#I don’t mind she/her but I do prefer they/them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingsbychlo · 3 months

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PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE | mattheo riddle

summary; mattheo is your slightly toxic, slightly unhinged, but absolutely adoring and completely obsessed boyfriend.

word count; 7077

notes; literally the moment I started watching the PPP music video I was like 'oh it's so matty coded' and this came to mind immediately. I didn't intend for it to get so long, it was supposed to be a short drabble. whoops.

The first time you met Mattheo Riddle, you were just walking out of detention as he was walking in.

Well, being dragged in by Madam Hooch, more like. He had blood on his face, and his knuckles, and he was smirking to himself as a sorry-looking Cormac trailed them inside. His eyes met yours, he’d winked, and you’d both continued to watch one another over your shoulders as you crossed paths, until the door shut.

You were his, from that very first moment.

The following days brought stolen glances across the classrooms and the Great Hall, his arrogant smirks and your shy smiles, and the look on his face that made you blush. You had to see him again, and opportunity presented itself that same Thursday, in Potions class, as Mattheo argued with Snape over… something.

You’d tuned out, preferring to sit and watch him. He was just so pretty when he was mad.

“That will be detention, Mr Riddle.” Snape drawled in that monotonous tone of his, and Mattheo glared across the classroom at the professor, who looked like he couldn't have cared less if he tried. “Unless anybody else has any objections, we can return to—”

Your book hit the ground with a resounding thud. The sound of it echoed around the room, and all eyes turned to you. You weren’t sure what exactly had brought it on, and your friends stared at you, horrified about the disruption. An excuse sat on the tip of your tongue, but then your eyes met those enchanting honey-brown ones, and he was smirking at you once again, a single brow raised.

“Motherfucker.” You squeaked out, and after a pause that felt like it lasted an eternity, your professor sighed.

“Very well. Detention for you, too.”

Your jaw dropped, heat flushed your face, and Mattheo’s smirk stretched into a smile. Another wink, and you were a goner.

That same evening in detention, you’d been punctual and prompt, and he had sauntered in fifteen minutes late, sliding into the chair right beside you. Whispered conversations became jokes and confessions, inching closer and closer together, until you could count every little freckle that danced across his nose, and taste the nicotine and mint still on his breath when he spoke. His eyes held you captive, the stories he told had you on the edge of your seat, and the way his hand slid up your thigh had you burning.

Your first kiss was a month later, when he’d made you promise not to get any more detentions just to see him. Instead, you’d waited outside the classroom, and the moment he’d been out, he’d given you that same flirty grin. Pressed up into the stone wall behind you, with one of his hands beside your head as the other sat on your waist, his tongue had slipped into your mouth. He’d tasted like chocolate and cigarettes, and you’d been intoxicated.

And when he pulled back, his softest smile yet on his face as his hand had taken your own, you’d known that he was yours, too.

“What do you mean you’re going out with Mattheo Riddle?” Your friend hissed, her eyes wide as the two of you huddled close together, ducking along the corridors as you hurried to your next class.

“Well, I mean that he asked me out on a date, and I said yes, so—”

“Don’t be sassy with me!” She scoffed, and you smiled, shrugging. She really had left herself wide open for that, it wasn’t your fault you took the chance she presented. “He’s bad news.”

“Oh, come on. What does that even mean?”

“It means that he’s bad for you. He’s bad for everyone!” Finally reaching the classroom —early, as always—��the two of you settled in at your desk, unpacking your books, and still whispering despite the empty classroom you found yourselves in. Not even the professor had arrived yet. “He’s always getting in fights, and he’s always in trouble or detention, and— hey! I bet he’s the reason you’ve been getting a string of detentions lately, huh?”

You had no rebuff to that, heat coating your cheeks but you couldn't hide the smile that grew on your face at the mere thought of all your detention time spent together. “He told me not to do that anymore, that’s why he asked for a date! See? He’s good for me.”

“Oh, gee, what a saint he is.” She muttered, eyes rolling so hard you thought they’d fall out. All humour slowly dissipated between you both, and she frowned and opened her notebook, dipping a quill in fresh ink. As the seconds ticked by, tension grew between you both that you didn’t like.

“Look, I know what people say about him, and the reputation he has, but he’s not like that with me. He’s not been like that with me.” Your hand lifted, scratching your cheek subconsciously. “It’s… not our first date. It’s just the first one I’ve told you about, because I knew you’d react like this. But, if you knew him like I did, you’d understand…”

Your voice trailed off, dreamy with a sigh and she turned to look at you. One of her brows raised as she put down her quill delicately. A beat passed, and her shoulders sagged, a little of the tension slipping free. “He really makes you happy? Because… I’m just worried about you, y’know?”

“I know, and I love you for that. But I just need you to be happy for me right now.”

“He’s going to break your heart. He’s going to make you cry, and hate the world, and I don’t like that.”

Your hand slipped to hers, taking it in yours and squeezing. Flicking through your mind was the confidence brought on by every sweet word he whispered in your ear. All the soft kisses and touches. They didn’t know the kindness, and the devotion, and the loyalty.

How could they, when they never gave him a chance? But his friends did, they saw the same side of him that you did. The version of him that would defend their name, and stop at nothing to make them happy. The version of him that didn’t believe the lies and the rumours, and never even looked at any other girls.

They didn’t know how funny he was, how secretly cuddly he was, or how he just craved a little attention. They didn’t see him on the nights he’d sneak into your dorm just to crawl into bed and hold you, or the flowers he’d drop off outside your door. They didn’t see the love-hearts written on the corners of his notes in class or the way he got grumpy if he went too long without affection.

You had good taste. You knew you did. It was just a shame nobody else saw it.

“He won’t, I know he won’t.”

“I hope for your sake he proves me wrong.”

Mattheo was nothing if not a sweet-talker. He’d spent the morning covering you with kisses, and whispering into your ear about the date he would take you on tonight. By the end of the day, you’d been kissed on every inch of your face, and the husky tone of his voice was still ringing in your ears as he bid you goodbye, and promised to pick you up in a few hours.

He’d been right on time, too. Knocking at your door at seven on the dot with flowers in hand and a whole new batch of compliments rolling off of his tongue. Gods, did Mattheo love to make you blush. Everything from looking you up and down seductively, to telling you that you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, he did it all.

He kissed you like you were the only woman in the world, like he wanted you to feel his love and devotion as much as he spoke the words, and you melted into him every time. Whether it was a brush of his lips over your own, or his hands grasping at your body, pulling you so close you nearly fused as his mouth claimed yours, he did all of it so passionately.

Now, he was kissing your knuckles, guiding you toward one of the more expensive restaurants in Hogsmeade, one you’d never been to before, and grinning at your expression.

“Matty, this place isn’t cheap!”

“Nothing will be good enough for my girl, but certainly nothing cheap. For now, this is the best I can give to you.” Tugging you in close, the two of you stood outside of the beautifully decorated little building, and he nudged his nose against yours. “One day, I’ll take you all around the world, to eat the best food with the best views.”

“Oh…” Your hands settled on his face, thumbs rubbing across his cheeks as he smiled, and you pressed a kiss on his lips in gratitude as words seemed to escape you entirely. “I love you.”

“I love you more, pretty girl.” His arms were tight around your waist, not quite ready to go yet, and his lips parted like there was something more he had to say. “Listen, when we get in there, I just have to speak to one of the workers real quick, okay?”

“Okay.” It didn’t seem all that concerning to you, and with a final kiss to your lips, he was holding open the restaurant door for you. His hand was warm in your own as he led you through the building. But then he was guiding you right past the hostess station, and you glanced back to it, but his feet never stopped moving, and you hurried to keep up with him.

Past tables and other workers, your jaw dropped with a soft gasp as he let himself into the back of the restaurant.

“Matty, I don’t think we’re allowed back here…”

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” Mattheo smiled, leaving another kiss on your cheek as he let go of your hand. “Wait here for me, ‘kay? I just need to speak to one of the chefs.”

With that, he was disappearing into the kitchens, and you leaned back against the wall, staring at the clock opposite you. Seconds ticked past, turning into minutes, ten of them, to be precise, before the shouting started. Mattheo was yelling, you’d know his voice anywhere, and when you poked your head around the doorframe and into the kitchen, it was to find him holding a vaguely familiar-looking chef by the collar, and slamming him into a wall.

“Mattheo!”

Your voice fell on deaf ears, as the two began to push. Mattheo’s back hit the counter behind him, a sickening smack and a grunt of pain, before the two were throwing fists. Every crunch of bones on skin and every rattling sound of a body hitting the workstations and countertops made your stomach turn. You covered your ears, turning your back on it all and shaking your head.

You didn’t need to see that.

Eventually, the other chefs stepped in, dragging Mattheo out of the backdoor. When it was all over, you apologised profusely as you hurried through the kitchen to follow after him, hopping over the boy he’d beaten half-senseless who was groaning on the floor.

Stepping out through the backdoor, Mattheo was pacing, spitting a bloody mouthful out onto the floor, and his head snapped up in your direction. Only when he realised who it was did his gaze soften, and he wiped his palm across the back of his mouth.

A few seconds of silence passed as the shock settled and you checked he was okay, and when he reached for you, you turned from him. Storming away down the alley, you heard his frustrated groan behind you, the sound of him kicking a trash can, before he was hurrying after you.

“Okay, I know that wasn’t how the evening was supposed to go—”

“Oh, it wasn’t?” Your laugh was so dry it almost made your chest hurt, and you didn't even bother to look back at him as you began to walk back through Hogsmeade.

“I fucked up, I know—”

“Understatement of the century.” You muttered, ignoring his attempts at excuses and explanations as you wove through the streets. People offered you both funny looks, no doubt because of the blood running from his nose as he tried to stop it, the pair of you mid-argument.

When you reached the edges of the town, Mattheo fell into step beside you, his hand skimming down your back, burning into you through the thin fabric of your dress. A dress that had been a damn waste to put on.

“Don’t touch me.” You hissed, slapping his hand away from your lower back, and he whined.

“Oh, come on, baby. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry! You planned this, and told me we were going on a date!” Your arms crossed over your chest as you stomped back out of the small village, beginning the walk back towards the school. “You lied to me!”

“Woah, now! Hey! I never lied! I fully intended to—” He huffed as you continued to walk ahead of him, all but speeding in your heels until you wobbled, and he cursed under his breath, catching you to steady you. Spinning you around, he tipped your chin up with one finger. “Listen, pretty girl. I never meant for all this to happen, okay? I meant it when I said I’d made us a reservation. I just figured I’d go and get my money from this guy, maybe even let him off a few galleons so he’d give us better service, and then we’d have a nice date. I didn’t expect him to start a fight!”

“He didn’t start the fight, you did!” You poked a finger into his chest, and he winced. Obviously, you’d found a bruise by mistake. Smoothing your palm over it in way of a silent apology, his hand cupped yours, holding it over his heart. “You said ‘Let’s take this outside’.”

“Okay, well, I was calling his bluff. I didn’t expect him to actually take me up on it!”

Your jaw tightened, and your lip wobbled. You felt ridiculous, you’d gotten all dressed up, and you were hungry, and he’d let you down. At your expression, his own face crumpled, and he sighed sadly as he cupped your cheeks.

“Please, baby, don’t cry because of me. You look so pretty, you did your makeup so nice, I don’t want you to cry because of me. Let’s just go back and find somewhere else to eat, yeah?”

“I don’t want to, and we can’t! You’re dirty and bleeding, and you’ve got a black eye coming on. We can’t go anywhere.” You muttered, crossing your arms. He leaned in, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“I’m sorry. I love you, more than anything. I really didn’t mean for it to go like this. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Promise me.” You huffed, gaze finally returning to his, and he nodded emphatically. “No more acting stupid in front of me.”

“I promise, sweet girl. I’ll never mix business with pleasure again, okay? When I’m with you, it’s all you.”

Just like that, he had your walls crumbling. How could you stay mad at him, when he smiled so sweetly, and made you feel so special? You gave in, one hand lifting to his cheek, touching gently at the swollen skin around the cut on his face. He hissed and pulled back, and your frown only deepened. “C’mon, you can come to my dorm, I’ll clean you up.”

“You’re gonna’ clean me up?” His smile was like that of a puppy, taking your hand happily and guiding you back along the path. “I tell you what, I’ll force Nott to sneak into the kitchens and make us some pasta, in exchange for the room to himself tonight, how’s that?”

“And where will you be sleeping?” You smirked, and he matched it, shrugging.

“I don’t know. Maybe the cold, stone floor in front of the common room fireplace.” Your eyes rolled, and he dipped his head, leaving a kiss on your neck. “Or maybe, my loving girlfriend will let me stay over, and I’ll make it worth her while…”

“I don’t want to look at your battered face.”

“Put a pillow over my head and get on top, then.” He snickered, and your jaw dropped.

“Matty!”

You brushed your fingers through Mattheo’s curls, and a sleepy rumble emanated from him. He nuzzled in a little closer. The tip of his nose rubbed your sternum and his arms tightened around you. He pressed a lazy kiss to your skin through your tee, melting into you further with the sigh he let go.

You’d spent all day dozing on and off together, lounging in bed, and watching movies. You’d dragged yourself up at some point to grab a book, an attempt to be productive, but Mattheo had quickly put an end to that as he dragged you back into the sheets. Now, the evening was rolling around, the sun was setting, and the stagnation of the day was beginning to become bothersome.

With another huffed-out sigh, Mattheo lifted his head, a frown on his lips as your hand slipped down to his cheek. He was sleep rumpled, a crease across his cheek from where he’d been lying on you, and you rubbed it soothingly.

“I could do with some fresh air,” He eventually mumbled, twisting his head to kiss the palm of your hand. “Let’s go for a walk or something.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. Lately, he’d been getting into all sorts of arguments and fights. Never with you, no, your little disagreements ended with him conceding and kissing you senseless. But, he’d been drawing a lot of extra attention to himself lately, and it wasn’t all that positive. You weren’t so keen to have another date ruined by his fighting or being dragged off to detention.

“Maybe the courtyard?”

“We could stay here?” You suggested, and he pursed his lips, shaking his head.

“No, I want to go out. You don’t have to come, baby. I’ll just go for a smoke break, I’m sure Theo is knocking around here somewhere.” With that, he hauled himself up from the bed, and you watched him go. Stretching out muscles that hadn't been utilised all day, you bit your lip, tangled up in the sheets still as you watched him fetch a fresh t-shirt and tug it on, before searching for a pair of jeans.

You couldn't very well let him go alone, if he did, he’d smoke, and you hated that. But if you did go with him, you’d spend the whole time trying to stop him from riling up the Gryffindors he seemed to be having so many problems with recently.

He found a pair, tugging them up his legs and buttoning them at his waist. He was determined to go then, and you rolled over to prop your head up on your arm.

“I really can’t convince you to stay?” You teased, sneaking a bare leg out from under the covers that led all the way up, and giving him a flash of what else lay underneath. Rolling onto your stomach and letting the sheets fall, his eyes fell straight to the skimpy little bit of lace you’d donned earlier, barely classifying as underwear at all.

He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m gonna’ need a few more hours before I can go again, pretty girl. No matter how much you tease me with that little thong of yours.”

It was futile, once his mind was set, it was done. “Alright, fine.” You murmured, lips puckering as he leaned over the bed to give you a quick kiss. “I’ll come with you.”

“You will?” His face lit up, and guilt instantly flooded you.

It wasn’t necessarily his fault. It was just a part of his culture. He’d been raised on impulsivity and violence and arguments. You knew all about his home life, his childhood and his upbringing. He’d had a rough time of it, the grizzly truth unveiled to you between late-night kisses and midnights at the tower as he smoked. You were surprised he even possessed the limited emotional functions he did, unlike his brother. You were supposed to guide him, to help him see better, to love him right and show him the purity of it.

He tugged on your hands, an excited smile on his face as he helped you out of the sheets. He found your denim skirt on the floor, holding it out for you and letting you balance on his shoulders as you wobbled into it.

“How about the forest, instead?”

At least there would be fewer people there. He nodded his head, swiping a kiss to your cheek as he mumbled a spell to set the bed off on making itself. “Whatever you want, baby.”

“I could do with some fresh air,” He eventually mumbled, twisting his head to kiss the palm of your hand. “Let’s go for a walk or something.”

“Maybe the courtyard?”

“We could stay here?” You suggested, and he pursed his lips, shaking his head.

He found a pair, tugging them up his legs and buttoning them at his waist. He was determined to go then, and you rolled over to prop your head up on your arm.

He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m gonna’ need a few more hours before I can go again, pretty girl. No matter how much you tease me with that little thong of yours.”

It was futile, once his mind was set, it was done. “Alright, fine.” You murmured, lips puckering as he leaned over the bed to give you a quick kiss. “I’ll come with you.”

“You will?” His face lit up, and guilt instantly flooded you.

“How about the Lake, instead?”

At least there would be fewer people there. He nodded his head, swiping a kiss to your cheek as he mumbled a spell to set the bed off on making itself. “Whatever you want, baby.”

It would surely end badly, something or someone would send him into a spiral. But, until that happened, you wanted to soak up every second of that smile on his face, that you put there so easily. How anyone could think he was bad, when he smiled so sweetly, was beyond you.“Baby, wake up.” The words were mumbled tenderly into your ear, and you groaned a little at the hand gently shaking your shoulder. “Come on, pretty girl, open those eyes.”

“What, Matty? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know, that’s why it’s the perfect time!” Excitement tinged his voice, and as you forced your eyelids open, you found him standing at the edge of your bed, wand lit up dimly, and your coat in his hand. “Get up, baby. We’re going for a walk.”

“Now?”

“Yes. You don’t think the stars and the moon are romantic? Isn’t there just something… better about the night?”

Your smile was against your will, sitting up slowly and swinging your feet out of the bed, suppressing a yawn. “You’re lucky I wore full pyjamas to bed tonight.”

“You mean I could’ve walked in here to find you naked?” He clasped a hand over his heart, letting out a pained groan. He handed you his wand to hold, before dropping to his knees before you.

“No, you perv! I meant that I’m wearing full-leg pyjamas, not my shorts!”

He only snickered to himself, while navigating your trainers onto your feet and tying the laces up for you. Once they were secure, he took his wand back, sliding it into his back pocket and clasping your hands in his own. With a kiss on your lips, he wrapped the warm coat over your shoulders. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, Matty.”

He grinned at that, taking your hand, and leading you through the silent halls. Twigs snapped under your feet as you crossed the courtyard together, giggling and shushing each other, and you had to admit that he was right. Both the adrenaline of it all, and the beauty of the scenery, made for the perfect blend of excitement and romance.

As you cleared the school building and began to make your way out across the fields, Mattheo’s arm looped around your waist, supporting you through every dip and hole in the grass, never letting you so much as stumble.

“Nearly there.” He whispered into the cold night air as you approached the quidditch grounds, the different house flags blowing gently in the summer breeze.

“Nearly where? I thought we were just going for a walk.”

He didn’t reply, and only a couple of steps later, the barely concealed voices of several of his friends carried across the pitch towards you both. “Mattheo Riddle, I swear to Merlin, if you’ve brought me along on one of your ridiculous schemes—” You shrieked, cutting yourself off as one of the Weasley’s firecrackers shot past your head, between the two of you, and Theodore’s laughter echoed out, following it.

“Oi, Nott, watch it. If that’d hit my girl, the next thing to be hit would be your face on the fuckin’ concrete.”

“Relax, she ducked! No harm, no foul. Right, principessa?” Theo smirked, seeming to appear from the shadows as he sparked his lighter, and brought the flame to the end of his cigarette. Lorenzo was there too, a bag over one shoulder that rattled suspiciously as he came towards the three of you, and your arms crossed protectively over your body.

“Matty, what is this?”

“Don’t flirt with my girl in Italian.” Mattheo glared at his friend, but it soon melted away as he was handed the cigarette, and Theo tucked his hands into his pockets, appraising you.

“This, bella, is revenge.”

“What did I just say about the Italian—?”

“Why do you need revenge?” Your words crossed Mattheo’s who only huffed, but remained quiet as he passed the cigarette beyond you to Enzo. Nobody answered, and your boyfriend shuffled from one foot to the other as your narrowed gaze turned on him. “Mattheo.”

“The Gryffindors were talking shot about our upcoming game, and McLaggen and his mates thought it’d be funny to charm all our jerseys pink for practice, so we’re just getting even.”

“Why do I get the feeling that whatever you’re about to do is far beyond ‘even’? Pink jerseys don’t seem equal to… whatever you’re doing here. I want no part of it.” You spun on your heel, but didn’t get very far, not even a single step, before Mattheo was wrapping an arm around your waist, and pulling you into himself. You jabbed a finger into his chest, putting the full heat of your wrath into your stare, “You said we were going for a walk!”

“We are! We did. Look, this is gonna’ be fun, you’ll see. I know how much that one Gryffindor chick has been pissing you off lately. I'm getting revenge for you too, here!” He cupped your cheek, running his thumb over your lips, before planting a kiss there. “I’m avenging you, baby.”

He took your hand, pulling you along behind him with the kind of infectious excitement that made you smile, even when you didn’t want to. Sitting down on one of the benches, you watched with an amused smile at the way he and his friends whispered conspiratorially amongst themselves as they thought through just what they might do.

That innocent adoration you had didn’t last long.

You’d been expecting a few stink bombs in lockers and foul-smelling potions tipped into the shower drains that would stink for weeks. Maybe even a hex or two for inconvenience. A shriek burst past your lips as another of Theodore’s rockets shot past your head, screeching as it went and your hands clasped over your ears.

He was letting them off, inside. Glitter exploded everywhere, the few flaming pieces of ash sprinkling down eroded holes in the towels and jerseys hanging on hooks around the locker room. Glass shattered somewhere, and Theo all but howled with laughter as the rocket shot off into the night sky to fizzle out with a colourful bang.

Enzo was spray-painting something on the walls in the shower room, following his rude and physically impossible message spray-painted on the inside of the door that he was still snickering to himself about.

Mattheo was systematically unlocking all of the cupboards, and placing a different bad-luck hex on every single piece of equipment. After leaving a sporadic spiral-dive hex on one of the brooms and putting it back, you’d had enough.

Sweeping your hair out of your eyes, you stood, making your way over to his side. “Matty…”

“Yeah, baby?” He was distracted as he mumbled his response, careful wand-work as he charmed one of the beater’s bats to flop like wet spaghetti every time they tried to hit something.

“Mattheo.”

At your tone, and the use of his full name, he looked up. He took in the nervous expression on your face, the sad and pouty frown on your lips, and sighed. “What’s the matter?”

“Don’t you think this is a bit much?”

“They were talking shit about us!”

“You're risking really hurting someone, though!” You gestured around, from his handiwork to the broken window and glass fragments on the floor. “You’re actually damaging school property!”

“A few spells will have it cleaned up in no time. Don’t be dramatic.”

You gaped at him for a second, before walking away, turning your back to him and plopping down back onto the bench with a huff. Behind you, you heard him kick something, swearing under his breath, before he stepped back into your sight. When you didn’t look up at him, he dropped down to his knees, forcing himself into your line of vision.

He has his puppy dog eyes on, and pressed a kiss to each of your hands as he took them in his own. “I didn’t mean it like that, pretty girl. I just meant… you don’t get it. This is what we do. You’re just too sweet for this, you wouldn't hurt a fly. But this could be so much worse, it’s all a bit of fun, just trust me, yeah? I’m getting them back, for me, and for you.”

“But it’s a lot. And I never asked you to get even for me.” You whispered, and he nodded.

“You don’t have to ask. I protect you, that’s what I do. It’s you and me, baby. For life.” You softened a little at that, and he noticed, his smile growing again as he knelt up, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “I won’t do anymore, how’s that? I’ll round up the boys, and we’ll get out of—”

Just then, voices flickered through the room. The angry, panicked shouting of at least six different people, rapidly got louder as they neared the space you occupied. Enzo clambered up onto one of the window ledges, and peered out of the broken glass. “Oh, shit. They know. ‘Least ten Lions, coming this way. And fast. Fucking go!”

The first spell bounced through the open glass, sending shards flying as it caught the last of the jagged spikes still on the frame, just as Enzo ducked out of the way. Theo scrabbled past, and out of the back door, Enzo quickly following, and you jumped to your feet as Mattheo did.

Another spell burst through, bouncing on the locked door, and the muffled voices of your accomplices felt a million miles away as fear struck through your body. The door rattled again, the lock creaking as the half-arsed spell they’d sealed it with threatened to give way. The pounding of your heart in your chest was deafening, roaring in your ears—

Then, a hand clamped down on yours, pulling you along. “Baby girl, let’s go! Come on, what are you doing?”

Mattheo tugged on your hand, like a splash of cold water the jolt he made snapped you to your senses. You stumbled after him, staring at his bouncing curls and the flush of his cheeks as he looked at you, guiding you out of the backdoor and into the night. Stumbling down the hill, the two of you ran so fast you almost fell several times, angry shouts following you out into the night as flashes and flickers of bright spells whizzed past you constantly.

You let Mattheo guide you, running until your lungs burned and your chest ached from your pounding heart, but you’d lost them. You’d lost Theo and Enzo, too. Silence shrouded you both as you finally came to a stop, only the lapping water at the shore of the lake and both of your soft pants to break the heavy quiet.

He turned to you, one hand lifting to tuck some hair behind your ear, and you glared at him as he leaned in to kiss one of your no-doubt flushed cheeks.

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered, knuckles still tracing up and down your jaw as he stared at you under the moonlight.

“I’m so mad at you for that. I hate running, and panicking, and vandalising. All the things I hate, you just wrapped ‘em up in one.”

He smiled something wicked, and leaned in, to bump his nose with your own. “You love me, though.”

“Debatable, right now.” Your scoff was lost as he pressed soft kisses to your lips, coaxing you into remembering just how much you loved him. You were ashamed to say that it worked, as you parted your mouth a little more to reciprocate.

You felt his smile pressed to your mouth as he did, that hand on your cheek smoothing out, fingers in your hair as he cupped your head, and angled your face for a deeper kiss.

You were once again both panting by the time he pulled away, satisfied and smitten.

“Come on, my angry girl. Let’s go for that walk now, yeah? Just me and you for a stroll around the lake.”

You winced as another cracking sounded out, the echo of Mattheo’s fist against the cocky Ravenclaw’s jaw had your stomach rolling. A boy you’d never much cared about. He was entitled and arrogant, and tended to run his mouth a little too much. He thought he was the best thing to grace the halls of Hogwarts, and a blessing to womankind, and you’d caught his eyes on you a couple of times.

Of course, you’d never mentioned as much to Mattheo, in hopes of sparing him this exact situation. Mattheo didn’t take kindly to lingering gazes, and he didn’t tolerate leering ones at all. He was protective, overprotective, and he was a little bit crazy. He was also in love, and in his opinion, the cat-call the Ravenclaw had given to you and the choice words he’d accompanied it had crossed a line.

And they said Ravenclaws were the smart ones.

So, Mattheo hadn't hesitated. He’d dropped your hand, curled it into a fist, and swung on the boy before he’d even finished smirking at your shocked look.

Now, you were sighing, as he took the Ravenclaw down to the ground, uncaring of the blow to his shoulder as the two rolled over the stone floors. Scuffling and throwing blows, a crowd formed around them, jostling you endlessly from side to side. He was winning, as always, beating the poor boy into the same blue as his house banners, and no amount of pleading on your behalf to just drop it was going to stop him now.

You should’ve been halfway to Hogsmeade by now. You’d never make your reservation, and you’d gotten yourself all dressed up for nothing. Hours wasted on hair and make-up and picking out the perfect outfit for this date, all for Mattheo’s impulsive temper and one gross creep to ruin it.

The two continued to brawl, fists slamming, feet kicking, and blood splattering as the crowd cheered and shouted so loud it was deafening. You’d learnt it the hard way a long time ago that you couldn't do anything to stop him now, not when he got into this state, without risking getting hurt yourself. All you could do was wait, and hope.

Finally, the Gryffindor prefect stepped in. He was a sturdy man, broad-shouldered and thick-muscled, as was his friend, as the two grabbed for one of Mattheo’s arms each, pulling him off and to his feet. Blood streamed from his nose, and he grinned, pink tainting his teeth before he spat at the boy curling up on the floor.

“You be fucking glad they stopped me, because I wouldn't have!”

“For fuck’s sake…” You muttered, the heat of embarrassment crawling up your cheeks as several gazes fell on you. Elbowing his way through the crowd was an equally red Professor Slughorn, but his flush was from anger.

“Riddle! Of course, it’s a Riddle. You can take yourself to detention.”

A whine slipped free from your throat as you crossed your arms over your chest. Mattheo attempted to shake off the two prefects, wiping his nose with his sleeve and wincing at the feeling. He shrugged, “I can’t tonight, professor. I have plans.”

“I don’t care! Detention, now!”

Stepping over the Ravenclaw still whimpering at your feet, Mattheo smiled what you assumed was supposed to be a seductive grin at you as you neared him. With the split of his lip, the stain of dried blood on his face, and the splotchy swelling along his nose and jaw, it didn’t quite hit the mark anymore. You were too angry to fall for it.

“So you’re bailing on our date, again?” Your lip wobbled, arms crossed your chest as you tried to glare at him, but the stinging in your throat betrayed you as your voice cracked.

“Don’t cry, baby, you did your make-up so nice. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” He leaned in, lowering his voice in an attempt for intimacy, despite the Gryffindors tugging on his arms. “I love you.”

You sighed, but released your anger, cupping his face softly so as not to aggravate the painful patches further. “I love you too.”

His lips barely brushed your own before Slughorn was grabbing him by his collar, and yanking him away through the crowds towards detention. Once he was gone, the cowering boy on the floor dragged himself to his feet, his friends hauling him away, and he made the wise decision not to even glance in your direction.

Even as the crowd parted and you made your way back to your dorm, the lingering feeling of anger petered out to immense disappointment.

Your reflection was frowning as you stared at yourself in the mirror, pretty outfit and stunning makeup, all going to waste while your boyfriend rotted the night away in detention.

Detention.

The same place where your relationship had started, and a ridiculous idea began to root itself in your mind. Tipping out the contents of your school bag, your books and quills scattered across the bedding, and you repacked it with what you’d need instead.

With a fresh spritz of perfume and a new swipe of lipgloss, you left your dorm, heels clicking against the stone as you hurried yourself along on your mission. The doors were spelled against sneaking out of detention, but sneaking in was surely a different case.

Your suspicions were confirmed as you pushed the door open, the loud creak echoing through the room, but you were granted entry as you stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind you, and yet, Flitwick didn’t so much as flinch from where he was snoozing atop the desk at the front of the classroom. Mattheo watched with widening eyes and tissues pressed to his nose as you walked through the aisles and took a seat beside him at the desk he’d claimed as his own.

“What’re you doin’ here, baby?”

You scoffed at his muffled voice, swinging your bag off your shoulder and onto the desk, before sitting down. Taking his hands in your own, you pulled them back, inspecting the damage he’d made to his pretty face. “It’s date night. I wasn’t going to let you sit in here all alone, when I put effort into looking this good.”

Your whispered words made him grin, and you took the tissues from his hands, dabbling softly at the last of the blood. When it was gone, you rifled through your bag instead, producing a small vial of swirling purple liquid. Upon seeing it, he groaned. “Oh, no, I hate those. They taste gross and musty.”

“Maybe if you hadn't done this to yourself, you wouldn't have to take it.” You uncapped the vial, and as the smell drifted to him, he gagged. You raised it to his lips, and he offered a sullen look but parted them for you to tip it into his mouth. Swallowing it came with a grimace, and you wiped your thumb over his lips to get rid of the sticky residue it left. Within seconds, the swelling on his jaw was going down, the cut on his nose was healing over, and the nasty bruising under his eyes was fading away. “That’s better. My pretty boy is back.”

He blushed at that but offered a cheeky grin, and leaned in to kiss you sweetly. Before his lips could meet yours, you swerved, and he grunted unhappily as his mouth landed on your cheek instead.

“You’re not kissing me while you still taste like that gross potion.”

“Typical.” He mumbled, but left a few more peppered kisses along your jaw. You worked as he did, laying out the various snacks you’d brought with you along the table, and as he caught sight of the chocolate frog, an excited gasp slipped free. He snatched the frog up quickly, tearing off the foil wrapper and snapping off a leg.

He lifted it to your lips, always offering you the first bite, and you let him feed it to you while he watched on. Happy you’d taken it, he snapped off another, dropping the chunk into his mouth and chewing happily.

“God, I love you so fucking much,” He sighed as he finished eating, finally leaning in to claim this kiss he had been denied earlier. “I’m gonna’ marry you someday.”

“Yeah, and you’ll probably get yourself arrested on the big day.” Your voice was bitter but your smile was the same as whenever he talked of his plans or your joint future. He knew you were bluffing too, closing the gap between you both once again, and nipping gently on your bottom lip.

“I always come back to you though, baby.”

That made you kiss him properly because you had no retort to offer. It was true, he always found his way back to you. He was crazy, reckless, and impulsive, but he was in love with you, and he didn’t care to hide it.

Not from the others in the detention room, not from the people in the halls, not from anyone on this earth. It was the two of you together, he’d never leave you behind or let you down, and you could trust him in that.

So, maybe he did prove ‘em right. But he also proved you right. Mattheo Riddle was so much more than they all said he was. He was loyal and loving, and he was yours.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle/reader #mattheo riddle/you #mattheo riddle x you #harry potter #slytherin boys #benjamin wadsworth x reader #benjamin wadsworth/reader

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hootbon · 10 months

Text

TADC Freakshow AU Masterpost

May you be warned, this is a horror/gore based AU. If that’s not your thing then I’d probably not click on the links

+ bubble

(these will be updated when new ones come out! None of them are in a particular order, some of them will be and hopefully soon there will be an actual order)

Go check out @jokerskellington !! They helped me out with a lot of the designs and the concepts :D

Story comics

Abstraction

Aftermath

A little chat

Notes

Stitches

Replacement

Outside

Broken faces

Lost friend

Restart

Looks decieve

selfish kindness

needle and thread

needle and thread pt2

Bloody tracks

I don’t want to.

Rule-Breaker

Eclipse

community choice adventure

Misc

posters line-up

Freakshow&carnival templates

Q&A

Q: Can we make ocs/fanart/fics/etc.?

A: Of course you can! I love getting work of my AU from others, please tag me in them! (Do not send them in my ask box, I prefer it when people post their own work)

———————————————————

Q: Is the community choice adventure continuing?

A: Yes. You don’t need to keep asking me, I have been taking a little hiatus but I will be working on it soon.

———————————————————

Q: Do you have any boundaries?

A: Not necessarily, but my only rule is to keep things chill over here.

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Q: can we make Nsfw?

A: I don’t mind, if it’s sexual, please don’t tag me. However, extreme gore and violence is A-okay with me (infact please tag me in those.)

———————————————————

Q: Will X character be in this au?

A: all characters seen in the show will be characters in this AU and more than likely have designs when I get the time.

———————————————————

Q: if gangle abstracts, what would happen?

A: she will abstract, simple as that. Then be replaced with an AI much like her sister.

———————————————————

Q: can or will the virus be cured?

A: no.

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Q: what would happen if x character met y character?

A: I strongly dislike these questions, please don’t ask them.

———————————————————

Q: art requests?

A: I don’t usually take them unless I like the idea and actively want to do it. 8 times out of 10 I likely won’t do them but who knows.

———————————————————

Q: Art commissions?

A: I promise I plan to open those up for the people of tumblr soon, I am currently rehashing my prices and setting up my sheets but I will make a post when I am ready!

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #freakshow au #tadc freakshow #bon’s art #tadc fanart

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enkvyu · 1 year

Text

12:45am — gojo satoru ;

“cute earrings, where’d you get them?” shoko asks.

“hm?” still clinging to sleep, you absentmindedly reach up to caress the metal dangling from your ear. the sharp indents of its gem pricks you back into a memory. “oh, these. i got them from a friend last week.”

“friend? or do you mean boyfriend?”

shoko’s words are throwaway, her wandering eyes and yawn a clear indication yet your face warms despite yourself. shaking your head furiously, you exclaim, “a friend! just a friend."

shoko hums, shifting her cigarette to the other end of her mouth. her gaze flickers somewhere behind you and you almost look too, when her words pull you back. “come to think of it, i don’t think you’ve ever told me what your type was.”

“my type?” your mind blanks. “i’ve probably never told you because i’ve never thought about it myself. i mean, being a jujutsu sorcerer and all, romance is kind of off the table.”

shoko keeps looking at you, pressing you without words. you grimace and sigh.

"i mean, i guess, maybe someone good looking? someone who’s not boring? and now that we're talking about it, someone who is fit and athletic too. they'd have to be smart, but not book-smart, like, street-smart." the more you think of it, the more words seem to spill from your mouth. "and someone who has a good sense of humour, someone who will make me laugh.”

“someone good looking, interesting, sporty, smart and funny? that’s too greedy.”

you giggle. “you’re right, there’s no way there’s anyone that perfect. i guess i’ll have to be single forever.”

“you'll always have me.” shoko says, grinning.

you push her shoulder but don’t deny it.

yaga walks into the classroom, cutting your conversation short. you spin around in your seat to face the front, eyes accidentally meeting gojo’s. he turns around too, and you reason that he was probably looking out the window behind you. you see getou snicker and whisper something in his ear, but gojo seemed to be having none of it, blatantly ignoring him.

seeing his face makes you think. didn’t gojo kind of match your type? someone attractive, interesting, athletic and maybe not academic smart, but he definitely carried an air of confidence when it came to fighting. and it wasn't a secret that he lightened the air wherever he went, intentionally or not.

with a start, you look back at shoko. “and someone calm. someone with manners.”

“well-mannered and calm. what insane preferences.” shoko chuckles. “are there any more?"

yaga slams his hand on the table a few times, reluctantly drawing your attention back to the front.

your previous conversation dies and twiddles away into the background, overtaken by droning lectures and predictable missions. by the end of the day, you can't even remember what you had told shoko early that morning.

when you enter the classroom the next day, you’re surprised to find gojo already there, seated at his table. his sunglasses hangs lower on his nose than usual and most curiously of all, a book is held in his hands. you’re not sure if he’s actually reading or not considering that pages were being turned far too quickly for someone reading “ordinary objects” by amie thomasson.

his eyes flicker to yours as you head in. “good morning.”

“morning. what’s with you?”

gojo clears his throat. “what ever do you mean?”

your frown transitions to a grimace. “why are you talking like that? did you break something of mine? was it my potted plant, gojo i told you to take good care of it!”

“i am taking care of it! it’s not dead yet!” he exclaims before pausing uncharacteristically. he sits back in his chair and turns back to his book. “i mean, it’s fine.”

“you sure?”

“i am.”

you narrow your eyes before looking away, dropping into your seat. “it better be. shoko got me that one.”

“speaking of shoko, is she not coming today?”

“i think she stayed overnight at the morgue.”

“is that so? perhaps i should write notes for her. i wouldn’t want her to miss out on class.”

you turn to him horrified. “so you did kill my plant!”

“i said it’s not dead!” gojo bursts. another pause. he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “i simply worry for her.”

you stare at him and watch as he fidgets under your gaze. “are you feeling sick? did you eat something wrong?”

“i’m not sick. what part of me looks sick?"

“well you’re usually not this…” you watch him as you wrack your brain, trying to find a word to describe this situation. “c…”

gojo leans forward. “yes?”

“crazy.”

he falls back in his chair, groaning, book forgotten and placed harshly down on the table.

you tilt your head. “where's getou, you guys didn’t come to class together? don’t tell me you fought.”

gojo peers up and frowns. “no, can i not show up to class early just because i feel like it?”

“it would be extremely out of character, yeah.” you rest your chin on your hand as you watch gojo mutter to himself, his jaw jutted out and his nose scrunched.

he was clearly unhappy, it didn’t take a scholar to know. it might take a genius to figure out why though.

you had time to kill, might as well take up the challenge. maybe he hadn’t had his morning dose of sugar yet, or maybe his favourite anime had delayed it’s upcoming episode. maybe he didn't save properly on the new game he was playing, or maybe he simply didn't sleep well last night. or maybe he had lied to you and he had fought with getou, leading to this strange attitude.

the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. the way he was acting now was like a mockery to getou's usual behaviour.

“are you trying to be like getou?” you try.

gojo whirs around to face you. “what?”

“well, you’re trying to be composed.” he keeps staring at you and you clear your throat. “like more well-mannered. more calm.”

gojo remains silent but you watch as his jaw drops. you think that he might say something but then his mouth closes, only to open again.

gojo speechless, what a sight. but as good of a sight as it was, you were beginning to feel concerned.

“are you sure you’re alright? what did you eat yesterday?”

he doesn’t register your question. “you think getou is well-mannered?”

“yeah?”

“and calm?”

you nod. “more than you, at least.”

“do you think he’s interesting too? sporty? smart? funny?” he pauses. “good-looking?”

the questions throw you off guard and you sit up. “what? where is this coming from?”

“oh my god, you do.”

“no? i mean, i think getou’s great and everything—”

“you think getou’s great?”

“don’t you?”

“you think getou’s hot.” he concludes. “and you think getou’s great.”

"what are you even saying?"

"i don't know. why don't you tell me?"

baffled, you flail for words. “are you jealous of him? that's strange, i didn’t think either of you would ever feel jealous of each other.”

gojo grits his teeth and looks away. with a pout, he says, “me neither.”

the door to the classroom is thrown open and getou steps through, rubbing the back of his neck. he yawns on his way to his chair and it wakes him up, looking between you and gojo as you both watch him enter.

“what did you guys do?” he asks with a sigh.

“nothing!”

“nothing.” gojo says and glares at him.

getou blinks.

“okay.” he says slowly, sliding out his chair and sitting. “what did i do then? why are you both looking at me like that?”

“gojo’s being weird.” you snitch. “are you guys fighting?”

“how should i know? i thought we were doing okay. gojo, if i did something, use your words and tell me.”

"i'll use my words to tell you to suck my dick instead."

"so i did do something. you're so predictable, gojo."

you snicker as gojo huffs and glances away, looking away out the window behind your head. his train of sight cuts right past you but you can’t help but feel slightly flustered as he looks on, almost like he was looking at you, so determined to ignore getou’s pestering.

subconsciously, you drown getou out too, your traitorous mind observing the blue in gojo’s eyes. you had always thought it was just one colour, but looking at it now, it seemed more like a kaleidoscope of blues, the many shades sparkling and dimming as he watched birds flutter outside the window, and you watched their shadows through his eyes.

something shifts, in the air or in the skies you don't know, and gojo meets your eye. startled, you hold the gaze and he holds it too, just long enough for your lungs to run out of air.

you look away hastily and inhale.

gojo glances to the front, oddly fidgety.

getou looks between the two of you. “what the fuck was that?”

“nothing.” gojo says.

getou clearly doesn't buy it but though he tries to get an answer out of you, you don't give him one either. cupping your cheeks, your thoughts mirror his question. what was that? it was embarrassing, that's what it was and your realisation is only heightened as a silence fills all four corners of the classroom.

gojo clears his throat. “for me, i like someone who i'm already comfortable with. someone i already know.”

at his words, you look over at him and find him already staring. he frowns as you don't give him any other reaction.

yaga saves you from addressing his statement, walking into the room as the bell for class rang. "oh? you're all early, even you gojo. where's shoko?"

“she’s staying at the morgue because of the recent mission.”

“i see.” yaga nods. “then let’s start.”

your mind fails to work as you turn over gojo’s words, thinking them through. what did they mean? what was he talking about? did this weird confession have something to do with why he was acting so strange?

slowly, you draw connections between your conversation with gojo and the talk you had with shoko yesterday morning. an epiphany shoots through you and you cover your mouth to hide a gasp.

did that mean…?

someone he knew? acting strange? getting mad when you said you liked getou?

you watch gojo’s side profile, hoping he’d turn around. if what you thought was right, he’d turn.

seconds tick past. yaga’s voice drawls on and yet gojo doesn't even spare you a glance.

no, maybe you were wrong after all.

just as you were about to face yaga again, gojo’s head shifts and his eye flicks over to yours. they widen when he finds you, and you’re sure you’re in a similar shocked state.

oh my god, you think, eyes darting between him and the other boy in the room.

gojo has a crush on getou.

filler imagine based off of that One scene from the manga: "megane tokidoki yankee kun"

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo imagine #gojo drabble #getou suguru #ieiri shoko #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sashisu #sss trio #gojo hcs #gojo fluff

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anchoeritic · 28 days

Note

girl i need your thoughts on car sex with ellie

warnings: eighteen plus content, minors do not interact. sexual intercourse (obviously), oral sex, vaginal sex (fingering), overstimulation, ellie is a certified & badged munch. ellie is also a top in this i fear.

there’s two different kinds of car sex i see with ellie:

the really desperate kinda sex where your hands are all over each other, kisses are so sloppy that she’s barely catching your lips and all the two of you can do is try to peel each other’s clothes off hastily.

maybe after a party or a night out and you just couldn’t wait to get home so you take it to the car. all ellie’s doing is muttering about how desperate she is just to touch you, feel you against her own body. repeating the same phrases of; “i need you, baby” and the occasional cursing between kisses.

her goal to please you is the first thing on her mind. which probably explains why she’s always trying to unbutton your jeans when the two of you are making out. her lips aim to make you feel good, especially between your thighs. the one place you really needed her the most.

she’d dive between your thighs anytime; day and night. but when she craves you desperately, there’s never a warning. once the first layer of fabric is peeled off, it doesn’t matter if your panties are in the way. she’s not opposed to tasting you through them.

but she prefers to push them aside, says you’re especially sweeter. you wouldn’t know whether to agree or disagree until she’d pull herself back up to kiss you, making you taste yourself off of her lips. sweeter than candy, she always says.

her hair’s a mess from you tugging at it while she was tongue deep inside you, face all shiny from what came after it, and your thighs are shaking violently. but she has yet to stop.

did i mention that she aims to please you?

she wouldn’t stop until you were on the verge of passing out, practically at a loss of words for the immense amount of pleasure she’d put you through. by the time you’re done, not only are the windows foggy but the leather seats are probably sticky too.

but there’s also the type that’s soooooo gentle. ellie taking her sweet time with you, making sure you’re laid back comfortably in the backseat and kissing down your neck.

her touch is soft, holding your hips down so she can leave plenty more kisses down your stomach. when she reaches your waistband, she’d wait for you to nod before continuing.

it’s overall very intimate. ellie likes taking her time with you when she can because she loves to explore your body. she wants to know what you love, what you don’t, what you need. every aspect of you has a story to be told and she wanted to know all of the details.

even if the narrative laid beneath the lace of your panties. she’s a tease, there’s no doubt about it. like a cold thumb pressed up against your clit while her hot lips trailed your inner thighs, or cupping your core and watching as you pathetically tried to rock yourself against her hand. she was quite the tease and she loved to watch you fall for it.

“you that needy for me, baby? can already feel how wet you are,” she’d mumble against your lips, slipping two digits between your wet folds. “so pretty. look at how good you took my fingers,” your moans would be left uncovered, ellie wanting you to be as loud as you could be.

she’s such a lover. one thing about ellie williams is that she is definitely a lover. she loves you and loves giving you pleasure. oh, and she loves praising you.

constantly telling you how pretty you look when your head is thrown back or how good you take her when you’re wrapped around her fingers. she loves to make you feel good about yourself even when you don’t feel it.

and she’d never complain about reminding you. whether it’s telling you or showing you.

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #tlou #tlou 2 #the last of us #the last of us 2

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luveline · 5 months

Note

JADEEEE i'd love to see an interaction between hotch and teacher!reader outside of school? maybe jack sees her first and step away from hotch for a moment to say hi, hotch gets scared when he realizes jack left but reader comes with him just a moment later because she's panicking too like 'why are you alone? where's your dad?' and jack takes her to him. is that ok??? i hope so! love you <3333

I love you ty for your request! —Hotch flirts with Jack’s favourite teacher, because he’s never as subtle as he should be. fem, 2k

Jack reads a couple of books a week now his dad is home more often. His mom used to read to him some because he loves them, but she preferred to tell her own on the fly. His dad isn’t as good a story teller, and when he does try the stories don’t end up very happy, so they read. Sometimes two or three books a night if they're short ones.

With Jack’s library card they can borrow ten books. With his dad’s, another ten. Twenty altogether, enough to last the month if they’re careful or if dad gets called away a lot, which he usually does.

“Can I look for Super Pup?” Jack asks his dad.

Aaron sits on a chair a little too small for him in the kids section. “What?” he asks, looking up from the back of the large picture book Jack’s just handed him.

“Super Pup?”

“I’ll help, buddy.” Hotch looks like he’s going to stand, then hesitates. “In a second. Don’t go where I can’t see you, Jackers.”

Hotch is tired. He didn’t come home until very late, but he’d woken Aunt Jess anyway and, when Jack woke, there his dad was sleeping in the beanbag by his bed. He’s sore all over now and exhausted from a restless night. Jack feels sorry, as much as he can for being six nearly seven, but he also knows that his dad doesn’t mind the hurting. It was nice to wake up together after a few days apart.

And now he’s brought him to the library, and after that they’ll go for groceries. Jack should be quick. If they get home before dinner time his dad will ask him if he wants to nap together, which is the best. They just lay there in the big bed with the fan on and snooze until it’s too late to cook, so his dad breaks out the takeout menus, and promises he won’t do it again with a quick hug from behind.

As though it makes him a terrible parent for feeding his kid. Jack can’t know how guilty it makes Hotch feel to do it, and Hotch doesn’t seem to notice how much Jack loves these days where his dad is exhausted and totally his.

Jack runs around looking for Super Pup. Hotch’s phone beeps in his pocket, and he fights to keep his eyes open.

A ways away, you browse the fiction section in a crouch, knees somehow totally under your skirt, flicking aside spines of skinny books for something you can read at lunch time. Something that doesn’t require much attention, and could be read in short intervals. You used to demand a half hour to yourself when you first started teaching, but that was before the lonely kids started cropping up. Kids with no friends, or sad smiles, who want company and quiet alike.

You reach for a pink-spined Japanese translation as a little hand pats your elbow. You’re so used to kids you say, “What’s up?” before you remember you aren’t at work.

You turn in your crouch to look behind you. “Oh, hi, Jack! What are you doing here?”

“Me and dad are looking for books.”

You smile at him genuinely, happy to see your favourite student, even if you’re terrified on the inside at the prospect of his father. He’s the most gentlemanly man you’ve ever met. He’s arduous in how respectful he is, he’s understanding, and he’s tall, dark, and handsome. It is a chilling collection of traits. You stumble whenever you have to talk to him.

But Jack is easy. You and Jack talk every day. “What sorts of books? Just for fun?”

“I want to read Super Pup.”

The kids love Super Pup and his magic bark. You stand promptly, suddenly much taller than Jack as you brush down your skirt. “Wait,” you say. Mr. Hotchner gets called away for work all the time, but he wouldn’t leave Jack alone, would he? “Where’s your dad? You’re not by yourself, are you?”

Jack laughs. “No! I’m looking for Super Pup! Dad’s tired.”

You can’t decipher exactly what those two things have to do with each other, but you can guess how panicked his dad will be to find Jack so far from the kid’s section. Fiction is the other side of the library. “How did you end up over here?” You offer your hand. “Should we go back and find your dad?”

“I saw your skirt, Miss L/N. I like the flowers.”

He takes your hand, clumsy to your gentleness. “Thanks, honey. Let’s go find dad before he calls his scary friends and has your name on the news.”

You get to the kids section slowly. Endearingly so, but nerve-wracking, too, because Mr. Hotchner can be intimidating. Jack likes holding your hand, you think, clinging to your fingers as he guides you across the library, past the staircase down to the first floor, and back to the kids section.

“Jack?” Mr. Hotchner asks loudly, turned away from you both near the graphic novel selection. “Jack.”

“Mr. Hotchner,” you say.

“Dad!”

He spins on his heel. His shoulders relax noticeably, but the stress in his gaze remains.

“Jack, I said stay where I can see you,” he says, not half as scolding as he could be as Jack lets go of your hand and runs to his legs, where he stops. “Please, buddy. You gotta listen to me.”

Jack turns between you and his dad with a smile, “But look, it’s Miss L/N.”

“I can see,” he says softly.

Mr. Hotchner leans down, taking Jack up into his arms with impressive ease, and begins the walk to you where you’ve stayed.

“I hope he didn’t interrupt you,” he says.

“Please,” you say, “he’s my favourite. Just–” You wince. “Don’t tell anybody at school I said that, Jack. Please.”

“I think we can keep this secret,” Mr. Hotchner says.

“He was just telling me that you’re looking for Super Pup. If you don’t find it, we have copies at the school library. And we can always order you one.”

Mr. Hotchner gives you a small, and what you know to be rare, smile. “I don’t think he even looked.”

“I did look!” Jack disagrees, though his disagreement barely has any attitude to it, a credit to his upbringing.

“You clearly weren’t looking in the right place.”

“I was too. How would you know, you were sleeping!”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Mr. Hotchner says to you.

You tuck your hands behind your back. “It’s okay, Mr. Hotchner, I believe you. In my classroom we like to say we’re resting our eyes.”

“Aaron,” he says, as he says whenever you speak to each other, and as you always forget to call him. Not a demand but a suggestion you’d swear to be bordering affectionate.

You’ve been Jack’s teacher for two months this year, and almost the entire year previously. In the summer when they leave, you’ll find out if you’re moving up a grade with him, but until then, you’ve made the most of such a nice kid, and you aren’t shy to tell that to Aaron. You don’t mind that Jack spends his lunch time with you. He embodies all of the reasons that pushed you to become a teacher in the first place.

And his father is a good reason to stay. He’s one of the only nice (hot) dads.

You do worry often that he can read your expression. His lips have quirked into a bemused smile, what’s so funny? He’s terrifying.

“Aaron,” you rush to say, and fill the silence you’ve made, “It’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you, too. You’ll see me on Monday, so you’ll be sick of me by Tuesday.”

You rock ever so gently on your heels. “You aren’t working.”��

“It’s Jack’s birthday.”

You nod, pleased. “I know! I know, we already talked about what cupcakes he wants, didn’t we? Everybody’s gonna have rainbow sprinkle, and for a treat we’re going to watch a movie before lunch.”

“Do you do that for every kid?”

“I do.”

“How do you afford it?” He lowers his gaze. “I just mean, it’s expensive to do that for every birthday.”

“Luckily for me and unluckily for the kids, quite a few of them have birthdays outside of term time. Thirty students is three trays of ten, and that doesn’t usually break the bank, even if things get tight. But… I don’t know, I guess I just have to make room when it does. It’s special to feel special, and,” —you smile, exuberant and a little shy at once, clutching your elbow in your hand— “Jack always makes everybody else feel special. ��

The boy in question turns into his fathers chest, pleased beyond words.

Aaron gives you a long, long look. “Thank you,” he says.

“Oh, you’re welcome.”

You say goodbye to Aaron and Jack and wish them both a good weekend, which you spend wondering what the pressure of Aaron’s hand would be like on your shoulder, and if you should be ashamed of yourself for thinking about it at all. He seems like he’d give a good hug. You catch yourself picturing him opening a door and ban yourself from thinking of him at all.

Monday morning, you stand at the door ushering your students inside, and you can’t help beaming when Jack and Aaron arrive.

“Aw, Jack, where’s your birthday badge?” you ask, fall air nipping your nose.

“He was feeling too shy,” Aaron says. He’s in casual dress again. Some men should be banned from half-zips, it’s inhumane.

“You were?” You bend just a bit, hand in your pocket. “Well, I thought you might be, so I brought my badge from home. It’s super shiny, bud. What do you think?”

You show Jack the badge, It’s My Birthday in silver against a rainbow backdrop.

Maybe it was silly to bring, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t want to wear one, and maybe he should. He deserves for all his friends to give him some attention, and to have them fight over who gets to sit with him at lunch.

“We have something for you,” Jack says.

You stand straight. “You do?”

Aaron hadn’t been expecting to be the one to give it to you, that much is obvious. He hesitates for a second before he passes you a small brown box, the top of which is made up of four leaves folded into a dome. You have an inkling of what it might me.

“Thank you… Can I open it now?” you ask.

“I think you should wait for lunch,” Aaron says.

You raise your eyebrows but abide by his suggestion, murmuring another thank you as Aaron bends to give Jack a hug. “Have a good day. I’ll be here to pick you up, I promise,” he says.

It’s a great day. The kids are excited for cupcakes and overjoyed to get them before lunch. Not a crumb goes uneaten, and as they all sing for Jack with his borrowed badge, he’s actually happy for the attention. He doesn’t eat with you at lunch, which is a great thing even if you love his company.

Alone, you fold back the leaves of your mysterious box and smile like an idiot when you confirm what’s inside. A cupcake slightly more sophisticated than rainbow sprinkle spreads icing across the brown carrier, and a business card leans against the other side.

The front of the card is as you’d expected it to be spelling out Aaron’s contact details from work, and you combust thinking he wants you to call him, but it’s the back that you’d been meant to see. You read it as you fold down the leaves of the cupcake carrier,

Thirty students, three trays of ten. What does that leave for you? —Aaron.

Flirt, you think firmly, happily. He’s such a flirt.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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alygator77 · 2 months

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ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 2 ᰔᩚ

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

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

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex » 【note, there is physical & emotional intimidation in this chapter (from naoya not satoru), this is a form of domestic abuse, reader discretion advised】

ꨄ words: 12.5k

ꨄ a/n. firstly, wow thank you so much for all your kind words on ch 1 :") secondly, this series may be more than 3 chapters (maybe more like 4 or 5?) idk i'm still working out the pacing rn bc i really want the relationship to feel fluid and natural. this chapter ended up being much longer than i anticipated 😅 but as always, i would love to hear your thoughts and hope you enjoy ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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ch 2 // under the spotlight

Becoming a mother makes you realize you can do almost anything one-handed—though honestly, sometimes you wish you had an abundance of limbs.

Especially now. Your apartment is a whirlwind of activity – scattered toys, half packed bags and the remnants of breakfast still on the table. You’re in the middle of prepping your daughter’s essentials, trying to make sure you don’t forget anything important. Her preferred snacks, extra clothes, diapers, and a few of her favorite toys all stuffed into a bag.

“Mama, mama, look!”

Haru’s innocent voice rings out like a melody amidst your morning clamor. Halting your frantic movements, you’re drawn to her face, lit up with pure joy as she holds up her beloved Pikachu plushie. The bright yellow toy bounces in her hands as she makes it dance.

Her innocence provides a brief, much-needed, calm to the storm of nerves brewing inside of you. After all, today’s the day you’re meeting with Satoru and his lawyer to finalize the marriage contract. Your marriage—weird.

It feels odd saying it, the word foreign on your tongue. Marriage is a concept you never thought you’d be rushing into, especially not like this.

Once upon a time, you thought you’d marry Naoya Zenin.

Back then, you were so in love with his charm, his confidence, and the way he seemed to have everything figured out. But reality had a way of shattering those illusions.

His charm turned to arrogance, his confidence to control. It wasn’t long before you realized he cared more about owning you than loving you, and now you’re left with nothing but heartache and a broken family.

But amidst your turmoil you found a precious gift—Haru.

Her infectious giggle is a stark contrast to the chaos within your mind—it always manages to pull you back from your whirlwind of worries.

You’ll do anything in your power to keep her smiling, even if that means marrying Satoru Gojo, the man who is guilty for an abundance of your headaches.

With a deep breath, you zip up your duffle bag and turn to Haru who is lovably babbling to Pikachu.

“Come here, sweetie,” you say, kneeling down with her small jacket in your hand.

She toddles over to you, clutching her comforting plushie, eyes wide and curious.

Easing her tiny arms into the sleeves, you gently help Haru into her jacket.

“We’re going to meet some new friends today,” you tell her softly, fastening the buttons with care. “One of them is named Mr. Gojo.”

“Mr. Gojo?” she echoes, face scrunching up in concentration.

Truth be told, you weren't planning on bringing Haru to this meeting, but you’re faced with a lack of options, especially since technically, you’re fired.

Well… temporarily.

Until Satoru rehires you, paying the nanny isn’t feasible with your already stretched finances, Utahime, your ever-reliable friend, is unavailable. Your neighbor, who sometimes steps in to help, is out of town, and your mom is… your mom – as undependable as ever.

At this point you'd rather be caught dead than call Naoya again.

Calling him yesterday, when your nanny bailed, was a moment of pure desperation, a lapse in judgment driven by the chaos of the day and the fear of getting fired. Not your proudest moment.

It’s no surprise he’ll likely use it against you—hold it over your head like a weapon. It’s a pattern you’re all too familiar with.

But today marks the beginning of a new chapter, one that you’re determined to make the best of for both you and your daughter—once this marriage is finalized, you’ll be back to earning a steady income again.

A sigh escapes your lips as you focus back on Haru, her innocent eyes look up at you expectantly.

“Yes, Mr. Gojo,” you repeat, giving her a reassuring smile as you reach down to tie her shoelaces. “We’re going on an adventure today, just you and Mommy.”

“An adventure!” Haru cheers, clapping her hands in unbridled excitement.

Just as you pull the last loop tight, a knock reverberates through the front door, startling you. It’s unexpected, you weren’t anticipating any visitors.

With a deep breath, you twist the handle and pull the door open. The sight that greets you sends a cold wave of dread crashing over you, your heart pounding in your chest.

Speak of the devil—Naoya.

He has an uncanny knack for impeccable timing, always appearing when he’s least wanted.

His presence is as imposing as ever—a smirk crowned on his lips, posture relaxed, hands in his pockets—exuding an air of ownership over everything that’s around him.

As if he owns you.

Damn it. You really can’t deal with this right now; you don’t have the time. Satoru is expecting you, and you need to get moving.

Leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, he surveys you with that annoyingly smug expression plastered upon his face.

"Well, well, if it isn't my two favorite girls," he drawls, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

The frustration you feel from Naoya is vastly different from what you experience with Satoru. With Satoru, it's harmless—like dealing with a mischievous child. But with Naoya, every sight of him makes you want to flee, as if each encounter is a battle you barely survive. He reopens old wounds that never truly healed, leaving you raw and exposed.

Every fiber of your being screams in protest at the sight of him, but you force yourself to maintain composure—refusing to let him see the effect he has on you.

"What do you want, Naoya? I really don’t have time for this today."

Turning away from him, you begin gathering the last of Haru’s things with brisk, precise movements, making it clear you have no intention of prolonging this interaction.

He steps inside, smirk widening with satisfaction and tone laced with mock concern.

"Just thought I'd drop by and see how you're managing. Got your message. Heard you were looking for a babysitter yesterday.”

As expected—you’re really kicking yourself for calling him. His false sympathy only heightens your irritation, grating on your nerves as the condescension drips from his words like venom.

If you weren’t already leaving, you would slam the door right in his smug face.

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to keep your tone steady, for no one other than Haru.

"We're fine, Naoya. We don’t need your help."

In hopes to end this conversation quickly, you grasp Haru’s hand and attempt to brush past him. But he sidesteps, effectively forbidding your path to the door, looming like an unwanted shadow.

"Still as stubborn as ever, I see. How’s that working out for you?” he scowls as he peers through your apartment, “This place is a mess. And you don’t look like you’re dressed for work. Lost your job already?”

His words hit a nerve, you feel your cheeks flush with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"We are managing just fine. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have somewhere to be."

But he wasn’t going to let you go so easily. His expression darkens, and as you repeatedly try to step past him, he halts you yet again, blocking your way like an insurmountable wall.

"And where exactly are you going? Shouldn't you be at work today?"

"That's none of your business. I really need to go," you retort, lifting your chin assertively as you force your way past him. Your shoulder brushes against his in a deliberate act of defiance.

The moment you cast him aside, he immediately pursues after—but choosing to ignore him, you close the door behind you, turning the lock with a decisive click.

As you start leading Haru towards the elevator, you adopt a brisk pace in hopes to put as much distance between you and Naoya as possible.

But he raises an eyebrow, smirk widening as he traverses after you. You hear his footsteps echoing down the hallway of your apartment complex.

"Oh, I think it is my business. Especially when it concerns my daughter."

Oh, please.

It’s painfully ironic how he pretends to care about Haru only when it suits him.

After you served him child support papers, he had the audacity to demand a DNA test, claiming he needed ‘proof’ that Haru was his. Of course, something like that takes time for the judge to arrange.

He knew that damn well—it was just another ploy to delay the process further.

As anger bubbles up within you, a scoff escapes your lips, teetering on the edge of a bitter laugh.

"Oh, so she’s yours when it’s convenient for you. Don't pretend you care about Haru now. You’ve done nothing but make our lives difficult."

Your movements are sharp and frantic until you finally halt in front of the elevator. Just as you press the button to descend, Naoya’s presence descends over you—suffocating like a dark cloud, his face twisting into a menacing scowl.

"Maybe if you weren’t so damn stubborn, things wouldn’t be so difficult. You know, if you ever need help, all you have to do is ask," the insincerity in his voice makes your skin crawl—as his words slither into your ears, each syllable is laced with a condescending edge.

You scoff, jabbing the button over and over again with mounting urgency. Can this damn elevator come any faster?

"Help? From you? I'd rather figure things out on my own than rely on your 'help'."

He steps closer, making you feel small and cornered. It’s a familiar tactic he would use to get his way—the accustomed sense of intimidation he used to exert over you returns, chilling your spine.

"Suit yourself. Just remember, you can’t keep this up forever. Sooner or later, you’ll realize you need me again,” his voice drops to a low, threatening whisper, the underlying menace making it clear that he relishes the control he still believes he has over you.

Suddenly, you feel small tiny hands gripping tightly onto your leg. Haru’s wide eyes dart between the two of you, her innocent face reflecting a nervous unease that she can’t fully understand—but you do.

Fuck it. Enough is enough. You can't let this continue any longer—screw the elevator.

With a determined breath, you scoop Haru into your arms, feeling her trembling slightly against you. "Come on, sweetie," you say softly.

Her tiny heart beats against your chest, mirroring your own anxiety. Holding her close, you immediately head towards the stairway, your stride quickening.

But Naoya's presence lingers, his footsteps echoing ominously after you.

“Really, Naoya?”

Oh, this is it. Your patience is wearing thin—he’s like a growth you can’t get rid of.

You feel Haru’s grip tighten around your neck as she buries her face into your shoulder. You have been trying desperately not to yell, for Haru’s sake, but at this point, Naoya is overstepping your boundaries.

“Just go away. The only thing I need from you is to hurry up and finish that damn DNA test,” you shout, refusing to look back as you head towards the stairs. “There was no reason for that bullshit; you know Haru is yours. I know you’re just trying to stall our court date,” you snap, your voice trembling with frustration and anger.

Naoya’s eyes gleam with a cold amusement, and the corners of his mouth curl up into a mocking smile.

"Stalling? Hardly. You’re insane, I just want to be thorough. You should understand that, being so meticulous yourself," he sneers, tone derisively sweet.

Finally, you reach the stairway—beginning your descent, Haru clings tightly to you as Pikachu dangles precariously from each hurried step.

"This conversation is over, Naoya,” your voice echoes in the narrow space. “Stay out of our lives. I only want to see you in court."

Naoya contemplates following you, lowering himself a few steps before abruptly stopping. As his voice reverberates through the stairwell, his unsettling demand bounces off the cold concrete walls, chilling you to your core.

"For now, y/n. But remember, this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. You always come crawling back to me one way or another. You’re incapable of anything without me."

There was a time when you believed those words, but you will not fall back into that same vicious cycle.

Choosing not to respond, your resolve is sharpened with one clear goal, getting Haru and yourself out of this building as quickly as possible.

The moment you clear through the lobby door, a shaky sigh escapes your lips. This day is already starting off with a bang—hopefully it goes much better at Satoru’s.

Forcing a smile for your frightened daughter, you try to mask the tears welling up in your eyes—the tremor in your voice quaking.

“Come on honey, let’s go meet Mr. Gojo.”

Time to get this marriage finalized.

ꨄ︎

You had expectations of what Satoru’s house would be like, but even those couldn’t hold a light to the real thing—it’s a stark contrast to the modest apartment you call home.

The meticulously manicured lawn, the pristine arcadian, and the large, ornate door all showcase opulence.

It’s far more luxurious than you had imagined, making you feel distinctly out of place as you step out of your car in your worn jeans and t-shirt, hair pulled up in a lazy bun.

Wait…should you have come dressed businesslike?

But you have Haru—was this supposed to be a professional meeting? Fuck.

On top of everything else, you’re already a few minutes late. Tardiness has become a tiresome trend in your life, one that exhausts you to your very core.

Traversing the entryway, Haru grips your hand tightly as you walk through the stone pathway. Her fingers tremble slightly, perhaps from the unsettling encounter with Naoya, or perhaps from the overwhelming new environment.

Nerves simmer through you once you approach the doorway, but you resolve to mask them. You weren’t going to let Naoya ruin your day—this meeting is your chance to retake control of your life.

As you reach out and press the doorbell, a soft melodic chime resonates, echoing through the spacious foyer beyond.

Within moments, the door swings open, revealing Satoru.

You immediately feel a sense of relief as you observe him dressed surprisingly casual—a fitted blue t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and lean frame, paired with dark jeans that hug his long legs. His snowy hair remains tousled in that effortlessly stylish way, framing his strikingly handsome face.

It’s impossible to advert your eyes as he greets you with that familiarly confident smile curling upon his lips, and those vivid blue eyes, enchanting you with an intriguing glint.

“Hm, late again, I see,” Satoru teases, dramatically placing a hand over his heart as if wounded with an exaggerated sigh. “I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show up. Here I was, thinking you might divorce me before we even get married—” he stops, lifting his brow as his gaze shifts to the small figure peeking out from behind your legs.

“Well, well, and who is this?”

Haru’s wide eyes are filled with curiosity and apprehension. She peeps out nervously, clutching her plushie’s worn, familiar fabric for comfort.

Satoru’s smile softens as he looks at the little girl, but a twinge of uncertainty tugs at him internally. Children were a mystery to him, their emotions and reactions unpredictable.

What should he say? How should he act?

A flicker of fear crosses his mind—what if he says the wrong thing and makes her cry?

Oh God…

The thought of dealing with a child's tears makes him feel out of his depth, a sensation he’s not accustomed to. Satoru finds himself in unfamiliar territory. He’s used to commanding rooms and negotiating high-stake deals, not interacting with shy children clutching stuffed toys.

But faking confidence has always worked in the business world, and he is determined to make a good impression now.

As you notice Haru’s uncertainty, you gently caress her head, delicately coaxing her out from behind your legs.

"It’s okay, sweetie. This is Mr. Gojo, can you say hi?"

There is an air about you—the gentle ease in your voice, the way you instinctively know how to comfort Haru. It stirs something within Satoru, something he can’t quite place.

All he knows it that now he really doesn’t want to fuck this up.

"I’m really sorry for bringing her along," you begin, tone earnest as you meet Satoru with an apologetic gaze. "I hope it’s okay. I just didn’t have anyone who could watch her today. But she’ll keep to herself during our meeting, I promise."

Satoru’s expression softens further as he looks at Haru, his uncertainty momentarily forgotten. She is so fragile, so docile. In her delicate features, he sees an uncanny resemblance to you—a small reflection of your strength and vulnerability intertwined.

“Oh, it’s no problem at all,” he reassures softly. Crouching down to her level, his toothy smile is warm and inviting. “Hi there, I’m Satoru. What’s your name?”

Haru looks up at you for reassurance, her small hand tightening around your leg. Encouraged by your nod, she turns back to Satoru and whispers tentatively—

“Haru.”

Satoru grins, captivated by the softness and delicacy of Haru's voice. Though he is uncertain how to connect with a child. His mind races—

What do kids like?

What should he say next?

While his thoughts scramble, a spark of an idea forms the moment he observes Haru clutching Pikachu.

“Nice to meet you, Haru. Do you like Pokémon?”

Haru nods, her grip on the plushie relaxing slightly. There is a subtle warmth behind the apprehension in her eyes as she holds up her Pikachu toy to show Satoru.

“Yes, Pikachu.”

“Pikachu is pretty cool,” he lets out a contemplative hum as he tries to find common ground. A faint nostalgic smile plays on his features. “But you know, Digimon is even better. Have you ever heard of Agumon?”

Haru’s eyes widen with curiosity as she shakes her head, her interest clearly piqued.

Satoru’s inner child shines through—eyes sparkling with a genuine enthusiasm as his lips curl up into a grin. This is his chance to bridge the gap between them.

“Tell ya what, maybe we can watch some Digimon together sometime. How’s that sound?”

You feel Haru’s grip loosen on your leg. A faint smile touches her lips and a quiet giggle escapes as her initial shyness begins to slowly fade.

“Okay.”

There are many thoughts that come to your mind as you watch this interaction play out—the foremost being how unexpectedly gentle Satoru can be with kids. Something about him, that overconfident and sometimes arrogant man you’ve worked beside, feels different now. Almost likable.

Charming, even

But what you really can’t fathom the most is the image of a sophisticated billionaire engrossed in a kids’ cartoon. That concept alone is enough to make you suppress a laugh.

“You’re a fan of Digimon?” you raise an eyebrow.

Satoru stands up, brushing off his knees with a nonchalant shrug and a crooked smile.

“I used to watch it all the time growing up. Please, come in,” he ushers you inside the building, leading you down the grand hall.

Your breath hitches at the sight of the expansive foyer. The high ceiling, polished marble floors, and impressive chandelier casting a warm glow leave you speechless.

Following behind him, you find yourself studying Satoru’s confident strides—the movement of his back, his broad shoulders and the effortless air of authority he exudes. It’s a stark contrast to what you just witnessed moments ago with Haru.

But that alone makes him even more intriguing to you. Satoru can feel a bit like a wild card. Glimpses of tenderness hidden behind feigned aloofness—subtle playfulness followed by an exacting seriousness.

He keeps surprising you.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Digimon fan,” you remark as you follow behind him.

Satoru chuckles, scratching the back of his head.

“Guilty as charged.”

You can’t help but notice the way he avoids your gaze—is he perhaps being… bashful?

Oh, this is rich.

You really would need an abundance of limbs to count on your hands the amount of times Satoru has given you shit—making your life a daily torture is his specialty after all. Perhaps that is why you couldn’t resist letting this opportunity pass up.

“Next thing you’ll tell me is that you have a secret stash of Digimon cards somewhere,” you snort.

Satoru lets out a contemplative hum.

“Well, I did have a pretty impressive collection back in the day. Who knows, maybe I still have them tucked away in a drawer somewhere.”

“Seriously?” you are unable to hide the amusement in your voice. “You, with a collection of Digimon cards? That’s something I’d pay to see.”

He rolls his eyes with a pout tugging on his lips.

“You’re enjoying this too much. Maybe I’ll dig them out for you one day. But only if you’re nice.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Me, nice to you? That’s a tall order.”

A faint chuckle leaves Satoru’s lips as the spacious foyer transitions into a grand hallway. Haru skips beside you, glancing up at Satoru with a newfound admiration.

The moment you reach a large set of intricately carved wooden doors, he pauses, turning to you with a reassuring smile before pushing them open.

Inside, a cozy yet sophisticated study awaits—shelves lined with books and a large mahogany desk dominating the room.

“Yo, Suguru,” he waves flippantly, “this is y/n and her daughter, Haru.”

Your eyes are met with a man seated behind the desk—a calm and composed air about him. He is strikingly beautiful, raven hair tied back into a bun with louse tousles framing his face. As he looks up from a stack of papers, his sharp yet gentle eyes focus on you and Haru. He rises, extending a hand with a polite smile.

“Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Suguru Geto.”

“Nice to meet you as well,” you shake his hand with a subtle nod.

The presence of another stranger causes Haru’s shyness to return as she hides behind your legs again—you kneel down, smoothing her hair gently.

“Haru,” you pull out a small bag of her favorite toys from your duffle bag, “why don’t you take a seat over there and play with your toys while Mommy talks with Mr. Gojo and Mr. Geto?”

With a light nod, Haru takes the bag and settles into a comfortable armchair in the corner of the room—spreading out her treasures with a look of concentration.

You take a seat across from Suguru, with Satoru sinking into the chair beside you—posture relaxed and seemingly indifferent.

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” Suguru leans forward, “I’ve drafted the marriage contract based on the discussions I’ve had with Satoru. I’ll walk you through the main points.”

Referencing the document upon the desk, he begins.

“Firstly, as you both know, the purpose of this marriage is strictly business-related with no romantic implications. Both parties agree to maintain the appearance of a committed relationship in public and professional settings.”

Okay, easy—right?

You nod, but in the corner of your eye you can see Satoru lounging back in his chair. The mild disinterest on his face and the nonchalant way he twirls a pen between his fingers makes you grit your teeth.

He carries a casual attitude—one you shouldn’t be surprised with at this point because it’s the same infuriating aura he brings to every business meeting. But in this case, it’s a stark contrast to the gravity of this conversation. Here you are, discussing marriage and he’s sitting here as if you’re determining what to eat for lunch.

Yup, nothing’s changed. He still aggravates the hell out of you.

“Next, the duration of the marriage is set for one year, starting from the date of signing,” Suguru continues. “There are provisions for extending or terminating the marriage early, should both parties agree.”

You absorb every word as you listen intently, but Satoru seems to be in his own world. It takes all your self-control not to roll your eyes as you catch him leaning back further into his chair, now balancing it on two legs. He taps his pen against his lip thoughtfully—an indifferent expression plastered across his face.

Is he even listening?

Here you are, about to commit to a fake marriage for the sake of your job and your daughter, and Satoru looks like a bored child.

You shoot him a sideways glance, silently willing him to take this more seriously, but the moment he catches your eye he simply offers a lazy wink, making your blood boil even more.

Suguru, unfazed by Satoru's demeanor, continues outlining the contract.

“The financial arrangements are next…Satoru will include a monthly allowance to you, y/n, to cover personal and household expenses. Both parties will maintain separate bank accounts, and any joint financial decisions require mutual consent.”

You blink in surprise. A monthly allowance?

Though you had asked Satoru to cover child care, you weren’t expecting this level of financial support. Isn’t that a bit excessive?

“Wait, what?” you blurt out, unable to hide your astonishment. “A monthly allowance? For personal and household expenses?”

Satoru’s chair drops back onto all four legs with a soft thud as he leans forward, finally showing a hint of interest. He raises an eyebrow at your reaction, a lazy smile curling his lips.

“We wouldn’t want you or Haru to struggle, now, would we?”

His words sound almost considerate, but it’s the casual way he says them that makes you question his sincerity.

“Some might see you being my secretary as a conflict of interest now. You’ll still work beside me, but I can’t give you a formal salary for that role. Doing it this way ensures that all you have to worry about is playing your part. Besides,” he adds, a hint of amusement creeping back into his voice, “what kind of husband would I be if I didn’t support my wife?”

Raising an eyebrow, you shoot him a wary look, trying to gauge his true intentions. It makes sense… but is he mocking you, or is this his way of showing genuine concern? With Satoru, it’s always hard to tell.

Suguru clears his throat, drawing your attention back to the contract.

“Moving on to the living arrangements, you will both reside in the marital home here.”

Satoru interrupts, tone almost too nonchalant as he leans back in his chair and lazily stretches, “I’ve already arranged for a moving company to pack your things in a few days. They’ll handle everything.”

You blink, the suddenness of it all sinking in.

“Huh?”

“Problem, sweetheart?”

“I... I didn’t realize I’d be moving in so… soon. What about my apartment? I have a lease, and breaking it will incur a penalty.”

He waves off your concern with a dismissive hand, leaning back further with hands casually behind his head.

“I’ll pay it. Consider it handled. No point in you staying there when you’re supposed to be living here.”

Your eyes widen, taken aback by his insouciant dismissal of what, to you, is a significant expense.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. We need to make this look legitimate, and that means living together. Consider it part of the arrangement.”

To him, solving problems with money seamed effortless.

To you, this isn’t just a contract; it’s a complete upheaval of your life.

You’re starting to really feel the difference in your two worlds.

The abruptness is a bit overwhelming, and yet, Satoru seems to handle it with the same ease he applies to all his business dealings.

It’s a bit unnerving. It’s not that you aren’t grateful, but you can’t help but wonder…does he pity you? See you as a charity act?

Suguru, sensing your hesitation, interjects your thoughts with a soothing tone,

“It’s important for appearances that you both share a residence. It solidifies the arrangement in the eyes of your colleagues and the public.”

You take a deep breath, nodding again. “Right, I understand.”

Suguru nods, making a note on the document.

“Good. Now, let’s move on to the responsibilities and obligations. You’re both expected to attend public and social functions, maintaining the façade of a loving marriage.”

Satoru who still remains leaned in his chair, now has his head tilted back, looking up towards the ceiling.

"Oh, and by the way," he begins, eyes flicking to you while his posture remains unmoved, "we'll be getting married at the courthouse tomorrow to make things official on paper. Our public ceremony will be a grand affair, but it will come later to keep the media satisfied and appease everyone."

Tomorrow?

You give a hesitant nod, absorbing the rapid pace at which your life is changing.

“Alright…tomorrow.”

Suguru flips to the next page, “In terms of termination, either party can initiate it with a 30-day notice. Grounds for early termination include breach of contract or mutual consent. Upon termination, Satoru will provide a one-time settlement payment to you, y/n.”

You blink as Suguru pushes the contract towards you, the settlement amount highlighted in bold. Did Satoru add a few extra zeros by mistake? That number can’t be correct, right?

You glance up at Satoru, who is now inspecting his nails with a look of utter boredom.

“Is this…correct?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru looks up, meeting your eyes with a casual shrug.

“Yeah, it’s correct. Consider it a thank you for playing along.”

You shake your head slightly, trying to wrap your mind around the figure. This settlement could change your life, secure Haru’s future, and give you the stability you’ve been desperately seeking.

You could pay off your medical bills for the childbirth, could go back to school. Hell, you could be free of Naoya, you wouldn’t need him or his money.

You narrow your eyes, suspicious of his sudden generosity.

"And what’s the catch?”

Satoru chuckles, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand.

"Come on now, sweetheart. Just think of it as me taking care of my...business partner."

Suguru clears his throat, glancing between the two of you.

“Well, there is one additional detail, y/n. The settlement is contingent on maintaining a favorable public image. Any actions or behaviors that damage Satoru’s reputation would result in the forfeiture of all financial support and settlement funds.”

You blink, the implications dawning on you. Ah, of course there would be a condition—you knew better than to think he was just being generous.

“So… I’m responsible for upholding your image? What does that even mean?”

Satoru’s crooked grin widens.

“It means no scandals, no controversies. You play the part of the perfect spouse, attend events, smile for the cameras, and keep any...personal indiscretions out of the spotlight. Simple enough, right?”

Your stomach churns as you realize the depth of his control—you thought you were escaping Naoya’s grasp, but it seems control is still a prevalent force in your life.

This isn’t just a marriage of convenience; it’s a binding agreement that keeps you in line with his public persona, ensuring that any slip-up on your part will have dire financial consequences.

A part of you can’t blame him, though. It makes sense for him to take extra precautions. The Gojos have always been in the public eye, and there have been countless rumors about Satoru's refusal to settle down.

“What if something happens that’s out of my control? What if someone tries to smear my name?”

Satoru’s eyes harden slightly, though his smile remains.

“We’ll handle that on a case-by-case basis. But let’s just say I have ways of managing the media. You just need to play your part, nothing more.”

The calculated control in his tone, juxtaposed with his unwavering smile, makes your skin prickle with unease. The room feels suddenly colder, and a knot tightens in your stomach. You thought you were stepping into a partnership, but now it feels like a performance where one wrong move could cost you dearly.

Suguru interjects, his tone professional.

“This clause is essential for protecting both your interests and Satoru’s. Maintaining a positive public image is crucial for the success of this arrangement and for avoiding any complications that could arise from negative publicity.”

You take a deep breath—this was a gamble. The settlement would secure Haru’s future, your future, but your every move would be scrutinized, and any misstep could strip away the stability you desperately needed.

Your eyes wander to Haru, quietly and innocently playing with her toys. For her sake, you were willing to play Satoru’s game, even if it meant living under the constant pressure of his expectations.

“Alright,” you say firmly. “I agree to the terms.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker with satisfaction and Suguru leans forward sliding a pen towards you both.

“Good. If you both agree to these terms, we can proceed with the signing.”

You observe Satoru as he reaches for the pen—he is back to that usual air of nonchalance; it is almost unsettling. He signs the document with a flourish, barely glancing at the terms, and you envy his composure.

When he hands you the pen, meeting your eyes with a confident smile, you hesitate for a second—then, with a determined snatch, you take the pen from his delicate hand.

Holding your breath, you press the pen to paper and sign your name in one fell swoop. Each stroke of the pen feels heavy, final, but also strangely empowering.

No turning back now.

ꨄ︎

The courthouse ceremony was as brief and impersonal as you expected.

Something about Haru witnessing you legally enter into a fake marriage just didn’t feel right—so you opted to leave her with Satoru’s nanny.

Standing in front of the judge, reciting vows, and signing the official documents felt more like a business transaction than a wedding.

Glancing at Satoru, you couldn't help but feel a bit solemn as you observed him, his expression as indifferent as ever.

This wasn't the fairy tale wedding you once dreamed of. There was no crowd, no rings, no romantic gestures—just a legal agreement with a pen on paper, binding you to him for the next year.

But then again, you knew that coming into this—it was never about romance or dreams; it was about survival and securing a future for Haru.

It was over as quickly as it began—just like that, the judge declared you husband and wife, immediately leaving you alone with Satoru right after.

Noticing your serious expression, Satoru leans in slightly as you gather the official documents.

"You look like you're attending a funeral, not a wedding Mrs. Gojo," his voice drips with playful mockery.

Hearing him call you ‘Mrs. Gojo’ sends a shiver down your spine. That was going to take some getting used to.

“And you look like you’re at a board meeting, not your wedding, Mr. Gojo,” you retort, unable to hide the underlying bite in your voice as your fingers shuffle through the pages.

A deep chuckle reverberates through the otherwise solemn atmosphere. Once you tuck the documents under your arm, you begin to make your way towards the exit. Satoru immediately falls into step beside you.

“Touché. But really, lighten up sweetheart. Gonna need to work harder to convince everyone you’re head over heels in love with me,” there’s a playful challenge in his voice.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh.

“Well, forgive me for not swooning over this magical moment. You know, this isn't exactly how I pictured my wedding day," you mutter, trying to mask the internal melancholy whirling within you.

When you reach for the door, Satoru beats you to it, holding it open with a flourish.

"Oh? And how did you picture it?” he raises an eyebrow as his eyes gleam in amusement, “Let me guess, lots of flowers, a big white dress, and some poor guy professing his undying love for you?"

Okay, screw him. He was really not making this any better. You feel the heat rise to your face as a scoff escapes your lips—the only response you will give him.

Brushing past him, your heels click against the polished floors through the marble halls of the courthouse. As you glance to the tall, ornate windows lining the corridor, the sunlight streams through, casting intricate patterns.

“Hmm, think I guessed right,” he chuckles as he saunters after you.

“And what if you did?” you snap, voice echoing in the grand space. “Is it so weird for me to want a normal family for my daughter?”

The teasing glint in his eyes dim as his expression softens slightly. Once you reach the elevator, Satoru presses the button—the two of you wait in an awkward silence.

The moment the elevator door slides open, you both step inside, the quiet hum of the machinery enveloping you.

“No, it’s not weird. It’s just... different from what I’ve ever thought about,” he says while he presses the button to the lobby.

You huff, crossing your arms as you lean against the back of the elevator.

“What, Mr. Perfect never thought about settling down?”

Satoru's gaze drifts for a moment as he considers your question. The elevator begins its descent, the soft whirl filling the silence.

“Honestly? No, I never did. My father used to pressure me about it all the time. Wanted me to marry someone who could... 'enhance' our family’s status.” He was contemplative, and the echoes of old frustrations are clear in his voice.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden openness.

The rumors about Satoru had always painted him as a carefree bachelor, uninterested in the constraints of marriage.

Some said he was too focused on his career, while others whispered that he enjoyed his freedom too much to settle down. There were even speculations that he had a hidden lover, or perhaps he was waiting for the perfect match to come along, someone who could stand by his side both in business and in life.

“…and you never found anyone who fit the bill?”

He chuckles, a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Plenty of candidates. None that I wanted to spend my life with. Plus, all those ‘suitable matches’ were just women trying to get their hands on the Gojo fortune. Most people just see the money and power. They don't see the person behind it.”

The vulnerability in his eyes is fleeting, and you realize that his father’s expectations must have weighed heavily on him. The pressure to find someone was not about love or companionship—it was about maintaining an image, a legacy. In a way, you both have been victims to control your entire lives.

As the depth of his frustrations become more apparent, you feel a pang of sympathy. It’s enough to make you wonder about the real Satoru. The elevator continues its descent, and you find yourself lingering on his words.

“That sounds... difficult. So why did you go through with this then? With me?”

His gaze softens; his expression thoughtful as he watches the numbers descending the floor levels. He tilts his head slightly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Because you’re different. You didn’t come to me looking for wealth or status. You needed help, and I needed a solution. It’s honest, in a way. No hidden agendas, no false pretenses.”

A nervous flutter dances in your stomach, your fingers fidgeting with the folder of documents in your hands. The softness in his words catch you off guard, and you find it difficult to maintain eye contact.

A small, rueful smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“In a world where everyone wants something from me, I find your straightforwardness refreshing.”

Your heart skips as a warm blush creeps up your cheeks.

“I never thought you’d see it that way. I just... I wanted to do what was best for Haru.”

“And that’s what makes you different,” he replies softly. “You’re doing this for her, not for yourself. That’s why I agreed to this. Because I believe you’re sincere.”

The elevator chimes softly as it reaches the ground floor and the doors slide open to reveal the bustling courthouse lobby.

The weight of the conversation settles between you, a rare moment of vulnerability that made you see Satoru in a new light—a glimpse into his inner world.

The moment you near the courthouse door, you and Satoru push it open in an attempt to exit, but are immediately greeted by a barrage of flashing cameras and shouted questions. Paparazzi swarm around you, seeming to have materialized out of nowhere—how did they even know where to find you both?

Satoru, ever the master of public appearances, wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. His touch is warm and firm, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart through his suit.

The sensation of his hand resting securely on your hip sends a tingle through your body, a fluttering in your stomach—you realize now that this is the first time he has touched you.

“Smile for the cameras, Mrs. Gojo,” he whispers into your ear, breath tickling your skin.

You blink, heat rising to your face as you’re momentarily caught off guard by the sudden display of affection. But you quickly compose yourself, remembering the role you have to play.

Leaning into him slightly, you offer a shy smile to the cameras. The flashes intensify and the questions grow louder.

“Mr. Gojo why are you in a courthouse?”

“Mr. Gojo, what is the status of Gojo Corporation?”

“Who is this woman Mr. Gojo?”

“What is your statement on your father’s passing?”

As the paparazzi continue to snap photos and shout questions, Satoru leans down and presses a quick, gentle kiss to your temple. His lips were soft, and the warmth of his breath burned your skin. The gesture, though small, sends a shiver down your spine.

It was all for show, you reminded yourself. Just part of the act.

Yet, the unexpected intimacy lingered, making it hard to ignore the way your heart raced at his touch.

Satoru’s kiss had worked perfectly, fueling the media frenzy. The paparazzi went wild at the tender action—camera flashes intensifying and voices growing louder. They call out more questions, desperate to capture every angle of the seemingly affectionate moment. You feel the eyes of the crowd boring into you.

“Let’s get out of here,” Satoru murmurs, voice low and soothing amidst the chaos.

He reaches out, hand warm and firm as he interlocks his fingers with yours, gently guiding you through the throng of reporters towards the waiting car. His other arm subtly shields you from the crowd.

As you finally break free from the mass of flashing cameras and shouting voices, you slide into the car, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as Satoru slides beside you immediately after.

Glancing back at the courthouse, the reality of your new life begins to sink in. Once the car pulls away, a breath escapes you—one you didn’t realize you had been holding in.

“That was... intense.”

Satoru chuckles, arm resting behind your shoulder. He tilts his head slightly, allowing a few tousles of white hair to fall into his eyes. Through the soft strands, his gaze meets yours, a mix of amusement and seriousness dancing in his striking blue eyes.

“Welcome to my world," he murmurs. "Better get used to it, sweetheart. This is just the beginning.”

ꨄ︎

The following day, a moving company arrived at your apartment as promised—they packed up your belongings with swift efficiency, leaving you feeling like a spectator in your own life.

Watching your life be boxed up and loaded into trucks was bittersweet—as your small apartment, with its familiar creaks and cracks, had been your safe haven.

Everything was arranged, down to the smallest detail. By mid-afternoon, you found yourself standing in the grand foyer of Satoru’s mansion once again, this time with all your worldly possessions.

Haru, wide-eyed and excited, clung to your side, her tiny fingers wrapped around your hand.

"Welcome to your new home," Satoru says with a grin.

It felt more like stepping into a palace than a home.

He reaches down and grabs one of your suitcases, lifting it effortlessly,

"Let me show you to our room."

You feel your face heat up instantly.

"Our room?" you stammer. "Why would we need to share a room when no one is here to watch this charade?"

Satoru's grin widens, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

"Relax, I'm just teasing you. You have your own room. I just wanted to see your reaction."

You shoot him a glare, feeling a mix of relief and annoyance.

“You're impossible," you mutter, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

He chuckles, leading you up the grand staircase, and Haru follows closely, her eyes darting around in awe at the luxurious decor. The polished marble steps feel cool underneath you, and the ornate banisters gleam under the soft lighting.

"Come on, let me show you around." Satoru says as he leads the way down a long corridor.

The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries and framed artwork, each piece more exquisite than the last.

Eventually, Satoru stops in front of a set of double doors, turning to you with a small, satisfied smile.

"Here we are."

He pushes them open to reveal a spacious bedroom. The room beautifully furnished, with a large bed, elegant drapes, and a balcony overlooking the manicured gardens below.

"This is your room," he announces, setting your suitcase down gently.

"Wow," you breathe.

It feels a bit overwhelming the moment you step foot inside. Haru, on the other hand, darts past you, exploring every nook and cranny with a delighted giggle. It was easily twice the size of your old apartment.

"This is beautiful... and a lot."

Satoru leans against the doorframe, arms casually crossing over his chest.

The soft light from the chandelier above casts a gentle glow on his features, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips. His white hair, tousled just enough to seem effortlessly stylish, frames his face perfectly.

"Only the best for my... business partner," he says, tone light yet carrying a hint of something deeper.

You offer a simple, "Thanks," but your voice is softer than you intended. Your eyes betray you, lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary.

Satoru's eyes hold yours with a softness that catches you off guard—a striking shade of blue that seems almost ethereal. In that moment, you couldn't help but notice the intensity and warmth in his gaze, it’s almost tender, making you feel like anything but just a ‘business partner’.

Was he always this beautiful?

You can’t help but wonder, feeling a warmth spread through you as the silence stretches on. The moment feels strangely intimate, a connection forming that neither of you expected.

Crap. What are you thinking?

Haru’s giggle breaks the spell as she jumps on your bed.

"Oh, and just so you know," he adds with a playful glint in his eye, "my room is right next door. We share the bathroom, so try not to hog all the hot water."

You blink, surprised. "We have to share a bathroom?"

Curiosity getting the better of you, you open the bathroom door and peer inside.

It was equally impressive, with a large tub and walk-in shower, all in pristine condition. The fixtures gleam, and the marble countertop adds a touch of luxury. There was another door leading directly to Satoru’s room, a constant reminder of his proximity.

"Yep. Just think of it as our first test of marital bliss. Can we survive sharing a bathroom?" Satoru's voice was suddenly closer.

You turn to find him standing right behind you, having moved from his previous spot at the doorframe. The idea of sharing such a personal space with him was a bit unnerving. An awkwardly intimate setup for such a detached relationship, but you didn't have much of a choice.

"…I suppose I'll manage.”

Satoru laughs softly.

"That's the spirit. And don't worry, Haru's room is right across from us. She's got the best room in the house actually," he adds, tilting his head to the side as a cue for you to follow him.

Haru trails excitedly behind as you walk through the luxurious hallway, her giggles echo off the walls. Opening the door, you peek inside and are struck by the sheer extravagance of it.

The room was a child’s dream—decorated in soft pastel colors, with a canopy bed draped in delicate lace, plush toys neatly arranged on shelves, and even a small play area complete with a dollhouse and a set of building blocks. The walls were adorned with whimsical murals of fairies and woodland creatures, creating a magical atmosphere that seemed straight out of a storybook.

Haru's delighted squeals bring a smile to your face, easing the last of your worries.

It was clear that Satoru had spared no expense in making her feel welcome. Each detail spoke of thoughtfulness and care, from the cozy reading nook to the vibrant rainbow-colored rug that added a playful touch to the room. How on earth did he pull all this off so quickly?

“Wow, look, Mama!” she exclaims, her eyes lighting up with joy, running inside to inspect her new haven.

A sense of relief washes over you as a tender smile forms upon your lips. At least Haru would be happy here. The sight of her so animated and cheerful makes the transition a bit easier to bear. Satoru stands beside you.

“I wanted her to feel at home," he says softly, eyes reflecting a rare sincerity.

“You've done more than that. She's ecstatic," you reply, watching Haru dive into a pile of stuffed animals with a gleeful laugh.

Satoru clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, the gesture uncharacteristically awkward. He glances at the clock on the wall, as if searching for an excuse to end the moment.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," his tone is gentle and almost hesitant. "Let me know if you need anything. Dinner will be ready soon, see you down there?”

His usual confidence is somewhat muted—you wonder, is it you? Haru?

"Yeah,” you nod, “I’m going to put a few of my things away and then we’ll meet you downstairs."

“Right. Take your time. There's no rush."

You can’t help but replay the interaction in your mind as you unpack the essentials from your suitcase. The awkwardness between you and Satoru would pass, you hope. For now, it was enough to know that Haru is happy and safe.

Haru’s laughter echoes from her room, a sound that brings a smile to your face. She seemed to be adjusting much faster than expected, her innocent joy undiminished by the upheaval.

And to you, her laughter solidified it—marrying Satoru, this was the right call.

ꨄ︎

The past few days living with Satoru had been a whirlwind of adjustments—it wasn’t without its challenges. The mansion, with its sprawling rooms and luxurious decor, is more like a museum than a home.

The sheer size makes you feel small and out of place at times, and the constant presence of staff make it difficult to find a moment of privacy.

Satoru, however, had been surprisingly considerate. He’s a constant reminder of the delicate balance you need to maintain—attentive yet reserved, playful yet serious, a paradox that kept you on edge.

Your interactions with Satoru had settled into a routine of polite, if somewhat distant, cohabitation. There were moments of unexpected tenderness, like when he had found you struggling to open a jar in the kitchen and had stepped in to help with a playful grin.

Another time, you had been overwhelmed while trying to assemble a new toy for Haru, and Satoru had quietly taken a seat beside you, helping to figure out the instructions without a word.

Yet despite these moments, there was always an underlying tension, a reminder of the unusual circumstances that had brought you together.

As the days passed, the impending charity gala loomed larger in your mind—the first public event you would attend together as a married couple.

Satoru had taken the time to sit down with you and discuss how you would present yourselves, a task that seemed daunting but necessary.

You agreed on the basics: stay close, exchange subtle touches, and share occasional whispers to create an air of intimacy. The plan was straightforward, but the execution would be another matter entirely.

He emphasized the importance of appearing united, offering tips on how to handle the media and the probing questions that were sure to come. His confidence and ease in handling the media was something you were learning to lean on, though the pressure of maintaining the charade weighed heavily on you.

“What about Haru?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

“We’ll leave her out of the spotlight,” Satoru replied gently. “I don’t want to overwhelm her. She takes no part in this agreement beyond being your daughter. She’ll stay here with the nanny during the event.”

Amidst all this, your phone had been buzzing constantly with missed calls from Naoya. You hadn't answered any of them—maybe you should just call off the court case?

You did just go through a life changing event, marriage, and that often interferes with the legal process anyways. The judge would need to take into consideration your new source of income for the child support payments.

Honestly, you don’t need Naoya’s support anymore.

You’ll take care of that after the gala though—right now you already have too much on your plate, spending hours with Satoru, fabricating shared experiences and finding common ground to make your relationship believable.

The task of memorizing details about his likes and dislikes, his habits, and his quirks was daunting, but you found yourself surprised at the small details you were beginning to remember about him—the way he took his coffee, his favorite late-night snack, the way his eyes crinkled just slightly when he found something genuinely funny, or how he would absentmindedly run a hand through his tousled white hair when deep in thought.

As the days slipped by in a blur of preparations and rehearsed smiles, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this carefully constructed façade was starting to take on a life of its own. Each shared glance and each moment of unexpected kindness blurred the lines between reality and pretense, leaving you wondering just how deep this charade would go.

ꨄ︎

Standing in front of your bathroom mirror, you adjust the luxurious dress Satoru had picked out for you. A deep, elegant blue fabric clings to your curves in all the right places, and the V-shaped open back that rests above your hips adds a touch of allure.

Loose cascading waves frame your face perfectly, and the professional makeup artist gave you a look that is both subtle and glamorous, enhancing your features in a way the felt natural yet striking.

You barely recognize yourself.

The transformation was astonishing, turning you from a frazzled single mother into a vision of sophistication and grace.

Was it too much? You feel out of sorts, like you’re wearing someone else's skin. The elegant image in the mirror is both thrilling and unnerving.

As you try to steady your racing heart, a knock on the bathroom door makes you jump slightly—Satoru’s door.

“Y/n you ready?” his voice calls out.

With a deep breath, you take one last look in the mirror. As you open the door, Satoru’s frame leans casually against the entryway.

The sleek black tuxedo he is adorned in highlights his broad shoulder and lean frame. His white hair is perfectly styled, contrasting sharply with the dark fabric.

He meets you with a stunned silence—eyes widening slightly as he takes you in. The cool blue of his irises seem more vibrant, gleaming with anticipation as they trace over your form.

You had never seen his eyes linger across your figure like this before—the intensity of his gaze makes your stomach flutter. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you fear what will come out of his mouth.

Does he think it’s too much?

“Wow,” he breathes, voice almost reverent. “You look... stunning.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks at his unexpected compliment, and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze.

"Thank you," you say softly, smoothing down the fabric of your dress.

Satoru steps closer, eyes locked on you. He reaches out and gently lifts your chin, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“Seriously, you look amazing. I knew the dress would look good on you, but this... you’re going to be the star of the gala,” a slow smile spreads across his lips. “Ready to knock them dead?”

You nod, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your stomach.

“As ready as I’ll ever be…hopefully I can live up to the part.”

“You will,” offering you his arm, he adds, “Just be yourself, and stay by my side, we’re in this together."

ꨄ︎

The ride to the gala is filled with a comfortable silence.

The city lights blur outside the window as the car smoothly navigates through the streets. You find yourself stealing glances at Satoru, admiring the way his profile looks in the dim light.

Strange.

The usually insufferable man seemed different tonight—steadfast, dependable, almost... comforting? Perhaps it’s the nerves.

His arm rests casually behind you, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder, and you’re surprised yourself how it does not bother you—in fact, it’s actually quite soothing.

Once you arrive, the grand ballroom is a stunning sight. Chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the elegantly dressed crowd.

The room is filled with the city’s elite—a sea of luxurious gowns and tailored suits mingling and exchanging pleasantries. The sight of you and Satoru together was enough to turn heads, drawing curious and admiring glances.

But the sheer number of people, the pressure of playing your part, and the countless eyes watching your every move—it’s all a bit overwhelming. You really felt out of place here.

Sensing your unease, Satoru leans in close, breath warm against your ear.

“Remember, just follow my lead.”

Guiding you with ease, his hand rests lightly on the small of your back as you voyage through the attendees—the warm gentle touch is electric against your bare skin.

Your eyes skim through the herd of people and land on a waiter balancing a tray of champagne glasses. Perhaps a drink would ease your nerves? You don’t hesitate to grab a glass as you navigate the crowd.

Satoru, ever the socialite, seamlessly traverses the room, introducing you to important figures and engaging in small talk that you struggle to follow.

Discussions ranged from market trends and corporate mergers, to the latest charity galas and art exhibitions. Trying to keep up, you nod and smile at the appropriate moments.

It’s clear that Satoru is in his element—his charm, effortless. You find yourself admiring how easy he makes it all look.

As you cling to him, the pride in his eyes when he looks at you makes you feel like you belong, even if you are just playing a part in this elaborate charade.

The evening flowed smoothly enough, with your glass of champagne acting as a steady companion. The warmth of the alcohol helps you mingle with guests, exchange polite conversations, and stay close to Satoru, all as planned. But each interaction was a delicate dance—your smiles and nods masking the nerves simmering beneath the surface.

Honestly, your mind was elsewhere—there is an undercurrent of anxiety as you anticipate Satoru’s announcement on stage, where he would publicly acknowledge your marriage during his donation speech.

When the moment you had been dreading finally arrives, you settle into a chair near the front, heart pounding in your chest.

Satoru takes the stage with a natural grace, and as the spotlight illuminates his striking figure, his presence commands the attention of everyone in the room.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice resonating with a confident authority. “I want to thank you all for being here tonight. Your generosity and support make events like this possible.”

His words flow smoothly as he speaks eloquently about the cause and significance of the charity, each sentence perfectly crafted to engage and inspire—you marveled at his ability to enthrall people.

Pressing your champagne glass to your lips, you desperately hope the cool liquid can help to steady your nerves a bit more.

Then, the moment came.

“I will be donating ten million dollars to this charity,” Satoru announces, his voice carrying a conviction.

The amount causes a ripple of excitement and murmurs to spread through the crowd—you nearly choked on your champagne in shock.

Ten million?

You couldn’t even fathom having that much money, let alone donating it. The magnitude of Satoru’s status is staggering.

A smile tugs at Satoru’s lips—a genuine warmth mingling with the mischievous glint in his eyes. He pauses, letting the impact of his words settle, then lifts a finger to tap his chin contemplatively, as if he just remembered something.

“Or should I say, we will be donating—me and my lovely wife.”

Satoru gestures in your direction as a spotlight beams upon you. The crowd erupts into an enthusiastic applause, causing your heart to race the moment all eyes instantly turn to you.

There is a rush of heat that rises to your cheeks, mixing with the warmth of the alcohol. The weight of the crowd’s gaze makes your vision a bit blurry.

Beckoning you to join him on stage, Satoru extends his hand and offers a comforting smile. Though, the moment you stand, the room spins slightly—perhaps it’s from the champagne, or perhaps it’s the sheer pressure.

You can’t fuck this up.

With as much grace as you can muster, you make your way to the platform.

Satoru wraps an arm around your waist the moment you are at his side, pulling you close and steadying your trembling figure. He looks down into your eyes with a genuine look of endearment.

“Everyone, please welcome my beautiful wife, y/n,” he says softly in the microphone, his voice filled with a gentle pride.

The applause swells, and you manage a smile, trying to focus on Satoru while ignoring the spotlight’s heat and the intense gazes of attendees.

Leaning in, his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “You’re doing great.”

Despite the orchestrated nature of your relationship, in this moment, his genuine reassurance means everything. His presence is a steady anchor in the sea of faces and flashing cameras, the only thing holding you together right now.

When the applause dies down, Satoru continues his speech, the warmth of his hand remaining on your waist as his thumb traces soft circles.

You can barely focus on his words, the dizzying reality of where you’re standing feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

The moment Satoru’s speech concludes, the soft hum of conversation mingling and the delicate notes of the live orchestra begin to fill the air yet again. Satoru leads you off the stage, his hand never leaving your side.

Almost immediately after you descend to the floor, Satoru is approached by a business associate, his demeanor shifting effortlessly into that of a seasoned negotiator as they exchange discussions of market trends, potential collaborations, and strategic ventures.

Your heart is still pounding—public speaking was never your strong suit. Despite not needing to speak, being on that stage stirred something within you.

You recall a particularly disastrous presentation in college where you accidentally knocked over the projector, sending your notes flying across the room. The laughter from the audience still haunts you, and since then, you’ve always dreaded being the center of attention.

With Satoru engrossed in conversation, you seize the opportunity to make your way to the bar—seeking a moment of reprieve. Another drink wouldn’t hurt, right?

The gleaming rows of crystal glasses and various bottles of wine and spirits catch your eye. You scan the selection, your gaze lingering on a particularly rich, deep red wine.

Deciding it’s exactly what you need to steady your nerves, you signal the bartender and opt for a glass of the robust vintage, savoring the thought of its smooth, calming flavor.

One glass turned into two—your nerves finally beginning to settle as the soothing effects of the alcohol take over your senses.

Realizing you’ve been away from Satoru for quite some time, you prepare to rejoin him—but just as you start to rise, a familiar, unwelcome voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Well, well, look who we have here,” Naoya sneers, leaning against the bar beside you, a glass of scotch swirling in his hand. “Didn’t expect to see you here, mingling with the high society.”

A chill runs down your spine and you heart drops. No amount of alcohol could have prepared you for this moment.

“Naoya,” you stiffen, clutching your wine glass tighter. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a swig of his scotch, emptying the glass and placing it down on the counter with a loud clink. Leaning closer into your space, his eyes narrow—a cold, cynical stare boring into you.

“I could ask you the same thing. This doesn’t seem like your usual scene. What’s your angle?”

Your breath quickens and you feel your pulse hammering in your chest. Adverting your gaze, your fingers brush against the rim of your wine glass.

“I’m sure you heard, I’m here with my husband, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business.”

The sneer he meets you with makes the room suddenly feel smaller, as if his presence is suffocating you.

“Husband, huh?” his eyes rake over you with contempt suspicion, “Quite the leap from where you were a few weeks ago. Is this some kind of game to you?”

Summoning your courage, you straighten your back and meet his gaze head-on.

“Not a game, Naoya. It’s called moving on. You should try it sometime. My life is no longer any of your concern.”

Taking a step closer, he looms over you—his voice lowering to a menacing whisper.

“I don’t buy it. This whole charade… you think I don’t know what you’re trying to pull?”

For a moment, you are frozen in place, the fear and control Naoya exerts paralyzing you. Your mind races, the implications of his words sinking in.

What if he exposes you?

What if this carefully constructed facade comes crashing down?

Before you can respond, you feel an arm slip around your waist, pulling you with practiced ease out of Naoya’s bubble and right beside Satoru.

“There you are, darling. Everything alright?”

His voice is smooth and warm, and his gaze flicks between you and Naoya, narrowing as he surveys the situation. The look on your face unsettles him—something feels off.

Naoya straightens himself, leaning against the bar with a supercilious smirk as he crosses his arms.

“Just catching up with an old friend. No harm in that, right?”

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” Satoru’s tone was light but laced with an underlying steel, “I’m y/n’s husband, Satoru Gojo.”

A scoff escapes Naoya as his eyes flash with irritation, but an unnerving smile remains upon his lips.

“Yes, I’ve heard. You certainly move fast, don’t you, y/n?”

Naoya can see right through you—you fell a flash of panic. Turning to Satoru, your eyes meet his with a silent plea for support. His expression softens and he gives you a reassuring nod while tightening his grip upon your waist.

“Well, when you know, you know,” Satoru says with a charming smile, “and we knew.”

Naoya snickers, running his hand through his hair in disbelief.

“Come on y/n. How did someone like you end up with someone like him? Seems... unlikely. You don’t belong here.”

Heat rises to your face and the sudden urge to shrink away overwhelms you—your heart dropping at the sting of Naoya’s words.

Suddenly, Satoru steps closer, creating a protective barrier between you and Naoya—the playful glint in his eyes gone, replaced with a cold, steely determination.

“Watch your mouth, you don’t get to talk to my wife like that.”

“I’m just stating the obvious,” Naoya shrugs, meeting Satoru’s glare with an indifference as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “She’s out of her league here.”

Satoru’s jaw tightens, his voice low and dangerously calm.

“If you think she’s out of her league, then you clearly don’t know her at all. You’re out of line. Y/n belongs here more than anyone. So, unless you have something worthwhile to say, I suggest you move along.”

“Is that so?” Naoya raises an eyebrow. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical. After all, you’ve always been a bit of a lone wolf, Satoru Gojo.”

Panic seizes you as Naoya’s observation hangs in the air. The last thing you need is for him to start spreading rumors or causing trouble. You realize you have to do something, and fast. Your mind races, desperately searching for a way to convince Naoya of your authenticity.

Summoning all the courage you can muster, you step forward, threading your arms around Satoru’s neck as you rest your forehead against his own. Your words are addressed to Naoya, but your eyes remain on Satoru the entire time, drawing strength from his steady gaze and the warmth of his touch.

“Satoru and I... we chose each other for reasons that go beyond what you see. We may have our differences, but we’re stronger together, and we have a connection that you can’t comprehend.”

Satoru’s eyes soften, reflecting a silent understanding and a shared resolve—his breath mingling with yours.

Feeling Naoya’s probing gaze, you know he won’t be easily convinced, and so, acting on impulse, you pull Satoru closer and crash your lips against his.

For a moment, Satoru seemed caught off guard. His eyes widened in surprise before they fluttered closed, his hands moving to rest on your hips. The world around you seemed to fade away as the kiss lingered, heat pooling in your stomach.

It was supposed to be a quick peck, just enough to sell the act. But the moment your lips met his, something shifted.

Perhaps you were emboldened by the alcohol, perhaps it was the need to be convincing, perhaps it was the way Satoru stood up for you—without thinking, you deepen the kiss, parting your lips and slipping your tongue into his mouth, making things more intimate than you originally intended.

You can feel Satoru tense for a moment, his surprise evident. But then, with a soft hum against your mouth he melts into the kiss, a hand moving to cup your face as he returns the intimacy with unexpected fervor—his other hand encircling around your waist, pulling you closer against him.

Your fingers thread through Satoru’s hair and the world around you seems to fade away—the only thing that mattered now was the heat radiating off of Satoru’s body, the warmth of his lips against yours, and the lingering sweet taste of the gala’s chocolate cake mingling with the wine on your tongue.

It was a moment that felt both incredibly real and utterly surreal.

When you finally pull back, you are both breathless. As you catch a flicker of something unreadable in Satoru’s half lidded eyes, for a brief moment, you forget about Naoya completely, about the act, about everything except the electric connection between you both.

Satoru's thumb gently caresses your cheek, his gaze softening.

Pulling yourself back to reality, you peer over to Naoya—his smug expression had vanished, replaced by a look of genuine surprise and irritation.

“As you can see, we’re very happy together,” you say sweetly, rubbing your nose against Satoru’s.

"Didn't think you were the type to move on so quickly," Naoya sneers.

A wave of exhilaration and embarrassment course through you as Naoya retreats back into the crowd. The kiss had done its job, but it had also left you with a lingering sense of uncertainty. Satoru’s touch is still warm on your skin—you can still taste him on your lips.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his concern genuine.

The question pulls you out of your thoughts, but his gaze does the opposite—your face flushes and it feels like your heart is going to pound out of your chest.

"Yeah. I... I just needed to convince him.."

Satoru studies you momentarily—knowing there is more to the story with Naoya. But he also knows now isn’t the time to pry.

He chuckles softly, his hand lingering on your waist.

“Well, I think you succeeded. That was... unexpected. You really went for it there,” he murmurs.

For a moment, it felt like you were playing a role, but the feelings stirring inside you were anything but fake.

"I'm sorry," you swallow hard, face flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to..."

“I didn’t mind,” he interjects, thumb brushing against your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine. “Just so you know, you did great. Better than I expected,” his voice low and husky.

Fuck.

You blink—Naoya is gone, but here Satoru is, still holding you so intimately, so intently.

The way he looks at you, the warmth in his touch, the tone of his voice—it makes you question the lines between reality and pretense.

“Didn’t know you had it in you.” Satoru hums, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. He leans in, his breath dancing on your lips, tantalizingly close. “But next time, let’s save the tongue for when we’re really alone, hm?”

What is he saying?

Your mind races, trying to decipher his words, his intentions. Was he still in character, or was there a hint of genuine desire in his eyes?

The electricity in the air was undeniable, and you find yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze—the crowd around you fading, their murmurs and whispers becoming a distant hum.

Satoru’s eyes held secrets you were desperate to uncover.

As you struggle to formulate your thoughts, Satoru’s hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along you jaw.

"Relax," he murmurs, "We're just putting on a show, remember?"

You nod, though your heart betrays you with its rapid pace.

“Right,” you whisper, forcing a smile. “Just a show.”

But deep down, you can’t shake the feeling that there was more to this act than either of you were willing to admit.

ahh i really enjoyed writing this chapter. okay, i was snickering at satoru's internal turmoil when he met haru for the first time. i couldn't resist with the digimon 🤭 my daughter is currently obsessed with pikachu so that's where that inspiration came from lol. also, this kiss was one of my favs to write 🥰 lemme know if you guys are interested in me making this a longer series. as always, thanks for reading 🫶🏻 → on to the next chapter ꨄ

taglist :

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

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@itzmeme @whodissbitj @kenmacantakemeaway @satoryaa

@kidd3ath @princessnai

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misstycloud · 3 months

Text

Shapeshifter x fem.reader

“Please stop.” You whimpered, shaking like a leaf.

The creature crouched down to your level and whispered in a soothing voice- it didn’t have the desired effect, though. “Why? Don’t be scared, I would never hurt you. There’s no need to be so frightened.”

“….just leave me alone..”

“No I can’t do that. I love you (Y/n). You’re everything to me. You don’t understand the depth of how much I need you.” He- it- pleaded.

You scoffed despite the inner turmoil. “Well, feelings not mutual.”

He sighed and shook his head slowly. “Why can’t you understand? I just love you so much.” He caressed your hands while staring straight into your eyes. It felt like he was unveiling your soul, like you couldn’t hide from that look, no matter what. “I,” he started, “can be whoever you want me to be. I can be whatever you wish.”

Suddenly, he started changing. It was like something was alive underneath his skin, that wanted to move and reshape the shell it was inside. Slowly, but surely, its features morphed into someone else.

This new shape was clearly tall, even when he was still couching. He looked a little rugged, wi the jet black hair and also at as equally dark grey eyes. He was muscular, too.

“Would this be better?” He asked in a deep voice, tilting his head in wonder. “Would you like someone like this- someone who can protect and care for you? Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to get into a bar fight to defend your honour.”

You looked away and shut your eyes.

“I see.” He said. “So this is not your type, then?”

Once more, you heard the familiar sound of flesh and bones. And against you better judgement, you glance his way again.

This time, he was not as muscular. In fact he was quite thin, but still tall. Messy brown hair shot in all directions, coverering his forehead, it almost shielded his face entirely from view.

“Or is this better?” He gave you a dorky smile. “A nerd? Someone who can relate to your interests and become just as engrossed in them as you. Wouldn’t that be nice? We could talk for hours about the things we like.”

You shook your head hastily. Rejecting his suggestion.

“Or maybe not.” He sighed.

The sound of flesh moving followed and you looked away, not wishing to see the peak of the gruesome transformation, before facing him again.

This new body was considerably shorter than the previous two. It was one of a mousy young man, appearing to be in the beginnings of adulthood.

“If you like being the one in control, I wouldn’t mind. I think this form would fit for that, you see. I’d be nice to be dominated by you. You wouldn’t have to hold back from anything, you could be completely in charge if that’s what you desire?”

You remained silent.

“I take that as a ‘no’, then.” He stopped for a few seconds, thinking, then the smile retuned. “Wait, I can’t believe I didn’t think this.”

Suddenly the young man disappeared and a woman took his place. She was gorgeous by all means. Her long blonde hair flowed in waves down her back. Her curvaceous form would have any person staring.

“I apologise. I should have asked if you would prefer a woman instead, my mistake. Now, finally, is this desireble?”

“I told you to stop. I don’t want any of this- I don’t want you. I don’t want to be near you. Leave me alone, please.” You cried in desperation. Hoping it would be able to push away the creature for good. But you knew it was a foolish dream for it to become bored with you.

The woman hushed you and took you into her arms. “Shhh, shhh, it will all be fine. No need to worry about anything. You’ll be good, I promise. I will take care of you.” She tried comforting you by patting your back like a mother consoling her crying child. “And don’t worry. It doesnt matter how long it’ll take, but I will find the right form eventually. You will just love it~.”

::::::::::::::::::::: ::::::::::::::::::::: ::::::::::::::::::::: :::::::::::::::::::::

#oc #yandere oc #male yandere #obsessed #possesive #misstycloud oc #toxic #yandere x reader #yandere shapeshifter x reader #yandere shapeshifter #Yandere monster #Yandere monster x reader #female yandere

1K notes · View notes

effetsecndaires · 5 months

Text

— 𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐫𝐞𝐯 𝐦𝐞𝐧 (+ 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐮) + 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬. (𝟑)

➺ INCLUDES: south terano, shinichiro sano, keizo arashi (benkei), takeomi akashi, mitsuya takashi, senju kawaragi (all of legal age, timeskip or bonten) x fem!reader

➺ CONTENT WARNING | this post contains explicit porn links!! you may need to have a twitter account or change your privacy settings to be able to see them. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

➺ NOTE | i’ll be taking a break from twitter links after this one. I want to focus on actual writing rather than straight up porn lol

SOUTH.

If there's one thing South loves more than pounding your pussy, it's shoving his cock down your throat. He’ll have you laying on your back with your head hanging off the side of the bed, his cock stuffed deep inside your throat. He’ll wrap his hand around the large bulge and jerk it before withdrawing just long enough to let you breathe, quickly going back to pushing himself all the way down your throat, watching as you swallow him down effortlessly.

↳ LINK ↲ [broken :(]

BENKEI.

Benkei is always so gentle with you. Because of this, you’d think morning sex with him would also be gentle; soft whispers exchanged in each other’s mouths while he gently pushes his cock into you, his hand on your clit helping you reach your climax faster. While this scenario does happen, it doesn't always go the way you think it will. Most times when he's been awake for longer than you have - he'll have you laying down on your belly, one of your legs dangling off the bed as he takes you from behind, your face buried deep into the pillow to muffle your moans, fists twisting the sheets. His hands grip onto your hips and the plump skin of your ass as he chases his high, each thrust bringing the two of you closer to your limit.

↳ LINK ↲

SHINICHIRO.

Days where Shin has the house to himself are rare, but when he does, the two of you always make the most of it. Those days usually consist of cuddling, making out, and, well, lots of sex. It's the only time when you can be as loud as you want — and most importantly your only opportunity to fuck whenever and wherever you want. You’ll be preparing breakfast in the morning and Shin will have you pressed against the counter before you can even begin to light the stove, his hands pushing your skirt up so he can bury his face between your thighs, starting his day with his favorite breakfast.

↳ LINK ↲ [broken :(]

TAKEOMI.

This man will lose his fucking mind if you give him head, especially if you do it out of nowhere while the two of you are relaxing in bed or watching a movie on the couch. It’ll start with you palming him over his sweatpants, teasing him just long enough to get him hot and bothered, his mind becoming too cloudy to focus on anything outside of you. He’ll lift himself up and push his pants down to his thighs, your lips immediately wrapping around his thick cock, sucking and stroking what doesn't fit in your mouth.

↳ LINK ↲

MITSUYA.

Mitsuya much prefers giving rather than receiving, which is why he always insists on eating you out before fucking you. You don’t even have to return the favor — he doesn't need it. Don't get me wrong, he does enjoy getting head and he obviously won't refuse a blowjob when you offer him one, but watching you moan and squirm as he coaxes orgasm after orgasm out of you has to be his favorite sight in the world. All he wants is to make you feel good, his hands resting on your ass as you circle your hips and hump his face, pushing his tongue deeper and fucking yourself on it as you sit on his pretty face.

↳ LINK ↲

SENJU.

Senju eats you out so good, it’s almost embarrassing how quickly she manages to break you into a moaning mess and pull multiple orgasms out of you with just her tongue. She knows exactly what you like, what to do and where to focus in order to get a specific reaction out of you or have you pull her hair just a bit tighter — your moans like music to her ears as she devours you.

↳ LINK ↲

#tokyo revengers x reader #x fem reader #tokyo revengers smut #takeomi akashi smut #takeomi akashi x reader #senju kawaragi smut #shinichiro sano x reader #shinichiro smut #benkei smut #benkei x reader #south terano smut #south terano x reader #mitsuya takashi x reader #takashi mitsuya x reader #mitsuya smut

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trivia-yandere · 11 months

Note

Hi!!!! Okay, first of all, I'm in love with your writing!!!!!! 💕💕💕💕And I was wondering (I've never done a story request so if it is horrible, please just ignore it 😅) but I was wondering if you could write a story of maybe yandereboyfriend/friend jungkook kinda forces older (not heaps but like 2-5 years older but shes just shy and confused when it comws to sex and intimacy) reader to loose her virginity to him and she likes it at the end?? If this is super uncomfortable, please don't even think about it 😅😶‍🌫️👉👈 or if you wanna do something completely different, I'd love your writing anyways!!!! 💕💕💕💕💕

hello! yes I can :) thank you for sending a request and being so patient! i feel like this yandere is more light than the usual lol

best friends!

jungkook doesn't like the idea of you wanting to loose your virginity to anyone that wasn't him. @momnomnom @sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @minshookie29 idol version

word count: 6.100

warning: naive/shy reader, mentions of watching porn, childhood friends jungkook + reader, smut scenes, coercion, masturbation, manipulation, light yandere tedancies, jealous jungkook, dub-con moments, dry humping, kissing, nipple sucking, oral sex, loss of virginity, rough sex, dacryphilia, fingering, unprotected sex, spitting,

“You’ll never be able to seduce a man, Noona.” Jungkook laughs boisterously, causing your face to heat up. “You’re just too shy.”

Jungkook’s eyes watch as your arms cross over your chest, any self-confidence you had slowly falling. He hums, turning over on his bed to face you. He then places a hand on your thigh. “Noona…”

“Stop calling me that, Jungkook.” you murmur. He knows that you prefer to be called by your name, but he’d often ignore you because of how much he enjoys teasing you, even after years of friendship.

“You’re upset with me.” says Jungkook.

“I’ve stopped calling you Kookie like you asked.”

Jungkook snorts. “That’s because the nickname doesn’t fit me anymore. I’m a man.” his hand squeezes your thigh. “Besides, I said stop calling me that in public. You and I are alone now.”

You and Jungkook have been friends since childhood, your father and his being great friends. The age difference never bothered you as much, and you’d often recall calling Jungkook your baby brother during his primary and middle school days - you having been homeschooled. It was when Jungkook grew in size and age and reached High School did he demand you stop calling him that but never gave a reason as to why.

Even now, as Jungkook and you are adults, the friendship remains. You went to him for whatever you thought you needed and he was there. Moving away from your father had been a big step and finding a job to support yourself was even bigger, but you were never truly alone because you had Jungkook - you and he living together.

Jungkook was the opposite of you. While your job consisted of you being home, he wasn’t. He made friends easily while you remained with a close knit circle. He was more social when needed and you often closed up around people you didn’t know. Most of your friends were Jungkook’s friends that he considered brothers - you recall asking him why he considered them family and not you. Jungkook didn’t give you any reason, stating that you’d never be a sister in his eyes, no matter if he knew you longer or not.

Now you and Jungkook lay in his bed, an action that he insisted on every so often, and watched tv. He’d often hold you, his breath tickling your ear with how close he was. A certain thought now laid on your mind and when you brought it up to Jungkook, his initial thought was to laugh at you.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N.” Jungkook sighs. He pushes himself closer to you, the hand on your thigh firmly keeping you in place. “It’s just…you don’t go out much. You’ve been homeschooled your entire life and you don’t really have friends besides the ones I have.”

Jungkook continues. “You literally cried the first time I showed you porn.” he tries his hardest not to laugh at the memory of you and he, both in High School. You had come over to his home while his parents were working. Jungkook had asked you about it randomly, and when you insisted that you never watched something as normal as porn, he insisted that you and he watch together.

You’re flushed with heat at the embarrassing memory. “You…” you take a deep breath so your voice wouldn’t crack. “You told me it was just sex.”

“Is it not?” Jungkook knits his brows.

“They were crying!”

“In pleasure.” says Jungkook. “I should have started you off easy and not gone into bondage.” low, he begins to laugh. It’s a memory that he’s fond of. “But I don’t regret showing you either. It was the first time you came!”

A memory you wished Jungkook would forget - and stop bringing up. That same night he insisted on teaching you about masturbation, telling you that it was normal. You’ve never done so before, feeling weird about it all together, but Jungkook wouldn’t allow you to leave until you at least gave it a try.

“You even cried in pleasure.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, the scene flashing in his mind. How innocent you appeared, completely confused on what in the world you were doing. It was then did Jungkook tell you that he’d talk you through it. It took a half an hour of convincing, of course. Getting you out of your pants, then your underwear.

“Open your legs, Y/N.” Jungkook had said, grabbing your wrist. “Put your fingers right…there.” he places them onto your clit and you flinch at the feeling. “Then rub…” he murmured, his hand coaching you to rub until you got the hang of it.

Jungkook will never forget the sight and how hard he was at just watching you. Your breathing hitching, the low moans and the calls of his name. It’s a memory he cherishes with you - his best friend - and one of the main reasons as to why he’d never call you his sister; he had to dead that immediately afterwards.

“Who are you trying to seduce anyways?” Jungkook changes the subject and goes back to the original topic. “You found yourself a boyfriend?”

“No.” you quip. “I-I just want to have sex.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “Why?”

“You have sex all the time.” you retort. You didn’t like Jungkook’s question, nor the look in his eyes.

“I’m also not a virgin.” Jungkook fires back. “You can’t just have sex with anyone, Y/N. Don’t you think it has to be special?”

“Your first time wasn’t with anyone special.” you murmur. “Do you even talk to her anymore?”

Jungkook snickers. “Don’t remember her name.” he shrugs. “But you and I are different. Sex is different for women.” Jungkook says matter-of-factly. “You women create bonds with guys you give your body to. You can’t have that bond with just anyone.”

It was a conversation Jungkook and you had time and time again. As you got older, you were tired of being a virgin - and dating was never an option. Not because you couldn’t find a boyfriend - you could. You had men come up to you asking for your number and if you’d be interested in going on dates.

The problem was Jungkook. He lingered around you often, and you never minded. He was your best friend and each man that tried were always shot down by him, not you. “He’s ugly.” Jungkook said about one man. “He looks like he doesn’t even shower, Y/N. Why he thinks he can speak to you is beyond me.” was said about another. “Men only want one thing. They can tell that you’ve never been touched.”

“What about Hoseok?”

Jungkook is quiet for a moment, your question lingering in his mind.

Hoseok?

Hoseok.

Jung Hoseok as his friend - the man he calls his brother?

There’s a dark look in Jungkook’s eyes as he thinks about your question.

“Do you like him?”

“I love Hoseok.” you say calmly. “Like I love you.”

Jungkook doesn’t realize that his nails are digging into your skin until he hears you yelp. There was no way in Hell you love Hoseok the same as you loved him; the thought makes him want to gag.

“Why Hoseok?”

You aren’t sure how to respond. “I’ve known him for years.” was all you can think of. You and he were around the same age and he was nice, always smiling widely at you whenever he came around. “Maybe Namjoon?”

Jungkook swallows.

“You look at my friends often?”

There’s a change in Jungkook’s tone that has you cowering.

“I-I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Do you want to fuck my friends?”

You’re taken aback by the harshness in Jungkook’s tone.

“I…I don’t know anyone else but your friends.”

Jungkook snickers. He wasn’t going to allow you and Hoseok - or Namjoon, hell, anyone - to do anything. Hoseok is a man such as he is and the thought of his taking something precious from you was driving him wild. Wild because he knows that if you asked Hoseok, he would.

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head. “Hoseok has a girlfriend.”

A lie, but you’d never know that.

“Oh.” you appeared bummed. “Nam-”

“No.”

You swallow. “Jimin…?”

“Do you fantasize about them?”

You’ve know his friends as long as he has, and now he’s wondering when you had the thought of fucking them in your mind.

“I just want to have sex.” you sigh in defeat, not wanting to cause a fight with Jungkook.

“Why wouldn’t you ask me?”

Jungkook doesn’t care how unreasonably spoiled he may sound. You were his best friend, after all. He kept creeps away from you who wanted nothing but to wet their cocks. You were safe with him in the home you and he shared - he’d be damned if he’d allow a man to come in here and fuck you.

You’re silent, and Jungkook continues.

“You don’t love me.”

Your eyes widen when you feel Jungkook remove himself from you.

“I do.” you quip. “I-I just…I don’t have anyone else. I’m tired of not knowing what it feels like.” watching television with sexual scenes had you wondering if sex was truly as good as they made it seem. You recall hearing from Taehyung, another friend of Jungkook, that porn is often fake and not everything you see was real - but how could it not be when their eyes are rolling and they’re screaming with such passion?

“If you loved me, Y/N, you’d ask me.”

Your heart sinks when Jungkook lifts from his lying position. You hated arguing with him. He was someone you loved and trusted with your life - him being upset with you had your anxiety spiking.

“I thought you had someone you were seeing.” you admit. You recall seeing her a few times in the home. She never spoke, but then again neither did you. She would stroll past you to enter Jungkook’s bedroom and only ever gave you a small grin.

“Oh her.” Jungkook brushes past the statement. “I am. Somewhat.” he shrugs his shoulders. Her contemplated asking her out - she was decent looking and a good fuck. But he didn’t love her nor respect her enough to make her his girlfriend. He was just bored at the moment. “Why does that matter?”

The same way it matters that Hoseok had a girlfriend, you think. You want to say it, but you didn’t want to upset Jungkook anymore than he already was. “I don’t want to come between that.”

Jungkook wants to laugh. “I don’t love her. I love you.” Jungkook says, a tone in his voice that indicates that it should be obvious. “You are my best friend. You should be able to come to me when you need me. Not anyone else.”

You lift yourself up from the bed, as well, and you slowly nod your head. “Sorry.” you murmur.

Jungkook turns to face you, a full smile on his lips. “It’s okay. I’ll forgive you, Y/N.” Jungkook holds his hand out for you to grab.

You do, and Jungkook lightly tugs you closer. You and he are face to face now.

“Sex is more than just losing your virginity.” Jungkook’s thumb rubs your knuckles. “Sex should be pleasurable for both of us. Masturbation is a form of sex. You’ve done that already.”

You nod slowly, feeling hot.

“Tell me, Y/N.” Jungkook says. “When you masturbate, what makes you cum?”

You lick your lips, again embarrassed. You swallow while trying to find the words to answer Jungkook.

“When you watch porn, what do you like?” Jungkook changes the question up, and understands how shy you were - even with him.

Jungkook waits patiently for you to respond. “I-I…” you glance away from him. His eyes were always so piercing, like small black holes that can swallow anyone whole.

“Don’t be shy. We’re best friends, right?” Jungkook pulls you closer to him. “If you loved me, Y/N, you’ll tell me. I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

You nod. “Oral sex?” your words come out questioningly.

Jungkook nods. “Okay. That’s a start. Oral sex is a big part of sex. It’s a form of foreplay. Get things started.”

“I don’t think you should do that.” you’re horrified with Jungkook’s face being so close to your sex. Yes, he’s seen it before - years ago - but that was then. He was a man now and he’s had sex with countless women.

“Why not?” Jungkook tilts his head.

You’re silent, and Jungkook sighs. “You don’t trust me.”

“I do!”

“Then why don’t you trust me to pleasure you? You’d rather go to my friends than trust me, Y/N. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I’m sorry.” you quip. “I just don’t think it…looks good?”

Jungkook blinks.

You swallow.

“Of course it looks good.” Jungkook then laughs. “I’ve already seen it.”

“That was years ago.” you murmur, casting your eyes away.

“True. But still. You trust and love me just like I trust and love you.” Jungkook places a hand on your cheek for you to look at him. “If we’re going to do this, you can’t hide your body from me. I’ll have to show you mine, too.”

You nod your head.

“We can start now.”

You inhale deeply. You don’t move, and when Jungkook notices he frowns.

“Y/N. What did I say?”

“Don’t hide from you.” you murmur.

“Exactly. Here. I’ll help you take your clothes off and you can do the same for me.”

Jungkook is slow when he puts his hands at the end of your shirt. He lifts it up and you stiffen, unsure of what to do next. The shirt comes over your head and Jungkook throws it aside.

“Okay?” asks Jungkook, his eyes glancing down to the bra you’re wearing. It’s red and basic, but it hugs your breast perfectly.

You only nod.

“Okay.” Jungkook then goes towards your leggings. They’re tight, but he manages to get his hands inside. He begins to tug and awkwardly, you lift yourself up so he can remove them. Your panties are black and cotton.

“Now you do the same to me.” Jungkook says. He understands you by now, knowing that you’d never take the first move. He grabs your wrists and walks you through it. “Go ahead.”

You’re trembling, you note, as you remove Jungkook’s shirt - an oversize black shirt. You often are reminded how much Jungkook has grown over the years, going from a boy to a man. He worked out often and was athletic. He had many tattoos that litter his skin - you had gone with him for a few of them and pondered how he could sit so calmly.

“I’ll get up to make it easier.” Jungkook lifts from his bed and waits for you to continue. You’re as slow as before, hands trembling more than before. You tug at the sweats he wore, watching as they fall to the ground. You try to hide the fact that you gawk at the bulge in his briefs, swallowing at the sight.

“Y/N.”

You blink up to look at Jungkook.

“You trust me, right?”

You nod your head.

“Okay.” Jungkook gives you a grin. “Come here.”

Jungkook leans down, his hand grasping your chin. He no longer hesitates or holds back, placing his lips upon yours.

You’re shocked, completely stiff, but Jungkook doesn’t mind. You’ll give into him eventually - it may take a few rounds, but you will.

You’re pushed backwards, back hitting the mattress. Jungkook hovers above you, his hands placing themselves onto your shoulders to keep you in place.

You gasp for air when Jungkook removes his lips from yours, but then they’re trailing down your jawline to your neck. You’re breathing heavily, unsure what to do.

“You can touch me.” says Jungkook, as if reading your mind. “Don’t just lay there.”

Jungkook continues to kiss at your neck, his left hand leaving your shoulder and grabs your hand. He places it upon his chest for you to take the lead. His hand then goes to your waist to pull you closer to him.

Your heart thumps that this is happening now - you and Jungkook. Goosebumps litter your skin, the hair standing straight up. But you do as you’re told, hand grabbing Jungkook’s bicep and squeezing it.

Jungkook forces your legs apart, wrapping them around his waist. You yelp when you feel him, his bulge grinding directly against you. There’s a deep groan from Jungkook that you hear coming from your neck.

“You have to engage.” Jungkook lifts slightly to look at your face. “Kiss me like I’m kissing you.”

You’re left stunned when Jungkook flips the both of you, his own back hitting the mattress and now you’re on top of him. He places his hands on your hips, a smirk on his lips. “It’ll be easier for you this way. I’ll let you take the lead.”

There’s a tension - one sided - when you lean down to his own neck.

“You’re still shy. It’s just me.” Jungkook sighs.

It was easier for him to say. He wasn’t the virgin - or the closed off one that has been homeschooled. The only friend she kept was Jungkook, and his friends, but mainly Jungkook. There was no one she could go to that was the same sex that she could vent to about her frustrations.

“Just let loose, Y/N. We’re friends. There’s nothing you can do that’ll make me view you differently.”

You try your best, even closing your eyes in hopes that’d be better. Your lips place themselves at the nape of Jungkook’s neck, and ever so gently did you kiss him. You allowed your hands to rub softly on his bare shoulders, kissing down his neck until you got to his collarbone.

Jungkook hums to himself, his cock twitching to be let loose from his underwear.

You were adjusting - only a bit - but you’d soon be fully accepting. Jungkook allows his hands to dip from your waist and he grabs your ass fully in his grasp.

You swallow, hiding back the surprised gasp. You don’t want Jungkook to think you don’t trust him - because you do. You don’t want to appear utterly shy and closed off. You were older than Jungkook and he had to be the one to show you what life was like, as sad as it was.

“Okay. Now kiss me.”

You nod your head. You want to avoid Jungkook’s gaze, but he doesn’t falter. “You’ll have to look at me eventually, Y/N.” Jungkook murmurs.

“I know.” you murmur back, and now meet his eyes. Jungkook smiles when you do, and his head lifts slightly.

Your head dips down to capture his lips in yours once more. There’s a fire running through you this time at the feeling - no longer hesitant or awkward to kiss him. It felt…normal; as if this is something the two of you always did.

Jungkook’s teeth catch your bottom lip and he lightly tugs. “Let loose.” he whispers, and then dives into your mouth again. This time, his tongue pushes past your teeth and meets your own, it’s warm and slimy, but it causes you to moan.

Jungkook’s hands grip your ass, keeping you firmly against his erection. He rubs up your sides for a moment, then on your back. His hands are now on your bra and he appears to be swift in unhooking it.

“Kookie…” you murmur against his lips.

“It’s okay.” Jungkook responds. “You trust me, remember?”

You nod, but trust doesn’t help with your self–consciousness.

Jungkook tugs at your bra until it’s fully off of you. He disgards it, bare hands now taking your breast entirely. He doesn't care how heavy he’s breathing, or how rough his hands squeeze your breast.

“My pretty girl.” Jungkook praises.

It’s weird hearing it - for you at least.

Jungkook rarely compliments you - not because he doesn’t think you are, but because he never really has a reason to. He sees you the same everyday - his best friend who he has breakfast, occasionally lunch and dinner with. You’re the same Y/N that he shares movie nights with where the two of you cuddle and laugh at whatever was on the screen.

Now, however, Jungkook has to compliment you. He has to let you know how beautiful you are now - a woman. You grew into your womanly curves over the years, hiding it behind loose clothing, but never truly hiding it. You never hid from him; occasionally wearing shorts that showed your legs and the roundness of your ass, or tank-tops that made your breast appear more plump.

You yelp when Jungkook pinches your nipple. He chuckles at your reaction. “So responsive.” he says, more to himself than to you.

“W-What-”

Jungkook’s tongue licks on your nipple, shuddering at feeling. He couldn’t help but to bring it entirely into his mouth, tongue twirling and suckling on it while his free hand pinches the other. There’s a euphoric feeling engulfing him right now. Yes, he did think about you sexually at times - he was a man and he couldn’t help it. But this was far better than any feeling, any thought or dream he’s ever had.

“Does it feel good?” Jungkook manages to say, popping your nipple from his mouth to just engulf the other one.

“Yes.”

You don’t intend to sound so soft and meek, moaning against Jungkook. But you couldn’t hide it any longer. You can feel the wetness between your legs, arousal pooling out - and Jungkook’s grinding didn’t make it any better.

“You can talk to me, Y/N. You can tell me how much you like it. How I make you feel.”

Jungkook kisses both of your nipples softly.

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me how you feel.” Jungkook repeats. “Here,” his right hand drops your breast and without warning, he slaps your ass. The sound echoes, as does you shriek. “I love the way your ass feels.” he then squeezes it in the palm of his hands. “I love the sweet moans coming from those pretty lips of yours.” he continues.

You’re hot, Jungkook’s words cause a new sensation to run through you - nerves running through your body and meeting exactly between your legs.

“It feels good when you touch me.” you say, admitting even if you want nothing more than to hide.

“Yeah?” Jungkook lightly laughs. He squeezes your ass again. “What else?”

You huff, this time now hiding your face. Your head is between his shoulder and neck.

“It’s okay, pretty girl. Just tell me.” Jungkook encourages. “You trust me like I trust you.”

You sigh. Jungkook was going to be the death of you - you were going to die with embarrassment.

“I like the way you look.”

Jungkook, again, is swift with his movement. He’s once more on top of you. He’s now forcing you to look at him - as if you weren’t embarrassed enough.

You go to cover yourself, but that wasn’t something Jungkook was going to allow.

“Go on, Y/N.” Jungkook places a quick peck on your lips before he kisses down your neck to your collarbone.

Your breath is shaky - but it was all Jungkook. His hands rub along your sides as his lips send kisses between your breasts, going lower and lower. “You make me feel…different.”

Jungkook’s lips are now on your stomach. “What’s different?”

“Wet…?”

Jungkook groans. His fingers are hooked between your panties and he wants nothing more than to remove them and dive in, but he’d remain calm for now.

“Look at me, Y/N.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you’re unsure what Jungkook had in store for you.

You do, however, and Jungkook is now directly between your legs. Your thighs quiver at the sight.

“What do you want me to do?” Jungkook asks, and before you can answer, he places a single kiss upon your clothed clit.

Your throat tightens.

Jungkook wasn’t going to stop. He wanted to hear you speak - hear your thoughts, whatever moans you had in you. He didn’t want you to be shy - not with him. He wasn’t a stranger and who else should be the one to take your virginity than him?

Not Hoseok.

Not Namjoon.

Not Jimin - none of his friends.

Just Jungkook.

Dare he say he was entitled to it - you were his best friend. He was there for whatever you needed him to be; and this was one thing you didn’t come to him for (not at first). You wanted his assistance in finding you someone. The thought still upsets him.

“Kookie.” you sigh, hands crashing to your face.

“So shy.” Jungkook tsks. His hands grip your waist and he drags you to the edge of the bed, him falling to his knees before you. “I’ll take the lead.”

You feel your panties being tugged off. You’re unsure of what to do or say - you knew you had to keep breathing or you’d pass out. The coolness of the air hits you and now you fully accept that you’re naked for Jungkook, completely bare before his eyes to see.

You’re so wet, Jungkook notes, arousal coating your lips and thighs. The thought of how excited you’ve been and nothing has happened yet makes him groan, anticipating what's to come.

Your throat releases a gasp and instantly, your legs clench shut, caging Jungkook in.

“S-Sorry, i-”

“It’s okay, Y/N. Relax.” Jungkook laughs, a gleeful tone in his voice. He had done nothing but flick your clit with his tongue. “Watch me, okay?”

You nod your head.

Jungkook hooks his hands right on your thighs, holding them in a firm grip so you wouldn’t be easily reactive - not without him stopping you. He dips his head back between your legs, tongue dipping between your folds.

Your eyes flutter, unable to truly focus on Jungkook like he wants you to.

The sight alone is filthy - his head bobbing back and forth while his tongue assaults your clit. Occasionally, his eyes would dart up to capture your reaction, satisfied that you no longer hid your moans from him.

But the noises Jungkook made were another thing. He suckles on your clit, completely ravishing you as if it was the finest meal. He’s animalistic, not caring. He would draw his head back and spit, then continue his assault upon your clit.

“Kookie, I-I, you need to stop.” you try to get away from Jungkook, but he doesn’t allow it. If anything, Jungkook holds you even tighter. You were going to cum, of course, never truly experiencing a man going down on you. Your stomach churns and you feel like you are going to explode. “Kookie, please stop…”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker up at you. Your eyes are snapped shut and there’s a few droplets trailing down your cheeks. Jungkook grunts into your pussy. His fingernails dig into your naked flesh, his tongue laying flat against your clit. He continues to ravish you, not caring about your pleas - it was obvious you wanted more and was far too inexperienced to understand it.

Jungkook dives deeper and deeper, your cries only fueling him for more. Your arousal coats the bottom half of his face entirely.

There was another attempt to remove yourself, buckling your hips, but Jungkook only shoves you back down upon the bed. Your toes are curling and you’re unable to see straight. There’s a tightness in your stomach that’s utterly unfamiliar to you.

“I’m not going to stop.”

Jungkook’s voice is deeper - deepest you’ve ever heard it.

“Not until you cum.”

Jungkook’s right hand removes itself from holding your thigh, but that only means he’s holding the other tighter.

Your back arches when you feel his fingers at your entrance.

“I can’t-”

“You will.”

Jungkook doesn’t give a warning before entering his finger’s inside of you. You jump at the foreign feeling. You swallow back and shriek.

“So tight.” Jungkook murmurs to himself.

Two fingers is all you can handle for now. That doesn’t mean Jungkook goes easy on you. He pumps inside of you vigorously, your walls clenching around his digits. Each time he hits a deeper spot that has you jerking.

“I know it feels good, Y/N. My pretty girl.”

You can’t speak, but Jungkook doesn’t care. He pumps and pumps until you’re cumming all over him, arousal splashing onto the hardwood floors of his bedroom.

You’re a crying twitching mess, whimpering to yourself. Jungkook removes his fingers, satisfied with your appearance.

“I could fuck you right now. You’re so wet, Y/N.”

You exhale, eyes snapping open. “Kookie, I-”

“Don’t tell me you can’t take me.”

Jungkook pushes down his underwear and you freeze.

You’ve never seen Jungkook naked before, never going past witnessing him shirtless.

Now Jungkook is as nude as you, cock erect and hard. His tip is red and leaking with pre-cum, the shaft twitching in anticipation.

“I can’t.” you cry, now dwelling on the idea of having sex with the man.

Jungkook snickers. He grips his cock and slaps the tip against your wet clit. So wet, he thinks. Wet and warm, completely aroused because of him.

“You were willing to fuck my friends.”

Jungkook rubs the tip against your clit in slow circular motions. It makes a wet and sloppy sound as he does.

“They don’t love you, Y/N. Not like I do.”

You twitch at the feeling, overstimulated enough, even if it did feel good.

“Don’t you love me, Y/N?” Jungkook’s eyes don't leave your clit. He continues to tap and circle the tip of his cock against it, the sight beautiful.

“I do…”

“Then why do you keep denying me pleasure?”

Jungkook removes his hand from his cock to place it upon your hips, keeping you in place. He begins to thrust forward, sliding his entire cock against your clit.

“I allowed you to cum, haven’t i?” Jungkook grunts. “Milked my fingers like a little whore. But you won’t let me fuck you.”

Jungkook’s words cause you to gasp - that and the way his cock feels against your already stimulated clit.

Jungkook’s open’s his mouth, a trail of saliva dripping right onto your clit, not because you needed it - you were literally dripping - but just because he wanted to. In his eyes, spitting upon you was an act of marking his territory and after he fucked you - and he was going to regardless - he would assure that only he would be the one fucking you afterwards; always and forever.

Jungkook continues to rub, his pace quickening.

“Do you think another man would have given you the satisfaction?” Jungkook hisses. “They would’ve fucked you and left, Y/N. This is why I’m here. I love you, my pretty girl…” his tone softens. “...so wet and ready for me. You’ll let me have you, right, Y/N? You’ll let me be the one who takes your virginity?”

Slowly, you nod your head. Jungkook was someone you loved greatly. He was a man and understood how men think - you couldn’t be upset with him now. “Okay…”

Jungkook smiles wide, full set of teeth shining at you. “My pretty girl. You’re always so good for me. Give me your hand.”

You do as Jungkook tells you to do, and he guides your hand to touch his cock. It twitches in your grip.

“Tighten your grip.” Jungkook demands and groans when you do. “Okay, baby…now center it at your pussy.”

You’re being so obedient for him, Jungkook thinks. He watches as you do what he tells you, the tip of his cock at the entrance of your hole. “Good girl.” Jungkook mumbles.

“Don’t you need to wear a condom?”

Jungkook wants to laugh at your words. “Condoms are for people who have one night stands. Why would I wear a condom with you?” he asks, a tilt of his head. He had no intention of allowing you to fuck another man, so him not wearing a condom was alright.

You widen your eyes. “Pregnancy…?”

Again, Jungkook laughs. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, only stares into your wide eyes. He had no intention of impregnating you now, but if it happened, then it did. That only meant that it’s what the universe wanted.

“You know I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook says.

“I love you, too.” you respond.

Simpering, Jungkook nods. “I know.” he says, and then without warning, he enters you whole. There’s no warming upm Jungkook thinks, the faster he gets it over with, the faster pleasure will come for you.

When your mouth opens to shriek, Jungkook silences you with his lips. His hips snap inside of you, unable to stop. So tight, he thinks, fully milking his cock with your essence. It’s as though his cock fit perfectly inside of you; like a puzzle piece coming together to complete a set.

The pain is excruciating and you’re unable to pull away from Jungkook. His grip on you was intense, fingers bruising into your skin.

The sound of skin slapping is loud in the room, echoing off the walls.

“My pretty girl.” grumbles Jungkook when he releases your lips. “Thank you for trusting me, Y/N.”

The pain shoots throughout your body, but hearing those words from Jungkook was worth it to you. You blink away the tears so you can focus on his face.

“Soon the pain will go away, and you’ll love the way I fuck you.”

You nod. You trusted Jungkook.

It takes a while for the pleasure to come, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t. Jungkook hits your sweet spot, slamming you against his bed with each thrust. Your moans are loud for him, so sweet and melodic - he knew you had it in you to let loose.

“Feels good, pretty girl?” Jungkook questions, the question rhetorical. He knows by the way you clench around him that it does - that and your high pitched moans.

“Feels…so…good…” you grunt, panting along with each powerful thrust.

“Good.”

Jungkook removes himself just so he can turn you around, chest firmly against his mattress. He enters you once more, hitting even deeper than before.

Your eyes snap shut and your arms shoot out, gripping the bed sheets for support. Whatever you once imagined sex would be like didn’t give it any justice. Sex with Jungkook was a pleasurable feeling you’d never forget - you’re unsure how you’d ever be able to go back to masturbating once this was over.

Both of Jungkook’s hands place themselves on yours, entangling your hangers with his. His lips kiss your back, pounding inside of you with such passion.

There it was again, the churning feeling in your stomach.

“I feel you, baby.” Jungkook pants. It’s as if you never want him to stop, creaming his cock like your life depended on it. “Go ahead and cum for me, pretty girl.”

You groan, shaking your head at how good you felt.

“I love you, Kookie.” you murmur so low that it’s barely audible, but Jungkook hears it loud and clear.

It causes Jungkook to grind into you deeper and deeper, feeling himself come undone at just words. You told him those three words many times before, but now it felt different. Intimate. This was something he’s never heard during sex - and if there was a chance he did, he wouldn’t care.

You were who Jungkook loved; his best friend since childhood.

You were the one who Jungkook wanted to hear the words from.

Jungkook’s cumming, his heaving breaths ticking the skin of your back. He doesn't bother to pull out of you, instead he milks your walls completely with his seed, shuddering with complete bliss.

Jungkook won’t regret it - cumming inside of you felt right. It wasn’t as if anyone else would be.

“My pretty girl.” Jungkook coos, pulling out of you to tuck you further into his bed. He lays beside you, embracing you from behind. “You did so good for me.”

Your heart swells at the compliment, your eyes heavy with slumber.

Jungkook holds you tight as you drift to sleep, satisfied that you were here with him.

Not Hoseok or Namjoon or anyone else - but him.

After all, he was the only one who truly loved you for who you are and didn’t see you as just a hole to fill - he wasn’t like those other men out in the world. No, Jungkook was better than any man you could ever think about being with. He proceeds to place a kiss upon your temple, satisfied that you were his and his alone.

idol version

#best friends!#trivia-yandere #trivia-yandere masterlist #btswritingcafe #bangtan smut #btswriterscollective #yandere bts #bangtanwritershq #bangtanwriters net #jungkook smut #btswritersclub #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bff jungkook #방탄소년단

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ellecdc · 3 months

Text

the case of the missing pickles

poly!marauders x slytherin seer!reader who can't stop Seeing them [2.9k words]

amalgamation of various prompts:

prompt 1 from 🔮🐍 anon: I was wondering if you could do a part two of Sight's Set where one of her visions comes true? maybe the vision is of her on a date with them to Hogsmeade, but it turns out differently where she goes to Hogsmeade alone and they find her there and join her??? prompt 2 from anonymous: Can I please request marauders with a reader who are just in the beginning of their relationship and yet they know r so well like she doesn't have to even ask and she's all confused and flustered prompt 3 from 🕊️ anon: Remus calling feisty slytherin reader 'dove' being her kryptonite

The sun was warm on your skin as the castle gates permeated your view. You were trying to hide your amused smile at the boys’ antics, though you’re sure you were unsuccessful when a gentle laugh escaped your lips.

James faltered in his steps at the sound, turning to look at you with a beaming smile.

“Well gorgeous,” Sirius teased with a salacious grin as he moved to stand in front of you. “I had a wonderful time on our date today.”

Remus breathed out a chuckle as he placed your jacket that he had been carrying over your shoulders, taking a moment to squeeze your shoulder affectionately before moving to stand with James.

“Don’t make any plans for next Hogsmeade weekend; we’ll definitely be doing this again!” James called; Remus encouraging him forward by a hand on his waist as Sirius walked away from you backwards to continue looking you up and down.

“Don’t miss us too much.” He said with a wink before turning to join the other two boys.

You woke up with a start, shooting upright in your bed as you sucked in a much needed breath. Goosebumps erupted all over your body as the feeling of being submerged in cold water began to dissipate and your nervous system realised it wasn’t dying.

After nearly two decades of living with ‘the gift’ of Sight, one would think your body would have a better response to it.

Alas, it still acted like you were moments away from death.

Perhaps it wasn’t too far off, what with all your Sights of the Marauders overtaking your every waking (and sleeping) moment; perhaps you were dying, perhaps that would be preferable.

After taking a warm shower to bring some much needed heat back to your bones and wash away the residual nerves that your vision had caused, you decided to put it out of your mind; you would never agree to waste one of your precious Hogsmeade trips with the Marauders anyways, so there really was no point stewing over it.

You eventually made your way into the Slytherin common room to find Regulus and Barty already situated with a copy of the Daily Prophet.

“Good morning, Treasure!” Barty cheered as he stood abruptly from his spot on the sofa with Regulus. “Heading to Hogsmeade today?”

“You know that I am, Barty.” You responded with a smirk. “I told you I needed to go to Tomes and Scrolls; the book I ordered should be in.”

“Great!” Barty clapped his hands together. “I need to stop at Dogweed & Deathcap!”

“Absolutely not.”

Barty paused in his excited tirade to look at you incredulously. “What do you mean, absolutely not!?”

“I mean you are absolutely not coming with me, Barty.”

“Why!?”

“Barty.” You started as if you were speaking to a rather troublesome toddler. “Last time I let you come with me you had us kicked out of Zonko’s and then spent two and half hours violently debating with the Dogweed & Deathcap shopkeep about the proper brewing times for veritaserum.”

Barty stared at you bewilderedly as you held his gaze.

“You’re really not going to let me come with you?” He asked after a painfully long silence.

“No.”

Barty stomped his foot once and let out a petulant breath. “Then you’re not allowed to be my best woman at our wedding!”

Regulus looked up from the newspaper he’d been engrossed with in favour of this ridiculous conversation to look at the two of you in bemusement.

“Wha-? We’re not getting married?” Regulus stated as a question, effectively removing Barty’s furious glare from you only to have it directed at himself.

“It’s just one sodding disappointment after another!” He screeched before turning and storming off towards the boys’ dormitory.

You and Regulus stared at the empty spot that was once Barty Crouch Junior before Regulus broke the silence by standing with a tired sigh.

“Well I guess I know what you’ll be up to today.” You teased gently earning you a groan from the youngest Black.

“If you happen to be by Honeydukes…”

“Yeah, yeah.” You cut him off, accepting the galleons he pulled from his pocket as he held them out to you. “I’ll pick him up some sugared butterfly wings.”

“Thanks, I’ll need all the help I can get.” He grumbled as he made his way after his cantankerous boyfriend.

Even the dreary weather couldn’t bring your mood down as you pocketed your galleons and accepted Barty’s bag of sugared butterfly wings from the Honeydukes shopkeep.

You loved Hogsmeade, and you loved visiting with your friends, but sometimes there was nothing like enjoying a peaceful trip on your own.

Feeling quite pleased at having procured your special order from Tomes & Scrolls and successfully running Regulus’ errands, you pulled your hood up to protect yourself from the elements outside before pushing open the shop door only to collide with a heavy force on the other side.

“Hullo, L/N!” James called as he quickly righted you.

This cannot be happening.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You grumbled as you stepped out of James’ hold, pretending like you didn’t notice the slight fall in his expression at the loss of contact.

“Nope, I think you’ll find I’m really quite Sirius.” Sirius said with a wink.

“Ew-” You started, turning to look at the longhaired boy in disgust. “That was terrible. That’s a terrible joke.”

“Listen, when you get cursed with a name that’s also an adjective, you get to make all the terrible jokes you’d like.” He responded plainly.

“You get used to it.” Remus sighed; offering you a sympathetic crooked smile.

“I should think I won’t, thank you very much.” You said as you turned to walk away, only to feel a gentle hand grasp your elbow.

“Whoa whoa, where’re you off too in such a hurry?” James asked teasingly.

“The castle?” You responded quickly, immediately berating yourself for deigning to explain yourself to the likes of the Marauders.

“Before lunch?” Remus asked then. “It’s not a trip to Hogsmeade without a stop at the Three Broomsticks.”

“I’m not hungry.” You proclaimed with finality only for your stomach to traitorously contradict you by groaning rather loudly at the thought of one of your beloved tuna melts from the restaurant.

“Liar.” Sirius smirked smugly. “To the Three Broomsticks!”

Before you had a chance to protest, Remus and Sirius were walking ahead as James threw his arm over your shoulders and guided you after them.

“Get your hands off of me, Potter.” You spat.

“Sorry sweetheart, I wish I could, but then I’d have no way of ensuring that you wouldn’t just take off.” He apologised, not sounding very apologetic at all.

You thought of your Sight from this morning but decided you were relatively safe; they had called it a date - this was decidedly a hostage situation. Besides, the weather had been really rather lovely in your Sight; today’s weather was quite the opposite.

It was fine.

This wasn’t a date.

You were fine.

Just fine.

Except you had no sooner entered the Three Broomsticks before Sirius was pulling out a chair for you as James rather forcefully sat you in it; Remus quickly sitting and blocking your means of escape on your other side.

“I’ll go order!” James called quickly before nearly skipping towards the bar to do just that.

Sirius sat across from you looking all sorts of chuffed at his current predicament, smiling knowingly between Remus and yourself. “So,” he started. “Any more visions of your wonderful future with us?”

“Bite me.” You spat immediately, hoping to all the gods that no one noticed the heat emanating from your cheeks at the question.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He smirked.

“Be nice to her.” Remus chided softly. “She already doesn’t want to be here.”

That’s right, you thought petulantly before quickly scolding yourself for agreeing with a Marauder.

Entirely too soon in your opinion did James return, happily sitting beside Sirius and looking around the table. “So! What’d I miss?”

“Y/N wants me to bite her.” Sirius responded quickly. “Okay!” James agreed readily. “Now?”

“Oh my gods I’m going to avada myself.” You muttered as you pressed your fingers into your temples.

“Oh come now, not before lunch.” Remus chuckled, rubbing conciliatory circles onto your back.

You couldn’t believe how tactile these boys seemed to be; they almost always had their hands on each other in some way. Sirius currently had a hand on James’ thigh who had his arm thrown casually over the other boy’s shoulder. You were almost certain that James had extended his legs under the table and was currently playing some form of footsie with Remus, who, in turn, had his hand on your back.

And then you thought of the ease that James had thrown his arm over your own shoulder on your way here as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Sirius asked, pressing a finger to the divot that was growing between your brows before you hastily swatted his hand away from you.

“Just wondering what I ever did in another life to deserve this.”

“Must’ve been an angel in another life to deserve us.” He responded haughtily.

“She’s an angel in this life too.” James added; beaming smile making you feel as though you needed to squint your eyes lest you look directly at it.

The barkeep saved you from having to think of a response by placing food in front of each of you.

Your beloved tuna melt that you had been dreaming of earlier sat on a plate before you, confusing you as to how James seemed to know your order.

But perhaps he hadn’t; perhaps the barkeep recognised you and knew what you usually ordered.

You pulled open the sandwich and were hit by another curiosity.

“There’s no pickles?” You asked aloud, causing the three boys to look at you in bemusement.

“Did you want pickles?” James asked you slowly; his fork hovering over his plate as he delayed the first bite of his own meal on your account.

“Well…no, but it usually comes with pickles.” You explained dumbly.

“Yes but you always pick them off, so I asked for no pickles.” He explained simply before finally taking his long awaited bite.

“How did you know that?” You demanded rather harshly then.

“Know what? Your order?” Sirius asked on James’ behalf.

“Yes. And the pickles.”

“Because we pay attention?” Remus offered then; you could see him scrutinising you from the corner of your eye.

“Do you want me to go ask for pickles so that you can pick them off?” James teased then, an ill-suppressed amused grin threatening to overtake his face.

“No, I want you to stop that.”

“Stop what?” Sirius asked with a smirk. “Knowing things about you?”

“Yes, that. Stop that.” You ordered.

“You’d have to obliviate me.” James taunted, leaning on his elbow and resting his chin on his fist as he considered you.

“Better make sure to get the incantation right, gorgeous.” Sirius added. “Otherwise you’ll be responsible for his care when you ultimately put him into a vegetative state.”

You huffed petulantly before opting to take a bite from your sandwich in favour of continuing with your current conversation.

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask-” Remus started with an amused grin on his face. “If you don’t like pickles, why don’t you just ask for no pickles?”

You let out a conceding sigh as you swallowed your bite. “I don’t want to be a bother…it’s just as easy to pick them off myself.”

You felt shame prickle at the back of your neck when your answer was met with silence before Sirius let out a bark of laughter.

“Oh my Godric,” He exclaimed excitedly. “You are a big softy.”

Against your better judgement you kicked your foot out at the long haired Marauder, horrified when James yelped before reaching under the table to rub his hand over his shin.

“Fucking hells, sorry Potter.” You grumbled as you tried to curl in on yourself, watching as Remus cooed at the bespectacled boy and Sirius laughed at him.

“Oh, no worries angel.” James offered you tightly, voice coloured with pain as he forced a smile at you. “Merlin, you've got quite the leg on you.”

“Fuck yeah she does.” Sirius agreed salaciously, earning him a fiery glare from you as you considered re-aiming your foot.

“Easy there, dove. Play nice, yeah?” Remus murmured then, causing a shiver to rush down your spine as you turned to look at him with your mouth parted slightly.

You were absolutely horrified at the very visible reaction you had to the scarred boy’s endearment - and you knew it was a very visible reaction because Remus had a very visible reaction to it.

“You’re alright, dove.” He murmured again, this time with a knowing smirk before turning back to his own sandwich and pretending like he hadn’t just completely rocked your world with one simple word.

You looked over to see Sirius pick off of James’ plate as you waited for James to use his fork as a weapon for the egregious crime of stealing food, only to see James quickly load up a fork-full and hold it out for Sirius to try.

“Fuck, I should have ordered that instead.” Sirius admitted as he swallowed the bite.

“Wanna switch?” James offered quickly, already lifting his plate to give Sirius room to slide his over should he want.

“I’m not taking your meal, bubs.” Sirius responded with a smile as a faint blush dusted the tops of his cheeks.

“You’re not taking, I’m offering.” James insisted, moving Sirius’ plate in front of him before placing his own plate in front of Sirius when it became obvious the other boy wasn’t going to help.

“Thank you.” Sirius admitted rather shyly for the notoriously boisterous boy before he pecked a kiss to James’ cheek.

You looked over to Remus in bemusement only to see him looking lovingly over at his boyfriends.

“Did you wanna switch, too?” Remus asked then, alerting you to the fact that he was quite aware that you had been staring at him.

“Absolutely not; you stay away from my tuna melt.” You spat before taking another bite.

You found yourself quite glad that the boys simply laughed before moving on to other topics of conversation, watching curiously as they talked and joked the afternoon away.

By the time the four of you were making your way back towards the castle the sky had cleared, leaving the spring air fresh and fragrant in the warm sun.

You felt a gentle tug and turned to watch Remus pull your jacket out of your arms before folding it over his own arm to carry it for you.

Shit.

“Moons! What do muggles call the game ‘leaping toadstools’?” Sirius called suddenly from where he and James had run ahead.

Remus breathed out a chuckle as he smiled at them. “Leapfrog.” He called back with an audible eyeroll you were sure was mostly for show.

“Rem, I bet five galleons that me and Pads can leapfrog the whole way back to the castle.” James shouted.

“I’m not betting.”

James let out a horrified scoff. “Why not!?”

“Because I know that you likely can even though you probably shouldn’t.” He responded simply.

“Don’t rain on our parade, Moony.” Sirius said dismissively, waving Remus off like he was the definition of anti-fun.

And to your absolute horror, you found yourself rather entertained as you watched them line up to play leapfrog; the only interruption of the game on your walk being to pet the odd cat, point at a patch of honking daffodils, and to run back and steal kisses from Remus (glaring at them when they threatened to do the same with you).

James faltered in his steps at the sound, turning to look at you with a beaming smile.

“Well gorgeous,” Sirius teased with a salacious grin as he moved to stand in front of you. “I had a wonderful time on our date today.”

Remus breathed out a chuckle as he placed your jacket that he had been carrying over your shoulders, taking a moment to squeeze your shoulder affectionately before moving to stand with James.

“Don’t miss us too much.” He said with a wink before turning to join the other two boys.

And though you would sooner die than admit this to anyone, after this rather lovely afternoon and with the amount of time the Marauders have spent leapfrogging through your mind, you didn’t think you could miss them too much, even if you wanted to.

Find the next update here

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freelancearsonist · 6 months

Text

make a move on me

➔ pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x reader - 5.5k

➔ You've been teasing Joel every day since he started remodeling construction on your house. He finally works up the courage to do something about it - but not in the way you expect him to.

➔ Rated MA for baby’s first anal fic protected p in a and anal fingering (r receiving), age gap (reader is early 20’s, joel is 36), m masturbation/pillowhumping, daddy kink, size kink, praise kink, gentle-turned-rough sex, pet names (baby, darling, honey, good girl, baby girl, little lady), slight degradation and condescension but only in a sexy way, one use of “slut”, pussy pronouns, one (1) pussy slap, gratuitous dickscription, heavy dom/sub dynamics i mean seriously these power dynamics are out of control, tommy is a little bit of a shit (affectionate) [pls let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

➔ This reader insert character: has female anatomy and uses feminine pronouns, no name/no use of y/n, is generally able-bodied, fits in joel’s shirt and is implied to be shorter/smaller than him, is on summer break from college but no major/year is mentioned.

Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. Keep his hands to himself and his mind on the job. Don’t fret over the pretty little thing who’s been draping herself all over the house ever since he started demo, practically begging to be fucked.

If he had any sense, he would pack his shit and drop the job–or, at the very least, tell your parents to put you on a leash. But there’s a little part of him that might be a glutton for punishment–that savors the teasing.

The most infuriating part of the whole thing is that he can’t blame you for this whole mess. He shouldn’t be so quick to temptation. You should be able to walk around your own home in whatever you want and not have to worry about the creepy contractor getting flustered every time he looks in your general direction.

But god, you make it hard–double entendre intended. You walk around like you haven’t a care in the world because you don’t; you’re home for summer break after a grueling year at college, and you intend to savor every languid second of it. Your preferred method of savoring just happens to be wearing tight little bikinis that barely hold anything in place as you lounge out by the pool in the Texas heat, or tight leggings that hug your ass so perfectly it almost makes him jealous of the material as you curl up with a book on your couch.

Joel’s a grown man. He can keep it in his pants, no matter how badly he wants you. But you’re not exactly making it easy on him.

Really, it’s Tommy’s fault when the levee breaks. If he could keep his big mouth shut, Joel might’ve been able to maintain the thin control he had over himself. But Tommy goes and makes an off-handed comment about you one night, and that’s the beginning of the downward spiral.

The brothers are both lounging on Joel’s couch after a particularly taxing day of demolition work, beers cradled in hands and the TV droning uselessly with some movie that they’re more staring at than actually watching. It’s late, yet weary muscles are melted so comfortably into the couch that neither of them try to move even after Sarah’s gone off to bed.

Tommy’s eyes flicker over to Joel, then back to the TV. “That girl’s gon’ be trouble for us, brother.”

There’s a question mark in the grunt Joel emits, leaning forward with interest because he knows Tommy’s talking about you without any specification.

Tommy hums in confirmation and takes a sip of his Corona. “She’s always wearin’ those skimpy little outfits a’hers, and she ain’t coy. Must catch that pretty little thing starin’ at your ass even more than I catch you starin’ at hers.”

Joel plays it off as best as he can until Tommy goes home for the night with a half-assed promise to actually be on time in the morning for once. Then he goes up to his room, locks the door, and wraps himself around the spare pillow that lays against his headboard.

He tries so desperately hard not to think about the plump round curve of your ass, or the enticing way you lick your lips, or those damned little bikinis you favor. He grinds his aching cock into the soft pillowcase and tries to think about anything that isn’t you.

But he comes with a muffled growl of your name anyway, face pushed deep into the pillow and hips jerking arrhythmically.

There’s not much he can do now besides clean himself up and try not to think about how thoroughly fucked he is.

The next day is torture because he can feel your gaze lingering. He catches you checking him out on more than one occasion, and you’re brazen about it now. You can tell something has shifted, so you shift with it. Where you once would’ve flushed with heat and hurried away to your room, you now meet his heated eye contact and hold it.

Joel’s jaw hurts that night from the way it’s been hard-set and clenched all day long. He rubs over his sore temporomandibular joints with his long, thick fingers and wills himself to siphon you out from beneath his skin.

It doesn’t work.

The work helps. Laying tile is something he normally considers tedious, but it’s a welcome reprieve in your home because he can get down on his hands and knees and focus on something that isn’t you.

You see the labor he’s going through, and you appreciate it. And really, what kind of host would you be if you didn’t reward his efforts?

It starts with a pitcher of iced tea. It’s made just the way Joel likes it, with light ice and a few slices of lemon. He doesn’t know how you could possibly guess that, but it makes him want you that much more.

And then it’s cookies. Pain-stakingly handmade oatmeal raisin cookies, to be exact. You’re like something out of his most shameful domestic dreams in your cute floral-patterned apron and oven mitts as you pull the tray of cookies out of the oven, and an image of you in nothing but those mitts and that apron flickers through his mind before he can stop it.

All the while you traipse around the house like a mirage–humming along to the yacht rock that drifts from Joel’s stereo, swaying your hips in the kitchen as you put together the most delicious bologna sandwich Joel’s ever eaten, toweling off your soaking wet body after an afternoon in the pool. You’re the worst temptation Joel’s ever had to face.

It becomes his mantra. Be respectful, be respectful, be respectful.

But there’s no respect in your eyes. There’s nothing honorable about the way you bite your lip and smirk when he catches your gaze lingering on him.

Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. But why should he have to play nice if you don’t?

And really, the whole thing is Tommy’s fault. He started it with that first comment about you, and then he goes and calls out sick (read: horribly hungover) this morning. He leaves Joel all alone with you–gives you the perfect opening to pounce.

Or, more accurately, entice Joel into pouncing on you.

He’s just setting his tool bag down, about to decide where he wants to start today, when your beautiful face pops in through the door.

“Good morning, Joel,” you say with that gorgeous smile of yours that makes his knees go a little weak. “No Tommy today?”

He nearly chokes on his own tongue when you step further into the room wearing a plaid button-up he left here earlier in the week and booty shorts so small he has to do a doubletake to make sure you’re actually wearing anything on your lower half. You look fucking good in his shirt, and suddenly all he can think about is pulling you in and bending you over the half-finished vanity–

“N-no. He’s sick,” Joel manages to choke out. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then, “that’s my shirt, isn’t it?”

You look down and rub the time-worn fabric between your fingers like you have to think about it, like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.

“Oh, it must’ve gotten mixed in with our laundry!” The little giggle you let out is so innocent that he almost believes you. Almost. “Here–”

You start to lift the fabric up your torso in the most tantalizingly slow fashion, and he just sits there and watches it happen. He sees the first peek of skin above the waistband of your shorts, and then your beautiful stomach, then the delicious curve of a breast–

He quickly jolts out a hand to stop you in the midst of mentally willing every single molecule in his dick to control itself. “S’alright, darlin’. You keep it. Looks better on you, anyway.”

“Okay,” you acquiesce and let the fabric drop back down into its rightful place. “Can I get you anything? Water maybe?”

He certainly could use it. His neck and face are flushed red, and there’s sweat starting to form at his temples despite the relatively cool temperature within the house.

He realizes, with startling clarity, that he’s at a precipice right now. This might be the only chance he gets to really do something about this burgeoning tension that’s spread thicker than butter between you and him. He’s got a choice to make, and it’s not going to be an easy choice.

“Sure.” It comes out a bit too high-pitched, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Sure, sweetheart. That’d be great.”

“Alright,” you say with that damned giggle again. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as you leave the room, Joel feels like he can breathe again. It’s so much easier to think straight when you’re not standing there, smiling up at him and looking so damn gorgeous.

He’s got two options, when it boils down to it: fuck you or leave you alone. And he really, really wants to take you. Make you scream his name while he pounds himself into you, fill you so full that you never completely wash him out. And you want it too, he knows you do, you’re practically begging for it.

But he promised himself he would be respectful. That he would keep his hands away from the girl that’s definitely too young and too pure for someone like him–because he knows that if has you, he’ll never be able to get enough.

There’s a very clear and obvious loophole that comes to mind now; a way he could have you without ruining you, a way you could both come out of this satisfied yet mostly intact. Joel’s never been opposed to doing the hard jobs, after all.

He’s got a condom in his wallet and KY jelly in his bag–mostly used for plumbing fittings, but it’ll do the job for this kind of pipework, too.

You come back with a glass of ice water, and his resolve slips. How the hell is he supposed to initiate this? What if you say no and think he’s disgusting? What if you tell your parents? He can’t do this, this was such a horrible idea, he–

Your touch on his back is like a gentle breeze, just a flutter of your fingers to alert him to your return. He flinches a bit at the sudden contact, but when he turns you’re still so achingly close. He can smell the agonizingly sweet aroma of your conditioner and the lotion you slather on your body after showering, and all he wants is more. He wants to wrap you around him, to inhale that scent straight from the source. His resolve is back, just like that.

He doesn’t give himself another opportunity to hesitate. He places one big, meaty palm on your cheek and wraps the other around your hand that holds the glass of ice water to steady you; and then he kisses you with such bruising force it almost knocks the wind out of you.

You moan. You actually moan the second his lips meet yours, and he knows just like that–with a startling moment of clarity–that this isn’t going to be enough. He’s going to take, and take, and take–gorge himself on you until you have nothing left to give. And the strangest thing of the whole matter is that he thinks you’ll actually enjoy his greed.

“Joel–”

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmurs as his lips break away from yours–so low and soft in your ear it can’t be anything but a growl. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop right now.”

“I want it,” you affirm.

He searches your eyes, but he finds only earnest honesty and lust. That darkness, that pure and unadulterated want is enough to make his pants tighten. “Fuck.”

He’s so big underneath your roaming hands as he crowds you back against the long bathroom vanity. He lifts you like you’re nothing and sets you on the counter top; he slots himself between your legs and there’s an actual stretch in your muscles to accommodate the width of his hips. One of his wide palms slips behind your head and his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging a little bit to angle your head just the way he wants it. It’s messy and frenzied and desperate–your hands gliding over tee shirt-covered muscle, his tugging your (his) shirt up over your stomach.

“Was starting to think you weren’t interested.” Your voice is heavy and breathy as he breaks away to tug the shirt over your head, casting it aside to lie forgotten on the floor.

“I’ve been tryna convince myself m’not,” he kisses into your neck. “Didn’t work.”

With a sudden roll of his hips, he has you gasping into his neck. He can’t be more than half-hard, but that bulge is formidable. Thick and straining and… suddenly you can’t focus on anything except getting him out of those tight jeans to see what you’re working with.

Your hand just barely fits around him. He’s thick and flushed, getting harder with each passing second as he scatters feather-light kisses over your neck and shoulders. He muffles a groan into your neck as you slowly pump his length–you think he’s seven, maybe eight inches at best guess. The tip of him is flushed red once you get his uncut skin out of the way, and it makes your mouth water. There’s a slight upward curve to him and a long, prominent vein that runs down the left side. It’s porn star material–you didn’t know real people had dicks like this.

“Joel… Jesus, that’s gonna be a tight fit.”

“Oh, don’t worry darlin’,” he hums, thumb ghosting over your clit in a way that makes your entire body jolt. “It ain’t goin’ in there.”

There’s nothing but pure excitement in your voice, despite the anxious gulp that tracks down your throat. “Where…”

“Flip over f’me.”

You follow his instruction with a sort of morbid curiosity, hopping down from the counter before folding yourself over it.

You can feel his eyes on you, as he takes in your willingness. It’s like you’re on display for him, for his appraisal. You’ve still got shorts and a bra on, yet you’ve never felt more exposed.

It’s almost like he can sense your mind swirling–maybe it’s because his is prone to do the same. He sets a gentle hand on your back and smooths it down your spine as he crowds up against you–you can feel the press of his exposed cock against the curve of your ass, and it makes you shiver.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs as he folds over you, caging you in with the delicious weight of his body. His lips trace along the curve of your jaw and down your neck as he speaks. “But I made myself this little promise that I wouldn’t fuck you. You got me actin’ so unprofessional, honey.”

You whine at the sincerity in his voice–all you’ve wanted since the day he started was for him to have you folded over and at his mercy like this.

“You can fuck me,” you whine earnestly. “It’s okay, I promise. Won’t tell.”

“Mmm, I know. You’re too good a girl to go gettin’ me in trouble over somethin’ like this,” he hums–you can hear the condescension in his voice even as he praises you, and it makes your cunt clench around nothing. “But with all the teasin’ you been doin’... don’t rightly know that you deserve to be fucked.”

“Please–”

“However,” he continues, landing a light smack to your ass in retaliation for your interruption, “might be willin’ to take you anyway, with some conditions. Out of the goodness of my heart.”

He pauses to let you ask, “What conditions?”

And then he pauses again, asking his own question this time. Is he really going to go through with this? But he’s spent the better part of two weeks staring at your ass, and you’ve spent the better part of two weeks putting it on display for him. It’s like you’ve been silently asking him all this time to take it.

His hand slides down from where it rests on your spine, over your tailbone to where he’s been thinking about all this time. He feels the way your muscles tense up even through your shorts, and it sends a thrill he can’t describe coursing through his veins.

“You ever taken someone here before?”

“N-no.” He feels it again as his other hand comes to soothingly rub your hip–that excited-yet-nervous flutter of muscle. You haven’t run away screaming yet, and that’s the biggest motivator he could have to keep going.

“I think you ought to let me. As a thank you, for puttin’ up with all your play,” he growls into your ear.

It’s fucking dirty, the idea of letting a man you hardly know take you in such a taboo way. It’s even dirtier how fucking excited the idea has you.

“You say no right now and I’ll drop it,” he murmurs so sweetly. “Don’t ever have to talk about this again.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished talking–a sly smirk spreading over your lips as you grind back against him hard enough to make him choke on a moan.

“It’s only right,” you affirm. “Gotta make it up to you for how naughty I’ve been.’

His eyes flash dangerously as he grinds his cock against you again, smearing precome against the flimsy fabric of your shorts. “Atta fuckin’ girl.”

He has your bottoms and panties down around your ankles in a flash, and he actually groans at the sight of your sticky cunt all puffy and wet and on display for him.

He can’t resist the urge to swipe a finger through your folds, delighting in the string of shiny arousal that connects his finger to your core when he pulls away. “She wants it so bad, hmm? Such a shame she ain’t gettin’ any.”

It tugs a moan from your throat, especially when he drags as much slick as he can up to circle your tightest hole. He feels the way you flutter with apprehension, and he leans back down to kiss the corner of your jaw.

“Gonna get you nice and ready, I promise. M’not gonna hurt you, baby girl.”

“Thank you, da–” You almost lost yourself there for a second–almost laid your whole hand of cards out on the table for him to see. You try not to get flustered over the slip–you simply clear your throat and try again. “Thank you, Joel.” But you aren’t nearly as smooth as you hope to be.

In a flash Joel’s free hand is lifting your head, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. They’re so much darker than normal, and it only serves to make you wetter.

“What’d you call me?”

“J-Joel.”

His hand slips down to your throat and gives it a warning squeeze–his jaw is set, you know he isn’t playing. “Try again, and tell the truth this time.”

“D… daddy.”

You try to hide your face, to cower in shame, but he won’t let you. He smashes his lips to yours at the exact second his first finger probes that tight, waiting entrance.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he slowly breaches you, using your own slick to guide the way. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You can’t do anything but gasp, hands clutching for dear life to the edge of the counter. This feels different, and not in the way you were expecting it to. It’s tight, sure, and it feels foreign, but it also feels so much better than you ever could’ve expected it to. The subtle stretch around his thick finger is addicting.

Joel’s jaw drops at the expression on your face; you already look so thoroughly fucked-out, and he’s barely even started. “Fuck.You like this, hmm? Like feelin’ daddy’s fingers gettin’ you ready for his big cock?”

The only response he gets is a wrecked little whimper, and he props your chin up again to meet his heated gaze. “Talk to me. Gotta talk to me, tell me how you’re feelin’, or I’m gonna stop.”

“Fuck!” It’s shriller than you want it to be and you would feel pathetic if you weren’t so thoroughly overwhelmed with this new sensation. “Don’t stop daddy!”

“Feels good, yeah? How long has daddy’s little slut wanted to try this?”

But there’s no way you can be expected to answer, not when he’s adding another finger to the onslaught. Not when your legs are already shaking and you’re thinking about just how many fingers he’s going to have to use to get you ready for the massive cock you can feel throbbing against your thigh.

He retracts just as suddenly as he started, and a needy little whine escapes from your throat involuntarily.

He can’t help chuckling as he reaches for the bottle of KY jelly he’d dug out of his bag while you were getting him water. It feels like it’s been years since you left the room on that little errand for him–definitely not the barely ten minutes it’s actually been.

“Relax, baby girl. I’m comin’ right back.”

You feel the cool drizzle of the water-based substance over your hole and it forces another whine from your throat. It’s met with his thick fingers again, spreading the jelly over your hole before plunging two in knuckle-deep.

“Atta girl.” His voice is thick and sweet as honey as he slowly works his fingers, thrusting and scissoring at an achingly slow pace. “Doin’ so good f’me.”

“Daddy–”

“I know,” he coos. “I know, it’s so much, isn’it?”

All you can manage to do is nod your head, arms shaking under the strain of holding yourself upright. He sees the way your limbs tremble and he adds a third finger just to be extra cruel–although he steadies you by grabbing your hip firmly with his free hand, keeping you in place as he fucks you open with his fingers.

Everything is so hot. There’s a sticky sheen of sweat covering your forehead and your chest; you can feel your own slick dripping down your thighs.

And then his free hand drops down to thumb at your clit, and everything twists in your gut so fast it nearly gives you whiplash.

Within seconds you’re coming–no pretense, no warning. It explodes white-hot from your belly and sweeps through you to the tips of your fingers and toes with flash flood speed. One second there’s nothing more than pleasant anticipation–the next, you’re shaking and convulsing and sobbing Joel’s name as you fight with every cell in your body to remain upright.

He does his part to work you through it, thumb swiping even circles on your sensitive clit, pulling his fingers from you to pin you in place on the counter so he can continue working you through it.

“I know, I know,” he coos so sweetly in your ear over the sound of your moans and cries. “You’re doin’ so good baby, let yourself have it.”

It’s minutes before you’re breathing normally again–your legs are cramping from trying so desperately to support your shaky weight. Joel’s hands are soothing you the whole time once he lets up the onslaught on your clit; it’s like he’s mapping you, tracing over every dip and curve so tenderly you could almost forget what this encounter really is.

“Doin’ okay?” He husks into your ear–and then he’s folding himself over you again, and you can feel the insistent press of his hard cock against the curve of your ass.

For some reason, that’s what really makes it sink in. That’s the moment you realize that this is actually going to happen–that you want it to happen. Joel’s about to take something from you that no one has ever taken before, and you want him to. You’re offering it willingly, even.

You hum in response and buck your hips back, giving him a delicious taste of friction that pulls a ground from his throat. “Mhm. I’m ready, daddy.”

“Fuck, that’s my girl.” He gives your hip a light pat before pulling away for a moment, and you somehow have the presence of mind to jump up on the deep countertop because you know your legs won’t be able to support you through what’s about to happen.

There’s a smile on his handsome face when he turns back towards you, lube and condom in hand. “That how you want it, baby?”

Despite everything that’s already happened, you feel so much more exposed like this. You’re completely naked, and he’s fully clothed with his pants shoved down just enough to free his dick. Even as you spread your legs to admit him between your thighs, you feel shy. And he senses it, the slight apprehension in your gaze, because his smile softens even further; he sets the lube and condom down on the counter next to you so he can grasp the collar of his worn t-shirt and tug it up over his head.

He’s beautiful for a nearly forty-year-old man, you think. He’s firm and toned, but there’s a softness about him that you can’t help admiring, especially around his belly. Your eyes eagerly lap up the soft curve of his tummy, following the tantalizing promise of his treasure trail to his cock, hard and aching for you. The ruddy, flushed tip is weeping for you; you don’t know that you’ve ever seen someone so turned on before, and it’s a heady rush of power.

He chuckles as he sees your hungry eyes taking him in–he raises one big hand to cup your chin and pull your gaze up to meet his. “You’re so pretty, baby, look so good spread out f’me like this. You sure you’re ready f’this?”

“Fuck yes,” you say with an alluring little wiggle of your hips, and that’s more than enough for him.

He pulls his bottom lip between even rows of shiny white teeth as he rolls the condom down over his length, and it’s actually intimidating like this. He’s so big and imposing and it makes your legs want to close, but–

“M’gonna go slow, okay?” He vows, voice gentle as his big, brown eyes look into yours. His fingers wrap tightly around the half-used tube of KY jelly, and he leans down to kiss you when he sees the nervous gulp that bobs your throat. “Gonna be real gentle, I promise. You tap out at any time and we’re done, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you affirm, and you feel a lot better. As out of the blue as this is, as little as you really know Joel, you can tell he’s being sincere. You trust him; you know he won’t hurt you.

The first press of his aching tip against your hole is enough to make you choke on a gasp. He’s big, and even with all of his attentive prep work to get you ready for him it’s a tight fit. You can tell it’s affecting him, too. His eyes flutter shut and he bites down hard on his bottom lip, and you can tell that he’s fighting with all his strength not to just shove himself deep inside you. You appreciate his restraint more than words can convey, so you don’t even try; you hook your arms around his neck and pull him in for a deep, messy, desperate kiss instead. His tongue licks eagerly into your mouth as he eases his hips further and further towards yours, and it’s a nice distraction from the nearly overwhelming stretch of your muscle trying to accommodate his girth.

He shudders when his hips finally meet yours, cock stuffed to the hilt into your ass. “God damn baby, you’re so fuckin’ tight. You doin’ okay?”

You whine at the first roll of his hips, nodding your head rapidly because words won’t come. It’s such a foreign sensation, being stretched and breached like this. Not unpleasant necessarily, but so brain-scramblingly different that all you can do is dig your nails into his strong, broad shoulders and hold on for dear life as he actually starts to fuck into you.

It’s nasty, and you’ve never been so wet in your life. You hear the sticky squelch of lube as he thrusts his hips, shoving his cock deeper than you imagined possible. Your own wetness seeps from your neglected cunt and drenches him, dripping down around his cock and wetting the dense curls at the apex of his sex.

“Shit baby, you’re takin’ daddy’s cock so well,” he whines breathlessly; one arm hooks under your knee so he can spread you open a bit wider for him, and then the other hand returns to your puffy, arousal swollen clit.

You make what has to be the most high-pitched sound you’ve ever made as his index and middle fingers start a torturously slow pace on the little bud. “Fuck daddy!”

“I know,” he coos–you think that soft, breathy, Southern twang is going to actually put you in your grave. “I know, you wanna come, dontcha? It’s okay baby, daddy’s gonna make you come all over his cock just the way you need.”

His hips pick up the pace in time with his fingers, and all you can do is lay there limply like a ragdoll. The pleasure is so much different than what you’re used to, but it’s good. It’s amazing, the feeling of him balls deep in your guts in tandem with his ministrations on your clit, in a way you never imagined it could be.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me,” he growls, hitching your leg a bit higher over his hip so he can thrust even deeper. “Fuck, m’not gonna last long like this. You’re gonna make daddy come so hard in this tight little ass.”

His words are accentuated with a little smack to the side of your ass, and it makes you moan louder still. Your head rolls back as he picks up the pace of his fingers, swirling hard and messy circles with reckless abandon. He’s not trying to prolong it anymore–he’s going for the kill.

“Fuck daddy!” Your hands scrabble for purchase on his smooth, freckled skin as he pounds harder into you. “W-want it, please, want you to come in my ass–”

“Gonna give it to you, impatient girl,” he growls deep in his chest. “You gimme one first.”

Your entire body jolts when he brings his hand down on your sensitive cunt before groaning at the way your arousal sticks to his hand and makes his fingers shine.

“She wants t’be stuffed so full, doesn’t she?” He purrs, fingers dancing so fucking teasingly around your fluttering cunt that it makes your eyes water. “Bet she’d love to be chock full’a cock right now.”

“Joel–”

“Now, now, baby, no whinin’. It’s unbecomin’ for such a sweet little lady,” he grunts, and the condescension dripping from his tone is almost enough to make you come on its own. “You’re gonna take what I give you and be grateful for it, aintcha?”

“Yesyesyesplease–”

His fingers have barely returned to your clit before you’re coming again. This one is even more powerful than before–a hurricane instead of a flash flood. Your entire body trembles with the ebbing flow of pleasurable waves–the words you’re panting aren’t even discernible English anymore.

The way you clench and flutter around him in your own pleasure pulls him over the edge faster than anything ever has before. He comes hard, chest clenching hard around his breath, cock twitching more violently than anything you’ve ever felt before as he spills his load into the condom.

It’s a long, breathless moment before he pulls himself from the vice-like grip you have around his dick. He pulls out with a deep, long groan–it makes you giggle, because it’s the most over-dramatic sound you’ve ever heard in your life.

There’s a beat, and then he starts laughing, too. At the sweet sound of your laugh, at the way he feels like he just ran a marathon, at the absolute absurdity of this whole thing. His laughter is so sweet and gut-deep and infectious, and it only serves to make you laugh harder. For a good few moments it’s just you and Joel, half naked, panting and sweaty, doubled over in laughter.

And then the bathroom door swings open and Tommy barges in.

“I’m feelin’ a helluva lot better after sleepin’ in, what’s so funny–” He stops dead in his tracks; he sees you naked and spread out on the counter and Joel disheveled and sweating. Neither of you are laughing very much anymore as you both scramble to cover yourselves up.

Tommy quirks a brow, a smirk spreading across his lips as his eyes dart back and forth between you and Joel. “Well, well, well. What have we here?”

You don’t know how to answer when you’re so mortified, so you do the only thing you can think of–you dart out of the room and down the hall to the safety of your bedroom as fast as your shaky legs can carry you.

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