#know and don’t care or don’t know and still don’t care

[scruncheduppaper]

i lowkey just made refs for my new kris and noelle designs with some cool notes

[reignpage]

In which the men are obsessed with your ass and the different ways they express it

Satoru smashes his face in between your cheeks at random times of the day. Around the corridor, when no one’s looking, he’ll shove you against the wall, kneel, and mumble, 'I'm home.' When questioned, he explains he likes everything about it – how warm you are there, how soft, and most importantly, how much you hate it. If he takes a long and loud inhale, it’s usually just to piss you off. Over time, however, it’s grown to be one of the very few things that calms him down. His stupid family can be overbearing, but if you’re there and arching your ass out for him, then all is well. 

Suguru gropes your ass in front of other people, always just out of sight, always with a pleasant smile and a nod, indicating he’s giving them his full attention. But little do they know, his fingers are digging deep into your flesh, even through jeans, staking his claim. He likes to remind you he’s always thinking about you, he likes the secrecy, the silent ‘fuck you’ to the ass-kissers he runs into, no pun intended. Maybe, just maybe, he also likes the way you get all breathy, all nervous, and skittish, half wanting to tell him off and half leaning into his touch. 

Choso bites. Something about your ass, with the recoil, the ripples, the tiger stripe-like marks, makes his mouth water. He can’t help but eye them from behind or when you’re innocently walking up the stairs. Even at night, half-asleep, he often wakes up with drool pooling on your bare flesh, teeth marks visible on your poor skin. Of course, he apologises, but he never stops. Definitely don’t ask him about the locked album on his phone. It totally doesn’t contain hundreds and hundreds of upskirt pictures. 

Toji slaps and smacks with no care in the world. He does it in the middle of the street, in front of his friends, as a hello, as a goodbye, as a ‘calm down,’ and even as an apology. There’s no shame or decorum in his actions. Especially not when other bastards let their eyes wander too long. He’ll slap your ass whilst staring them down. Might give it a peck too, if it was particularly hard. And he won’t ever admit this, but he also likes to lay a good one on you, just so he has a reason to rub apologetic circles on the warm skin. 

Kento pats your ass as a calming gesture. It helps you sleep. He might tap your ass to let you know he’s behind and needs to get by, or to show you he’s listening to your rants. Though it started as a means to soothe you, eventually, it grows to be a habit, a tic, a reflex. Often, he blinks and realises his hand had a mind of its own and had wandered over to a cheek without his knowing. You never seem to mind, thankfully. Actually, you seem to like it, especially when it means you have a reason to do it back to him, but harder and in more embarrassing situations.

Sukuna punishes with spanks that he makes you count. You think you can just run around his estate, doing as you please? Although he’s given you more liberties and privileges than anyone else has ever had, you should still know your place. No one talks back to him. No one mocks him. No one defies him. They’re lessons you learn, and you learn well, when he has you bent over his lap, ass bare and marked up for everyone to see. It helps that it teaches his repulsive cockroach-like servants that, if he can make you squeal and cry and not bat an eye, he won’t hesitate to smite them where they stand.

[sc3ptre]

Reader is weakkk for some Clark neck kisses while pregnant. Praises her on everything she’s done for him a whole heartfelt praise on giving him a family, something to come home too… no smut just some fluff neck kisses 🥺 the kitchen scene is embedded in the mind lol ( I don’t know if I doubled sent this too you?!) if I did I apologize!

Superdad in training

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: I would also let him impregnate me ngl

No warnings or spoilers for the film! Word count: 1.4k

The rooftop belonged to the two of you. Not officially, of course, because the building had its rules, its lease clauses and common space policies—but over time, the rooftop had quietly become yours. Strung fairy lights danced across the concrete railing, a cozy bench sat in the corner with a slightly threadbare blanket tucked over the backrest and a few struggling potted herbs lined the edge like hopeful, green confetti. 

It wasn’t much but it was yours. 

You were bathing in the afternoon sun, one hand resting absentmindedly on the curve of your belly, when a familiar low whoosh hit the air, followed by the gentle scrape of boots touching down and a gust of wind that curled around your ankles like a welcome-home greeting.

Clark landed behind you with a box in his hand and a look on his face that said he’d been flying too fast and too far for you. After all, a car ride was rarely an option.

“What’re you doing out here?” he asked, voice warm but already threaded with concern. “It’s not safe.”

You laughed, not because it was funny, but because it was so him. “Clark,” you said, turning slightly, hand still protectively resting on your bump, “you literally reinforced the railing…twice and tested it. I couldn’t fall off this rooftop if I tried.”

His brows tugged together. “I know. I just…” His eyes flicked downward for a beat to your stomach, then your feet and finally to the box of donuts in his hand before meeting yours again. “I worry.”

“You always do.” You smiled.

“And I always will.”

You stood and stepped toward him. He closed the distance in the way he always did, with gentle touches and that quiet, whole-body sort of love that made you feel like the center of the galaxy.

“I got the ones you like,” he murmured, lifting the box. “From that place in Chicago.”

You gasped, dramatic and delighted, reaching for it. “You flew halfway across the country for powdered donuts with cream filling and rainbow sprinkles?”

“I’d fly across the universe for you,” he said easily, walking you toward the stairs with a gentle arm on your lower back.

You snorted through a smile, letting him lead you. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you keep falling for it.”

By the time you were inside the apartment, barefoot and glowing from fresh air, you were already halfway through your second donut. Clark trailed you into the kitchen like a shadow made of soft cotton and love, peeling off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

You stood there chewing thoughtfully with a few rogue sprinkles dotting your shirt.

He stepped up behind you, sliding his arms around your waist with the reverence of someone holding the whole world. His hands splayed gently over the curve of your belly, thumbs brushing idle circles like a lullaby for the little one growing inside you.

“You’re really doing this,” he whispered against your neck, lips brushing skin with featherlight care. “You’re creating a whole person…a whole life.”

You tilted your head slightly, offering more of your neck without meaning to. He took the invitation with a smile and another kiss.

“Didn’t do that one alone…”

“I know, I just–” His voice cracked a little and he pressed his lips against the same spot again, like anchoring himself to the moment. “I still can’t believe it. That I get this…you, this baby and a home to come back to.”

You stayed quiet, chewing slower now, blinking back something soft and messy from your lashes. He kissed the shell of your ear and kept talking, low and steady, voice wrapped in honesty.

“I grew up thinking I'd always have to be two people. That there’d never be space for both, but somehow…you found room for both of them. You don’t just love the reporter or the cape, you love me and you gave me a family.”

You turned slightly, donut still in hand, neck warm from affection. “You make it very easy to love you, Kent.”

He chuckled softly and kissed your jaw once more, then rested his chin on your shoulder and swayed you gently back and forth. “Even when I hover like an overprotective nurse?”

“Especially then.”

A beat passed. You finished the last bite of your donut and licked powdered sugar off your fingers.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?”

He hummed. “Anything.”

You nudged him lightly. “Can you take a peek in there? Just…let me know if the baby’s got the middle finger up or something.. You know, like those memes? I swear, ‘baby of steel’ kicked me with an attitude earlier and it’s really not my fault I couldn't stop sneezing. I don’t want this to be our first fight.”

Clark pulled back slightly and laughed, that deep, honey-warm laugh you loved. His eyes flicked downward for just a second, long enough for a discreet scan before he smiled again.

“She’s smiling,” he said softly, hand still rubbing circles against your belly. “Kind of.”

You blinked. “...She?”

His smile froze and your jaw dropped, sugar-dusted mouth hanging open. “You said she!”

Clark looked like a man caught in a courtroom cross-examination. “I didn’t say—well…I didn’t mean–”

“You totally did! Clark, I’m pregnant, not deaf.”

You could read the apology on his face but you were already squealing, eyes wide and half-laughing, half-crying, as you bounced on your toes in pure, unfiltered joy.

“She?!” you shouted again, holding your belly with one hand. “Clark, she?! Oh my god! We’re having a baby girl?!”

You started to do a little victory hop,  just a tiny one…a celebration bounce but Clark’s arms immediately shot out in alarm, hands hovering like airbags.

“No jumping!” he yelped, already trying to steady you. “Feet on the ground, sweetheart! Flat. Both feet!”

You only laughed harder, utterly radiant with happiness, tears springing into your eyes and powdered sugar still dotting your mouth. “I’m fine! I’m just happy! I’m so happy!”

Clark didn’t answer, he was already walking briskly toward the living room, opening drawers and scanning the shelves like a man on a mission, while muttering under his breath. “Where’s the book? The baby one with the illustrations, the index and the emergency checklist. You were jumping…That counts as an impact, right? I don’t know. Where is it?”

You followed, half-laughing, half-concerned, as he located the dog-eared maternity guide and flipped through it with the intensity of someone researching a potential alien invasion.

“Clark,” you said gently.

“One second, baby.”

“Clark.” you said again, grinning and slightly breathless. “How long have you known?”

He froze mid-page flip and answered sheepishly without looking up. “A few days, you kept tossing in your sleep.” He paused, “Couldn’t help it, my eyes wander when I’m worried.”

Your chest tightened around the affection and the swell of something too big for words but he was already talking again before you could say anything. 

“Sweetheart, maybe put on your shoes.”

You blinked. “My shoes? Are we getting celebration donuts? I’m kinda hungry.”

“We’re taking a trip to the hospital,” he said, still flipping pages at hyperspeed. “Not for anything bad. Just a precaution…soft precaution. We’ll call first, I’ll carry you and get you more donuts after but we’re going.”

You burst out laughing again before crossing the room to him and throwing your arms around his body from behind—the powdered sugar from your face leaving a faint print on his back.

“She’s fine, okay?” you whispered. “And so am I.”

He stilled, then slowly lowered the book and turned in your arms. Big, warm hands finding their place once more over the life you were both months away from meeting.

“She’s fine,” he repeated. “And so are you.”

You hummed and leaned forward, resting your head on his chest, cheek pressing against the soft stretch of his shirt now. There, beneath your ear, was the steady thunder of his heart, only not so steady right now.

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” you murmured.

Clark stilled for a beat. Then gave you a tight, nervous hum that sounded like it came with too many spiraling thoughts.

You grinned into his chest, patted his back and caved. “I’ll go put on my shoes.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for the last three minutes, head tipping back in blessed relief. You pulled away slowly, still laughing under your breath as you padded out of the room, voice lilting just loud enough for yourself.

“Good thing you didn’t see the backflip I did to get out of bed this morning—” You joked.

“What!?” came Clark’s alarmed voice behind you, sharp with concern.

You froze mid-step, grinning. “Nothing, Smallville!” you called sweetly but he was already following, half-panicked and full of love.  “You said a backflip?!�� He asked, and the apartment echoed with your laughter and the warm, overprotective footsteps of the man who loved you more than gravity.

----

Likes, reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated! ❤️

[hangmanwrites]

your personal kryptonite ━ clark kent

dedicated to ━ @frivolousimagination because she’s the one who convinced me to post this ridiculous filthy mess even though i was being a coward about it, love u bestie, this one’s for you!! word count ━ 3.4k words pairing ━ clark kent x fem!reader content warnings ━ smut, mdni, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it irl unless you’re also dating superman), soft dom clark, praise, overstimulation, crying during sex (in a hot way), emotional support himbo vibes, aftercare, romantic filth, gentle but devastating author's note ━ this is only my second time writing smut so please be kind to my fragile little writer brain, i’m still figuring it out one emotionally unhinged paragraph at a time, but i really hope you enjoy it anyway and fall a bit in love with soft filthy clark, too. masterlist read here ━ we have a little discord server if you want to talk about david corenswet, clark kent, or anything in between. it’s a cosy community where we spiral together, share ideas, and help each other out with fic writing too. everyone’s welcome to join as long as you’re over 18. minors are not allowed, sorry loves!! 🩵

Today was a shitty day.

Work treated you like you were some sort of animal, not even a real person, just this empty thing people could toss problems at and expect answers from, like your brain was some kind of machine that didn’t glitch or ache or hit its limit after hours of passive aggression and sugarcoated threats and stupid bloody spreadsheets that kept crashing for no reason. 

You’d barely managed to get through lunch without biting someone’s head off, and you did snap at a printer, which definitely made at least one intern scared of you forever, but honestly, at this point, let them be scared. 

Let them think you’re heartless, because you can’t keep doing this, you can’t keep pretending it’s fine, that you’re fine, not when the train made you late and the rain soaked your socks and some stranger told you to “smile more” like that was going to fix your entire nervous system spiralling into self-destruct mode.

You almost didn’t come, almost got off at your usual stop and went home to cry into the same pillow that’s soaked up too much already this month, but the thought of being alone felt unbearable, like your body might shut down if you didn’t see him.

So now you’re outside his flat, fingers aching from gripping your keys too tight, throat thick with everything you can’t name, and the second he opens the door—

It’s over.

Your whole posture collapses like your spine forgot what holding you up looks like, like his face was the final straw, and suddenly he’s right there, stepping forward like you’re made of something delicate, like he knew before you said a single word that something was wrong, and he doesn’t hesitate and just pulls you into his chest with both arms, firm and warm and steady, and it ruins you completely.

You don’t even get a chance to apologise, because he’s already holding you like you’re not a burden at all, just tired, just human, and your fists are already curling into the front of his jumper like it’s the only thing keeping you standing upright.

And you can feel your breathing hitch against him, feel that awful stutter in your chest like a sob is waiting to break free and you hate it, you hate it so much, but he just keeps whispering, quiet and careful and close to your ear, It’s alright, I’ve got you, love, I’ve got you.

And he does, one arm wrapped firm around your back as though he’s trying to hold you together by force, the other hand steady at the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair in slow, soothing motions as though he knows exactly where the panic lives and how to quiet it without being told. 

He sways with you gently, barely a movement but enough to keep you present, enough to remind your body that time is still passing, that you’re still here, still held, still safe in his arms even if the rest of the world spent the entire day trying to convince you otherwise.

He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push or question or try to coax anything out of you, he just stays there with you. He’d done this before, he’d memorised the shape of your silence and knows how to sit inside it without making it about him. 

When you finally manage a full breath, not the shallow, uneven things you’d been taking all day but an actual proper inhale that lifts your chest and makes your shoulders fall, his hand presses gently against your back as if to say I felt that, I see it, you’re doing so well.

“Come here,” he says, soft and certain, and you follow him instantly, still clutching his sleeve, still a little folded into yourself, but he doesn’t seem to mind, just guides you through the flat with both hands at your waist as though you might vanish if he lets go.

He sits you on the edge of the bed and crouches in front of you without hesitation, his hands on your knees, thumbs brushing slowly over your tights in a way that doesn’t ask for anything, and when he looks up, his eyes are so impossibly kind it nearly undoes you again, not because he pities you, but because he doesn’t, because he’s really looking at you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, gently, carefully, as if the question is something he’s laying at your feet rather than pressing into your hands, “Or do you just want quiet?”

You shake your head, not sure which one you’re saying no to, not sure it even matters, because he nods anyway, as though a quiet understanding in the way he leans forward and presses a kiss to your knee, soft and lingering.

Then he kisses you again, a little higher, just above the edge of your skirt, and his hands slide to your hips, not in a greedy way, not in a way that demands anything, just a presence, just a reassurance, just him reminding you that he’s here.

“Alright,” he murmurs, voice lower now, gentler, as though you might fall apart if he speaks too loud, “Then we’ll just sit. You and me.”

You nod, barely, just once, and maybe he thinks that’s it, that you’ll stay still and let the quiet carry you, but your hands are already reaching for him, moving like they’ve been waiting all day for permission, and the second your fingers thread through his hair, your whole chest twists, as though something in you finally dares to ache now that he’s here to hold it.

He doesn’t pull away, just lets you tug him into the space between your legs where you’re still curled on the bed, and your mouth finds his before you’ve even had time to think, messy and eager and a little too much, as though your body’s just trying to survive through contact.

He kisses you back like he’s been waiting for it, like this is exactly what he hoped would happen the second you walked through the door, and it’s slow at first, careful, as though he doesn’t want to take anything from you that you’re not ready to give, but the way you’re pulling at him makes it impossible to keep it gentle.

You know he feels it too, the way the air thickens around you the second you tilt your head and open your mouth for him, the way his hands tighten on your hips as though he needs something to hold or else he might break apart entirely.

It’s not perfect, not neat or delicate or slow-burn cinematic, it’s messy and damp and hungry, and the exhaustion still clings to your limbs, the rawness of the day still presses at your skin, but none of it matters, not with his mouth on yours like it’s the only place he wants to be, not with that heat building low in your belly every time his thumb finds your waist or his tongue brushes yours just right.

You’re not trying to start anything, but the way he groans when your nails scrape the back of his neck pulls something up from deep in your chest that has nothing to do with sadness and everything to do with want.

You press in closer, tighter, chest flush to his, legs drawing him in, and you don’t stop kissing him because you don’t know how else to ask for more.

“Wait,” he breathes, voice rough now, ragged around the edges like he’s barely holding onto restraint, forehead pressed to yours, “Are you sure? I don’t want to take advantage, I—”

“Please,” you whisper, too fast, too breathless, too much, but you don’t care, you’re already chasing his mouth again before he can finish the sentence, already wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in, and he lets you, because it’s Clark and he always does, and his lips are back on yours before either of you can think.

He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push or take more than you’re ready to give, just kisses you with that quiet, steady focus that makes your whole chest tighten, his mouth slow against yours, his hands firm and careful even when they slide under your thighs to lift you into his lap, holding you close like it’s second nature.

You shift slightly, just enough to feel the heat of him pressed between your legs, and the sound he makes is low and helpless, his hands gripping at your hips like he’s trying to keep control, and for a second he pulls back, just enough to look at you again, and there’s no rush in it only that same quiet awe in his expression.

When he leans in again, he doesn’t go for your mouth, not yet, just presses a kiss to your jaw, then your throat, then just under your ear, each one slow and unbearably tender, and when he whispers, “You’ve had such a hard day.”

You don’t get a chance to respond before he kisses you again, quiet and steady, as if he knows you’ll try to brush it off and doesn’t want to let you.

His hands move lower, sure and careful, fingers sliding beneath your underwear like he’s done it a hundred times, not from habit but because he knows you now, knows how to move without asking for more than you’re ready to give, and when he pulls the fabric down your legs, you lift your hips for him without needing to be told.

And when he sees you, really sees you, he exhales like it knocks the breath out of him, low and quiet and almost reverent, like he still can’t believe you’re letting him in.

“God,” he murmurs, barely louder than a breath, hands sliding up your thighs to part them, not rough, not rushed, just steady, grounding, and when he sees how wet you already are, he doesn’t say anything else just leans in and licks into you like it’s all he’s needed all day.

It’s filthy, right from the first slow pass of his tongue, so deliberate it pulls a whimper straight from your throat before you can even think, and you can’t hold it in, not when it’s not just his mouth.

Your thighs twitch, your hips shift, and you’re gripping the duvet in tight fists just to stay grounded, but he just keeps licking into you, slow and deep and steady, as though this is the only thing that matters.

And when you moan his name, helpless and breathless and wrecked, he groans back into you, fingers digging in just a little harder, and it’s not for show, it’s him, it’s real, it’s yes, that’s it, let me have it without saying a word.

Then his hand slides back down, his fingers warm and slick when he pushes two of them inside you, slow but sure, like he’s done this in his head a hundred times, and the stretch is so good it knocks the breath from your lungs, makes your hips jolt into his mouth, and he groans low and keeps going, his fingers working you open as his mouth stays right there.

And you can feel your climax building already, hot and unbearable and close, because it’s him, Clark, on his knees, giving everything, and you’ve never felt more wanted in your life.

You say his name again and it’s not a choice, it just happens, your mouth moving before your brain can catch up, because everything’s gone fuzzy, because your body is too full to hold anything else, and he hums in response, pleased and steady and so full of love it makes your chest ache all over again.

His palm presses firm to your lower stomach, and his voice comes soft and ruined against your cunt as he says, “Let go for me, baby, I’ve got you, it’s okay, just let me have it, come on.”

And you do, God, you do, it hits you hard and fast and so deep you don’t even realise you’ve stopped breathing until it all rushes back at once, and your body’s jolting up into him without warning, a helpless thing. Every muscle snapping tight and letting go all at once, and your thighs are shaking around his shoulders and your fingers are pulling hard in his hair and he just groans, low and hoarse and wrecked.

He slows down, keeps his tongue soft and steady and lets you fall apart in his mouth, lets you ride it out with his hands holding you still, one on your thigh and the other pressing down gently on your stomach.

You’re shaking, breathless, too far gone to speak, not a single thought in your head beyond the crashing release still flooding your chest and hips and thighs, and your hands are still in his hair, and when he finally lifts his head it’s slow.

His mouth is red, his eyes unbearably soft, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters. He’s flushed and wrecked and breathing hard, but he still smiles when he sees you staring at the ceiling like your mind hasn’t caught up yet, and he reaches up with a trembling hand to brush your hair back, voice low and hoarse when he asks, “Are you alright?”

You nod, or something close to it, and he seems to understand. Then he leans down, kisses your hip, your stomach, the centre of your chest, soft and slow and steady, like he’s still trying to take care of you even now. 

Your throat tightens all over again, because it’s him, and he’s still looking at you like you’re a miracle.

His mouth moves higher, kissing along your collarbone and neck, and his hands slide back up your thighs, hot and unshaking, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. 

You can feel it in the way he breathes, in the way his body holds still like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You feel him now, still hard, still clothed, the shape of him pressed to your thigh, and you can’t help it. Your hips roll, slow and greedy, your body answering before your head can catch up. 

He groans into your skin, low and deep, and you feel him falter, feel him fight not to lose it.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says, quiet and hoarse and almost dazed, and it’s not a complaint, it’s reverent, it’s full of disbelief that he gets to have you like this, that he gets to stay here, and then he’s sitting up just enough to tug off his shirt and undo his belt, one handed.

And you watch him, still flushed and sensitive, still sore in the best way, but your legs spread for him automatically because your body wants this, wants him, wants to feel him everywhere, and when his trousers hit the floor and you finally get to see the full, desperate shape of him, flushed and thick and twitching with how hard he is. 

You swear under your breath because it’s obscene, it’s not fair, he’s so beautiful, and he just kneels between your legs like he belongs there.

He leans down to kiss you again, mouth still messy from everything he did to you, and you moan into it, half from the taste of yourself on his tongue and half from the way his cock presses right up against you, not pushing in yet, but it’s hot and heavy against your overstimulated cunt.

Your body jolts with it, and you hear yourself whimper, and he shushes you softly, forehead pressed to yours.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, not because he doesn’t know, but because he needs to hear it, needs to be sure, always so careful even when he’s wrecked and seconds from losing it completely.

You nod again, this time more definite, more desperate, and you whisper, “Please,” and that’s all it takes.

He pushes in so slowly you can feel every inch of it, feel every thick, aching stretch of him as he fills you, deeper than you thought anyone ever could, thick and hot and perfect, and you’re already gasping before he’s fully seated, already clutching at his back with both hands as your body adjusts, 

“You feel—” he starts, and then cuts himself off with a soft, broken noise, and presses a kiss to your throat as his hips roll forward, just enough to make you whimper, and he whispers, “So warm, sweetheart, so soft, you feel incredible.”

And then he moves for real, pulls back just enough to drag the whole length of himself out of you before sliding in again slow and deep, and your mouth falls open because it’s filthy, the sound of it, the slick, obscene drag of his cock inside you, your body taking him like it’s what it was made for, and Clark’s still breathing like he’s trying to survive it.

Clark sets a rhythm, gentle but full, grinding deep into you with every stroke, his hips tilting just right to press against that spot inside you that makes your thighs twitch and your stomach clench.

And every time he finds it again, again, he murmurs something soft into your skin, “There you go, That’s it, I’ve got you,” as though he’s guiding you somewhere, as if your body is answering him and he’s proud of it.

And it is so much, the stretch of him, the wet slide of your bodies moving together, the way your slick is dripping down your thighs now, messy and shameless, and Clark can feel it, can hear it, and instead of shying away from it he groans softly into your neck, presses his hand flat against your lower back to keep you right where he wants you, and says, breathless and stunned, “You’re so beautiful like this, I don’t think I’m ever going to forget how this feels.”

His voice is wrecked, soft and rough as he shudders above you, fingers finding your clit with slow, careful circles that make your whole body jerk beneath him. He doesn’t speed up, just keeps fucking you deep and steady, every thrust dragging right through you, and your legs are shaking, your hands clutching at him just to stay grounded.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs into your mouth, kissing you slow, “I’ve got you, I promise, just let go for me, sweetheart, please—”

And you do. It hits hard and hot, your body locking tight around him as everything breaks open, and you cry out without words, just Clark, just need, and he holds you through all of it, kissing your face, whispering soft things you can’t even process through the pleasure.

And he’s still inside you when it fades, still thick and hard and throbbing, just watching your face with the kind of awe that makes you ache all over again, and when you finally open your eyes, blinking up at him with wet lashes and parted lips, he leans down and kisses you one more time, deep and slow and full of everything he hasn’t said yet.

“You’re alright?” he asks, and he’s flushed and wrecked and still holding back, and you nod, still breathless, still clenching around him, and his whole body shudders again.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” he admits, so softly it makes your heart twist, “You feel too good, I can’t— I don’t want to hurt you—”

But you’re already pulling him closer, because he needs it, because he’s holding himself so carefully, still buried in you and barely moving, arms shaking and jaw tight like it’s taking everything not to fall apart.

You press your hands to his face, tilting his head until he looks at you, and the second his eyes meet yours, something in you snaps again, because he’s beautiful and he’s yours and he’s waiting.

You don’t have to speak. He sees it in the way you nod, in the way your hands cradle him, in the way your thighs pull him in.

And he exhales, shaky and wrecked, and leans into your touch like he’s been waiting for it, and he presses his forehead to yours and whispers, barely audible, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you say, and it’s not breathless anymore, not messy or chaotic, it’s just soft, steady, honest, because you mean it, because you know him, and you know he never could.

He starts to move again, slow and deep and careful, as if he’s trying to memorise how you feel now that he’s allowed to. It’s not rushed anymore, just warm, just full of that unbearable closeness that only he ever gives you, and when your body clenches around him he groans, low and reverent.

Clark kisses you again and again, mouth soft on yours, whispering between breaths, “So good, I’ve got you, I’m right here,” and it’s never really about him, not even now, not even with his hips starting to stutter and his hands gripping tighter like he needs to hold on to something real.

And when it happens, when he finally lets go, you feel all of it; the shake in his thighs, the rough sound in his throat, the way his mouth drops open against your cheek and you hold him through it, hands in his hair, whispering his name just to let him know you’re here.

He groans your name like it’s the only word he knows, and he spills into you with his face tucked into your neck, his entire body trembling as though he’s never felt anything like this before, as though this moment, this warmth, this love, is undoing something in him he never thought could be undone.

When it’s over, his hips still and his breath evens out, and he doesn’t move. He stays close, chest to chest, mouth pressed to your skin like he’s not ready to let go, and you lie there with him in the quiet, holding each other, breathing slow and steady, hearts still racing in sync, and you know you’ve never been loved like this before.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, tangled and quiet, your legs still around his hips, his arms still tight around you like he’s afraid to let go. And maybe he’s right. Maybe you would fall apart if he stopped holding you like this, so gently, so steady, like he’s keeping you from breaking again.

When you finally shift, just enough to breathe deeper, he follows without question, tucks his face into your neck and sighs. Quiet and warm and full of peace, as if something inside him has finally gone still.

It’s a mess, all of it, your bodies sticky, your thighs still shaking, your heart beating too fast to keep up with your thoughts, but you don’t care. Not when his hand keeps stroking slow across your back like he’s soothing something deeper than skin, not when his mouth keeps finding your shoulder in soft kisses that feel more like promises than habit.

You should say something, maybe thank him or laugh or breathe properly, but all you can do is hold him tighter and hope he gets it. Hope he hears it in the way your fingers stay in his hair, in the way your forehead presses into his cheek, in the way your breathing finally begins to settle, not calm, but easier. 

And the thought hits you, not all at once but slowly, creeping in through the quiet like a truth you’d been ignoring until now;

Kryptonite could kill him, sure, it’s the one thing strong enough to bring him down, the one weakness he can’t hide, but Clark Kent on his knees, hands steady and tongue slow and eyes so full of love it breaks you, that might just kill you first.

[abyssyby]

— no matter how late he comes back, his family will always welcome him home

Sylus has had a long day. 

He’ll never appreciate the silence that greets him when he pushes through the heavy oak doors of his home. Not as much as the hurricane of two toddlers tripping over themselves to grab at his legs and climb up his clothes as if a tree had entered their house.

Despite the chaos, he has never felt more at peace at the end of the day than in those moments.  

Silence offers a different kind of peace. And in the early hours, so long before dawn, he has no choice but to welcome it. 

Missions don’t always go awry, as long as he can help it. But his streak can’t always be perfect. 

Achy and sore, his bare feet pad over carpet through the dimly lit home as he makes his rounds. 

First, a peek in his twins’ room— each of the two nest-like beds contains a little one breathing and sleeping peacefully. Lucian with his short limbs sprawled to all corners of his bed, little shirt had ridden up from all the movement, exposing his round belly to the cold air. Kyros sleeps curled up a little too tightly in on himself, wrists bent and fists inward towards his chest beneath his chin; knees to his tummy, a speckle of dribble down his chin. 

Sylus leans on the door for a while, fondly watching his two most precious treasures. Then, he moves forward, careful not to make a sound.

He tugs Lucian’s shirt down his stomach and tucks his unruly arms and legs tightly in to the blanket. Sighs when one arm escapes and is raised over his head. Kyros is unwound, wrists untwisted and tight fists opened. Sylus massages his jaw to make sure he isn’t clenching, and then fixes the soft blanket back over his shoulder. For a moment, he worries that Kyros had woken when his finger is grabbed, but the grip loosens just as quickly. 

With a kiss on each their foreheads, Sylus moves to his next destination. 

Mephisto greets him just a few steps down the hall, a little ways away from Kieran’s and Luke’s rooms. He’d asked them to go on ahead home during the mission, and when Mephisto confirms that they’d arrived safely, a weight falls off of Sylus’s shoulders. 

In your shared bathroom, he scrubs off dirt, grime and blood from his skin. Heals his wounds in the mirror. Midway through his routine, when you knock on the bathroom door, he takes the time to gently redirect you back to bed. 

Despite being clad only in a towel around his waist, you cannot make out any marks or scars on his skin. “Sylus…” 

“Not hurt.” is all he says, kissing your head and pushing you back on the bed. 

Stubborn, you stay upright. “I’ll wait.” 

He breathes through his nose, a soft puff of air. Thinks you’re impossibly, and incredibly endearing. And doesn’t hold it against you when you’ve slumped snoring sideways, legs still hanging off the side of the bed when he finally comes out in dark pajamas and soft white shirt (your favorite), ready for bed. 

He fixes you too, just like he did your sons, and then finally curls up behind you. He presses you closer to his chest, inhaling his favorite scent off your neck where his nose finds a home. 

He smells of soap and clean linen. You twist to burrow closer, his chest a den for the blistering cold of a lonely winter. He hums when you murmur something about being late. He apologizes with a press of his lips to your shoulder and a promise to make it up to you in the morning. 

Silence is a welcome kind of peace tonight. Soon, he is pushed off from shore, rocked by the tides of unconsciousness and dreams. A still, hushed slumber. 

A short slumber, he’d come to realize, when Lucian wakes him up with a tap on his foot. 

“Papa.” he whimpers, little hands clutching his stomach. Voice soft and unnaturally crunchy. “I did a throw up.” 

Sylus, bleary-eyed and half-conscious, takes in his little boy in the dark. Hair sticking up in different directions, dribble on his chin and chunks of—he didn’t want to know what—on his Bubble Pals official merchandise pajamas. Nodding wordlessly, he lifts Lucian up by the armpits, walks with him at arms length and cleans him up in the bathroom before you can even stir.

“I sorry.” says Lucian in the bathtub as Sylus washes his feet and hands. He says it again when Sylus changes his beddings— thankfully, his sick missed the mattress by a hair, and almost everything was on the floor. 

“It’s fine.” he supplies for his toddler, kissing his cheek. He’d dressed him in a onesie this time, to keep his shirt from riding up and chilling his gut. “Good job coming to papa.” 

When he manages to tidy everything up, tuck Lucian back under the covers, and clean himself up, he crawls back in bed. Only to find Kyros in his spot in your arms. 

“Papa.” large eyes blink at him, waiting for him. Kyros is wrapped in your sleepy embrace, but he is wide awake. 

“Kyros…” he mutters. He feels the weight under his eyes tugging at his sanity as he squeezes into the bed next to him. Kyros reaches out and Sylus puts his finger on his palm. 

“Papa, I dream a mountain.” he rasps. A failed attempt at a whisper. 

Sylus’s eyes droop. “That’s nice, angel...” 

“And—and a big, big lizard. ‘ike a dinosaur, but with wings.” he continues. something of confusion crosses his features when Sylus doesn’t respond, so he baps his forehead once, twice. “Psst, papa.” 

Sylus snorts, head bobbing forward and shooting back up. “Huh?” 

“I said a lizard.” says Kyros, hands cupped around his mouth like he’s reiterating a secret. 

And really, if he didn’t love him so much, he would’ve just flipped over to his back by now. But he wouldn’t dare, wouldn’t consider it even—not when the little one inherited the fire that burns in you when you’re pushed to your limits. And so, he sighs, “Wow. That’s scary.” 

“No, not-not scary. Was nice, and there rocks. And the red flowers…” Kyros muses, on and on like a tranquil little lullaby. And Sylus is struggling, fighting tooth and nail against his body screaming, begging to be conked out. “Papa? Lis’en.” 

“I’m here, I’m here.” he yawns, propping his head up on his elbow. His eyes slant into tired slits trying to keep up with Kyros’s lively round ones, focusing on the stars from the window’s reflections onto them. “What of the red flowers?” 

“They pretty.” 

“Did you pick some for mama?” 

Kyros nods, yawning. “Just this many.” each of his raised three fingers are pinched lightly by Sylus. “Can’t count more.” 

Sylus hums. Appreciating his kindness, and how his cheeks look extra squishy in the moonlight. Like marshmallows. Pillows. Clouds… He clears his throat, “Where are they?” 

Kyros tugs down on the skin of his papa’s cheeks, effectively widening the eyes that slowly close on him. “In the cave. With the lizard.” 

Sylus is running out of things to say. He closes his eyes—a long blink, he justifies— and asks, “Is… mama the lizard?” 

Thwack. 

He flinches at the sudden smack on his head. Your hand had come alive and reached for the first thing it could hit at his remark. Showing no other sign of consciousness, it baffles him how you even registered that. He can’t fight the amusement though, as he captures your fingers and kisses your knuckles in fatigued atonement. 

“Mama da queen.” says Kyros, completely unphased by the zombie hand. 

“Queen of the cave?” Sylus asks. Your fingers pinch the corner of his mouth, and he is given a warning grunt. He chuckles, waking just that little bit. 

Just as Kyros winds down. “No, papa.” he sighs hopelessly, slipping deeper into your embrace. His own eyes close and he snuggles closer to you. 

Sylus waits ten seconds, twenty, and when thirty rolls in, he breathes a sigh of relief. He turns on his stomach, throws his arm over the mattress to hang, and finally allows himself to slip beneath the cover of unconsciousness. 

bap. 

bap. bap. 

“Huh?” 

“Papa!” Lucian climbs the arm dangling off the bed. Then, he’s sitting on Sylus’s back. “Papa.” 

Sylus groans, at the verge of tears, but so utterly besotted he has no other programmed response. “My angel?” 

“Papa, Kee-ro gone.” Small fingers take hold of Sylus’s ears and are tugged outward. As if stretching them would make them hear better. “Papa, need’ta find— AH!” 

Sylus flexes, knocks him off his back and onto the bed beside his brother’s sleeping figure. Lucian lands with a quiet ‘oof!’ and blinks a few times to comprehend what just happened. 

Sylus shifts to his side to face Lucian. Eyes closed, he takes the boy’s hand and places it on where he thinks his twin is. “He’s right here.” 

“Oh,” Lucian nods. Then he scoots, back pressing against Sylus’s chest and curling in on himself. “Can sleep here?” 

Sylus hums. 

“Pa?” Lucian asks, louder. 

Sylus drawls helplessly, “Lucian…” 

“Can sleep—“ 

“Yes.” 

He giggles. Gifts him a soft caress on his chin. “I not done.” 

Sylus loves him. Oh, Sylus loves him so much. He grits, lovingly. “Mm?”

“Can sleep here?” 

Sylus waits a beat. And then, “Yes.” 

“Tank yoo.” Lucian says, scrambling up to plant a kiss on his father’s cheek. Effectively thawing a tired stone heart. “Nighty, papa. Love you, papa.”

Then, he digs his fingers in Sylus’s heavy limb and hoists it to wrap around him like a blanket. Sylus responds, shifting and then cradling him on to his chest. Sylus can’t help but ask, “Not sick anymore?” 

Lucian shakes his head. “Nuh-uh.” 

And when Lucian drifts off into sleep, the hum of silence fills the room once more.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

A lifeless refrain.

A vacuum.  

Sylus’s eyes snap open. Bloodshot, heavy— and yet wide awake. Still listening, waiting. Running through his head—another tap, another gag, another whisper, another story needing to be heard. Waits, waits, wa— 

Until another hand rattles him, soft and cool. Like feathers up his cheek. A plush velvet thumb brushes the tender weights beneath his eyes. Then prickles from the thorns of the most beautiful rose scrape his scalp; sending shooting stars down his spine. Each light extinguished upon the calming waters of awaiting slumber.  

“My love,” your voice a siren’s call and he is driven insane. 

Thinking you need something, ready to rise and do whatever for you despite it all, he presses his face into your palm. “Beloved?” 

“Rest.” you tell him instead, caressing. Caring. “Thank you. Rest.” 

And that is enough to push him back to the once quiet sea—silence now filled by the sound of his family’s melodious existence—and let the current of dreams lull him to sleep.

something cozy. thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹ᰔ

✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Thinking about how grandpa!Joel’s back is so bad you almost only do cowgirl ༺♡༻

warnings: smut, minors DNI, creampie, infertility, delayed ejaculation

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel wakes up every morning feeling two things: the deep, killing ache in his lower back, and the throb of his thick cock, already hard in his briefs (and just as painful as his back), already forming a wet patch on them from how much he’s been creaming while he slept, unconsciously humping against your ass in his sleep.

༺♡༻ Grandpa!Joel’s back’s been shit during the last few years, and so he’s gotten accustomed to you riding him (not because he asks you to, he’s too proud for that, but because you know it’s what he needs). He lets you do most of the work while he lays back and takes it. It’s the most frequent position between you two now, but luckily for Joel, he’s always been a hardcore cowgirl enjoyer, both front or reverse, didn’t matter.

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel, whenever he has you on reverse, he can’t stop himself from slapping that beautiful ass of yours to watch it jiggle. His eyes stay locked on where your hole stretches around him as you move up and down, your slick dripping down the base of his cock and soaking his big balls. He also loves seeing the little pouts you make when his cock hit that deep spot you swear no one else had ever touched, that furrow between your brows as you whimper his name like it hurt so good. The bounce of your titties always gets him going, his eyes stuck on the way they bounce in time with your rhythm. He never knows where to touch, he’s got his hands full of your tits, next, he’s gripping your hips and ass, helping you fuck yourself on him when you get tired.

༺♡༻ Grandpa!Joel won’t admit it out loud, but lately he’s been having issues cumming, not because of you, of course, but with age, getting an orgasm took him longer than before. He feels a flicker of frustration, being so close to cumming, only to have it slip through his fingers. He hates feeling that his body faltered, that he couldn’t finish when he wanted to. But you never complain, you just keep riding him, whispering how he’s the only man you’ll ever want, how no one else has ever made you feel like this.

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel had lost any filter he once had, he has no shame left in that old body, not when you ride him like this. If anything, he’d only gotten more vocal, dirtier… Every drag of your soaked pussy along his cock makes him grunt and growl like a wild bear. “Mmhmm, attagirl, ride your old man’s cock, yeeahh, jus’like that.” “Look at’cha, little bunny, humping on it like you need it. You do, don’t cha? Fuckin’ need this ole’cock to fuck you stupid.” “Move those fuckin’ hips, baby, yeahhhh, nghhh, there you go makin’ your man feel so goddamn good.”

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel, on some sporadic occasions, fully ignores the pain radiating through his lower back, he’s a stubborn old bastard after all, and throws you down on your belly. He pushes you down into the mattress, your face smushed into the pillow, your ass raised and then he fucks the goddamn shit out of you. Even through his back is killing him, all he cares about in that moment is to empty his heavy balls into your tight little cunt. And fuck, when he feels you clenching around him (you’re already tight but when you cum you squeeze him so hard he swears you’re cutting off his circulation) he knows he’s not gonna last. Just one or two more thrusts, and then he’s spilling inside you.

༺♡༻Grandpa!Joel fills you so full it leaks out around the edges while he’s still inside. He might be old, but that load is still just as big as when he was young. He can feel it shooting out of him with force, and you feel the warmth of it coating your insides. The stupid instinct of his body is still trying to breed you, he wished he still had the capacity to knock you up, but he doubts there are any good swimmers left in his seed. But a man can dream, can’t he?

Wrote this silly little thing (a recurring thought, honestly) before taking a nap, so sweet dreams to me, hehe.

dividers by: @/strangergraphics

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[madamechrissy]

you found me

art in the banner by @ayushnz_on X

pairings - nanny nanami x single mom reader

summary - you are exhausted, a single mother and running a huge marketing company, and your sweet little daughter Yuuka is honestly a menace. She's chased away every single Nanny you've tried to hire! All alone with her, you just decide to start bringing her to work, when a man walks in who might as well be Mary fucking Poppins - Nanami Kento. Sweet, patient, and Yuuka just loves him on sight, you pay his very high salary and promise no overtime. But Nanami grows to love what is becoming a family too much, and you grow to crave more and more of his time. The lines blur - what's professional and what's real?

contents/warnings - so fluffy I'm surprised at myself , hurt/comfort, reader is a mom, past abuse from her ex, eventual smut, sexual tension, humor, Nanami being a sweetheart, Yuuka being adorable, found family vibes! - this chap - sexual tension like a mf, a lot of hurt/comfort, but also a lot of cuteness!!! Opening up about reader's past trauma, mentions of abuse, making out (yayy) lil bit of grinding on Mr. Nanami, some emotional angst, and them being awkward hehe - wc-7k

mini series based on the drabble here! Tags are open <3

<<<part one - part three>>> (soon)

part two

“Do you wanna bring Mommy some sushi to work?” Nanami asks Yuuka, she’s in the back in her little pink booster seat, nodding and giggling.

“Yes! Mommy loves that!” He chuckles, turning toward his favorite sushi place now, it’s been a week since he almost kissed you.

It’s driven him crazy, since then he’s tried to be more professional, but the movie night is scheduled tonight again, and this time you all are going to see one together at the theater. It makes it feel too much like a date, to the point Nanami bought a bouquet of flowers that’s sitting on his kitchen counter, he kept contemplating if that was okay or not.

You have been as sweet as ever, but he can tell what happened made things just a little different, every mere brush of your hand meant too much. Even now, taking care of Yuuka means too much, as he feels more and more affection tugging at his heart, the little spitting image of you is too precious and he enjoys spending time with her and you, truly.

It seems unfair to get paid this well to be in your lives.

Nanami got like this with a few other kids he took care off – Yuuji, Megumi and Nobara. They were bratty, misbehaved children really, that somehow his friend Satoru Gojo had adopted. Nanami still goes over there often, but Satoru’s finally come around as they had gotten older, a big kid himself really, but he misses them even now.

He’ll miss you and Yuuka when you move on, too, but for now he tries not to think of that, pulling into the parking lot. “Mommy loves you.”

“W-what now?” He turns in his seat, raising a brow, and Yuuka’s giggling in delight, kicking her little feet around.

“She said it! She loves you!”

“I’m sure she… meant she loves me around.” He clears his throat now, opening the door and helping her out of the seat.

“I love you!”

He chuckles, easing just a bit and taking her hand. “You’re so sweet I don’t know where the rumors came from, Yuuka.”

“They lied.” She gets this mad little glare that he can’t help but laugh at, gesturing his head now.

“Let’s go get her something yummy.”

“Yes!” As they walk in, he sees them then – Satoru and the kids, they’ve grown so tall now, they’re all in middle school. But they light up when they see him.

“Nanamin!” Yuuji runs up all bright eyed, hugging him, Nanami chuckles and ruffles his hair, Satoru turns from the counter and waves at him.

“It’s Nanami! Kids, it's your real dad.”

“Dear god, Satoru.” He rolls his eyes, people are looking now, but Gojo’s maniacally grinning.

“The kids miss you, honey come home.” He pouts, Yuuji snorts but Megumi and Nobara roll their eyes.

“This is why I quit, I can’t stand you,” he grumbles, Yuuka is standing behind his leg then, peeking out, and Nobara comes up, crouching down now. “This is Yuuka.”

“Hi there, aren’t you so pretty?” Nobara says, Yuuka steps out, still tugging on Nanami’s pant leg, but smiles at her.

“So are you!” Nobara smiles, and Yuuji glares at her.

“Why are you so nice to everyone but me?”

“Because you’re annoying.”

“You’re all annoying, tch,” Megumi runs a hand through his dark locks, sighing and stepping over now. “Hey Nanami.”

“Hey kid,” Nanami watches while Nobara and Yuuka start talking about a necklace she’s wearing, Satoru has their order and eyes the girls.

“Nobara being nice, huh? Weird.” Gojo says, and she glares at him.

“She was nice to me,” Nanami says, and Gojo rolls his eyes. “You really are annoying.”

“You miss me, huh?”

“Maybe,” Gojo wraps an arm around Nanami now. “I’m going to get food, do you mind watching her for a moment, Nobara?”

“No worries!” Nanami smiles, the Sushi place is bustling now, as more and more people enter, Satoru follows Nanami up to the counter, the girl there is pretty, she’s making eyes at Nanami.

“Can I get you anything else?” She asks, batting her lashes and leaning forward, Satoru’s snorting in laughter, barely holding back, Nanami clears his throat.

“No, that’s all, thank you.” He smiles and hands her a generous tip, before walking a bit with Satoru, who lowers his obnoxious sunglasses. “What is it?”

“You didn’t think she was pretty? She was basically begging for your number,” Nanami rubs the back of his neck, lowering his eyes now. “Shit, did Mr. Nanamin get a girlfriend?”

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend.” He can’t call you that, even if he sees you every single day, and now that he’s thinking of it, that fucking hurts.

He can’t see anyone but you.

“You do! Give me the details, come on,” Nanami scoffs, looking over at Yuuka who is happily babbling away, the center of attention. “Is it… her mom?”

“No!? I mean… no? I mean…”

“You like someone!”

“Shush, Satoru.” Nanami shoves his friend who annoys the ever loving shit out of him, but he’s relentless.

“You do! Is bachelor Nanami finally going to find someone?”

“Should ask you that, three kids and no wife, scandalous.”

“Nanami has jokes.” Satoru’s snickering, watching his friend’s blush form on his cheeks. “So you don’t like her then? Is it someone else?”

“There’s no one else…” Satoru gets serious for a moment, as Nanami realizes what spilled from his lips. “You really are too much you know.”

“Nanami, if you like someone, just say it,” Satoru’s oddly serious for just a little bit, he has his surprising moments of clarity. “Don’t wait forever.”

Nanami hears it, the feelings he’s carrying, looking at his friend curiously. “That sounds personal.”

“Yeah well, maybe it is,” he runs a hand through his white locks, sighing a bit. Nanami finally takes a breath, Gojo raises a brow. “You good?”

“No, I do have… I already feel things? And it’s not professional.”

“You were in love with me too it’s-”

“Satoru.” he’s chuckling, shaking his head.

“Sorry, continue.”

“God,” he wipes a hand across his face now, shaking his head. “It’s not professional to act the way I want to, not at all. And the last thing I’d ever want to do is confuse Yuuka if anything didn’t work out.” Satoru puts a hand on Nanami’s shoulder, patting it then.

“You think too much, y’know that right?” Satoru drawls those words out, Nanami’s jaw clenches as he looks at his friend.

“And you don’t think at all.”

“Yes, but that’s how I ended up with those three,” he nudges his head, and Nanami’s lips quirk up. “And imagine that not happening.”

“You may have a point, but don’t get excited about it.” Yuuka runs up to Nanami with a necklace on, Nobara is behind her.

“She really likes it, she said she’ll give it back to me next time I see her,” Nobara is a softie for kids, really. Nanami can’t help but enjoy seeing Yuuka near the other kids so dear to him, picturing you by his side in a way that’s disconcerting.

He can’t shake it off completely.

“That’s so sweet. Yuuka, did you say thank you?” He gets down on his haunches, so he’s closer to Yuuka’s height.

“I did! I wanna see her again!” She’s waving her arms excitedly.

“We’ll have to have you all come over,” Gojo says, ruffling Yuuka’s hair, she giggles and hugs his leg. Satoru’s oddly good with kids, maybe because he is a kid. “Bring your mom too.”

Nanami glares, Satoru’s grinning. “Yes, my mommy! Nanami, can we go play?”

“We will some time then, but we need to bring your mom lunch, remember?” He says goodbye to the kids – well they’re teens now – it makes Nanami feel old honestly, when he’s not even thirty yet. Even Gojo makes him feel old though. “I’ll see you all later, yeah?”

“Don’t forget our play date, Papa.” Nanami flips off Satoru behind his back, making them laugh, luckily Yuuka doesn’t see.

Gojo’s words ring through his head, what if he did wait too long? What if someone else realized how amazing you are? But then, what if you didn’t feel the same, what if you were just tired that night, the wine hit too much? You haven’t made any mention of it since, and now he’s a little lost in thought about it.

What he feels he’s never felt before.

*****

“Where's the hot nanny?” Yuki is the other CEO of the building, and probably one of your best friends. You blush as she waltzes in, tall and blond and intimidating every man she comes near, she’s got a little smirk on her face. “You’re blushing! Is the hot nanny off the market?”

“No!? He’s not!?” You scowl now, shutting the door behind her, she laughs a bit, sitting in your office chair. “You’re a brat, Yuki.”

“Am I? Gonna punish me mommy?”

“Oh, you!” You spin her in the chair, she laughs and then tugs at you, until you’re sitting in her damn lap. “Yuki I’ll never date you.”

“Yet,” you snort at that, sighing then and wrapping an arm around her neck, resting your head on it. “You okay baby?”

“No, I guess I’m not. I really do like him, and we almost…”

“Fucked?”

“Kissed!? You’re a slut.” She sticks her tongue out as you giggle.

“You’ve got slutty thoughts, stop lying. You got it bad.”

“Shush! I don’t want to lose him as Yuuka’s nanny, and I don’t know if he feels the same? He hasn’t come near me since. Maybe he felt… sorry for me because I am so pathetically alone.”

“As if, you’re a wealthy CEO baddie, okay? And a milf.”

“Maybe I will date you.” She’s got you giggling, you snuggle her again. She’d been a big part of the reason you did leave your ex and were okay without him.

“If you like him, just say so.”

“It’s not that simple, and it’s so early. He’s only been around a little bit, Yuuka just loves him, I can’t risk her happiness like that.” She sighs, brows knitting together when the door opens, and Nanami sees you on Yuki’s lap, bringing a blush to his face. Yuuka however just runs up.

“Yuki! Up, up!” You hop off her lap and Yuki does just that, snatching her up in the air, Nanami walks over to you with a clear white bag, styrofoam boxes inside.

“Oh, what’s all this?” You ask softly, walking up to him, hating how much his cologne makes you just ache. 

“Sushi, you need food at work too, you know.” Your hands brush each other when he hands you the bag, and Yuki takes notice.

“Hey, wanna go get cookies from my office, kiddo?” She asks Yuuka, she eagerly agrees, and you catch Yuki’s little wink. “We’ll be back in a bit, you two.”

She shuts the door behind her gently, leaving you and Nanami completely alone, still awkwardly holding the bag. “You didn’t have to bring me lunch, though I’m so glad you both came.”

“It’s nothing really,” you sit down and open it, he watches your eyes glitter and can’t help but find you adorable. “You are hungry.”

“Shush, maybe. Come eat with me!” You stand again, tugging over one of the spin chairs, Nanami hesitates. “Please? I’d love you to.”

“I got it for you, though.”

“You got enough for us to share, sit.” He slides next to you, as you lay the sushi out carefully, your heart racing at his nearness. His thigh brushes against yours, he’s wearing a soft knit tan sweater and khaki slacks, looking like he’d be so comfy to just snuggle against, to straddle-

Stop that!

“You look flushed, darling are you all right?” He asks softly, a cool hand on your forehead, that word making you blush worse. “Tell me you’re not coming down with something, you do know stress can make you literally sick, right?”

“No, no I’m fine. It’s just warm.” You go to dip a piece in some soy sauce, holding it up for him with your chop sticks now. “You first.”

You’re feeding him – Nanami almost can’t handle that.

He opens his lips as you pop the piece in his mouth, he chews carefully, eyes shutting for a moment, his blond lashes casting shadows on the planes of his face with the sunlight filtering through. He’s so handsome in that moment you’re left staring with your lips parted, he smiles easily at you, wiping a little drip of sauce from the corner of his mouth.

“It’s delicious, now you eat,” he unsnaps his chopsticks now, picking a piece for you himself, holding it up. “Open up.”

That makes you think the filthiest things, your thighs press together, eyes wide as you just stare at him, and he’s holding it there, waiting. Open up, all you can picture is him making you get on your knees, his long finger tugging at your hair at the nape of your neck, you unzipping those slacks. Pleasing him with your mouth, hearing him moan and murmur – darling.

It’s actually too much.

“You better eat something,” he says sternly, you finally shove that lewd little thought back, clearing your throat and taking the piece in your mouth. “Good girl. I mean!?”

“Oh…” He’s a blushing mess just like you now, covering his face and grimacing. “It’s fine I know you didn’t mean it that way.”

He did. 

All Nanami could think of was you opening your mouth for him.

“I’m so sorry, really I don’t want you to ever be uncomfortable with me.”

“That’s the furthest from the truth,” you take his hand, easing it off his face now, feeling it warm against your own, grown just a little sweaty from your nerves. “Nanami, I trust you enough to care for Yuuka, of course I feel comfortable with you.”

He looks down at your little hand, swallowed by his own, so big and just a little rough, callouses brushing your delicate skin, and he just leaves his hand there, eyes locking with your own. If it was just attraction, Nanami would be fine, he’s not an inexperienced man even if he’s been a bit selective. He’s not this teenage boy you make him feel like.

He brushes his thumb across your knuckles, bringing them to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss on them that melts you completely, butterflies in your tummy turning violent at the action. It should be considered respectful, kind, he’s a gentleman and you know he is. Yet it’s just addling your brain even further, of how those lips must feel pressed everywhere.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he takes a breath then, unable to let your hand go, his eyes fluttering when he kisses the backs of your fingers. Your heart is hammering in your chest so quickly you feel almost dizzy from the contact, something so chaste and sweet. “I ran into my really good friend today, and the kids I started watching. It’s how I became a ‘manny’ as you call me.”

You giggle, leaning closer, dying to know more about the man next to you. “Oh really? Did they miss you?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Yuuka loved them… I thought maybe you could both come with me sometime to see them?”

“Oh goodness, of course! If it’s not an imposition?”

“Not at all, you’re…” important to me. “You’re…” dear to me.

“I’m what, Kento?” You don’t know what it does to him when you say that, when you whisper those words.

“You and Yuuka have become…” He trails off again, clearing his throat, giving your hand one more kiss. “I’d love to have you both there.”

“You just name the day then,” you smile brightly, illuminating the whole fucking office, making his heart ache with just how beautiful you are in that moment. “Are we still on for our date– I mean!? – movie!”

“Yes, of course, I can’t wait. I do need to go home and get ready after I drop Yuuka at home though.” He lets your hand go reluctantly, snatching up another piece of sushi and putting it in his mouth before he says something else foolish, you do the exact same, legs trembling with your nerves.

“That’s fine, I’m excited.” You dab a napkin on your lips, sighing. “Thank you again? No one has ever… aside from my friend who you just saw, no one has really cared for me. Even… my parents… not trauma dumping, I promise,” you trail off now, a hand on his thigh, leaning forward as tears begin to threaten. “But truly your thoughtfulness means everything.”

“It’s really nothing,” he sighs, your little hand feels too good, burning through that layer of material. “You deserve so much more than that, whoever didn’t care about you? It’s all their loss.”

“Thank you,” you blink tears down now, he swipes one off your cheek, cupping your face just a bit. “Sometimes you seem too perfect to be real.”

“I am not perfect, I just see you.” Your eyes flutter shut at that, he studies you freely then, thumb caressing your cheek as the door opens, Yuki peeks her head in, smiling at you two before she lets Yuuka follow.

“I have a cookie!” She’s very excited with a giant cookie as big as her face.

“She’s gonna be so sugared up now!”

“Not my problem, have fun.” Yuki just winks and says good bye, Yuuka runs up and climbs in your lap, her little arms around your neck.

“Did you have fun today, pretty girl?” You ask softly, her eyes are brilliant and bright, dimples on her cheeks from how much she’s smiling.

She was not this happy before, she was quieter, a little reserved, and a spiteful thing with all the previous nannies. You know she wonders where or who her dad even is, though she’s young, she’s curious surely, you hope she doesn’t remember some of the horrible moments, you’d tried to keep her away from the times your ex had laid hands on you.

But she’s truly shining in Nanami’s short three weeks with you all, and you keep trying to remember that is the most important thing, not the way you crave there to be more with him. It’s ultimately his career that he’s amazing at, and you’re so thankful he walked in that day, even if you can’t keep him out of your mind.

“I had fun mommy. We met Nanami’s friends, and I got a necklace!”

“I see this, it’s so pretty,” you touch it carefully, smiling back at Nanami now. “Thank you for bringing her, my day was stressful. You two cheer me up.”

“Of course, we can come any time you want.” He can’t help but feel the tug on his heart at you hugging your little girl, so devoted and caring as you are, it just makes him admire you that much more. “We did have a lot of fun, but we’ll have more fun tonight, right?”

“Yes, yes!” Yuuka is very happy, clearly, a little upset when they have to go as you have a work meeting. You give her a kiss as Nanami holds her, carrying her like she’s a little princess, and her spoiled butt absolutely loves it, clearly. You almost give Nanami a damn kiss, it feels so natural, holding back barely.

When they leave, the office feels a little empty.

Your phone dings now – your stupid ex.

You scowl at it, blood pressure rising, breaths coming in short little pants as you clutch your phone and read it.

It’s time I see my girls soon.

*****

“Are you all right?” Nanami asks you softly, driving to the movie now, you should be so excited, you are deep down, but the looming thought of ever having to see that man again makes you sick.

“Yes, of course, work was stressful,” you put on a brave face, the lights flashing across your face while he drives, showing just how pretty you are next to him tonight. “I am good, promise.”

Yuuka has on her headphones, poking away on her tablet while Nanami places a hand on your knee, concern in his tone. “You can always talk to me, we’re not just an employee and a boss are we?”

“No, not at all,” you put your hand on top of his, wanting to tell him just what happened, but to put all your trauma on him? To put drama and issues on him? It was too much, the last thing you want is to do that. “You’re sweet.”

“Sweet, hmm?” You nod, fingers hovering over his, as if scared to let go.

“Very sweet but don’t worry.”

“If you say so, but just know you can tell me anything.”

“Thank you, Nanami.” You smile, wanting to just lean your head against his shoulder, the feeling so vivid and strong you pull back just a little before you do. “It means a lot to me.”

“Of course.”

Soon you all are in the movie theater, it has these big reclining seats so Yuuka is bundled in a blanket you watch, she has her little popcorn and drink, and so do you and Nanami. The lights shut off, the movie begins, it’s perfect being with the two of them, murmuring to each other quietly, Yuuka is so excited at the little animated characters just being hilarious.

Nanami himself is chuckling, he’s at ease versus the stiff man he was when you first met him, leaning over to whisper to Yuuka about things, and earning her little peal of laughter. You feel so good you almost forget the ominous text, the one you’d replied to firmly with a – no you will not be.

He’s threatened to take you to court and take everything you have, you know he has connections but you have a lot of wealth and some of your own. If he wants to play that game you’ll go for it if you must. The last thing however you want is him in Yuuka’s life at all, if he hurt you, what’s to stop him from hurting her? It’s the very reason you made sure to leave that night.

Even now you get a little bit of a flash back, the thoughts meds and a therapist kept well under wraps. Him smacking you so hard you couldn’t see, then him apologizing, you forgiving him. He’d act sweet and loving, you’d forget what happened, especially when he made you think it was your fault, then he’d smack you again, harder the next time.

Hit, forgive, repeat.

Hit harder, grovel harder, repeat.

Hit you so hard your jaw hurts, grovel and gaslight you, repeat.

Until the day he tried for the fourth time, going too far even for him, if everything wasn’t perfect he would just snap. He hated you working, he called you a bad mother for having long hours at times, he downed everything about you, but you got through it, and became strong. You would never let him have the ability to hurt you again, and absolutely not your daughter.

Yet part of you worries that weakness and self loathing would come back if he had enough time around you. With all of his connections, he is not likely to ever get in actual trouble, and you have no real evidence. It’s a terrible situation, one you’ve actively been avoiding.

You’re cut out of your thoughts by another text, you tense when you see it’s him again, feeling sick to your stomach. Nanami eyes you just a bit, concern shown even in the darkness of the theater. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course.” You smile brightly, he doesn’t believe it.

You’ve been so down since he left your office today, it isn’t like you. You’re tired, sure, maybe a little moody when you get home, but you always brighten up around Yuuka. To see you so clearly struggling hurts him, he can physically almost feel what’s happening to you even though he doesn’t know, like a stab to the chest.

He can’t overstep more than he already is, he fucking brought you a bouquet like this is a date, like this isn’t just the three of you getting along. You’d teared up at the gesture, and he should have known then something was off, the way you reacted with the plastered smile.

He knows you stay strong often but he wishes you could rely on him at times to help you.

“Look, look!” Yuuka almost shouts, you shush her and apologize to the row behind you. “Sorry!”

It’s a fun movie, you wish you paid attention, yet the scenarios are playing through your head like a terrible movie. When Nanami carries Yuuka in she’s fast asleep against his chest, clearly tuckered out and sugar crashed from the theater candy she’d asked for. You unlock the door carefully, he steps inside while you slip off your heels.

You just want him to stay.

You can’t ask that.

But you need it.

“I’ll take her to bed,” he says softly, so as not to wake her up, you brush her hair and give her a quiet peck. “I’ll be back down in a moment.”

“Thank you, Nanami.” You’re heading to the kitchen when Nanami walks back down, hands in his pockets, a little quirk to his lips.

“Well, she’s out like a light.”

“Good, thank you so much for today, the lunch, the flowers…” You brush your fingers along the petals, they’re sitting in a clear crystal vase on the center of your marble counter tops. “The movie, all of it.”

“It’s nothing, I had a lot of fun,” he walks over to you, leaning a hip against the counter, turning his face just a bit to study you carefully. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course!”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be, really,” you shake your head now, wanting to cry against him. He makes you feel like you can let go, drop this facade of the perfect business woman, just be you. “I’ll pay you extra if you have a glass with me tonight."

Nanami blinks his eyes, frowning now, crossing his arms. “You really think you have to pay me extra to have a glass of wine with you?”

“I’ll make it vintage whiskey, it’s a 2006,” you bend down, opening one of the cream colored cabinets, pulling it out, the bottle is perfect, a pretty red wax seal dripped on it. “If you don’t want money, you can always take the bottle, I think it’s like hundreds-”

“You don’t have to pay or entice me to join you,” he cuts you off, eyes growing with concern, you can’t tell if they’re golden, green, light brown. You are lost in them, so lost in that moment, stepping just a little closer and looking up. “I enjoy spending time with you, very, very much.”

“You do? When it’s um… just me?” He sighs, shutting his eyes for a moment. “I shouldn’t ask it.”

“You shouldn’t, because the answer is obvious, I don’t want to be anywhere but here right now,” he falters at his own vulnerability, looking down at your gorgeous face in the soft lighting. The tenderness he feels mixes with the desire to lift you and sit you right on those counters, to kiss every bit of you. His throat goes dry. “I will take a drink gladly.”

“Thank you, I just don’t want to be alone yet,” you curse then, shaking your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t be, I’ll be here as long as you want me to be.” You want to believe it, but you’re so terrified then, hands just a little shaky when you open the bottle. “Allow me.”

“Yes, sir,” at times Nanami talks like he’s from the past. He’d fit in perfectly with the movies you loved to watch when you were younger, those Humprey Bogart black and white films. He opens it and lets it breathe a bit. “I’ll just have wine though, that would knock me out.”

“Then let me get you a glass,” he walks over to the cabinets he’s learned with ease, coming back and pouring you a little bit of red. “Where do you want to have this nightcap?”

“We can go out to the patio if you want?”

“Wherever you want, I’ll follow along.” You take his hand, it feels too perfect not to, leading him to the back where your balcony is, a pretty view up where your floor is, the breeze gently blowing.

“It’s beautiful tonight, isn’t it?” You murmur, a hand on the railing, looking up at the pretty night sky, Nanami’s right next to you, shoulder almost brushing against yours.

“It is beautiful,” you turn and see him looking at you then. You feel a blush dancing on your cheeks, hoping it’s too dark for him to see. “Are you going to stop acting like everything’s fine and talk to me? Or do you need a sip first?”

“You’re a tough one, I see why the kids respect you,” you’re teasing, but he remains serious, you take a sip of the red, letting it swirl and dance across your tongue, sinking into your tastebuds. “Yes I need a few sips. Let’s have a seat?”

He sits down on the little wicker couch you have out there, and you sit next to him, closer than you should, you have room yet you’re against him. He doesn’t move, he just places an arm around the back of it, almost touching your shoulder, taking a sip of his whiskey.

No man should look that attractive drinking it, you think to yourself, watching his adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“My ex, I told you he… hurt me.”

Nanami tenses, lips turning down on the corners, pulling back from that glass. He watches as the breeze tousles your hair, flowing around your face, and hears the change in your tone. When you talk about him, you’re not the strong, confident woman he’s grown so many feelings for, it’s a vulnerable, insecure voice.

He loves it just as much because it is you, but he hates that anyone has made you feel this way. “I remember, you said he’s not in your lives.”

“He’s not, yet now he apparently wants to be a part of Yuuka’s life,” you blink back emotions, sipping the wine again, taking a shaky breath. “He’s really powerful, he has connections all over. I have no proof he hit me, and if he hurt Yuuka!? Nanami I’d end up in federal prison if he did.”

“Shh,” he tugs you against him, while your tears start falling, your breaths coming quicker and quicker, body trembling. “It won’t happen.”

“Y-you don’t know, yes I have money but not those connections! Like the best lawyers, what if he… if he… I can handle him, but I’d never allow him-”

“Darling,” you pause, he tilts your chin up, hating the tears on your face, hating whoever had you like this. “Lucky for you, my best friend is the best attorney there is. I’m sure he’d be glad to help. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Nanami you already do too much for us,” you’re sniffling even as he swipes your tears. “I can’t pay as much as you’re worth, because it would be everything.”

It’s quiet at your words, he’s still stroking your cheek, eyes studying your face carefully, you cling to his dress shirt with your little hand, the other still holding your glass, untouched. “I won’t let someone hurt either of you, you’re both very, very dear to me. Okay?”

You sniffle again, nodding, he takes your drink and sets it on the little glass table, tugging you in his embrace now. “You’re dear to me too.”

He exhales upon hearing it, arms wrapped around you, and you feel so small against him, he’s so big and strong, it’s like being in his arms makes you feel safe, for the first time in a long time. Yet you also are fighting the urge to kiss him, to desperately kiss him, to get in his lap and devour every bit of his flavor, of his sweetness.

You can hardly handle it, pulling back a bit, he watches your teardrops glitter with the reflection of the shimmering moon, thumb and forefinger on your chin. His hazel eyes are lidded, dropping down to your lips now, sighing so you feel the breath dancing across them, like whiskey and him. Intoxicating you, when you lean closer, impossibly closer.

You are damn near on him, his hand on the small of your back tightens, his other trailing across your jaw, down the side of your neck, imagining littering it in kisses, in bruises, things that surprise him, that make him ache.

“I want to comfort you, and not cross… any lines, but you’re making it very difficult.” His husky voice surprises you, your cheeks heating up, that sweet tension between your thighs building.

“Are you saying you think inappropriate things, Kento? About me, your employer?” You are teasing, but he senses it, the vulnerability, the worry.

“You think I don’t?” You take a breath, shaking your head.

“I think you’re perfect, a perfect man, and I think I’m a mess…” You bite your lower lip, he tugs it from the grip of your teeth. “You’re handsome, too, and I’m sure women are all over you, don’t need someone with trauma, with baggage.”

“You are beautiful,” you shake your head again, earning his scowl. “Shake your head one more time.”

You pause, hearing the subtle dominance in his tone. “Don’t say it like that, I’m trying to keep composed.”

“And so am I,” he rests his forehead on yours then, lips just a breath away, hand slipping across your waist, thumb brushing under the swell of your breast. You’re so tense you can’t breathe. “I don’t want to do anything to ruin this.”

“Neither do I, Kento.”

“And I don’t want to be… all over you after you’ve been upset.”

“I know.”

You grip his shirt with two little balled fists, when he curses softly under his breath. “Forgive me for this then.”

“Forgive you-” He slams his lips on yours now, and what you imagined, some sweet little peck perhaps, was nothing like that. “Mnh!”

He hums, turning his head, lips moving over yours, his hand entangling in your hair, your hand slips up his collar, to his neck, gasping and allowing his tongue to slip inside your mouth. It’s greedy, like he’s drinking every bit of your saliva, mixing with his, like he can’t get enough of it, his grip on your waist tightening. You’re soaked from a damn kiss, cunt eager and needy for more.

“Fuck,” you hear him cuss, he doesn’t often, and it’s sexy, feeling him lost that control, his eyes fluttering shut while his mouth moves over yours. “You are… mmm… perfect.”

“Oh, Kento, I-” He’s shutting off any potential protest with another kiss, fixing in a moment just a bit of the damage you carry, the insecurities just melting slowly.

Nanami pulls back with a shaky breath, kissing along your jaw with sweet little pecks, before his tongue wickedly dances on your earlobe, you tremble in need, whining out, hips shifting. Nanami loses himself in you, forgetting about whatever propriety he had, forgetting that he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, when he tastes you, your delicate skin in between his teeth when he nips.

Your sounds, your movements, every bit of you he devours, he wants to devour more, taste more, the heat he can feel when his hand is on your thigh, he wants to sink to his knees and bury his face. The kiss unleashes his every thought, the amount of times he’d stroked himself to you in full force, every wicked position he’d pictured.

But moreso, everything fades in that moment, but you.

You’re on his lap soon, neither of you are sure how you got there, your heat now against his cock, hard under his slacks. You gasp when you feel it, between your plump, soppy folds under your panties, and he moans softly, kissing down your collar bone, hands sinking into your hips over your silky dress. He could almost cum from feeling you over these layers, you’re that warm, that wet.

“I h-haven’t in… um a few y-years,” you whisper nervously, eyes lowering to your hands on his chest. “I think I was bad at it.”

“I am absolutely sure you were not bad at it,” seeing you’re still so scared, so nervous, and he pulls back just a bit. “We need to take things just a little slow, I think. We don’t have to rush this.”

“What is… this? What does it… mean?” Nanami opens his lips when your phone starts ringing, vibrating along the table. You look at it nervously, he picks it up and hands it to you. You curse, tossing it on the couch now. 

“It’s him?”

“Yes, Nanami don’t, I don’t want you having to deal with my trauma. My baggage. Please.”

Nanami pauses from telling the man to go fuck himself, looking up at you, your flushed face in the night, your pretty breasts rising and falling. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

“It’s a burden.”

“It’s not. I’ll call my friend tomorrow, you can meet him, okay?” He cups your face gently, you nod, kissing him again, he exhales as you do, tugging you close.

“I will want to do that a lot now, maybe all the time,” he smiles a bit, the mood lifted for just a moment when you pull away, easing off his lap, flushing when you see a dark spot. “Nanami oh my god, I’m sorry!?”

“What?” He looks down then, at the trails of slick across his bulge, you’re adjusting your dress nervously. “Oh, this?”

“Y-yes, god I just pounced on-” every thought is cut off then, when Nanami Kento thumbs the sticky substance, the action lewd and filthy, but not as lewd as when he brings it to his lips, looking right at you and sucking it into his mouth.

His cheeks hollow, you’re staring, lips parted, while he sucks your flavor, moaning softly, before yanking you against him and kissing you again, letting your taste hit your own lips. “Mnh, son’t say sorry for being so wet for me.”

“Oh god, you… tasted it… are you crazy, sir?” He chuckles, shaking his head and kissing you again.

“I’ll taste it fully when you’re more ready,” you’ve never had that done to you, really you never found sex very pleasurable before. It was something you had to do when he basically demanded, but he was not one to touch you. “If you want that, of course, am I… overstepping?”

“No, no, I just haven’t done that,” you’re a mess now, he sighs at that. “I want to though. I’d do it right now.”

He chuckles again. “You’re eager, are you?”

“Very, but if you think we should wait?”

“I would like you in a clearer headspace, not upset like this, it would make me feel terrible if you regretted it.”

“Nanami Kento, I’d never regret anything about you.” He kisses you softer now, a little gentle brush of the lips, and soon you’re walking him to the front door.

You don’t want him to go.

You want to ask him to come stay in your room, you know it’s nonsense right now, that he is right, you’re emotional, and exhausted. He’s caring enough to see that and make a decision you wouldn’t right now, wrapping his arms around you tightly and lifting you just a bit.

“I’ll be a little late tomorrow but I’ll grab Yuuka at work, is that all right? I want to meet the lawyer and talk to him for you.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He smiles, so handsome your heart breaks, and leaves then.

There’s a sinking feeling when he’s gone.

*****

“You can’t go in there!? Hey asshole!” You hear Yuki shouting outside of your door at work the next morning, Nanami hasn’t gotten there yet, and that sinking feeling grows and grows.

You stand up, Yuuka is napping on the little couch since it’s still early, when you see him open the door, smirking meanly down at you. “I’ll talk to the mother of my child, thank you very much.”

“The fuck you will, I’ll drag your ass out-”

“Yuki, it’s okay,” you stop her, as coworkers and employees are staring, you quietly point to your sleeping daughter now, and she hesitates. “We can just talk, can’t we?” You ask him softly, hating when he’s near you.

“That’s all I want to do, is talk to you.”

“If I hear anything I’ve got a gun,” Yuki makes your ex step back just a bit, you can’t help but smile at her. “Baby I’m right outside.”

“Thank you,” when she shuts the door, he suddenly makes you feel so small, the way he looks down at you, everything about it makes you sick. You clear your throat, straightening your shoulders. “What is it you want?”

“I want my daughter,” you scoff now, scowling as he brushes his fingers against your cheek. “And I want you.”

Nanami is rushing to get over to your work. Higuruma had been extremely busy so he’d had to wait just a bit to talk to him, he was truly the best attorney there was, so Nanami is confident he can help. He does not ever want you or Yuuka hurt, and after last night, he can’t get it out of his mind.

The kiss.

The way you felt in his arms.

The protectiveness he feels just magnified, when he’s running up to your office, and sees Yuki standing by the door, arms crossed, an ear to it. “What’s wrong?”

She looks at Nanami then, sighing. “Her ex.”

“Her… ex?” She nods, clearly ready to throw down at a moment’s notice, and Nanami’s jaw sets, his eyes narrowing a bit.

“Allow me.”

Comments/rbs very appreciated if you enjoy!! Gojo had me wanting to write him as a dad to those three?? help lol

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine 🍷

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[julietcpulet]

When did Maomao fall in love?

There’s not necessarily a conclusive moment when we know Maomao’s feelings change from ambivalence to friendship to romantic interest. For me though I think her feelings for Jinshi were progressing from attraction to love somewhere around light novels 5-9. Maomao isn’t someone who ever directly says the word “love”, it’s only implied in the strength of her affection or defense of a person. And a moment I really see as pivotal for exemplifying this feeling from her, towards Jinshi, as falling in love is in her comparison to Luomen from light novel 9.

Who was she talking to? She knew Jinshi was standing in front of her, but for some reason she kept seeing Luomen’s face.

Her adoptive father is the only man Maomao has ever felt genuine attachment and love for without voicing it directly. Her respect, concern and daughterly affection for Luomen are some of the only times we see her think genuinely in a fond way of another person or be willing to speak boldly on their behalf. So to compare Jinshi in any way to this man whom she holds in such high regard and consider them similar, that’s huge. Also because of how she’s comparing them.

The principle that drove Jinshi’s behavior seemed very similar to Luomen’s. She was afraid that if he went on like this, he would end up just as luckless in life as her old man.

It has to do with her worry. That Luomen’s kindness ends in his own suffering and Jinshi will be much the same. She’s not comparing them to contrast, she’s comparing them to show how alike they are. Although Jinshi has now stepped into his role as Ka Zuigetsu, he struggles to leave behind all he knew in the rear palace. However, it’s not just due to him being a workaholic, actually he would enjoy far less responsibilities, the reason he still has dealings with his past role is because of the people there and the trust he has established amongst so many. It’s this trait of his, his dependability and willingness to shoulder others troubles that is why Maomao and others close to him know he would be crushed as Emperor. As although he has the acumen to fulfill his duty, he would hold himself responsible for the lives of every individual until it ran him dry.

She discovered, though, that there was something else behind her boiling anger. Her hands went to Jinshi’s cheek. “You’re only human, Master Jinshi. You’re not some mythical immortal who can save everyone.” She held his face in her hands, the fingers of her left hand brushing his scar. “You can be wounded, scarred, brought low. Only human.”

Maomao especially sees similarities to Luomen in this, how he gives charity to others at the apothecary shop where she would charge people. How he spends his mind and health when he’s already worn down. So we notice in these small comparisons that she’s coming to care what happens to Jinshi should he be put in a position where he’d be compromised. Although she wants him to use his position for good, what she truly wants is him to stop burdening himself unnecessarily like her own father. And that, to me, is a show of blossoming love.

She respected Luomen immensely. A man who never lost his kindness no matter what unhappiness he encountered was like a miracle. The price, though, was that his body and his heart were both battered. In time he became so that everything he did, he did in the expectation of defeat. Would Jinshi end up like him one day?

That she’s realizing she fears for Jinshi but also respects him because of the way he is almost breaking himself to help others. Only on the flip side, this is what makes her worry it will be the end of them both. This is where I think we see her falling in love even without expressing it, in comparing him to the one person she’s let down her guard for, the man who raised her. Now Jinshi is the person she’s beginning to see as a different kind of safety, someone worthy of letting past her defenses and her worry is transferring to him.

“Please, please don’t go do anything else like burning a brand into your skin,” Maomao said. “I heard you…the first several times,” Jinshi replied. “Are you sure?” A smile flitted across Maomao’s face, and she slowly pulled her hands away. Except they didn’t leave his cheeks. Jinshi held them there.

It’s a quiet kind of change but she very much acts like a future wife might in this moment, giving loving counsel and advice, mixed with honesty and concern. No, her feelings are not outwardly acknowledged yet nor may they ever be as “love” in the way we expect but to me this is where it began. 💜💚

[lazysoulwriter]

morning voice - CK. ── .✦

content: soft sleepy smut vibes (non-explicit), boyfriend Clark, morning cuddles, begging voice, deep praise, tension-heavy fluff, clingy behavior

You’re trying to get out of bed.

Keyword: trying.

Because Clark — warm, shirtless, and barely awake — has one arm around your waist and the other draped across your thighs like a human weighted blanket. His face is buried against your shoulder. His breath brushes your skin in lazy waves.

“Baby…”

You freeze mid-sit-up.

Oh no. There it is. The voice. That goddamn morning voice — deeper, slower, still sleepy, still slurred. Like honey poured over gravel.

“Where you goin’,” he mumbles.

You glance over your shoulder. He’s got one eye cracked open, the other still smushed into the pillow. Hair wild. Bottom lip pouty.

“I have work,” you whisper. “You know that.”

He groans dramatically, nuzzling closer. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

Clark tightens his grip, pulling you right back against his chest. “Mm-mm. Can’t go. I need you. Right here.”

You laugh under your breath, hand sliding up into his curls. “You’re clingy when you’re half-asleep.”

“‘M always clingy,” he says. “You just notice more when I sound like this.”

God, you hate that he’s right.

The next words hit you straight in the core — a little breathier this time, a little more desperate:

“Please stay. Just a little longer.”

You bite your lip. “You gonna make it worth it?”

His hand drifts under your hoodie, dragging slow, warm circles across your stomach. His lips brush your neck.

“I always do,” he whispers.

Your breath hitches.

And when you finally turn to look at him — eyes still heavy, curls flattened to one side, voice so deep it hurts — he smiles.

That stupid soft, sleepy Clark smile.

“C’mon,” he says, kissing your shoulder. “Call in. Say Superman needed you.”

You snort. “You are Superman.”

He kisses you again. “Exactly.”

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[emryshunts]

Bound to Them

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 9: 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰

𝐒𝐚𝐣𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

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𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥/𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝, 𝐄𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬), 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 (18+) —𝐄𝐦𝐫𝐲𝐬 🩷 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.5k+ not proof read 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

Zoey leaned over the soundboard with a gleam in her eye, half-bouncing on her heels.

“Okay, okay,” she said, grinning. “What about ‘So sweet, so easy on the eyes, but hideous on the inside’  Ooooh. That’s a throat punch.”

Mira cackled from the velvet couch, notebook balanced on her knee. “Niceee. And then follow it with ‘Whole life spreading lies, but you can't hide’” She tapped her pen like a conductor about to strike gold. “Boom. Roasted.”

Zoey shrieked with laughter, slapping the armrest. “Write that down. Write that down!”

But Rumi… said nothing.

She sat in the corner chair, arms limp at her sides, pencil balanced loosely behind her ear and eyes glassy like she wasn’t even in the studio. Just… somewhere else. 

“…Rumi?”

Zoey narrowed her eyes. “Rumi. Hello? Did you die mid-session orrrr—?”

“I saw her do this once during our second raid,” Mira muttered. “It’s the Face of a Woman Who’s Seen Some Sh*t.”

Mira threw a gummy at her forehead. “Earth to demon-hater number one. You haven’t even insulted anyone in the last fifteen minutes. That’s suspicious behavior.”

Rumi blinked slowly, then tilted her head. “...Huh?”

Both of them squinted. Hard.

Zoey stood, walked over. “Ruuuumi. Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about—”

“The bathhouse,” Mira finished for her, rolling upright with a groan. “Damn. You’re haunted.”

Rumi finally spoke again—quieter this time. “You guys didn’t see what I saw.”

Zoey tilted her head. “We were literally right there. We saw every drop of sweat.”

“No, I mean—” Rumi hesitated. Her voice thickened with something she didn’t want to name. “I know her. We used to sneak food into the temples, remember? She was kind. Brave. She was one of us.”

Mira blinked softly. “You still care about her.”

“She was like family.” Rumi swallowed. “And when I saw her… walking with them—”

“Let me guess,” Zoey said gently. “She didn’t look scared.”

Rumi nodded. “No. She looked held. Like they’d carved the path around her feet just to keep her safe. Like her body belonged there, like they were drawn to her in some ancient way that didn’t make sense. And the worst part?” Her voice dropped lower. “She didn’t resist it.”

Mira’s face softened. “And you’re scared she’s not the same girl you grew up with.”

“I’m scared she is.” Rumi let out a breathy laugh. “I saw the way they looked at her. And the way she let them. Like she trusted them more than she ever trusted us.”

Zoey nudged her gently. “That’s not on you.”

“But it still hurts,” Rumi admitted.“...I think I agree with you now.”

That made Zoey sit up. “Wait. Me? About what?”

“That maybe…” Rumi inhaled deeply. “They’re not evil. Maybe they’re just… demonically down bad.”

Zoey’s brows flew up. “Say that again? Louder for the mic?”

Rumi threw a pillow at her head. “Shut up.”

Mira, meanwhile, had one leg thrown over the mic stand, chewing her pen cap thoughtfully. “Okay. But real talk? If they weren’t insanely into her, they would’ve eaten her soul by now.”

Rumi groaned again and curled into a ball. “... I think she likes it. The way she looked at them. Like she knows they’d destroy kingdoms for her and she’s just deciding who gets to do it first.”

Mira slipped behind the two of them and wrapped her arms around Rumi’s waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. “You know what I saw in that hallway?” she whispered. “The way she stood taller when they were close. Like she wanted to be surrounded. Like she was commanding it. They didn’t brainwash her. That was her choosing.”

Zoey kissed the top of Rumi’s head. “And if she’s choosing demons who worship the ground she walks on, maybe she’s smarter than all of us.”

Rumi leaned into their warmth, tension slowly bleeding out of her bones.

“…You still worried?” Mira asked gently.

“Yeah,” Rumi murmured. “But not in the same way.”

Zoey hummed against Rumi’s temple. “Good, I’m still gonna roast their ass off, though.”

“Obviously,” Mira grinned. “It’s tradition.”

A few minutes later…

Zoey was curled up between Rumi’s legs, her head resting comfortably on her stomach, thumb lazily swiping through rhymes on her phone. Mira lay beside them, half-draped across Rumi’s back, humming low and sultry in her throat as her fingers played with the hem of Zoey’s crop top. Rumi, trying and failing to focus, was mostly just sighing through the heat pooling between the three of them.

Click.

“Knock knock~” came a familiar voice.

They all startled upright, a tangled pile of limbs and half-choked giggles.

“Bobby!” they shouted in unison.

Bobby stood framed in the doorway, clipboard tucked under one arm, coffee in the other, utterly unfazed by the fact that his idols looked like they were halfway into either a sleepover or a threesome.

“Am I interrupting?” he deadpanned.

“Yes,” Zoey said brightly. “But in a good way.”

Mira flashed him a sweet grin. “Did you bring us gossip or grief?”

“A little of both,” Bobby replied, stepping in. “I came to deliver your next schedule update—and congratulations, ladies. You’ve been booked for a joint variety show.”

Zoey blinked. “With who?”

Bobby flipped his clipboard. “The Saja Boys.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Rumi snorted.

Mira gasped dramatically.

Zoey howled with laughter, kicking her feet in the air like a gremlin queen. “Oh my god, this is a gift from the universe!”

Bobby blinked. “...You girls excited?”

“Thrilled,” Mira purred, sharing a look with Rumi.

“Ecstatic,” Rumi echoed, her tone all teeth and silk. “It’ll be… enlightening.”

Zoey wiggled her brows. “We’ve been meaning to test something.”

“Test what?” Bobby frowned.

“Nothing,” all three girls said in unison, far too fast.

Bobby raised a brow, unconvinced, but chose not to pry. “Anyway. Full day. Interviews, games, fan segments.”

As soon as Bobby turned his back to start mumbling about logistics, Mira leaned in.

“They won’t know what hit them,” she whispered, eyes gleaming.

Zoey murmured, “Let’s see how far they’ll go before they snap. You saw how they looked at her last time she held someone else's hand.”

They all giggled, eyes alight with shared mischief.

Rumi, half-sighing but unable to hide her smirk, murmured, “We tolerate them, sure… but we’re not about to let five overgrown demons play house with her without proving they can handle the fire.”

“Exactly,” Mira said. “They want her? Let’s see how they act when we’re close. Closer than close.”

Bobby turned back around. “You’ll be meeting the boys at the broadcast building at 10 AM next week. Play nice, okay?.”

“Of course, Bobby,” Zoey said, the picture of innocence.

Rumi offered a tight, almost angelic smile. “As long as they are.”

Bobby paused, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “You’re not planning anything, are you?”

“Nooo,” they said in eerie unison.

He sighed. “Every time you three say that, I grow a new gray hair.”

Zoey blew him a kiss. “At least it’s stylish.”

As soon as he left, the girls collapsed into each other again—this time practically vibrating with energy.

“Okay,” Mira said, breathless. “Operation: Drive 5 Demons Crazy With Casual Touching now begins.”

They all giggled, low and wicked and deeply, deeply fond.

Because sure—maybe the Saja Boys weren’t so bad. Maybe even sweet, in their terrifyingly possessive way. But you were still theirs to protect, still the one thing they’d all sworn to never let fall.

And these demons?

They were about to be tested.

​​・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

The walls trembled from the bass thudding behind the door, rattling straight down to your spine. You pushed it open slowly, and instantly, a wall of humid heat kissed your cheeks. The room reeked of sweat and testosterone. Mirrors fogged. Water bottles abandoned. And in the center, the five of them—your demons—half-naked and gleaming under studio lights.

They didn’t see you at first. They were mid-formation, locked into choreography with the kind of raw, animalistic focus that made your mouth go dry. Abby’s muscles flexed with every step, sweat running down his back. Jinu’s shirt was half-off, clinging to one shoulder, jaw set as he hit a turn with perfect precision. Romance’s hair was damp and wild, plastered to his neck as he mouthed the lyrics under his breath. Baby bounced lightly, full of energy even while glistening, and Mystery—well, Mystery just moved like he was seducing the beat itself.

You cleared your throat, gripping the clipboard a little tighter as you stepped fully into the studio.

All five of them turned the second they heard your voice.

"Alright, break time. I’ve got your schedule for the week."

Jinu grinned first. “Baby,” he said, voice low and unhurried, already walking toward you like he hadn’t just been dancing for hours. His shirt clung to him, collar dark with sweat.

Across the room, Romance dragged a towel across the back of his neck, chest still heaving. His lips curled lazily. “You’re early,” he murmured. “Missed us that bad?”

“Keep dreaming,” you muttered, taking a cautious step back—only to bump into something solid.

A warm breath tickled your neck a second before a muscled arm slipped around your waist from behind, locking you gently but firmly in place.

His voice brushed your ear, dark and rich. “You smell good, princess.”

Your breath hitched. Abby’s chest was firm against your back, radiating heat. You could feel the damp line of his shirt sticking to your spine

You cleared your throat, struggling to sound composed. “Anyways…”

You squirmed—but not enough to actually escape.

“…you have a full week,” you continued. “Two music show recordings, one fan meeting… and next Friday—” you paused, pretending to read from the clipboard, even though the words had branded themselves into your brain hours ago, “—you’re scheduled to appear on a variety show.”

You paused just a beat.

Five groans. Different pitches. Same displeasure.

"And," you added, watching their reactions carefully, "it’s a joint show."

“With who?” Jinu asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

You licked your lips and looked down at the clipboard, though you already knew the answer.

"HUNTR/X."

The air dropped ten degrees.

Abby’s smile disappeared. His brows lowered. “Again?”

You nodded. “The fans specifically requested you guys,” you offered quickly. “After how fun the fan signing was—”

“Fun?” Mystery cut in sharply from the corner.

You blinked. “What? It was fun—”

“For them, maybe,” Baby muttered, collapsing into a chair with a dramatic sigh, throwing his towel over his head like a shroud. “For us, it was a nightmare.”

“Come on, it wasn't that bad,” you protested, eyes darting between them.

“You smiled at Bobby,” Romance said, slow and deliberate, pushing off the mirror. “Twice.”

You blinked. “What—?”

“He touched your arm,” Jinu added, expression unreadable.

Your mouth opened, stunned. “Are you seriously—Is this even about the girls?”

“Oh, we’re coming for them too,” Baby grumbled under his towel, “but Bobby's top of the hit list.”

“You laughed when he made a joke,” Romance added, closing the space between you. “I was right there. And you tilted your head—like this.”

He mimicked your expression with a ridiculous level of detail, right down to the subtle blink and smile. 

“You never tilt your head like that for me,” he added, low, eyes dipping to your mouth. “Unless I’m inside—”

“Stop!” you hissed, shoving him half-heartedly.

Romance just laughed and tilted his own head. “See? It was flirty.”

“It was not,” you huffed.

You stiffened—then immediately rolled your eyes, deflecting. “Okay—first of all, I was trying to be nice—”

“That smile wasn’t ‘nice,’” Romance muttered, stepping forward, shadows flickering in his eyes. “You should only laugh at us like that.”

He leaned in, close enough to steal your breath. “And now joker boy thinks it’s for everyone?”

“It’s not like I kissed anyone—!”

“BUT YOU SMILED!” all five shouted at once.

You stood there, dumbfounded, as they collectively lost their minds.

Jinu grabbed your chin, tilting it up so you had no choice but to look into those dark, golden eyes. “Do you even realize what it does to us? When you treat other people the way you treat us?”

Your mouth opened. Closed.

Because okay—yes, maybe your laugh had been a little extra. You smile a little soft. But it wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t meant to mean anything.

You were just being... cordial.

But apparently, for your boys, “cordial” translated to “threat”

Romance was beside you now, arms slipping loosely around your waist, voice hot against your ear. “We’re going to be professionals, sure. But just so you know…”

“We’re not going to share,” Jinu whispered, his thumb brushing your lower lip, almost absentmindedly.

“Or pretend we like them,” Mystery added.

Abby’s nose brushed your neck. “And if that guy touches you again—”

“He won’t,” Baby said, suddenly deadly calm. “Because I’m bringing a taser.”

You blinked.  “You are not bringing a taser—”

“I already ordered it.” he said brightly. 

You sighed, tilting your head back, letting it thunk softly against Abby’s chest. “You’re all being ridiculous.”

There was a pause.

Then Romance’s lips ghosted the shell of your ear. “And yet you’re smiling now.”

You were. Damn it.

“Because this is the dumbest argument I’ve ever had,” you muttered.

“Dumb?” Jinu echoed, incredulous. “Dumb is letting our mate walk into enemy territory without our marks on her neck.”

Romance nuzzled your hair, growling low. “Next time you smile at Bobby, we’re biting you.”

Your knees buckled slightly.

“That’s a threat,” Baby added, grinning like a devil. “...and a promise.”

・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

The studio changing room was alive with mutters and groans, echoing off the sleek walls as the five demon idols sulked in various corners—each clad in blinding shades of pink.

"I look like a damn cotton candy,” Abby growled, muscles straining against his soft pink button-down as he tried and failed to fix the overly delicate collar.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” Baby whined, tugging on the soft bubblegum sweater like it might strangle him.

“I look like a cursed valentine,” Mystery muttered, arms crossed over his chest, silver hair falling over one eye. His violet shirt shimmered just a bit too prettily in the light.

“Don’t talk to me,” Jinu muttered, already dressed in a full matching ensemble. “I’m dissociating.”

Romance, of course, was the only one who didn’t seem particularly fazed. He leaned against the vanity, long, silky hair matching the pastel heart embroidered on his shirt, a glossy pink lip tugged up in amusement. But even he wasn’t immune—his tail was twitching, and you could feel his restraint crackling beneath that smug surface.

You bit your lip hard, barely holding in the laugh rising up your throat.

Gods, they were gorgeous.

And grumpy. So, so grumpy.

“Alright,” you finally said, stepping inside, letting the door shut behind you with a soft click. “You’re all being so dramatic.”

Five pairs of glowing, irritated demon eyes locked on you.

You just smiled sweetly, slow and knowing, the kind of smile that made their pupils dilate.

You bit your lip to hide your grin as you stepped between them, adjusting collars, fixing hems, brushing your fingers across warm skin as you straightened lapels and smoothed sleeves.

“Don’t pout,” you cooed as you walked straight up to Abby. “You know pink brings out your eyes.”

He scoffed, but didn’t move as you reached up, smoothing his collar, tugging the hem of his shirt gently. Your fingers brushed over his warm skin as you adjusted the top button. He held still like a soldier under inspection, tension humming beneath his skin.

“Stop fussing,” you murmured, lips brushing the corner of his mouth before he could argue. “You look perfect.”

His breath caught. The scowl faded into something softer, shoulders loosening just enough to give you his weight.

“...Don’t,” you whispered.

Golden eyes flickered, then melted.

“Hyung’s down,” Baby whispered from behind you, horrified and impressed. “We’re losing soldiers.”

You turned to him next, walking slowly, each step deliberate. His mouth opened, probably to deliver another complaint—but whatever words he had died on his tongue the second you stepped between his knees. Your thighs brushed his as you leaned in, fingers fiddling with the oversized sleeves of his knit.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His tail snapped once behind him, then started curling madly.

You placed your hands lightly on his shoulders and leaned in until your noses almost brushed. “Fuzzy sweater and all,” you whispered, “you’re still my cute little devil.”

His cheeks flushed. Bright and sweet and helpless.

You kissed his cheek gently, and he made a tiny noise that could only be described as a squeak. His tail thumped the couch like it had a mind of its own.

“I hate how good that felt,” he mumbled, flushed and panting.

“Dangerous,” Jinu muttered under his breath. He was watching you like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to pull you away or push you against the wall and mark you in front of everyone.

“That’s not fair,” Mystery growled, low and simmering—but his voice lost its bite when you turned to him next.

You moved toward him slowly, eyes dragging down his tall frame, deliberately taking in the lilac vest, the crisp white undershirt, the subtle silver detailing that brought out the gleam in his tusks. You reached for the silver button at his chest and tugged just enough to make him tilt forward.

Your knuckles brushed down the line of his abdomen—light, lingering.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, voice low, hypnotic, magnetic. “All of you. I don’t care if the shirts are pink or lime or covered in glitter. I look at you and see everything that’s mine.”

His pupils blew wide. His tail slid behind you, curling against your hip, like it couldn’t not touch you.

Behind you, Romance had already started purring.

The sound started low and unbothered, like a lazy cat in the sun—but it deepened as you stepped between his knees, cupped the sides of his face, and kissed the edge of his jaw. He tilted immediately, offering you his throat with no hesitation. His arms came around your waist like they had a mind of their own, hands clutching your hips possessively.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, baby,” he murmured, voice thick and hoarse.

“And yet,” you whispered against his pulse, “all of you keep letting me win.”

That broke something.

The sound of purring started as a low hum, subtle at first—like a storm rumbling somewhere just beneath the skin. You were already nestled between Romance’s legs at the vanity, his thighs bracketing you tightly, his hands ghosting over your hips with a touch that was far too innocent to be accidental. His eyes stayed locked on you, but it was the way his jaw clenched—barely holding himself together—that made your pulse stutter. His restraint was unraveling like thread between your fingers.

You shifted, rising slowly to your feet. The moment you stepped away from him, his purr faltered like a crack in his armor. With deliberate grace, you walked across the room, hips swaying just enough to tease, and sank into the couch.

That’s when the purring grew louder, deeper. One by one, the others responded. The sound rippled from boy to boy like a wave, vibrating in the air, ancient and primal. They began to circle you in the changing room like moths drawn to flame—silent, hungry, feral. Their soft, pastel outfits did nothing to temper the wild heat glowing in their eyes. Not when their instincts were frayed. Not when you were sitting there, drenched in their scent, meeting their stares with that quiet, devastating confidence.

Your gaze found Jinu first. His dark eyes locked onto yours, hungry and simmering beneath the sharp line of his lashes. He was usually the last to move. The most composed. But right now, his restraint was unraveling like thread between your fingers.

"Come here, bub," you murmured, curling a finger at him.

Jinu didn’t hesitate. He prowled forward, quiet and fluid, dropping to his knees in front of you with reverence as his hands slid around your waist. He tucked his head against your stomach, inhaling deep as he pressed a kiss just above your navel.

The others followed—Mystery’s tail brushed your leg as he melted against your side, nuzzling his nose into your shoulder with a shaky exhale. Abby settled behind you, broad arms wrapping around your hips like he was anchoring you in place. Baby didn’t even ask, he flopped across your lap with a pleased, greedy sigh, his cheek smushed against your thigh. Romance curled beside you, dragging his knuckles down your arm with a touch so soft, it made you shiver.

You laughed breathlessly, one hand cradling the back of Jinu’s head as you tilted your face up toward the ceiling. "My poor boys. All growly and purring in pink."

“We hate this,” Mystery muttered into your neck, though his fingers were clenching the fabric of your top like he didn’t want to let go. “It’s humiliating.”

You kissed his cheek. “You’re lucky I love how pretty you look when you’re scowling.”

Romance grinned lazily, eyes lidded as he traced circles on your arm. “You love how we look all the time.”

"Damn right I do." You smiled, possessive and unrepentant. “You’re mine. Every inch of you. I don’t care what color they put on you. I could dress you in garbage bags and you’d still make people jealous.”

That earned a pleased little flick of Abby’s tail against your calf.

The purring deepened.

They started pressing closer, warm lips and warm hands now becoming impossible to separate from one another. Jinu turned his face and kissed your hip—then your belly. Baby nuzzled against your inner thigh before biting it softly, grinning up at you with that infuriating sparkle in his eyes.

“I swear—” you breathed, flustered but completely helpless against it.

Mystery tilted your face and kissed you full on the mouth, possessive and slow, like he’d waited too long. When you broke apart, dazed, Romance immediately claimed your lips next. Then Baby kissed your jaw. Then Jinu. Abby’s mouth brushed your shoulder like a vow.

“Boys—” you whispered between kisses, gasping as one of them nipped at your collarbone. “Your makeup—!”

“Don’t care,” Jinu whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’d rather wear you.”

“Mmm,” Romance added, mouthing along your jaw, “you can smudge me all you want.”

“Or just make a mess of us,” Baby murmured, eyes dark and glowing.

You could barely breathe from the pressure, the affection, the need.

You melted into it anyway.

For those few stolen minutes, you let them cover you in soft kisses, let their hands slide around your waist and over your hips, let their claws ghost over your skin through the thin fabric of your shirt. You let them tangle around you until their breathing evened out, their shoulders loosened, their purring softened into something steady.

You ran your fingers through their hair, kissed their cheeks, their temples, anywhere your lips could reach. You let them mark you in quiet ways—with lips and claws and the heat of their bodies pressed so tightly to yours that it felt like they were trying to fuse with you. Let them claim what had always been theirs.

Your boys.

The world outside the changing room faded.

knock knock.

“Five minutes to camera, guys! Let’s get moving!”

The voice was bright, clueless.

The growls weren’t.

Growls rolled across the room like thunder. Abby’s arms tightened around you possessively, his head still tucked into your neck. Mystery let out a long, irritated hiss as his tail slapped the floor. Romance bared his teeth at the door like he might leap over you and rip it off its hinges. Baby groaned and shoved his face into your chest.

Jinu?

He was still clinging to your waist like someone might try to steal you.

“Why do they always ruin everything?” he muttered darkly, nuzzling lower.

“Whoever that was should thank every god in existence that this door is locked,” Abby muttered, voice a dangerous rumble. “Because I am one second from throwing them through a wall.”

“They can wait,” Mystery added, eyes glowing faintly. “We’re not done here.”

You exhaled a soft laugh and smoothed a hand over Jinu’s back. “Let me go answer before one of you bursts into flame.”

Grudgingly, they let you up—tails uncoiling, fingers releasing with clear reluctance. You fixed your shirt, ran your fingers through your hair, and padded over to the door. You cracked it open just enough to peek out, keeping your body angled so they couldn’t see the pack of demons lounging behind you with swollen lips and barely contained bloodlust.

“We’ll be right there,” you said sweetly to the staff member, smiling just enough to pass as innocent.

The poor staff member blinked at you like you were descending from heaven. “A-Ah! Of course, manager-nim!”

You closed the door gently.

Turned.

And were met with five pairs of very grumpy, very gorgeous eyes.

“That ruined everything,” Abby muttered darkly.

Romance sighed dramatically. “Can we burn their cameras?”

“No,” you said firmly, biting back a smile. “You can’t destroy studio property. Again.”

They groaned in unison, tails flicking in irritation, fingers still clinging to whatever parts of you they could reach—hem of your shirt, your wrists, your waist, your hair.

You smiled, brushing your fingers under Jinu’s chin until he looked up at you. Then you tilted your head and said in a soft, singsong tone.

“Well. If you behave…”

Five heads snapped to attention.

“…and you finish filming like the good boys I know you are…” You trailed your fingers down Abby’s arm, feeling the way he shivered from the contact.

“…I’ll give you a reward.”

The room stilled.

Romance’s eyes darkened instantly. “How good are we talking?”

“You’ll have to earn it,” You tilted your head, fingers teasing along the buttons of Mystery’s vest as you passed him. 

Mystery’s voice came low, sharp. “Define ‘reward.’”

You grinned, lips wicked. “That depends. I’ll let your imagination run wild.”

They groaned.

Abby stepped closer, close enough that your shoulder brushed his chest. He looked down at you like he was trying not to pin you against the nearest wall. “You promise?”

You kissed your finger and held it to your lips. “Promise. But only if you’re good.”

Five men in pastel pink, flushed and still vibrating from moments ago, now fully prepared to walk into an entire shoot and charm or destroy anything in their path—all for a single reward from their manager.

You turned, walking to the door with that same calm grace that had unspooled them minutes ago. Your voice came soft and commanding over your shoulder.

“Let’s go, boys.”

​​・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

The door to the changing room clicked shut behind you, and suddenly the boys’ energy shifted—calm, focused, tethered. You could feel it in the way their steps fell into sync with yours. Five pairs of eyes clung to you like gravity.

From a distance, anyone watching might've thought it sweet—idols trailing behind their manager like loyal puppies. But you knew better. You could feel their heat at your back, their intensity rippling off them like rolling waves. Possessive. Watchful. Claimed.

​​They had shifted into their human disguises flawlessly—hair styled, demon marks hidden, horns and tails tucked away. Still, their energy gave them away. The aura of restrained hunger, of constant awareness centered only on you, was unmistakable. 

You led them through the studio corridors like you were born to command them—and maybe you were. That quiet power thrummed in your bones, especially when you felt the way people’s gazes slid toward you, then quickly away again, like they knew not to look too long. Like they could sense the boys would bare fangs if anyone even thought about trying.

As you all walked toward the main studio setup, the energy shifted. The lights were already on, cameras idle, mics being tested. In the middle of it all stood the girls—Mira with her arms crossed, Zoey adjusting her mic pack, and Rumi clutching her water bottle like it might shield her from social interaction.

Zoey spotted you first and lit up. “Unnie!” she called, already striding over in those glittery boots. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around your shoulders and hugged you tight, pressing a kiss to your cheeks. “You look so pretty today!”

You returned the hug with a soft laugh, though you immediately felt the heat from behind you spike. 

Jinu’s jaw ticked.

Abby let out a slow, audible exhale through his nose.

Romance tilted his head like a predator watching competition enter its territory.

“Hi,” Rumi gave you a small, awkward wave—one that didn’t go unnoticed by Mystery, whose narrowed eyes followed the movement like a shadow curling tighter.

Mira sauntered up last, smirk curling her lips. “Wassup, superstar,” she drawled, flicking her eyes from you to the line of smoldering men behind you. “Still collecting strays?”

You laughed softly, “More like they’re collecting me.”

Romance laughed under his breath, but there was no real humor in it. “You’re awfully handsy today, Miss Hunter.”

Zoey blinked innocently. “What? Can’t I show a little love to my favorite unnie?”

Mystery’s voice slides out next, low and cold, sharp enough to draw blood. “Is this how your team greets our manager now?”

There’s nothing playful in his tone.

Baby’s voice, in contrast, is syrupy sweet as he steps forward, tilting his head in faux innocence. “Or are you just that bad at hiding you’re flirting with someone who’s already taken?”

Mira, the only one bold enough to meet all five stares, shrugs lazily. “Oh taken?" She looks at you. “Funny. I didn’t hear her say that.”

Your heart drops straight into your stomach.

Oh no.

You gently pressed a hand to Abby’s chest before he could respond. “They’re just teasing.”

“But they’re doing it in front of us,” Jinu said quietly, his voice a low, dangerous hum like a growl masked in velvet. “Trying to provoke something.”

The girls led you to the seating area. Rumi handed you a water bottle—her fingers brushing yours on purpose. That was the final straw.

Mystery stepped between you and Rumi without a word, his presence like a wall of heat. You didn’t see his eyes, but you knew they glowed beneath that disguise, flaring like embers on the edge of losing control.

“They’re gonna snap,” Zoey whispered behind her hand to Mira.

The tension crackled like fire in dry leaves. Your boys were close to snapping.

What the Saja Boys don’t know—yet—is that HUNTR/X came in with a mission today.

And that innocent little hug? That kiss? That comment?

Is all part of Operation: Drive 5 Demons Crazy With Casual Touching.

“Alright, alright,” you said, squeezing Zoey’s hand gently and stepping back. “Enough poking the wolves, yeah?”

You turned to face your boys properly, noting the tension in their shoulders, the flicker of heat barely concealed behind their perfect disguises. Jinu’s jaw was locked. Mystery looked seconds away from yanking you into a dark corner. Baby’s fingers twitched like he was restraining himself from reaching for your throat—or your waist. Probably both.

Romance exhaled slowly. “They did that on purpose.”

Baby leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear. “I hate how they touch you.”

“Five minutes to filming! Everyone, let’s move!”

A staff member, oblivious to the icy glares and quiet stand-offs, clapped his hands and rushed past with a clipboard in hand. The sound of movement followed—tech crews shuffling wires, PDs calling last-minute instructions, and makeup artists dashing toward the stage.

The boys growled. Literally.

A soft chorus of purring mixed with low snarls rumbled around you as they buried their faces against your hair, your shoulder, your neck—anywhere they could cling to you without crossing that final line. You were theirs. And they hated interruptions.

You sighed and gave them a quick kiss each. “Go be good demons. Show everyone you can play nice on camera.”

Jinu pulled you gently against his chest, his palm splayed over your lower back. “We’ll behave… but only because you said that.”

Abby didn’t answer—just cracked his neck like a man trying to keep something dangerous leashed. Romance was still too close, his fingers brushing yours when he stepped past like he hadn’t heard a word you said. Mystery merely raised one brow, gaze trailing lazily over the girls’ backs as they walked ahead.

But Baby… Baby just smiled.

That crooked, mischievous smile he wore when he was planning chaos.

“For the cameras,” Baby added sweetly, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was holding back something much more wicked.

The moment the director called, “Alright, boys, take your positions!” the five of them moved in sync, slipping seamlessly into their stage personas. It was almost unreal how quickly the change came—like flipping a switch. Gone were the sulky, clingy demons who had practically growled when the staff knocked earlier. In their place stood dazzling idols, all smiles, confidence, and polish. The transformation never ceased to amaze you.

Still, no matter how bright the lights or how many cameras surrounded them, their eyes kept finding you.

Every time the director shouted “Cut!” or “Break!”, it was like the leash snapped. Their human facades flickered—just enough for you to see the longing in their eyes. Jinu was always the first to find you, smooth as ever, a glint of something dangerous behind his boyish smile.

“Thirsty baby?” he asked sweetly, holding out a bottle.

“Need a break?” Abby added, looming behind you, resting his hand casually on the back of your chair—but the warmth of it bled through the layers of your jacket and straight into your spine.

Mystery crouched beside you on the floor, chin in his palm as he stared up at you, voice low. “You’ve been working hard today. Want to sit in my lap next break?”

Romance didn’t say much, but he slipped behind you, looping his arms loosely around your waist as if he was just casually leaning. Except his fingers stroked the inside of your wrist, featherlight.

And Baby, of course, plopped himself down beside you with an exaggerated sigh and muttered, “We’re dying up there without you, y’know. I think I need manager kisses to survive the next take.”

They weren’t even subtle about it anymore. Touch-starved demons masquerading as idols, absolutely shameless in how they vied for your attention between takes.

You tried to maintain being professional—you really did. Clipboard in hand, headset still half-on, tapping away at your phone to check the next rehearsal schedule. But every time you opened your mouth to say something managerial, one of them would lean in closer, or brush your hair behind your ear, or murmur “Say that again, but softer…” like they were trying to short-circuit you.

And just when things started to heat up—Zoey would sashay over with a perfectly timed interruption.

“Unnie, there you are!” she chirped sweetly, looping her arm through yours. “Come help us with the adjustments of the props? The lighting is totally off in our corner.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, uh—sure.”

Jinu gave her a polite smile, but his hand on your lower back tightened. Abby’s brow twitched. Baby scowled. Mystery stared at Zoey like she’d personally insulted his soul.

“Thanks!” Zoey sang, pulling you away before they could object. “You’re a lifesaver.”

And that was how the next several breaks went.

Every time one of your boys tried to have a moment with you, one of the girls found a reason to whisk you away—prop mishaps, mic issues, missing script notes. At first, you thought it was coincidence. But then you caught Mira smirking behind her hand while Zoey “adjusted” your collar for the third time in a row, fingers trailing just a bit too slow along your neck.

Your boys noticed. Oh, they noticed.

Romance’s eyes darkened every time someone so much as brushed your arm. Abby’s jaw was locked. Jinu’s smile started to look less boyish and more like a warning. Mystery stopped blinking. Baby had resorted to muttering “I’m gonna set something on fire” under his breath.

During one break, as you adjusted a schedule clipboard, Rumi quietly approached you and tugged you aside.

“Hey,” she whispered, eyes guilty, glancing over at the boys who were watching from across the stage like hounds on a leash. “I just… I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You tilted your head. “For?”

“That fight we had a few months ago. When I said—” She grimaced. “When I said you weren’t cut out for this. That they were just using you. That was low. I didn’t get it back then. But now…”

Her eyes drifted to the stage, where the boys were still watching you even mid-rehearsal.

“I get it now. You’re not just their manager,” she said quietly. “They… really love you, don’t they?”

Your heart fluttered. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “They do.”

Rumi gave a small, sheepish smile. “Then I won’t get in the way again. I promise.”

You were about to say something else when the hair on the back of your neck prickled. You turned—and saw all five boys watching from across the set, unmoving. Their expressions were unreadable. But you could feel it—heat simmering just beneath their polite idol masks. Every instinct in you said territorial.

The second the director called for a short break, they moved in like a coordinated unit.

Mystery got to you first, his fingers brushing yours before lacing them together. “You okay?” His voice was soft, but his eyes flicked briefly toward Rumi. A warning, even if he didn’t say it.

You nodded.

Abby appeared behind you again, his broad chest pressing against your back as his hand flattened against your stomach. “Thought you’d run off,” he murmured near your ear. “Didn’t like that.”

Romance reached over and tugged you closer by the wrist, nuzzling into your neck. “Can we have our manager back now?” he said sweetly. “Or does someone else want to borrow her for another bonding session?”

You laughed softly, but your body was heating from how close they all were, how tight the circle around you had become. 

“We’re almost done,” Jinu added, his voice velvet-smooth as he brushed a thumb over your jaw. “Then you’re ours again. Completely.”

The unspoken part hung heavy in the air: And no one is taking you away this time.

And just as you opened your mouth to say something—anything to diffuse the rising tension—a harried staff member called out, “Places! We’re starting the last segment!”

The boys pulled back slowly, reluctantly, their gazes still locked on you as they walked toward the stage.

The final segment wrapped with a burst of confetti and tired applause, the stage lights dimming just enough to make the idols look like they were glowing under a soft golden haze. You clapped along with the rest of the staff, clipboard in one hand, the other clutching your earpiece as the director’s voice buzzed with a cheerful, “That’s a wrap! Great work, everyone!”

The girls were already waving and bouncing down the stage stairs. The Saja Boys, flawless even under fatigue, bowed with practiced charm—idols to the last second—but you could already feel their gazes drifting toward you like magnets resetting north.

You barely had time to breathe when Zoey suddenly appeared at your side, beaming with wide, sparkly eyes. “Unnie~!” she cooed, linking her arm through yours before you could even respond. “Come eat ramyeon with us! Pretty please? I’ve been dreaming about jjajang ramyeon all day.” She pouted dramatically, tugging your arm like a child begging her favorite teacher for attention.

Before you could answer, another voice cut in, low and sweet as honey laced with heat.

“Noona~” 

Baby’s voice slid behind you like a silk ribbon, lazy and warm but with that subtle, dangerous curl at the end. He appeared at your other side like a shadow, all teasing smirk and boyish charm as his hand slid around your free arm, pulling you gently but insistently away from Zoey.

“You did promise us dinner first. Or are you already forgetting about your favorite boys?”

His eyes flicked toward Zoey without even pretending to hide the gleam of territorial fire.

Zoey gasped dramatically. “Excuse me?”

“You did,” Baby insisted with a bright smile that didn’t reach the sharp glint in his eyes. “You told us you’d come with your boys after the shoot.” His hand slipped down your arm to lace his fingers with yours, and his thumb brushed a slow, possessive circle over your pulse.

“I—” You looked helplessly between them as they began a full-on tug-of-war, your body swaying slightly with every playful pull. 

“You’re not seriously fighting me for her, are you?” Zoey said, feigning a pout as she gave another yank. “She’s mine tonight.”

“Noona’s ours,” Baby countered smoothly.

Zoey’s brows twitched as she tightened her grip with faux innocence. “You can have her later. I’m her dongsaeng too, aren’t I?”

Baby's smile faltered into something sharper—more feral. His arm snaked around your waist with sudden boldness, tugging you flush against his chest in a smooth, possessive motion that knocked the breath out of you. The warmth of his body seared through the thin fabric of your clothes as his chin dipped to rest lightly on your shoulder.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his glowing eyes. “She’s mine,” he murmured—not just to Zoey, but for the whole damn room to hear. 

His golden irises shimmered briefly, demonic power flickering through his disguise like firelight beneath a silk veil.

Zoey froze for half a second—then gave a little shrug, clearly satisfied. “Okay, okay,” she chirped, stepping back with both hands raised in surrender. “You demons really don’t like sharing, huh?”

She winked dramatically, turning on her heel to saunter off toward the girls, who had been watching the whole thing with amused smirks and curious side-eyes.

Baby didn’t let go.

If anything, he drew you tighter into him, his arms caging you from behind like he had no intention of releasing you ever again. His chin dipped against your shoulder, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he inhaled deeply. You felt it—the low, dangerous purr vibrating from his chest, crawling over your skin like velvet.

He nuzzled deeper into your hair, rubbing his cheek against your temple, breath hot. You could feel him scenting you. There was no mistaking it.

“…Was that necessary?” you whispered, not trusting your voice.

“Mmm.” His hum rumbled through his chest, lazy and low like a satisfied cat, but there was a sharpness just beneath it. “She needed a reminder.”

“Baby—” You tried to twist in his arms, but his hold only shifted, one hand spreading across your waist to anchor you still. 

“You told us to behave,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear as he spoke. “But they’re making it very hard.”

You exhaled shakily, trying not to melt under the heat of his touch—or the awareness that the rest of the boys were watching from nearby, each of them tense, hungry, and very aware of what just happened.

You shifted in his arms, trying to break the spell. “You know they’re just teasing you, right?”

He nuzzled into you more, completely unbothered. “Don’t care.”

And when you finally managed to look to the side—

You caught Romance smirking darkly.

Jinu’s expression was unreadable, his jaw tense.

Mystery watching Zoey with a glint that promised payback.

And Abby?

Abby was already rolling his sleeves up.

​​・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

The studio had long since wrapped for the night, but the air still hummed with leftover energy—stage lights cooling overhead, distant clatter from staff cleaning up, and the constant bickering between your boys and HUNTR/X echoing through the empty soundstage like a drama on loop. You leaned against a folding chair by the stand, sipping water, watching chaos unfold with barely-suppressed laughter.

“Unnie~,” Zoey sing-songed, batting her lashes as she looked to you. “You’re really not gonna ditch them and eat ramyeon with us? It’s just one bowl.”

"Don't look at her," Baby shot her a dark look, arms folded tightly across his chest. “You already had your turn. She promised us dinner.” His voice was smooth, but his tone had thorns.

Romance clicked his tongue dramatically. “I still can’t believe you thought you could just take her,” he muttered at the girls. “You tugged her like she was a plushie. Not happening.”

“You boys don’t own her,” Mira quipped, twirling her ponytail with a sweet, faux-innocent smile. “Last time we checked, she still has a brain. She can say no.”

“She didn’t say no,” Jinu replied without missing a beat, voice low and smug. “She also didn’t say yes to you.”

That made Mira smirk wider. “So possessive, tiger boy.”

Jinu’s eyes flared golden for a split second before his lips twitched into something sharp. “Only when someone touches what’s ours.”

You almost choked on your own breath.

Abby was standing off to the side. “You know,” he drawled, “I’m all for peace and love and group harmony and whatever. But if you touch her again like that, Hunter, I might accidentally step on something fragile.”

Zoey raised both brows and clutched her chest dramatically. “You’re gonna hurt us now?”

“No,” Abby said, grinning toothily. “I was talking about Baby. He’d be the one trying to hold me back.”

“True,” Baby piped up, looking smug. “And I wouldn’t.”

Romance huffed like a sulking child. “Can we go home now? I’m starving. Emotionally. Physically. And spiritually.”

“You’re spiritually starving?” Rumi asked, clearly amused. “From what, not having her sit on your lap?”

“She didn’t even touch me during lunch break,” he grumbled. “She was too busy talking to you girls.”

“Jealousy isn’t a cute look on demons, you know,” Mira teased. “I thought you all had control.”

Mystery, silent until now, gave a slow smile that didn’t quite reach his glowing eyes. “We do,” he murmured. “Unless you push too far.”

God, they were so petty. And so clearly yours. You could feel it with every stolen glance, every territorial response, every little jab delivered with honeyed venom.

You were so caught up watching the tension unravel between them—entertained, delighted, aroused in the quietest, deepest way—that you didn’t notice the figure approach until a shadow fell across your shoulder.

“Miss Y/N?” he said, his voice strangely empty.

You turned, blinking at the unfamiliar staff member. He looked… off. The way his eyes never quite focused. His skin just a bit too pale beneath the studio lighting. You immediately felt the drop in temperature, like the air around you had thickened.

“One of the hosts requested to speak with you. Privately. I was asked to bring you.”

You nodded slowly, you glanced back at the boys. They were mid-argument with the girls again. You turned back to the staff member. “Okay,” you said, playing along. “Lead the way.”

The man turned and you followed him through the darkened halls. The sound of your footsteps echoed strangely, as if the building had hollowed out the moment you stepped out of their sight.

You frowned slightly. “Which host wanted to see me?”

He didn’t answer.

You slowed a little, unease creeping in. “Is he in the green room?”

The man kept walking.

Not the green room. Not the offices. Not anywhere familiar.

You slowed just slightly. “Hey, which host was it again? I didn’t catch a name—”

He stopped in front of the door. The one labeled with your boys’ stage name, stylized in elegant calligraphy. You recognized it instantly.

“The host is in there?” you asked, frowning.

Still no answer.

He simply pushed the door open and gestured for you to go inside.

You took a cautious step forward. The room was dimly lit, faintly warm. Their scent was still thick in the air—cologne and shampoo and something deeper, darker, unshakably theirs. Your pulse kicked up, caught between comfort and unease. 

You turned back to the staff member. “So… where exactly—”

Click.

The sound of the lock echoed like a gunshot in your bones.

You froze.

The staff didn’t move. He just stood there. Watching.

“...Why did you lock the door?” you asked carefully.

No answer.

“Hey,” you said, your voice suddenly tight. “What are you doing?”

Silence.

You took a step forward. “Open it. Now.”

But he didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

That’s when the chill finally registered. The drop in air pressure. The weight settling into your chest like fingers around your ribs. Your stomach coiled.

Something was wrong.

You took a step back, heart pounding.

“I said,” you said firmly, voice edged with warning, “open the door.”

Still, the staff didn’t move.

Instead, his head tilted slightly. Almost curious. The gesture was wrong—mechanical, like a puppet moving out of sync with its strings. His eyes flicked over you slowly, unnervingly calm. 

“I knew you’d be pretty,” he murmured, voice shifting into something low and strange, almost admiring. “But I didn’t realize just how much. No wonder they’re so… attached.”

Your heart stuttered.

“They cling to you like animals.” His mouth curved in a grotesque mimicry of a smile. “It makes sense now. Why they defy him. Why they’ve turned their backs on everything.”

You took another step back.

“They never should’ve bonded with you.”

Faster than anything should. His arm lashed out, fingers locking around your neck with brutal precision. You were yanked off your feet and slammed against the mirrored wall so hard the glass trembled. Your breath vanished on impact.

The world blurred.

You gasped, lips parted in panic, fingers clawing at his wrist, legs kicking uselessly in the air.

His body shifted in real time, like watching a mask peel away. The skin of his face quivered and melted, features distorting. His jaw unhinged unnaturally, teeth pushing outward into something sharp and jagged. His eyes—once eerily blank—flared with a sickly yellow light that pulsed with barely-contained violence.

“You’re their mate,” the thing hissed, its breath sour and freezing against your cheek. “The bond is sealed. That’s why they disobey him.”

The word mate rang through your skull like a gunshot.

He knew.

“You’ve made them weak,” it snarled, tightening its grip with bone-cracking pressure. “You made them feel. You made them hope.”

Your fingers dug harder, frantic now, your vision flickering at the edges. Your lungs screamed. Your heart pounded. Still—something stronger than fear burned inside you.

They’ll come. They’ll know. They’ll feel it.

“They were loyal to His Majesty,” the demon spat. “Until you.”

Blackness crowded your vision. Dots of white burst like stars behind your eyes.

“And now?” it purred, leaning in so close its monstrous face eclipsed everything else. “Now, I’ll take you. And they’ll finally remember who they belong to. They’ll crawl back to him once there’s nothing left to protect.”

The last thing you saw before your consciousness slipped was its grin—wide, jagged, triumphant.

Next Chapter...

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @libdarkheart @amery-benson-cvii @nubyeol @type-ink @tiredlittlevirgo @wtfgiyuu23 @i-am-here3 @mxn14 @buttermilktea11 @the-bookish-artist @ironsaladwitch @zuoran03 @aurorarose2112 @permanenceimp @otakuudere666 @attackonjacksons @ikykwkleeknowwww @what-just-happened-to-me @yharnam-prophet @yuurisfavblog @cici4954 @boo-shalala @wonwoossglasses @b-bianka-13 @wthamidoingwithmylife @ashleygryffindor @littlewhitefairy7777 @herondale-lightworm @pl4netx1a @rivainimermaid @lionheart178 @irethepotato @gl00muraaii @blurghbleep @ateezswonderland @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 @amery-benson-cvii @katzline @the-fanss @sylum @call-me-nyxx @craftygamerscrafts @keikeikeikeie @existingtoreadfanfics @suika-ira @cherrybb-ily  @3vrenie @determinednature @2emotionallyunstable @fxckinbreathe @starfishfaerie @aurorab-0-realis @baby-bread-in @sra7riddle-malfoy @frostbitetrap-blog @athena-portgas @piancqwrites @soleilscb @cottonheadedninnymugggins @scara-simp69 @aurorarose2112 @bad4amficideas @ineed-myspace @yukimaniac @thegreatpapaya666 @xsammijoanneex @winter-solstice24 @kpopgirliez @gwinamlvr @renchai

[oceantonelli]

⌗ habs (husbands and boyfriends)

✦. ── summary: drivers as habs with athlete! reader ✦. ── featuring: lando norris, oscar piastri, charles leclerc, george russell, kimi antonelli, max verstappen, carlos sainz, ollie bearman, isack hadjar, liam lawson ✦. ── content/warnings: fem! reader, reader is an athlete but body type is never described ✦. ── author’s note: i’m the least athletic person out there so excuse any inaccuracies in this haha. also not super sure if i love these but i hope you like them!

𖦹 lando norris & figure skater! reader

definitely attempts all your axels, lutzes, and jumps. tries the upright spin and almost pulls his muscle. does it again for a very chaotic video and makes max do it with him too 

goes crazy for your figure skating costumes. wants you to model them when you buy them ahead of competitions. gets very touchy

knows how to make you laugh and calm you down when you get stressed. his go to is dancing with you in the living room and making a fool of himself. does not care if he looks stupid, all that he wants is to cheer you up

𖦹 oscar piastri & volleyball player! reader

you two have known each other since you were kids and supported each others careers every step of the way. fans of both of you are endeared by your dry humor and the way you know each other better than you know yourselves 

gets mclaren to agree to let you come in and use their reaction test machine. makes it into a competition — the score is currently tied. sometimes you guys draw spectators too and people make bets

loves watching you interact with kids after games and listening to how inspired they are by you. makes him think about the family he wants to have with you in the future

𖦹 charles leclerc & high diver! reader

knows you are beyond capable and an absolute powerhouse but it still gives him a minor heart attack every time you watch you leap off the high dive and plunge downward. The cameras definitely capture the acute panic in his eyes and the relief when you break the water’s surface safely

tries diving with you from an olympic diving platform once, almost slipped off the board and vowed to never do that again

when your breaks manage to line up, you’re both going offline for a week or two. if anyone wants to talk to you, you both can be found lounging on charles’s yacht and swimming together in the french riviera

𖦹 george russell & tennis player! reader

dressed impeccably and with the goal to put all other players’ partners to shame. sharp tailored suits, shined dress shoes, perfectly quaffed hair — he’s the picture of an English gentleman

helps you get ready for game week including exercising with you, running drills, cooking balanced, nutritional meals, and making sure you’re taking care of yourself physically, mentally, and emotionally

proudly answers interview questions about you, both during your game days and his race days. always makes it a point to speak of how proud he is of your and your achievements and shut down any hint of negative talk against you 

𖦹 kimi antonelli & equestrian! reader

is lowkey scared of your horse and keeps his distance when meeting you at the stables or in the riding hall (“kimi, you can come closer to her, she won’t hurt you.” “i don’t like the way she’s looking at me, it’s like she knows things.”) your horse winds up loving him and wants him to be the one feeding her sugar cubes and apples. 

so impressed with the way you do work with your horse in a partnership and clearly cares so much for her. it reminds him of him and his car 

buys you new supplies for your horse whenever you mention it off hand — saddle pads, stirrups, curry combs, you name it. he gets a saddle pad in mercedes colors and it becomes your favorite one 

𖦹 max verstappen & skier! reader

you two met by total coincidence on a ski lift. you two were on trips with friends and wound up next to each other on the lift. you two made small talk on the way up that devolved into a “friendly” race down the mountain. you hadn’t told max you were a professional skier and laughed at the slack-jawed shock on his face as you whizzed past him with a wave. he fell in love in that moment

dutifully carries all your gear and bags without any complaint and will glare at anyone who makes a comment about it 

max bears the freezing cold for you, standing unwaveringly at the front of the grandstands, monitoring your race on his phone until he can actually see you in person. he hands you a hot thermos of coffee the minute you come over and smiles when you press a long kiss to his lips

𖦹 carlos sainz & golfer! reader

carlos had been following your career for a while and was embarrassingly down bad from the start. he liked every social post you made and watched all your games religiously

literally manifested meeting you (he “subtly hinted” (read: begged) alex to get lily to invite you to a race). alex and lily now have naming rights for his first-born child

he is so invested in you and your career and loves playing golf with you, even if he loses more often than not. he counts it as not only spending quality time with you but also improving his own golf game. he absolutely smokes other drivers when they play a round together 

𖦹 ollie bearman & rower! reader

you two train together in the offseason: biking, running, weightlifting, swimming, rowing on the erg. He also rows with you in a pair for training and is the picture of an ideal rowing partner — can get in the rhythm, knows how to take direction and work in a team, tall 

yaps with all your teammates. knows so much about their lives and vice versa. asks about things that they mentioned a month ago like “how was your mom’s birthday party? did she like her gift?” and is very invested in the answer 

likes and comments on all your social media posts hyping you up, swipes up on all your stories with reactions, reposts all your posts. you give him back the same energy. you both get a lot of comments about how people need to mute your posts because they make them feel single 

𖦹 isack hadjar & soccer player! reader

literally the loudest voice in the skybox. does not care if people judge him, he is hollering and screaming every time you make a move

buys all your merch and wears it everywhere — at your games, around his apartment, going grocery shopping, in the paddock. has a camera roll full of you two sporting each others merch

posts candid moments with you together and feeds the fans because you’re chronically offline and he is now a social media king. also loves doing tiktoks with you 

𖦹 liam lawson & gymnast! reader

tries his best to unburden you when you are getting ready for competitions. will be as available for you as possible to run errands, help you manage your schedule, etc. 

you have a ritual together the night your competitions of going for long drives right after dinner, blasting music, and scream-singing to it for an hour 

brings you your favorite flowers, snacks, and drinks after competitions and helps you stretch at home to wind down and relax your muscles 

[pittsick]

── IN THE CLOSET.

summary: you and Spencer are secretly married, but keeping it hidden from the BAU is harder than expected—especially when a trip to the supply closet turns into something a lot more intimate. between stolen kisses, whispered praise, and almost getting caught, you both can’t seem to resist pushing the limits.

pairing: spencer reid x afab!married!reader.

cw: +18. mdni. semi-public (supply closet). light teasing. light fingering. etablished relationship (secretly married). some fluff / humor. requested.

taglist: @imperishablereverie @userhotd @lvve-talks @prismozo @bluestrd @yardofbrunettes @lacelottie @hrtfilm @tinythebunni @cestdommage @dionnesthedoll ( to be added )

You’ve read the statistics—probably in one of the many case files stacked on your desk. Workplace romances? Not ideal. Workplace marriages? Career suicide.

And yet, here you are: two years into your secret marriage with Spencer, sitting across from him at the BAU, pretending like he’s not the one who packs your lunch, warms your feet in bed, and knows exactly how to make you come undone with just two fingers and a murmur of your name.

Spencer glances at you over his monitor. It’s subtle—so subtle that Hotch wouldn’t clock it unless he were profiling the hell out of you both. But it’s there. That glint. That little spark that says I love you, and I’m definitely thinking about last night.

Your mouth quirks, and you drop your gaze to the case file. It’s safer than catching his eye and giving in to the blush that creeps up your neck every time you remember he’s yours—in every possible, legal, and scandalous way.

It’s mid-afternoon when it starts again.

You're heading to the supply closet to grab a fresh pack of Post-Its—totally innocent—and you hear footsteps fall in behind you.

“Need backup?” Spencer asks, voice low, conspiratorial. You don’t turn. You know that voice too well. You just smirk. “Always.”

The corridor is empty—most of the team is off in the conference room discussing a lead, and Penelope is still tinkering in her office with her latest algorithm baby. You don’t even hesitate when you slip into the narrow supply closet and tug Spencer in behind you.

He closes the door with a soft click.

There’s not a lot of space. Shelves tower around you, stuffed with file boxes and reams of printer paper. The air smells like cardboard and toner. It should not be sexy.

And yet.

His hand settles on your waist, steadying you as he closes the few inches of space between you. His body is warm, all lanky limbs and unassuming strength, and he smells like his office soap and that faint trace of cinnamon in the perfume he swears he doesn’t wear on purpose. (He does because it drives you crazy).

You rest your hands against his chest. His heart is already racing. “Someone’s excited,” you whisper.

Spencer grins. “Someone wore that perfume I like.” You did too. Because of course he had to be excited by a perfume too. Your breath catches, and he dips to brush his lips against your cheek, feather-light.

“It’s just perfume.”

“No,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth now. “It’s my perfume.”

You bite your lip to keep from smiling too hard, but he’s already noticed. Spencer always notices. You swear he could read your thoughts even without the profiling degree and genius IQ. Your fingers hook into his belt loops. He exhales, quiet and shaky.

“This is incredibly irresponsible,” you say softly.

“I know.”

“We’re going to get caught.”

“I know.”

His mouth meets yours before you can warn him a third time. It’s not rushed—it never is with Spencer. He kisses like he does everything else: with intention, curiosity, reverence. Like you’re something sacred. Like he’s memorizing you.

Your lips part for him, and he lets out a soft noise that vibrates against your tongue. His hands slide beneath the hem of your blouse, warm and careful, until he’s touching your bare waist.

“Missed you today,” he whispers.

“You’ve seen me all day.”

“Not like this.”

You giggle into the kiss, arms wrapping around his neck as he backs you against the shelf. A stapler shifts somewhere behind you, clattering down onto a stack of envelopes. You both freeze.

Silence.

Spencer glances at the door. “We locked it, right?”

“…No.”

He blinks. “Should I?”

You shrug. “Where’s the fun in that?” He groans under his breath, forehead dropping to your shoulder with a soft thud. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Probably. But I’ll leave you a really poetic note.”

That earns another kiss—deeper this time, with just enough tongue to make you shift your hips against him. He hisses softly, lips dragging to your jaw. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs.

“I have some idea,” you tease, palming him gently over his slacks. The fabric is already strained. He bites down on a moan, hiding it in the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart…” Your knees nearly give at the pet name.

“Spence,” you whisper, fingers tugging at his belt. “We don’t have long.”

He nods, already sliding his hand down your pants with careful hands. Your panties are already damp with anticipation and you let a shaky breath out. Spencer sucks in a breath as he slips a hand between your legs finally.

“Oh my God.” You whimper, biting your fist to stay quiet.

His fingers stroke you gently, reverently. He looks wrecked already, cheeks flushed, lips pink from kissing. His free hand braces you as he bends slightly for a better angle, whispering praise that shoots straight through your core. “So wet for me—always so good, so pretty, so mine.”

His fingers slide in with practiced ease—two, curling just right. You grip the shelf behind you, trying not to sob.

“Jesus, Spence—”

He hums, watching your expression like it’s his favorite novel. “I love you like this,” he says. “You always let me make you feel good.” You’re panting now, every muscle pulled taut, thighs trembling as his thumb circles your clit in lazy figure-eights.

And then—A voice. Just outside the closet door. “I swear the new Post-Its were in here—” It’s Morgan.

You freeze. Spencer stills, his hand deep inside you.

Silence again.

Then: “Nah, I got some at my desk. We’re good.” Footsteps retreat. The door stays shut. You and Spencer breathe again.

He lifts his hand slowly, gaze locked on yours, and brings his fingers to his lips. You stare at him. “You’re such a menace,” you whisper, eyes wide. He licks them clean.

You whimper.

“Can I finish what I started?” he asks, voice hoarse. You nod, eyes blown wide and he grins like the devil and sinks to his knees.

“You’re going to be quiet, are you?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, already wrecked. “Well, I’ll try.” But a strangled noise escape your lips when his fingers finds the way back inside your cunt, glistening with your wetness. Your thighs shakes already, Spencer’s thumb brushes over your clit in featherlight circles.

He curls them just right to make you see stars, for your thighs to clench around his hand, for your back to arch. There’s a smile on his face as he fucks you slowly with his fingers—even though he knows the rest of the team are going to search for you if you are gone for too long.

That’s how you finish, panting and chuckling as he kisses you to mute your moans.

Later, back at your desks, Spencer has a suspiciously smug look on his face, and your thighs are still trembling under the desk. You shoot him a glare, trying not to smile. JJ walks by and pauses. “Hey, you’re all flushed. Everything okay?”

You nod too fast. “Just warm in here.” JJ narrows her eyes, then glances at Spencer. He’s staring way too intently at his paperwork. She smirks, just slightly. “Mm-hm.” When she’s gone, you look at Spencer.

“She knows about us.”

He shrugs. “It’s not like we’re not technically allowed.”

“But if Hotch finds out—”

“He’d probably just ask us to be more discreet.” You glance down at your blouse, still wrinkled from where his hands had roamed. “Discreet,” you mutter. “Sure.”

He reaches across the desks and links his pinky with yours.

And damn it all, you smile.

[reignpage]

In which you give them the silent treatment and the different ways they react – mostly a, would they pester you or leave you alone? scenario

Satoru would opt for the ‘annoy you until you cave’ method. Might do silly things in front of you to catch your attention, to gain that twitch of a smile from your lips, or even just a huff – anything to show you’re paying attention, that despite whatever he did, you still care. Would drop off sweet treats and presents at your desk or all over the house, both to bribe you out of silence but also to remind you he’s thinking of you. He’s never not thinking about you. If none of that works though, he, too, falls silent. Soon, you’ll stumble into your shared home, find the lights off, and a brooding Satoru sitting on the sofa. He’ll apologise, solemnly this time, and peel off his blindfold, rub his temples and ask, “Where do we go from here?” 

Suguru gives you the silent treatment too. It becomes a competition to see who could last the longest. He’s so petty, he’ll watch you struggle to reach for something on the top shelf, knowing that you’re on the verge of asking him for help but he’ll never offer. Instead, he might come over, pick it up himself, just to use it. In a way, he also employs the ‘annoy you until you cave’ method, he’s just less obnoxious about it. Giving him the silent treatment is honestly not recommended because he usually lasts longer. But when you do give in, when you utter a single word to him, his shoulders visibly drop, the tension in his spine dissipates, and a smile finds its way back onto his face. Then, and only then, do you hear him say, “Finally, pretty. Was going insane without hearing your voice.”

Choso does not intentionally opt for the ‘annoy you until you cave’ method but does end up using it. He wants to know what you’re feeling and thinking and will not stop asking. You’ll have a permanent shadow everywhere – in the kitchen, in the bedroom, in the streets, at a cafe etc etc. “What did I do wrong?” and “Why won’t you talk to me?” on repeat. ConfusedTM. Will one hundred percent poke you, worrying that maybe you’ve gone deaf. He’ll wave a hand in front of your face, raise his voice, and call Yuji just to see if his voice is working. Once he learns what you’re doing, he switches gears slightly. Then, he’ll talk to you and for you. “Woah, did you see how big that dog was? I know right? It’s massive! Yeah, I like big dogs too; I’m scared I’d step on a small dog. No, I totally would. Aww you’re too nice.” He gets so into his one-man role playing that when you do reply, he doesn’t even notice. 

Toji leaves you alone. Too grown and too tired to play these games, he chooses the method of frustrating you by not giving you the reaction you want. At least now he can do all the things you usually tell him off for doing – he can watch whatever sports he wants on the TV, can drink beer and only eat takeaway, maybe stay out late. Though he doesn’t like going to sleep without a ‘goodnight,’ some cuddles and kisses (he’ll never admit to any of that), he’s content to know you’re safe and sound, and still in this relationship enough to climb into bed with him anyway. Eventually, however, he does start to find the silence irritating. Worse though, is seeing you doing things on your own. There’s something fucking awful about the sight. It’s wrong. So, he’ll sigh and ruffle your hair, and man up. “Listen, I’m sorry, alright? Was being a child. Take your time and shit, but don’t eat dinner by yourself; it’s creepy as hell. Be silent and moody and whatever but be silent and moody with me.”

Kento gives you space. He won’t ever be so immature as to bother you out of your feelings nor will he pretend you don’t exist. Of course, he doesn’t think silent treatments are healthy and conducive to a successful relationship, but you already know that. So, instead of mansplaining right and wrong, he’ll continue to be himself and wait for you to come out of your shell. Dinner is prepared for you, so is a warm bath, texts reminding you to eat and to have a good day are sent, all part of your routine. He’s so sweet you actually forget why you were ever mad and would burst out in excitement if he told you about the weekend plans he’s made for you both. Won’t comment on the fact that you finally spoke to him. Will just keep talking to you like nothing ever happened. Later, however, he finally has a good night’s sleep, the best in as long as you were withholding your voice and thoughts from him. “Hmm, goodnight, honey. We can talk more in the morning, just let me hold you.”

Sukuna deploys his own tactic. It’s so dirty. It’s so underhanded. It’s so him. Motherfucker will tickle you. And…he has four arms. Obviously, it’ll only make you more upset, but just for a second, for a single moment, you’ll look him in the eye with a smile on your face and you’ll talk to him. He’s happy. Even if what you say are swear words and ‘stawhppp, you fugly asshole.’ When you continue your silent treatment, he gets all frowny, broody and pouty. Practically walks around with perpetual storm clouds over his head. More people are dying left, right and centre. Screams go on in the night and past daybreak. But you’re practically immune to the suffering of others by now. What would make you cave, however, is Sukuna stomping over to you, angry and violent and desperate to be okay with you. He won’t grab you, won’t shake you, or threaten you into submission. He’ll simply kneel before you, cradle your body to his, and mutter an apology into your stomach. “Forgive me…I was wrong. Let us be friends again. I do not know what to do with my time now that you won’t even look at me. I cannot sleep, cannot eat, cannot breathe without you. It all only hurts…I miss you, little one.”

[clockwayswrites]

Birb Fears, Part 46

masterpost pls no editing or concrit, we're just going full speed here!

“He’ll feel guilty,” Tim said as he lay on the couch. He’d claimed the whole thing to stretch out on when Danny had gotten up to order food. Danny kindly let him have it.

“Bruce?” Danny asked.

“Yeah. He’ll feel guilty. It will probably be the first thing he feels after the shock of it.”

Danny gave one of his soft hums. Tim was starting to learn that it meant Danny was about to say something profound. “It’s said that our guy response is often how we were raised to think and then next thought how we actually feel. Just because Bruce’s first reaction is guilt, that doesn’t mean it’s the most important emotion he’ll feel as he processes the news.”

“You know a lot about this stuff,” Tim said, instead of saying anything of actual meaning.

“My sister used to psycho analyze me as a kid all the time,” Danny said with a chuckle. “It was really annoying, even if she meant well, but some of it stuck. I’ve also been in therapy since I was eighteen, and even more of that stuck.”

“Bruce has been trying to get most of us to go to therapy, now that he is,” Tim said. “He still has a guilt complex bigger than Gotham Harbor.”

“He told me, about the therapy,” Danny said. “As for the guilt complex, if he recognizes it’s a problem, and is getting help, then that’s already a great first step.”

Tim gave a little nod.

“Why haven’t you tried therapy?” Danny asked after a moment.

“I… don’t know,” Tim said, even if he sorta did. “My parents, I guess. I mean, my re—that is the ones who raised… the parents I grew up with, Jack and Janet. They had a really low view of therapy, they thought it made someone weak and was just a vulnerability for people to take advantage of.”

“And here we circle back to the responses we were raised with,” Danny teased.

Tim turned his head just enough to glare at Danny. “If I flick you off, is that like, too rude for my dad’s boyfriend?”

Danny just laughed. “Naw, you’re a teen, I think that’s just in character.”

Tim flicked Danny off.

-

“So,” Danny started around a bite of his pad thai. They were eating on the couch, watching Myth Busters because apparently that was one of Danny’s comfort shows. Tim could respect it. “Why does the fact that Bruce is likely to feel guilty first bother you so much?”

“Who said it did?” Tim asked, stubbornly, as he stabbed another potato out of his curry.

“Well,” Danny replied with a little wave of his fork, “it was your first thing to bring up after being worried about Damian hating you. I would say that means it at least makes the top ten list.”

Tim scowled down at his food. Those emotions were still all mixed up and roiling around in his belly, but if he had to answer… “because… because I want his first emotion to be… want, I guess. That he’s happy and that he wants it to be true that I’m his son.”

“Oh, hummingbird, there’s no way that he won’t want you,” Danny said.

But Danny didn’t know.

“My parents didn’t,” Tim blurts out. “Jack and Janet, I mean. I think… I’d like to think that they loved me, or at least Janet did, but they… they didn’t want me. They sure as fuck didn’t care.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that is something that’s on them, then, because I can’t imagine not caring for you. I know Bruce cares for you already. He adopted you, didn’t he?”

Tim snorted. “Because I was annoying enough.”

“Hey, no. Tim, hummingbird, because he cares about you. I saw how panicked he was that day with the Mad Hatter. And I saw how relived he was when he got to see both of you. You’re already his son, just like Dick and Jason. You being his son like Damian isn’t going to change that he cares,” Danny said so earnestly that Tim almost had to believe it. “And if somehow, impossibly, it does change it for the worst, I have no issue punching him for you.”

That made Tim bark out a laugh. It was a little wet sounding, but it was a laugh none the less. “Thanks, Danny.”

[azzinator3000]

paige taking care of drunk azzi at a bar, calling her petnames, azzi yapping about how she loves her and how she's so beautiful etc.

Heat Wave

Warnings: Sexual Content Implied (i guess)

(didn’t fix the grammar LOL, sorry y’all)

Connecticut wasn’t usually this hot in the summer

That’s what Paige was thinking as sweat mingled with her expensive perfume, clinging to her skin. The air inside the club had grown pretty heavy with the bass of a song Azzi had been dancing to for at least a minute straight. 

Azzi wasn’t much of a drinker. She usually stopped at one or two overly sweet shots and called it a night. But tonight was different, rehab had been brutal, and she’d let herself have a little more than usual.

Paige stood a little to the side, leaning against a wall, a half-full glass of water in her hand as she claimed the role of designated driver, a small, selfish act that meant she got to keep her eyes on Azzi all night. 

And God, her eyes had not left her for a second

Azzi was wearing jean shorts that rode high on her waist, and a little light-pink crop top that showed off her muscles in a way Paige couldn’t stop staring. 

Paige had tried to sneak her a glass of water, and Azzi had just smiled, a little too wide, and chugged it like it was another shot. She was dancing now, her hair tied up because of the heat, and Paige couldn’t help but think again how unusually hot it was for Connecticut.

Without warning, she was right in front of Paige.

Azzi was dancing around her, her hips sinful and her eyes fixed on Paige’s with a pretty smile on her lips. She was usually reserved, to be honest, but tonight, the tequila had turned her affection into uninhibitedness. She reached out and took Paige’s hand, locking their fingers together as she leaned her forehead against Paige’s shoulder.

Paige felt her cheeks burn. It was just a simple gesture, but in the middle of a crowded club, it felt like a spotlight was shining on them. She glanced around nervously.

Azzi just giggled and pulled back, her eyes sparkling. “You’re so pretty, babe” she whispered, the words warm against Paige’s ear.

“And you’re drunk,” Paige whispered back

Azzi leaned in close, her words a little loose “You know,” she said, tapping her empty glass against the edge of the bar for balance, “you are so fucking beautiful it actually makes me mad.”

Paige laughed, already blushing. “You’re a silly drunk.”

Azzi ignored her, “No, like. I’m serious babe. I think I’m obsessed with you, actually obsessed. I can’t stop looking at you. How am I supposed to live like this?”

Paige covered her face with one hand, her cheeks burning, the other hand still resting gently on Azzi’s waist to steady her. “You’re just yapping.”

“I’m right,” Azzi said, nodding, as if this were a deeply serious debate. “You don’t get it. I love you so much, I would literally fight someone for looking at you too long.”

Paige shook her head, half-laughing, half-melting “You would beat someone up for me Fudd?”

Azzi’s voice dropped too, a little softer,  “I could. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?” She tucked a strand of Paige’s hair behind her ear and whispered, “I’m so in love with you”

And Paige just smiled shy, hopelessly gone for her.

Eventually, the night was over, and Paige, just as planned, was driving them home. Azzi was in the passenger seat, singing along loudly to a Hannah Montana song that wasn’t even playing.

“I’m so hot, babe,” Azzi said, her voice a soft whine. “I wanna take my shirt off.”

Paige’s heart seized “Princess” She gripped the steering wheel. “You are not taking your shirt off in my car.”

“But I’m hot!” Azzi insisted, already pulling at the hem of her top.

Paige reached over, gently but firmly stopping her hand. “Azzi, babe, we’re in the car. It’s okay and we’ll be home in ten minutes.”

But Azzi was all feelings and no logic. Her eyes filled with tears, and her lip trembled. “I’m too drunk, Fuck, I’m being stupid.”

Paige’s heart melted. 

She reached out and cupped Azzi’s cheek, her thumb stroking her warm skin. “Hey sweetheart,”  her voice filled with tenderness. “Not stupid, I think you’re being cute, but I need to keep you safe and warm and NOT shirtless in my car.”

Azzi sniffled, leaning into Paige’s touch,“Okay,” she mumbled, her eyes closing. “Okay.”

When they got to Azzi’s dorm, Paige carefully unlocked the door and guided Azzi inside. She helped her out of her shorts, a quick, respectful maneuver, but when she reached for her shirt, Azzi stopped her.

“Wait,” Azzi said, her voice suddenly clear, her eyes fixed on Paige’s. “You’re my girlfriend. You can look.”

Paige froze. The casual declaration, spoken without any of her usual filters, hit her as Azzi stood there, beautiful and exposed, and Paige looked. Respectfully and lovingly. She took in the curves of her body, the soft swell of her breasts, the elegant line of her muscles. 

She just stared, a faint, tender smile on her face. Then, she reached out and cupped Azzi’s face in her hands. “You’re gorgeous" Paige whispered her thumbs stroking Azzi’s cheeks. She pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, a soft kiss on her lips.

“And you’re not gonna remember this tomorrow,” Paige said softly, tucking Azzi’s hair behind her ear.

Azzi just giggled, leaning into her. “I love you Paige. So, so much.”

Paige just held Azzi’s face, enjoying the moment of her unfiltered truth, and then led her to the bathroom, helping her into the shower, careful to keep her clothes dry as she guided Azzi’s stumbling movements. 

Azzi was a little embarrassed, but Paige just held her

When they got out, Azzi was already half-asleep. Paige helped her into a pair of boxers and an oversized basketball t-shirt, tucked her into bed, and went to leave. But Azzi’s hand shot out.

“Don’t go,” Azzi mumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow.

Paige didn’t even hesitate as she changed quickly into a shirt and a pair of sweats and crawled into bed beside her. 

Azzi immediately curled into her, her head resting on Paige’s chest, her arm draped across Paige’s waist, breathing deeply.

[lillilybells]

In time✧₊⁺

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing|dick grayson x daughter! reader (feat. The batfamily)

summary|someone appeared in the batcave.. they look suspiciously like nightwing.

word count|1562

warnings|mentions of deaths.

notes|sorry guys, I’m having major writer’s block rn😭

masterlist

Tim was sitting in the Batcave, files open, energy drink in hand. Quiet night. Bruce was upstairs, Damian on perimeter patrol, and Dick was running solo. It was rare to have this kind of peace.

Of course, it didn’t last.

A sudden crack of lightning echoed unnaturally through the cave. Every bat in the ceiling rafters scattered in a shriek. Tim almost toppled out of his chair.

His head snapped up as a swirl of blue-white smoke and sparks spiraled into being—dead center in the Cave.

He shot up, hand already reaching for his staff.

When the smoke cleared, a figure stood there. A girl.

A teen, dressed in a matte black bodysuit with a familiar blue bird symbol stretched across her chest and shoulders. She had a short domino mask, a gray utility belt slung low on her hips, and Eskrima sticks strapped to her back. She looked like—well, she looked like Nightwing. A younger, female Nightwing.

Her eyes met his.

They both froze.

“…Who the hell are you?” Tim demanded, moving closer, carefully.

“I’d love to explain,” she said quickly, voice calm but tight, “but I really don’t have time for this.”

And before he could get another word out, she tossed something to the ground—fwoosh, smoke—and disappeared in a blink.

“Shit,” Tim muttered, coughing. “Bad. Bad—really bad.”

Five minutes later, he was at the comms console, pacing.

“Nightwing, come in. Now.”

“What’s up?” came Dick’s voice, casual.

“Some girl just poofed into the Cave. Wearing your suit. Like, exact same style. She said nothing useful and then disappeared.”

“You let her get away?”

“That’s beside the point! I think she’s going after you. Be careful—she’s trained, confident, and clearly knows us.”

Dick turned around slowly after the call, eyebrows furrowed—and stopped short.

There she was.

Same girl. Same grin. Same blue Nightwing symbol.

Hands on hips, head tilted, eyes shining.

“Nightwing,” she breathed, awe in her voice. “Wow.”

Dick narrowed his eyes, stepping forward cautiously.

“…Hi?”

“Hi!” she said brightly, before adding more nervously, “Uhm, sorry for the—drama. Is there any chance you know where Batman is?”

Dick blinked. “He’s actually right there—” he pointed behind her and the girl instinctively turned.

Click.

She gasped as metal cuffs clamped onto her wrists.

Dick gave her a cocky grin. “Way too easy.”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

“You caught her?!” Tim jogged over in full gear.

“Tt. More than you can say,” Damian muttered, stepping out of the shadows, arms crossed.

“She’s barely resisting,” Duke noted from a monitor, eyes still half on the security feed.

Dick dragged the girl over to a bench. “She says she’s not a bad guy. Repeatedly.”

“I’m not!” she huffed, sitting down stiffly, annoyed.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned.” Dick leaned in.

Damian was immediately by her side, katana unsheathed and hovering at her throat. “Who are you.”

“(Name). I’m—(Name),” she answered, trying not to flinch.

“Just (Name)?” Damian echoed, unimpressed. “No last name?”

“She’s not in our system,” Tim said, scanning from his tablet. “No ID, no facial match. It’s like she doesn’t exist.”

“You poof into the Cave wearing Nightwing’s exact outfit,” Duke added. “And now you’re dodging every question. Suspicious much?”

“I’m not magic,” she blurted when Damian opened his mouth again. “And I didn’t poof. I time traveled.”

A pause.

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’m your sidekick,” she added quickly. “From the future. I can’t explain everything right now. But—please. I’m not the enemy..”

“…My sidekick,” Dick repeated slowly.

“From the future,” Tim added, brow raised.

“You’re saying you time traveled?” Dick said incredulously.

“It’s possible,” Tim muttered. “Time travel’s not unheard of.”

“If that’s true,” Damian said coldly, “then why are you here?”

The girl hesitated—just a second too long.

“I’m… just touring. It’s common. Time tourists.”

Duke and Tim exchanged a look.

“Touring?” Dick repeated, deadpan.

Damian scoffed. “If you’re Nightwing’s sidekick, he trained you poorly.”

“You’re not getting it,” she said, frustrated now. “I can prove it.”

“Try.”

“Damian Wayne. Tim Drake. Duke Thomas. And Dick Grayson.” She pointed to each of them.

They froze.

“…how do you know that..?,” Damian said immediately, though the crease between his brows deepened.

“I already told you,” she sighed, exasperated, “I know you guys, I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

“And yet you appeared in the middle of our headquarters,” Tim snapped, arms crossed.

Dick folded his arms too, brow furrowed as he stared at her, still unbelieving, “Where did you even get that suit?”

The girl hesitated. “you got it for me.”

Dick raised a skeptical brow. “I don’t take on sidekicks.”

“Not yet,” she replied quietly. “But you do. In a few years. You call me Kestrel.”

Duke blinked. “Kestrel? That’s kinda cool, actually.”

“You’re dodging the real question,” Tim said, stepping closer, voice sharp. “If this is a time travel thing, why now? Why here?”

Before she could answer, a familiar low voice cut through the cave like a blade.

“That’s what I want to know.”

All heads turned as Batman emerged from the shadows at the far end of the platform, cape trailing behind him, his towering presence swallowing the room’s tension whole. The girl’s breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes locked on him.

Bruce Wayne.

Alive.

He stepped forward slowly, voice low and commanding. “Uncuff her.”

“Are you sure?” Dick asked.

Bruce gave a single nod. “If she meant harm, we’d already know.”

Dick hesitated before reaching forward and removing the restraints. The girl rubbed her wrists, glancing up at Bruce with something unreadable in her expression — awe, reverence… grief?

He noticed.

“What’s your name?” Bruce asked.

She hesitated. “(Name). Just (Name).”

“No last name.” Damian pressed again, arms folded, unrelenting.

Bruce cut in. “You said you’re from the future. Are you here to stop something?”

“I… can’t say.”

“You will say,” Bruce pressed. “If you’re here because of a threat—”

Suddenly, an alert blared across the Batcomputer screen. All eyes turned.

“Priority Alpha. Location: Gotham Docks. Target: Deathstroke.”

Dick’s brow furrowed. “Slade? Now?”

Bruce was already striding to the computer. “He’s resurfaced. And if he’s here, it’s not for anything good.”

“I’ll go with—” Dick started, but Bruce cut him off.

“No. I need stealth. And backup on comms. I’ll go alone.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Tim interjected.

“Not up for debate,” Bruce said, already suiting up.

The girl’s heart pounded. Her entire body tensed. This was it — the mission. The catalyst. The moment it all went wrong.

She waited until everyone was distracted, then slid back, creeping toward the shadows. No one noticed.

Except one.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dick asked, turning sharply.

She froze. But didn’t answer.

Ten seconds later, both she and Bruce were gone.

Gotham Docks – 3:14 AM

The rain hit like bullets against the metal containers. Bruce stood silently atop a crate, scanning the area with infrared.

“You shouldn’t have followed me.”

He didn’t even turn. But he knew she was there — crouched in the shadows behind him.

“I wasn’t going to let you face Slade alone,” she whispered, stepping out. “I can’t let you die again...”

Bruce turned, narrowing his eyes behind the cowl. “What did you say?”

Her breath hitched. “…Nothing.”

Footsteps echoed. And then the ambush began.

Slade dropped from the rooftop, twin blades drawn. Gunfire erupted from every side — a trap. Just like in the history files.

“Move!” she yelled, lunging forward and knocking Bruce out of the way as a grenade rolled past them.

They fought together — surprisingly in sync. She moved like she’d trained with him a thousand times. Like she knew his style, his counters. Even Slade noticed.

“You picked up a new Robin?” he taunted. “She’s faster than the last one.”

“I’m not a Robin,” she hissed, swinging her escrima sticks with blinding speed.

In the chaos, Bruce got hit — a shrapnel piece slicing deep across his side. He staggered back, weakened. Slade advanced.

The girl stood in front of Bruce, protective, wild-eyed. “Stay down, grandpa—!”

Silence.

Bruce blinked.

“What… did you call me?”

Her eyes widened. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

A voice cut through the comms: “Nightwing en route. Just got to the docks. What’s going on?”

Bruce was patched up. Alive. And silent. He hadn’t spoken since the docks.

The girl stood awkwardly near the medbay, arms crossed.

“You called him ‘grandpa’” Tim muttered. “She called him grandpa...”

“You think it’s a play?” Duke asked.

Damian stepped forward, pulling something from his pocket. A vial. “I took a sample. Hair from her mask.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “Damian—”

“You’re all fools,” Damian scoffed. “I ran a rapid sequence DNA test. The results came in ten minutes ago.”

He looked at Bruce, then at the girl.

“She’s Grayson’s. 99.7% match.”

The cave went deathly still.

Dick stared at her, throat dry. “You’re… my daughter?”

She bit her lip, shoulders hunched. Then nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to tell you. I’m not supposed to.. Not like this.”

“Why?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Why not?”

“Because in my time… you’re gone. You died a year ago. And Batman… he died tonight. I came back to stop that. I couldn’t lose you both.”

Dick looked at her for a long moment. The tension cracked. He stepped forward, pulling her into a tight hug. She froze, then melted into it.

“Hi… Dad,”