears your smile is the brightest damn thing he’s seen in a long while.

It’s the last day of the constructions in your kitchen but you’re not thinking of the new kitchen counter or the new cupboard, all you’re thinking of is Joel’s proposition, and how you were soaked with just the mere thought of it.

You and Joel had grown close during the time he fixed up your kitchen. Surprisingly, you actually went with the design you initially wanted and not the one John had in mind. You knew it would lead to a fight and some part of you was glad—John was meant to be perfect but it was only on paper. He was a dream boat when in public and amongst friends, but alone? Not a chance. He belittled you, hated almost all your hobbies and always made unnecessary comments on what you looked like.

Despite yourself, you had blabbed all of that to Joel. He made you feel safe, and the fact that he was very pleasant to look at helped. He didn’t say much but you could tell that he was livid, which secretly made you pleased. It was good to see that how John treated you wasn’t actually the norm.

You loved watching him work. The way sweat would slide all the way down to his neck and how his muscles would tense, straining the fabric of his shirt.

He told you about how John had treated him, confessed he thought you would be the same. Your insides had boiled with anger. You apologized profusely and he just shook it off, saying it wasn’t your fault.

Then the kiss had happened.

It had happened on a particularly bad day. You were upset, filled with negative emotions to the brim and all you wanted was unconditional comfort. You kissed him, he didn’t stop you until your hand reached for his belt.

“I wanna show that asshole how amazin’ you are,” he had said. “Will you let me?”

At the time you hadn’t known what he meant by that.

But now you do.

“Look into the camera, sweetheart,” he murmurs, mouth pressed against your ear. You shudder, your bare body feeling good against his, like you were made for him. Your pussy throbs and drools all over his cock that slides agonizingly slow between your folds. You try to do as he says but it’s just too hard when your eyes are constantly on the brink of rolling back into your skull. He drags his lips down your neck as his large hands knead your breasts, your nipples achingly hard. “Don’t make me say it again, honey. Don’t make me be mean when you’re such a good girl.”

“Oh, fuck—” your body shudders, lashes fluttering as you stare right into the camera with a lost expression. You see yourself, Joel right behind you. You don’t know how but he looks even taller while his body splays over yours, bending you over. He presses his palm over your forehead, forcing the arch of your back. Your inner thighs are soaked, his cock moving between your legs. You see the flash of the glistening head every time he rocks himself forward.

He looks into the camera and your entire body clenches with want, “Look at that,” he hums, laving your neck in open-mouthed wet kisses. “Your girlfriend already going stupid with my cock. Not so bad for an old man huh?”

Joel’s lips stretch menacingly, eyes shining with amusement. Letting go of your forehead, he pushes both your tits closer to the camera, thumbs moving over the pebbled flesh. You moan loudly and your legs quiver.

“Sweet thing over here tells me you don’t let her ride you—I thought you were a dumbass before but now I think you’re a downright moron. Fuckin’ hell, who wouldn’t want such an eager thing jumpin’ up and down his cock.”

You whimper, eyes going teary. Your heart races wildly in your chest. “J—Joel, please. . .”

“Hear that, John,” he growls, the tremble of each word reverberating into your skin. “She’s beggin’ for my cock. Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

You nod but it’s not enough for him, not enough for Joel. “Don’t be shy now, tell him. He ever got you this wet?”

“N-No,” you breathe out and maniacally shake your head. “N-Never.”

“Poor thing,” he clicks his tongue. “Poor poor thing. Don’t worry, daddy’s got you now. Doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” you slur, pushing back your hips. “Fuck me, fuck me—Fuck me, daddy, please.”

“Say it again,” his teeth sink into your skin. “One more and I’ll fuck you.”

“Daddy,” you moan, eyes rolling back. “Daddy, need you, need your cock. Fuck me, please.”

He hums in satisfaction, “Well, since you asked so darn nicely,” Joel kisses your temple and his lips move over your skin as he speaks to the camera, “Looks like she’s my girl now, my good girl.”

When he buries himself into you, inch by inch, your jaw goes slack and your nipples go tight. You forget about the camera, about John who’ll see this. You only think of him. He stretches you to your very limit, his cock thick and hard. It takes you everything not to move your hips. You want Joel to tell you what to do. You want him to fuck you so good that your mind will go blank as you start bouncing on his cock. His one hand grips your waist firmly as the other remains underneath your breast, the sensitive flesh spilling over his hand while holding you.

“How does it feel?” he murmurs into your ear, his cruel teasing from earlier gone.

“Good,” you whimper, squeezing him tight. “So fucking good, the biggest I’ve ever had.”

“Fuck, darlin’,” he kisses the skin behind your ear. “Such a filthy mouth on such an innocent lookin’ girl. You were wasted on that jackass.”

He knocks the air from your lungs before you can answer. The drag of his cock like lightning searing your skin. He fucks you hard, almost angrily, but you know it’s not directed at you. Never at you. The smack of his balls against your ass fills the bedroom, and you’re positive the phone is recording every wet, filthy sound. It doesn’t take much for Joel to reduce you into a withering mess, every word forgotten, his hips relentless as he fucks deeper and deeper into you.

Then suddenly you’re tilting back, his arm an anchor around your stomach as you find yourself between his thighs sitting on his lap. Your eyes move to the screen, you look perfect between his legs, the muscles tensing and flexing as he grinds his hips. Your skin pleasantly burns.

“Come on, sweetheart, show him what he’s been missin’ out on.”

Joel leans back, palm planted firmly on your mattress with pretty pink flowers that John hates.

Your body takes control, your brain swimming in a fog of lust and pleasure. You grip his thick thighs, bracing yourself, you begin to move up and down his cock. He fills you beautifully. His gaze is fixed on the tiny camera, staring directly into it as you try your best to please him. Arousal coils tight in your stomach. Your breasts sway with your every move, your body coating him in shiny slick.

“A throne for a princess,” he groans, eyes moving from the camera to your reflection on the screen. Fire burns down your spine. His gaze and presence alone choking the air from your lungs. You twist yourself to get a better look at him, catching his gaze momentarily, you moan wantonly at the sight. Him only sitting, relaxed while you’re breaking down sends jolts of electricity up and down your spine. You sit wholly, grinding down while keeping his cock buried deep inside, searching for that devastating spot inside you.

The world around you becomes a bright white when you do.

Your ears start ringing, and you begin to shake, legs clamp together as you shudder around the length of him. A choked sound between laughter and bewilderment tears from your throat. Your body moves of its own accord now, helplessly bouncing on his cock, the bulbous head grazing against a certain spot that just makes you want more and more and more—

“Yes yes yes yes,” you chant. Joel’s head disappears from view everytime you move up. You hear his moans, they become louder and louder, his southern drawl becoming prominent the more fucked out he gets.

His sounds only spur you on, making you ride him harder, sweat beading at your tailbone. Your pussy swallows him hungrily, every inch of him without protest. While you’re absolutely lost on his cock, you notice him tilting his head so he’s in view again. You hold your breath. His mouth parts, the tip of his tongue touching the corner of his lips, he gives the camera a taunting look. Joel’s expression turns into a half smile and he wraps his arms around you. One going over right above your breasts and the other around your stomach. His hand cups the side of your neck. He drags his mouth down and up your cheek.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he rasps, kissing you. You look to the camera, hips slowing but not stopping. “Yes, pretty girl, just like that,” another kiss. “Look at that pretty girl getting fucked.”

Joel squeezes your breast as his arm comes down, both of them now tight around your stomach. You feel him pulsing deep inside you. His voice is thick with arousal. “Look how beautiful you are on my dick. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

You nod and grind against him, loving how deep he feels. He kisses your neck, tongue tracing shapes into your skin as both his hands come up to your tits and squeezes them, the plump flesh spilling from between his knuckles. His lips move down your shoulder and back up your neck, following the same path over and over again, decorating it with slow kisses.

Joel gives the camera one last look before disappearing behind you, fingers sprawled over your stomach and down between your legs. You feel the rough hairs between your shoulder blades first, then the softness of his lips follows through. Your eyes flutter closed and your head falls back, his mouth is so goddamn soft, the skin tingling and burning at the same time.

His hips snap up, and with the sudden movement, a fresh wave of wetness coats his cock. You lean forward, face closer to the camera, while he lays back, watching hungirly at the way your ass moves.

“Yeah, just like that,” he groans, smacking both your asscheeks simultaneously.

Then before you know it he’s moving, pressing you fully over the table in front of you, the phone shaking as he begins to hammer into you. You can’t even see what you look like anymore, your head dropping, you cry out his name. If it wasn’t for his hands on your hips, you would’ve collapsed to the ground.

“That’s it, come on my cock,” he nips at your shoulders. “Fuck, you’re so fucking wet—can you hear that? Can you hear how fuckin’ soaked your girlfriend is on an old man’s cock?”

It takes you a second to realize he’s not talking to you, but the camera. You flutter around him, squeezing him tight enough that he moans, hips slowing. “Daddy,” you gasp. And with that, you finally let go, cunt gushing around him, coating him with slick. Joel peppers your back with soft, quick kisses, whispering praise between every kiss.

“That’s it, sweetheart, bet you never came that hard before. Good girl—my good fuckin’ girl, wettin’ my cock so well.”

You tighten and gush around him a second time, you swear by how hard you’re clenching your insides most likely have taken the shape of him.

“Where do you want me?” he whispers into your skin. Words coming muffled and hoarse, dripping slow like molasses. You push back against him, looking into the camera with a small smile.

“Inside me, daddy, please.”

“Oh shit—” he picks up the pace, the thrust of his hips sloppy and needy. “Shit shit shit—so fuckin’ perfect, so good for allowin’ this old man to wreck her good—So good for tellin’ me to fill her up—fuck—”

You’re blindsided by how honest he suddenly is, the rasp of his voice going straight between your legs. His hips stutter and Joel comes with a loud, thick moan, spilling into you. You moan right alongside him. He continues to rock into you with shallow thrusts, laying kisses on every patch of skin his lips can reach.

While you’re lost in complete bliss, he reaches around you and grabs the phone, stopping the recording before collapsing back to the bed, pulling you along with him.

“You feel so good,” he says, cock softening inside. You feel his come trickling down from between your thighs and shiver.

“You feel good too,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and covering his lips with your own. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.”

“Guess this old man still has some tricks up his sleeve,” he chuckles weakly and you press another kiss, this time on his cheek. “We don’t have to by the way.”

“Don’t have to what?”

“Send the video.”

You stare at the phone for a second, brows furrowed as you think. Then with a quick shrug, you turn back to him. “Nah, let him see it. I could’ve forgiven how he treated me but not you.”

He clicks his tongue with disapproval, “You shouldn’t forgive him for how he treated you either, darlin’. You deserve better.”

“Well, I guess you’re just going to have to prove it me then,” you smile and with a sudden impulse, boop his nose. He laughs, nipping the pad of your finger.

“I guess I will.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #tw daddy kink #tlou fanfic #the last fo us fanfiction #hbo tlou fanfic #hbo the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfic

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kiwriteswords · 2 months ago

Note

hear me out, hear me out... is it possible to get shy!reader x bearded!hotch?????????????

Shades of Stubble

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy Female Reader||Word Count: 3k

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical themes, shy reader, teasing team, teenage Jack, bearded Hotch, post-season 10/11 with no Mr. Scratch, reader has a crush

Sypnosis: When Aaron Hotchner returns to the BAU sporting a beard after a rare week off, it draws more attention than he expects—especially from you, the shy but perceptive team member whose lingering glances reveal more than you realize.

Aaron Hotchner didn’t often take full advantage of the rare breaks the team received, but this time, a solid week away from the BAU had given him time to unwind—if that’s what growing a beard counted as. Normally, his morning routine was methodical, almost meditative—a quick splash of cold water to wake himself up, followed by lathering shaving cream across his jaw and carefully dragging the razor along the angles of his face. It was a task he’d repeated every day without fail, a ritual that helped him maintain the sharp, controlled image he knew his role required.

But when the break started, the razor stayed on the sink. The first morning, he told himself he’d get to it later. By the second, he rationalized that there was no harm in skipping a day or two. By the third, a faint shadow of stubble had appeared, and he caught himself in the mirror, running a hand along his jawline, curious. It wasn’t like the full beard he’d grown out during his time in Pakistan—this was something new, something... untethered. For once, he wasn’t adhering to his usual strict standards, and there was a quiet freedom in that.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d chosen to let it stay. Maybe it was exhaustion—seven days free of the ever-present weight of the BAU felt like both a luxury and an anomaly. Or maybe it was a small rebellion against the routine that so often defined his life. This was about as rebellious as he got these days, maybe a silent nod to his pre-boarding school days, but nonetheless. He didn’t have to answer to anyone for a week, and he didn’t have to fit into the box of Aaron Hotchner, Supervisory Special Agent. He could just exist.

By the time the week ended, the beard had grown in enough to draw attention, though he hadn’t considered how it might be received by the team—or anyone else, for that matter. It wasn’t a decision he put much thought into, at least not until he walked into the bullpen on Monday morning.

The reaction was immediate, though not unwelcome. JJ’s playful quip cut through the usual hum of activity, and heads turned in his direction. He caught Rossi’s amused smirk, Morgan’s raised brow, and—most notably—your wide-eyed, stunned expression. For the first time in years, Aaron Hotchner felt a little... self-conscious. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

JJ’s voice rang out across the room with playful familiarity. "It's baaaack!"

Heads turned, but Hotch’s gaze landed on you. You were seated at your desk, a pen in your hand paused mid-air, as if frozen in the act of jotting something down. Your eyes widened when they met his, and though you tried to look back at your work, Hotch caught the way your cheeks flushed, betraying your reaction.

It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed you looking at him like that—soft glances quickly averted, the occasional stammer when he addressed you directly. He’d always assumed you were shy by nature, but there was something about the way you reacted to him in particular that stirred a feeling he hadn’t wanted to examine too closely. Not until now.

He crossed the bullpen, nodding a silent acknowledgment to JJ, who grinned knowingly and sipped her coffee. As he passed your desk, he noticed your gaze dart up to him again, only to quickly drop back to your notes. Your pen moved, but the faint smile tugging at your lips told him you weren’t really focused.

“Good morning,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet bubble you seemed to have surrounded yourself with.

Your head shot up, your eyes meeting his again before flickering to the beard and back. “G-Good morning, Hotch.”

There it was—that hesitation, that barely there crack in your voice. You managed a small smile, but your hands fidgeted with the pen, betraying your nerves.

He nodded, letting the moment linger just a second longer than usual. “I hope you had a good week.”

“I did,” you replied quickly, almost too quickly, before glancing away. “Did you?”

“I did.” His lips twitched in a barely-there smile. “It’s rare to have so much time off. I’ll see you in the meeting room.”

With that, he moved on, climbing the stairs to his office, though he couldn’t resist glancing back once. You were still sitting there, staring blankly at your notebook, one hand pressed against your cheek as though trying to will away the blush.

The day moved forward with its usual rhythm—briefings, paperwork, follow-ups on ongoing cases. But throughout it all, Hotch found himself hyper-aware of your presence. The way your gaze flickered toward him whenever you thought he wasn’t looking. The way your voice softened when you addressed him. And, of course, the way your blush deepened whenever someone—namely Morgan—commented on the beard.

“Looking rugged, Hotch,” Morgan said during lunch, his grin teasing as always. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Hotch replied simply, though he couldn’t help noticing you sneaking a glance at him from across the table. He decided not to meet your eyes this time, sensing you’d only shrink further into yourself if he did.

By the end of the day, Hotch found himself in the bullpen again, finishing a conversation with Rossi. As the older man walked away, he turned to see you standing by your desk, gathering your things for the evening. You glanced up and froze when you realized he was watching you.

“Heading out?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, clutching your bag tightly. “I, uh... just finishing up.”

“Good.” He paused, then added, “I’ve noticed you’ve been very focused today. I appreciate that.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he thought you might not respond. Then you nodded quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

He didn’t miss the way your gaze lingered on his face—on the beard—before you ducked your head again, clearly embarrassed by your own boldness. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of amusement—and something else, something warmer, deeper—at your reaction.

“Have a good night,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“You too,” you replied, finally looking at him again. And this time, there was a tiny smile on your lips—shy, but genuine.

As you walked away, Hotch stood there for a moment, watching you go. He didn’t usually dwell on personal matters, but for the first time in a long time, he found himself thinking about something—or rather, someone—other than the job.

Hotch lingered in the bullpen after you left, his gaze fixed on the space you had occupied only moments before. The quiet hum of the office around him faded into the background as his thoughts drifted. You had always been reserved—soft-spoken, diligent, and almost painfully shy in his presence—but tonight had felt different. The way your cheeks had flushed when you glanced at him, the way your voice trembled ever so slightly when you said, “Good night,” lingered in his mind like a melody he couldn’t shake.

He wasn’t oblivious to the way you avoided his gaze during meetings or the nervous energy that seemed to bubble to the surface whenever he was near. At first, he chalked it up to his position, assuming you were simply wary of interacting with your boss. But over time, he began to notice the subtler details—the way your focus seemed to falter when he entered the room, the way your lips pressed together in a shy smile whenever he acknowledged you. He couldn’t deny that your reactions had begun to stir something within him.

With a sigh, Hotch headed up to his office, closing the door behind him. The mirror by his coat rack caught his eye, and he approached it, scrutinizing his reflection. The beard, now fully grown, had transformed his appearance in ways he hadn’t anticipated. It softened the sharpness of his jawline, gave him an edge that felt rugged and unpolished. It reminded him of a different time—a different man—but also felt like a small reclamation of his identity beyond the suit and title.

He ran a hand over the coarse hair, considering whether it was time to shave it off. His routine had always been a source of stability in his chaotic life, and the beard felt like an indulgence he wasn’t sure he could afford to keep. Yet, as he stood there, the image of your wide-eyed gaze flashed through his mind. The way your blush deepened when JJ’s comment drew attention to him. The tiny, shy smile you offered as you said goodnight.

A warmth spread through him, surprising in its intensity. He’d seen countless reactions to his decisions over the years—respect, defiance, admiration—but the unfiltered awe in your eyes when you looked at him tonight was something else entirely. It wasn’t about the beard, he realized, not really. It was about you, and the thought that he might have been the reason for that smile, fleeting as it was.

Hotch turned away from the mirror and sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair. The thought of shaving the beard felt distant now, almost trivial. He knew he would eventually, but for now, he decided to keep it—if only to see if he could coax another smile from you.

And maybe, just maybe, to hear your voice tremble in that sweet, shy way one more time.

Aaron Hotchner stood in his bathroom, razor in hand, staring at his reflection. The beard was staying—for now—but it was time to bring it under control. He wasn’t the type to let his appearance slip too far, and even if the beard was uncharacteristic for him, it didn’t have to be unruly. With steady hands, he trimmed the edges, shaping it neatly to suit his features. The coarse sound of the trimmer filled the quiet bathroom as he worked methodically, the precision calming in a way that reminded him of his usual shaving routine.

When he was satisfied, he stepped back to examine the results. The beard was tidier now, the lines clean and deliberate. It still felt like a small rebellion against the rigidity of his usual image, but it was a rebellion on his terms.

Jack’s voice cut through his thoughts from the hallway. “You’re keeping it?”

Hotch turned to see his son leaning against the doorframe, a teasing grin on his teenage face. Jack had grown so much, taller now, his voice deeper, but the playful light in his eyes hadn’t changed.

“For now,” Hotch replied, setting the trimmer down. “Why? You don’t like it?”

Jack shrugged, feigning disinterest. “I mean, it’s fine. Just... you look like you’re trying to be cool or something.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, amused. “Trying to be cool?”

“Yeah,” Jack teased, crossing his arms. “Like, what’s next? Leather jackets?”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to suits, thanks.”

“Good call,” Jack said, grinning as he walked away. “But don’t blame me if people start calling you ‘Hotch the hipster.’”

Hotch rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips as he grabbed a towel and cleaned up.

The next morning at the BAU, the beard caught its usual share of attention. You were the first to notice when Hotch walked into the bullpen, your eyes flickering up from your desk. As usual, you tried to hide your reaction, but Hotch caught the way your gaze lingered on him before you quickly looked back at your screen. He felt a small, unfamiliar pang of satisfaction.

Throughout the day, it became a pattern. Your eyes would drift toward him when you thought he wasn’t looking, and Hotch found himself hyper-aware of your presence. You seemed more flustered than usual, fumbling over your words when he asked you a question during a meeting and avoiding his gaze entirely when Morgan teased him about the beard.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Rossi made his move. The two of them were standing by the coffee machine when the older man gave Hotch a knowing look.

“So,” Rossi began, casually stirring his coffee. “You’re keeping the beard.”

“For now,” Hotch replied, taking a sip from his own mug.

Rossi smirked, his tone light but unmistakably teasing. “I think someone likes it.”

Hotch frowned slightly. “Jack? He’s made his opinion very clear.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jack.” Rossi’s smirk widened as he nodded toward the bullpen, where you were seated at your desk, your gaze darting toward Hotch once again before you quickly turned your attention back to your papers.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral, but the slight twitch of his lips betrayed him. “I think you’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Rossi chuckled, leaning back against the counter. “You might want to pay attention, Aaron. She’s not as subtle as she thinks.”

Hotch glanced toward you once more. You were chewing on the end of your pen, deep in concentration, oblivious to the conversation happening just feet away.

He turned back to Rossi, shaking his head. “Let it go, Dave.”

“Sure, sure,” Rossi said, his tone dripping with false innocence as he pushed off the counter. “But for what it’s worth, I think the beard suits you. Clearly, I’m not the only one.”

Hotch didn’t reply, but as Rossi walked away, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but part of him was glad he’d decided to keep the beard. If nothing else, it gave him one more reason to notice the way your cheeks flushed and your gaze lingered just a little too long.

Hotch was used to reading people—it was part of his job. He could pick apart the smallest details in someone's behavior, uncovering motives and intentions hidden beneath the surface. But when it came to you, he had learned to tread carefully. You were quiet, meticulous, and hardworking, but there was a guardedness about you that he respected, even if he didn’t entirely understand it.

The subtle glances, the flushed cheeks, the way your voice softened when speaking to him—it had all been easy to dismiss as shyness. But lately, he’d begun to wonder if there was more to it. Rossi’s teasing hadn’t helped, planting a seed of curiosity that grew every time your gaze lingered on him just a second too long.

The revelation, however, came unexpectedly, in the middle of a case briefing.

The team was gathered in the conference room, the case details spread across the table. Hotch was at the head of the room, presenting the profile, when he asked a question about the unsub’s potential targets. You were the one who answered, your voice steady but quiet, offering an insight that made the rest of the team nod in agreement.

“Good observation,” Hotch said, his tone even but sincere. “That could narrow down the list.”

Your eyes darted to him, and for a moment, there it was again—that slight hesitation, the way your gaze lingered on his face before you quickly looked down. It was subtle, but it wasn’t lost on him.

What followed, however, wasn’t subtle at all.

“Careful, Hotch,” Morgan said with a grin, leaning back in his chair. “Keep praising her like that, and she’s gonna think she’s your favorite.”

The comment drew a few chuckles, but your reaction was what caught Hotch’s attention. You froze, your cheeks turning a deep shade of red as you fumbled with the pen in your hand.

“I—uh—I didn’t...” you stammered, your words trailing off as you avoided everyone’s gaze, especially his.

JJ, ever the empathetic one, tried to steer the conversation back to the case, but Morgan wasn’t done. “I’m just saying,” he added, his grin widening, “you don’t see him handing out compliments like that to the rest of us.”

“Enough,” Hotch said, his tone firm but not harsh, cutting off the teasing. He could see how uncomfortable you were, your shoulders tense as you kept your eyes glued to the table.

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, and as the team dispersed, Hotch stayed behind, watching as you gathered your things with hurried precision. He could see the embarrassment still etched on your face, the way you avoided looking at him as you moved toward the door.

“Wait,” he said, his voice stopping you in your tracks. You froze, gripping the edge of the file folder in your hands as he stepped closer.

“Sir?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he said, his tone softer now. “Morgan’s comments—”

“They were just jokes,” you interrupted, though your cheeks were still flushed. “It’s fine.”

Hotch studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. He could see the tension in your posture, the way your grip on the folder tightened. And then, as if unable to hold it in any longer, you blurted out, “It’s not his fault. It’s mine.”

That caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to the door as if debating whether to make a run for it. But then you took a deep breath, your voice trembling slightly as you said, “I—it’s nothing. I just... I know I’m not subtle. I’ve been trying, but...”

You trailed off, your words hanging in the air between you. Hotch felt his chest tighten, the weight of what you weren’t saying suddenly very clear.

“I see,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “You don’t need to apologize.”

You looked up at him then, your eyes wide and uncertain. “I’m not making this weird, am I? I don’t want to... I mean, I know you’re my boss, and I shouldn’t—”

“Stop,” Hotch interrupted gently, his tone firm but kind. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension in the room thick but not unpleasant. Hotch could see the vulnerability in your expression, the way you seemed torn between fleeing and staying rooted in place.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch nodded, stepping back to give you space. “Take the rest of the day if you need it.”

You shook your head quickly, a small, shy smile appearing despite your obvious embarrassment. “I’m okay. I just... I’ll try to be more professional.”

“There’s nothing unprofessional about being yourself,” Hotch replied, his voice calm and measured. “Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, you nodded, clutching your folder tightly as you slipped out of the room. Hotch watched you go, his thoughts swirling as the door clicked shut behind you.

For a man who prided himself on being able to read people, the realization of your feelings hit him like a revelation he hadn’t seen coming. And yet, as he stood there in the empty conference room, he couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through him at the thought.

Aaron Hotchner lingered in the empty conference room after you left, the soft click of the door echoing in the silence. He was rarely caught off guard, but your words—and the vulnerability behind them—had shaken something loose within him. You hadn’t outright said the words, but the implication was clear. And now that it was out in the open, he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed the signs before.

He sat down, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as he let himself think about it—about you. The way you’d look up at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, the way your cheeks flushed whenever he praised your work, the way you stumbled over your words in meetings but always managed to recover with a thoughtful, intelligent point.

And then there was his reaction to it all. How his gaze would linger on you longer than it should. How your shy smile had a way of softening the edges of his day. How, against his better judgment, he found himself looking forward to the moments you shared, no matter how brief or inconsequential they might have seemed.

He sighed, leaning back in the chair. He’d spent so long guarding himself, compartmentalizing his emotions to stay focused on the job. But with you, those walls had started to crack, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Your presence had a way of grounding him, reminding him that there was still room for warmth and connection in his life.

Later that evening, Hotch was in his office, going over the case files, when a knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he called, expecting one of the team.

Instead, it was you. You stepped inside hesitantly, your file folder clutched to your chest like a shield. “I just wanted to apologize,” you said softly, not meeting his eyes. “Again. For earlier.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Hotch said, his tone gentle as he set the file aside. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to his before darting away again. “I just—I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.”

Hotch stood and rounded the desk, leaning against the edge of it as he regarded you carefully. “You haven’t made me uncomfortable. If anything, I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

That made you look up, confusion flickering across your face. “What? Why?”

“Because I’ve noticed,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’ve noticed the way you look at me. The way you try to hide it. And I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make you feel self-conscious. But I also didn’t want to admit to myself that I’ve been doing the same thing.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening as his words sank in. “You... what?”

Hotch offered a small, almost hesitant smile. “I’ve been trying to ignore it. To convince myself that it’s unprofessional or impractical. But the truth is, I feel it too.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of his confession hanging in the air between you. He could see the disbelief in your expression, the way you seemed to be processing his words in real time.

“I don’t know where this goes,” Hotch continued, his tone careful but sincere. “But I do know that I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t feel something when I do.”

You stared at him, your grip on the file loosening slightly. “I didn’t think... I mean, I never thought you’d...”

“I know,” he said gently. “I haven’t exactly made it easy to tell.”

A small, tentative smile broke across your face, and Hotch felt a warmth spread through him at the sight. It was as if some unspoken weight had lifted, leaving room for something lighter, something brighter.

“I guess we’re both bad at this,” you said softly, your voice carrying a hint of shy humor.

Hotch chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Maybe. But we can figure it out.”

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing as your smile grew. “Okay.”

For the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to feel the full weight of hope, the possibility of something beyond the job, beyond the walls he’d built around himself. And as he watched you leave his office, your steps lighter than before, he couldn’t help but think that this—whatever it was—might just be worth the risk.

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alavestineneas · 1 year ago

Text

Losing dogs

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader

summary: His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return. warnings: not really canon-compliant, mentions of minor violence, blood and shitty relationships word count: 4k

Part 2 is here!

author's note: remember kids, manipulators and sick bastards are only hot in fiction - don't do them (and drugs) in real life!

The polished toes of his new shoes reflected everything in the grand hall—they caught glimmers of lamps adorned with gold, colourful drapes on the enormous windows, and the kaleidoscopic dresses of women around. The chatter filled the room, almost too loud to hear the music—not that he would enjoy it either. Some things require focus.

''Mister Fabius, Missis Fabius.''

Corialanus's face melts into a smile-like expression at the sight of the older couple.

They look like lice in the large building—rich lice, that is. The golden and platinum rings on Missis Fabius's fingers shine with every gemstone known to man, mirroring the bright lights. The jewels look ugly on the wrinkly hand, he notes. What a waste.

''Mister Snow, what a surprise! I was just telling Livia of your prodigious success in your new position. Incredible work, Mr. Snow; simply incredible! ''

The man's face radiated with excitement, getting closer in shade to his burgundy tie. The gold threats on it piqued more interest for Mister Snow than the words of the old man—after all, it's not every day you meet such luxury in person.

The man's wife, however, seemed less enthusiastic; her cold, bored gaze circled him up and down, stopping only after getting the satisfaction of an undoubtedly unpleasant conclusion.

Coriolanus mentally went over his outfit, hairstyle, and anything else she might have noticed. Nothing was out of place; the holes in his coat were a thing of the past. Still, it was something—that thought found its place in his brain, drilling a small hole in its way.

''When will we know of your decision, Mister Snow? We gave you time—a lot of time.''

''This evening, Mrs. Fabius. After the play, I promise to give you my answer tonight.''

He has to look first. What fool buys a horse blind? Sure, the horse came with immense fortunes and, most importantly, connections, but still. He couldn't afford to make a hasty decision, especially when the stakes were so high. After all, he was one of the most desirable bachelors; Fabiuses had to thank him for even considering the offer.

''There is no agreement until tomorrow, Mister Snow. We will have you for breakfast at nine o'clock sharp,'' Mr Fabius said, placing a hand on his wife's back and leading her towards the entrance. They could afford not to make one's adieu.

The opera was popular among the richest; all of the seats were taken. He would have lied if he said the golden rails and red velvet didn't make him feel a bit out of place. Nobody paid him any attention, although this time it didn't hurt him as much as usual. He could hide in the shadows of his box seat without being concerned about making an impression.

Not the stage, of course. It was the least of his worries, although he did pay a high price for a ticket. No, he looked at her.

The golden gown on her was a shimmering masterpiece. Layers and layers of the most expensive fabric covered her body like soft waves, crashing down at the round neckline with their gilded ends. She wore diamond earrings, just like her mother did, although they suited her better.

Coriolanus remembered her from the academy; she always sat near the window, gazing out at the world with a longing in her eyes. She wasn't a very bright student but rather a dutiful one. always on time, always prepared with her assignments, and always eager to please her teachers. The heiress to the jewellery empire. The flower of the elite social scene. Her presence attracted attention, yet she seamlessly blended into the background, never stealing the spotlight. YN Fabius was everything he needed her to be—a picture, but never a spectacle.

The manor was grand and opulent, showing the wealth and status of the Fabius family. Its sprawling gardens and delicate architecture were a testament to its esteemed position in society. Collums, paintings, and endless staircases stood as if frozen in time. It was as if there was no war just a decade ago.

''Mister Snow,'' the butler called out, his voice echoing through the grand foyer. ''Breakfast is served in the blue dining hall; if you would please follow me.''

Thousands and thousands of steps and passages lined the walls, leading to various wings and chambers of the mansion. It was warm, even during the cold autumn season. Only keeping the fireplaces always lit must cost a fortune.

When they finally reached the needed room, Coriolanus was slightly out of breath. The blue walls reached the high ceiling, painted with pictures of half-naked gods and goddesses frolicking in fields of flowers. It created the illusion of a smell wafting through the air as if the vibrant colours had come to life.

The table was served for four, not three, suggesting that someone else was expected to join them. The silverware gleamed under the soft rays of sunshine, casting a shimmering glow across the room—pure silver, nothing less.

The door behind him opened with a gentle creak, revealing Mr. Fabiuse's humble figure. His simple, at first glance, shirt was another of the perfectly constructed illusions—Coriolanus knew the fabrics like the back of his hand. The shirt, though seemingly plain, was made from the finest Egyptian cotton, woven with intricate patterns.

''Mister Snow, how good that you came on time. Excuse my ladies, the girls are such girls at every age. Take so long to get ready,'' he laughs. ''Please, take a seat," Mr. Fabius said, gesturing towards a plush chair covered in velvet.

''There is no point in all of those paints once you hit sixty,'' Mrs.Fabius said, appearing right behind her husband. She circled the table before taking a seat herself, her eyes glancing disapprovingly at the young man. "Let's begin before the food grows cold," she added with a sigh, her tone tinged with resignation.

''Of course,'' Mr. Fabius nodded, lifting the lid on the first dish. The aroma of it filled the room, and Coriolanus couldn't help but feel his hunger grow. He didn't have the habit of eating so much in the morning—another thing he needs to adjust about his routine.

When Mr.Fabius finally placed the fork down, Coriolanus knew it was time. ''Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Fabius. I must say, I thought a lot about your proposal, and after careful consideration, I have decided to accept it.''

''Good.'' Mrs. Fabius answered instead, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear that, Coriolanus. I believe this union will bring great delights to both of us."

Mr. Fabius seemed not to notice the interruption. ''I think a winter wedding would be absolutely perfect. Everybody seems to be getting married in the spring, but in the winter? Oh, it's definitely going to be a hit. Ah, and here's the lucky bride-to-be!''

She stood beside the just-opened door, her eyes following his expressions. Her hands, adorned just with one small pearl ring, were gently clasped together in front of her. She looked nervous, like a child standing in front of the full class on the first school day. Her dress, a delicate lace creation, clings to her figure like a second skin.

He smiled at her. YN looked like an antique statue, as if she just stepped out of the ruins of the Panem. Coriolanus wasn't even sure she was breathing—her stillness was so deep.

''Let's leave the lover birds to chirp,'' Mrs.Fabius said, standing up. She walked towards the couple, her heels clicking against the floor, and extended her hand towards YN. "Congratulations, my dear," she said with a warm smile before leaving, her husband following after her.

''It's time for a ring, isn't it?'' Coriolanus cleared his throat. Everything is to be done appropriately; there is no reason to avoid traditions. He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a small box. White, of course—who is he, if not a romantic at heart?

''Mr. Snow,'' YN watched him stand up and come closer with the same expression she always bore—a mixture of melancholy and worship. ''Grant me something.''

He paused. Coriolanus didn't like to make promises. He would have to make it clear to her later, after the wedding—the fact that he took her for a bride was enough of a promise. Still, he needed this engagement to work, and he was not about to lose it to a crude lie. With a sigh, he softly replied, "What is it that you desire, Miss YN?"

''Promise me you will be kind to me. All of our marriage, promise to be kind to my heart.''

Coriolanus almost laughed in her face. Oh, what a lovely, clueless fool. "I will do my best to treat you with kindness, Miss YN."

''Good,'' she smiles. ''I think we will make a great couple then, Mister Snow.''

''Coriolanus, my dear. Please call me Coriolanus."

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. It was sealed. His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return.

Mr.Fabius didn't lie—his daughter was the perfect bride. She never spoke to him unless he did first; she never questioned him. She simply followed his lead, like a well-trained pet. A pretty, lovely YN. She knew what to do, how to dress, and what to say. He searched for one—at least a slight imperfection—and couldn't find one; it was as if she wasn't a human, which, to him, she wasn't.

''What are you going to do today?'' he asks, without bothering to look up from the newspaper. He doesn't wish to hear her answer, but he still asks out of courtesy. Coriolanus knows that her daily routine is made up of attending charity events, dinners with influential figures's wives, and shopping for designer clothes. It's a predictable pattern.

''Well, the trees I ordered came in today; I'll have to chat with the new gardener about them. Are you meeting with anyone important later?"

''As a matter of fact, I do. Larry Tremblay wants to include me in a business deal he's been working on."

It's partly true, but she doesn't need to know more. Just a familiar name was usually enough for his wife to hum in satisfaction and assume that he was still climbing the social ladder. Not this time, evidently.

''You shouldn't accept.''

He looked up from his cup, trying to guess if she had gone out of her mind. YN looked like usual, her eyes meeting his without a care in the world. Why today, of all days, she decided to question his decision was beyond him. He cleared his throat, attempting to maintain his composure. "And why should I decline such a good-looking opportunity?"

''He beats his wife. Just yesterday, I saw her with bruises. ''

Coriolanus fought hard to keep a smile from forming on his lips. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, feigning indifference. He knew his wife wasn't the brightest, but this? "Is that so?"

''Don't you understand what it means? The man only beats his wife for two reasons. If he has always enjoyed those types of things, which Larry did not, or if he loses power and control in other aspects of his life. The business isn't going as well as he wants it to,'' YN lowers her gaze, losing confidence in her voice. ''I thought you would want to know that.''

He would, very much. Her conclusion was the dumbest thing he ever heard, based on some black and blue marks and a twist of her imagination. Still, it was interesting—his wife's head wasn't always empty like he hoped. She thought enough to notice something, and she listened enough to remember his partners.

''I will keep that in mind,'' he replied, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance. What harm could it do to entertain her thoughts? It was even slightly amusing to see her try to piece together a puzzle that didn't exist.

It wasn't so fun anymore when Larry Tremblay was fired exactly two weeks later. Surely, it could be a consequence, but Coriolanus Snow didn't believe in them. There had to be something, anything, to explain his wife's sudden knowledge—she couldn't have acquired it on her own, about that he was sure.

YN looked unfazed by his questioning gaze as she lay on the dark olive-coloured sofa in his office, continuing to play with a snow-white kitten on her stomach. It was his wedding gift, one of many—the pricy creature with a diamond collar. He thought it was rather symbolic—two caged animals who were once considered sacred.

''How did you understand that Tremblay was about to be fired?'' Coriolanus asked, his voice laced with suspicion. It could be that she overheard the woman talk about it, or even that she had some inside information from her connections. What bothered him more was what she could know from the same source about him.

YN paused, her fingers gently stroking the kitten's fur as she met his gaze. "I didn't know that. I simply knew he had trouble at work. Evidently, they were big enough for him to lose his position."

''Really?'' he chuckled. Maybe she was telling the truth. ''Then, what can you say about my work?''

YN's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your work doesn't matter; how you present yourself does. Can I give you some advice?'

"Sure.'' Coriolanus bit his tongue, fighting the urge to snap back at her. After all, it is what he married her for—to fit in. He took a deep breath.

''Buy a new car, but not the most expensive one; it will give off an impression of stability, like you know the job isn't going anywhere. Your shoes are always too polished; it's like you wore them right out of the box. And throw away that hideous tie you always wear—you look like a student."

''Something else?'' Coriolanus mustered a weak smile, trying to hide his frustration.

''I don't want to offend you, Coriolanus. But I want you to do well. After all, you are my husband now, and your success reflects on both of us. Why not help where I can? You know I love clothes.''

''Good, '' he replied, forcing a more genuine smile. "Now get away from that cat before it scratches you. I'll figure out the rest on my own."

''Of course you will. You are the smartest man I've ever met.''

He was. It was because of his intelligence that YN married him, because of his ambition. Well, that and something else.

From her earliest childhood, YN knew what she was destined to be. She was the child of late parents, the only child, and a girl; she would inherit everything the generations of her family worked so hard to achieve. And YN was no fool; she needed a man. Driven, proud, and cold-blooded. The one who was not afraid to get his hands dirty while she spent her time leisurely in his shadow. Oh, no—YN never minded her place, much like her mother did. She taught her to bet on the finest horses, and Coriolanus Snow was no exception.

From the time she saw him in his ridiculously tight shirt in the academy, she knew what she wanted. Him. The top of every class, the charmer with pretty eyes—a catch, really. Her mother said there was darkness inside her dear Coriolanus, but YN knew. That's why she now sits in the opulent living room, waiting for him to get home. Mr. Snow was a horrific, ruthless man. But he was still, at his core, a man.

And men never listen. That's how she got him and got him good—a silent, fawn-eyed creature that he thought he could control. An obedient wife and a lovely lap dog. It was funny to see his gaze twitch slightly when she said something she wasn't supposed to—how long would it take him to figure it out?

It's time—his tall figure appeared in the corridor leading to the living room. YN watches silently as he takes off his shoes and coat, placing them on the rack by the door. Home at seven p.m. sharp, just like any other day. Just like any other day, dinner is at the table.

He never said thank you. Instead, her closet grew bigger with countless dresses, bags, and shoes—sometimes even brand-new jewellery. YN didn't mind it; she loved it—the jealous whispers of other women at the events about how lucky she was. She didn't have to sleep with a big, fat old man to get the latest fur coat or the most exquisite diamond necklace.

At least a few times a month now, Coriolanus would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. This night was one of those: YN woke up from the constant turning and tossing in the bed. She doesn't know how he didn't figure out why; it was easy to guess his food contained something to make his sleep far worse—YN made sure of that. Maybe he just didn't have the heart to admit his weaknesses, even to himself.

''Hey,'' she whispered, getting out of the warm covers. YN tiptoed over to Coriolanus' side of the bed, careful not to bump into anything in the dark. ''Hey, wake up. Are you okay?" she asked, gently shaking him awake.

Coriolanus jolted upright, his eyes wide with fear as he gasped for breath. He wasn't; of course, he wasn't. Yn would have lied if she said she didn't find it hot to see him like this—sweat glistening on his forehead, his chest heaving.

''You were having a nightmare again.''

He looked at her with the eyes of a lunatic, still not over his dream. ''What did I say this time?"

''You were mumbling something about birds and songs, I think? It didn't make much sense."

He doesn't recall that she mentored the 10th game too. Without much success, of course, but one thing she did remember was a girl from District 12 who liked to sing. Coriolanus remembered her too; it was evident from the fear that crossed his eyes.

''Excuse me,'' he said, his voice still shaky. ''I need a moment.''

YN watched as he stumbled towards the bathroom, his hands twitching. As much as her husband wanted to hide those parts of himself, he couldn't. Not from her.

There was nothing else to do but wait. YN climbed on the bed, turning her back to the bathroom door. Coriolanus would only come out when he thought she had fallen asleep. She learned to control her breath when she was just a little girl; it saved her life once, when a rebel pointed a gun at her small frame, meaning to shoot. He didn't—what use was it to waste a bullet on a non-breathing child?

Surely, after some time, the blonde man stepped out of the bathroom. For a few minutes, he listened to her steady breathing before sliding under the covers and pressing his body against hers, his large hand covering her shoulders. Coriolanus wasn't gentle; YN wasn't sure he knew what the word meant anyway, but he was careful. His arm around her chest wasn't tight—just enough for him to bring her closer.

As much as YN wanted to turn around and face him, she didn't. There was no point—like any other human, he hated the feeling of vulnerability. Instead, YN focused on the warmth of his body. Coriolanus Snow was a god more than a human, and real gods were never kind. The only currency they recognized was blood.

The annual party for the victor of this year's games. The first year Coriolanus Snow worked as a head gamemaker, his creation was a bloodbath, a spectacle of violence and despair. He did a good job—an excellent one, even—and one of the greatest stars of today's celebration was him.

They needed to dress the part in clothes that exuded power. And so they did. Coriolanus's suit was ample—purple velvet with gold embroidery—the colour of Roman emperors. The colour of the winners. The suit hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, suiting his white hair. Gold cufflinks, gold rings—he looked like a sovereign among men. It was risky to do so right in front of the current president, but who was Coriolanus Snow if he was not confident in his success?

YN wore the gown from the matching collection, a floor-length masterpiece. The deep purple colour was a stark contrast to her skin tone. And jewellery, of course—she came from the Fabius family for a reason. The lavender diamonds on her necklace and earrings. They were rare—the rarest—even. Only a few violet diamonds have been mined in the past seventy years.

It was all anyone talked about behind their backs. Whispers, rumours, and so much venom dripped from the mouths of Panem's elite—that's what they were hoping for, anyway. The Snows were just as shamelessly rich as they were powerful.

That's why they now sat at the President's table, just a few faces away from them. Coriolanus smiled to himself - not even the President's wife could compare to YN. Not in fashion, not in elegance. He had an impeccable taste - even a person far away from politics could see that.

''A toast!'' the President stood up with a glass in his hand, turning to face the Coriolanus. ''I am sure many of you know who was the mastermind behind the games this year - it's my pleasure to introduce Coriolanus Snow to those of you who don't. However, not many know his story of success. From a dirt-poor background, when his greatest possession was his family name, he worked hard to achieve the position he holds today. Let us raise our glasses and celebrate his remarkable journey to success and the country of Panem - the land of opportunity!''

YN cursed under her breath as she listened to the crowd cheer for her husband. He remained stoic - the only thing that gave away his fury was his eyes - they grew as dark as the sky outside. She didn't bother to calm him - this fire was impossible to put out. The President made a fatal mistake with his speech - she knows. But the true fear crept into her heart when she saw the President's wife pass Coriolanus the dish.

Cabbage.

Under a fancy sauce, it could be transformed into a delicacy fit for their circle. But tonight, it was his last straw. The colours changed on the face of Coriolanus, from white to all shades of red. His fists clenched, and veins pulsed on his temples. The room fell silent as they observed.

''Oh, I am so sorry,'' YN chipped in. Quick, something. ''I have a terrible allergy to cabbage.''

The President's wife looked concerned. ''Oh, I didn't know.''

YN made her eyes water, throwing a coughing feat for more dramatic effect. ''I think I need to step outside for some fresh air."

She felt a warm hand on her back. ''Let me accompany you, just to make sure you're alright." her husband announced, carefully leading her towards the exit.

The first thing he did when they reached the women's bathroom was break the mirrors in a fit of anger. Shards of glass scattered across the floor as he paced around the room like a caged animal. YN watched as shouted and hit the walls, sitting on the bathroom floor. Beautiful one - the tile was a lovely shade of pink, contrasting with the chaos unfolding before her.

After a good few minutes, he finally calmed down and sank to the floor beside her, his face buried in his hands. Her husband, her hauntingly beautiful, pathetic husband - oh, what a sight. He looked mad, maniac, even; his blonde hair was far from its usual perfectly styled form, falling on his tear-stained cheeks.

"What do you think of me?"

His voice is hoarse, a few notes down from a honey-like. She likes it better, YN thinks - nothing of the fasçade he was trying so hard to uphold. No, just a raw hunger with a mix of equally raw despair.

"I think you are an animal, Coriolanus."

She smiles, watching his expression change. He suspected it, of course - her husband was a smart man. Still, he can't believe it - his head twitches in her direction, his gorgeous bottomless eyes shining under the weak light of the only surviving floor lamp.

"What?" he asks with such a loss in his voice YN has to fight the urge to bring him close. Not now, she thinks. It's not the time.

"A hungry, desperate, sick, sick animal with nothing to lose."

Coriolanus gets closer abruptly, clearly angered - she can't let him leave now. His arm shouts to find its place on her neck, long, slim fingers forming a circle around her throat. "You think I am after money, don't you?"

"No, no," a yelp escapes her lips, bordering a hysterical laugh. "Only fools are after money, Coriolanus, and you are no fool."

YN watches as he loses his grip a little, calmed by her words. What a pitiful, fascinating creature was her husband - one word of reassurance and he is willing to let thousands of cursings slide.

"What is it, then? What did you fantasize about in your small dull head?"

He still doesn't believe her. YN is surprised at how quickly it becomes boring.

"You want power."

Clap - the grip on her neck is tight again.

"That's why you choose the fear. People forget the hand that feeds them, but the one who beats? Never."

The frown on his face falls a little, and through the gritted teeth escapes something like a curse. "You talk an awful lot about me," he notes. "What are you hungry for?"

"You."

He laughs. That was a deep, chest laugh - YN thinks she never heard him laugh so sincerely. "You want my love? Don't lie to me, YN," he taunts, pressing a little harder on her neck.

"Not love. Love is easily swayed, is it not? No, I want you."

Coriolanus looks at her as if he never done so before. Well, he looked thousands of times, but he didn't see. His eyes study every expression in hers, every part of her face. "A hungry dog is not a loyal dog," he finally masters.

There is a certain silence after his words. YN gulps, desperatly trying to help her dried throat - the blood from his hands ran down her neck onto her exposed chest, leaving sticky, dark trails behind.

"Feed me, then."

He kisses her. He puts a force behind it, watching her hands fall on his chest for some kind of support. Coriolanus kisses her until there is no air in YN's chest anymore, and she has to push him away to take a rushed breath.

They were going to be just fine.

After all, they both never bet on losing dogs.

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