#[ // and i just imagined him holding kid's forearm like that ]

[stellamarielu]

rusty

jack abbot x female reader

summary: after a dry spell in his sex life, jack would’ve never imagined the next women he’d have naked in his bed would be his favorite first year resident.

content: nsfw, 18+, mdni, resident!reader, touch starved!jack, established relationship, a little bit of fluff smushed in there, but mostly smut, jack being nervous to have sex for the first time in years, but then ofc something in him snaps and he gets a little freaky with it, jack uses the nickname kid for the reader (1) time, also uses the nickname sweetheart, fingering, handjob (if you blink you’ll miss it), p in v sex, dirty talk, condom use and the crowd boos (sorry had to keep it realistic! if i’m having sex with someone for the first time and they’re not wrapping it….questionable)

word count: 4.5k

author’s note: wanted to write something about big tough jack abbot being a little nervy to see you naked but i also wanted to write something about him having an inappropriate relationship with his resident…. so alas this was born. enjoy!

“I haven’t done this in a while.” 

The words stumble from Jack’s lips in an exasperated sigh. They nearly get lost between kisses, the confession hidden amidst the steamy exchange as your bodies barrel through his front door. 

Reaching up to thread your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, your forearms rest on his shoulders to steady yourself as he maneuvers you into his bedroom. 

You don’t reply to his admission, just smile into the kiss as your hands trail down his torso finding the hem of his shirt. Your fingertips carefully tracing his skin underneath the material. 

He wanted to tell you it had been years since he’d been with a woman like this— wanted to apologize in advance for being a bit rusty, but the light touch of your hands exploring the skin just above the waistband of his pants, had him losing his previous train of thought. 

He couldn’t think about how long it’d been since he’d brought a woman back to his place, couldn’t even think about how insanely wrong it was to be kissing you in his bedroom.

With that being said, he should be proud of himself for holding out this long.

It had been months of having you on his shift.

Week after week of watching you prance around the ER with that cute little smile on your face, following every last one of his orders. Always meeting his sarcastic remarks with witty comments of your own, the two of you working effortlessly together like there was some sort of magnetic field between you that pulled him to every case you worked on. 

It was so innocent at first, shared inside jokes and granola bars in the breakroom. Him giving you a hard time for your absurd coffee intake through the night, making comments about how the quad shot of espresso you walked in with was going to send you into cardiac arrest. 

But then, there was the time he put his hand on your lower back to squeeze behind you at the triage desk. The second his touch met the polyester of your scrubs, applying just enough pressure to seep through the thin fabric, your head turned in his direction. 

You didn’t mean to look at him, but you couldn’t help it. His fingers stayed splayed out on your back for one second too long, and your eyes shot to his, the electric current running through your body impossible to ignore. 

A sudden tension emerged in the small space between you, his stare raking down your body to where his hand sat just above your waist, taking his time trailing them back up with a knowing smirk on his lips. 

The moment was fleeting but it played out in slow motion before his hand was gone and he was breezing past you into the trauma bay.

After that it became a game of cat and mouse, both of you sensing a pull of desire toward the other but almost too afraid to do anything about it. 

For Jack, it was because you were his intern, just a first-year resident looking to him for guidance and education. His apprentice. It felt wrong to look at you in any other way. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he took advantage of the obvious power imbalance at play in the situation. 

Not to mention he was off his game. 

He had no problem coming across abundantly confident at work, but as far as dating went, Jack hadn’t waded into those waters for years. There was a part of him that gave up on his love life. Maybe that’s why he threw himself into work, to avoid the loneliness that found him in his lack of companionship. 

You could sense his apprehension.

The way he would subtly flirt with you and then walk away from the conversation like nothing happened. He was trying to avoid the guilt of getting too familiar, but it left you confused about his intentions. 

It wasn’t until one morning that you decided to rip off the band aid entirely, asking him to join you for breakfast after your shift. 

It was a simple invitation, one that could’ve been strictly friendly, but the way he smiled when you asked, looking around to see if anyone else heard, told you it was the start of something else entirely. 

And it was.

The two of you went to breakfast, talking for hours in a corner booth, over a stack of pancakes and a few slices of bacon. 

It was the first time you saw each other outside of the hospital.

Everyone else in that restaurant could recognize the two of you for what you were; happy. Finding joy in each other’s presence through constant laughs and affectionate smiles. But Jack couldn’t see it that way— couldn’t shake the conflicting feelings of guilt.

It wasn’t until you reached over him to dip your bacon in a pool of syrup on his plate that he finally relaxed. He soaked it in, sitting with you like that, because when the nagging thoughts of how inappropriate it all was began to cloud his mind, the gentle touch of your hand brushing his thigh chased them away. Your fingertips curled just above his knee as you continued telling him a story, the hold making him forget why he was even worried about saying yes to your invitation in the first place. 

That was the first time he crossed a boundary with you. Allowing himself to get lost in your voice, hidden away in some diner down the street from the hospital. But it didn’t stop there. 

The next time was when he walked you home after work, only three days after your shared breakfast date. 

He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but you parted ways outside the sliding hospital doors and he watched as you walked down the street, all by yourself.

For a split second he could imagine what his frame would look like walking next to you, and so he followed, catching up to your stride with satisfaction running through his veins at your surprised smile to see him standing at your shoulder. You lived in an apartment building a block away, he knew because you mentioned it one time, and even though his leg was killing him after such a brutal shift, he walked next to you all the way to the front door of your complex.

Your bodies lingered on the sidewalk, palpable tension bouncing between them through prolonged goodbyes. 

That was the first time your gaze fell to his lips. 

The curiously hopeful look in your eyes made his mouth go completely dry, because Surely you weren’t going to kiss him in broad daylight… right? The world spun around him while your eyes stayed fixed on the straight line of his mouth, until they fluttered back up, meeting his line of sight and smiling brightly.

“Goodnight Jack.” Your hand met his bicep, squeezing lightly as you turned to walk into the building with a small wave. 

Goodnight, even though it was nearly eight in the morning. 

It was something you said to everyone after each shift, bidding your coworkers a good stretch of sleep, knowing you all shared a fucked-up sleep schedule due to working the night shift. 

Jack found the greeting endearing. Smiling wide every time he heard the sing-song chime of your voice wishing everyone a restful day before leaving work in the morning. 

His days were hardly restful though, he never got much sleep when he went home, because you were always on his mind. 

After that day in front of your apartment building, he went out of his way to walk you home nearly every morning, if only for a few extra minutes of hearing your voice, and a small hope that you would look at his lips like that again. 

When you finally did kiss him, it was well worth the wait. 

It happened on the roof. 

An especially hard night landed you outside for some fresh air, overlooking the city as you tried your best to clear your mind. 

Jack came up to check on you. 

Avoiding him entirely, your apathetic stare stayed plastered on the lights of the city. He stood next to you in silence for a while before placing a gentle hand of reassurance on your cheek, bringing your gaze to his and searching your eyes to make sure you were okay. 

It was emotionally charged, the way you crashed your lips into his.

He held your face delicately in his hands, using his jaw to dive into the kiss, hungry and sloppy and undeniably passionate. 

More than anything he wanted to explore every inch of you— to let his hands travel your entire body, but instead his palms stayed strictly on your face, careful not to push things too far. 

In fact, weeks of suppression followed while Jack tried to respect the unknown undercurrents of your relationship. 

A few more kisses were shared, even some heated make out sessions and heavy petting in the on-call room at work, but nothing more. 

He’d be lying if he said his trepidation wasn’t slightly due to the rather lengthy sexual hiatus taking place in his life. But he could only deny his urges for so long, and this morning after breakfast, instead of walking you back to your apartment, he invited you over to his place for the first time.

An unspoken agreement hung in the air the whole way home, one laced with heavy sexual tension. 

That’s what landed you here— barely two feet past the threshold of his bedroom door with your hands dangerously close to the waistband of his pants, and Jack couldn’t dare to think straight. 

The only thoughts he could muster revolved around how much he fucking liked you. This other worldly figure standing before him, toying with the ties on his pants, fingertips brushing his abdomen and fuck- he was on another planet. Your touch was sending a vaguely familiar heat rushing through his body and he wanted more— needed it. 

Something about the situation sent him on a power trip. His cock pushing against the lose restraint of his scrubs at the sudden realization that he finally had you right where he wanted you after all this time. Months of getting to know each other and countless dates ending in polite kisses and lingering goodbyes— all of it leading to this moment with his fingertips curling into your waist. 

But there was still a little sliver of him that felt nervous, slightly unsure of venturing into unknown territory with you. 

He was still trying to convince himself that you were genuinely interested in him, because when he looked at you he saw this beautiful woman, all radiant and self-assured, on the arm of some guy nearly twice her age who rarely smiled and always had a grumpy wise-ass remark on his tongue. 

His hands went rigid at the thought, the doubts taking him out of the moment for a few seconds, and you could sense the uneasiness in his touch.

Pulling away from the kiss, you watched his expression, his lips parted to make way for fast shallow breaths as he stared back at you, his eyes hooded with desire but swimming with hesitation. 

“We don’t have to do anything Jack.” Your words were sincere as you continued looking for any sign of regret in the hazel of his eyes.

“No, I want this.” His brows furrowed as the winded confession fell from his lips. His hands grasped at your hips, holding firm while his thumbs rubbed into your sides. 

“You sure?” Voice changing slightly, you moved into a more playful state, fingers coming to the tie on his pants as you kept your eyes trained on his face. 

“We could just talk.” 

A playful whisper slid between your lips as you undid the drawstring between your fingertips.

“Or maybe watch a movie.” 

Then, your hand slid into the waistband of his underwear, only a few inches, just enough to make his breath hitch. 

He tried to cover his surprise at your touch, now dangerously close to the base of his cock. Mustering enough self-control to speak, his words come out calm and collected despite the dizzying effect of your hand down his pants.

“You’re funny, kid. You know that?” 

Kid. 

A nickname he'd been calling you since the day you were assigned to his shift.

You were just an intern; young, hungry, and passionate. Had he known you’d end up with your hands halfway down his pants in the middle of his bedroom, he might've opted for a different title of endearment.

“Seriously Jack, we can take things slow-“

A low chuckle interrupts your attempt to comfort him, trying to give him a chance to back out. 

He guides you back to sit on the edge of his bed, smirking and shaking his head from side to side.

“Stop talking.” The words are rushed. A deep rasp from his lips as he leans in to kiss you, pushing your body until your back meets his mattress.

“I don’t think you realize how long I’ve thought about this.” It was apparent that Jack was hungry— starving even— to see more of you. His hands working quickly to get your pants down your legs and onto his bedroom floor. 

“And what do you think about Jack?” He’d never heard that tone in your voice before, low and sultry while you leaned up on your elbows to look at him through your lashes.

“Jesus- I’ve thought about having you on my bed like this,” There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes scraped over your as he paused between words. Eyes drifting to your lower half, legs parted slightly, a pair of black panties acting as the only barrier between his eyes and your naked body. “all spread out for me like this.”

At his words, your legs open further, sending a muffled growl straight to Jack’s closed mouth as he lets his hand fall on your inner thigh. Trailing upwards, his fingertips come in contact with the hem of your underwear. 

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about pulling you into the on-call room after our shift.” He’s leaning above you, eyes glued to your clothed core, fingers toying with the thin material of your panties at the inside of your thighs. 

“How badly I’ve wanted to fuck you on one of those shitty beds, or maybe even against the wall…” 

“But you deserve better. To be treated right, on a real bed.” Suddenly the smooth linen of his comforter feels much warmer beneath you, your hands splaying over the pillowy fabric at your palms. 

Jack watches the way your shoulders relax, and your head falls an inch to the side at his words, your body melting into the moment of shared desire. 

“Want to take my time with you. Make you feel good. Watch you fall apart.” He leans in to kiss you, right as one of his fingertip’s dip below the fabric of your panties to run along your slit. You gasp into the kiss, and he takes the opportunity to pull away.

“To hear the little noises you make for me.” His lips are only inches from yours as his breathless whisper fills the space between them. His hand fully pushes your panties to the side, his touch light as a feather, and lingering at your core.

“Bet you sound so pretty when you cum.”

Your mouth falls open and you’re not sure what triggered it, his words, or the way he pushes a single finger into you. The movement is slow and precise as he watches your eyes flutter in pleasure. 

For someone who’s sex life was currently non-existent, Jack didn’t miss a beat when it came to the rhythm of your gratification. The moan dripping from your tongue coming right on cue as he slips another finger in with the first, stroking with purpose and dedication as his name comes floating from your lips. 

“Jack.”

The word was foggy and desperate as his touch subdued you, his fingers curling at the sweet call of his name, hooking at just the right spot. 

“Fuck that’s it.” A whine of pleasure rippled through you at the pressure of his fingers against your walls. With one stroke after another, the building tension in your abdomen threatened to overflow. 

Jack’s stare falls on his fingers as they work you open. 

He can hardly handle how responsive you are to his touch; your hips bucking into his palm, little pleas falling from your lips— It’s enough to make him cum right there in his damn pants. 

“God- you sound gorgeous.” The compliment is almost primal, his voice nearing a growl as he looks down at your body writhing on the simple motion of his fingers inside you, a slave to his touch.

He lets himself get lost in the noises flowing from your mouth, allowing each moan to act as a signal, showing him exactly where and how you want him. 

“Even better than I could’ve imagined.” He finishes his thought and brings his stare back to yours, the fucked-out expression in your eyes telling him just how close you are. 

His words send you reeling, acting as a catalyst for the strain pulling in your abdomen. 

He can feel your body preparing to tumble over the edge, walls clenching around his fingers, and thighs flexing.

“There you go sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. That’s new. 

It surprises you both the second it leaves his lips. But the surprise of it barely registers, instead the word is unleashing a flutter in your chest and a warmth between your legs. You’re obsessed with the way it sounds in the rasp of Jack’s voice. In fact, you like it so much your body trembles and whimpers fill the air as you come undone on his fingers.

His eyes watch as his movements slow, digits coated in your slick and pushing into you continuously even after your body finishes shuddering.

It’s almost sadistic the small smirk he’s wearing as his eyes stay fixated on his fingers sliding in and out of your body. 

He was starved. Starved of touch— the warmth of another’s body. The way you pulled him in with each thrust of his fingers made him want to stay there all night, making you cum over and over again to feed his craving of your body at his mercy. 

If it weren’t for your delicate hands gripping at his forearm, forcing him back to reality, he would’ve kept going, would’ve seen just how much more you could take. 

“Jack.” Your voice breaks him from his trance, hand wrapping around his arm and pulling him back to hover parallel over your body. 

An unsolicited grunt erupts from deep in his throat as your hands, once again, slide into his underwear. Only this time, they fall far enough to envelop his cock in your soft touch. 

His hand comes down forcefully next to your head, palm flat against the mattress to hold himself steady as pleasure washes over him.

You’ve only pumped over his length once and he’s already squeezing his eyes shut in focus, trying not to spill into your hand. 

“Sweetheart.”

In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have used that nickname again. Not right now, when he was seconds away from having an embarrassingly quick orgasm. 

Your grip tightened slightly at the word, hand working a little faster, and paying extra close attention to his overly sensitive tip. He has to put a hand over yours to conceal your efforts. 

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up.” His brows raise at your smug expression, your hand still stroking him despite his attempt to stop you. 

“I’m serious.” A breathless snarl meets your ear as his head falls lower, nearly resting in the crook of your neck.

You hum in response, one hand continuing its work between his legs, the other pushing at the pants still around his hips.

He was quick to oblige your unspoken request, bringing his own hand down to rid himself of his pants and underwear. His hands are then at your hips yanking your panties down your legs.

In a heated frenzy both of you took a few seconds to take off any remaining clothes. Sitting up to swiftly pull off shirts, and while you’re reaching to take off your bra, Jack stretches to his bedside table, fishing out a condom from its box that’s been sitting untouched in his drawer for far too long.

Then, you’re back to square one, his body hovering over yours, and his lips kissing down your neck.

Your hand finds him again, palm encircling his member as he freezes under your touch.

“You sure you wanna do this?” His voice is lost in the skin of your chest, his lips melting against your collarbone.

“You’re asking me? I thought you were the one who needed convincing.” The giggle in your voice has Jack nipping playfully at your skin, his hand confidently fitting between your legs.

“What can I say, you’ve persuaded me.” A teasing tone slips through his lust clouded whisper, fingers collecting the slick at your core with a groan on his tongue.

You grab the condom out of his hand, tearing it open and rolling it onto him with ease, the feeling causing him to lean further into your touch. 

This was one of the reasons Jack was so drawn to you.

You held such discreet authority. Always taking charge with a charming smile and a sweet command in your voice.

He couldn’t have imagined the same power he witnessed at work would roll over into the bedroom. Your captivating ability to take quiet control was suddenly so obvious in the way you were guiding his now protected length to line up with your entrance, body shimmying down the bed to coerce him into you. 

When the head of his cock finally pushes into you, you both let out noises of relief.

The placated gasp from your lips, and the profound groan on his, proves that you’d both been longing for this exact moment for weeks.

He takes his time. Learning the hug of your body. Savoring every inch of pure bliss, as he fills you at a painstaking pace. Your hands shoot to his back, fingertips digging into the broad expanse of his shoulder blades, just enough to encourage his movement until he enters you completely, pushed in to the hilt.

His eyes stay on yours, watching the way your lids almost close while you adjust to him, your mouth parted slightly at the stretch.

Then he’s pulling out and thrusting back in, moaning at the way you feel wrapped around him.

Your head tilts back into his comforter at the sweet friction of his strokes, and the sight beneath him has another moan bubbling up Jack’s throat. 

It was exactly how he’d dreamt this moment— your back on his bed, with your head thrown back in pleasure. Getting to watch your body respond to him his perch above you, your naked figure far more beautiful than anything he could’ve imagined. It was all so perfect. You were perfect. 

He picked up the pace of his thrusts, not too fast, but perfectly timed with the squeeze of your fingers on his back. He knew he must be hitting something right in the way you were gripping his shoulders and crying out for him. Crying out for him. Your voice was strained and winded as his name fell from your lips in a chant. 

His self-control must’ve been at an all-time high, because he closed his eyes for a moment, gaining his bearings and talking himself down from cumming at the sounds of your whines.

He collects whatever composure is left in his body and brings a hand down between the two of you, fingertips finding that sensitive spot just above where his cock is driving into you.

He rubs steady circles into your clit, and judging by the way his name jumps from you an octave higher than before, he knows he’ll get to watch you cum again. 

He makes it his goal. Setting his thrusts at a fixed pace, as his fingers deliberately stroke your bundle of nerves. He focuses completely on your pleasure to distract himself from the pulsing pressure running through his veins.

He needs to see you let go for him one more time before he can finish. An easy task given the way your back is arching off his bed, sending your hips further into him. 

“I’m gonna-“ The words are hardly coherent as they slip between your gasps and moans— wanting to tell him you’re close but unable to string more than two words together.

“Come on sweetheart.” His words were directed straight to your core, eyes back down and watching between your bodies as he slides into you. His mind growing hazy at the sight of you taking his cock so well. 

His encouragement was all you needed to let go. Your release washing over you in waves of bliss.

Jack’s eyes make the journey back to your face, watching in awe at your expression as it takes on a state of utter relief, your head falling even deeper into the blanket underneath you.

That image is what finally makes him succumb to the persistent chase of his release.

He’s groaning and panting, one of his hands coming to grip your hips, the other balancing himself on the mattress, pressed flat on the space next to your face.

He’s grunting profanities as he spills through his orgasm, allowing his elbow to bend so he can rest his forehead against yours. Both of you breathing heavy, eyes meeting in a moment of vulnerability and understanding as you bring a hand up to lace through his hair. Almost petting his grey curls, you lazily smile through the puffs of breath on your lips.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over seeing you like this, an angel laid out on his bedspread— just for him. Giving you both a moment to recover, he stays like that for a minute. He’s leaning into you, listening to your soft breaths even out, and he can feel himself getting hard again. His dick is still throbbing, not even fully soft and he’s already ready for another round.

His cock getting hard again, that fast after sex, was something he hadn’t experienced in over a decade.

These days Jack needed plenty of time between orgasms to even think about getting another erection, but in this moment, still buried in you and hearing the tiny gasps of breath coming from your heaving chest, he wanted more. He could feel his addiction to you growing stronger, reminding him of the forbidden nature of your budding relationship.

“What are we getting ourselves into.” Speaking his thoughts aloud, his voice fills the room, a grin lingering in his lips.

He can’t help but smile as he imagines what the future holds for your relationship, his forehead still pressed gently against yours. 

my masterlist

[eraserbread]

megumi's babysitter x dad!jo

"and they lived happily ever after... the end."

next to you, tucked politely under his covers, megumi scowls at nothing, soft cheeks all bunched up and unimpressed. he doesn't like bedtime stories, but his dad insisted he open his imagination at least once a day. come to think of it... his dad has quite a few odd requests he insists upon.

"even you don't believe that, do you, nana?" for his age, megumi is extremely well and thoroughly spoken. he calls you by a nickname, because he prefers it over yours, and his dad introduced you as a nanny, though you were more his babysitter. you just let the kid say what he wants, correcting him isn't what you should spend your energy on.

"in some circumstances, yes," you mutter, kicked up in his big, downy bed. he's so babyish when he's sleepy, trying everything to keep his eyes open so he can hear your response. you laugh softly. "alright, megumi. I'll stop bothering you."

"is my dad home?" he asks as you slip out of his bed, eyes finally fully shut. glancing at the clock on his bedside, you nod.

"he should be. i'm sure he'll come kiss you goodnight."

"don't want him to kiss me goodnight." he grumbles, then succumbs to the throbbing pressure of sleep. it happens so quickly with children, you're almost jealous of how peaceful he looks when he's asleep.

you laugh at his early set pessimism, turning around to leave the room and him to his sleep.

you're humming a tune buried deep in your mind as you gently close megumi's door. the lights in the hallway are off, just like you left them, but towards the kitchen, a warm spill of light coats the expensive wood flooring.

you smile, knowing there's only one person flicking on that lamp. as you approach, familiar laughter booms from around the kitchen, your silent footsteps are strict and strong as they make their way to your... boss.

yeah, boss is easy enough.

"ah, suguru, you know that's not true. i only told her what she wanted to hear." gojo leans over his counter, freakishly long forearms resting on the cool marble. he's yapping about on the phone, messy, light bangs covering his beautiful face.

"look who it is!" he notices you immediately, holding the phone from his ear so he can shoot you a wave. "is megumi asleep?"

"won't be for much longer if you keep yelling like that."

he laughs again, sending a silvery hot wave of shivers through your body. there's something here with you two. something both of you partake in and never mention outside of the headiness. a piece of you knows it's wrong, taboo, almost. but gojo is so well-behaved around his son that it doesn't really matter. megumi could be in the attic, and he in the basement, and gojo would still never utter a curse.

let alone show you any ounce of devotion or sensuality.

you're not quite sure why that concept is barreling toward a change tonight.

maybe it's the way he looks in those pressed, black dress pants or how his gold rings shimmer on his long, long fingers. perhaps it's that special, sharp-toothed smile that does you in, but you're in,

and you're drowning.

"well, that's not a very funny joke."

"i don't joke." you don't mean to sound aloof or off-putting, and gojo understands that. he thinks you and his megumi are very much alike in terms of personality. it seems he reels in the quiet, mysterious kind with his stupid dad jokes and caring archetype.

"'course you don't." gojo mutters, then turns back to his phone conversation. "megumi's babysitter’s in the room, I'll call you back... alrighty friend... see 'ya..."

"he had the rest of his noodles from yesterday for dinner... made sure he did all of his homework and cleaned out his backpack for him, too."

"and you made his school lunch?"

"yes, sir."

"and a nighttime bath? they're his favorite."

you nod. "hair washed, too."

"good, good." he stands up straight, blue dress shirt clinging to his familiar, dewy skin. you can't help but trail your view from his glimmering lips, down to the gold on his neck that runs into the collar of his shirt... so mystifying...

he's getting less strict around you, now. you can tell when he walks over to you, smirking the corners of his lips up. instantly, you're standing up straight, lips parted as he closes in.

he's not usually so careless, but you look so beautiful right now. you treat his baby like he's your own and are thoughtful and motherly to the core. it's based in everything you do, even to the way your hand reaches up to cradle his cheek when he kisses you.

this is your reward for a night well done. a kiss to the lips, his long arms crossed around your waist, and your name in the air. one kiss doesn't suffice, he has to pull you in closer, arching your back with the strength of his grip as he kisses you again.

then, again.

and again, this time. tilting his head so he can deepen it. his tongue is peeking from his lips, sliding against the swell of yours before they're tasting your sweet warmth.

he only pulls away because he's breathless. so are you -- flushed to the core, as well.

"wh-what was that for?" you're looking away, pressing the back of your wrist to your lips as you blush uncontrollably. he's just smiling at you, still holding you tight.

"a bonus for a job well done." then, he's pulling away, leaving you cold and touchless.

he's never done more than that, and that's the most he's done. you understand it's out of respect for you and professionalism, but when you're being pulled into rooms and kissed while on the job, it's inevitable that those lines start to fade together until they dissipate completely.

but you don't want any lines with your boss. you want him on top of you. you want to tangle your hands in his hair and stare into his freakish blues until his gaze feels like home.

"again - great job, today. gonna go kiss my megumi goodnight. feel free to take your leave whenever you're comfortable!"

"uh-" you start, but he's waving you off, back facing your reddened face. "okay..."

[ohgodthevoices]

going crazy over how husband material osamu is, hear me ouuutttt

tags : fluff, time-skip, f!reader, tattoo , he listens to, he cares , and he cook , i’m thirsting m sorry

osamu would be the type of bestfriend that knows damn well you want him bad but keeps on teasing you and acting clueless just to see how far you can go before you crack

as childhood friends, it was normal for you to be touchy and generally comfortable with each other but it raised his suspicions when you now looked away when he was topless around you. it’s not like you were uncomfortable with it ?

you’ve basically lived your whole life with the miyas, you’ve seen osamu wet the bed as a kid, get rejected by his middle school crush you’ve even witnessed him putting his hand in his pants and scratch his butt, seeing him topless in the comfort of his apartment was a casual thing so why the hell would you look away , did he lose his shape ? no, he still worked out frequently even if he’s not an athlete anymore…

either way osamu always took care for you, he was always so careful when it comes to you , sure he’d playfully hit you here and there but it was nothing you couldn’t handle

just imagine him cooking you a nice heart-warming meal, glancing at you every now and then while you’re sitting on the counter looking like a mess after a long exhausting day , wine glass in hand and rambling your worries away. it really became a ritual for you to swing by his place unannounced after a bad day.

he’d open the door with his signature lazy smile “ya had a bad day?” you finally let you shoulders relax “long story..” he steps back, inviting you in “i got time”.

sometimes osamu gets this weird feeling he can’t explain when he realizes he’s seen you grow into a real woman, it really freaked him tf out when you told him you had your first time with some boy he never heard the name of.

he scolds you after a bad decision for sure , but he’s always there to comfort you right after. SO imagine his surprise when during a drunken confession after you finally listened to him and dumped your toxic bf, you admit to him between sobs that broke his heart into pieces

“why can’t i find a guy that actually likes me—?” your face was buried in his now wet tshirt , his strong arms holding you tight as if they were gonna protect you from feeling hurt, your words were muffled, melting together “why can’t i find someone like you samu…im so jealous of the girl that’s gonna be yours” holy fucking shit how was he so blind to never realize this…

thank god that night was complete blurry in your mind , so when you woke up the day completely hung over and found your beloved best friend making you breakfast with a bed hair and his sleeves rolled up showing off his forearms that you find really hot for some reason , your slight blush was explained.

omfg the day he showed up to your workplace during his break with a well crafted lunch box he made full of delicious onigiris because he listens and he remembers that your annoying coworker kept flaunting her relationship to you and it pissed you off and you wanted to show her that you can pull too

ever since he realized the power he had over you, he wouldn’t stop just picking at you and seeing how far he can go, he was basically testing the waters by stretching until his shirt lifts up, hold eye contact for a lil longer than what he should, and how he praises you don’t get me startedddd

“yer actually pretty decent at this” when you cook dinner with him, “look at ya bein all confident and independent !” when you actually tell the waiter they got your order wrong, “yer pretty distractin’ yk that? that’s kinda dangerous.”

osamu was a pretty touchy guy, not overly cuddly or anything but he did enjoy proximity, he’d usually hold your wrist when passing crowds but for some reason he now held your waist, his touch gentle yet firm on you. istg his hand placement is impeccable

there’s just something about him keeping a hair tie on his wrist for you that’s so endearing, so caring and attentive to your lil daily struggles.

it all happened when you got your first tattoo, he had sent you to his friend whom he deemed good enough to ink your body. he was nervous and excited as if he was the one getting tattooed but that’s mostly because you wanted to keep it a mystery, he knew that when he came home after closing the shop he’d find you there already.

there was just something so intimate about him coming back from work and finding you already at his place , he liked it, he could get use to it.

“ ‘m here !” he yelled out closing the door behind him , analyzing you from head to toe as you pop infront of him with his tshirt and shorts on displaying an almost mischievous smile, his eyebrows creasing as he doesn’t see any trace of a tattoo on your arms or legs, maybe it was on your shoulders?

he plopped down on his couch , man spreading “soo… are ya gonna show me or ?” you happily turn to the side, his eyes widen as you lift up the shirt enough to reveal a sideboob tattoo. he sits up the shock visible on his face “holy shit cmere” you obey him , getting closer for him to get a better look. with a swift motion his arm was now around your hip , pushing you to sit on one of his legs

he clearly recognized his friend’s intricate style, the design cupping the side of your boob, he wanted to admire his work but damn he felt a lil jealous that he worked so close to you. he finally looked at you only now noticing your reddish face

his face was just inches from yours, his previously shocked expression fading as he met your eyes. he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your jaw, and for a split second, everything around you felt quiet, just the two of you in that small space. he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, though, breaking the tension as he nudged you lightly

“didn’t know you had it in ya to do somethin’ like that” he whispered.

before you could answer, his hand found its way to the back of your neck, gently pulling you in. his lips brushed yours, just a soft, teasing touch, before pulling back slightly with that same smirk. “couldn’t resist,” he muttered under his breath, and this time, when he kissed you again, it was longer, deeper—no more teasing, just the feeling of the moment taking over.

i’m currently such a sucker for time skip osamu he’s all i’m thinking about

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mdni][girldad Roy][enemies to lovers][mlw][his tragedy of a life is not comically accurate][soft tragedy][fingering][unprotected p in v][creampie][rough sex, I think?][vibrator][Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty][squirting][slight dacryphilia][watersports mention][pronebone][mating press][spit]

"Who comes to a dick appointment without condoms?" Roy hisses, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest, the fabric of his tank top stretched so tightly that you're half-expecting it to start ripping in front of your eyes.

You push past Roy, stepping into his apartment and you look around at the state.

It's not untidy.... It's... Lived in. Disarranged throw pillows, a few crumpled papers tossed around the small trashcan that's located just beside the large, flat screen TV. There's a few scattered toys, a Barbie doll without it's shoe and it's....

Oddly reminding you of yourself whenever you do this.

"What kind of man doesn't have his own condoms?" You spit back, picking up the doll and dropping down on the sofa, grabbing the nearest thing with bristles, and combing through the long, blonde hair.

"The kind of man who— you can braid hair?" Roy questions, his brows knitting into a contemplative expression and you nod your head, as your manicured fingers card through the plastic strands, twisting hair over hair. A fishtail braid.

"Can you braid my kid's hair?"

The question is.... A surprise, more than anything, and your hands falter, before you look up at Roy, your eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Sure." You shrug, dismissing it before you set the doll on the coffee table before lifting yourself from the seat, before staring at Roy with narrowed eyes.

"Take your pants off."

"Shit, at least romance me.." Roy grumbles, mock-offense lacing his rugged features before he scoops you up, a muscular forearm bracketing your ass and a scarred finger hooks around your chain, tugging you closer into a kiss.

Roy's lips are the furthest thing from moisturized, a prominent crack down the centre of his bottom lip that occasionally catches on your own lip and you smile into the kiss, the ticklish feeling making you laugh into the kiss.

"Bitch, don't you own Vaseline?"

Roy smiles into the kiss, dimples in his cheeks deepening and his hand pushes open his bedroom door. "No," he hums, before tossing you on his bed, the springs creek just a bit as you bounce on the mattress, and his hands reach for the edge of his shirt, tugging it up his torso.

Very unceremoniously, might I add.

"But I've got lube." Grabbing an unlabelled bottle from the top of his dresser, and tossing it in your direction, ignoring the thud of the hard plastic hitting your forehead, as well as your cursing.

"This doesn't even have a label!" You hiss, one hand holding the bottle of lube and the other, rubbing your forehead with the heel of your palm.

"Gas station said it was lube." Roy shrugs his broad shoulders, before he crawls over the messy nest of sheets and bedding, grabbing your hips and tugging your basketball shorts from your hips.

Leaving you in your—

"Do you have to wear granny panties every time you come see me?" Roy groans, his leafy pools locked on the pale blue panties you're wearing. A white lace trim, and daisies dotted over the fabric that leaves far too much to the imagination.

"Do you have to be named Roy every time I see you?" You say his name like some kind of slur, a tone that isn't missed on him as he hooks his fingers into your panties.

"Oh, fuck off." He rolls his eyes, and you huff, lifting your hips just enough for him to pull the cotton down your ass. "I was named after my uncle."

"What was his name? Roy Rogers McFreely?" You snort, and you barely get to laugh at your own joke before you're roughly tossed onto your stomach, with your legs spread obscenely and a painful swat lands on your ass, before Roy's rough palm smooths over the stinging burn.

"Very funny." Roy huffs. "Now give me the lube."

"You're not using gas station lube on me." You deadpan, looking over your shoulder with a scowl. Your brows knitted and perfect lips tugged into a frown that just made him wanna kiss them.

Of course not now.

Roy's calloused fingers are occupied with a more interesting pair of lips that didn't call him a soulless ginger on missions, and his middle finger circles your clit in a way that makes your back arch just a bit sluttier.

"It's got an expiration date." Roy groans in frustration.

As though an expiration date makes it better.

You flip the bottle over in your hand, looking for the date.

"This says June." You state. "And what month are we in?" Roy hums, his fingers still circling your clit as he leans over you, inspecting the bottle with you.

"January." You deadpan. "Of three years after this bottle's expiration year."

"You know, I don't appreciate being spoken to like I'm some kind of idiot." Roy scowls at you, gingery brows knitted into a scowl, his pinkish upper lip curled in distaste at your tone.

"Well maybe next time, don't be an id—" Your voice cracks and a shaky gasp leaves you when two fingers begin to fuck into your gooey cunt. And Roy hums, resting his chin on your shoulder and he tips his head to look at you.

A cocky grin on his face and it seems like all your energy goes into placing a hand on his face, and pushing him lightly.

"Nice try." Roy mocks. "I'm entirely sober. I'm basically Superman."

"If he—... lacked a soul."

"Say I have a soul."

Roy has your knees forced apart by his muscular thighs, fingers fucking into your cunt while his free hand holds a wand vibrator to your throbbing clit. Your legs shake, puffy pussy glistening with his spit and your wetness, combined into a slick mess that trilled down your messy folds.

"I—I'm... 'm not a liar..." You whine, your hands fisting at the sheets, the edge of your T-shirt between your teeth, your cheeks flushed and messy with tears that had threatened to spill from one too many ruined orgasms.

Roy tuts you, moving away the vibrator away from you and pulling his fingers out of you roughly. And he takes the time, the corners of his mouth twitching, before pulling into a devious grin at the sight of your hole spasming around nothing.

And those glistening fingers make their way to your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and those eyes alone.

Perfect, pretty emerald eyes.

Fanned by pretty, Disney ass lashes, thick brows and the lightest flickers of blue in his eyes. And you suck on his fingers.

Savouring the taste of his fingertips that seem to constantly taste like the feathery end of an arrow, mixed with his spit and your cum, and you whine around his knuckles. You slobber. You whine, you cry.

Your toes curl when that vibrator meets your needy clit, tracing up and down your slick slit, and you barely notice that you're biting down on Roy's fingers when your head tips back. And you squirt.

Soaking Roy from his chest, to his boxers, and the sheets below you. Roy doesn't register your teeth digging into his fingers, only focusing on the messy cum that trickles down the creases of your ass and he hums, pulling his fingers out of your mouth.

And inspecting the teeth indentations.

"Good thing we've never sixty-nined." He mumbles, almost to himself, before his hand, soaked with your spit, slaps your pussy.

Your body rocks, your tummy dipping inward with each flinch of pleasure-pain, whimpers slipping past your kiss-swollen lips. All red from Roy sucking on them while ruining your orgasms and he leans forward, pressing a kiss against your temple.

A soft, gentle action that anchors you in this moment, but before you can say anything, anything at all, your thighs are in a long distance relationship and you're tasked with holding that vibrator to your throbbing clit while Roy pushes into you.

It's a sensation that's painfully familiar.

That almost burn that makes your toes curl and your back arch into the mattress to get away from him, and then, that slow, painful pulling out that has your hips lifting to take more of him.

And you glance down at where Roy slowly feeds your pussy. Inch by inch, as he carefully takes the vibrator from your hand, resting it where he thinks it needs to be.

And God, is he right.

Not directly on your clit, but shy of it, to the right and your lashes flutter, the back of your head resting against the headboard and Roy groans, his hips bumping against yours in the slowest, deepest rhythm.

For someone who makes you squirt with how rough he is, honestly, he doesn't even fuck.

Roy makes love.

90's, R&B, silk shirt and crying in the rain type of love. His hips don't stutter, don't falter, all that he's focused on is taking you to pound town on a safe journey and getting you home in time to feed your turtle.

"Don't close your legs, don't close your legs." He breathes out, switching off the vibrator and setting it aside, before angling his hips.

The blunt, rosy tip of his cock nudges against a spot that makes your kiss-swollen lips form the cutest 'o' shape, eyes nearly crossing and that's the spot.

And Roy begins to fuck.

Hard, messy thrusts that leave a creamy ring around the base of him, his palm coming to rest just above your mound and pressure begins to build like a fucking wildfire. And you babble, eyes welling up with tears as each stroke brings you closer to that precipice of pleasure that makes you believe that Roy might be God's favourite.

Because no fucking way ANYONE would have dick this good.

Unless maybe, Batman.

And Roy leans forward, a hand roughly grasping your chin, and he forces his thumb between your lips, watching the way your eyes glaze over when he presses down on your tongue. That mind-numbing sensation of his cock stilling and twitching against your gummy walls makes your brain fuzzy and all you do is stick your tongue out, catching the spit that leaves his stupidly perfect mouth.

And Roy smears his messy, wet hand across your face, before grabbing your chin again, fingers digging into your cheeks and he leans forward.

Pressing a sloppy, hard kiss to your lips, tasting your spit and cum on your lips and he groans, his hips pistoning in and out of you with no fucking warning.

The headboard hits against the wall, the sheets rustle and the loudest sound is the messy squelch of your sopping pussy as he fucks you into oblivion.

"You're so fucking perfect." Roy pants, kissing you like there's no fucking tomorrow and god, your blood is rushing in your ears and the sound is deafening.

Especially when you feel those skilled fingertips sinking to your hair, your walls fluttering and spasming as you gush, pushing his cock out of you and he places the most gentle kiss against your forehead.

You don't drink enough water to be able to push out liquids like this. But that's not your problem or even the mildest concern.

Not when your face is pushed into the pillow that smells like his musk and cologne, not to mention that tiniest hint of sweat. And definitely not when he's reaching over you, muscular and scarred hands gripping the headboard tightly, as he slowly slips into you.

Gushy walls swallowing him whole, and Roy's chest presses against your back, his face buried in the curve of your neck and he presses the sweetest kiss against your pulse.

Sucking marks into your skin, his hand coming to wrap around your throat just a bit, fingertips digging into the slight plush and his hips fucking roll.

Cock pummeling into you at that slow, passionate pace and Roy hums quietly. "You like it? I've been taking a— hah— a Spanish dance class with Jason."

And you let out a laugh, a breathy giggle and you whine as he nudges at your cervix.

"N—not enough words to say how gay that is." You mock, your hands clawing and gripping at the sheets, your brain fuzzy and your tongue lolling just a bit.

And Roy laughs. A low, raspy chuckle.

"Oh, you're really gonna get it now." And he lifts, just a bit, his fingers curling into your scalp and tugging your hair back, enough to expose your throat.

"Now... 'm gonna fuck you 'til you piss yourself."

[luvismenu]

sad girl — jeon jungkook ! repost

pt.1 creepin’ around while he gets high

summary: you were never supposed to fall for him. not the man who signs your paychecks. not the man with a wife and two kids. but he says he’s unhappy. he says it feels right with you. you know it’s wrong. and still… you stay. because nothing has ever made you feel more alive than being someone's secret.

pairing: rich married man!jungkook x babysitter!oc

wc: 8k

warnings: mature themes, adultery/infidelity, smoking.

important note: deleted this bfore cuz i got shit on for not writing “more smut”. after thinking about it a lot , here it is again !!! without the smut. i mainly wanted to write this as an angst fic, because hello?? cheating isn’t fun. but i think some ppl took it the wrong way. the smut wasn’t important at all. i kept it vague on purpose , those parts just had details that gave more meaning to the story. it wasn’t meant for jerking off at all lmao. anyway, this was supposed to be a 6 part mini series , not sure if im going to continue this fic,, i most probably won't , but yeah… leaving part 1 here.

you love your job.

it’s not your dream job. not even close. you’ve never once imagined yourself as a babysitter. not when you were younger, not even as a backup plan. it was never part of the picture.

you didn’t grow up thinking, “i’m going to take care of kids someday.”

truthfully, kids have always been a little confusing to you. unpredictable. too loud or too quiet, too much or too little. like tiny humans with moods that change faster than the weather.

but somehow, here you are. and to your own surprise… you're starting to enjoy it.

why?

“kids, stop running around. you're going to hurt yourselves.”

that voice. deep, calm, firm. it cuts through the chaos like a thread pulling everything together.

your heart skips before you even look up.

but you already know who it is.

he steps into the room, and everything seems to still around him. not because he tries to take up space, but because he just does. tall, confident, effortless. he doesn’t need to raise his voice. he doesn’t need to try.

but the kids don’t stop. they’re too lost in their game, laughter bubbling up like music, tiny feet thudding against the floor as they spin in circles.

he lets out a soft sigh, a mix of exasperation and amusement and reaches for his watch, sliding it off his wrist. you don’t know why that makes your stomach turn, but it does.

“but appa, it’s fun!” one of them whines, dragging out the word like it might change his mind.

he laughs under his breath, shaking his head as he sets the watch on the table.

“fun, huh?”

jeon jungkook.

the reason you tolerate this job.

technically, he’s your boss. the one who hands you a generous envelope every weekend to watch over his kids. but “boss” feels like such a dull, inaccurate word for him.

because jungkook is something else entirely.

the way he walks, so sure of himself. the way he speaks, low and even, like he never needs to prove anything. the way his smile changes the whole room. or the way his brow furrows when he’s thinking, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like he’s holding back more than just thoughts.

the way he shrugs out of his jacket, the slow roll of sleeves up his forearms, veins and ink peeking out with every movement—

you pretend not to look. but you do.

everything about him feels like gravity. like something you shouldn’t be drawn to, but are anyway.

“are they giving you trouble, miss ___?” he asks, pulling you out of your thoughts.

he lowers himself onto the couch like he belongs there— because he does. his tie loosened, legs spread comfortably, one arm resting behind the cushions.

you take a breath, trying not to sound breathless.

“no, mr. jeon,” you say softly, eyes flicking back to the kids. “they’re just playing.”

his gaze stays on you a beat too long. unreadable. and then,

“take a seat,” he says, voice smooth. “you don’t have to chase after them.”

you nod and settle into a seat across from him. the cushions dip under your weight, and the room feels quieter somehow.

“yohan, yewon. come sit,” he calls. his tone is calm but firm, a slight shift in authority that even you feel in your spine.

they pause. glance at each other. then make their way over to you, slipping onto the couch on either side like you’re the center of some small universe they orbit.

“yohan wants to play more,” yewon grumbles, arms crossed.

“no, i didn’t! yewon noona said she did!” yohan snaps back, already offended.

you lean in, steady and gentle.

“hey. what did i say about pointing fingers?”

they go quiet. the room settles again.

“that it’s bad,” they mumble, voices small.

“and?”

“and we shouldn’t lie or blame each other.”

“that’s right.” you smile at them, soft but proud. “so, what do we say?”

they glance at each other again before offering quiet little apologies.

“good,” you say, your voice lighter now. “you’re both being so good. i’m proud of you.”

across from you, jungkook watches. he hasn’t said a word.

but you feel the shift. the way his body sinks deeper into the couch, the slight raise of his brows, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

admiration, maybe. or something quieter.

he knows his kids. they’re sweet, sure. but they’re stubborn. they rarely listen the first time. almost never apologize on their own.

and now they’re sitting quietly beside you like you’ve cast some gentle spell.

he doesn’t say anything.

but he sees it.

and you feel it.

“kids,” he speaks up.

his voice is calm, steady. the kind that draws attention without effort.

the kids immediately look over.

“yes, appa?” yewon answers, tilting her head.

yohan just watches him quietly, eyes wide and waiting.

you look at him too, trying not to make it too obvious how your heart stutters when he shifts in his seat, forearms resting on his knees.

“could you go to your room for a bit?” he says, glancing briefly at them before his eyes flick back to you. “i need a moment with miss ___.”

“okay,” they both say in unison.

they each lean in to kiss his cheek— yewon on his left, yohan on his right —and your chest warms at the sight. it's so quick, so natural. something they do all the time.

he taps two fingers against the back of yohan’s head as a reminder, murmuring, “no running.”

“we won't!” yewon insists, grabbing her brother’s arm and pulling him into a slow walk up the stairs.

and just like that, the room falls quiet.

jungkook sits up straighter. it’s subtle, but you feel it immediately; the shift in atmosphere. suddenly, you're very aware of your posture. you mirror him, hands neatly folded on your knees, back straight, nerves prickling up your spine.

his gaze lingers.

“is everything okay, mr. jeon?” you ask, voice low.

he nods slowly, then reaches for the coloring books the kids had left behind— sprawled open across the glass coffee table. his hands move with quiet precision, gathering them one by one, tapping them into a neat stack, arranging them by size..

why does it feel like he’s preparing for a difficult conversation?

“you won’t need to babysit them,” he says finally, looking up at you. “for…” he pauses, dragging the word just long enough to make your chest tighten.

your heart skips.

your throat closes up.

was your crush on him that obvious?

were you too careless?

shit— what if this is it?

he sees the way you tense, shoulders rising, fingers curling slightly against your knees. he pauses, then adds, “for two weeks.” he nods, “ the kids will be staying with their grandparents for two weeks.”

your mouth opens slightly, relief just barely catching up to your confusion. “you mean... i don't have to come in just for two weeks? not like... fired?”

he chuckles under his breath, a soft huff that somehow makes you feel ridiculous and reassured all at once.

“yes,” he says. “just two weeks. you’ll continue on the weekends once they’re back.”

you exhale like you’ve been holding your breath for an hour straight.

he watches you with a small, unreadable smile.

“you looked terrified,” he murmurs.

“i thought i was getting fired,” you admit, cheeks warming.

“why would i fire you?” he leans back slightly, eyes still on you. “they listen to you more than they do to me.”

you can’t think of anything to say to that. at least, nothing that wouldn’t give you away completely.

so you just nod, eyes flicking down to your lap, trying not to notice the way your pulse hammers in your ears.

you swallow hard, thoughts spiraling before you can stop them.

of course you’ve been a little… taken with him. who wouldn’t be?

he’s attractive. older. confident in that effortless, dangerous kind of way.

but he’s also married. off-limits.

completely.

you would never cross a line. never do anything reckless. this is just a passing crush. something you'll get over in a few weeks. a harmless little fantasy.

so you blink out of it and look up to see... he’s already watching you.

leaned back, one arm slung over the couch, completely at ease. there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth ; is it amusement? a smirk? you don't know but, whatever it is, it shoots straight to your core.

you shift in your seat. try not to squirm.

god.

if he weren’t someone else’s—

a soft chime echoes through the house. not loud. not intrusive. just a delicate sound, like wind brushing across crystal.

you blink, the thought still unfinished in your head. the tension still caught in your throat.

then the door opens.

not slammed. not swung. it glides. quiet and smooth, like everything else in this house.

heels click against the marble floor. sharp. unhurried. certain. and you don’t have to look, because you already know.

ms. xinyi has returned.

and she doesn’t enter like someone coming home.

she enters like she’s stepping onto a stage. commanding, composed, every line of her body deliberate.

her dress is deep red silk; elegant, fluid, expensive in a way that whispers it rather than shouts. the kind of red that means power, a color that speaks of control. her hair is slicked back, earrings glinting beneath the warm lighting. a purse hangs from her wrist, small and sharp, probably worth more than your entire semester’s tuition.

you stand immediately.

not because anyone tells you to. not even because you’re afraid.

but because that’s what you do when she’s in the room. because it’s her name on your schedule. her rules you follow.

jungkook may be the one who stays, who smiles at pickup, who folds the envelopes with your pay.

but ms. xinyi is the one who made the call to hire you.

and the way her eyes sweep the room now, like she's calculating. makes it very clear:

she hasn’t forgotten that.

“ms. xinyi,” you say softly, a little breathless.

she doesn’t smile. she just nods once.

you’d called her “mrs. jeon” the first time you met her, hands politely folded in front of you, voice careful with respect. but she had only smiled, graceful but distant, and said, “please. address me as ms. xinyi. ‘mrs. jeon’ makes me sound old.”

and you’d nodded, of course. because when a woman like her tells you to call her by name, you don’t argue.

jungkook gets up, but he doesn’t move to greet her like you do. no warm hug. no soft smile. nothing like the way he usually welcomes her home.

instead, he heads toward the bar tucked into the corner of the large living room. a sleek, dark wood counter with crystal glasses lined up on top, all under soft recessed lights. he reaches for one, his movements smooth, and pours himself a drink. it’s not alcohol.

drinking alcohol isn’t allowed while the kids are still awake— ms. xinyi’s rule. one of many.

you watch the way his jaw flexes as he lifts the glass to his lips, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

xinyi's eyes skim over you with practiced grace. she sighs, so quietly you almost miss it, but she recovers quickly, expression smoothing as if nothing slipped.

“the kids,” she says. “are they asleep?”

you nod politely, your voice soft but sure. “they’re upstairs. had dinner already. yewon finished all her veggies this time.”

a hint of something that might be a smile curves on her lips. she nods. “good.”

then, without missing a beat, “what about their mandarin practice?”

you nod again, hands clasped in front of you. “yes ma’am. they learned quite a bit today. they were good, really focused.”

you aren’t just their babysitter. you were hired with purpose. ms. xinyi wanted her children to have more consistent exposure to chinese. they know the basics already— of course they do, their mom is chinese. but she’s barely home, and jungkook… well, he knows as much as they do. maybe less. so she brought you in ; to help them speak fluently, confidently.

you’ve spent time building a gentle routine around their packed schedules. school, homework, and everything else expected of kids their age, and you weave language learning into their downtime, softly, kindly.

sometimes through games, sometimes through stories. not always strict. not always serious. they’re just kids. and they trust you more when you let them breathe.

“thank you for your hard work,” ms. xinyi says, lips painted in a matching shade of deep garnet.

you nod, swallowing your breath. “of course.”

she walks past you, toward her husband. jungkook is now leaning against the edge of the counter, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around his glass.

he doesn’t speak when she approaches. just looks at her, calm and unreadable like usual.

she pauses in front of him and her gaze lingers.

then, with a glance back at you, she says, “can you tell the kids to go to sleep? tell them i’ll come kiss them good night later. they might fuss— but you can handle that, right? ms. ___.”

you nod quickly, eyes low. “yes, ma’am.”

you turn and head up the stairs, careful not to make a sound.

when you’re finally out of earshot, the calm cracks.

xinyi doesn’t raise her voice, but the cold edge in her tone cuts clean. “could you at least try to act like we’re in love?”

jungkook’s brow tics. he lifts the glass again, finishes the last sip, and sets it down with a soft clink.

“we’ve been acting for years,” he says quietly.

“so act a little better.”

there’s a pause.

she exhales through her nose, stepping back just slightly but never breaking eye contact. “you’re getting more distant every week, jeon. i can’t be the only one trying.”

“you’re not trying,” he replies, tone low. “you’re working. just like always. and now you’re mad that i’m not playing along like i used to.”

“i’m not just working for fun,” she snaps, though her voice stays poised. “we both agreed to this life. we’re business people. you of all people should understand.”

“i do,” he says. and he does. but that doesn’t make it easier. “i’m cooperating. for the kids.”

“then co-operate better,” she says, her words clipped. “when they come back from my parents’ house, they can’t see this—” she gestures between them, not cruel, just… resigned. “this cold.”

he doesn’t answer.

“my father thinks you’re slipping,” she adds.

jungkook’s jaw clenches. he doesn’t respond right away, but when he does, it’s only one word:

“okay.”

because what else can he say?

he can’t say he’s tired of this.

he can’t say he’s lonely.

he can’t say he’s barely holding the pieces together when everyone around him keeps demanding more.

so he says okay.

because that’s the only answer that won’t burn it all down.

“is mama busy again, ms. ___?” yohan asks, voice quiet as he snuggles deeper into his blanket, only his round cheeks and curious eyes visible now.

you’re helping yewon into her bed, gently fixing the corner of her plush bunny pillow when the question catches you off guard.

“hm? no, of course not,” you say, smiling gently as you glance at him. “she just got back home.”

“then why isn't she here with us?” yewon asks, a little pout forming on her lips as you pull her blanket over her, tucking her in neatly.

“because…” you draw out the word on purpose, standing up and placing your hands on your hips dramatically, eyes flicking between the two of them. “she needs to rest, doesn’t she?”

they both pout now, matching each other without even realizing it. you chuckle softly.

“don’t give me those cute faces,” you tease, leaning down to gently boop yohan’s nose. he wrinkles it with a quiet giggle.

but then his expression turns serious. “does mama and appa not like us anymore?” he says suddenly, so quietly it almost gets lost in the hum of the nightlight.

you blink, startled.

“han-nie!” yewon gasps, sitting up a little in her bed, “you can’t say that!”

“but it’s true!” he whines, glancing at her before turning back to you. “they’re always busy! especially mama! you miss them too, noona!”

you sigh, moving to sit at the edge of yohan’s bed. your hand reaches out to smooth his hair gently.

“you both know your mama works very hard, right?” you say softly. “and your appa too. they work so much because they love you. and when they come home, they’re tired. they just need a little bit of time to rest before they can give you all their attention.”

they both nod, but their eyes are still a little sad.

“plus…” you smile again, trying to cheer them up, “ms. xinyi told me she’d come up soon to give you both your goodnight kisses.”

that gets them to brighten a little.

“really?” yewon asks.

you nod. “really.”

“i won’t sleep till she gets here then!” yohan says quickly, determined now.

“me neither,” yewon chimes in.

you look between them and feel a tug in your heart. “oh and.. i heard you two are visiting your grandparents for the next two weeks,” you say, keeping your voice excited. “won’t that be fun?”

“yeah,” yewon says, “grandma lets us have lots of desserts!”

“and grandpa has a really big tv!” yohan adds.

“i bet they’ll be so happy to see you again,” you say, standing back up, smoothing out your skirt. “they’ll spoil you silly.”

“can you come too?” yohan asks suddenly, hopeful.

you pause, smiling gently. “i wish i could, yohan. but i’ll be right here when you come back, okay?”

“promise?” yewon says sleepily.

“promise,” you nod. “cross my heart.”

they both settle back down into their pillows, more at ease now.

you wait a moment, watching their eyes flutter slower and slower before you quietly reach for the door and close it with the softest click.

time to go home.

“i’ll take my leave now,” you say quietly, standing in front of ms. xinyi with your bag hanging neatly on your shoulder, hands clasped in front of you. your voice is calm, respectful. “please call me if you need any assistance before the kids leave for their grandparents.”

ms. xinyi nods once, eyes sharp but polite. “i’ll keep it in mind.”

you return the nod and turn to go, already picturing your long walk to the bus stop, the change of clothes waiting in your small apartment, the silence of a home that doesn’t echo. a far cry from this polished, glass-and-marble world you spend your weekends in.

but before you can take a step, she speaks again.

“do you go by bus, ms. ___?”

you pause, slowly turning back around. “yes, ma’am.”

her lips press together briefly, thoughtful. “jungkook will drop you off tonight.”

and just like that, he appears— quiet steps behind her, tugging on a sleek jacket, fingers adjusting the collar like he was already getting ready to step out. timing too perfect to be coincidental.

your eyes widen, a little panic creeping into your chest. “oh no, you don’t have to— i mean, i’m fine. really. this is… normal for me,” you say quickly, words tumbling out too fast, hands gesturing as if that’ll help your case.

jungkook glances at you once as he pulls the zipper up. his face is unreadable.

“sure,” he says, voice smooth and low. “wait outside for me. i’ll be there with my car.”

then, without waiting for your reply, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to ms. xinyi’s cheek. your eyes flick to her face, watching her expression shift for a moment— almost content.

maybe… they’re fine again? you can’t tell, but the tension that hovered earlier feels thinner now. less sharp.

he walks past, straight out the door.

ms. xinyi turns back to you, her hands now loosely folded in front of her. there’s a gentle smile on her face— elegant, polished, practiced. “i insist. it’s late. and it was my fault, staying too long at the office party. you had to stay extra hours because of me.”

“but miss—”

“i won’t take no for an answer, ms. ___.” the smile stays, but there’s weight behind her voice. soft power. “you know that, don’t you?”

your shoulders drop slightly, and you nod, looking down. “yes, ma’am. thank you for your kindness.”

you bow your head once, polite, and finally step out into the quiet night, where jungkook’s car is already starting up in the driveway.

the car is quiet. smooth engine, soft instrumental playing low on the radio. jungkook’s hands on the steering wheel. yours, clutched around your bag.

you sit straight, posture polite, and you’re hyper aware of him beside you — he’s relaxed, driving one-handed, leaning slightly back into the leather seat like this is nothing. like you’re nothing. just another person he’s offering a ride home to.

but still, your heart’s going a little crazy.

he suddenly speaks, voice low. “i was going out to get a smoke, ms. ___.”

you blink, startled a little. he doesn’t look your way. just keeps driving.

“that’s why my wife said i could drop you. you’re not troubling me or anything.”

you shake your head quickly, fumbling over your reply. “oh— okay. thank you. really. i was fine taking the bus, though.”

he hums, noncommittal. “still. late night bus isn’t the safest.”

you nod, lips pressed together. you want to say thank you again, but you don’t want to sound like a broken record. the silence returns, but it’s not entirely uncomfortable. just… a little charged.

you don’t realize you’re staring at his hands until you are — long fingers wrapped around the wheel, thumb tapping softly to the beat of the radio. his wrist, the veins on his hand, the simple silver ring he wears.

wow.

you swallow.

and then, without warning, he pulls over. not suddenly, but gently, easing the car toward the curb and shifting into park.

“you don’t mind if i get cigarettes, right?” he asks, glancing at you.

you shake your head. “not at all mr. jeon. take your time.”

he nods and steps out.

as soon as the door shuts, you let out a long, shaky breath.

what the fuck.

you’re in jungkook’s car. you’re in his fucking car.

it literally smells like his cologne. and the air freshener clipped to the vents and maybe a little like coffee. your fingers twitch, and you’re not even sure where to look — the leather, the sleek touchscreen, the dash, the mirror with that tiny photo of his kids tucked into it. you feel like an outsider just breathing in here.

he returns a few minutes later, slipping back in with a small paper bag in hand.

“sorry,” he mutters, adjusting his seatbelt and pulling away from the curb.

you don’t respond immediately. just watch the road ahead.

“no problem at all.”

the rest of the drive is short.

when the car slows in front of your apartment block, you quickly gather your things.

“thank you for the ride, mr. jeon” you say, already opening the door.

but then he gets out, too.

you freeze.

this— this is a small neighborhood. your apartment is in one of those plain buildings, paint chipped at the edges, a rusty bicycle chained to the stairwell. nothing glamorous.

you step out, feeling a little embarrassed as he looks around, taking in the area. and then he looks at your building.

“cute place,” he says.

you smile awkwardly, hugging your bag tighter. “o-oh. yeah. it’s, um, it’s fine i guess.”

he nods once, then meets your eyes again. “i’ll see you soon, ___.”

you bow instinctively, eyes flicking down. “goodnight mr. jeon”

he turns, walks back to the car. the headlights blink once as he unlocks it.

you stand there for a second longer, heart thudding, as his words echo in your head.

“i’ll see you soon, ___.”

he said your name without the “ms.” in it.

just ___.

you step inside your apartment with legs that feel too light. your fingers still smell like his car. and you close the door behind you, quietly, slowly, like you’re afraid of breaking whatever spell that was.

yeah. that was… intense.

the sun’s dipping low by the time you step out of the campus gate, bag slung over your shoulder, your phone buzzing with a low battery warning. beside you, minjun sips the last of his vending machine coffee, yawning dramatically.

“so you’re finally free this week, huh?” he asks, grinning. “no more mansion babysitting?”

you nod, pulling your hair back with one hand. “yeah. the kids are leaving for their grandparents. i think they’ll be gone for two weeks.”

“must be nice,” he laughs. “wish we got two weeks vacay too from this... hell-hole.”

“please,” you scoff. “never gonna happen.”

“rich people really live in another universe, huh.” he mutters, “by the way ___, if you ever disappear suddenly , i’ll assume they adopted you into their fancy bloodline.”

you’re about to reply when your phone buzzes in your hand —

mr. jeon.

you blink.

minjun peeks at the screen. “is that him? your boss?”

“shhh,” you hiss, already answering.

“yes mr.jeon?”

jungkook’s voice is calm. “ms. ___, are you free tonight?”

you glance at minjun, then ahead at the road. “uh— yes, i am.”

“good,” he says, and you swear you can hear the small smile in his voice.

your stomach does something weird.

“you're sure, right?” he asks

“yes,” you say, too quickly. “i’m free. do you need me to come over?”

“yeah. come when you can.”

“i will,” you nod, even though he can’t see.

and you hang up.

minjun’s staring at you. “sooo… you are not supposed to be babysitting but he still wants you over?”

“don’t start.”

“i’m just saying,” he raises his brows, “sounds suspicious.”

“bye minjun!!”

“text me if you end up in a scandal!”

you roll your eyes and wave him off, heart thudding harder than it should.

the kids are leaving. you don't have to babysit. he didn't call you for work.. did he?

you don’t know yet.

but you’re already walking faster.

the house was quiet when you stepped in.

jungkook opened the door, one hand on the knob, the other lazily tucked in his pocket. his expression was unreadable, as always, but his tone was polite. “hey. come in.”

you stepped in carefully, slipping your shoes off by the door. “thank you,” you said, eyes naturally glancing down the hallway, expecting to hear the kids, or at least see ms. xinyi pacing around on a phone call. but the space was… still.

“they’re not here,” jungkook said casually, as if reading your mind.

you blinked. “oh. they left already?”

he nodded, leading the way inside, you following behind slowly. “xinyi left this morning with the kids.”

you frowned slightly. “i thought they were leaving tomorrow…”

“yeah, it was sudden. her mom insisted.” he didn’t sound annoyed, just tired. “xinyi can’t stay long though. she has work, meetings. she’ll be back soon. but she asked if you could help out before she returns.”

you nodded automatically, because of course. “with what, exactly?”

“the kids’ stuff,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at you. “their mandarin folders, worksheets, the reading material. you know, that shelf you helped set up in their study room? xinyi wants it reorganized. she says it’s a mess.”

you smiled lightly. “it is a mess.”

“thought so,” he said, smirking a little. “you’ve got a few hours. i won’t be in your way.”

you hummed in agreement, already walking in the direction of the kids’ room.

“i’ll get started.”

it takes longer than you expect. papers are everywhere. yohan’s doodled over half the sheets, yewon’s managed to mix english flashcards into the mandarin set, and the books aren’t even standing upright anymore.

you roll up your sleeves and get to work. at some point, you stop checking the time. there’s something comforting about organizing their things— folding tiny papers, writing neat labels. it feels… peaceful. like you’re still around them.

and by the time you finish, the sky outside has turned navy blue and the hallway lights are dim.

you look around for jungkook. he hasn’t said anything since earlier. maybe he went out. maybe he’s in the study. but the house is too quiet. almost empty. he couldn’t have just… left.

you grab your bag and make your way downstairs, calling out softly, “mr. jeon?”

no reply.

you glance toward the kitchen. empty.

you pass by the sitting room. lights off.

you pause by the sliding doors that lead to the garden. there’s a breeze… and something else. something soft. a sound you can’t quite name.

you step outside.

and there he is.

standing under the open sky, alone, his back to you. the garden lights glow faintly along the grass. his dark hair moves with the wind. one hand is in his pocket, the other holds a slim cigar, glowing orange at the tip.

you don’t mean to stare.

but he looks… cinematic. loose black shirt. sleeves rolled. the way he stands so still, like the air doesn’t touch him. like he’s thinking about a thousand things you’ll never understand.

you clear your throat.

he turns slightly, glancing at you with no real surprise. “done already?”

you nod. “yeah. i didn’t want to leave without letting you know.”

he takes a slow drag, the smoke curling around his fingers before rising into the dark. “good timing.”

you hesitate, then walk a little closer. “why didn’t you go, mr. jeon? with them.”

his eyes stay on the sky for a second, then drop to the ground. “xinyi’s parents don’t like me much.”

that surprises you.

you blink. “why?”

he gives a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t sound amused. “they think i’m not enough. that i’m… not what they pictured for her.”

you look down. “but you’re—”

“rich?” he cuts in softly. “doesn’t mean i’m enough.”

you don’t know what to say to that.

he continues, flicking ash to the side. “i run too many things. i’m constantly flying in and out. the company’s in a complicated place right now. mergers. new investors. pressure.”

you stay quiet. listening.

just listening.

he looks over at you finally, the garden light catching his features. “it’s exhausting.”

your chest aches a little. he looks like someone who hasn’t slept right in days. you wonder if anyone ever asks him how he feels. if anyone even cares.

“sorry,” you say, softly.

he shrugs. “you didn’t do anything.”

you nod, then look away, eyes tracing the garden floor.

“how about you? college okay?”

you blink. “me?”

“yeah. you.”

you laugh nervously. “uhm… yeah. college is fine. tiring. the usual. rent’s going up though, it’s… whatever.” you roll your eyes a little and then you realise, maybe you shouldn't be telling him this stuff, so you quickly apologise, “sorry i didn't mean to say that.”

he watches you for a moment. “don’t be.” then nods. “you’re working hard. college. babysitting kids. you’re doing good.”

you grin a little. “yeah, i guess.”

he lets out a quiet hum, then turns back to the sky.

you both fall silent. the kind of silence that doesn’t feel awkward at all. you tilt your head back too, following his gaze.

it is a beautiful night.

he takes a longer drag this time, eyes falling shut as the smoke leaves his lips in slow swirls. his jaw tenses slightly, neck lines sharp against the collar of his shirt.

you look away quickly.

your heart’s doing something stupid.

you should go.

but… you don’t.

you stay.

you don’t say anything. don’t even shift your weight. you just keep standing there under the soft garden lights, with your bag still in your hand and your heart beating loud in your ears. and as the seconds stretch on, when he realizes you’re still there; still watching him, he doesn’t look surprised.

you don’t see it. not really.

but he smiles. just a little.

and then he speaks.

“you smoke?”

his voice is low. smooth, like usual.

your eyes widen a little. “me? no. not really. i mean… no. it’s not good for you.”

he raises a brow, amused. “mm. it’s not.”

you shift on your feet. “it’s addictive. and bad for your lungs. like. obviously.”

he hums, eyes still on you. “wanna try?”

you blink. “pardon?”

he flicks ash off the end, lets it fall with a soft hiss onto the wet grass. “just once. it's not like you will get addicted off one puff.”

you hesitate. heart tripping over itself.

because you know this is stupid. obviously. you’ve said the words yourself— bad for you, dangerous, addictive.

but your thoughts are running too fast and none of them make sense. your limbs feel slow and heavy like you’re melting under the weight of his attention.

you shouldn’t.

you really shouldn’t.

but he’s looking at you with that.. amused little glint in his eye, and his shirt’s a little wrinkled, and his fingers look really good around the cigarette. and you’re tired of always being the one who makes the right choice.

what’s so bad about one?

he watches you, smoke curling past his lips again, quiet for a moment. “it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

“sure,” you say quickly, cutting him off. “i’ll try it.”

his eyebrows lift, surprised. “you sure?”

you nod, too fast. “mhm.”

he smirks, a slow little curve of his lips. “thought it wasn’t healthy?”

you roll your eyes. “just one puff.”

he laughs quietly, drops the stub of his cigarette to the ground and presses the toe of his shoe against it. then he slips a hand into his pocket, pulls out a slim case, taps out a new one and holds it between two fingers like it’s nothing. like it’s casual.

“here,” he murmurs, handing it to you.

you take it.

your fingers brush his when you do.

you almost gasp but you don't , thankfully.

your fingers close around the cigarette he holds out, but just before you bring it to your lips, you drop your bag to the side with a soft thud on the grass.

you place the cigarette between your lips awkwardly at first, but you pretend to be cool about this. you keep your eyes on him the whole time. never looking away, and he doesn’t either. his gaze holds you in place.

he brings the lighter to the tip, flicks it open. the soft click sounds loud in the quiet.

then, his voice.

low. rough. lazy. “breathe in slow. not too deep. let it sit for a second. then let it go.”

you nod, and your fingers tremble just slightly as you try.

he lights it.

the flame glows bright, just for a second. burns orange, then settles into a steady red glow at the tip. and his eyes never leave yours.

you inhale like he said. it stings— more than you expected. burns your throat, makes your chest tighten, but you try to hold it.

you let it sit. then exhale.

it leaves your mouth in a shaky stream.

you cough a little, just once, and his eyes darken.

“that’s it,” he says, voice smooth like velvet. “you can do it. that's it. good girl.”

your stomach flips.

and then you try again. slower this time. his gaze never leaving your mouth.

“just like that,” he murmurs. “see? not so bad.”

you exhale again, and this time it doesn’t burn as much. it still makes your head spin. but not in a bad way.

you glance up at him, your voice softer now. “i kinda like it.”

he hums. “yeah?”

“yeah. i mean. i don’t know if that’s… right.”

he chuckles, steps a little closer, his voice brushing your skin. “doesn’t have to be right to feel good.”

your breath catches.

his eyes trail from your lips to your throat, very slowly. you take another drag, just to have something to do, but he’s watching you like he’s thinking about a dozen other things he’d rather have in your mouth.

your fingers shake a little again, but you don’t drop it.

he’s too close now. too warm.

you feel it in your stomach. between your thighs. every-fucking-where.

and when he takes the cigarette from you and presses it between his own lips for a second, eyes locked with yours the whole time— you swear you forget how to breathe.

you’re so fucking gone at this point.

you can’t stop looking at him.

the way his lips wrap around the same cigarette you’d just held between yours. the way his jaw flexes. the way his throat moves when he exhales; smoke curling out of his mouth like it was made to escape him that way.

you don’t even realize you’re staring.

not until his eyes drag back to yours— sharp and dark, the kind that doesn’t ask questions. the kind that already knows the answer.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough to hear.

and then his hand is behind your neck.

you don’t even have time to blink. to breathe.

to think.

his lips crash against yours, rough and sudden and so fucking real. your whole body locks up in shock before melting into the heat of it. it’s messy. desperate. everything at once. he kisses like he’s starved, like he’s wanted to do this for longer than he’ll ever admit.

you’re not supposed to do this.

he’s not supposed to do this.

but your lips part for him anyway.

and he kisses you deeper.

his other hand joins the first, palms warm behind your neck, holding you in place like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. the still-burning cigarette drops from between his fingers and he steps on it, crushing it into the grass without ever pulling away.

your fingers twitch at your sides. you don’t know where to put them.

you just… stand there. letting him kiss you like that. letting yourself kiss him back.

it feels like a dream.

it feels too good.

your lips don’t stop moving against his. they can’t.

you’re already too far gone— breathing him in like he’s the first drop of water after a dry, godless drought. your hands are clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down, keeping him close, greedy like you’ve been starving.

then suddenly, your breath catches.

you pull back.

“mr. jeon—” your voice is shaky, lips swollen. “shit.. i— we.. we shouldn’t... this is wrong.”

his hand cups your jaw, warm and grounding. but there’s something wild in his eyes. his voice comes out low, wrecked. “then tell me to stop.”

you stare at him. the garden lights behind his silhouette, the echo of your kiss still on your mouth.

you should tell him to stop.

you don’t.

instead, your fingers find his collar and tug again, hard this time.

fuck.

“just take me inside.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

“you’re so quiet,” he murmurs.

his voice cuts through the silence like a warm knife. his palm is on your head, fingers slow as they run through your hair, caressing in soft circles against your scalp. your cheek rests on his bare chest, his skin warm beneath you, rising and falling gently with every breath he takes. your hand is near his neck, thumb brushing the skin there, slow and absent-minded.

the room is still. faint moonlight slips through the sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the floor. the sheets are pulled over the both of you, tangled between legs, your bodies tucked close under them — in his bed.

the one he shares with his wife.

you don't reply at first. you're thinking. you’re here, lying on a mattress you shouldn’t be on, next to a man you shouldn't be touching. and yet, your heart feels full. your body’s warm. you feel… good. and that’s what scares you.

he doesn’t say anything again, just keeps stroking your hair, so softly it makes your eyes flutter.

you were quiet, yeah. but only because there’s so much going on in your head. so much you tried to ignore earlier — the guilt, the reality of what you were doing, the wrongness of it all. you’d been quiet because you were trying to forget it. to focus only on him.

you stare off across the room, eyes fixed on a dark corner. not looking at anything in particular. just grounding yourself. and then your voice breaks the quiet.

“i can be loud.”

he pauses. then laughs a little, and you feel his chest rise under your cheek. “really?”

you hum again. “mhm.”

the next second comes as a surprise — his hand gripping your hair suddenly, fingers threading through the strands and tugging just enough to make you gasp. your head’s pulled up, gently but firm, so you’re looking right at him.

his eyes are darker now. and oh you fucking love it.

you love how easily he shifts from soft to rough. how he looks at you like he owns you. how your stomach flips at just the change in his tone. the power in it.

your lips part slightly, a soft moan escaping before you can hold it back. you don’t even blink. you just look at him. your eyes hazy.

he bites his bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth, eyes flickering over your expression. “what? you like this?”

you hum again. it’s all you can manage.

his grip tightens, just enough to make you whimper. not painful. but enough to remind you who's in control. his voice is lower this time. firmer. “use your words, doll.”

your heart races. you want to kiss him so badly your lips practically itch.

but you speak first.

“i love it, mr. jeon”

he exhales sharply through his nose, almost a scoff, but amused. definitely turned on.

“yeah?” he murmurs, already leaning in.

you nod. and his grip loosens. his hand trails down, cupping your jaw instead as he leans forward, lips brushing against yours.

and then he kisses you.

soft. slow.

his mouth moves over yours with the kind of ease that makes you feel dizzy, like you’ve kissed him a hundred times before. you sigh into it, pressing closer, lips parting slightly as his hand slides to the back of your neck, holding you in place. you moan just a little, not even meaning to; it just slips out, the warmth of his mouth too good to resist.

his tongue doesn’t push in right away. he just kisses you. sweet and languid, like he has all the time in the world. like this moment is meant to stretch on forever.

and when you pull away, your palm flattens against his chest. you feel his heart is beating hard beneath it. just like yours.

you don’t look at him right away. your eyes are on the curve of his shoulder. your voice is soft when you ask,

“does this mean we can never see each other again?”

he looks at you.

then he says, “no.” almost too casually, like you didn’t just ask something loaded. “why do you think that?”

you blink, eyebrows raising slightly. your palm’s still on his chest, but your fingers curl a little, pressing into his skin. “i mean… we just fucked,” you say, half-laughing under your breath, even though your voice is tight. “isn’t that, like, a major babysitter deal-breaker?”

he snorts. actually snorts. and you almost want to smack his arm.

“just act like we didn’t fuck,” he says, like it’s simple. like you didn’t just sleep with a man who is married and has kids you take care of.

is he being for real right now?

“we don’t see each other much anyway. i’m always at work, remember? barely have time to breathe.”

you raise an eyebrow. “but you had time today.”

he shrugs, shifting a little beneath you, head sinking further into the pillow. “i finished a bunch of stuff early. got lucky.”

you try not to think about how it’s you he got lucky with.

your fingers stop moving against his skin, and for a second, you just stare at him. he looks so relaxed. one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lightly on your side now.

and then you ask, softly, “what about ms. xinyi?”

he blinks, like he forgot she existed for a moment, and then he sighs.

“what about her?”

“what if she suspects something?” your voice is quiet. a little strained. because the weight of reality is creeping back in, and you don’t know how to carry it.

he sighs again. not annoyed — more like, he expected this.

his hand lifts to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips. “don’t give her a reason to.”

you look at him, wide-eyed.

“just be you,” he says simply, like that’s all it takes. like you can just forget the way he kissed you like you belonged to him. like you weren’t crossing a thousand lines just by lying in this bed, with him.

your chest tightens.

you nod, but inside, panic floods you like a wave.

what if you mess up?

what if she sees it in your eyes?

he notices the shift in your expression and before you can spiral further, he pulls you back in.

his lips find yours again, slow and deep, and you melt into him just like that. your hand slides up to his shoulder, and your body leans in because he’s the only thing that makes sense right now.

when he pulls back, his breath brushes your lips.

“i need you to know this , doll,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours,

“you’re mine.”

[mocharacha]

-Sharks in The Shallow End-

💕: Bang Chan [Dad!Bangchan ] x Reader[ Mom!Reader]

✍️Synopsis: Parenting is Teamwork. Especially when Y/N and Chan juggle family life and upcoming birthday party preparations for their energetic toddler, as they balance work, parenting, and their relationship, they find joy in the simple, everyday moments that make their little family special.

🔢Wordcount: 3,8k

📖Genre: Marriage AU, Family AU, Domestic Fluff, mildly suggestive ❗Warnings: The romantic/sexual innuendos are mild and non-explicit. food mentions, parenthood/parenting themes/ mentions of family planning and pregnancy, Chan calls the reader "sweetheart", reader is called "eomma" by the kid, mentions of sharks

☕A/n:  This started with imagining Bang Chan holding a toddler while also holding a grocery bag, biceps, and forearms…. Can you blame me?

Reader is an Event Manager (who recently started working part-time again) and a former idol! Chan (now music producer for the new Generation of Idols), their son, Dae-min is a toddler and likes sharks.

-[Masterlist]-

The distant squeak of the semi-broken shopping cartwheel told you that Chan and Dae-min weren’t far off, that and the race car noises, your toddler omitted from their lips, while your husband pushed the cart through the aisles of the grocery store. 

You glanced up from the instructions of the vanilla butter crème mix, checking the ingredients you needed to add, and decided to add it to your shopping. Just in case, a backup if your homemade recipe didn’t work in the early August heat.

It was Sunday, barely past noon and since your husband was home and not stuck in the studio producing the newest hit for the recently debuted girl group, you decided to use his muscle strength to get the monthly groceries done early before you got busy during the week to prep for your little boy’s big day next weekend.

The bouncy castle would arrive the day before, and the grandparents were flying in the same day to help with preparations. You need to check on the guest rooms and possibly call the pool guy to confirm the water quality by Wednesday, and also deep clean the second freezer.

Party planning had been your livelihood before you had Dae-min, and what use would that be if not for your son’s birthday party?

“Sweetheart,” your husband’s voice got you out of your planning reverie, overthinking, he calls it. He had momentarily stopped turning the grocery store into the Formula 1 Grand Prix and looked at the Items in your hands, “Are we almost done? It’s his nap time soon, and we have yet to have lunch…”

“Right,” you said dropping the Items in the carts and ran a hand over Dae-min messy curls he got from his father, “we don’t have any freezer items that could go bad…so I was thinking we could get some of that rotisserie chicken from the shop outside …and Dae can start his nap in the car on our way back…”

Chan's eyebrow rose for a moment. “Rotisserie chicken?”

“Yeah, hadn’t had that for a long time…”

His lips tugged into a sheepish smile, amused, “Sounds good, babe.”

A few moments after paying, your little family settled into a cozy booth nestled in the corner of the food court. Now that he had won the Grocery Aisle Grand Prix, the almost three-year-old suddenly discovered another urgent sensation: hunger. And once that realization struck, there was no stopping him.

Dae-min, once he spotted the chicken rotating, kept yelling, “Uncle Bboki, Uncle Bboki” flailing his limbs around with wild enthusiasm, conducting a chaos orchestra….

” Uncle Bboki, Uncle Bboki!” 

Uncle Seungmin probably had taught him that…

As you reached for Dae-min’s toddler legs, which were bicycle-pedaling now, as he still kicked to join his father, to fit into the horrendously impractical kids' seat. 

Whoever designed them didn’t think that kids thought sitting down to eat was the worst thing on earth.

Chan got your guy’s order, of chicken, drinks, fries, and…coleslaw, you didn’t remember telling him that you wanted some…but he somehow knew you’d like.

Dae-min’s excited eyes glowed when he saw the spread, ignoring the chicken for the fries his appa was cutting into smaller pieces for him, holding out his arms, pudgy hands opening and closing in rapid motions that matched his kicking feet, “Gimme Gimme Gimme”

“Bahng Dae-min, how do we ask appa nicely?”

“Appaaaaa” Dae said, lengthening the last syllable sweetly and using a combination of his boba eyes and dimples, “may I please have Flies!”

Chan chuckled at his mispronunciation.

“Yes, Baby, you may have Flies.” he mirrored his inflection and added, “I’ll give them to you once they are cool enough so you can eat them.”

You use the time to get on your phone to put some things from your mental checklist into your notes app. There was still so much to do and organize before Dae-min’s first day, and in addition, you had to coordinate something for an upcoming wedding of a client until Thursday, too.

Getting back to work as an event manager after having an active child that kept up most of your brain’s capacity captive…that and the heat of summer was making the cogs in your brain turn even slower.

A cool touch to your cheek made you come back into reality, and you saw Chan holding a cold drink to your face

“She’s back again…” he smiled, and put the drink in front of you, with a small command, “hydrate…” Before pulling off part of his chicken for Dae-min, “Y/n I don’t want you stressing so much, darling…. Remember, it’s going to be fine…we outsourced a lot of the side dishes to our friends…my parents are going to help with the prep… Dad’s even said he’s gonna prep the barbecue…you know that he doesn’t let anyone else go near his meat prep.”

“Yes…I know“ you said starting to eat from your chicken, dang this tasted good, “But it’s Dae-mins’s first birthday, he’ll actually remember.”

“Yes…” Chan added and pushed the coleslaw towards you, “but I also want you to enjoy the day…and not crash, after our guests left on the sofa like last year….”

He sighed, “I’m helping you this year…remember that…we all are….. Hyunjin and Jisung even volunteered to do the Balloon Arch.

“They are gonna fight like they are their pre-debut selves again.”

“They are adults…they can handle arguments now.”

“Well… They’re gonna cry…..just warning you…”

“I’m used to dealing with crying…. Aren’t I buddy?” he glanced at his son, who looked up, clearly not having a clue about the conversation they had just had, but nodded, beaming because it was his dad he was looking at. 

“Yes, appa…. May I have Uncle Bboki?” he gestured to the chicken.

Chan laughed, “We really have to stop letting Seungmin teach him those things when he babysits.”

As predicted, his belly full, Dae-min fell asleep just as he was buckled into his car seat, despite his protest that he wasn't tired at all, another thing he got from his dad. Chan showed you the demo of the newest song he was working  on the way back, wanting your opinion on the matter.  You left the AC in the car running while bringing in the grocery bags with Chan, the heat outside making you start to sweat.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you go inside and start putting things away while I get the last bags and Dae…..get inside you look like you’re melting…”, he said and tapped your behind for good measure, “I got this…”

While putting away the groceries, your mind drifted back to lunch, the taste of the chicken still lingering in your mouth, making you want more; maybe you should go back there tomorrow.

“Say babe…” You said when you heard the shuffle of Chan getting back into the house, “We used to have this chicken a lot a while ago….why did we stop having it again?”

You lifted your head and watched as your husband came into the room, Dae-min nestled against his neck on one arm, while he patted your son’s back. In his other hand, he carried grocery bags, carefully balancing as he moved.

His Muscles? ….bursting

Him?…..subtle flexing

The veins in his forearms?….popping.

Your brain?..... rotting

He caught your gaze, and the corners of his lips twitched into a smile. “Care to help me out so I don’t drop our son?”

“Y-you’d never do that anyway,” you murmured, but took the bags from his hand so he had it easier to carry Dae.

“Never,” he said sincerely but softly, shifting so Dae drooled on his shirt and not into his neck, “I’ll be right back…” He said, and then went to put his son down in his room.

Halfway through the groceries, you decided to fix a refreshment and put pineapple and watermelon into the mixer to get some juice.

The buzz of your phone, a confirmation about the delivery and setup of the bouncy castle, and the people around you made you go into planning mode again. You still had to get the party favors for the few kids that would be there from Dae-min's playgroup, and had to make sure that the members of Stray Kids also got some shark-shaped water guns Dae-min carefully selected to be part of the favors.

A gentle hand on your lower back called you back to reality, “Daydreaming again, my sweet?”

Chan was back and set the baby monitor on the kitchen counter.

“Yeah, sorry, I think this weather is doing something to my head…” You said and offered him a glass of freshly made juice.

“Yeah, you looked kind of thirsty…” he smirked and sipped. “This is nice…especially after the food…” He glanced over the shopping, half of it already put away, “Let’s get this done…”

It was a comfortable quiet with the two of you putting away the chaos, tag teaming in silence, only occasionally disrupted by the sipping of juice.  You caught his glances, watching you with a careful interest, probably trying to catch you in the moment of daydreaming again.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, pushing back the hair that fell into his face.

“Lunch,” you said honestly, “The chicken was so delicious.”

Chan laughed, “Dae said the same thing when I tucked him into bed….glad we don’t need a DNA test to prove he is yours.”

“Good since he is a mini-you…” You murmured, “Ditto-copy dimples and all...”

His eyes softened when he looked at your son in the image displayed on the baby monitor. Dae turned in his sleep to hug his Sharkplushie, which he recently got.

“He was pumped to go swimming in the pool with you,” you murmured, wrapping an arm around Chan’s waist, digging your nose into his back, “So better be ready to hop in after his nap….

He turned around, arms embracing you, “Aren’t you gonna join us?”

 “You and I know that we bought this house with a pool for you and you only…. I might dip my feet in, but you and your son are part aquatic animals after all….”

“Sharks…” Chan smiled, dimples showing, “Daeminnie insists.”

“Right… Sharks”

A  while later…

You sat on the little piece of carpet right by the coffee table in the living room, laptop between your legs, hair up in a bun, and some files scattered around you like petals in spring. Your work phone, regularly buzzing with updates, and next to your private one, receiving messages now and then from people who ask if they could help you out in any way.

Naa you were good, AC in the house plus sitting to proximity to the cooling tiles….a drink…you were fine, this was fine. The tapping of little (and big)  feet let you know that your son and husband were making their way over to you, and you glanced up to look at Dae, in his post nap glory, dressed and ready for his pool afternoon with his appa. Behind him, in hot pursuit, Chan, swimming trunks on, as per usual, was allergic to any type of shirt in the vicinity of the house. 

Not that you minded. 

You ogled.

God forbid, a girl had hobbies.

“Dae-min-ah,” Chan said, struggling to get the clasp on Dae-mins swim vest to open, “Come here so I can put this on you buddy…”

“Nooo…I can swims…harabeoji taught me,” the toddler insisted. Fair, having your swimming coach grandfather teach you since he was small was a bonus.

“It's not about ability, Daeminnie …but about safety.”

“But its…its…” Dae stopped his little mind trying to find the words to formulate the issues he was having with the garment, lips pouty, and you saw that he was struggling to find the words in both Korean and English. 

“Deep breaths, Sarang,” you gently encouraged him…” What's wrong with the vest?”

“It does this…” Dae-min said, his thumb and pointer finger moving towards each other like a crab’s claws would. “Here!” he added, pointing below his armpit and neck.

“Oh, it pinches you,” you said and took the jacket from Chan’s hands, overseeing the straps, then held it out in front of Dae. “Yeah…this might be a little tight….I think you grew again….”

“With the amount he eats,” Chan kneeled to observe the size issue with you, “You are growing so quickly you might stop being fun sized buddy…”

“Snack time is important,” Dae-min defended himself, kicking his feet, “Can I go into the pool now?”

“Not yet, Buddy…” Chan looked at you,“ I think it's time….. I know the surprise was for his birthday but… I’d rather buy him something else next week than have a toddler that's too hyper to go to bed tonight because he didn't get his energy out during his swimming time….we have plans tonight…”

You sighed, ignoring the blush caused by Chan uttering the last sentence in a very Christopher way, “Yeah, we might as well…. I just have to remember where I hid it….”

You tried to remember where you had hidden Dae-min's birthday presents from the curious toddlers' hands…there were several places in the house, but your mind wouldn't let you access the memory storage.

“It’s either in the sock drawer in our closet….or behind the pasta….” Chan helped. “That’s where you last stored the Christmas presents….”

“Right….it's in the sock drawer… Keep him occupied and happy.” You snapped your finger and moved to retrieve the item. 

Chan saluted. 

When you returned a few minutes later, your husband and son were breaking it down to the sound of Baby Shark, the cursed song that has been on a loop in this house ever since Dae-min was small. No wonder he loved Sharks so much.

“Look Dae-min-ah,” you said, holding out the vivid blue swim fin swimming aid, “This can help you stay afloat in the pool and looks…

“Awesome!” Dae-min yelled out, beaming, “I can be a real shark now!  Hunt appa!”

“Right…but remember no biting…” you chuckled and moved to put it on him, “This will be a little different from the vest Sarang….so you need to get a feel for it in the water….its usually for big kids but appa and I know that you can swim well and would tell us if you get tired or feel weird right.” “Safety first,” Dae-min parroted the phrase he had heard lots of times, but the wiggling of his toenails told you how excited he was.

“Remember, appa will keep you safe,” you said, adjusting the strap of the swimming aid.

“Always,” Chan added, ruffling Dae-min's hair…” Now sun protection….I’ll get you while eomma gets appa’s back…what about it?”

“You could just wear a UV shirt, you know…” You sighed but reached for the sunscreen nonetheless.

The joyful screams and splashing distracted you from your work, so you eventually succumbed and closed the laptop, put away the work phone, and came out to sit in one of the lounge chairs after fixing a snack for your boys.

When you got out, you were balancing a tray with an assortment of snacks. 

Dae-min was in hot, sharky pursuit of his father, paddling through the pool with fierce determination. As soon as he reached him, Chan scooped the boy up and, with a grin, tossed him gently a few feet away, back into the water. Dae-min landed with a splash, erupting in gleeful giggles.

 “Oh no, you almost got me…” Chan cried in mock horror. “These shark-infested waters are terrible!”

“Would the sharks mind a little refreshment?” you asked, hands on your hips and dipping your foot into the water. “I got blueberries, watermelon, and goldfish crackers.”

“Shark-min likes goldfish,” your son exclaimed, and paddled himself to the shallow end of the pool to the edge and lifted his arms,  “eomma….uppies?”

You grabbed a big towel before kneeling and lifting him out of the water, embracing him in Turkish cotton.

“Did you have fun?”

He giggled, pressing a kiss onto your cheek, curly hair dripping with pool water as he shook his head like a dog, trying to get dry, “Lots …appa didn’t have a chance, I am too fast…”

He made race car noises again, gesturing wildly.

“Your appa is getting old,” you nodded, carrying Dae-min over to the lounge chairs, and sat down to pat him dry.

“Betrayal by my own wife and son,” Chan said, getting out of the water, the UV tank he somehow bothered to put on, clinging to his body.  When he caught your gaze, he smirked, and did it even more slowly, and you realized that it had been for this exact moment he put it on in the first place.

“How did he do?” you said after Dae was busy devouring his snacks, and you made sure Chan got the wrap you plated for him. “With the new aid and all”

“At first, it was a little strange for him to move…. This gives him a lot more freedom to move than the vest, but he’s a tough guy and tried it out, and it worked. Usually, kids older than him have trouble swimming with that…. He’s a great kiddo…but I am biased.”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. It was getting long again.

Yeah, you are biased too…

Later, after some snacking, rest, and reapplying sunscreen, the boys returned to their aquatic habitat while you watched from the safety of your lounge chair. Eventually, you went inside to start preparing dinner while Chan and Dae rinsed off by the pool. After dinner, you tucked Dae into bed for the night.

His eyes were fighting to stay awake, arms tight around the shark plushie.

“Eomma….may we have Uncle Bbokki again when I wake up…and play sharks with appa?” he murmured, squishing the plushie to his chest, “and cuddles with eomma…. Sharks are cool…”

He kept babbling until his breaths slowed into that familiar rhythm that told you he was fast asleep for the night.

Baby monitor in tow, you made your way back to the kitchen, where Chan was cleaning up the dishes from dinner. He looked up from the plate he was putting away.

“That was quick…he usually takes longer.”

“Baby Shark was exhausted,” you said with a yawn, and stretched, “He kept babbling on how much fun today was…”

“Yeah, he does that,” Chan chuckled, “His tired babbles are the best…only second to yours.”

“I don’t babble when I’m tired…”

“Sure Y/n…”

You rolled your eyes, glancing around the kitchen, “Damn…you’re all done…”

“What can I say… I am efficient…” he reached out to pull you close by your belt loops, “I see someone else being very tired…”

“It’s the weather….” You yawned against your will. It was hot, and the fatigue made you want to just crawl into bed…. Maybe you should do afternoon naps too…Dae seems to like it.  That sounded like a good plan for tomorrow. Work from home, getting some rotisserie chicken again, then napping…

Chan’s eyes observed you carefully, “Are you thinking about chicken again?”

Your eyes widened, caught  “Yeah…Dae wants a do-over of today…chicken and pool.”

“Sounds good…” your husband chuckled and nuzzled your neck,  “But now I want attention and cuddles from my wife…you keep being distracted and not paying attention to me.”

“Gosh, you are so much like Dae-min…same pout…”

“Meanie….” he murmured against your neck, “And no, he might look like me, but he is like you…. Proof one...you both are obsessed with rotisserie chicken. Proof two, I’m obsessed with both of you…Proof three….you both snort the same way when you laugh.””

“Now you’re the one being mean,” you said, wiggling out of his grasp, giggling, and snorting when his tight hold proved true.

“See…and now I need your attention,” Chan moved swiftly to pick you up to carry you to your bedroom. “I was thinking since we have a visual mini me…how about a mini you next…”

“I just started to get back working again,” you laughed, squeezing his arm.

“Boo, work is bad for your health…quit…” he complained, finally setting you down on your bed and stepped a bit away.

“Says the workaholic,” you reached for him, your hands opening and closing in rapid motions, …then paused because Chan was looking at you. Again, curious and calculating. 

“Say…sweetheart….you asked me earlier today…why we didn’t have rotisserie chicken for the longest time…” 

“Yes….it really was a long time ago we had it…and at the time pretty frequently….when was it…” 

The energy shifting into something uncertain made you nervous, causing you to fold your hands in your lap. 

“You’re a smart girl…try to remember…”

You tried to fight through the discombobulated swirl of thoughts. It had been a while… and that particular rotisserie chicken? You’d only had it when Dae was tiny… wait, no…. Dae hadn’t been born, actually…not yet.

Oh.

“This was a craving I had when I was… pregnant with Dae…” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, rubbing the soft fabric of the duvet, “I craved it quite often actually and suddenly didn’t anymore when he was born….”

Your hand paused mid-motion, eyes widening as the realization hit. 

You slowly lifted your head to face him.

Chan had dropped to a casual kneel in front of you, arms resting loosely on his knees, eyes studying your face. A knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he gave a single, slow nod, “Yeah…”

“You think?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, uncertain and breathless.

He pushed off the ground and sat beside you, his expression softening as he put an arm around you, grounding you against his warmth, “I’m assuming... the fatigue, the distractedness,” he said gently, rubbing your shoulder. “Could be a coincidence...but we should make sure.”

Your pulse quickened. You stepped back with a nervous laugh, your hand going instinctively to your belly, “I’m gonna check in the morning… I think I still have a test!”

Excitement tangled with a thread of fear, and a swirl of nervous energy bubbled up in your stomach.

“We just got out of the diaper changing age….Dae finally sleeps through the night…. Are we ready to do it all over again?

“With you and me...we’ve got this,” he said softly. “Us against the tantrums and the chaos and...whatever else comes with it. We’ve had plenty of practice in that department.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling with quiet hope, and added, “I’m secretly hoping for a girl next…”

A sudden doubt clouded your mind, “What if it's just a coincidence? What if I am not…”

Chan’s lips curved into a sly smile as he leaned in closer to kiss you behind your ear. “Then we’ll just try… we’ve had plenty of practice in that department too...”

You snorted, he laughed, and pulled your head into his lap.

“One way or another, “Chan mumbled, stroking your hair. “We got this….”

The quiet stretching around you, air filled with future possibilities. More little feet running, grocery aisle Grand Prix, plushies, giggles, lullabies, and dance moves to nursery rhymes.

Chan let out a happy sigh. “Sounds like our shark tank might have a new little fish soon.” 

And you were excited about it.

-[ Reblogs, comments and/or keyboard smashes are appreciated]-

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.4k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: eek series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

i mean, im not that surprised he’s sexy as hell

that’s actually crazy

imagine hiding your son for five years 😶😶 how can you be ashamed of that

doesn’t he literally have a girlfriend?? himari nakamura??

        ↳ yep for almost two years now

       ↳ wonder how she’s holding up i’d be pissed, unless she knew 

rich people are always shady as fuck

You don’t even know how many comments you’ve read. Staying up practically the entire night, busying yourself with the endless scrolling of people who have not a single clue of how your life actually is. Meddling in your business and acting like the shit they’re spouting on the internet is okay. 

They ranged from positive (sort of) to extremely personal and negative. 

i bet she just did it for the child support 

i wonder if he’s actually the dad, women like that lie and lie just cuz the dad is rich as fuck

i feel so bad for that boy

Bad? Why would they feel bad for him? You’ve given everything you can and then some to ensure Koji’s safety and innocence. You’ve never put him in harm’s way, difficult situations, hit him, nothing. Of course you’ve raised your voice, but every parent does. Why are these reasons suddenly acting like they know a fucking thing or two? This is insane. 

The only positive ones you see are praising your son for how cute he is, how much he looks like Satoru, and how he’ll probably get everything he wants. That’s not true, you’re not going to spoil your kid and you’re sure as hell not letting Satoru do it either; he’s humble, that’s how you want him to be. Still, you do feel uneasy at strangers on the internet for talking about your baby like this, in reference to a photo none of you knew was taken. 

And you still don’t know who took it. 

That’s what infuriates you the most. Because who in their right mind would do that? Who thinks they’re that fucking entitled to chime in on your personal business—your family. 

When you find them, you swear on everything you’re punching them. 

Your head hangs low, the hood of your sweatshirt pulled tight, shielding your face as you step into the café. You keep your gaze down, avoiding the eyes of the baristas and patrons scattered around. The familiar hum of the espresso machine feels deafening today.

Maybe no one will notice. Maybe no one cares.

But you know better.

That damn image, plastered across every TV screen and newsfeed yesterday, is still burned into your mind. Why do people even care this much? You’re beyond pissed off. Who in their right mind thinks they have the right to invade your personal life like that? To turn your family into fodder for the public?

Maybe no one will say anything. Who even watched the news anyway? 

More people than you think, actually. You keep moving, but Hana has other plans.

“Y/N!” Her voice cuts through the noise like a whip, and before you can react, she grabs your forearm, dragging you into the storage room in the back.

“Hey, what the—” you start to protest, wincing as her grip tightens, but she doesn’t care. She whirls around to face you, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief.

“What the hell is going on?!” she demands, gesturing wildly with her hands. “You were on the news yesterday!”

Your stomach churns at the reminder, and your jaw clenches tightly. You pull your hood down, resigning yourself to the conversation you were hoping to avoid. “I know that already,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest.

“Koji’s father is multi-billionaire Satoru Gojo?!” Her voice rises in pitch, and she looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “Is that for real? You’ve been hiding this?!”

You take a deep breath, counting to three in your head. “Yes, Hana. It’s real. Koji’s father is Satoru Gojo. Can we not do this right now?”

But Hana doesn’t back down, her wide eyes searching your face for answers. “Are you kidding me? Of course we’re doing this right now! You’ve been sitting on this—” she throws her hands up, “—while the rest of us thought you were just, like, a regular single mom? What the hell, Y/N?”

“Because it’s none of anyone’s business!” you hiss, your voice rising then lowering, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “Do you think I wanted this to come out? Do you think I wanted his world to invade mine?”

Hana softens slightly, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Okay, fair. But you should’ve told me, at least. I mean, I’m your friend.”

“I didn’t tell anyone for a reason and I don’t owe anyone anything,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. “And now it’s everywhere. Do you know how terrifying that is? For me? For Koji?”

Hana sighs, leaning back against the wall. “Okay, okay. I get it. This whole thing’s a mess. But what are you going to do now? I mean, the story’s out. People are gonna talk, Y/N. A lot. Especially if it involves a man like him.”

You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling heavily on your shoulders. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly, your voice trembling. “I just want to protect my son.”

Hana nods, her expression softening further. “We’ll figure it out. But you’re gonna need a plan. And.”

“Hana, I—“ you’re really trying not to snap at her, really. But she’s pushing every button you have right now and your patience is running extremely low. Don’t snap, she’s just worried.  “I know what to do, thank you. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t meddle in my business too. We’re friends, yes, but understand right now that I’m going through a lot of shit and don’t need to be told what to do and when to do it. So get off my back.”

Hana blinks, a little caught off guard by your sudden announcement. Her mouth slightly agape, clearly not having expected your outburst. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, her expression shifting between hurt and something close to understanding. She straightens, her arms falling from where they’d been crossed over her chest. “Y/N, I wasn’t trying to—” she begins, her voice softer now, but you cut her off.

“I know,” you say, your voice quieter but still firm. “I know you’re trying to help, Hana. And I’m grateful, I am. But right now, I need to handle this on my own. I need space. Can you give me that?”

She nods slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Okay,” she says after a moment. “I get it. I’ll back off. Just—if you need anything, anything at all, I’m here. You know that, right?”

You exhale, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. “Yeah. I know.”

Hana offers you a small, tentative smile before stepping aside, giving you the room you so desperately need. As she moves to leave, she hesitates at the curtains, glancing back at you. “For what it’s worth, Y/N…I think you’re handling this a lot better than you think you are.”

You don’t respond, just nod in acknowledgment, and she disappears back into the front of the café. Alone in the small back room, you lean against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment to gather your thoughts.

Better than I think, huh? You shake your head, rubbing at your temples. It doesn’t feel that way. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said this probably won’t be that bad; not a big deal. But hell, it was huge. You hate unnecessary attention, especially attention from hundreds, if not thousands of random strangers. You’re recalling the incident from earlier when you dropped Koji off at school. Mr. Ito stopping you once more and confessing his surprise to you. In his words, “I didn’t know Koji had such an…esteemed father.”

You held back a slew of insults, keeping it classy, as always. But as the days go on and the more shit that seems to be happening to you, you’re getting this close to breaking that. It’s the way he, everyone else, and even Hana seems so…shocked. The lingering glances from other parents at drop-off, the whispers in the hallways. It’s the way their surprise feels so…palpable. You get it, in a way. Satoru Gojo is larger than life—powerful, wealthy, and untouchable in a way most people only dream of. But still, the shock in their eyes stings more than it should. Did they think you weren’t of caliber to bag a man like Satoru? Did they think a man like that wouldn’t even dream of having a child with a woman like you? It feels a tad bit insulting. Actually, scratch that—it feels like a slap in the face.

The implications gnaw at you, poking at insecurities you’d rather not acknowledge. This is exactly why you hate social media. You’re already growing too conscious of the comments people are making—caring too much and it was just revealed. And the worst part? You can’t even fully blame them. Satoru’s world is one you’ve never truly belonged to. You’re not the glossy, magazine-cover type, and you don’t have the pedigree or connections his circle would expect. But that doesn’t mean you’re less than, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean Koji is any less precious because of it.

 You sigh, rubbing at your temples. If only these people could see you for who you truly are—if they could see the strength it takes to raise a child on your own, to hold your head high even when the world tries to tear you down. But no, all they see is the scandal and the drama, their curiosity morphing into judgment. Sure, you made mistakes—big and bad ones. But you’re doing all this in order to make up for those mistakes. And sure, Satoru doesn’t 100% forgive you—you’re not sure he ever will—but you don’t think he would agree with these kinds of comments being made. Right? 

You huff. Let them talk, you think bitterly, though the tightness in your chest betrays the confidence you’re trying to muster. Let them all talk, they know nothing. 

The minutes feel like hours. Unsure of how long you’ve exactly been here. Equally nervous about looking at your phone to check.

“Oh my god, look. It’s her.”

“Shhh! She’ll hear you.”

“I wonder if she’ll give us pointers.”

“You’re insane.”

The conversation doesn’t fly over your head. t’s like they want you to hear, voices loud enough to penetrate the usual clatter of the café. You swear, they’re practically aiming their words right at you. Your grip tightens around the rag in your hand, knuckles going white as you scrub the already spotless table. The motion is a little too aggressive, the poor table bearing the brunt of your simmering frustration. Your jaw clenches, brows knitting together as you try—desperately—to keep your temper in check. Jaw clenching and brows knitting together, you’re counting down to ten and back.

One…two…three… you recite in your head, attempting to steady your breath. It’s an old habit—one you learned a while back from you’re therapist, one you’ve relied on in situations like this, but today it feels like it’s barely working. Four…five…six.

You glance up, just for a second, and immediately regret it. The group of girls sits near the window, leaning into each other as they giggle, their eyes darting your way. They’re not even trying to hide it anymore. One of them, a blonde with an annoyingly perfect smile, nudges her friend and whispers something, sending the others into another fit of laughter. Your fingers flex around the rag, itching to throw it across the room. Breathe, you remind yourself. Just breathe. They’re not worth it. But it’s hard to ignore the knot tightening in your chest, the sting of humiliation creeping in despite your best efforts. Because you know exactly what they’re laughing about, what they’re whispering about. It’s not just idle curiosity—it’s judgment, plain and simple. And maybe, just maybe, if this were any other day, you’d let it roll off your back. But today? After everything that’s happened? After seeing your son’s face plastered on screens and hearing people dissect your life like it’s a soap opera? You toss the rag onto the table, standing up straighter as you look their way. They immediately quiet down, eyes widening like they’ve been caught red-handed.

“Can I help you?” you ask, voice calm but carrying just enough edge to make them squirm.

The blonde fidgets, her confidence faltering under your gaze. “Oh, um, no, we were just…”

“Enjoying your coffee?” you finish for her, forcing a tight smile. “Good. Let me know if you need anything else.” Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk behind the counter, the satisfaction of their stunned silence doing little to ease the weight in your chest. Nine…ten… You exhale slowly, trying to let it go, but the anger simmers just beneath the surface.

It’s going to be a long day.

—-

The walk back home with Koji feels like you never want to use your senses again. It feels like a marathon you never signed up for, every step heavier than the last. The pounding in your head has escalated into a full-blown migraine, the sharp pain clawing at the edges of your skull. You clench your teeth, trying to hold it together, willing the tears pricking at your eyes to stay put. Koji chatters beside you, his small hand in yours, his voice a muffled hum against the overwhelming throb in your head.

 So much has changed within just the span of a week and none of it feels good. You like change, but not like this. Not the kind of change that’s so spontaneous and out of nowhere that it makes you dread the littlest things. The kind of change where you feel like every way you turn, it’s a dead end. Every thought spiraling into another reminder of how much you’ve lost control, or of how much you never had it to begin with. The kind of change that you never fucking asked for in the first place. The kind of change where you feel like a ticking timebomb. A simple walk home feels like an obstacle course. The sound of Koji’s innocent laughter, once a balm to your soul, now feels like a weight pressing down on you, a reminder of how fragile your balance is.

This change doesn’t come with warnings or instructions. It doesn’t let you adjust, and doesn’t give you the chance to prepare. It just dumps its baggage on your doorstep and forces you to deal with it, whether you’re ready or not. And right now, you’re not.

The last thing you want to do is blow up on someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially your son. You glance down at him, his bright eyes scanning the world around him with that endless curiosity only a child can have. His tiny fingers grip yours with a trust that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand the storm brewing inside you. And he shouldn’t have to.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Koji’s voice is soft, his head tilted as he looks up at you with concern.

You force a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” you manage, squeezing his hand gently. “Just tired.” He nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and resumes his animated recount of the day’s events. You let him talk, his voice a small distraction from the noise in your head. One step at a time, you tell yourself. One breath at a time. For him, if not for yourself.

You wonder to yourself how many more times you can continue repeating that phrase to yourself, like a broken record spinning endlessly in your mind. Shouldn’t you be allowed to do some things on your own? Something that isn’t tied to the constant grind of making sure Koji has everything he needs, of shielding him from a world that feels more hostile every day? Everything you do is for him—every decision, every sacrifice, every moment of biting your tongue when you want to scream. It’s all for him. 

But what about you?

The thought is bitter, curling in your chest like smoke. It feels selfish even to entertain it, but the exhaustion is suffocating. How long has it been since you’ve done something just because you wanted to? Since you’ve allowed yourself the luxury of thinking about what you need, instead of what everyone else expects of you? Is it selfish? Is this not how a good mother thinks?

The doubt gnaws at you, persistent and sharp. 

Not like you’d know the answer to that question. Your mother—a woman you rarely ever want to think about—never gave you the guidance for situations like this. You have no inspiration, nothing. You’re doing everything free-handed. She didn’t leave you with blueprints for moments like these, no voice in your head to tell you what’s right, what’s wrong, or even what’s okay. She was a void, an absence, and that absence shaped you more than you’d like to admit.

And now here you are, trying to be everything for your son that she wasn’t for you. But it feels like you’re fumbling in the dark, building something fragile with trembling hands. There’s no instruction manual for this, no map to follow. You’re doing everything on the first try, improvising as you go. Every decision feels like a gamble. Did you do enough today? Did you do too much? Did you make the right call, or are you setting him up for something you can’t even see coming? The uncertainty is exhausting.

You glance at Koji, his small hand still tucked safely in yours, his voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts. He’s so blissfully unaware of the turmoil raging inside you, and that’s how it should be. He deserves that innocence, that security. But the weight of always being the strong one, the reliable one, is starting to crush you. How much longer can I keep this up? The question whispers in your mind, and you hate it. You hate that you’re even asking it, hate that it makes you feel weak. But the truth is, you’re tired.

And you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that you’re not.

You focus on Koji again, his small frame silhouetted against the afternoon light of the day. He trusts you implicitly, and looks at you like you’re the answer to everything. And the weight of that trust makes you want to cry and scream in equal measure. How can I possibly live up to that?

They never said motherhood was easy. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. Maybe this is what being a mother really is—second-guessing everything, carrying the weight of your own past, and still showing up every day, trying your best. 

You don’t know if that’s enough. But it’s all you have.

It seems like you’re in for a surprise every second of the day.

Satoru, much to your own dismay and confusion, is perched against your apartment door; waiting for you again. Like a magnet, Koji runs into his lower half, hugging his father with all the strength his five-year-old body will allow. 

“Hey, little man. I’m happy to see you.” Satoru smiles wholeheartedly, patting Koji’s back with gentle ease.

“Hi, Papa! I missed you.” His voice is muffled by Satoru’s clothing.

The older man laughs, relishing in the moment for another second, before opening his light azures. His eyes look like they’re darting all around you, as if making sure you’re okay. Standing up, he shuffles his hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you mutter, walking up closer. Arms crossing. 

He nods. “I know, I–I should’ve told you. But this was urgent and I knew you were busy at work.”

A hum is all you offer, unlocking your apartment door and stepping in. The semi-warmth envelops you like a worn blanket. Finally, in the comfort of my own home. Even if it is just for a little bit before you’re off again. 

“Call off his babysitter.”

You look back, watching him close your door and lock it. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m here.”

Koji runs off to his room, presumably to play with his toy collection. Leaving the two adults alone. Biting your lip, attempting to come up with something to say—or what to say first. Luckily, he beats you to it. “I want you two to spend the night at mine, don’t go to work. I’ll pay you whatever you miss out on. I know you saw the leak and I’m working on figuring out who the hell did it. But until then, I’m a little concerned for your guys’ safety, so stay at mine until we figure things out long-term.”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the resolute earnestness in his voice. The Satoru you know isn’t usually this serious, this concerned. It’s disarming—attractive, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “This is my home, Satoru,” you finally say, your voice quiet but firm. “I can’t just up and leave because of a leak. And I can’t run every time something like this happens. That’s not a long-term solution either.”

“I get that,” he says, stepping closer. “But this isn’t just about you. It’s about Koji. Someone took that photo, and I don’t know who, or how, or what their intentions are. Until I do, I can’t take chances.”

“And I get that, but I can’t just—sleep at your place.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s just…weird.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” he exhales out. “You think something’ll happen? It won’t. I'm doing this for Koji and you because I care. Not because reviving something that’s long-ended is my priority.” 

“It’s not about that,” you snap, your voice rising before you catch yourself. You close your eyes for a second, exhaling sharply, trying to rein in your frustration. “It’s just... complicated, Satoru. You showing up like this, offering to fix things with money, with solutions I didn’t ask for, for problems I never wanted—it’s overwhelming.”

He takes another step closer, his presence filling the small entryway. “You think I don’t understand that?” His voice softens but carries an edge of urgency. “Y/N, I’m not trying to make this harder for you. I know this is all... messy. But I can’t sit around and pretend I’m okay with you and Koji being here while someone out there is bold enough to invade your privacy like that. I’m trying to protect you. You can’t keep pushing me away like this, you said you wanted to make things better.”

“I know, but—”

“Then stop it. Stop arguing, complaining, whatever. You’re not going to keep me out of Koji’s life any longer, or yours. They already posted another damn picture of you today at work.”

What? You blink your eyes, widening them. You don’t even want to see the photo evidence, gulping down the weird lump that forms in your throat. What the fuck is going on with my life right now? You hesitate, biting your lip. His words chip away at your defenses, but the walls you’ve built don’t crumble that easily. “And what happens if we go to your place? What’s next? You swoop in, play hero, and then leave us when this blows over?”

His jaw tightens, the faint hurt flashing in his eyes almost imperceptible. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Isn’t it?” you counter, arms crossing tightly over your chest, a weak attempt to shield yourself from the weight of the conversation. “That’s what you always do, Satoru. You show up when it’s convenient for you, and when it’s not, you disappear.”

The words hang heavy in the air, stinging both of you. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m not leaving you this time,” he says quietly, lifting his eyes back to yours. “Not until I know you two are safe. I’m not running, Y/N. Not from this. But you have to stop trying to keep me at arm's length, I’m trying my best to help.” His eyes lock onto yours, pleading yet determined. You hate how convincing he can be when he’s like this. How he makes you question your own resolve. “Please,” he adds, his voice dropping. “Just for a little while.”

The conviction in his voice is startling, and it makes something inside you waver. You’re tired, too tired to keep arguing, too tired to keep carrying everything on your shoulders. It’s true, you’re feeling yourself pushback on him. He deserves this—time with Koji, protecting him, and more. It’s just so hard breaking from the fragile bubble you built for your son and you. Satoru’s presence is like a sharp knife, waiting to just poke through it with ease, to get to his family.“Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “But just for tonight. Koji and I will come to your place for tonight.”

Relief washes over his features, but he doesn’t smile. He nods, stepping back to give you space. “That’s all I’m asking.”

As you turn away to gather what you need for the night, you catch a glimpse of Koji peeking out from his room, his eyes wide with curiosity. You put on a smile for his sake, but deep down, you can’t shake the unease settling in your chest. This isn’t just about staying at Satoru’s place. It’s about what this means—what it could mean—and the part of you that still isn’t sure you’re ready to face it.

The inside of Satoru’s Mercedes is spacious, but asphyxiating. Koji in his car seat in the back, watching something on his tablet. This is the first time you’ve been in the car with Satoru since way long ago. It’s nostalgia, but sickening at the same time. You remember how he would place his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. Or how he likes to rest his hand on the gearstick, or his elbow on the middle console. 

Your skin prickles with goosebumps when he brushes against your arm as he reaches for the temperature controls, adjusting the heat. It’s a small, thoughtless gesture, but it sends an involuntary jolt through you. You glance out the window, pretending to admire the blurred city lights instead of acknowledging the memories flooding back. The hum of the car engine fills the silence, an uncomfortable contrast to the weight of everything left unsaid. Koji giggles at something on his tablet in the backseat, his innocence a stark reminder of why you’re here and why you can’t let your emotions take over.

“You okay?” Satoru’s voice breaks the quiet, calm yet cautious.

“Fine,” you reply quickly, too quickly. You keep your eyes glued to the window, your arms crossed as if to shield yourself from the proximity.

He stops at a red light, leaning back in his sight. He’s a pro at side-eyeing you as you’re faced away. Seeing the way your hands ball into small fists. Nervous. Your foot is tapping on the floor. Thinking. And if he looks closer at your chest, he’ll notice how it’s rising up and down a little more quickly than normal. 

Oh. 

He clears his throat, looking forward as the light turns green. Focus on driving, focus on driving. He doesn’t push, but you can feel his gaze flickering toward you now and then, like he’s reading every shift in your posture, every flicker of hesitation. It’s infuriating how well he knows you, even now. You glance at Koji briefly before turning your gaze back to the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks as the car moves. The nostalgia you felt earlier morphs into a bitter taste in your mouth. You hate how easily Satoru slips into the role of a doting father, as if the years of his absence never happened.

You need to get a better hold of your jealousy. 

“You’re quiet,” Satoru says, breaking the silence.

“Just tired,” you reply curtly, not bothering to look at him.

He hums, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “Long day, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “You could say that.”

His gaze flicks to you briefly before returning to the road. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. But I’m glad you’re coming with me. It’s the right thing to do.”

You let out a dry laugh, finally turning to face him. “The right thing to do? Since when have you ever cared about the right thing, Satoru?”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then he exhales deeply, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “I care now. Now that you’ve granted me that option,” he says quietly.

You want to scoff, to throw his words back at him, but there’s something in his tone that makes you pause. Something raw, unguarded. The way he gets out those snark remarks angers you, but only further solidifies the weight of your actions, and the fact that things will never be the same. 

The rest of the drive is spent in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts. When the car finally pulls into the underground garage of his penthouse building, Koji’s excitement is palpable.

“Wow! This place is huge!” Koji exclaims, his eyes wide as he looks around.

Satoru chuckles, stepping out of the car and opening the back door to unbuckle Koji. “Wait till you see the view, buddy.”

You follow them, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. As you step into the elevator, you can’t help but feel like you’re being pulled back into a world you thought you’d left behind—one of complications and heartbreak. Satoru presses the button for his floor, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just for one night.”

You don’t respond, staring straight ahead as the elevator begins its ascent. But deep down, you know it’s never just one night with Satoru. 

“No running.”

“Sorry, Mama.”

You place Koji and your bags on one of the chairs in the kitchen, watching your son rush to his father’s living room. Satoru follows him, hands on his hips. “Hey buddy, bought some toys for you. Do you want to play with them? You like Spiderman, right?”

If possible, Koji’s eyes light up even more with excitement. Gasping and squealing, nodding his head furiously. “I love Spiderman! Mama threw me a Spiderman birthday last time.”

Satoru hums. “Wish I coulda seen that.”

You freeze at Satoru's words, your hand halfway to unpacking one of Koji’s bags. His tone is light, almost wistful, but it feels like a loaded statement—one that stings more than you’d like to admit. You glance over at him and Koji, your son practically bouncing on his toes as Satoru kneels to pull out a neatly wrapped box from a hidden cabinet. “Here you go,” Satoru says, handing it to Koji. “I think you’ll like what’s inside.”

Koji tears into the wrapping with glee, revealing a Spiderman action figure set. He gasps, clutching the box to his chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you, Papa! This is so cool!”

Your heart twists at how easily Koji has taken to calling him that. It’s like Satoru’s sudden presence is a gift he didn’t realize he’d been missing. And yet, for you, it’s a reminder of the years of absence—of the birthdays and milestones Satoru missed. “Please, don’t spoil him too much,” you mutter, finally unpacking Koji’s things and setting them on the counter.

Satoru looks over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s wrong with a little spoiling? He deserves it.”

You exhale sharply, not bothering to mask your irritation. “What he deserves is consistency.”

His smirk falters, standing back up to his full height and coming over to you. Keeping his voice level calm, in case Koji decides to listen in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. 

Satoru narrows his eyes slightly, his expression unreadable as he watches you busy yourself with Koji’s things. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You let out a humorless laugh, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Don’t read into it.”

His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t push further—not yet. Instead, he leans against the counter, folding his arms as he observes you. “Y/N, you can’t be the angry one in this situation. I thought you understood that.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m just—” you let out a big breath, looking up at him once more. “I’m tired. Forgive me if I’m not overly happy right now.

Satoru’s gaze softens, his posture relaxing slightly, though the tension in the room lingers like a heavy fog. “I’m not trying to add onto that, I’m just trying to be here for my son.”

I know that. I don’t know why I’m snapping. All you can offer is a nod, reaching into your bag, and grabbing a change of clothes. “I…I’m gonna go shower, watch him please.”

Satoru nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before shifting to the living room where Koji is engrossed in his toys. “Of course. Take your time.”

You offer a small, tight-lipped smile before retreating down the hall, clutching the clothes in your hands like a lifeline. Once you’re inside the bathroom, the door clicks shut behind you, and the weight of everything crashes down. Leaning against the counter, you grip the edge tightly, your knuckles turning white as you take slow, measured breaths. The mirror reflects a version of yourself you hardly recognize—tired, frazzled, and barely holding it together. The faint hum of Koji’s laughter echoes down the hall, grounding you for a moment. At least he’s happy. That’s what matters.

The shower is a welcome escape. The hot water cascades over your skin, washing away the grime of the day and the lingering tension from your conversation with Satoru. You let your head fall forward, droplets sliding down your face, mingling with the tears you didn’t realize had started to fall. You didn’t mean to snap at him. He’s trying, you know that. But the past doesn’t let go so easily, and the overwhelming mix of emotions—anger, fear, hope—leaves you feeling unsteady. And you feel angry at yourself for letting your emotions slip through, getting the best of you. You’re surprised Satoru hasn’t been more outwardly rude to you, short, or even snappy. It seems like he’s taking this all better than you are, and once again, that bitter jealousy of yours is shining through. How he can just handle things so smoothly—at least that’s what it seems like. But he’s used to all this: the spotlight, public eye, attention. You just wish things could’ve been handled…differently. 

Everything feels like a domino effect, starting all with that dreaded day at the grocery store. How so much has changed. 

 By the time you step out, you feel a fraction lighter, though the knot in your chest remains. You towel off, change into your clean clothes, and take a moment to steel yourself before heading back into the fray.

When you return to the living room, you find Satoru sitting cross-legged on the floor with Koji, holding up a miniature Spiderman figure. Koji is giggling, animatedly explaining an intricate story about how Spiderman saves the day. Satoru glances up as you walk in, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. We’re just working on a top-secret mission over here. No big deal.”

Koji looks up too, beaming. “Mama! Papa’s playing Spiderman with me! He’s really good at the voices.”

You can’t help the small smile that forms, even as your heart aches a little at the sight. “Sounds like you two are having fun.”

Satoru nods, his expression soft. “We’re a good team.”

You stand there for a moment, watching them, the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders once more. Maybe this is what Koji needs. Maybe this is what you need. But trusting him again…that’s the hardest part.

That night, eating dinner at Satoru’s long dining table, the same one where you faced his parents, it all feels strange, to say the least. The clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates echoes faintly in the vast dining room, filling the silence between the three of you. Koji hums to himself as he picks at his plate, occasionally glancing at his father to tell him some small details about his day or ask about the toys he’d gotten earlier. Satoru engages him with ease, his tone light and playful, but you can see the flickers of something deeper behind his smiles—guilt, maybe, or a desperate need to make up for lost time.

And then there’s you, sitting stiffly at the other end of the table, your appetite wavering as your mind keeps drifting back to the last time you sat here. That memory is sharp and vivid, like an old wound that hasn’t quite healed.

But Koji’s laughter brings you back down to Earth. Looking up from your plate of food to the sight before you. Father and son, son and father, family. They look so alike, you don’t think you can ever get over the blatant resemblance. Satoru’s genes are just very strong. You wish Koji could’ve inherited a few more things from you. You place a hand on your lower stomach, as if a physical touch will make the strange abundance of butterflies flying around in there to go away. 

It’s strange, this setup. Domestic in a way you never thought you’d experience with him again. But it’s also…nice. 

It feels whole, like this is how things should be. Would’ve been had you not held your tongue for so long. And you’re starting to think to yourself how much you like this sight. How it’s making you feel at home.

But this isn’t your home. However, you think you can pretend for just one night. 

“You’re not eating much,” Satoru says, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice is casual, but there’s an undertone of concern.

Your eyes widen at him, realizing you’ve been caught staring and quickly looking back down. “I’m fine,” you say, forcing a small smile. “Just sleepy, I guess.”

“I bet,” he says, and while his tone is conversational, his gaze lingers on you, searching for something beneath your calm facade.

“Yeah,” you reply shortly, stabbing at a piece of vegetable on your plate. You don’t want to talk about your day or your worries or the mounting anxiety sitting heavy in your chest. Not here, not now.

Koji interrupts before Satoru can press further, his voice bright and full of excitement. “Papa, can we watch a movie after dinner? Mama too!”

Satoru grins, lightly pinching his cheekbone. “Of course, buddy. What movie are we watching?”

Koji claps his hands together, listing off a couple of titles before settling on one of his favorites. You manage another smile, this one a little more genuine, as you watch the way Satoru effortlessly makes Koji light up. For a moment, the tension eases, and you let yourself focus on Koji’s joy. Maybe this is enough for now. Maybe that’s all you need to get through the evening.

But as you glance at Satoru across the table, his eyes catching yours for a brief second, you’re reminded of how fragile this truce feels. Of how much history lies between you, threatening to resurface at any moment.

Koji picks Spiderman, of course. You’ve watched this movie at least a hundred times now, maybe more. You can practically recite the lines perfectly. The movie plays on, the familiar dialogue flowing like background noise to your swirling thoughts. You’ve seen this scene so many times—the hero’s triumphant swing through the city, the bad guy’s dramatic monologue, the moments of comic relief Koji always laughs at—but tonight, it feels different. There’s an added layer of tension sitting heavy between you and Satoru.

The living room feels unusually cozy, the dimmed lighting casting a warm glow over the space. Koji wiggles in his spot, clutching a Spiderman plush as he stares at the screen with unblinking eyes, thoroughly engrossed. You, on the other hand, are trying not to let your exhaustion bubble over. Koji sits between you two, Satoru’s arm over his little shoulders. Satoru’s arm rests casually behind Koji, but every so often, as he adjusts his position, his fingers graze your shoulder—a light, fleeting touch that feels far too deliberate to be accidental. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems entirely focused on the movie, his face relaxed, a small smirk tugging at his lips during one of Koji’s excited reactions. So, you ignore it. But you do shift slightly, creating just enough distance to break the contact. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Koji laughs out loud at a particularly funny scene, leaning against Satoru’s side. “That’s so cool, Papa! I wanna do that someday!”

Satoru chuckles, ruffling Koji’s hair. “Maybe we’ll get you a Spiderman costume, and you can be the hero of the city.”

Koji beams at him, his excitement is contagious. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to appreciate this dynamic, the way Satoru fits so naturally into Koji’s world. You hate to admit it, but this is what Koji’s been missing—what you’ve been missing, too, in some small, buried way. Satoru’s hand once again brushes your shoulder during his next adjustment, that buried part of you is quickly overshadowed by the reminder of why this dynamic fell apart in the first place.

Luckily, Koji is already showered and dressed for bed in his matching red set. So as the movie progresses, nearing its end, so does his sleepiness. You along with him. Koji’s head begins to droop as the credits start to roll, his little body leaning further into Satoru’s side. His eyelids flutter with each blink, his earlier excitement now replaced by the slow pull of sleep. Satoru’s about to make a remark, before looking over at you and seeing your body slumped over on the other side. 

The scene feels peaceful in a way he hadn’t anticipated—a rare moment of quiet amidst the chaos that’s been your guys’ lives lately. Koji’s soft breathing grows steadier, his small body completely leaning into Satoru’s side now, one hand clutching his Spiderman plush while the other hangs limply at his side. Satoru glances down at his son with a faint smile, brushing Koji’s hair out of his face with a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He looks over to you next, ready your head resting on your hand. Your expression is soft, lips parted slightly as you drift into the kind of sleep that only exhaustion can bring. Satoru looks at the clock; 9:00pm.

For a moment, he just watches you both. Koji, who looks so much like him it’s almost uncanny, and you, the woman who’s somehow always managed to throw him off balance without even trying. He sighs softly, shaking his head at the scene before him. For a split second, he feels a shadow—a ghost from the past appears beside Koji. A baby girl who would’ve been seven by now.The baby girl who never got the chance to grow up. In that fleeting, haunting moment, he imagines her sitting there too, nestled beside her brother, giggling at Spiderman’s antics. He can imagine her features. She would’ve looked so much like you, it’s painful.

His chest tightens, and he has to look away, focusing on a random corner of the room as he fights to steady his breathing. It’s not fair—to her, to Koji, or to you. And yet, here he is, caught in the what-ifs and the might-have-beens, unable to let go of a past that feels like it happened both a lifetime ago and just yesterday. The glimpse is gone as soon as it comes, to which he’s thankful for because he is not crying right now. With a small grunt, he stands up and carefully moves Koji into his arms. Adjusting the boy and making sure he’s not waking up, he walks him over to the spare bedroom.

Satoru moves quietly, his footsteps soft against the floor as he cradles Koji in his arms. The boy’s head rests comfortably on his shoulder, his small body relaxed and completely unaware of the careful handling. The weight of his son in his arms, the warmth of Koji’s tiny form, is a stark reminder of everything he’s been missing. He pushes the door to the spare bedroom open gently, trying not to disturb the silence of the house. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a calm glow across the room. Satoru places Koji carefully on the bed, tucking him in with the same gentle movements he’s always used. He watches for a moment as the boy shifts slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips before settling back into a peaceful sleep.

For a second, Satoru just stands there, hands lingering at Koji’s side as if unsure of when to leave. It’s as if the past week—no, the past years—are catching up to him in this very moment. He never thought he'd be here, standing in a room like this, watching his son sleep under a roof that used to feel so distant. His chest tightens, but he refuses to let himself feel the weight of it. Not yet. Not with Koji so close. With one last look, he slowly pulls away, stepping back into the hallway and quietly closing the door behind him. The house feels colder as he moves through it, but this time, it’s not because of the empty spaces or the lingering tension. It’s because, for the first time in years, he’s truly trying to figure out where he fits in all of this.

And it’s a lot harder than he ever expected.

He walks back to the living room, your body now completely lying on your side. His lips purse as he stands before you, unsure if he should wake you or move you himself. Would that be okay? Is he crossing some boundary of yours if he touches you fully and intentionally?

Satoru stands there for a moment, studying you as you sleep. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your body curls slightly into the pillow, creates a sense of peace in the room, but also a sense of tension in him. The pull to reach out, to make sure you’re comfortable, is strong. But he hesitates, his mind racing with thoughts about boundaries, and the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable, especially when everything already feels so fragile between the two of you. He watches for a few more seconds, the quiet of the room making everything feel so... still. He doesn’t know how he got here, standing in the middle of the room, feeling so torn. Part of him wants to just go ahead and make sure you’re properly tucked in, like he did with Koji. But that other part of him continues to wonderf if that’s overstepping, if his presence, even now, feels intrusive. Satoru exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. Finally, he decides to attempt to recreate his actions for Koji; it’s the least he can do.

He bends his knees slightly, hands reaching out. But just as his fingertips graze your bare arms, you’re jolting up and awake. Head swiveling around, eyes barely open and bleary. “What’s happening? Where’s Koji?”

Satoru freezes, his fingers hovering in the air as your voice cuts through the stillness. His eyes flick to you, wide and disoriented from the abruptness of your awakening. "Y/N?" He murmurs, his voice low and hesitant, almost as if he's unsure whether you’re fully awake. "Koji’s in the other room, he’s asleep."

You sit up, rubbing your eyes, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Your thoughts are jumbled, disoriented from the deep slumber you’d just woken from. “I— I didn’t hear him... when did he go to bed?”

Satoru, still crouched by your bedside, lets out a soft sigh, his expression softening. "I put him down a few minutes ago. He was out before the movie ended." He pauses for a second, watching you carefully, his hand still lingering awkwardly in the air as if unsure whether to touch you or not. "You were really tired, so I thought I'd handle it."

You blink, the fog in your mind barely beginning to clear. Slowly, you nod, still trying to process everything in the haze of your exhaustion. “Thank you.” The words come out quieter than you expect, but there’s something in your voice that surprises both of you.

Satoru’s gaze lingers for a moment, a mix of concern and relief flashing in his eyes. He stands up, backing away from the bed slowly. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he says softly, hands running through his hair as he takes a step toward the door. “But you should go to bed. You can sleep with Koji or um—in my bed if you want.”

You stare at his figure, the weight of the situation still pressing down on you. There’s so much 

happening, so much you didn’t expect, and yet… for some reason, having him here, like this, almost feels normal. You rub your temples, trying to stave off the headache forming. 

“I’ll sleep out here, of course,” he quickly adds on, realizing the small, but accidental hinting.

You raise an eyebrow at his quick backpedaling, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It's been a long time since you shared any sort of space with him—especially under these circumstances. But the way he’s stumbling over his words, trying so hard to make things comfortable, it makes you wonder if maybe he’s not as composed as he likes to act. “Thanks,” you murmur, rubbing your temples again. The migraine's intensity is growing, and it's all you can do to keep your emotions in check. You hadn’t expected this—any of it. Satoru’s presence here, offering you comfort in his own odd way, only complicates everything more. You never asked for this kind of help, but you can't deny the relief it brings. “I’ll sleep with Koji.”

Satoru’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his expression softening as if he’s weighing his words carefully, trying not to overstep. He knows you’re not the type to ask for help. Hell, you hardly ever accept it when it’s offered. But tonight is different. Tonight is full of a thousand unspoken things. The lingering tension, the awkwardness of it all, and the confusing emotions between you two. It’s all too much, too quickly, and yet you feel the pull of something familiar—a bond you haven’t felt in years. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low. Almost like he’s waiting for you to give him some kind of permission or reassurance, something that lets him know you’re okay. His presence, his concern for Koji, it’s all so overwhelming in its own way.

You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens just having him this close, even if it is just in the same house. “I’ll be fine,” you say, your voice a little softer than you intended. The last thing you want to do is drag him back into your life fully. But he’s already here, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you're too tired to argue. "You don’t have to stay out here." The words hang in the air for a beat.

You take this moment to rise from the couch, wiping your eyes once more. “Where is he?”

“Spare room,” he points.

You nod, more to yourself than to him, and retreat to the spare room. The migraine pounds in the background of your mind. Mind still riddled with sleep, you accidentally bump your shoulder into the wall, footsteps faltering. He moves faster than you anticipated—expected, his hands finally making contact with your upper arms; stablizing you. His touch itself feels reminiscent.

His grip on your arms is steady, firm—just like it used to be. You catch your breath for a moment, not expecting the familiarity of his touch to feel so grounding. For a split second, you’re taken back to moments from the past, the memories of simpler days when his touch brought comfort instead of tension. You want to pull away, to remind yourself that things aren’t the same anymore. But you’re too tired, too worn out, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into the stability he’s offering without question.

"Careful," Satoru’s voice is quiet, but there's a soft edge to it, like he’s genuinely concerned. His hands stay on your arms, not pulling away immediately, as if waiting for you to give him a signal that you’re okay.

You blink, the haze of sleep making everything feel just a little more surreal. "I’m fine," you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, but it lacks conviction. Your body feels heavier than it should, and your mind seems to be swimming in fog.

He doesn’t let go right away. Instead, his fingers give a slight squeeze, a small, unspoken reassurance. "You sure? You look like you’re about to fall over."

"I’m just... tired," you say, the words slipping from your lips before you even realize. You wince internally, but it’s too late to take them back now. There’s no point.

Satoru nods, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the hallway, but the way his eyes linger on you makes something in your chest tighten. It’s like he’s still trying to figure you out, still trying to read you after all these years. He always was good at that. Without saying much more, he gently guides you to the door of the spare room, a hand hovering above the small of your back; his touch still light but firm. He’s not pushing you, just there, a quiet presence in the storm. "Get some rest. I’ll be nearby, just in case."

You nod, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and frustration well up inside you. "Thanks," you murmur, finally able to pull away from his grip and step into the room.

Before you close the door, you glance over at him, standing there in the hallway, his figure outlined by the soft glow from the living room. "Good night," you add, your voice a little softer than you meant it to be.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that you can’t quite place. After a beat, he says quietly, "Good night, Y/N."

And then, with one last look, he walks away, leaving you alone in the quiet darkness of the room. The door clicks softly behind you, and for the first time in days, you feel a small sense of peace—fragile, uncertain, but there all the same.

Satoru has taken the liberty of getting Koji dressed and ready for school. Shushing his son with quiet murmurs so you won’t wake up. He’s a little surprised, but you must be that tired. Satoru usually wakes up earlier than most, having went to go check on you two, but getting shocked to see his son using the bathroom instead and saying something about how “Mama’s still sleeping, I have school.”

He’s a smart kid—a very smart kid. He guided Satoru the entire ride, remembering the name of his school and which streets to use. You raised him well. He parks his car in the lot, it stands out like a sore thumb among the civics, corollas, and trucks.

Carrying Koji in his arms towards the boys classroom. “Excited, buddy?”

“Mhm!” 

Satoru smiles and kisses his cheek. “I’ll pick you up, okay?”

“Okay, Papa. Thank you.” Koji gratefully responds.

“No need to thank me, Koji. It’s my job.”

Satoru can feel the lingering stares and hushed whispers as he walks down the hallway to his son’s class. Ignoring it like a pro and focusing on one thing and one thing only. As they approach his room, Mr. Ito is standing outside like usual. As soon as the man sees the two, his eyes visibly widen before playing it off with a cough of his throat. “Good morning, Koji. Gojo.”

Satoru remembers the guy as the one from the cafe. That one. He nods in understanding, setting Koji down and crouching with him. “Have a fun day, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Papa.” Koji kisses his cheek and rushes inside happily. 

 "Morning," Satoru replies coolly, standing tall as he watches Koji run off to join his classmates. "I trust Koji’s been good?"

"Of course, of course," Mr. Ito replies quickly, his smile tight, the words coming out a little too fast. "He’s been a delight to have here. Very bright."

Satoru nods, but his eyes never leave Mr. Ito’s. "Glad to hear it."

There’s an awkward silence that stretches between them, but Satoru isn’t in the mood for small talk. He could read the teacher’s discomfort, and he’s not about to play into it. After all, it’s not like they’re friends, or even acquaintances. Mr. Ito shifts on his feet, and Satoru can tell he’s trying to think of something to say, something that will smooth over whatever awkwardness hangs in the air. “So, where’s Ms. Y/N today?”

Satoru’s brows tick, arms crossing. “At home.”

Mr. Ito nods, clearly trying to gauge whether there’s more to the story, but Satoru doesn’t give him any openings. He’s not in the mood to entertain questions about you, not now, not here, especially not from someone like him. "Ah, I see," Mr. Ito mumbles, his voice trailing off as he shuffles his feet again. "I just thought... well, with everything that’s been going on, I expected to see her here, too."

Satoru’s eyes narrow, though his expression remains calm, just a hint of warning in his tone. "She’s handling things on her own. We’re both doing fine. You don’t need to worry about it. You have a class full of children to teach."

The other man hides his displeasure behind a stiff nod. “Right, right. Just wondering, that’s all.”

“Don’t have to, she already has a man for that.”

Satoru wonders why he’s being do damn weird right now. Possesive almost. You two aren’t together, but the way this guy is asking about you, it’s slightly setting him off. Who does he think he is worrying about you?

Mr. Ito falters, his smile fading as Satoru’s words hang heavy in the air. "Right, of course," he mumbles, clearly taken aback. He shifts on his feet, his eyes darting to the ground before locking back onto Satoru. "Just asking, I mean… it's just a lot going on, you know?"

Satoru’s gaze hardens, the protective instinct that rises within him catching him off guard. He takes a slight step closer to Mr. Ito, his tone deliberately neutral but carrying an edge. "You don’t need to worry about her. She’s got it covered."

There’s a flicker of something in Mr. Ito’s eyes—something that hints he’s about to say something else, but he swallows it down, nodding stiffly instead. "Yeah, of course." He quickly looks away, clearing his throat. "Well, I guess I’ll… I’ll get back to the class."

Satoru stands still for a moment, his posture rigid, a sharp edge in his expression as he watches Mr. Ito retreat. He doesn't know why it bothered him so much. The guy wasn’t even doing anything wrong, not really. But the way he was asking about you—like he had any right to—made something inside Satoru twist uncomfortably. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this man didn’t belong in your world, that he had no place prying into your life.

Satoru finally exhales, shaking his head. Whatever. It was just a teacher.

With one last glance at the classroom door, he turns and heads back to the school doors. There's no reason to overthink this. It’s just… odd. He can’t let it get to him.

You wake up that day to a lone bed. Groaning to yourself as the sunbeams spray across your face and momentarily blind you. Hand reaching out for the space next to you. Instead, you see a note saying: dropped koji off, i’ll be back around noon to grab some lunch. sleep up

Instantly, your eyes widen, springing up out of bed. Reaching for your phone, the time reads 11:30pm. “Shit!” you curse to yourself, rushing out the door and to your bag still on the chair from last night. You dig in for your work clothes, changing right there and then and praying to the gods that Satoru doesn’t walk through this door. Brushing your teeth, hair, washing your face, putting some moustirzer and sunscreen on, all of it takes way too long. By the time you’re done and messily putting your shoes on, it’s twelve. Four hours after you were supposed to be at work. Hana’s going to kill me.

Grabbing your bag with rough and rushed movements, you’re sprinting to the door at this point. Out of breath and already conjuring up a sorry apology for Hana. you reach the doorhandle, flinging it open. But as soon as you do, you come to an abrupt stop.

Because standing before you is a woman, a woman you’ve seen before on Satoru’s lock screen. The same woman who kissed the lips that you used to. Arms crossed and a nasty scowl forming on her face as she eyes you up and down in a criticizing way. 

Finally, she scoffs out. 

“Do you know who I am?”

a/n: they so cute

taglist is now closed

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[sturniolohouse]

That's Life - M.S

A.N: After the stream where Matt said he liked the name June– which has been a name on my baby list for YEARS now – I couldn't stop thinking about this scenario, so I decided to write it. Sorry if it's bad. (I'd also say they are still very young in this, maybe 23/24. But imagine any age you want, I don't really specify.) Hope you enjoy!

summary: dad!matt - a cute snippet of Matt and y/n becoming brand new parents and Chris and Nick meeting their niece for the first time. mainly fluff :')

warnings: none, really. maybe swearing and mentions of blood? (also use of y/n because apparently that is hated? idk)

word count: 2.4k

"Kid, hold her fucking neck." Matt panics as Chris readjusts in his seat on the couch.

"Matt shut the fuck up, I think I know how to hold my own niece." he retorts.

"No, you clearly don't you idiot."

I peer to my left, he holds her with one hand under her head and one hand under her butt, propping her in front of him on his lap. She's perfectly fine, Matt just worries.

"Look she's fine. She's with uncle Chris." Chris looks at her adoringly but Matt cautiously watches, biting his nails.

"How are you feeling?" Nick asks beside me, rubbing my shoulder as I eat my burger. I was starving and the first thing I wanted after giving birth was In and Out, so Matt made sure Nick and Chris brought it for me.

"I'm so tired but just relieved everything went okay."

It was a long labor, almost 20 hours and about an hour of pushing. I waited to the very last minute to get an epidural and Matt almost passed out once he saw what it actually was.

-

"That goes in your fucking spine?" He squeaks, his face turning pale as he nearly keels over.

I'm sat up with the anesthesiologist behind me prepping the needle. I grab Matt's forearms and bring him to stand between my legs so he's hunching in front of me before I collapse my head into his chest and groan.

"Don't fucking look at it, hold my hands." I seethe through the pain as I wait for the contraction to pass.

"I'm so sorry," He says into my ear as they stick the catheter into my spine and I stay as still as possible.

"I want In and Out after this is all over," I breath out, beginning to feel my lower half go numb.

"I'm getting you whatever you fucking want, sweetheart." He looks me dead in the eyes.

-

"It's kinda fucking nuts that she was just inside you, how the fuck did you like..." Chris speaks up looking between the baby and me. "Push her out..." He hesitates and I burst out laughing as Matt throws his arms up and shakes his head at him, stopping himself from knocking Chris' shoulder.

"Well, it wasn't easy." I wipe my tears from my eyes due to my laughter and Nick gives me my water so I don't choke on my dry ass fries.

"Women are the strongest people on the planet." Nick chimes and Matt smiles proudly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That's fucking right. So much respect after all I witnessed." Matt rubs his eyes, seeming to be mentally reflecting the past 36 hours.

"She's so fucking cute, looks nothing like Matt." Chris comments, a small smirk growing on his face at the playful jab.

"Okay, give her back you're pissing me off." Matt quickly but gently takes her back even as Chris protests and pouts, sulking back into his chair.

"Lost your baby holding privileges," Nick points at him as Chris makes a face and sticks his tongue out, a throaty bellow echoing in the hospital room.

Nick immediately hushes him. "Can you not act like a barbarian? Fucking idiot." He scolds him.

Matt cradles her softly and my heart still melts at the sight of him holding her. It makes everything I went through so worth it. The both of them do.

-

I lay there in shock with a wailing baby placed on my chest. I look up at Matt on my left and he's got his hand over his mouth and tears brimming his eyes, staring at our baby with so much love.

My chest blooms with warmth and I look down at our daughter. Anyone else would look at her and think she was gross, being purple, covered in goop and blood, but she was quite literally breathtaking. Matt blubbers and bends down so he's more level to me.

"Oh my fucking god," he laughs through his emotion, wiping his eyes quickly and placing a hand on her blanketed back, her cries dying down.

"How the fuck did you do that? You're amazing oh my god." He rambles, kissing my sweaty hairline and I shake my head not really knowing how I did this either.

They let Matt cut the umbilical cord before taking her off me to bathe her quickly.

Matt grabs my face checking in on me. He scans all over my face,"You okay? You did so good, oh my fucking god." I nod quickly, feeling my adrenaline still rushing. It's a weird feeling to describe, but I am so happy.

"She was so tiny, did you see her?" I ask him, my voice a little shaky and he nods laughing, tears still shining in his eyes.

"I did, I did. She's perfect. Thank you." He kisses my lips this time and then looks over to the nurses bringing her over to him.

"You want to hold her, dad?" The nurse smiles and he visibly pales but nods nonetheless and takes her into his arms.

He looks at her and begins to tear up again, having to compose himself by looking up shaking his head. When he looks back at me, I'm sent me over the edge into my own fit of tears.

I would relive this day over and over again to just see that look on his face.

-

He walks over to Nick who's still beside me, bouncing her slightly.

"Nick, cmon. You've yet to hold her." Matt nods toward Nick to take her from his arms. Nick immediately shakes his head and steps back.

"No she's too fresh and tiny. I don't want to break her." He declines.

"Chris get him the pillow. Nick, hold her. You won't break her I promise you." I give him a reassuring rub on the arm and his eyes widen.

"I'm scared," He squeals quietly as he sits down in the chair and Chris sets up the pillow in his lap. Nick covers his mouth as he watches Matt walk over to him. 

Chris puts a hand on his shoulder, "Nick it's gonna be fine." He giggles at his antics and I stifle my own laughter.

"Dude c'mon, I'm telling you to hold my kid not a bomb." Matt rolls his eyes and Nick flips him off.

Matt places her carefully so she's snug in Nick's arms and he freezes immediately.

"What do I do?" He looks up at me in fear.

"Just that. You're doing fine. See, she's perfectly content in your arms." I tell him softly and grab Matt's arm so he stands next to me.

I kiss his forearm and he looks back at me with a warm smile, wrapping his arm around me and sitting beside me on the bed. He pulls me in gently before kissing the top of my head.

"I'm trying to see any real defining features in her but she quite literally just looks like a baby," he studies her face as Chris takes photos of them.

"She definitely looks more like y/n," Matt says, rubbing my arm lightly before stealing one of my fries from my tray.

"I think she has my nose for sure. She hasn't really opened her eyes yet, maybe you can try and wake her up. The nurse should be coming soon to help me feed her."

"I just realized, what's her name?" Nick asks, lightly rubbing her cheek with the back of his finger to try and wake her.

"Yeah, have you guys finally decided?" Chris sits down next to Nick on the couch.

Matt and I look at each other. We had been debating her name since we first saw her face. Of course we had a list prepared but we didn't want to settle on a name until we could match it to her face.

It was hard agreeing on names at first as we had very different tastes but there was one that kept coming back up in conversation and once we saw her it was a no brainer.

I nudge Matt, "Go ahead, tell them." I lean my head against his shoulder.

"Her name is June," They 'aw' in unison.

"June Iris Sturniolo." Matt tells them her full name and he can't help the smile that spreads across his face. 

"I love that, such a sweet name.” Nick smiles down at her.

"Does it have a meaning? Or did you guys just like the name?" Chris pulls back her hat.

"Holy shit, she has a lot of hair." he comments.

"Explains all of my heartburn." I huff and Matt giggles beside me.

"We liked the name and we were looking at lot of nature names, month names, classic names. We landed on June a few times when going over names but didn't want to make it official until we saw her." I start and Matt nods before speaking up.

"Well, we had some music playing during the whole labor and everything but after Y/N started pushing, our playlist ended and started playing whatever. And right before June came out, the song That's Life by Frank Sinatra played. And in the song, there's a line that goes: You're riding high in April, shot down in May but I know I'm gonna change that tune when I'm back on top, back on top in June. Right when we heard that and then we saw her face, we knew that was her name." Matt concluded and I tear up.

"That's so fucking cool," 

"Stop I have chills, oh my god."

"And Iris was my grandmothers name, but we also liked how it sounded with June. It was proven really hard to find a middle name that sounded good with June and Sturniolo." I laugh.

“I love that her name has a cool story behind it that you can tell her one day.” Nick says and I get emotional thinking about telling my daughter the day of her birth.

"Hi June, you gonna wake up for us?" Chris speaks softly to her. She stays put as Nick and Chris look at her expectantly.

"I wouldn't want to open my eyes either if I were just in a a warm dark place for almost nine months and all of sudden I'm in a bright ass hospital room with a loud idiot." Matt speaks looking directly at Chris.

"She must take that after you," I say playfully and rub his chest. He rolls his eyes.

"Aw, a little Mattitude." Chris uses a baby voice, tickling her belly playfully. “Look she even makes Matt’s stank face he does when he’s mad.” He points.

“Oh my god she does,” Nick exclaims.

"Not to be weird, but you are all basically her father since you have identical DNA. Also if you guys have children one day, they'll be genetically June's half-siblings." I state my fun fact and all their faces drop.

Nick gasps, "Wait, that's actually crazy because I was just going to joke around and say 'aw she has my eye-bags'." His eyes widen and I shrug at him proving my point.

"That's so fucking weird." Matt shakes his head in realization.

Chris acts repulsed, putting a hand up. "Yeah, I don't like thinking about that. I'm no one's father, thank God." He does the sign of the cross.

"Yes. Thank God for that." Matt says shortly.

"I don't know, I think Chris will be a good dad one day." I defend him and Matt gives the side eye. 

"Thank you y/n," He says with a hand over his heart.

He walks over to me and gives me a side hug. I kiss his cheek, offering him a fry and he takes it appreciatively.

"I'm definitely staying the fun uncle." Nick states, turning his attention back to June. "One day, you'll be big enough to stay at Uncle Nick's and I'll get you anything you want without your parents knowing," he says quietly to her but we can all still hear him.

She begins to stir in his arms and he freezes again.

"Oh no, she's waking up. Is she gonna cry?" he panics. "Matt quick, take her."

"She might want the boob," he says taking June out of Nick's hold.

She begins to fuss and squirm but Matt calmly shushes her and begins to bounce lightly.

"It's her feeding time in 15 minutes, should I try without the nurse?" I look up at Matt and he shrugs.

"I don't see why not. She's clearly hungry now."

"Uh, should we leave?" Chris says awkwardly and I wave him off.

"I'm gonna cover myself don't worry. Unless you want to leave," I say nonchalantly, not having a care in the world after just about everyone in this hospital has seen me naked. But of course I won't be flashing anyone.

"Junie don't cry, here's mama. She's got the food." Matt tells her quietly, bringing her to me as Chris clears my lap for me and goes to sit down next to Nick again.

"My baby," I pout as I grab her and her little cries die down once she's in my arms. "You already know the deal sister, let's see if we can do this." I talk to her confidently hoping I can do this on my own.

Matt stands beside helping me cover up and get June in the right position.

"There you go, all better." Matt speaks to her softly as she latches on and I exhale in relief. "Good job, mama." He runs his fingers through my hair and rubs my neck.

The nurse walks in mid-feed and praises me. "Looks like you've got it under control here." She smiles and checks my vitals quickly before stepping back out of the room.

Once June finishes eating I burp her upright on my lap, facing her towards everyone. At this point she's wide awake and everyone is staring at her.

"Oh my gosh, her eyes are like, gray," Nick says. 

"Can she see me?" Chris waves at her, shaking his head and sticking his tongue out.

"Her eyes will most likely change color, they can change up until she's a year." I tell them. "And she can probably see you as a blob, Chris. Stop dancing." I tell him and he stops mid griddy. 

"Oh..." He looks defeated and she burps loudly in that moment, making him laugh. "Why does she burp louder than me, she's like 12 hours old." he jokes.

I feel Matt's hand on my shoulder again and he gives me another squeeze. I look up at him and smile tiredly, he leans down to give me a kiss. Something we rarely do in front of others because we hate PDA. But we can't help it this time.

 I hear a snap of a camera and we both look to see Nick with his film camera.

"I couldn't resist. First family portrait." he smiles softly. "I can't believe you're a father, Matthew."

"Believe it, kid."

"Nick, will you actually take our family photos when we get home." I ask rubbing Junie's back. 

"The fact that you even asked that," he says looking offended and everyone laughs. "Of course I will, though."

[goyardgoyangi]

˚₊‧꒰ა coast guard! toji x “daddy’s money” reader

# goyangi's fav tropes: “you’re just bored” accusations, manhandling under the pretense of “safety,” fingering over the yacht railing, rough hands gripping your hips while he scolds you for calling in fake emergencies, dirty talk in that deep annoyed voice, bikini pulled to the side on his patrol boat, getting bent over the yacht wheel, “you want attention? fine” energy, calling him “officer” to piss him off (and make him grab your throat)

part of 𐙚 goyardgoyangi's summer festa!! ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Your summer was supposed to be boring.

Another year of sunscreen and champagne, of carefully sculpted boredom at your family’s private beach house— perched high above the shoreline, its windows glittering like glass teeth in the sun. You had the yacht, the staff, the inheritance. The Instagram comments that all said things like “aesthetic goals” and “hot girl summer.”

You had everything. Or so you thought.

Until he showed up.

“High tide’s coming in.” The voice was a gravelly grunt, like it’d been sandpapered by years of authority and sea air.

You blink over your sunglasses.

Ah. Your favorite uniform.

Navy blue shirt, snug across the chest and rolled at the sleeves, clinging to the muscle like it was tailored to show off every inch.

Cargo pants— standard issue, but there was nothing standard about how he wore them. Hung low on his hips, worn loose around thick thighs that flexed with every step.

The heavy duty belt slung around his waist only drew attention to the dip of his pelvis, the teasing suggestion of something dangerous just out of sight.

His vest creaked faintly when he moved— broad shoulders shifting, sun glinting off the metal clasp of his badge.

Salt wind tousled his dark hair, but nothing touched the hard line of his jaw, sharp enough to cut, shadowed with stubble like he didn’t have time (or the patience) for soft things.

You swallowed.

Not that he noticed.

Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.

He was every inch the picture of authority, heat, and very bad decisions— wrapped in regulation blues and the kind of build that made you want to misbehave.

The kind of man who could ruin you without breaking a sweat.

A coast guard.

Not a lifeguard, and definitely not some local patrolman with mirrored shades and a beer gut.

Tan skin kissed bronze by the sun, veins raised and roped down forearms that looked built for holding more than just rescue ropes. His arms were the kind that could lift you without effort, keep you in place without asking.

But the worst part? The real kicker?

He didn’t look at you like the others did. No hungry leering. No syrupy sweet “miss” or strained attempts at charm.

Just a flat, unimpressed scowl.

Like he hated how good you looked.

Like he knew you were trouble.

Like he was trying not to imagine what you’d sound like whining under him.

And you? You were already picturing how deep that scowl would dig into his face when you finally made him crack.

“Princess,” he mutters, like it was a slur. “You need to move your yacht.”

You smile, slow and syrupy. “It’s not a yacht. It’s a leisure vessel.”

He glares harder. “Your leisure vessel is blocking the north inlet. Move it before the tide buries the anchor.”

You stretched, arching your back under the sun, your bikini top doing a terrible job of staying in place. “But that sounds like so much effort.”

His jaw ticks.

You file that away.

Toji Fushiguro looks like he’s about to either arrest you or rail you, and you’re not sure which one you want more.

(Just kidding. It’s the second one.)

He docks his own boat with mechanical precision and doesn’t even pretend to check for distress this time. Just climbs aboard with that quiet fury you’re coming to crave, boots thudding on the deck.

You smile. “Officer.”

“Don’t,” he snaps, and fuck— his voice. That deep, low gravel. That sharp, worn-out edge. Like he’s been dreaming about you and hating himself for it. “I swear to god,”

“What?” You stretch, letting your bikini shift a little too far. “Can’t a girl enjoy the view?”

He moves fast. One hand grabs both your wrists, yanks them behind your back, and really holds them there, rough palm pressing into the curve of your spine. The other slides low, anchoring against your waist, keeping you flush to his chest.

“You think this is a game?” he hisses, voice like grit and thunder, lips grazing your ear.

You arch, slow and shameless, hips grinding back against the firm line of his belt, his thigh, anything you can reach. He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t flinch.

But his grip tightens.

Your wrists twitch in his hold, but he doesn’t let go.

You smile, lips parting just enough to let your breath kiss his jaw. “No,” you murmur, voice dripping with sin. “I think you like it.”

Silence.

Then—

“Get on the boat.”

You blink. “What?”

“To mine. Now.”

You’ve never obeyed faster.

His patrol boat is all steel and no luxury.

Functional. Minimal. A blunt machine designed to move fast and do damage.

Toji’s the same.

He shoves you below deck, down into the cramped interior where there’s nothing but a small cot, a bench, and one tiny window that doesn’t even close. The heat is stifling, your skin already slick from the sun.

He doesn’t let you adjust to the dark. Doesn’t give you time to speak.

His hand slips down, cups your ass. Squeezes.

“You’re lucky I haven’t written you up.”

“Oh?” Your voice lilts, mock-sweet. “What would the report say? ‘Civilian was dangerously hot and unbearably annoying. Required immediate discipline.’”

“Jesus,” he mutters— more to himself than to you.

And then he grabs your waist, turns you, presses your chest flat to the bench, cold vinyl kissing your nipples through the thin triangle of your bikini top, and yanks at both your wrists.

One-handed, he wrenches your arms behind your back and holds them there, palm heavy on the dip of your spine. His body crowds yours, and you know better than to think he’s doing this for your comfort.

You tilt your hips back deliberately, wriggling just enough to press into him— slow, calculated friction as you drag yourself against the rigid line of his belt, the hard muscle of his thigh, seeking out every ounce of contact like it’s oxygen.

You feel him twitch. The sharp inhale. The way his other hand, poised at your waist, stops.

Dangerous pause.

Then he exhales hard through his nose, and his voice drops an octave, worn and wrecked and mean.

"You really don’t know when to quit, do you?"

You smugly grin, breathless. “Don’t wanna.”

That earns you two fingers, shoved inside with zero buildup. Thick, rough, unapologetic. You gasp, head jerking up, but he shoves you down again, his forearm bracing across your upper back, forcing you flat.

Then he starts to move.

He fucks you with those fingers like they’re punishment. Not tender, not testing. Just deep, unforgiving strokes— flesh meeting flesh, your slick pouring down to soak his hand and the bench beneath you.

“This what you wanted?” he mutters, voice gravel and salt. “Actin’ out just to get my fuckin’ attention?”

You mewl, panting into the cushion. “Wanted you,” you manage, back arching again in spite of yourself. “Wanted you to— fuck,— to touch me like this.”

He growls low in his throat. “Yeah? What gave it away, princess? The way you laid out like a fuckin’ display model? Or how your bikini ‘slipped’ when I boarded?”

His fingers curl deep, knuckles flexing as he scissors them apart inside you, stretching your walls. Your toes curl in your sandals, legs shaking under the weight of it.

“Thought I wouldn’t notice?” His voice is pure mockery now, his pace relentless. “That I wouldn’t see every fuckin’ inch you tried to flash? What— figured I’d eventually crack and pull you over my lap like some spoiled little brat who needs her holes stuffed to shut the fuck up?”

You cry out, the bench creaking under you.

His fingers hit something devastating, your knees buckling, thighs quivering.

“I noticed,” he snarls. “Every. Fucking. Time.”

You clench around him so tight his hand stutters— but he recovers fast, palm now grinding against your clit with each thrust, and suddenly you're so close, right there, trembling in his hold.

Your moans are high and desperate, muffled into your forearm as he drives his fingers in again and again, making a mess of you, the air thick with salt and sex and summer heat. You’re soaked, dripping down his wrist, thighs shiny with slick.

"Fuckin’ filthy," he mutters, almost to himself. “Bet you’d cum just like this, bent over a bench, whining like a brat.”

You nod frantically, too far gone for shame, every muscle in your body wound tight with need.

And then he does it— hooks his fingers just right, presses down on your clit with the heel of his hand— and you snap, sobbing through your orgasm, whole body twitching, jerking in his grip.

Your thighs try to close, but he doesn't let you. Holds your wrists tighter, forces you open, makes sure you feel every second of it.

You slump over the bench, ruined, wrung out, breath hitching as you tremble under him.

He finally lets your wrists go, but not before dragging his soaked fingers up your spine— slow, deliberate. Smearing your own slick against your overheated skin.

He hums low behind you, almost in amusement. “You’re gonna learn, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, lip curled in a smirk even as your thighs shake. “Teach me, then.” Your voice drips with attitude. “That can’t be all you got, old man.”

His breath catches. You hear it— just the tiniest hitch, a thread snapping.

Then— zip.

Your head jerks back. “Wait—”

But it’s already happening. The unmistakable sound of fabric shifting. Belt buckle clinking. And then heat, heavy and hard, the blunt weight of his cock dragging along the seam of your folds.

Your smirk dies.

He doesn’t say a word, just fists a hand in your hair and yanks you up slightly, enough to feel the tension in your spine and the tremble in your breath.

His cock presses right against your entrance, thick and already leaking, and he takes his time,dragging the swollen head through your slick before lining up.

Like this is what he’s owed.

When he finally pushes in, it’s slow, but not gentle. Not even close. He's stretching you inch by inch until the burn makes your eyes roll back. It’s overwhelming, he’s so big, it feels like he’s rearranging everything, fitting into a space that’s been aching for him all summer.

You choke on a gasp, mouth open, no sound coming out— just a strangled moan and the flutter of your lashes.

He bottoms out with a low, groan, hips snug against your ass, and you can feel him in you— thick, throbbing, the head pressed deep where you’re dripping and clenched around him like a vice.

“You gettin’ it now?” he pants, voice hot and ragged against your ear. “That this is what you wanted?”

You nod frantically, nails digging into the vinyl bench, legs trembling under the weight of him. You feel full, stretched, and already ruined.

“Say it,” he growls, one hand wrapping around your throat, the other gripping your hip tight enough to bruise. “Say it, princess.”

“I'm— fuck —sorry,” you gasp. “This is what I deserve—”

He pulls back just enough to make you feel the loss.

Then he slams back in.

You cry out— high and startled, the sound echoing off the steel walls of the patrol boat. The impact rocks the whole vessel, water sloshing beneath you, and somewhere outside a seagull shrieks.

He doesn’t stop.

He sets a brutal pace— hips snapping forward, the force of every thrust sending jolts of pleasure up your spine. His grip on your hip is punishing, keeping you right where he wants you, while his cock drives into you over and over with unrelenting force.

“This what you were beggin’ for, huh?” he grits, voice low and filthy. “Actin’ like a brat, grindin’ on me like you needed it that bad?”

Your head lolls forward, vision blurry, every nerve lit up.

You can barely speak, but he doesn’t need you to.

Your body answers for you— clenching tight, soaking him, trembling so violently he has to steady you with both hands now, one gripping your throat while the other fists in your hair again, using it to pull your head back as he fucks you deeper.

“Look at you,” he growls. “Can’t even talk now. So cockdrunk you can’t remember your own fuckin’ name.”

You whine, broken and breathless, and that only makes him groan—hips stuttering once, then slamming back in with a pace that says he’s close, that he’s been holding this back too long.

You’re already right on the edge again, every thrust pushing you further, dragging your clit against the bench in just the right way, pressure building and twisting tight in your gut.

“You wanted attention?” he snarls. “Now everyone at the dock’s gonna hear how you take cock.”

You shatter with a cry, convulsing around him as your orgasm rips through you— legs locking, body clenching so tight around him that he hisses through his teeth.

“Fuck— fuck,” he snarls, and then he’s spilling inside you, hips grinding deep, cock pulsing as he fills you to the brim.

You slump forward, boneless and gasping, cunt still fluttering around him while he rides out the last few aftershocks, breath heavy against your shoulder.

He doesn’t pull out right away.

Just stays there, cock still buried in you, hand dragging down your back, slow and almost gentle.

"That enough attention for one day?" he mutters, voice wrecked.

You can’t answer, brain empty, hips bruised from the friction.

All you can do is smile as he finishes inside you, pressed tight against your back, hand around your throat like he owns you.

Which, maybe, now he does.

[immortalityforthegoddess]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Alright this is what everyone voted for! Baek sang will be next 🦈

W A R N I N G S • NSFW • SFW • Manipulation • Jinrang Gang • Soft Jinrang • Possessive • And more!

• Jinrang is very welled mannered but swears like a sailer

• Jinrang is a very quiet man because he doesn't see the use of talking so much. Of course that doesn't go for you, you have a reasoning! Keep him intertaned.

• Your friends/family were shocked to meet Jinrang. He's literally a fucking tank. Your family has wanted to meet the man that buys you diamonds like they are just an every other day gift, but Lord.

• Your friends/family probably didn't know how to act, with jinrang being so quiet but his presence having so much power and authority.

• Jinrang, on the other hand, wasn't fazed at all. He was his normal chill, calm, laid-back self.

• Imagine your friends/family shocked when they learned of who he is. King of Busan.

• Jinrang wouldn't really have a 'type' mainly because he doesn't like labels.

• When you're in a relationship with Jinrang, then it has to be official; like I said, man doesn't like labels. But! Whenever he says you're his, it's not a label, it's simply a fact.

• When you first move in together, he makes it clear that rent, bills and food are all on him and that's final.

• Jinrang would differently be the type who doesn't care if you work or not but makes it known that your paycheck goes to you and you only. When you live together, he pays for everything.

• Jinrang is the type to let you decorate the house however you like, as long as it feels like home to you.

• He would 100% be a workaholic but always tried to make time for you as well.

• You're married to the king of Busan, the Jinrang gang are your besties. Baek sang and you fight for the attention of jinrang a lot even though he is YOUR husband.

• Jinrang is the type to just stare you down when a fight occurs between you two and than just walk away. He's not being rude, he just thinks you need space!

• Jinrang rarely ever wears ties because they make him feel suffocated. But will wear one if you beg enough.

• Jinrang will comfort you when your upset by simply sitting there quietly and listening to you. If your to the point of snacking and hyper ventilating than he'll sit you on his lap and just hold you.

• when you're on your period and are having bad cramps, he'll try and help by offering sex, he had red something about sex being the most accurate thing when it came to getting rid of cramps, if you refuse than he'll by you lots of medicine and chocolate.

• Jinrang is a very overprotective person when it comes to his crew and family. You being his wife, that especially extends to you; he won't let you leave the house by yourself after 8:00; when he leaves for business, and you can't come, there will always be someone from the Jinrang gang there to check up on you.

• he enjoys it when you and his pack get along. It's like a sigh of relief when he sees how well you fit in. His crew is his pack, his family so yes, they do mean a lot to him.

• Jinrang gets jealous. It's not that he doesn't trust you, it's that he doesn't trust the world.

• While he had never not wanted kids, he also has never seen himself having kids. Due to his past and all his trauma he more than likely say yes to have kids like it's nothing but inside he is freaking out, wondering how to be the best father he could be.

- 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 -

• Jinrang is very gentail in bed. Well...as gentail as he can be, being built like a tank and having the cock size of nearly your forearm.

• Jinrang tries his best not to get needy or too hard, he knows that the after math of him filling up your insides are are painful to say the least, not to mention you can't walk for literal days. And even than a limp is clear as day.

• Jinrang is always at least half hard, you found it's just his nature. Plus, it's not his fault; look at you.

• Jinrang isn't one to use dildos or anything of the sort. Won't need a machine when he has a monster in his pants. (Sorry not sorry 😎)

• While Jinrang doesn't like getting anything other than you and him involved in bed, he doesn't mind when you wear lingerie. He finds it sexy.

• He enjoys moments when during sex, your so cock drunk you can only say his name.

• He's found himself getting hard all over again after sex when he sees you gentaily rubbing your sore, swollen private parts.

• If you're on your period and having bad cramps, and you do say yes to sex, he'll be so gentle and soft. Use your period blood as lube for when he enters.

• He very much loves when he can just eat you out. You on your back, legs up and around his shoulders, as his head is in between your legs, licking, biting, sucking your needy and wet folds. Gentail kisses around your entrance and on it.

• Jinrang LOVES your boobs. They're like big soft pillows. He enjoys sucking and biting your poor nipples. Leaving dark hickeys and bit marks along your them.

• Jinrang hates being interrupted during sex. One time, your friend called while he was balls deep inside of you; he proceeded to answer the call, then started pounding into you while holding the phone in his hand near you, making you scream and cry his name over and over until you orgasmed on call. Your friend was very traumatized, to say the least.

• Jinrang would be the type to manipulate his spouse into doing what he wants. You don't want sex? He's been away for so long, all he asks is for a bit of love but in a more nonchalant type of way.

• Jinrang is just as possive as he is protective. Your his to protect, provide and care for in any means necessary. So in bed he makes sure your needs and wants are always met no matter how needy he may be.

• The aftercare is very good. Cuddles, bath, more cuddles. He is very sweet and makes sure you have everything you want. He'll bring you snacks and rub your sore legs.

• he'll literally do anything for you. It doesn't matter if he is tired or anything; your wish is his command.

• overall, Jinrang and his past trauma would try very hard to take care of you, but also, sure, you didn't feel like you were on a leash. His crew/pack also approved of you which calmed his nerves a lot.

[tangledinlove]

carve your name

part seven — the killerverse masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of ares reader

summary: it’s the fourth of july. you try and come to terms with your weird feelings toward your best friend while he chases another girl

content: something something creator chose not to use warnings. its getting real

notes: set after the trio’s return from their quest. this is divergent from the show! after the trio comes back from their quest, luke and percy do Not go out into the woods

You’re beating Luke in an arm wrestling contest when Chris brings it up.

“You guys know that girl that just got claimed by Athena?”

Neither of you answer, too busy putting all of your energy into slamming the other’s hand into the table.

You’re winning by the slightest margin. His hand’s about a quarter of the way from the upright position, which doesn’t sound like much, but is a lot when you’ve been at a stalemate for the past five minutes.

“Someone told me she was talking about Luke.”

You begin to lose your grip on his hand, sweaty and sore. But you’re both tied with two wins in this best of five, and you refuse to even let up for a second. The muscles in your arm protest and threaten to give out for a second before you readjust your grasp.

Chris claps a hand on Luke’s back, and when he doesn’t say anything, you can tell he’s just as focused as you are.

“She wants to make a move on you, dude,” Chris says.

Luke’s hand hits the wood, a swift and decisive victory.

“Fucking finally,” you grit out, rolling your shoulder. You pick up your water just so you don’t have to look at either of them, something sick and familiar pulling in your chest. “I thought you’d never give up.”

Luke’s rubbing at his forearm when he laughs, and your stupid mind imagines the feeling of stupid butterflies stirring in your stupid chest.

“It felt like my arm was gonna pop out of its socket. How’d you do that thing at the end?”

You take a long sip of water, fanning at your face. You wonder if your thirty minutes of arm wrestling combined with the July sun would be enough to convince them that that’s why you feel so flushed.

“You mean that thing called winning?”

He kicks your ankles from under the table. “Fuck you. I win plenty. But it was like you got your dad’s blessing just to beat me at arm wrestling.”

Your face pulls up into something that you hope looks amused. “I think you’re just losing your touch, Luke. I bet even Percy would be able to beat you and those weak noodle arms.”

It’s not meant as a dig, but Luke takes a half beat too long to respond.

He stands up abruptly, shifting the bench backward with Chris still on it. He protests at the sudden movement, catching your glass that teeters off the table.

You meet Luke’s eyes again, and his grin lets you know he’s not gonna let your joking slide. He rounds the table, his hands outstretched for you, and you nearly throw yourself in the opposite direction.

“Luke,” you say, the single word sounding like a plea. You walk backwards all the way to the edge of the pavilion, trying not to trip over your own feet. “I was kidding.”

“I know,” he says. His smile is growing wider by a second. “But you’ll say sorry, right?”

“I’m sorry!” You squeal when he lunges for you, trying not to dissolve into laughter. “And I’ll never make fun of you and your weak arms ever again.”

You know there’s really no use running. Luke’s fast, and even though you are too, you won’t outrun him. You let him rush forward and throw you over his shoulder.

Luke gets an apology from you eventually, when you’re dizzy from being over his shoulder and floating with laughter. He holds onto your shoulders during the walk back to your table even though you’re not that dizzy.

When you sit down on the bench opposite of Chris, the first words out of his mouth are, “You guys are fucking weird. Did either of you hear what I said?”

Luke takes his seat across from you, and you try not to let your gaze linger for too long.

You sound breathless. “Sorry, Chris. We take arm wrestling very seriously.”

Luke cracks his knuckles before turning to his friend next to him. “Were you talking about Callea?”

Oh. So he was listening.

Chris snaps his fingers before pointing at him. “Yep. Her. She’s pretty into you.” His eyes slide over to you before he gives his attention back to Luke. “You gonna do something about that?”

“Nah.” Luke smiles, a little embarrassed like he always is whenever he finds out someone new likes him.

It happens a lot to him. A lot more often than you think you’re comfortable with.

…If it were happening to you, of course. Not Luke. You are perfectly okay with the amount of people who fall at his feet. Because he’s his own person. His own person who’s not yours.

“You scared?” Chris jokes. You stare pointedly at the ground. How weird would it be if you just up and left? “She’s pretty.”

Luke’s amused. He slides your glass across the table between both of his hands. “Yeah, so? A ton of girls are pretty.”

Chris is about to say something, you can tell. But he laughs instead. “I’m saying you should go for it.”

He doesn’t look like he cares much, and some sick and twisted part of you feels relieved.

“I’m good, man. I don’t need a girlfriend, especially if it’s some random girl.”

You can tell Chris knows that Luke isn’t giving up anytime soon. So he turns his attention to you.

“C’mon, dude. Help me out—I know he’ll listen to you. Luke should go for it, right?”

You feel frozen on the spot. Both of the boys are looking at you expectantly, believing wholeheartedly that you’ll take their side. You swallow despite the dryness in your throat.

You want to say no.

Not a single part of you wants Luke to make a move on this girl because… The idea makes you want to vomit. It makes you want to take Luke and drag him far, far away where no one can even look at him. Just you and him on top of a mountain, far away from the rest of society.

The endless stream of girls that would constantly make eyes at him from across camp had always made you defensive, but to a perfectly normal extent.

But you’re scared now. Those protective feelings are starting to look like something different, something you don’t even want to think about.

You feel sick, and it’s all because Chris is suggesting Luke should get a girlfriend.

What’s happening to your chest right now isn’t normal. You need to cut whatever it is that’s growing inside of you at the root and shove everything into the very back of your mind. You aren’t supposed to be feeling like this. It isn’t right.

You lean onto the palm of your hand while you turn to look at Chris. You refuse to let your voice waver.

“Yeah. He should.”

The smile on his face tapers off into one of shock. His eyebrows go high for a second, and he huffs a surprised laugh. “Wait, really?”

“Really.” You refuse to look at Luke. You’re beyond scared of what he’ll say. “I mean, half of camp has been pining after him for years. What could it hurt, you know?”

There’s a beat of silence before Chris turns back to him. “Uh, well, you heard her. Two against one.”

You rub at the skin by your wrist.

At the root. At the root.

“I’m kinda jealous. If I had half as many people in love me…” You laugh, and you’re glad to hear that it doesn’t sound half as forced as it really is. “I probably would have a boyfriend by now.”

The lie feels like acid in your throat. You force your eyes back to Luke. His are just as deceptively blank as yours, the look on his face unreadable.

He looks indifferent at the idea, and it stings more than you thought it would. You’d felt physically sick at the idea of Luke having a girlfriend, and he couldn’t care less about you getting involved with anyone else.

The nausea worsens the pressure on your chest.

“And it’s the Fourth of July bonfire tonight,” you add, the hole you’ve dug for yourself growing deeper and deeper with every single word. “So it’d be a great time to do it.”

“Real romantic,” Chris tacks on.

Luke still hasn’t said a word, and the anticipation of what he’ll say might just kill you. You aren’t sure what you’ll do if he actually agrees. Probably something incredibly stupid. You’ve never wanted someone to tell you no this badly.

After a painfully long few seconds, Luke shrugs. “We’ll see, then.”

You feel like the floor has fallen out from under you.

Chris covers up his choke with a laugh. “Are you being serious?”

You’ve never felt so far apart from Luke in your entire life. For the first time ever, you can’t even begin to imagine what he’s thinking.

“Well,” he laughs, a smile you’ve never seen him wear before get plastered on his face. “What could it hurt?”

The sound of your own words coming from his mouth are enough for the sick feeling wearing away at you to grow violent. You get up slowly from the table, trying to push down everything in you that’s threatening to make itself painfully known.

“I’ll see you guys tonight, then?”

Chris scratches his head. “Where are you going?”

“I told one of the Hephaestus kids I’d help set up for the firework show.” You’re blatantly lying. A good amount of them have been weary of you ever since that fight between Luke and Max at the start of the summer. “They’re loading up the barge right now.”

Luke looks confused, but you don’t have anything to say to him. You throw a halfhearted wave over your shoulder and make sure not to look at either of them as you turn away.

(You don’t head down to the beach. You dry heave in the bathroom for thirty minutes before feeling fine enough to walk back out.)

—

You’d been beyond excited to see Annabeth, Percy, and Grover come back to camp a few weeks ago. Returning safe from a quest was no easy feat, and preventing a literal war even more so. You’d been sure to hold all three of them in a group hug so tight they’d gotten annoyed with you.

When you see the former two laid out on a picnic blanket by the sand, waiting for the show to start, you drop in right behind them.

“Hey, guys.” You smile at the way Percy jumps. “You ready for the show?”

“Oh, hey. Is Annabeth right about how cool it all is?” he asks.

It’s nice to see they’re both friends now. During Capture the Flag, he’d seemed scared of how prickly she was.

“Annabeth’s always right.” You wink at her before turning back to Percy. “And absolutely. I saw the fireworks a bit ago—they’re even bigger than last year. I think they’re doing something special.”

Percy looks impressed. He pops a grape into his mouth from the Ziploc bag in his lap.

“Hey.” Annabeth smiles at you before her eyes dart to the space behind you. “Are you okay?”

You squeeze her shoulder. “Yeah, why? Do I not look okay?”

“Oh, no. You look fine, I was just confused.”

“About?”

“About where Luke was. I have something to ask him, and he’s usually around wherever you are.”

Your face warms.

“He said he’d catch up with me soon,” you explain, trying not to read into her words too much. “But, uh… He’s back at his cabin getting ready to romance one of your sisters, I think.”

Percy freezes, a grape halfway to his mouth. You’re reminded of how he’d assumed you had liked Luke, all the way back when he’d first gotten to camp.

The little shit.

“What?” Annabeth’s brows are knit together in disbelief. “Are you messing with me?”

“Nope.” You steal a grape from Percy and listen to the crunch it makes between your teeth. “Chris suggested it. And I think I kind of encouraged him.”

The two of them share some sort of look right in front of your face.

“Hello?” You snap your fingers in between them. “Share with the class?”

“It’s nothing,” she insists, turning away from the ocean to face you. “I’m just surprised.”

You bite back your remark that probably would’ve been, That makes two of us! and let some sand fall through the gaps in your fingers. “Chris seemed surprised too. But Luke can do whatever he wants.”

Percy and Annabeth share another side glance, and you groan. You take back whatever you’d just said about being happy they’re friends.

“Okay, seriously. Spit it out or stop conspiring in front of my face, please. It’s rude.”

“Sorry,” Percy says quickly. “I mean, you already know, but I thought you guys liked each other. I didn’t take him for a guy who’d go for another one of Annabeth’s sisters.”

You can’t help but smile at that.

“Do you know who it is?” Annabeth presses. “I can’t believe so much has changed since we’ve been away,” she says, genuinely considering the thought of this. “Luke used to flat out ignore girls that liked him.”

“It’s Callea, the one who just got claimed.”

Be nice, you remind yourself. It’s not her fault you told Luke to go after her.

“She’s nice,” you add. “I remember her from the times I’d stay over at the Hermes cabin.”

Annabeth frowns. “Oh. Are they like… friends?”

It’s going to make you sound like a crazy psycho, but you know the answer to that question is no. No, they are not friends.

But you just shrug. “I don’t know.”

The kids are quiet, and it puts you on edge. Everyone seems to be especially close-mouthed around you today. There’s clearly more they want to say, especially Annabeth, but she leaves it off with an eyebrow raise and moving over on the blanket.

“Want to watch the fireworks with us?”

You love Annabeth. You’re grateful that she’s dropped it.

“Of course.”

The three of you watch the work of the Hephaestus kids in awe. The red, white, and blue fireworks (projectiles would be a more accurate term) illuminate the sky, showcasing little stories in the lights. So far, the highlights have been the Minotaur (which you make sure to nudge Percy to look at), a scene of your father in battle, and planes made out of lights swerving and shooting at other firework planes.

Sometime between the scene of the warships braving the storm and something from the American Revolution, you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You turn, searching for who you know is standing somewhere amongst the other campers on the beach.

You find him embarrassingly fast. He’s at the edge of the tree line, leaning against an oak and watching George Washington do whatever it is he does.

Percy doesn’t say anything when you get up from your spot, but Annabeth catches you with a hand on your ankle before you move off the blanket.

“Can you ask him where he left my book?” she asks. “He’ll know which one.”

“Oh.” You have no idea how she’s so all-knowing all the time. “Yeah, of course. I’ll see you later, Annabeth.”

“Later.” She turns back to watch the show, grabbing Percy’s shoulder to make him look at some sort of special spiral the fireworks make in the sky.

Luke’s face is painted in the red lights from a burst shaped like the American flag when you approach.

He’s dressed nicely. Not too overly fancy that it looks like he put effort in, but you can tell he definitely sat over his stuff an hour ago wondering what to wear.

He nudges your shoulder when you settle next to him against the tree. “Where’s your jacket?”

You tug at his sleeve. “Right here.”

He always overheats when he drinks and ends the night with ten less layers than he started with, which all end up going to you. Luke smiles at you because he knows you’re right.

“You ready for tonight?” You draw a circle with the point of your shoe in the dirt, looking away from him and the light of the fireworks.

“Absolutely,” he says, his eyes probably crinkling. “Can’t wait for you to sneak shots behind my back and get so drunk I gotta carry you back to the cabin.”

You think you might hate yourself, because the next words out of your mouth are, “I was talking about Callea.”

The light hearted air around you sours almost immediately. You can picture the furrow of his brows with weird accuracy.

“Oh,” he says, in that tone that tells you that you just caught him off guard. “Sure. Whatever happens, happens.”

The campers on the beach ahead of you burst into boisterous applause at the firework show finale: the warriors battling it out in the sky are as tall as skyscrapers.

Luke pushes off of the wall of wood behind you, slinging an arm over your shoulder.

“Go slow tonight.” He waves to one of the younger kids passing by you as you make your way towards the other half of the beach. “Can’t have you getting alcohol poisoning.”

“Don’t worry,” you say. “I’ll be fine.”

The two of you wander over the sand dunes, the little tufts of beachgrass tickling your ankles. While you walk, he talks to you about what he was doing before he showed up to the beach, and you listen half heartedly.

You can’t wait to drink the memory of this night and Luke and Callea out of your mind.

—

The number of people that have already made their way to the site by the time you get there surprises you.

There aren’t many campers old enough to go to these things. But there’s still a decent amount of people here, most crowded around the bonfire glowing bright red in the center of the clearing. It’s about twenty feet high and the pieces of wood keeping it alive are about the size of entire tree trunks.

There’s a few people standing around a foldable table that’s dirty from age and long stained with various drinks. A group of girls you know are talking around the cooler, and you find yourself moving in their direction before you can stop yourself.

The first conversation about Callea happened a few hours ago, but you’ve been feeling irritated and sick and on edge and annoyed ever since. So it really isn’t your fault that the second someone hands you a can of hard lemonade, you’re cracking open the tab and tipping it down your throat.

It burns on the way down and really isn’t that good. Most of the cheap stuff people get for these things aren’t, but you still find yourself hoping every single time. You let the sting in your throat replace the sting of the mean mix of emotions in your head.

“Hey.” The can pressed against your mouth is lifted clear over your head, spilling a few drops of sticky lemonade onto your shirt. “What’d I say? Slow down.”

“You’re no fun sometimes,” you complain, but you feel an out of place sense of relief.

Luke’s still here. With you, not someone else.

“It’s been forever since I’ve had one of these.”

“Is that why you downed half the can in fifteen seconds?” Luke asks, squinting into the opening at the top. His eyes find the flavor printed on the side of the can, and you stare as he puts his mouth over the spot yours had just been and takes a long swig.

He makes a face at the taste. You swallow around the dryness in your throat.

“I still don’t get why you like this stuff. Pure sugar.”

He uses the edge of the table to pop off the cap of the cheap beer that his brothers always buy, and you wince just imagining the bitterness of it. He tosses the cap into the trash bag tied to the end of the table.

(You all take trash disposal very seriously at these bonfires. You’re all still a little scared from the time a nymph threatened to snitch on you all when she found a discarded can by the edge of the woods.)

“You know the drill though. I’m not cleaning up your vomit again.”

“You’re going to have to stop bringing that up one day.”

Luke gives you a lopsided smile. “But you get so embarrassed when I do.”

“Gods, who wouldn’t?” you shiver. “I couldn’t look your brother in the face for weeks after that.”

He mimes himself tumbling out of bed and then vomiting onto what you know is supposed to be the foot of his brother’s bed.

You hit his shoulder, tugging your drink out of his hand. “Asshole. We get it, all your siblings were there—”

“Luke!”

The two of you spin in the direction of the voice, off in the direction of the beach.

It’s Callea. The sight of her is enough to send burning hot jealousy through your bloodstream.

She’s so effortlessly pretty that it has you tugging uncomfortably at your own clothes. Her hair has been curled to perfection, and it's pinned back, putting every part of her insane bone structure on display.

There’s a group of people behind her, a mix of kids from every cabin. You see Chris amongst them, all of them waving you in their direction.

Callea’s smiling, and Luke looks stunned.

You take a step back without meaning to. When he turns to you, he’s smiling in a way that almost looks nervous.

You try for a smile too, feeling out of your mind. “Good luck, hero.”

The look flickers off his face for a second. He’s confused. “You’re not coming?”

You know you won’t be able to handle the sight of him and Callea together without tears pricking at your eyes. The hurt is making itself known already, and you know it’ll only get worse from here.

“I’m gonna find my friends.” You gesture vaguely behind you because you have no idea where any of them actually are. “I’ll catch up later.”

He’s not convinced, his hand settling on your shoulder. “C’mon, please? Don’t make me go alone. I feel like I’m being left to the sharks.”

You pull yourself away too fast, and it’s clear that he picks up on that too.

“Sorry.” You look away because you know you’ll give in and go with him. “An hour at most, and I’ll come looking for you.”

“An hour?” His tone is off.

You take another long sip from your drink. It’s about one-fourth of the way full now.

“Go get your girl, Luke.” The words are forced out through gritted teeth and the envy clouding your mind.

You can feel him watch you as you walk away.

—

It takes another few cans of fruity drinks and two Dirty Shirleys until you feel your face getting hot and your tongue get heavy in your mouth.

One of your sisters did something with your hair, but you’re much too preoccupied to care much about it. You’ve lost track of how long it’s been since you first got here, but the drinks have been flowing and have started tasting really good, though you think that’s just because of how tipsy you are.

It’s kinda hard to think about other things when you’re standing amongst twenty other kids cheering on a son of Aphrodite who’s doing a keg stand.

You feel someone tug at your arm. It’s Ruby, trying to drag your attention away from the boy doing a handstand on top of the barrel. She has to shout over the sound of everyone egging him on.

“I’m go— to give —s to V—t!”

The guy in the middle of the crowd lets out a roar of triumph, and everyone around you joins in.

“Huh?”

Someone jostles you around while they rush for the middle and you lose her for a second. But then she’s seizing your wrist and dragging you out of the layers of people.

“I’ll be back! I’m gonna give this to Violet.” you think she says. Your ears are ringing from the change of volume.

She shakes a can of something in front of your face, and the melted ice water from the cooler splatters onto your shirt.

“Can I come with?” you yell over the sound of someone turning up the music.

She intertwines her hand with yours as she starts singing along with whatever song they’ve put on. She seems to know exactly where she’s going, dragging you behind her as she heads in the direction of the ocean.

“There she is,” you say, pointing to someone wading in the water.

“Uhh,” Ruby squints in the direction you’re pointing in. “I think that’s Jace.”

The boy’s face catches the light when he splashes the person standing next to him, and you wonder how you’d mistaken him for her in the first place.

“Oh, whoops.”

“There,” she says suddenly, pointing in the direction of a smaller group a little bit away. “Violet!”

You nearly get whiplash from the way she changes course so fast, snapping your head to the left.

“There you are,” Violet groans, trying to squeeze her way through her dense crowd of friends. “I was starting to think you’d never show up!”

“But I’m here now,” she defends, giving the girl her lukewarm drink. She gives her a big hug in thanks, and it makes you smile. You give Ruby a hug after Violet lets go of her just because you can.

Ruby falls into easy conversation with the people standing around, but you stare out at the water, something unsettling setting in. You think you’re supposed to be doing something right now, but can’t really remember what it is.

You already gave up your bet money to the girl you’d lost to. You hadn’t forgotten to put on sunscreen earlier. You’re getting rum and Coke spilled down the front of your white shirt.

Wait.

“Oh, fuck. My bad.”

You’re getting rum and Coke spilled down the front of your white shirt.

“Oh, fuck,” the guy repeats. His hands flutter around your shirt but he clearly knows he shouldn’t try dabbing it out. “Sorry, dude. That was on me.”

“No shit,” you say, but you’re not too upset about it. It wasn’t your favorite shirt or anything.

His face is growing bright red, and he stares very solemnly up at the sky.

You frown. “Oh, um. You’re good, dude. It’s not that serious.”

“Mikey!” someone hisses as he shoves his jacket at you. “Great going, jackass.”

You look down, and see that your shirt is starting to look a little transparent.

Ha. No wonder he’d gone tomato red.

“It’s fine,” you insist, letting Ruby shove your arms through the jacket. “No harm, dude.”

He gives you a fist bump before disappearing back inside his group of friends.

“Oh, hey! Where’ve you been?” someone asks.

You think back to what you’re definitely forgetting while you wait for Ruby to respond to them. It’s on the tip of your tongue, too.

After a few seconds of your friend’s silence, you realize that person’s talking to you.

“Chris!” you greet, smiling. You throw your arms around his shoulders with so much force he nearly tips over. “What’re you doing here?”

His curly hair is looking super windswept, and you point it out to him with a smile.

He flattens the wayward strands before returning your grin. “Bradley was breakdancing over here earlier.”

A laugh finds its way out of your mouth. “Really?”

“Yep.”

“It’s been a bunch of fun over there,” you tell him, and you think you can still hear them yelling about something.

“I can tell,” he says, laughing. Then, he gets a curious look on his face. “By the way, did you go see Luke? He was looking for you earlier.”

The mention of him hits you like a truck, slamming the memories straight to the forefront of your mind.

“Oh. No. I didn’t.”

“Do you want me to take you to him? He’s sitting with Callea.”

You lift Chris’ cup straight out of his hands and finish whatever’s in it. It’s not as bad as that beer Luke likes, but it’s definitely not good, either.

It takes Chris a second to find his voice. “Are you good?”

You want to be honest. No, you aren’t good. You’re jealous and bitter and feel like you’re about to lose the only person you care about.

But you just give Chris a thumbs up while wiping away the bits that are dripping down your chin. “Well. Yep.”

That was what you were forgetting.

You really have to thank the drinks you had earlier for helping you push him to the back of your mind.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. Your eyes scan the shoreline, and you find them a little too quickly.

They’re sitting on a log by a few other people at the big fire. One of the Apollo kids is singing something on a guitar, but neither Luke or Callea are paying attention. They’re talking quietly, the two of them engrossed in whatever stupid shit they’re talking about. When Callea laughs, she leans her head back and puts her hand on Luke’s arm, and—

You look away so the bile doesn’t make its way up your throat. You sit down on the sand. Hard.

Chris settles down slowly next to you. You let your head hit his shoulder, defeated.

You’re supposed to be cutting everything off. Every single out of place feeling you have towards Luke is supposed to be gone. Gone from your mind and gone from your heart, because none of it is normal.

You shouldn’t feel possessive at the thought of Luke being with another girl. It’s not right. He deserves to be happy— so happy that he doesn’t stop smiling. So happy that he’s head over heels for a girl.

What kind of sick person are you?

You don’t want Luke to be happy with Callea. You don’t want him to kiss her, and you don’t want him to hold her hand and let her sleep on your side of his bed.

And that’s not normal. You’d encourage any one of your other friends to go after a cute girl, but the thought of Luke doing the same made you drink your weight in vodka cran and hard strawberry lemonade.

Your chest burns. Feeling this way hurts, but you can’t stop it. Your feelings for Luke are so innate, they’re a part of you.

It’s not possible to get rid of this. You know it for a fact.

Chris nudges you with his elbow. “I… Shit. I have something to tell you.”

You brush sand from the edge of your jeans. You’re not in a big talking mood.

“I only told Luke to go after Callea because I thought you’d tell him not to.”

You spin around so fast to look at him that Chris has to catch you when you fall forward.

“You did what?” you spit out after a second, trying to fight back the nausea.

This entire thing started… Because Chris Rodriguez wanted to test you?

“You’ve stopped him every other time!” He looks guilty and frantic all at once as he settles you back onto the ground. “I was so convinced you would do it again, and I just... I’m sorry.”

“Gods, Chris,” you complain. Your head is spinning. “Why?”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. “You gotta promise not to be mad.”

You know he can tell how angry you are when he seems to shrink into the sand.

“Uh… I was convinced you two got together recently without telling me. And I mean, I ask Luke about girls all the time, so—”

“You thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to ask him about some girl again?” your stare is flat. “To see how we’d react?”

He shrugs, running his hands through the sand. “Yeah.”

“And you didn’t expect me to tell him to go for it?”

He shrugs for a second time, too guilty to really look at you. “I mean, obviously. But I was even more surprised when he actually agreed to it.”

You think about Luke and Callea by the bonfire, too busy staring into each other's eyes to notice anything else. The regret feels like a physical weight on your chest.

“Wasn’t really your fault,” you admit, leaning your chin against your knees. “I um… Fuck, Chris. I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud.”

You smile, and he smiles with you, but you think it’s because he’s scared you’re going to cry.

“I think I like Luke.”

It’s weird to admit that to someone other than yourself. But the words are a lot less scary now that you’ve said them out loud.

You like Luke. You have for a while.

It’s hard to trace the start of your feelings for him. There’s so much between you two, and the thought of trying to comb through nineteen years of friendship to find the exact moment where your world shifted is impossible.

You think about the way you feel around him — the way only he makes you feel. You don’t think you could explain it to Chris even if you wanted to. You don’t even know if you could explain it fully to yourself.

“And I got scared. I was trying to pretend like if I ignored it, it would go away.” You laugh at how ridiculous it all sounds. “But nothing could erase the way I feel for him. He’s just… He’s been everything.”

You know you like Luke. You think it might even be more than that.

The words sit heavy between you and Chris. He exhales as he lays back, trying to make sense of the drunk slew of words you’ve spit up at him.

It’s a lot.

But he lets you wallow for less than thirty seconds.

“Get up,” he says, conviction coloring his words. He’s staring out at the ocean, and you give him a funny look.

“What?”

He pushes himself to his feet before grabbing your hands and tugging you up. You stumble forward, still feeling the effects of the alcohol, but Chris has you stable before you even realize you’d almost fallen over.

“Stand up and get over there,” he demands, brushing sand off your shirt.

“Over there?” you repeat weakly, glancing between Chris and where you know his best friend is sitting.

He drags you even further away from Ruby’s friends. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” you hiss, tugging hard on his hand and stumbling in the sand a bit. “I’m not going to interrupt that, Chris. I told him to go after her.”

He must get annoyed with the way you’re dragging your feet, because he stops the weird tug-of-war you’re having. Chris turns to face you, fire in his eyes.

“Then, congrats. We all make stupid decisions, so welcome to the club.”

Your eyes widen. You’ve never seen him this worked up about something in your life.

“But you’re going to regret this,” he insists. He grabs onto your shoulders with so much force it scares you a little. His stare is serious. “You’re important to him. I can’t think of something he cares about more.”

With his grip on your shoulders, he spins you around to face the boy in question. Luke’s face is lit up by the fire. He’s smiling at someone else.

“You’re a daughter of Ares for a reason, dude. You’d never sit back and let this happen.” He nudges you forward. “Get it done.”

You think of Luke. Your best friend, the only person you know you want in your future. The boy who holds you in your sleep and knows exactly what you need based on the way you reach for his hand. The boy who is a part of you just as much as you are.

When you turn around, you’re met with the sight of Chris’ back as he walks away.

He’s insane.

But he’s right.

You have to stop whatever it is that’s happening between Luke and Callea, even though it’s basically your fault. You know that the hurt you feel will only get worse if something really does happen between them, and the thought of that scares you more than anything else.

You’ve been less afraid of demigod-eating monsters than you are of this teenage girl.

Luke’s talking about something, and Callea’s looking at him with stars in her eyes. It makes you stumble over the sand a little faster.

From so far away, the sight of them had been manageable. But you find unease settling in your stomach the closer you get.

The wind tousles his hair and you’re taken aback by just how nice he looks. He’s a little flushed from the alcohol, but you like how it makes his smiles just a little bit wider and his hands a little more touchy.

You’re so busy staring you don’t notice when his eyes find yours. He sits up straight.

You call his name what must be a little too loudly, because the Apollo kid playing the guitar stops strumming.

“Hi,” you say, out of breath from the hike over. He’s grinning at you, finding something a little funny. You bend down so you can wrap him in a hug, and his hand slides up your back.

You inhale his cologne and sigh against him. “Missed you.”

“There you are,” Luke says, and you almost sigh with relief. “I missed you too. You disappeared.”

“Sorry. Ruby’s sister broke up with her boyfriend. I wanted to figure out what happened, and then he did a keg stand.”

“Ruby’s sister’s ex-boyfriend?”

“No. Matt did.”

“What does Matt have to do with Ruby’s sister’s ex-boyfriend?”

“Nothing.”

He’s grinning when he says, “My bad.”

You stand up to your full height, but you let your hand linger on his shoulder. His hand slides down your leg.

“I made you a Shirley Temple with vodka a while ago,” he says, handing you a red solo cup. “Extra cherries.”

You try not to smile too wide.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

“There’s only cherries in here,” you say, confused when he hands you the cup.

He squeezes the bare skin at your calf. “Yeah, sorry. They ran out of beer, and I got thirsty.”

“Luke, who is this?”

It’s Callea. She’s smiling at you, her head tilted to the side. Her hair is still perfect despite the light breeze.

You decidedly do not like the way his name sounds in her mouth.

You introduce yourself, trying to make your smile look as not strained as possible. “I’m Luke’s best friend. Who are you?”

“Callea.” She’s still smiling at you with her perfect teeth.

“Cool,” you say, because you don’t know what else there is to say. You’ve already met her. You aren’t sure why she’s pretending not to know you.

After a second of you staring at him, Luke makes room for you on the log. You get a sick sense of satisfaction when he moves further away from her.

He’s tapping on your leg. “You wanna sit?”

You nod automatically, leaning down to press a kiss against his cheek. “Of course.”

Luke has to steady you by your waist when you sit sideways on his lap.

He’s warm like he always is, even more so because of his proximity to the fire and the drinks he’s had. One of your arms goes around his neck as you lean against him.

“Annabeth wanted me to ask you where you left her book,” you say, your thumb rubbing over a part of his jaw. There's a tiny nick there you think he got from shaving, and you tell him that too.

It takes a second for the surprise to wear off. But he wraps an arm around your waist like he always does, and gives you a wobbly kind of smile.

“I’ll make sure to give it back to her,” he promises.

You miss the look he’s giving you, too busy curling your fingers in his hair. Callea had done this earlier. She didn’t deserve to.

“Wanna go back now?” you ask, yawning. “My head’s pounding.”

He squeezes your hip, and you forget what you were supposed to be mad about. “Thought you wouldn’t want to for a while. It’s not that late.”

“I think I drank too fast. I kinda just want to go and sleep at yours.”

You think if Chris were here, he’d probably tell you you’re laying it on thick. But you really do want to go to bed. Preferably after you take Luke far away from the girl next to you.

He tugs at the fabric of your jacket. “Where’d you get this?”

“Get what?”

“This.”

You look down at your chest, and see the logo of some sports team on it. You aren’t quite sure where it’s from, but Luke probably does.

“Some guy.”

“Some guy,” he echoes.

“Ruby’s friend,” you explain. You shove your face into his shoulder, which is stiff and so unlike him you pause.

“Are you friends with him?”

“I don’t think so. I didn’t really see his face. We didn’t do much talking.”

You realize just how tense he is only when he shifts you off of his lap and stands up abruptly. You sway on your feet.

“She’s drunk. ‘M gonna take her back,” he says to Callea.

It sounds like she protests, and you hear him apologize before saying goodbye.

(You choose to be nice and don’t wave at her while you walk away.)

Luke’s walking pretty fast, and you struggle to keep up with his long strides over the soft sand. Usually, you’d link your hands together at this point of a walk, but there’s too much distance between you two for it to work.

He’s weirdly prickly right now, so you keep your mouth shut the entire way back to his cabin. He can’t see you, but you frown at his back.

About halfway there, you hear him mumble expletives under his breath when a branch gets in his way, and the piece of wood, as thick as a dictionary, gets snapped in half from the pressure he uses to step on it.

You’re surprised he doesn’t blast the cabin door off its hinges with the way he shoves it open.

You follow him into the empty room. It’s just the two of you here because all of the younger kids are gathered in the pavilion to watch an old movie on a projector someone had brought back to life.

Luke’s already at his bed by the time you shut the door.

“You’re mad,” you point out, slinking over slowly. Luke could never scare you, but his silent anger is making you wary. “Why’re you mad?”

Luke doesn’t respond as he rummages around in his drawer, fishing out one of his t-shirts and a pair of pajama pants you’ve forgotten here.

“I’m not mad. C’mon, get dressed.” He says it quietly, but the clear signs of his anger give him away.

There’s the crease in between his eyebrows, for one. And the way he won’t look you in the eye. And when his fingers uncurl from the shirt to drop it into your hands, there’s wrinkles from how tightly he was gripping it.

“Aw,” you say, more amused than you should be. “You know, I thought you’d ditch me at my cabin tonight. But I think you’re a little too scared of me vomiting in my sleep and like, dying. So thanks. You’re pretty sweet for letting me still stay here. Even though you’re mad.”

“Killer.” Luke sighs when he looks away from you again, clenching and unclenching his fists. Definitely mad. “I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“Not mad.”

“You won’t let me touch you,” you say absentmindedly, taking a step closer to him. He doesn’t react, staring blankly over your shoulder. “It’s making me sad. You always let me ‘cause I can’t go a second without you.”

Luke inhales sharply, and you itch to have him under your hands again.

He scoffs a little meanly. “You have to stop saying shit like that.”

“What’s wrong with what I said?” you push, pressing closer to him. Just before you can get too close, he stops you with his hands around your biceps.

Luke’s lips are pressed into a firm line. His hands feel foreign against you, and it makes you feel weird. Everything is natural with him. Whatever is happening right now is not.

“You need to stop saying shit you don’t mean.”

“But I meant it. I can’t go a second without you.”

He doesn’t say a word. He sits you down on the edge of his bed and kneels down to untie your laces.

“Luke,” you practically whine, refraining from shifting yourself forward to hug him. “Why do you think I’m lying?”

“You’re drunk,” he states, matter of factly. He wrestles with your left shoe a little bit when it refuses to slip off. He flips it upside down and taps the sole to get rid of the gritty bits of sand that snuck into it.

“You’re drunk, too,” you point out. “So does that mean you’re lying to me?”

You put your left hand on the side of his face and make him look at you. He’s annoyed, and his face is warm and red like it gets whenever he drinks.

He sighs. Then he turns his face into your hand and lets his lips brush over your palm. “I’m not lying to you.”

Your skin tingles where his lips were. You rush your next words, giddy and a little embarrassed.

“Sometimes I wish you’d kiss me for real.”

Luke snaps. He backs away, running a hand through his hair. Your vision is blurry.

“Sorry,” you say, really frowning. You know you shouldn’t have said that. “Did that freak you out?”

“You can be so fucking mean,” Luke scoffs. “I don’t understand you sometimes.”

“What? Luke—”

“You tell me to go after some random girl neither of us really know, and then disappear for the rest of the night,” he grits out, angry at you in a way you’ve never seen.

His words aren’t making sense. He’d seemed so happy tonight, but speaks of it like it’d been torture. Your head is spinning.

“And then you come back with—” Luke cuts himself off before he can say what he really wants to. It seems to be a trend today. “Fuck, killer. You can be so mean.”

Your eyes sting with hurt. Luke never gets upset with you, and the immediate need to fix it makes your chest constrict.

You think you feel too much for him. Too much, too fast.

“What did I do?” you ask, and the frightening feeling of your eyes pricking with tears has the words rushing out. “I don’t know what you mean, I don’t get why you’re mad, Luke. Please talk to me.”

He tugs at the curls on his head, and it makes you frown. You wish he wasn’t so harsh on himself.

He kneels in front of you again, and you meet his eyes. They’re vulnerable.

You squeeze his shoulders.

Very slowly, he puts his hands on your sides again, and you soften into a puddle.

When he speaks next, it looks hard for him.

“Where’d you get this?”

The jacket.

You frown again. You’d already gone over this.

“Ruby’s friend, I told you.”

“You could’ve come to me if you were cold.” He forces the words out so quickly you almost don’t catch them. “I was looking for you.”

You rub his cheek sweetly. “Thanks, hero. You’re always looking out for me. But I had to put it on because he spilled his drink on me. Everyone would’ve seen through it if I waited to find you.”

It takes you a second before your hand finds the zipper, but when you do, you tug it down and show him your stained shirt underneath.

“Oh,” he says. He’s looking at your shirt and not at you. “You should get changed.”

“Why do you care?” you push.

“Your shirt’s sticky.”

“I meant about the jacket.”

Luke ignores you, tugging at the ends of your sleeves. “It’s nothing. C’mon, let’s get you outta this.”

You zip the jacket back up before he can stop you. “No. Tell me the truth.”

He gives you a look, stunned at your refusal. “I was being stupid, killer. It’s nothing.”

You get up, leaving him in his spot on the floor. “Tell me so it can be over.”

“It is over. I’m tired. You said you were too. Let’s go to bed.”

“Not until you tell me.”

“No.”

“Please, Luke?” you ask, knowing it’s only a matter of time before he gives in. “Please, please, please, please, pl—”

“If I tell you, will you finally go to sleep?”

“Yep. I swear.” You nod so fast you get dizzy. “I’ll shut up and we’ll go to sleep.”

He looks exasperated when he pushes himself to his feet. It looks like he can’t believe he’s having this conversation with you.

Luke sighs one final time.

“Earlier, you’d said you and this guy didn’t do much talking.”

You nod. “Yeah. He gave me his jacket and I walked away.”

“Well, I thought you ditched me ‘cause you wanted to go suck some guy’s face.” He gestures at your chest. “And it was worse ‘cause the jackass likes Arizona.”

He’d thought you’d been off with some random guy. And he’d been… jealous?

You don’t feel like joking with him anymore.

“That’s not fair,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

“What?”

“You were the one who was actually off making out with some random girl,” you point out.

His eyes widen. “You’re angry with me about that? I didn’t kiss Callea. And even if I did, you were the one who told me to go after her. Why are you upset about it now?”

“I don’t know!” You feel like you’re curling in on yourself. “I don’t like Callea. She annoys me.”

“I only said yes to talking to her because you wanted me to,” he says, bitterness creeping into his tone. “I’m so fucking confused. Did you want me to go for her or not?”

You think about Callea and Luke. The way she would kiss him. The way they would hold hands. The way she would be his future, not you.

You already know the answer to his question.

You shake your head vehemently. “I don’t want you to have a girlfriend, Luke.” You feel like a toddler throwing a tantrum, and shame curls around you. “I never wanted you to in the first place.”

“Then why did you agree with Chris?” he asks, and you’re shocked to hear that he sounds hurt.

You don’t want to talk to Luke about this right now. Not while you’re both drunk and willing to say something stupid.

But you look at him and the hurt in his eyes and feel the urge to spill every single thought you’ve ever had.

Your voice is quiet when you press your palms into your eyes. “I was scared.”

“Why?” he presses. His hands go around your wrists so you can’t hide from him. “Why were you scared?”

Luke makes you look at him then, his face inches from yours. You wonder if he already knows.

You know that you should wait and talk about this tomorrow. The both of you are drunk, no matter how much you want to deny it.

But it’s the alcohol.

The alcohol is why you do it.

It’s why you say, “I don’t want anyone else to have you, Luke.”

In the span of five seconds, you’ve uprooted nineteen years of love. Nineteen years of feelings that have been growing under the surface and into every part of who you are.

“I’m scared of the way I feel. I feel like throwing up whenever Callea looks at you,” you admit, eyes sliding to his shoulder. You can’t handle the weight of his stare. “So I ran from everything. I told you to go after her.”

Luke is still quiet, and the words finish pouring out.

“But I don’t want anyone else to kiss you. No one else but me.”

Luke still hasn’t let go of your wrists.

He hasn’t moved either, but you don’t blame him. You’d nearly been crushed under the weight of your feelings when you’d found out, and now, you’ve cracked open your heart and dumped it all at his feet.

Luke still hasn’t let go of your wrists.

But for good reason, you decide. He uses his hold on you to drag you forward and give you everything.

He tastes sweet. Like the grenadine from the Dirty Shirley he’d made for you, and you can't help the sigh that escapes you, a shaky exhale against his lips.

Luke lets go of you to cradle your face in his hands, brushing his thumbs under your eyes like he’s trying to commit the slopes of your face to memory.

His eyes are so brown. You’ve always known, but it feels different when you’re looking at the blackness of his pupils after he’s just kissed you.

“Was— Did you…” Where he’s looking is constantly changing, fluttering from meeting your gaze to down to your lips and then back up again. “Was that okay?”

You feel like you’re glowing. You can’t even imagine a world where you wouldn’t want this.

You say yes when you tilt your head up and slot your lips together.

He kisses you nice and slow, his hands sliding down to your back. He goes nice and slow because he’s not going anywhere, and you know it.

Your hands are shaking. You’re so jittery that you have to throw your arms around his shoulders and lock your hands together behind his neck. For the millionth time in your life, you thread your fingers through the dark sea of curls on his head. You’d never ever imagined you’d ever get to hold him like this, and it makes warmth spread to every part of your body.

Luke pulls away after a bit to rest his forehead against yours. When his eyes slide open, you lock eyes, and he breaks out into a grin. You find yourself mirroring it without meaning to.

His voice is so, so soft when he says, “Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“Were your eyes open?”

Oh. You’d forgotten you weren’t supposed to do that.

You’d been so wrapped up in the thought that he was kissing you, you hadn’t even thought about looking away from him.

(Luke Castellan was kissing you. You, you, you.)

The tip of your nose brushes against his, your eyes finally fluttering shut. You inhale the barely there hints of his cologne and grow dizzy with it. “I just wanted to look at you.”

You expect him to laugh. It sounds stupid even to you, but you’d said it because it was true.

Luke is pretty. You could stare at him until the end of time, when you’re old and gray and your legs don’t work and you need him to carry you around with him forever.

You realize his hands have migrated over to your waist, and the feeling of him at your sides and at your back is making your stomach spin with butterflies.

You lean back to meet his gaze, and the look there catches you off guard. He’s breathing hard, his eyes completely glazed over.

You think that’s why you only half expect it when he pulls you against him and kisses you stupid.

Luke slides the jacket straight off of your shoulders, letting it hit the floor. He mumbles something, but you don’t think anything of it because then he’s doing something that nearly makes your eyes roll back and it’s forgotten in a second. You trip over the discarded fabric when he walks you backward to crowd you against the foot of his bed.

It wrings something embarrassing from your vocal cords, and he smiles against your lips.

“Yeah?” he asks, even though there’s no question there.

You feel dizzy at the feeling of him. Your hands untangle from behind his neck to slide down the solid planes of his chest, and he hums against your mouth. If he wasn’t propping you up against the bed frame, you know you’d have melted into a puddle on the floor by now.

You mumble something agreeable against him, your chest on fire. It’s not physically possible to be any closer to him, but you ache for it. You ache for him.

One of his broad hands slips up the back of your shirt and you gasp into his mouth, your fingers seizing the fabric of his jacket.

Luke is kind. So, so kind, and he licks into your mouth and you feel hot all over.

The warmth you’d been feeling earlier sets your chest on fire. You’re so frighteningly aware of the fact that you feel him everywhere. It’s too much and it’s not enough and he groans when you bite at his lower lip.

“Fuck,” he sighs out, the single word so desperate you nearly go cross eyed. “Fuck.”

You think you’re going to relive him every single time you need to take ambrosia.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” Luke breathes out, his eyes shining. The look he’s giving you is making saliva pool under your tongue. “You’re perfect, did you know that?”

You don’t let him get far before you’re chasing after him again, missing the taste of him. His grip tightens around you, and you think you get black spots in your vision.

“Thought I was gonna fucking die when you came back with that dumbass jacket,” he admits. “My girl. I’m sorry I was being stupid.”

You think it’d be embarrassing if he knew just how much you’d be willing to forgive him for.

“‘s okay,” you say, your voice thick. “I was sad it wasn’t yours, too.”

You’re pleased to find that Luke Castellan treats kissing just as seriously as he treats everything else, because the way he holds you is so desperate it surprises the both of you. You can’t even feel where the bed frame is digging into your hip because you’re too focused on the way he’s pressing you against it.

You try stabilizing yourself and find that your hands land directly on his biceps. When he flexes, you feel him smile against your lips.

“Wow, hero,” you tease, voice pitching up at the end when one of his arms snakes around your waist.

You’re very lucky he’s serious about this. But it means he doesn’t hear the sound of campers rushing past the door.

Something like greed possesses him when you snap your head to your left.

He tries following you, tipping his head down to capture your lips again, but you put your hands on his chest to stop him.

“Luke,” you warn. He settles for kissing at your neck instead, and your knees almost buckle when you feel his teeth drag against your skin.

“I think— I think there’s people walking outside,” you say. Every word that comes out of your mouth is labored and takes more effort than you thought was ever possible.

“Then fucking let them come in,” he grumbles, revelling in the sound you make when he kisses you again. “I’m their counselor. They’ll have stable duty until they die.”

You’re breathing hard against him, overwhelmed and dizzy, and you feel it when the pressure of his kisses starts shifting lower. You feel him at your collarbones and nearly pass out.

“We have to— Holy shit,” you sigh out.

The struggle to form thoughts is palpable. Every single one of your working synapses is focused on the feeling of your shirt rucking up your stomach when his hand slides up the back even further.

You say his name, and he hums.

“We’re drunk. We should be… We shouldn’t—”

You know you’re right. But you want to be wrong so, so badly.

“Five seconds,” he says, and the desire there is so real he sighs into your next kiss. “And then we’ll be done.”

Your breath stutters when you inhale. “Five seconds. Yeah. Okay,” you rationalize. “I’ll count.”

It’s just five more seconds, and you honestly think you need it more than him.

You’re breathing too hard for him to kiss you properly, so he tilts your head back and you nearly see stars.

You jolt at the feeling of his mouth against your jaw, a trail of wet kisses following from your mouth to the curved bone. Your fingers curl into his hair.

A shiver wracks your body at the feeling of the first two numbers being mumbled against the swell of your throat. It’s been five seconds already. Neither of you care.

Luke is smiling against your skin.

“Your heart is racing. I can feel it.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your carotid, and it feels like your heart is going to come out of your neck. “Right there.”

“Don’t be mean,” you complain, but it sounds more like a whine than an actual sentence.

Luke’s hand goes to the junction of your neck and the back of your head, keeping you steady so he can kiss you until you lose feeling in your fingers.

You can’t believe that this is seriously happening. This feels like something you’ve thought up in a dream, the feeling of his hands on you so perfect it seems too good to be true.

You aren’t proud of the sound you make when he pulls away.

“Five,” he whispers.

You’d completely forgotten you were the one supposed to be counting.

He presses his forehead against yours while you catch your breath. Your chests rise in tandem, and you wish your lungs were a thousand times bigger just so you didn’t have to pull away.

He wipes something wet away from the corner of your mouth, and you know you’re looking up at him with a stupid look in your eye.

“Luke,” you manage to say. You tilt your head up and your nose knocks against his. “Do you like me too?”

He’s smug. “Was the way I stuck my tongue down your throat too friendly for you?”

The laugh that escapes you must sound funny because he’s joining you the next second, matching smiles on both of your faces.

“Tomorrow,” he promises. You think he’s about to kiss you again but stops an inch away, evil and mean. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You peck his cheek because it technically doesn’t count and watch red bloom there. You think it’s funny he’s blushing at such an innocent kiss, as if he hadn’t been marking up your neck thirty seconds ago. “Tomorrow.”

You feel your heart beating through your chest as both of you get changed. You’re wearing matching pajamas, like promised, and you have to keep reminding yourself to stop smiling.

Your heart is still racing even after both of you are settled onto your sides under his thin sheet. You’re using one of his arms as a pillow and your back is pressed against his chest, and you feel better about the throbbing in your chest when he mumbles something about how dizzy he feels.

You’d slept over here just last night, but it feels like this is the first time you’ve ever been this close to him. You have to stop yourself from shivering when his hand finds its way up your shirt again. And when he rubs those circles between your shoulder blades, you have to remind yourself he does this all the time.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” you say, thinking out loud.

He kisses your hair, because that also technically doesn’t count. “Me neither.”

You’re sick and tired of how you can’t see his face, so you flip around to look at him. He lets you roll on top of his chest, and you just stare, unashamed. His curls look funny because of the way you’d been pulling on them. His lips are perfectly swollen.

You’re content. “The Demeter kids are going to make us so many more cakes, Luke.”

He shifts you higher against him so your face is pressed into his neck instead of his chest. “What do you mean?”

You feel him shudder when the point of your nose runs up the expanse of his throat. “We’re gonna need two cakes to celebrate the first time we kissed. And then even more for that stuff after.”

Luke tilts his head down and captures your lips in another kiss, this one much deeper than the peck he’d smothered into your hair earlier.

You pinch him, your eyes wide when you realize what he’d just done. “Cheater.”

“Couldn’t help it, I’m sorry.”

He has to flip the both of you over because you aim to kiss his face again. You groan, flattened underneath him.

“You’re not being fair, Luke,” you complain, but you rub his back because you’re greedy.

“Tomorrow.” His mouth has made its way to your collarbones again because he likes to torture you. “After we talk.”

“After,” you echo.

The lingering effects of the alcohol are making it a little hard to think straight. But you can’t even believe you’d doubted this for a second. It was always going to be you and Luke. You think it’s been etched into the very beginnings of your souls.

Luke kisses a sore mark he left on the column of your throat, and your eyes grow heavy when he leaves another right next to it.

“After,” he confirms.

You think this must be what going to Elysium is like.

series masterlist

notes: title from dress by taylor swift. final word count at 11k which means that like twenty percent of this was just them being crazy about the other…….. goodbye LOL.

ill probably be making another post just to yell and scream about the events of this chapter. can you tell i blacked out writing it

[rexhya]

any of your chosen oc’s who fancy reader, on valentine’s day, receive a typed love letter and their favourite chocolate —- of course they’re quick to assume that it’s reader right ? same initials marking the end lines ?! the same quiet, unassuming reader who barely holds eye contact with them telling them yes ! i love you too !!! but oh actually it’s NOT them, just someone with the same initials.. watch chosen oc go crazy over thatLMAOO

(tldr - [character] crushes on y/n, thinks they like them back but it’s a misunderstanding]

yandere!loser who is exceedingly when he receives a letter on valentine's day, it read the sweetest words he could practically imagine your voice he read it

Dear Claude,

I like you a lot! I write this letter to you in hopes you receive it and can return my feelings as well.

— Love, [XX]

Claude is in pure disbelief, he immediately writes back and says yes, slipping the note straight into your locker with his number on it, desperately waiting for a text, he never gets ones. (Aww, your problably just shy...right?)

The next day he's even more confused when you walk right past in in the hallways, did you not see him when he waved?

He trys again to catch you attention in the lunch room, you're sitting with your friends on the complete opposite side of the room when he walks the shameful distance to your table to ask you why you've been ignoring him.

Your friends get quiet not so subtly laughing at the image of Claude and his baggy clothes, but he's used to others and there comments, it was only you he cared about.

"That's not my handwriting, I didn't write that." you deadpanned, slapping the arm of your friend who began a trail of laughing voices that rung in Claudes ear. Tears pricked at his eyes as he exited the lunchroom.

"Oh, yeah, right, that totally makes sense. This doesn't even look like your handwriting." you save Claude the embarrassment and direct his attention to a girl who Claude now noticed was looking at him, "I think this came from her, Claude, sorry about that."

Claude jumped as you placed an hand on his forearm. You knew his name? He didn't have it in him to ask as he walked towards the tabled where the girl was sitting, her eyes visible lit up as he walked over, but he wasnt here to accept a confession.

"You, what's your name?"

"My name? It's-"

"Actually I don't care, because it doesn't matter. Don't ever consider contacting me again you hear me? Do you know how embarrassing it was to see her look at me so pitifully? Like I was a lost kid without his mommy?"

"I–"

"Fuck off, [Name] is the only person i'll ever want."

✦ ✦

Later that evening Claude stalked your social media pages as comfort, you looked so beautiful it made him more angry when he thought of that girl and how she tries to come between you two.

The only goid thing that had come of today was the fact you knew him, i mean you did have 3 classes together but you'd never looked his way, he had no idea. Oh god the way you'd said his name made him feel so hot inside.

Claude, Claude, Claude he was very aware of the rising boner he had from replaying the sound in his mind.

To his surprise he receives a message and lo' and behold its from you. He practically screams at the sight, and with shaky hands clicks to respond.

hey, how did it go?

He's confused, if you were asking how he was feeling he felt great, was the message meant for someone else? He clenched his hands at the thought, of course it wasn't. You had texted, him. He wouldn't miss the chance.

did what go?

Much to his delight you reply immediately.

you and XXXXX duhhh, are u guys dating now or what?

He scowls at the thought of the girl.

No, it was playing a prank lol

awwe, that's too bad, anyone would beclycky enough to date you 😕

Claudes eyes bulged from their sockets, his nails clicking away at a response. What were you implying, maybe you were in love with him after all?

fghdsasf, lol uhm yeah. i could say the same for u xx

Xx, God he has to marry you.

awe thx!! anyways i'm gonna be honest tge reason why i was asking is bc my friend thinks ur cute..i was wondering if she could have ur number?

He's accidentally smashed the computer before he gets a chance to respond.

[malsmind]

𝐲’ 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 ‘𝐞𝐦?

⌞ 𝘣𝘴𝘧!𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ⌝

➛ fingering, overstimulation, finger riding, dirty talk, praising, pet names, getting caught

𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦!

୨୧

you don’t know what the hell matt’s talking about. something about the movie last night, maybe. or that new show chris said sucked but he binge-watched in two days anyway. it doesn’t really matter, not when your attention is completely, helplessly pinned on the way matt’s fingers move over his phone screen. long, slender, kind of graceful in that rough, casual way only he can pull off. the way his thumb taps, swipes, and scrolls… it’s almost hypnotic. like watching something you shouldn’t be looking at but can’t tear your eyes away from. you lick your lips without even thinking, a flick of your tongue you barely register. because for some reason, all you can focus on is his hand—his fingers—curled just right, knuckles flexing ever so slightly with each movement.

and then he moves. suddenly. his hand coming up to snap his fingers right in front of your face. you jump a little. blink. your eyes trail from his fingers up to his face like they’re reluctant to leave.

“kid, you even listenin’ to me?” matt’s brow is raised, the frown on his lips edged with amusement.

“yeah, yeah… sorry,” you mumble, heat crawling up your neck like guilt.

he shakes his head, chuckling under his breath, something smart slipping out of his mouth that you don’t even register. not really. because his hand’s back where it was. and so is your brain. back to the same place, imagining those fingers wrapped around something else. inside of you. curling. slow, deliberate. and then—

“seriously,” he cuts in again, tone sharper. “the fuck’s up with you? you keep zonin’ out.”

your mouth opens, words scrambled in your head. but nothing that comes to mind sounds even remotely believable. he grins. sharp. knowing.

“don’t even try,” he says, voice low, teasing, and you swear your stomach flips. “i know that look. what, you were imaginin’ somethin’? somethin’ dirty?”

you shake your head too fast, too stiff. a little too obviously.

“oh, come on.” he leans in, phone forgotten now, all his attention on you. “you think i don’t notice the way you stare? what were you thinkin’ about, huh? my fingers?”

your silence says more than you ever could.

“yeah,” he breathes, his smirk deepening, amused and smug and so goddamn sure of himself. “that’s what i thought.”

it doesn’t take much more. not with the way you’re squirming, embarrassed and flustered and still so very, very turned on. not with the way his voice drops just slightly as he says, “y’ wanna feel ‘em?”

and then they’re there. just like you imagined. his fingers. inside of you. slow. curling. you gasp, hand flying to his wrist before sliding up to grip his forearm, like holding onto something solid will keep you grounded. his other hand props his head up lazily, like he’s bored, like he’s done this to you a hundred times, like he isn’t watching your every twitch, every clench of your jaw, every arch of your back.

“shit,” he mutters, voice thick with disbelief but still somehow cocky. “look at you. all this ‘cause of my fingers? fuck, sweetheart...”

you try to move, chase more friction, more pressure, and he lets you. lets you ride his hand, his fingers moving with you, perfectly in sync, feeding your need with cruel patience.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “look at you grindin’ down on me like that. so needy. so wet, all jus’ f’me.”

you whimper. a quiet, pathetic sound that he drinks up with a grin.

“you gotta keep quiet,” he says, thumb brushing slow circles against your hip. “nick and chris are home, remember? you want them hearin’ the way you moan for me?”

you shake your head, desperate, humiliated. but it doesn’t matter. you end up begging anyway, softly, breathlessly, telling him please like it’ll earn you mercy.

eventually, it does.

his fingers move faster, deeper, and your hips jerk before collapsing into the couch, overwhelmed and desperate and on fire. his other hand finds your face, tilting it just enough so he can watch the way your mouth falls open, the way your lashes flutter as he drags you closer to the edge.

“c’mon,” he says, soft, coaxing, cruel. “let go for me, baby. c’mon.”

and you do. you cum around his fingers, crying out in a way that’s anything but quiet, your hand clamping tight around his forearm, nails digging in like you’re trying to anchor yourself. he doesn’t stop. not right away. fingers still working you through it, eyes never leaving your face.

until—

“oh my god dude, seriously?”

you both freeze.

chris is standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised in pure, theatrical disgust.

“on our couch? you got a whole fuckin’ room y’know that, right?”

© 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

[district-thirteen-intern]

Katniss Everdeen says Peeta wanted kids. I say Katniss Everdeen is a dirty little liar who spent three books projecting baby fever onto the softest man alive while denying it so hard she almost gaslit herself.

And because I'm tired of arguing that Peeta didn't force Katniss to have kids, here's my probable version of what went down:

baby fever, but make it apocalyptic — everlark

it starts when delly has a baby

and katniss gets to hold it and it squeaks

her uterus literally tingles

cue immediate panic

she hands it back like it burned her

and then she immediately goes outside to shoot at squirrels until the feeling goes away

except—

(it doesn't really go away)

the next two weeks are a torture

"not everyone deserves to be a parent"

"what if they cry a lot"

"what if they're angry like me"

"what if they're allergic to bread"

"what if our child hates me"

"what if our child hates peeta"

no

no one can hate peeta

"but what if—"

it's exhausting

she steers clear of delly and her spawn the next few days

it doesn't work

her nightmares take a strange turn

she sees herself carrying a baby through the woods as she hunts

the baby giggles

another baby sits on the kitchen counter

with peeta's eyes and peeta's face

in matching aprons as peeta

and ugh—

she almost misses the mutts

anyway, she reorganizes the pantry

alphabetizes the herbs

knits something she insists is a herb pouch

but it's suspiciously baby-sized

eventually, it gets too much

and peeta is not helping

he's holding delly's baby when she visits him at the bakery

the baby is laughing

well, fuck

her whole resolve crumbles

he's making bread

she blurts, "your forearms are nice"

"thanks?"

"mm, they would be good for carrying things"

peeta raises a brow

"heavy things— like... sacks"

"sacks."

"or— like, baskets."

katniss is embarassed

peeta is visibly confused

and haymitch—

haymitch is dying of laughter

"did you know babies can't see color for weeks?"

"katniss."

"i just wanted to share a fact."

"katniss."

"it didn't mean anything. shut up."

and then she starts knitting a tiny hat

“is that for delly’s baby?”

"no."

"a friend’s baby?”

"no.”

"...katniss.”

peeta has suspicions

and they're confirmed when he finds her journal open to a page

titled: NAMES FOR HYPOTHETICAL BABY

Ember

Rue Rue ❤

Bread Jr.

NOT GALE

it ends like this—

Peeta, eventually: “Do you want to have ki—”

“YES”

“i didn’t even finish the word”

"i mean... i will if I have to, if you want too much... i mean i want to if you want to, i mean— because i love you so much."

“are you sure?”

“are you sure?”

"uh huh”

oh.

katniss blinks

"wait— that's it?"

"katniss, i've been waiting for you to stop glitching long enough to bring it up.”

she punches his arm

he laughs

haymitch starts prepping a baby-proof survival kit

no one dares ask what's in it

nine months later—

the baby is just as beautiful as she imagined

good thing peeta convinced her to have babies, really

i know it's exaggerated for comedy purposes but this is really not that far from the course of events i imagine happened— katniss is an expert at gaslighting herself after all— and I hope you liked it.

please don't forget to like, comment, and reblog if you liked it. and lmk if you'd be interested in being added to a tag list.

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Kinktober - Day 10

10th — breeding kink, Mark Webber

The previous day I The next day I Kinktober masterlist I Main list

Mark watched as you were playing with your nieces and nephews, the two of you tasked with babysitting. Watching you take care of a child stirred something in him, a primal, carnal need to get you pregnant. You felt his energy shift, turning your head over your shoulder to look up at the man seated on the couch. His eyes burned through your clothes, darkened with lust, a look you fondly recognized. 

“We’ll leave soon, baby,” you promised, delicately setting your hand on his forearm. 

Mark was practically pulling you out the door as soon as you were relieved of your job, hurrying you into the car. 

“Why so rush, Mark? We don’t have much to do this evening.”

“Seeing you like that, taking care of a kid was making me feral. I want to knock you up so fucking bad,” Mark hissed, making heat rush between your thighs. 

His hand reached down to rest on your thigh, hiking up your skirt and thumbing over your panties until a wet spot had formed. Now, you were just as desperate as he was, practically tumbling out of the car once he parked in your drive. 

“M’gonna breed you and fill you up with my babies,” Mark growled into your neck as he reached around you to unlock the door, pushing you inside. 

The words made arousal smear between your thighs, gushing from your pussy as you grew even more bothered. He groped you under your sundress, and you struggled to pull it off. 

Mark aided you, stripping you bare in seconds, his clothes joining yours in a trail to the bedroom. Mark manhandled you onto the bed, wrestling you onto your back. He grabbed your legs, holding them together and bending them upwards, leaving your hips raised slightly off the bed. 

He started with his head immersed between your thighs. He circled your clit with his tongue as he held your hips in place. Your thighs clenched around his head as he dipped his tongue into your entrance and fucked you with his tongue. When you began to beg for more he slipped one and then two fingers inside you. He pumped them languidly as he latched onto your clit once again. By minute five, he had you clenching around his fingers as your orgasm washed over you. He could’ve come in his pants just tasting you, but he had a goal tonight. He stroked himself a few times, his breath catching as he slid a thumb over the angry red tip of his cock. You reached out, wanting to touch him, possibly taste him. He grabbed both of your arms and pinned them above your head with one hand and you whined in protest. 

He slid his cock through your dripping folds and pressed a kiss to your cheek, a silent promise that he’d make it up to you. You arched against his touch, and opened your legs further, beckoning him in. He enjoyed teasing you as he gathered your slick on the head of his cock, but you were beginning to squirm against him and he was getting impatient. 

He inched inside you, barely meeting any resistance as your greedy hole swallowed his cock. Your walls fluttered around him, and he didn’t know how long he’d be able to last. 

Slowly, he rocked his hips against yours. You let out a high-pitched mewl as he gradually picked up his pace, stretching you in a way that had your toes curling and back arching against him. He fondled your breasts which would soon be filled with milk for your future child. He couldn’t wait to see you with a round belly holding his child. He placed a palm on your stomach as he rutted into you, imagining what it’d look like in a few months. He knew that maybe it wouldn’t take the first time. He’d pump you full of his seed as many times as it took. Your moans were like music to Mark, his hips stuttering before hot cum sprayed into your womb, his cock nestled right against your cervix as he released, trying to get you pregnant. The sensation was startling, making you cling to him and hide your face in his warm neck, whimpering his name. 

“I’ve got you,” he panted, staying buried in your pussy. 

“M’sensitive!” you gasped when he began to rock his hips once more, sending shocks through your cunt. 

“No need to worry, I will do all the hard work tonight.”

Taglist:@formula1-motogpfan@iamafootballfanmiasanmia@arian-directioner@annimausi@mythicalmaven @lucycowr @hamilton-mount @Chuxk-leclerk @landosgirl @Kikiaaaay @iluvvmeeee @stars4me @starz4me1 @fxrmuladaydreams @Ashleyo1611 @ln-fours @cloud-55 @neo-stay @mysteriesincorporated @nzygftoji @dinodumbass @qxeenjen @lilmacabe @9fi @sya-skies @toriiez @jud-3 @ryl-xoxo @fandomz-queenie @gracie23x @kr1sblog @b-law @F1fan24 @taylorsdoratheafr @missevrythingg @salma @cherrypopsicle @toasterpiastri @uhhvictoria @01rrdbull @aracelys-stuff @horseymchorse3 @lou-ghoul @unknownmystery22 @thisbitxhs-blog @toxicdreamer296 @maxivstappen @si1ver06 @mendes-bae @bestgirlie @mbioooo0000 @depressedgiftedburnout @lieslostinsilence @chaoticversion @kaydesssssssss @maryelizaart @milkyymelanine @bisrae @carlando4 @mystichandspruneshark @sweetwh0re @larastark3107 @fiveyjustin @moonchildlec @bicrazybabe @maximumflaps @sainzwife @i--sa @liviav @nitonan-blog @moodymoony71 @horrible-decision @verstappenluv111 @Meyla123X @bea-stilinksi24 @Hayley125 @imjustme-n @elizamoe133 @bernelflo @evie-likes-stuff @anne1444444 @celtis--vr @rockytheluver @orlafitz1664 @aliceespector @ricciadosredbull @novelant @briannamh07 @oliveswiftly @hotlapshottakes @sinners-98-world @ramenblutte @fallenlunar @little-nando14 @fore45fore @importantduckhumanoidpatrol @eroselless @strabunny @sydneyhlove @jkdaddy01 @multi-fandom5 @f1-hoff @kittylolly4 @reguluscrystals @uhhvictoria @arian-directioner @forza-dolce @dukeofjjune @vimayxo @ilove-tswizzle @peachapat119

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"On a snowy day." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

On a snowy day, Daryl's daughter tells him about an interesting conversation between you and Aunt Maggie, but Marley ends up spilling the beans to Carol too about her daddy's worst fear.

A/N: Just another sweet and funny imagine about Daryl and his daughter hehe another one to add to the list :) "My everything." "A whole new world." "For life." "Make you happy." Hope you like it♥

The whole street, the whole block, all of Alexandria is covered in snow, painting the world of the living white after being blood red for so many years. The green of the leaves has disappeared under the cold season, snowmen on every house as a reminder of the past. Snowflakes sway in a gentle dance in the evening breeze, under a sky that changes color with the passing of the hours.

On her way back home, holding her daddy’s hand, Marley’s little world seems infinite at 5 and a half years old. Her winter boots sink into the snow, lifting it slightly with each step she takes. Her brown hair is identical to her father’s, a little messy under her white wool hat.

“The shot still hurt, angel?” Daryl has to look down to meet his daughter’s gaze, blue eyes looking back at him, deeply. “Ya want daddy to carry ya the rest of the way?”

Marley nods, because the walk back from visiting her mom in the infirmary was too long for her little legs.

“Please, daddy.”

Daryl smiles as his ears fill with the tender, sweet voice of his daughter calling him daddy, a voice he learned to recognize ever since Marley said her first word. He has to bend down to pick her up, holding her against his chest as she hugs him close, his forearms beneath her, her small arms around his neck.

“Why are ya so cute, huh?” Daryl is still smiling as he sets off again for the walk home. “Ya do that on purpose, don’ ya? Is that yer master evil plan? To make daddy love ya so much he can’t breathe?”

Marley laughs, her gaze locked with her father's eyes, the corners of her lip curling into a smile as she continues to learn to understand the depth of her Daddy's love, but before she can respond, a neighbor's wave from her front porch forces them both to look to the right.

Daryl lets out a small hey back without stopping, followed by a nod before turning back to his daughter, but Marley’s eyes are still on the woman they leave behind.

“Sweetheart…” He uses his arms under her body to rock her once, softly, getting her to look back in his direction. “What’s wrong, angel?”

Marley holds a thoughtful expression, her brow furrowing slightly with the seriousness of her little thoughts at her short 5 years old. But Daryl can’t help but smile, because that expression is identical to yours when you both didn’t like something.

“Aunt Maggie told mommy that Mrs. Ellie likes to stare at you too much when you leave the house in your sleeveless shirt in the summer. She said the neighbor was a female version of a dog, but I don’t know what that means, daddy.”

Hearing her words, Daryl has to make an enormous effort not to laugh.

“Mommy said that? Or was it Aunt Maggie?”

“Aunt Maggie...” Marley tilts her head to the side, still thoughtful. “But Mommy said we needed to get you some baggy clothes, or burn that shirt, or maybe just get rid of the neighbor, but I don’t know what that means either.”

It’s hilarious for Daryl at the new information, though he does his best to remain cool, but there’s also something daring in your words, a compliment to his body even though he wore those clothes without a thought for others. Well, he knew he did it to get your attention, but not the rest of the world’s. Daryl also knew that kids didn’t know how to keep secrets, no matter if they knew or not that some things weren’t supposed to be said.

And he can’t help but smile.

“Oh yeah? An’ what else mommy said ‘bout daddy, Marley?”

Marley’s expression changes as in her mind, she starts putting the words mommy and daddy together.

“Mommy told Aunt Maggie that you are still very hot, like living forever on a summer day.” Daryl chuckles as does his daughter, having a blast with your unfiltered words, though he also knew that he had to teach his child later that listening to adult conversations was wrong. “Is that a good thing, daddy?”

“Well… that means mommy finds daddy attractive.”

Marley nods slightly.

“So you are handsome, because you are.” She smiles, because to her, Daddy is the most handsome man in the community. Daryl shakes his head, because his reserved personality still prevented him from seeing himself the way others did. “Mommy said she really likes your long hair.”

The corner of his lip curls into a smile, loving the way Marley’s small hands brush away the strands of hair that usually cover part of his eyes.

“Maybe Daddy should tell Mommy that he really likes her too.”

Marley lets out a sweet laugh, hugging his neck again.

“You stare at Mommy a lot, Daddy. Last week at Uncle Rick’s house, he told his wife that you couldn’t take your eyes off your wife.”

Even in the dead of winter, Daryl can feel the sudden warmth on his cheeks, spreading throughout his body as he climbs the steps of his front porch, walking over to the rocking chair in the corner to sit in it with Marley on his lap, her little legs swinging out on either side.

“Yeah, daddy likes to look at mommy a lot, angel, and s'cause mommy is a pretty thing to look at.”

Marley thinks for a few seconds, trying to understand such simple words that at the same time hide a deep meaning.

“The love you and mommy have for me, is it the same as yours for mommy?”

Daryl has to think about his answer for a few seconds, trying to explain with words that his daughter can understand, the love he had for her and for his wife.

“S'the same, but different. Mommy and daddy love ya so, so much, angel, 'cause ya came into our lives to make everythin' better. An’ daddy loves mommy with all his heart too, that’s why I asked mommy to be ma wife, so she’d be stuck with me for life.” Daryl tries not to laugh as he remembers that that was what he told you when you got married. “Mommy an’ daddy love each other a lot too, and ya were born from that love.”

Marley holds his gaze, her little mind trying to process his words.

“Aunt Maggie asked Mommy if you two were thinking about having another baby.” Marley tilts her head again, looking at her daddy with blue eyes that sparkle with curiosity. “Are we having another baby at home, Daddy?”

Daryl smiles as he uses one hand to tuck a strand of his daughter’s hair behind her ear, but for him, it’s a relief to see his baby willing to share her place as queen of the house.

“Dunno, angel. Daddy thinks it might be a good idea for ya to have a lil’ brother or sister at some point, but that’s Mommy’s decision. S'her body that has to carry the baby, and Daddy ain't pressurin' Mommy into doin' anythin’ she’s not comfortable with, okay?”

Marley nods.

“But maybe if we ask Santa for a baby, he can bring one and Mommy won’t have to carry my little brother or sister inside her.”

Daryl chuckles, but he too is at peace with the idea that his daughter’s innocence is still intact in that cruel world.

“That’s an excellent idea, angel.” His hand, warm despite the season, caresses his daughter’s soft cheek. “If s'okay with Mommy, I know ya’ll be a great big sister.”

Marley smiles at the touch of her daddy’s fingers against her skin, not even noticing that his hand is calloused, somewhat rough, because he always caressed her cheek softly, so gently that she never noticed Daryl’s insecurity the first time he thought he would hurt her skin.

“You, Daryl Dixon…” Marley giggles, because she never used her daddy’s real name, because to her, he had always been daddy. “You’re a good daddy. The best daddy in the whole world.”

Like the snow melting when the weather leaves winter behind, Daryl feels an overflowing love for his little daughter, his baby, his angel, feeling her love that managed to melt those fears he harbored inside him, the mistaken idea that he would never be the father Marley deserved.

“Can ya stay this lil’ forever, angel? Can ya promise daddy ya will never leave his side?”

Marley tries not to laugh, making an effort to keep a serious expression to match her promise.

“I’ll never leave your side, daddy. I promise.”

Daryl smiles, and when he does, his expression softens, always, and his blue eyes become warm as he takes in how identical his daughter is to him.

“What’s this beautiful couple doing here?” Carol’s sweet voice draws their attention, and Marley has to turn to look at her, smiling the instant she recognizes her. Daryl pulls her off his lap, and his daughter clings to Carol’s body the moment she reaches the porch. “Are you better now, honey? Your mommy said you were getting a little sick.”

Marley looks up, smiling instantly.

“Yes, Denisse gave me a shot. It hurt a little, but when she told daddy he should get one too to prove to me it didn’t hurt, he told her only his wife could touch his ass.”

Carol’s laughter drowns out Daryl’s embarrassment, embarrassment he tries to cover with a serious expression, but when she says goodbye minutes later and Marley climbs back onto her daddy’s lap, he has to keep the same expression so as not to give himself away.

“Marley, sweetheart, s'okay when ya tell daddy that mommy thinks he’s attractive, but ya don’ have to tell everyone that daddy’s scared of shots, okay?”

Marley, though confused by the contradictory idea that always telling the truth is okay, nods before leaning against Daryl’s chest, one side of her face feeling the softness of his long–sleeved black t–shirt that he always pulls up to his elbows. Daryl chuckles as he wraps his arms around her, like a refuge from the slight chill while they wait for mommy to come home. Then, he shakes his head in disbelief, his long hair moving with him, because Daryl knows that when the day is over, his family, the family he made at the end of the world, will know that the man who survived a couple of gunshots and several fights is scared of shots.

Oh, but what the hell, because after marrying the love of his life and having a little girl as a daughter, everyone already knew that, despite his rough exterior, Daryl is a big softie (in a good way) for his girls.

@fluffy-dixon