#Ya'll Hear Something; [CRACK]

[spaced-out-muses]

"The issue ain't if you could handle it, it's that you shouldn't get involved at all."

@autonomousxselves

[alygator77]

.ೃ࿐motherhood and matrimony I ch 6 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

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 (annoyances) to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, marriage of convenience, slow burn, smut, fluff, some angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, triggers of prior domestic abuse (physical intimidation, emotional manipulation, from naoya) » 【note, this chapter contains explicit sexual content (dry humping, grinding)】

ꨄ words: 14.4k

ꨄ a/n. hello my lovelies!! :) life has been a roller coaster to say the least, but i'm so excited to share this chapter with ya'll. i'll see you at the bottom with my thoughts ♡

ꨄ taglist: open (ao3)

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ch 6 // drenched in truth

The gala was a night that promised perfection, elegance and ease…but the storm on the horizon had other plans for you.

As murmurs of conversation hum throughout the grand ballroom, it’s easy to forget the world outside—that is, until you hear the first distant rumble of thunder.

Before you know it, the once clear starry evening, slowly gives way to ominous clouds gathering the horizon, with the first raindrops of the evening arriving barely noticed beneath the layers of music and chatter—tapping against the expansive windows like an impatient guest requesting entry.

But the gentle taps soon evolve into a steady, insistent drumming, making the rain’s presence impossible to ignore as the water streams down the glass windows in rivulets—distorting the view outside and making the world beyond seem distant and blurred.

It’s getting late…

You subtly glance down at your phone to check the time, and as the screen illuminates, a picture of you and Haru at the park flashes across the display. What a bright and sunny memory—completely different from the now impossible to ignore presence of this unforgiving rain.

As the storm outside grows, your thoughts immediately shift to Haru. Is she okay?

The last time there was such a storm, Haru had been terrified of the thunder—each crack making her small frame shake, eyes filled with tears and voice trembling as she whispered mama, seeking comfort in your embrace.

Is the nanny capable of soothing her?

The sudden concern that she might be scared and inconsolable gnaws at you, making it hard to focus on anything else as you navigate the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with people whose names you’ll forget by morning.

The opulence of the gala, the sparkling chandeliers, the elegant music—it all feels suffocating, a gilded cage keeping you from where you truly need to be. Home. That’s where you should be, holding Haru close, comforting her through the storm, not trapped in this endless sea of strangers and small talk.

You glance at Satoru beside you—a picture of calm, hand resting in his pocket as he engages in light-hearted conversation with a group of guests, smiling and laughing. It’s all so natural, so effortless as their chatter seems to exist in a world far removed from the storm—both outside and within you.

As you stand there, nodding along to the conversation without truly listening, your eyes begin to drift across the room and you notice a few other couples discreetly making their way towards the exit, coats draped over their arms—if only you could do the same.

You find yourself fidgeting with the hem of your dress—you really want to go home.

Glancing up at Satoru again, you wait for a brief lull in his conversation where the chatter dies down just enough for you to discreetly speak to him without interrupting.

Once the opportunity arises with the laughter fading and the conversation shifting to another topic, you seize your moment. Leaning in close to Satoru, your shoulder brushes against his arm as you softly whisper under your breath.

“Hey… it’s getting late and with this storm, maybe we should think about heading out soon?”

Your words are careful, quiet, meant to blend into the background noise of the gala so that no one else notices your request, and Satoru’s gaze flickers to you, his expression softening as he takes in your concern. But then he sighs quietly, his hand gently brushing against your arm, a small gesture of reassurance.

“I know,” he murmurs, “but there’s just one more obligation I have to fulfill for the event—a quick thank-you speech to the sponsors. I promise, we’ll leave right after that.”

He begins to turn back to the conversation, the group’s voices already beginning to rise again, but just as he starts to pull away, a low rumble of thunder reverberates through the room, and your gaze instinctively flickers to the windows, where the rain beats against the glass with increasing ferocity, the relentless sheets of water streaking down like tears.

Without thinking, your hand reaches out, lightly touching Satoru’s arm—a small, almost hesitant gesture. As your fingers brush against the fabric of his sleeve, your subtle plea for his attention makes him pause and turn back towards you, concern flickering in his eyes.

“Satoru…I’m really worried about Haru,” you confess, keeping your voice low to avoid drawing the attention of those around you. “She hates storms… she’s terrified of thunder.”

Before you can say more, he shifts slightly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you gently into his side. You are met immediately with the warmth of his body, the subtle scent of his cologne and the steady rhythm of his breath. His hand moves in slow, comforting motions up and down your arm, as if trying to transfer some of his calm to you.

He tilts his chin down towards you and he speaks in a low gentle murmur, meant only for you.

“Haru has the nanny. She’s safe. I’ll make sure she’s okay, and this won’t take long—I’ll be quick, I promise.”

His words, paired with the comforting rhythm of his hand, are meant to ease your worries, to reassure you that everything will be alright, but for some reason they land with a dull thud in your chest.

You know Haru has the nanny…but you can’t shake the feeling that it might not be enough for her. You’ve been Haru’s rock throughout everything—Naoya was never there for her, and she hasn’t had anyone else.

“I know, but…” you glance towards the windows again as another rumble of thunder reverberates through the room. “Haru gets so scared. Last time, she cried for hours and couldn’t sleep without me.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker between you and the group of guests nearby, a momentary glance that betrays the tug-of-war happening within him.

“I get it. I do,” his tone is still gentle but with an edge of urgency now. His eyes lock onto yours, pleading for understanding even as they flit once more to the gathering around you. “This is important, though. I made a commitment to be here, and it’s crucial that I see it through. But I’ll make it quick, I promise. We’ll leave as soon as I’m done, and we’ll be home before you know it.”

A mix of frustration and helplessness begin to bubble through you as you watch his gaze. There is a sense of sincerity, yet it feels divided—part of him here with you, with another part already back in the spotlight, where the murmurs of the gala grow louder.

You know he’s committed to the cause, that his presence here holds weight—it’s not that you don’t understand—it’s just that… does that really matter right now when Haru might need you?

“Alright…” you say reluctantly, the word heavy on your tongue. “Just… don’t take too long, please.”

ꨄ︎

Perhaps this storm isn’t just weather—it’s a harbinger.

Your attention shifts between watching Satoru on stage, giving his speech to the sponsors, to the large windows lining the ballroom. Outside the once vibrant red carpet is now a sodden strip of fabric, abandoned to the elements.

The storm has worsened, intensifying with each passing minute, and with it, your sense of dread. Your fingers tap idly against the polished surface of the round dinner table as the wind howls like it wants to be let in, the rain lashing against the glass with a ferocity that seems malevolent.

You try to focus on Satoru’s words, but a movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. A man, tall and imposing with raven hair, weaves his way through the crowd, his presence almost too casual for an event like this. He’s dressed well enough to blend in, but there’s something about him—something in the way he carries himself, the scar upon his lips—he feels out of place.

He's somewhat…intimidating—like a predator stalking its prey.

Once the man approaches your table, you stiffen slightly, instinctively pulling your shawl tighter around your shoulders. He’s close now, close enough that you can make out the sharpness in his features, the cold glint in his eyes.

But…why is there an air of familiarity about him? You can’t quite place it. He stops just short of your chair, a smile curling his lips, though is doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Mind if I sit?” he asks—and he doesn’t wait for your answer before pulling out the chair beside you.

Caught off guard, you nod slowly.

“Sure…”

Settling into the seat with a casual ease there's a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. A subtle tension radiates from him as his gaze flickers to you.

“Enjoying the event?” he asks, voice smooth, almost too smooth, like oil on water.

Great. This is really not what you need right now. It’s hard enough playing your part when you have Satoru’s support, but now, you’re by yourself. What if you slip up and say something wrong?

Unease bubbles inside you, making it difficult to muster more than a faint smile upon your lips.

“Yes, it’s been lovely,” you nod politely.

“Mm… quite the storm out there though,” he comments. “But then again, a little chaos never hurt anyone, right?”

His tone sends a cool shiver down your spine. This guy gives you the creeps, but you force a polite smile, unsure of what to make of him.

“I suppose not…”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze shifting to Satoru on stage before flicking back to you.

“You must be proud, seeing him up there,” he remarks. “It’s not every day you get to stand beside someone so… influential.”

His words, though innocuous on the surface, feel laden with meaning—like there’s something he’s not saying, something he’s implying, and you feel a chill that has nothing to do with the storm outside.

Who is this man, and why does he seem so familiar?

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“It’s important to keep an eye on those you care about, wouldn’t you agree? Sometimes… things aren’t always as they seem.”

The statement hangs in the air, heavy with implication, but before you can respond, he straightens up, his gaze flickering to the stage again where Satoru is now wrapping up his speech. The unsettling smile returns to his face—a smile that carries a shadow passing over his expression.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” he stands from the chair. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” and he turns on his heel, disappearing back into the crowd as quickly as he appeared.

But the chill he leaves behind lingers, gnawing at the edges of your mind.

Weird…what a creep.

You shake off the lingering sense of unease as Satoru beings to step down from the podium, exchanging pleasantries and goodbyes with a few lingering guests.

His eyes flicker to you, and then towards the window, catching a glimpse of lightning as it illuminates the darkened sky, and for just a second, you notice a shift in his expression as he takes in the worsening weather.

Excusing himself from the crowd, Satoru steps to the side discreetly with practiced ease and pulls out his phone. You watch as he dials, his back turned slightly from the attendees, and although you can’t hear his words, you know what he’s doing—a rush of relief washes over you as you realize he’s calling the driver to come pick you up.

Finally.

The thought of being on your way home, of holding Haru close and reassuring her, makes the wait almost unbearable.

Satoru’s conversation is brief, but you watch it with growing anticipation, and once he slips his phone back into his pocket, he meets your gaze from across the room again.

Wait…there is something in his expression…an unease that wasn’t there before. Concern.

He weaves through the crowd with purposeful strides, and your heart sinks—it slowly becomes more apparent that something isn’t right, and the chatter in the ballroom grows quiet as guests murmur about the worsening weather.

Once Satoru reaches you, he doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, he pulls out the seat beside you, flipping it around so that the back of the chair presses against his chest as he sits, arms folded across the top of it. The movement is casual in appearance, but the way his fingers tighten around the wood, his knuckles whitening just slightly, betrays the calm facade he’s trying to maintain.

“So…” he leans in a little closer, voice low, almost reluctant. “We’ve got a bit of a situation.”

“What’s wrong?” anxiety builds inside you.

He hesitates, just for a moment, his eyes flicking to the side as if searching for the right words, before meeting your gaze head-on.

“There’s been an accident on the main road leading out of the city… it’s caused a major blockage, and with all this rain, the roads are practically flooded. My driver’s stuck on the other side and won’t be able to reach us for hours… maybe not until morning.”

Oh, you see red.

The storm outside suddenly feels like a mirror to the one brewing inside you—fierce, relentless, and impossible to contain.

If only you had left sooner, if only Satoru hadn’t insisted on staying for that last part of the gala—if only he had understood the urgency you felt—you wouldn’t be in this mess.

And now, Haru is alone at home, frightened and vulnerable, and you’re stuck here, trapped by circumstances beyond your control.

The thought makes your blood boil.

“So, what do we do?” The words escape your lips with a sharpness that even you didn’t anticipate, cutting through the air like a knife.

Satoru’s eyes widen and he runs a hand through his hair, a rare display of uncertainty flickering across his usually composed demeanor. His eyes shift away from you, scanning the room as if searching for a solution hidden in the lavish surroundings.

“…let me figure this out. Wait here,” he murmurs as he pushes back his chair and stands.

Watching his tall frame cut through the crowd, suddenly the sound of the rain beating against the glass now seems almost accusatory—a relentless reminder of this absurd situation you are now stuck in.

This night suddenly feels like it’s teetering on the edge of disaster—the thin veneer of control slipping from you with each passing second. But there are faces around you, and although they blur into a sea of indifference and hallow chatters, you are acutely aware that people are still watching.

You take a deep breath attempting to calm your frustration. There must be something Satoru can do. He has money and power—there must be some sort of solution he can find to this. Haru needs you.

Suddenly, you catch sight of Satoru weaving his way back towards you, his stride purposeful and his expression carrying a hint of relief. For a brief moment, hope flutters in your chest—perhaps he’s found a way out of this mess.

When he reaches you, he shoves his hands into his pockets, leans in slightly and speaks with a sense of accomplishment.

“So… good news. I spoke with the event coordinator. Given the circumstances, the hotel has offered us one of their VIP suites for the night. It’s just upstairs, fully equipped with everything we need until the roads clear up.”

Yeah…that’s not the solution you wanted.

A suite? He wants you to stay overnight? When Haru is at home, probably terrified, clinging to her blankets with wide, tear-filled eyes? Does he really think that’s what you wanted to hear?

“That’s considerate of them, but what about Haru?”

The words escape your lips before you can temper them, clipped and laced with the sharp edge of your rising aggravation. As they slice through the air, the flicker of surprise that crosses Satoru’s face is immediate.

Fuck.

You’re still in public, at this stupid gala. You have to stay composed; you can’t afford to lose control—not here.

Your eyes scan the room for any prying eyes, anyone who might have caught the slight outburst. It doesn’t seem like anyone noticed… thankfully. The last thing you need is for your moment of panic to become another piece of gossip for the night.

Taking a long deep breath, you attempt to regain some semblance of composure, but as you lower your voice, the tension still coils tight in your words.

“She’s back home, we can’t just leave her alone.”

“But she’s not alone,” he counters, tone firm but gentle. “Haru’s in good hands with the nanny, she’s safe. I’ll make sure everything is handled. I’ll compensate the nanny for staying overnight with Haru.”

He is clearly not on the same page as you—he doesn’t understand. Safe? Maybe. But comforted? No. Compensation won’t calm Haru’s fears; money can’t replace the warmth and reassurance of her mother’s arms when she’s trembling in fear.

But you can’t say that here—you don’t trust yourself to soften the words, not with the eyes of the gala on you, prying, ready to dissect any sign of discord between you and Satoru. So instead, you grasp for something, anything—another solution, another way out of this mess.

“Isn’t there something else we can do? Another route we can take?” you press, the desperation seeping through despite your efforts to keep it contained.

Satoru’s shoulders tense ever so slightly, a subtle shift that only someone who knows him as well as you do would notice. There is a flicker of frustration in his eyes as they narrow, and you watch him take a moment to briefly weigh his words.

“Y/n this is the best solution I can come up with,” there’s an undercurrent of firmness that brooks no argument. “It’s not safe for us to leave right now. The roads are flooded, and I can’t risk us getting caught out there.”

For a moment, the two of you are locked in a silent standoff, each of you grappling with the weight of the situation, the reality pressing down like the storm outside. He’s right—you know he is—but that doesn’t make the situation any easier to swallow. The knowledge sits heavy in your chest, a bitter pill that refuses to go down smoothly.

Why couldn’t Satoru just listen to you when you suggested you leave early?

The thought fuels your frustration simmering just beneath the surface. You should have been more persistent. But now, here you are, trapped in this gilded cage while your daughter is home, scared and needing you.

Satoru exhales softly, the tension in his shoulders easing and the hard edges of his demeanor softening just slightly as he steps closer to you—he’s trying to bridge the growing chasm between you.

His hand reaches out, and you want to pull back, but you are in public, you can’t. There’s a softness in his touch, a quiet desperation to connect, but you can feel the gap widening under the weight of everything left unsaid.

He tilts his head, caressing your hand as his gaze searches yours.

“It’s just one night,” he murmurs, and there’s a tenderness there, an unspoken plea for you to understand, to see that he’s trying to make the best of a bad situation. But to you, the words feel hollow, like they’re echoing in a void that’s too vast to bridge with simple reassurances. “We’ll be back first thing in the morning before Haru even wakes up.”

But will she be okay?

The question burns in your throat but you keep it to yourself—it wouldn’t come out nice anyway.

You are trapped—trapped by the storm, trapped by this situation, trapped by the need to maintain this perfect, unblemished image for everyone around you.

So instead, you force a tight-lipped smile, one that doesn’t reach your eyes. It’s the best you can manage, a fragile mask to hide the storm inside.

“Guess we don’t have a choice….”

“I know…we’ll get through this though. Just one night,” he echoes, as if saying it again will make it more true, but the repetition feels like an empty promise.

You nod, the motion stiff and reluctant.

“I understand,” the words taste like ash. “Let’s go upstairs then,” you rise from your seat, not waiting for him to respond.

ꨄ︎

As the elevator doors slide open with a quiet ding, you step inside with clipped precision, your movements sharp and purposeful. The elevator is empty—thank God.

The last thing you need right now is to plaster on a fake smile and pretend that everything is fine when you’re anything but. You don’t have the energy to pretend—not in front of strangers, and certainly not in front of Satoru.

You barely acknowledge him as he steps in behind you, your focus narrowing on the glowing buttons as you swiftly press the number for your floor. Once the door closes with a soft thud, instinctively, you gravitate to the far side of the elevator, creating as much distance between you and Satoru as the small space allows.

There’s a brief pause as Satoru hesitates, his eyes flickering over to you before he pulls out his phone, and the soft glow of the screen casts a muted light over his features, highlighting the tension in his brow.

As the elevator hums quietly, beginning its ascent, you catch sight of Satoru dialing the nanny’s number from the corner of your eye, lifting the phone to his ear.

“Hey, listen… there’s been a situation with the roads—they’re flooded, and we won’t be able to make it back tonight. Can you stay with Haru until morning?”

He pauses, listening intently to the nanny’s response, and although you can’t make out her words, you see the way Satoru's brow furrows, the lines of tension etching themselves deeper into his features.

The muffled sound of the nanny’s voice filters through the phone, indistinct and far away—until another sound reaches your ears, clear and unmistakable.

Haru.

Her small, trembling voice carries through the phone, quivering with fear as she calls for you, confirming the gnawing dread that had been eating away at you all night. You were right, of course, but there’s no satisfaction in that—not when your daughter is scared and crying for you, and you’re trapped miles away, helpless to do anything about it.

Satoru’s jaw tightens. “Haru’s okay, right?” tone softer now, almost hesitant.

There’s a pause, a heavy silence that stretches out as Satoru listens, and you watch as something in his posture shifts—his shoulders slump ever so slightly, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but enough to tell you that the news isn’t good. He closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling quietly.

“Tell her that her Mama will be home in the morning… and I’ll make sure everything’s okay. Just... stay with her, please.”

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Satoru fixes his gaze on the floor, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to meet your eyes. He offers no words of comfort, no apology. And you, in turn, make no effort to break the silence either.

Maybe it’s for the best—because right now, the storm raging inside you is just as fierce as the one outside, and you’re not sure you can contain it much longer. The lid holding down your frustration is teetering dangerously on the edge, threatening to spill over, and as the pressure builds, your emotions coil tight like a spring ready to snap.

If you open your mouth now, the floodgates will burst.

So, you’ll wait—you’ll discuss this with Satoru when you’re more level-headed. Right now, all you want to do is crawl into bed—away from Satoru, away from this night, away from everything that feels so suffocatingly wrong.

The silence stretches on, thick and unbearable, and once the elevator finally reaches your floor with a soft chime, without a word, you step out, your heels clicking against the polished floor, with Satoru following a step behind—silent and distant, the space between you feeling wider than ever.

ꨄ︎

The moment you step into the VIP suite, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer size of the room—it’s more like a luxurious apartment than a mere hotel room. The high ceilings are adorned with intricate chandeliers, rich furnishings and artwork that probably costs more than what your entire apartment had cost.

The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the city below, and there is a beautiful patio overlooking the city with the lights twinkling against the stormy backdrop, but instead of feeling awe, it’s only a reminder of how trapped you are.

In the common room, a plush, oversized sofa commands the space, flanked by elegant armchairs and a coffee table that looks more like a piece of art than something meant for everyday use. You set your purse and shawl down on the polished surface and begin to explore the room.

Your gaze wanders to a nearby dining area, where a table is set for two, the fine china and crystal glasses gleaming under the soft light. Beyond that, a sleek bar catches your eye, stocked with an assortment of premium spirits. At the center, a bottle of champagne chills in a gleaming silver bucket, waiting to be uncorked—a celebration you’re far from feeling.

Curious, you open the first door you come across, but it’s just a closet. Moving onto the next, you’re half-expecting to find a bedroom, but instead, the door reveals a marble-clad bathroom, which is more of a private spa than anything else, with a deep soaking tub and a rain shower that beckons with promises of relaxation.

Finally, you reach the last door, and as you push it open, your breath catches in your throat. The bedroom is vast, with high ceilings and draped curtains, but amidst all the space, the luxury, the sheer grandeur…

There is only one bed.

It’s massive, adorned in rich, inviting linens that seem to promise the best sleep of your life. The headboard is a work of art, appearing as if it was carved by hand, its craftsmanship impeccable. But despite all its luxury, one glaring fact stands out—it’s a single bed.

A bed meant for two.

You stop in your tracks, staring at the bed in disbelief. Your mind races, trying to make sense of the situation. Did you miss a door? Could there be another bedroom somewhere in the suite?

Without thinking, you begin to backtrack, your footsteps hurried and purposeful. You retrace your steps through the suite, opening doors you’ve already been through, peering inside with a growing sense of urgency.

The bathroom—no, just the spa-like marble bath and rain shower. The closet—no, just storage. The living area—no, just the oversized sofa and elegant chairs. The dining area—no, just the table set for two and the sleek bar.

Where’s the other bedroom? There has to be another one, right? How can a suite this big, only have one bed?

Is this a cruel joke? A final twist of the knife in an already unbearable night? Is the universe pushing you further out of your comfort zone, testing the limits of your patience, your composure, and your control?

Your movements grow more frantic as you circle back, convinced you must have overlooked something, anything. But there’s nothing else. It’s just that one, luxurious bed, waiting for the two of you.

Scanning the suite one last time, you notice Satoru sitting nonchalantly on the plush couch, leaning back with one arm draped casually over the back of the sofa. He loosens his tie as he tilts his head, watching you with a mixture of confusion and mild amusement.

“What are you looking for?”

You stop dead in your tracks, your breath hitching as you stare at him in disbelief.

“There’s only one bed.”

Perhaps vocalizing the absurdity of this precarious situation might somehow conjure a second bed out of thin air.

Oh, you wish.

Satoru blinks and raises an eyebrow. Without a word, he slowly rises from the couch and walks towards the bedroom. Once he steps inside, he takes in the sight of the massive bed and the luxurious linens—staring at it for a moment as the situation sits in.

Then, he turns to you, with an exaggerated shrug.

“Huh. Looks like the hotel’s playing matchmaker tonight.”

…

You narrow your eyes at him, not speaking, letting the flicker of annoyance smolder into a flame. The corners of your mouth tighten, and your arms cross defensively over your chest.

Satoru matches your silence, watching you with an unreadable expression, and then he shrugs again, the movement casual, almost dismissive.

“What?” carrying a note of faux innocence. “They probably figured we wouldn’t mind getting cozy. We are husband and wife, after all. Of course they wouldn’t think we’d need separate beds.”

He’s not making this any better for you right now…

You shake your head, rubbing your eyes in exasperation as if trying to rub away the absurdity of the situation. It’s all too much—the storm, the delay, the night that refuses to end. You can feel the weight of it pressing down on you, and each word from Satoru just seems to add another layer to the frustration.

“Wow…this is unbelievable,” you huff.

“Mm, you know what they say, nothing like sharing a bed to break the tension,” Satoru quips, plopping down at the edge of the bed as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He bounces slightly, testing the mattress, and glances up at you with a glint in his eye. “Well, I suppose this is where we’re supposed to start arguing over who gets the left side?”

…

Is he serious right now?

You can hardly believe it—the casualness of his demeanor, the way he seems completely unconcerned about the reality of this situation. It is almost infuriating.

“This is not happening…I am not sharing a bed with you,” you say, more to yourself than to him, a whispered mix of disbelief and determination. You cross your arms tightly over your chest.

But Satoru just leans back on his hands, completely unbothered, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. Tilting his head slightly, he flashes you an easy grin.

“Hey, it could be worse,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, patting the space beside him. “At least it’s a king-size. I mean, we could practically build a wall down the middle if you want.”

You stare at him, incredulous.

How can he be so flippant about this? So completely unconcerned, so utterly unaffected by everything that’s happened tonight?

Every word that comes out of his mouth further makes your patience slip through your fingers.

“…are you serious right now?” there is a tremble in your voice as you attempt to keep your frustration in check, but it’s a losing battle.

“Yup,” he shrugs, completely unfazed. “Looks like it’s just you, me, and this king-sized dilemma.”

Wow. You’re standing in the middle of a situation that has gone from bad to worse, and he’s making jokes? The disbelief turns into something hotter, something sharper, as you feel the last remnants of your composure start to crumble.

“Are you kidding me, Satoru?” you snap and the frustration you’ve been holding back all night finally spills over. “You are absolutely unbelievable. This isn’t funny! None of this is fucking funny! We’re stuck here, and you’re making jokes?”

The playful smirk that had been dancing on Satoru's lips vanishes instantly, replaced by a look of irritation. He leans forward, fixing you with a hard stare, and the lightheartedness drains from his posture as his elbows rest on his knees.

“Oh, okay, I’m sorry,” he retorts, a sharp edge to his voice. “Y’know, I was just trying to lighten the mood. Didn’t realize you were going to blow up at me for trying to make the best out of a bad situation.”

“Lighten the mood?” you echo, your voice rising in disbelief. “Do you really think that’s what I need right now?”

A scoff escapes your lips as all your frustration bubbles to the surface. The weight of everything finally presses down on you, and his indifference feels like a slap in the face.

You can’t even look at him right now.

With a dismissive shake of your head, you turn away, briskly stepping towards the living room.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” you mutter under your breath, the words more to yourself than to him, but loud enough that you know he can hear.

“What don’t I get?” Satoru challenges, his voice growing sharper as he pushes off the bed and follows after you. His footsteps are clipped as he closes the distance between you, not willing to let the conversation drop. “What don’t I get, y/n? Tell me.”

You whirl around to face him, your heart pounding in your chest, the tension crackling like electricity.

“Satoru—Haru needs me, and we’re stuck here, miles away, in some fancy hotel suite. But you don’t even care.”

The accusation slips out and you can no longer hide the mix of anger and hurt that laces your voice. Satoru’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching as he tries to rein in his own frustration.

“You think I don’t care?” his voice is sharp, insistent, almost incredulous as he steps closer. “You think I’m not worried about Haru too? y/n we literally had this conversation in the limo earlier. Jesus, just because I don’t show my emotions like you it doesn’t mean I don’t care. I hate this situation just as much as you do, but it’s not like I can control the weather or the roads!”

The intensity of his words strikes you, but the anger simmering beneath your skin refuses to let you back down.

“Yeah, well, if you really cared, we would have left as soon as the storm started, like I wanted! Then we wouldn’t even be in this situation!” your trembling voice increases an octave and you throw your hands up in exasperation. “But no—you had to stay for that last part of the gala, didn’t you?”

Satoru’s reaction is immediate. He runs a hand through his hair, the movement rough and frustrated while a bitter laugh escapes his lips, one that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes flash with something darker as he glares at you.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault that we’re stuck here? Because I stayed for the speech? I had obligations, y/n! I couldn’t just leave!”

“Obligations?” the word drips with sarcasm as it leaves your lips, your voice thick with disbelief and a touch of something more, something wounded. You narrow your eyes and the anger within flares hotter as you shoot a glare back at him. “We could’ve left earlier, but instead you just had to be the perfect ‘Satoru Gojo.’ Your precious image, your obligations—everything always comes first, doesn’t it?”

A flash of anger sparks within the depths of Satoru’s eyes, and his voice drops lower, more measured, with an edge that makes your heart jump.

“You knew what you were signing up for,” the words are clipped and his tone is cold and biting. “I told you there would be expectations, that there would be obligations that came with this agreement. Don’t act like this is some surprise to you.”

His words hit their mark, the truth in them sinking in like a stone dropping into a deep well. The realization settles over you, heavy and cold.

Oh…this truly is just a business arrangement, nothing more.

This is…what you agreed to…isn’t it?

For a brief moment, you had almost forgotten that this marriage—this life you’ve been trying to build—wasn’t real. It was never based on love or trust or any of the things you’d once dreamed of. It has always been a contract, an arrangement, and you were just another piece in the game he was playing.

You feel the sharp, unmistakable sting of hurt, a wound that cuts deeper than you anticipated. And with that hurt comes regret—regret for allowing yourself to believe, even for a second, that he might be willing to take a leap of faith for you, for Haru.

You should have known better.

He’s Satoru Gojo, after all, the man who holds his obligations and his image above everything else. The man who never allows himself to be vulnerable, to be anything other than perfect in the eyes of the world.

“So that’s it, then?” the words slip out with a quiet tremor, your voice breaking slightly under the crushing weight of your emotions “You’ll always put your commitments first, no matter what? No matter how it affects us? No matter how it affects Haru?”

For the briefest of moments, Satoru’s expression softens, a flicker of regret passing through his eyes, as if he’s momentarily aware of the pain his words have caused.

You can feel the tears burning at the back of your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words have cut you, how deeply the reminder of your place in his life stings.

Instead, you draw in a shaky breath, steeling yourself, and forcing your voice to steady. It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep your composure, to keep from breaking in front of him.

“It’s always about your image…isn’t it?” you whisper, the words barely audible, but they carry the weight of your realization, heavy and bitter. “I thought… maybe just once, you’d be willing to choose something else. Someone else. Guess I was wrong.”

The silence that follows is suffocating, thick with the tension that has built up between you. Satoru opens his mouth to respond, his expression shifting as if he’s searching for the right words, but you’ve already had enough. The frustration, the anger, the hurt—it’s all too much, too overwhelming, and honestly, you don’t think you can take the weight of his inevitable rejection right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can shatter whatever fragile composure you have left, you turn on your heel and stride towards the suite’s balcony.

ꨄ︎

The moment you step out onto the balcony, the cold night air wraps around you, but you welcome its icy embrace, and as the heavy door slides shut behind you with a dull thud, it seals off any lingering warmth from the hotel suite, leaving you alone with the elements.

The balcony, partially sheltered by a gazebo, offers little protection from the fierce wind driving the rain sideways. But as the droplets hit your skin, cold and sharp, you don’t flinch. Instead, you let the rain wash over you, soaking into your dress and chilling you to the bone, as if the cold might somehow numb the emotional turmoil raging inside you.

Gripping the railing, you stare out at the city below, the wind whipping around you, tugging at your dress as the storm batters you from all sides. But the physical discomfort barely registers—it's nothing compared to the storm brewing within. Because now, the anger that had fueled your argument with Satoru begins to ebb, giving way to a deep, aching sadness that you can no longer hold back.

You sink down onto one of the chairs, ignoring the fact that the cushion is already soaked through. The wet fabric clings to your skin as you huddle there, pulling your knees up to your chest, and as you take in the downpour, you allow the rain to mingle with the tears that finally begin to slip down your cheeks.

If only the howling wind was loud enough to drown the thoughts swirling in your mind.

But it’s not.

The first thing you hear is Naoya’s words, echoing in your ears. His cruel taunts, sharp and insidious, have haunted you ever since your encounter at the coffee shop—a seed of doubt planted deep within you.

And now, those seeds have taken root, growing in the shadows of your heart, feeding off your insecurities until they’ve become impossible to ignore. Maybe he was right all along… you don’t belong beside Satoru. This life you agreed to—this carefully crafted facade—it has always been a deal, nothing more. A deal struck for reasons that now seem distant and blurred.

And then there’s Satoru.

The man you’ve grown closer to, despite everything. The man who, on occasion, looks at you with a softness that seems almost out of place, a trust that makes your heart ache under the weight of your own secrets… and your own growing feelings. But tonight, you saw the bitter reality of who he truly is—a reality that you’ve always known, yet somehow tried to push aside. It’s a reality that places duty and obligation above all else, that keeps his heart locked away behind walls you know you’ll never breach.

You understand it, you really do. But understanding doesn’t make it any easier to bear. It doesn’t make the hurt go away.

You think about Haru—your sweet, innocent child, who’s at home right now, likely scared and alone, flinching with every crash of thunder.

The thought of her, small and frightened, tugs at your heart, and the guilt twists inside you, sharper than any blade. It cuts through your defenses until all that remains is the raw, unrelenting pain of a mother’s worry, a mother’s fear. You should be there with her, holding her close, whispering reassurances that everything is going to be okay, that the storm will pass.

But you’re not.

You’re here, drenched on a balcony, struggling to hold yourself together while everything around you falls apart. And that reality—knowing you’ve left her to face the storm alone—makes the tears fall harder now.

They stream down your face, mixing with the rain, until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. The sobs come, wracking your body with their intensity, as you bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your grief.

It’s all too much—the pressure, the expectations, the lies, the fear.

And then there’s the love.

The love that’s beginning to bloom for Satoru, despite the circumstances…and it only makes it more complicated, more painful. It’s a love that you know you shouldn’t feel, that you’re terrified to acknowledge—and it wraps itself around your heart like a thorny vine, beautiful yet painful, tightening its grip with every passing day.

And your worries never end—the contract, the obligations, the appearances you have to maintain. This agreement that had once seemed so clear, so necessary, but now feels like a chain around your neck, binding you to a life that’s growing more and more suffocating by the day.

You didn’t sign up for this, not really.

You didn’t sign up for the way your heart had started to beat in sync with Satoru’s, for the way his touch lingers on your skin long after he’s gone, or the way his voice is capable of soothing the deepest parts of your soul.

But here you are—trapped, ensnared by duty and honor, by a love that’s growing despite the walls you’ve tried to build around it. A love for a man who might never fully understand the depth of the sacrifice you’re making.

A man who will never love you back the way you wish he would, or put you first.

You continue to cry as the storm proceeds to rage against you, both inside and out—but you hope that maybe this rain will wash away some of the pain, some of the doubts, some of the fear.

Ah… but you know better. Because once this storm passes, the reality of your situation will still be there, waiting for you.

The contract, the expectations, the life you’ve chosen, and the choices you must make—none of it will disappear, no matter how much you wish it could. And despite how much you long to rid yourself of this burden, the love you’re beginning to feel for Satoru…that too, will remain, complicating everything in ways you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

The sound of the sliding door opening barely registers in your mind, lost in the cacophony of the storm as you remain huddled on the chair, lost in your thoughts. You don’t look up, not even when you sense his presence behind you—the presence of that familiar warmth, one that has the potential to cut through the cold that’s seeped into your bones.

Why is he here? You can’t bear it.

He stands there for a moment, silently taking in the sight of you curled up on the chair, small and vulnerable against the fury of the storm, and then, with a resolve that seems almost fragile, he steps forward.

The rain immediately begins to soak through his clothes, just as it did yours, and slowly, he kneels beside you, his movements careful, almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid that any sudden motion might shatter what little composure you have left.

“y/n,” he says softly, voice almost lost in the storm, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You can’t bring yourself to respond—the words are trapped in your throat, tangled in the rush of emotions his apology stirs within you. Confusion, sorrow, a desperate yearning for things to be different—they all swirl within you, too intense, too raw to process.

The pain is overwhelming, and right now, you can’t even bring yourself to look at him. You’re terrified of what you might see in his eyes. What would you feel if you looked at him now?

You’re too scared to find out.

Satoru seems to sense your hesitation, your fear. His hand reaches out, and you feel the gentle pressure of his fingers on your shoulder, tentative and light, as if he’s afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. There’s a warmth in his touch, something that defies the cold rain soaking through both of you—a warmth that, despite everything, makes you want to lean into it, to draw strength from it.

“y/n, please…” his voice drops quieter, almost pleading. “Look at me.”

His request hangs in the air, and for a moment, you feel as if time has stopped.

Why is this so hard? Why can’t you accept that this is nothing more than a contract, an arrangement born out of necessity rather than love?

His touch fills you with a bittersweetness that is almost unbearable—a longing that you know is not realistic, that you know you shouldn’t entertain. But the plea in his voice, the vulnerability you hear in those simple words, chips away at your resolve.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, you lift your tear-streaked face to meet his gaze. The rain has flattened his usually neat hair against his forehead, and his clothes are drenched, clinging to him, but it’s his eyes that hold you captive. Because once your eyes finally connect, the world around you seems to fade into the background, the storm reduced to a distant hum.

His usually composed, confident expression is different now—eyes, softened by regret, vulnerability, and that same softness that has been tearing you apart since the moment he became deeply intertwined in your life.

It's that same softness you’ve tried to ignore, that you’ve convinced yourself was nothing more than an illusion, but that still holds an undeniable power over you.

“I’m sorry…” he repeats, voice trembling with an underlying thickness, as if he’s struggling to keep his emotions in check. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I never wanted to make you feel like Haru doesn’t matter to me, like you don’t matter.”

Your head shakes almost involuntarily, tears continuing to fall, mingling with the rain. Denial wraps around your heart like a protective shield, reminding you that this man doesn’t love you, that you cannot—will not—get your hopes up. You’ve been down this road before, and you know better than to believe in things that aren’t real.

But Satoru’s eyes soften even more as he reads the pain in your expression, and without a word, his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. His touch is warm against your cold, rain-soaked skin, and he gently brushes away the tears that mingle with the rain on your face—a touch so tender that it almost breaks you all over again.

“I really fucked up tonight…” he sighs, his breath hitching slightly as the words escape him. “I’m so sorry for that. Please… let me make things right.”

You can feel the conflict within you, your heart warring with your mind, urging you to push him away, to protect yourself from the pain that seems inevitable. You can’t afford to give yourself hope—not when the risk of being shattered again looms so large, so close.

“Look… I’m really not good at this. I’m not used to… letting people in,” he admits, his voice faltering slightly as he grapples with his own vulnerability and inadequacy. “But with you, I want to try. That’s why…”

He pauses, taking a deep breath, the sound shaky as he gathers the courage to say what’s weighing on his heart.

“I need you to know that everything I said during the interview tonight… it wasn’t just for show. I wasn’t saying what I thought people wanted to hear.”

Your breath catches at his words and your heart pounds furiously within your chest. The weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes makes it impossible to look away.

“Those were my real feelings, y/n. When they asked me what drew me to you… I meant every word.”

Your body begins to tremble, a shuddering wave of emotion crashing over you like the relentless storm around you, threatening to pull you under. The tears begin welling up again and you feel yourself unraveling at the seams.

“Don’t do this, Satoru,” you plead, voice cracking with the weight of your fear. You bring your hands up instinctively, as if to shield yourself from the intensity of his words, to create some distance between you. “Don’t say these things… I can’t… I can’t handle being hurt again.”

For a moment, Satoru hesitates, his eyes searching yours, but then, with a gentle yet determined motion, he takes your trembling hands into his own and the warmth of his touch seeps into your cold skin. Slowly, he lowers your hands onto your lap, his grip firm but tender.

“No, let me say this,” he insists, his voice steadying, becoming more resolute, though it’s still laced with a gentleness. “You deserve to hear it. You deserve to know how I really feel.”

His thumb begins to stroke the back of your hand and his gaze softens as he searches your face. There is an earnest tenderness within the depths of his expression, and it makes your heart ache.

“You’ve brought something into my life that I didn’t even know I was missing,” Satoru continues, “You’ve made me feel… grounded, in a way that I’ve never felt before.”

There is a raw honesty in his eyes, one that begins to erode the walls you’ve built around your heart. You feel your resolve crumbling, piece by piece, as his words chip away at the fear and doubt that has kept you from fully opening up to him.

“I’m not perfect,” his voice wavers slightly and his hand tightens around yours, seeking reassurance even as he offers it. “Far from it… but you’ve made me realize that’s okay. And now, because of you, I want to do better, to be better… not just for you, but for Haru too. And for myself.”

What is he saying?

Your breath hitches, a small, involuntary gasp escaping your lips as you process his words.

“I’m… confused,” you whisper, your mind racing to catch up with your heart. “Isn’t this… just a contract?”

“Yeah…well…” a wry smile tugs at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remain serious. “Guess I broke the clause, huh? So much for no emotional entanglements…”

Your breath catches again, this time in realization.

Wait… he feels the same way? This is really happening?

The realization hits you like a wave—the truth of it crashing over you, leaving you breathless, and you can’t stop the fresh surge of tears from falling down your face.

Satoru’s brow furrows with worry, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he watches you cry. Leaning in closer, he rests his forehead gently against yours. His eyes search yours, desperate for some kind of response, some kind of reassurance that his words have reached you, that he hasn’t misread the situation.

“Please… don’t cry,” he whispers with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. He closes his eyes, breath warm as it fans across your face, and his hand, still holding yours, gives a gentle squeeze, as if to remind you that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere.

“I… I want to believe you, Satoru,” you manage, voice trembling with the weight of your fears and doubts. “Believe everything you’re saying, but I’m so scared. What if I’m not enough? I don’t think I could survive that kind of heartbreak again…”

Satoru’s eyes open slowly, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“You are enough, y/n. You’ve always been enough.”

There is a firmness in his resolve, as if he’s trying to engrave the words into your very being.

His free hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away another tear that had escaped.

“And honestly… I’m scared too.” His voice drops even lower, almost a whisper now. “Trust is something I’ve never given lightly. But with you… I want to trust. I need to trust. And… I need you to trust me too.”

Trust—there’s that word again.

It lingers in the air between you, heavy with meaning, with all the complexities and the promises it holds.

Trust—It’s such a simple word, yet it carries the weight of a thousand unsaid things, a thousand fears, a thousand hopes. It’s the foundation of everything, isn’t it? The one thing you’ve always struggled with, the one thing that has kept you from fully letting go, from fully giving yourself to him—or to anyone, for that matter.

Trust—It’s what you’ve been afraid to place in someone else’s hands, for fear that they might not handle it with care. And why would they? After everything you’ve been through, after all the disappointments, the betrayals, the moments when you’ve been left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, why would you ever trust again?

But… maybe trust isn’t about being certain, about knowing for sure that everything will turn out alright. Maybe… it’s about taking that leap of faith, about being willing to risk the hurt because the potential for something real, something meaningful, is worth it.

You look at him, really look at him—his usually confident demeanor is stripped away, leaving only the man beneath, exposed and uncertain, yet somehow more real than you’ve ever seen him.

This is… Satoru.

In that moment, something shifts within you.

Ah… perhaps trust isn’t something you just give; it’s something you build, together, piece by piece, moment by moment. And maybe… as terrifying as it is, you’re ready to start building that with him.

The realization hits you like a warm rush, spreading through your chest and making your heart ache in a way that’s both painful and beautiful. You want to tell him, to find the words that will let him know that you want this too. But the emotions are too overwhelming, too all-consuming, and you find yourself at a loss, unable to articulate the flood of feelings coursing through you.

So instead, you do the only thing you can—you decide to show him.

Your hands move on their own, driven by an urgency you can’t contain. Grasping the collar of his shirt, your fingers curl into the wet fabric, pulling him closer with a force that leaves no room for hesitation. The distance between you disappears in one desperate, crashing motion as you bring your lips to his.

It’s a fierce kiss, filled with a force that’s as much an admission as it is an apology—an admission of your own feelings, of the vulnerabilities you’ve tried so hard to hide, and an apology for every moment you’ve tried to protect yourself by pushing him away.

The intensity of your need is met by Satoru’s immediate response, his arms wrapping around you with a fervency that matches the storm raging around you, pulling you flush against him as if he’s afraid you might slip away.

The rain soaks through your clothes, but all you can focus on is the heat of his skin, the way his mouth moves against yours with a need that’s as insistent as it is consuming. You swallow the low, desperate moan that escapes from him, the sound vibrating through you, sending a shiver down your spine.

God, you wanted this.

His tongue grazes your lower lip, seeking entry, and without hesitation, you part your lips for him, allowing him to deepen the kiss even further, kissing you as though you’re the very air he needs to breathe. Once his tongue meets yours, the sensation is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body.

God, he wanted this.

He’s losing himself in the kiss, like he’s been holding back for far too long, and now that he’s tasted you, he can’t get enough. And you let him, wrapping your legs around him and allowing him to lift you up with ease as you thread your fingers through his damp hair. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter, as he carries you toward the balcony door, sure and driven by a need that can no longer be contained.

With a swift motion, he presses you against the glass door. The cold rain continues to hammer down, but you’re barely aware of it—there is a fire that seems to burn hotter with every second your lips remain locked, and you are lost in the sensation of his hands gripping into the plush of your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

“Satoru…” you gasp between kisses, and the sound of your breathless voice drives him further into the depths of his desire.

“Fuck… could get used to hearing you say m’ name like that,” he groans, mouth dropping to your neck, lips tracing the line of your jaw before pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your throat.

You arch your back and tilt your head, allowing him access, but the sudden sensation of his hips pressing against your core causes a whimper to escape your lips.

Fuck. You now realize just how much he wanted this. The hardness pressed against you is unmistakable and that alone heightens your own desire, making a tingling heat begin to pool in between your legs.

Your hands slide down his back, nails digging slightly into his skin beneath the wet fabric of his shirt, and you press your hips forward, seeking more of that friction, and he responds with a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest as he begins to grind against you.

“Fucking hell…” he rasps, voice thick with desperation, “you have no idea,” he whimpers, breath hitching as his lips brush against your ear, “no fucking idea…” he grinds harder, with renewed intensity, “how much I’ve wanted this…” his eyes flutter shut, lost in the sensation, “how much I want you…”

Every nerve ignites as an intense heat courses through you.

Fuck. This is bad. This is really bad.

You’re losing any trace of reasoning; you’re lacking any semblance of control. How can you think straight when he talks to you like that? When he touches you like this?

You can’t. It’s impossible.

This is moving really fast, and every coherent thought is slipping away, replaced by the overwhelming need for him, the need to feel every inch of him against you, inside you. You’re losing yourself in the way his body moves against yours, in the way his voice trembles with need.

“Satoru… I—” you start, but the words catch in your throat, choked off by that delicious sensation of him shifting his hips, pressing harder against you in just that right spot. “I can’t… fuck. I can’t think when you’re like this…”

“Don’t think,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just feel… let me take care of you…”

And then he’s kissing you again, his mouth claiming yours with a hunger that makes your head spin. Oh, fuck it, you don’t care. You don’t care about anything else in this moment.

In one swift motion, without breaking the kiss, he carries you away from the rain, and into the warmth of the suite. His steps are quick and determined until he reaches the bedroom, and once he sets you down your feet barely touch the floor before his hands are on you again.

The urgency in his touch is undeniable, frantic as his hands begin to work at the wet fabric of your dress, peeling it away with determination.

Oh god, this is really moving fast.

The realization hits you like a wave, but it’s quickly drowned out by the sight of him shrugging off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. And once you catch sight of his toned muscles, the way they flex beneath his skin, how can you think straight?

You can’t.

Your hands move instinctively, reaching for him, running over his chest, savoring the warmth, the strength beneath your fingertips, and his hands are equally on you, exploring your body with a reverence while his mouth moves against yours with fervor.

“You’re so fucking pretty, so beautiful…” he breaks the kiss, “I can’t get enough of you…” and then his mouth is on yours again, desperate and hungry, leaving you breathless.

He guides you towards the bed, and once the back of your knees hit the edge of it, he gives you a gentle but insistent push. His body follows and once the mattress dips slightly under your combined weight, you’re suddenly hyperaware of everything—the way his hands are sliding down your sides, the way his lips are tracing a path from your collarbone to the swell of your breasts, the way he settles between your legs.

This is moving way…way too fast.

You need a moment to think, but your mind is constantly drowned out by the feel of his body against yours.

“Satoru…” you murmur against his lips, “Please I—” But before you can finish, he’s kissing you again, his mouth claiming yours with a fierceness that makes your heart skip a beat.

Your breath hitches as he begins to rock his hips against your clothed core, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through you while you gasp into his mouth. Before you realize what you’re doing, your legs are wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, deepening the connection between you.

Damnit, that delicious friction is all-consuming, and you can’t stop yourself from arching into him.

“Ever since that night at the gala…” he murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing down the curve of your neck, “After we kissed, I haven’t been able to think about anything else… anyone else… just you.”

His words send a shiver down your spine. Fucking hell, he’s not making this easy. The way his breath hitches as he presses kisses along your collarbone, it’s clear he’s barely holding on to his own control. And you? You’re already starting to lose yours.

Fuck, he will ruin you.

“All I could think about was how it felt to kiss you… how much I wanted to do it again… how much I wanted more…” his breath hot against your skin as his hands grip your hips, pulling you even closer.

“I can’t… I need… oh god…” the words slip out, a desperate plea mixed with a moan as the sensation of him rolling his length against that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs becomes almost unbearable.

Fuck… the pleasure is so intense, so overwhelming, that your vision blurs, your world narrowing to nothing but the feel of him, the heat of his body, the way he’s moving against you.

You’re seeing stars.

“What is it?” he whispers against the shell of your ear, and oh he sounds so fucking undone by you, as if he’s on the verge of losing control. “Tell me… tell me what you need baby.”

His words are like gasoline on the fire burning inside you. Damnit, you need him. But you also need time to process everything that is happening. As much as you want to give in, as much as your body is screaming for more of him, a tiny voice in the back of your mind is telling you to slow down, to think.

There is still so much that has been left unsaid…things you need to get off your chest.

“Satoru…” you whisper, your voice shaky as you thread your fingers through his hair, gently pulling him back just enough to look into his eyes. His gaze is intense, dark with desire, and it takes every ounce of your self-control not to lose yourself in it. “Can we… can we take it slow?”

His body stills, and for a moment, the intensity in his eyes softens. He’s still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, but he nods slowly, as if he’s trying to rein in his own overwhelming need.

He leans in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his hands sliding from your hips to cradle your face gently. The kiss is different now, less urgent but still filled with an undeniable passion that leaves you breathless. It’s a slow burn, a simmering heat that makes your skin tingle as his lips move tenderly against yours, savoring every moment.

The kiss tapers off naturally, his lips lingering on yours as if he’s reluctant to let go. When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far, his nose brushing against yours in a tender nuzzle that makes you smile.

“Yeah… okay…” he breathes out, voice rough and tinged with longing. “We can slow down… whatever you need…”

His fingers trace the line of your jaw, moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch light, almost reverent.

“Sorry it’s just…” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lower lip before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Each kiss is gentle. He pulls back slightly, his lips ghosting over yours as he whispers, “You don’t know what you do to me…”

Your heart swells at his words, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you softly chuckle.

Satoru mirrors your smile and lets out a soft laugh.

“Well... it’s about damn time you caught on.”

He plops down beside you, pulling you into his arms with an ease that makes your heart flutter. as if being this close to you is the most natural thing in the world. He buries his face into the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply, a content hum leaving his lips as he wraps himself around you, tangling his legs with yours and pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against you.

“Was starting to think I’d have to spell it out for you,” he murmurs, breath fanning your skin, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

A light and airy laugh escapes your lips as you become engrossed in his warmth.

 “Well, I mean... you’ve always been a bit of a mystery,” you tease, your fingers tracing idle patterns on the back of his hand where it rests against your stomach.

“Hmm, a mystery, huh?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, sending a ripple of warmth through you. “Maybe… but I think you’ve always had the key, even if you didn’t know it.”

You turn slightly in his arms, bringing a hand up to gently run your fingers through his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers like silk as you gaze into his eyes. Your heart swells at the way he leans into your touch, as if he savors each trace of you, and there’s a tenderness in the way his eyes hold yours.

And then, his lips curl into a wry smile, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Mm… told you you’d fall for my charm. Though I will say, you were a tough one to crack.”

You try to fight the smile threatening to break free as a warmth spreads across your face. It’s crazy to think this man was once the bane of your very existence.

“Tch…you have a way of growing on people, y’know that?” The grin on his face widens at your admission, making the heat in your own face intensify. You huff, rolling your eyes as you nudge him lightly with your elbow. “You’re like a persistent, overly confident weed.”

Satoru laughs. “A weed, huh? That’s a new one,” he sounds mock-offended, though his smirk tells you he’s anything but. His hand shifts, trailing up and down your arm tenderly as his fingers lightly brush your skin. “Mmm let's see…I think I’m more like a rare, exotic flower.”

“Oh please,” you scoff, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re more like those persistent kind of weeds that pops up in the cracks of the sidewalk, no matter how many times you try to get rid of them.”

“Persistent, huh? Well I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” his tone softens as his hand trails down your arm, the warmth of his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake until his fingers find yours, threading them together as he interlocks your hands in a gentle, but secure grasp.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep growing on you until you can’t imagine your life without me,” he murmurs—thumb gently stroking the back of your hand—and your breath hitches at the sincerity in his words.

Satoru treats you like a treasure, something to be cherished and protected.

How did you get so lucky?

He’s everything Naoya isn’t—everything you’ve ever wanted but were too afraid to hope for.

But even as the realization crosses your mind, a pang of guilt twists in your chest. You’ve been keeping something from him, something important, something that could change everything. Naoya’s scheme, his attempts to ruin Satoru’s reputation… it’s been eating away at you, gnawing at your conscience every time Satoru looks at you with those warm, trusting eyes.

But the thought terrifies you—what if it changes everything? What if it drives a wedge between you?

You need to tell him. He deserves to know.

No secrets.

You can’t keep hiding the truth. Not if you want to move forward, not if you want to build something real with him.

“Hey,” you begin softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you pull back slightly to look into his eyes. The tenderness in his gaze gives you the strength to continue. “There’s something I need to tell you… something important.”

Satoru’s expression shifts immediately from the seriousness of your tone, his brow knitting together in concern as his eyes dim.

“What is it?”

Oh fuck. This is it. No backing down now.

You take a deep breath, and though your heart pounds in your chest, Satoru’s gentle grip tightens on your hand, offering you the silent support to continue.

“It’s about Naoya…” you begin, voice trembling slightly as you hesitantly hold his gaze.

The tension in Satoru's face is subtle but unmistakable. You briefly catch sight of his jaw tightening, a muscle jumping beneath the skin at the mere mention of Naoya’s name. Swallowing hard, your throat constricts with effort as you struggle to find the right words.

“There’s… something I’ve been keeping from you… and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I was scared. I didn’t know what to do.”

Satoru’s eyes widen just a fraction, his brows drawing together slightly in concern, but he remains silent—he doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t demand an explanation. Instead, he watches you intently, his gaze locked onto yours, a silent encouragement to continue.

But that intensity in his focus only makes your heart pound harder in your chest, each beat a drum of anxiety.

Here goes nothing.

“He’s been… blackmailing me,” you confess, eyes falling to the side, unable to hold his gaze. “He’s trying to ruin your reputation, to drag your name through the mud…and if I don’t do what he says…”

The words die on your lips as you trail off.

Fuck this is overwhelming.

This entire night has been a rollercoaster, and you’re reaching the breaking point of your own emotional endurance. You expect Satoru to say something, but the silence that follows is deafening.

Each beat of your heart is like a hammer in your chest, and your mind is racing with a thousand different fears.

Is he angry? Is he waiting for you to look at him? Is this it? Is this the moment everything falls apart?

Summoning every ounce of courage you have left, you will yourself to look up, to meet Satoru’s eyes. And yes, there’s anger simmering in the depths of his gaze, a dangerous edge to it, but there’s something else too—something softer.

“What will happen if you don’t do what he says?” he asks, voice gentle yet firm. His thumb brushes soothing circles on the back of your hand with a tenderness, urging you to continue. “What exactly is he threatening you with?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, feeling the lump in your throat swell as you struggle to push the words out.

“He’s trying to take Haru away from me… he’s threatening to file for full custody if I don’t cooperate.”

The impact of your words is immediate—Satoru’s entire demeanor changing in an instant.

His expression hardens, the fury in his eyes flaring to life, unmistakable and searing, and his entire body tenses beside you. A shiver rakes down your spine when you hear the low and dangerous promise slip through his lips.  

“He’s going to regret this.”

Before you can even process his words, he pulls you onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you with a fierce protectiveness that catches you off guard. It is almost startling how the gentle way he holds you is juxtaposed with the anger simmering just beneath the surface, and as his fingers begin to thread through your hair while he cradles you close to him, you feel he is shielding you from the very world that threatens to tear you apart.

“He’s not taking Haru from you,” Satoru vows, voice unwavering, a promise etched in steel. “Not over my dead body.”

Ah…the conviction in his voice—the words you needed to hear—it is your breaking point. Finally, everything crashes down on you. The fear, the guilt, the overwhelming relief that you’re no longer carrying this burden alone—it all hits you at once, and you can’t hold back the quiet sob that escapes your lips.

Satoru tightens his hold on you, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other trailing up and down your trembling frame as he whispers reassurances.

“Hey, it’s okay… we’re going to get through this.”

His heartbeat is a steady and comforting rhythm beneath your ear. You nod weakly as a shaky breath escapes your lips, the sound muffled against his chest, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering for a moment.

“When did this all begin?” he whispers, fingers gently massaging your scalp.

“Two days ago…” you murmur, “right before you agreed to watch Haru for me.”

There’s a moment of silence, a brief pause as Satoru processes your words. You feel the subtle hitch in his breath, the soft exhale that follows as he tries to contain the emotions swirling inside him. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and your heart drops at his expression.

“y/n…” he breathes out, low and thick with emotion as his jaw clenches with tension. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The ache in your chest is unbearable, and the tears begin to prick at your eyes again. Unable to face the underlying look of his own disappointment, you instinctively look away.

“I was scared and confused… I didn’t think you felt the same way about me,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “And I kept thinking about our contract…about your condition…”

Satoru’s body softens underneath you as he gently tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, and what you find there isn’t disappointment, but understanding—a deep, unwavering understanding that cuts through your doubts like a beacon of light in the darkness.

“y/n, there is no contract when it comes to how I feel about you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing away a lingering tear that slipped down your cheek. “That contract… it was just a piece of paper. Besides, it’s void now because I broke the clause.” His lips curve into a soft, reassuring smile. “What I feel for you… it’s real. And it’s not something that can be defined by a contract.”

His words are like a balm to your wounded heart, soothing the fear that had been gnawing at you.

Why did you doubt him so much? Is it because this is a love you have only hoped for? But now it’s real—it’s yours.

A shaky exhale escapes your lips as you rest your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Satoru soothes, his hands moving up to cradle your face. “I understand why you were scared. But we’re in this together, okay? Naoya’s not going to win.”

His hands gently tilt your face upwards, and before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. His lips move slowly, languidly against yours, savoring the moment, and you melt into the kiss, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingertips.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours once more, and you linger there in the aftermath, letting the warmth of his breath fan across your lips, the closeness between you wrapping around you like a cocoon. A content sigh escapes your lips as the tension from everything slowly ebbs away, and you lower yourself onto his chest as Satoru’s fingers gently trail up and down your back.

Finally, everything has been laid bare. No secrets. Just the two of you, connected in a way that feels unbreakable.

But then, Satoru shifts slightly beneath you, “You’re shivering,” he murmurs, voice laced with concern as his hand moves to gently rub your arm, trying to warm you up. “We were out in the rain for too long…”

You hadn’t even noticed—your focus had been so consumed by everything else. Now that the adrenaline of the moment has begun to fade, you realize how cold you are, and how you’re both still in your underwear. The chill from the rain has started to seep into your bones.

“You should take a warm bath, get comfortable,” Satoru suggests, loving but insistent as he brushes a few stray strands of wet hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. “It’s been a long day, and we have to wake up early to get home to Haru. You can go first. Go on, I’ll wait for you here.”

You nod, reluctantly pulling away from the warmth of his embrace as you make your way to the bathroom.

The hot water feels like a balm against your chilled skin, and you take your time, letting the warmth seep into your bones and soothe the lingering tension in your muscles. It’s a quiet, reflective moment—an opportunity to process everything that’s happened. As the steam rises around you, you feel the weight of the day slowly lift from your shoulders.

After finishing your bath, you slip into the comfortable pajamas the hotel provided and find yourself wrapped up cozily under the blankets in the bed, waiting for Satoru as he takes his turn getting cleaned up next. The room is quiet—the rain outside has finally settled down as the once insistent pattering is now reduced to a soft, comforting drum against the window. You let your eyes drift closed for a moment, savoring the tranquility and the subtle scent of Satoru that lingers on the pillow beside you.

Tonight, has been exhausting—so much has happened, and it’s a lot to take in.

When Satoru finally emerges from the bathroom, he is dressed in the comfortable hotel linens, hair slightly damp and tousled. He flashes you a tender smile, one that makes your heart skip a beat, and you can’t help but smile back, warmth spreading through you.

But instead of joining you in the bed as you would expect, you watch with growing curiosity as he makes his way towards the closet. Propping yourself up on your elbow, you tilt your head slightly, your brows knitting together in confusion.

“What are you doing?” you observe him gather extra blankets and pillows, tucking them under his arm.

Satoru glances over his shoulder, offering you a small, almost apologetic smile.

“I’m, uh… gonna sleep on the couch tonight,” he says casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You blink, taken aback by his words, and a frown tugs at your lips.

“Why? You don’t have to do that. The bed’s big enough for both of us.”

He hesitates, as if weighing his words carefully.

“Y/n,” he begins, low and rough, “Believe me, I really want to,” he lets out a sigh and scratches the back of his head. “You have… too much of an effect on me. I meant it when I said we could take things slow, but if I’m lying next to you, I don’t know if I can control myself.”

His admission sends a warm flush to your face, your heart skipping a beat at the honesty in his words. You see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s struggling to do what he thinks is right, even though it’s clearly not what he wants.

“Satoru…” you begin, your voice softening as you start to sit up, but he shakes his head gently, cutting you off before you can say more.

“If you want to take it slow, it’s probably for the best I give us some space to figure things out without making it harder than it already is.”

Damnit, he is too cute for his own good.

For a moment, you’re tempted to tell him to stay, to ignore the rules you’ve set for yourself, to just give in to the pull between you. The warmth of his presence, the comfort of his touch—it’s all so inviting. But you can also see how much he’s trying to do right by you, to honor your wishes, even if it means sacrificing what he wants.

“Okay,” you say softly, your teeth gently grazing your bottom lip as you consider your next words, “but just know that although I want to go slow, it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t mind… doing things with you.”

Satoru lets out a groan, closing his eyes briefly as if battling with himself.

“You’re not making this easy, you know that?”

“Mm… never said I would,” you challenge, a playful glint flickering in your eyes as a crooked grin tugs at your lips.

He chuckles, tinged with both amusement and exasperation.

“I swear you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly, but the smile that accompanies his words is soft, filled with affection.

The two of you share a quiet laugh, soft and intimate, like a shared secret. As the laughter fades, a comfortable silence settles over you both. His gaze locks with yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. The intensity in his eyes, the way they darken with something deeper, makes your breath hitch.

“Goodnight, Satoru,” you murmur as you settle yourself back into the pillows.

“Goodnight, y/n,” his smile widens as his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he turns to leave the room. “If you need anything,” he adds, pausing at the door, “you know where to find me.”

As the door softly clicks shut behind him, you’re left alone in the dimly lit room—left to your thoughts.

Tomorrow holds so much for the both of you—decisions to be made, obstacles to overcome, and a new chapter in your lives to navigate together.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel alone. The burden isn’t yours to carry anymore. The thought brings a sense of peace, a calm that wraps around you as you pull the blankets closer, cocooning yourself in their warmth.

There’s still so much left unresolved, and the threat of Naoya looms large. But tonight, as you drift off to sleep, all you can think about is the way Satoru looked at you, the promise in his eyes that you’ll face whatever comes next together.

And somehow, that alone makes everything seem a little less daunting.

a/n. hi hi, thank you all so much for your kind words with this fic and for sticking around. this chapter was a lot for me to write, and i really kept second guessing it tbh. i think bc it's such a pivotal point in the story and it's pretty emotional, so i really wanna thank my lovely beta readers for helping me 💕 (@strychnynegirl & @gojoslefttoenail) hmm... who is this mysterious man that approached y/n at the gala? 🤔 i wonder if you guys can take a guess based on the description 😉 also of COURSE there is only ✨one bed✨ how can there NOT be? 🤭 i had a lot of fun writing their steamy kiss 😩 as much as i wanted them to do more i also wanna reiterate how much the slow burn in this story means to me. idk, with everything going on in y/n's life it didn't feel right for her to be like "cool lets fuck." especially since she still needed to tell satoru the truth, plus she is a mom with a kid and has been through a really shitty relationship. trust isn't something that just POOF appears yk? thanks for all your kind words and for reading!! school has been picking up for me, so again my updates will likely be longer in between. love you all 🥹 -aly 💕 → onto the next chapter ꨄ

taglist :

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans

[natalchartnurtures]

Pick-A-Tarot Meme! What Are Your Person's Thoughts About You?

~~~~~~~<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3~~~~~~~<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3~~~~~

Cuz we can't have enough of these :p

____

Pile 1:

Gosh pile one.. your person seems to be soooooooo IN THEIR HEAD about you right now.. like i got so dizzy as i started your reading wtf like what's happening here? Let's find out together yea?

Mmm ok. It seems like they have FeElingS for you but it's like.. their feelings are causing them to get in their head? Maybe their terrified of emotional vulnerability or something?

Pile 1, is your person a tough cookie or likes to present as one? Cuz if so you're the one who cracks them!

You'll be the one who gets through to their heart and they low key know thiss somewhere at the back of their mind and.. I guess THAT'S WHY they're feeling so utterly anxious. They don't wanna fuck it up this connection I hear. I'm also getting that your person doesn't really feel much for people in general like if at all even. They're giving me aromantic energy ooooor maybe they've just been really closed off to romance maybe cuz of some really and I mean REALLY bad experiences.

But. Something about you. Just. Unlocked. something inside of them and now they're FREAKING OUT lol. They're all "this wasn't part of the plan what the hell!" But in cute way lmao.

I see them veiwing you as a bit of a tower moment in their life right now and I'm not sure they're enjoying it very much. They may limit interaction with you at this point in time or if yall are together/dating they maybe a more defensive than usual but this is because they feel out of control (since they attach control with no feelings) cuz they genuinely care and could love you (like crazy)

Wow. Um this person doesn't have thoughts about you. They have mental breakdowns and panick attacks about you 😂😂😭😭 (it's not funny, but it kinda is 🙃)

This person prolly never felt this way (or expected to) about somebody and now it seems as if they're jus.. spazzing lol. They maybe an air moon or air dominant (especially low octave Aquarius energy) cuz these people tend to spazz when they catch feelings XD

Like they're having mental spasms and they don't know what to do when it comes to you. They seem like they're a fish out of water when it comes to you..

Broooo but when they're not busy spazzing abour you and their feelings for you.. they have deep passionate thoughts, mostly at nighttime, when this person feels safe I heard. Ooh. Interesting. Yea they're soooooo attracted to you and your body (lmao) they drool from the wet dreams they have about you 🤣 but I don't think you know this (which is why youre here reading this PAC lol)

Also bro. this person LOVES you. Loves everything about you. Oh it's so precious. I hope they heal whatever wound that's stopping them from being with you cuz they genuinely want to be with you (their words not mine) no matter how much they try to deny it- out of whatever fear they're experiencing.. but yea let's hope your person finds the courage they need to heal so they can make their way towards you!

Love and light, to you my friend and thanks for reading!

____

Pile 2:

Ah it's my romantic pile 🥰

They love to think about you like all day, everyday.. I'm sitting and stirring in the energy of this person's love for you rn and man.. it's so NICE and warm and fuzzy and just.. pure. This person has probably thought about your future together and fantasized about you in every possible scenario when it comes to ya'lls life together. Very cute, pile 2. They have most of their thoughts at nighttime? Even though they spend alllll day thinking of you, it usually amplifies at night. I see them basking in their delicious feels for you (awwww stop this is way too cute!)

BRO they daydream about cuddling you! (you didn't hear it from me 🙃😉) ahhhhh they love the thought of you in their hoodie just basking in the bliss yall feel together for each other.. gosh so precious!! ><

It's like they think you complete them.. like you're their other half..

Bro. Wtf. I just heard the name Jake Gyllenhaal? Idk take that if it resonates lmao

AH I'm also hearing Sunset Blvd By Selena Gomez?

And Rare by Selena Gomez too so take them if you feel like it's significant for you :)

Ok! I'm getting something interesting now.. pile 2, arr you in a situationship with this person? Or maybe a friendship but yall caught feelings and now things are kinda awkward? Or maybe they tried to push you away and chose themselves over this connection at some point? Whatever the case, there seems to be HISTORY between the both of ya'll. And whatever went down, TRUST ME your person is feeling terrible about it. I see them process you guy's past through their thoughts and I see them becoming aware of everything did (or didn't do) in this connection and I see them taking accountability! Don't we love a self-aware king/queen? Lovely news! They want to be with you! Like you're front and center in their mind right now and they're gonna do everything in their power to not only clear up things with but also begin something brand new with you. If you guys are looking for a relationship then that would mean that this person will reach out and ask you out for the first time 👀

They'll be doing this at their own speed lol (differs for everybody reading)

Or.. say if you're just looking for closure then I see this person reaching out for a heart to heart after a few days/weeks of laying low for a bit. For this to be coming out rn.. I think that they're thinking about this right now as you're reading this. Ooh exciting heheheheheheheh

I love this for you pile, 2!

Love and light, to you my friend thanks for reading!

____

Pile 3:

Ooh.. pile 3, your person is doing some serious thinking! Phew! Let's get in.

Most of their thoughts are about your softness.. they find it really healing tbh.. they absolutely love how they can be themselves around you and you receive them just as they are. Plain and simple. Ah. It nourishes them. They think of you as a comforting figure who is the human embodiment of a big warm loving hug. Aw pile 3, this is lovely energy. I'm hearing the song- By Your Side by Sade so check it out if you feel called to!

You're a place of respite for this person tbh. This person thinks that you're a wonderful person to talk to (about literally anything!) Bestie vibes tbh BUT this pile has such a sutble and sweet romantic vibe underneath the friendly tenderness (if your asking about a romantic interest) that is shared among the two of you when you connect. I heard that they think you're not like the other people they've met before. So maybe they've met a lot of people who didn't care about them or maybe their childhood lacked a certain quality of love and care which.. you give to this person. And they honestly can't be more grateful to you for that. Aw. This warms my heart. It's kinda sad but it's sooo precious too?

You make them wanna care about people again. You make them wanna care about life again. You make them wanna LOVE AGAIN.

You've managed to build a space for this person to feel safe and this has been a rare commodity in this person's life like I cannot stress that enough, pile 3. Pat yourself on the back please you've done a wonderful job here :)

You're so patient and loving with them it's almost as if it's otherworldly... angelic almost.

You make them wanna truly believe again. Ah. So beautiful. They hold a lot of reverence and respect for you and your mind. They love how you function. They love you. A lot it seems like.

Love and light, to you my friend thanks for reading

____

[melodyofmbaku]

Pour me Another Lie [Part 2] (Smoke Moore x Annie x Stack Moore)

Preview: “Look how good you are… how perfect you are. How pretty you sing for me.” 

Word Count: 4.1k

Warning ⚠️: They're a trio. Smut (18+ Material)

A/N I made this chapter thicc for ya'll. I really appreciate your comments/reblogs, it's what keeps me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! 😘 Pour Me Another Lie Part 1

_____

The smell of wet grass permeated their senses and the moisture in the air dampened their skin. It was early, the sun hadn’t risen yet. The crickets had begun their song and filled the silence that sat between the pair. 

Stack just finished up rolling their cigarette before popping it into the side of his mouth and lighting it. A long drag. 

“So?” he started, passing the smoke over to his brother. 

“So what?” Smoke responded before taking a hit.

“What we bouta do?”

“We really gonna let that nigga Hank be talking bout’ how he employed Annie? Had her working behind his bar?” Stack continued. 

Smoke didn’t answer for a bit, letting the question hang between them.  

“It don’t matter what she was doing, it matters why she was doin’ it.” Smoke looked up into the distance and took a drag of the cigarette once more. 

“What you mean?”

“Annie doesn’t lie to us. So for her to feel the need to do that? We fuckin’ up somewhere.”

He passed the cigarette over, and Stack took it without a word. The tobacco sizzled as he inhaled, the smoke curling around his jaw as he tilted his head, slowly nodding. “So again… what we bouta do?”

“We get her to tell us what’s going on,” Smoke said simply, flicking ash off the side of the porch. “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it.”

It was decided. 

From inside, they heard her voice—soft, questioning, worried.

“Elias? Elijah?”

Stack’s shoulders stiffened. They hadn’t meant for her to wake up alone.

“C’mon.” Stack stamped the cigarette out before opening the screen door with a creak, and the brothers stepped inside.

The lamp in the corner of the bedroom cast a honey-colored glow, bathing Annie in warm light. She was perched on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of of the boys shirts that swallowed her whole.

“Hey, mama,” Stack said, stepping closer. 

“How you feeling?”

She gave them a weak nod. “Sore,” she admitted, but her eyes flicked toward Smoke with something close to warmth. “But good.”

“We wanted to talk about yesterday.” Stack started. Annie cast her gaze down to the floor. Dreading the fact that they’d have to talk about the situation. 

Smoke rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. It was stressing him bad. “You ain’t in no trouble, Annie. We just tryna understand what’s goin’ on in your head.”

“C’mon baby,” Stack said, squatting down beside her. “You can tell us.”

She began twisting her fingers in her lap. “Y’all are gonna think I’m being stupid…”

“We ever said that to you before?” Stack asked, gently tilting her chin up.

Annie let out a breath, shaky and honest. “I miss you.”

Smoke moved closer. “Whatchu mean? We right here.”

She shook her head slowly. “Y’all are asleep all day. Most of the day at least. I barely see y’all anymore.” Her voice cracked. “Yeah, we’re fucking, but… a lot of the time after that… it’s like we’re ships passing in the night.”

She picked at the hem of the shirt she wore absently, grounding herself.

“I… sometimes I feel alone.”

Stack reached out to hold her hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. 

Smoke’s jaw tensed. “You got two whole husbands. That’s more than most.”

She shot him a look. Stack tipped her chin to look back at him. His brothers attitude was not helping the situation at all. 

“This why you was working at Hank’s?” He asked softly. Still rubbing his thumb over her hand. 

She shook her head affirming. 

“I just wanted to be a part of something. Fill my day up. See other people. Not just wait around for y’all to wake again. Especially ‘cause… well, I ain’t like y’all. I’m not a vampire. I’m up when the sun’s up. I sleep when the moon’s high.”

Smoke glanced at Stack, who avoided his gaze.

There was always that sliver of distance between them — blood and time and unspoken choices. She’d refused when they offered her the promise of eternity together. She chose humanity even when it made everything harder. 

Stack finally spoke, softer this time. “We’ll figure somethin’ out. We don’t want you feeling like that. Not in this house.”

“You ain’t never alone. Never.” 

Smoke sighed before he made his way over and placed a kiss on her head, his hands went to her shoulders to comfort her. 

“Thank you for telling us. For trusting us.” he said.

Annie’s shoulders relaxed just a bit. She nodded. “Y’all not mad?” Her voice was small. It wasn’t like her. 

Smoke’s chest tightened up. God they had really fucked up. 

“Never upset with you.” Stack murmured from below. More kisses placed on her hands. 

“We’ll figure something out.” Smoke confirmed. And she nodded, leaning into him and taking his affections. 

They didn’t say much else that night. Just held her — Stack curled around her back, Smoke’s fingers threaded through hers as she drifted off to sleep.

She hadn’t asked for much. Just to feel a little less alone.

And they heard her.

____

The Next Day - 4:45am

“I can’t believe we doing this shit.” Smoke muttered, cradling a small box gently in both hands.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stack replied, nudging the door open with his foot. “Just don’t drop it.”

The front door creaked open softly. The boys stepped into the darkened house, dew still clinging to their boots, air thick with pre-dawn chill.

“We could’ve done anything else.”

“Nigga. Shut up. You rather have her serving drinks all day?”

Smoke pursed his lips and kept his mouth shut. 

“Plus… if it makes her happy that’s all that matters.” Stack concluded. 

That — the two could agree on. 

The boys had left the house at midnight as always but this time they didn’t go to the juke. 

They had other plans. Something that would take them alot further out. 

When Annie said she was lonely, it damn near broke Stack’s heart.

He wouldn’t have known what loneliness felt like if you'd asked him a year ago. He and Smoke had been side by side their whole lives — womb to world. That kind of closeness made it hard to imagine being alone.

But if he had to name the moment he first felt it? It was the day he woke up a vampire and Smoke wasn’t right beside him. He reached out and his brother wasn’t there.

If that’s what Annie meant — that empty, aching kind of quiet — then no. She wasn’t gonna feel that. Not when she had them. 

Stack pushed their bedroom door open and the two entered. Annie was curled up in the bed fast asleep. 

“Annie?” He tried softly. 

Nothing. 

“Baby girl?” Smoke tried this time. 

Annie stirred at the sound, emerging from underneath the blanket. She looked around a little confused. “What’re y’all doin’ back so early?”

She began to rub sleep from her eyes. 

Instead of answering, Smoke gently set the box down.

A tiny Rottweiler puppy stumbled out, big eyes blinking up at her, tail wagging like it had no idea what sleep was. 

The pup yipped and ran over to the side of the bed. Trying and failing to jump up. 

“Oh —“

She looked at them with shock covering her features. 

“Oh my god, is this for me?” Her eyes were wide and tears had already begun to well up. 

“Just for you baby.” Stack confirmed standing proudly.

She watched as the dog struggled to get up the bed. 

Annie knelt over the bed, and scooped the pup into her arms. It licked at her chin and she laughed — truly laughed — for the first time in what felt like weeks.

She placed a kiss on the dogs little head before correcting her and saying “We are not that kind of household. But imma give you a pass today.”

“Yall… I’m — I don’t even know what to say. “ she juggled the pup as she nipped at her dress. 

She was beaming.

“It ain’t us but, she’ll give you something to do during the day. Someone to hang out with till we wake up. So you won’t feel so alone.” Stacks smile stretched wide across his face. 

Smoke piped in.  Back slightly turned and not meeting her gaze. He was a complex man and guilt was eating him up. How did he not see it? Her unhappiness? The misstep would plague him for a while. 

“Yeah, you can take her for walks and shit. And when she gets older she could even protect you. Y’all can add some extra feminine energy to the space.”  Smoke added gesturing to the area around him lazily. 

She suppressed her laugh — this solution definitely wasn’t initiated by Smoke. 

“How’d you get him to agree to this?” she asked, jerking her chin over shoulder at Smoke but talking to Stack.

“You try to do something nice for someone…” Smoke said dryly.

“I know this wasn’t your idea,” she teased while bringing the puppy up to her nose and breathing in her scent. 

Stack smirked. Smoke scoffed — but he didn’t deny it.

Stack grinned wide, one arm slung around her. “But he ain’t stop it neither.” 

Smoke rolled his eyes. “Y’all bein’ real funny tonight.”

She crooked her finger beckoning for the younger twin to get down on her level. 

“Thank you baby.” She spoke softly into his lips before placing a kiss on them. 

“I wanna do something nice for you, say thank you”

“Yeah?” The man breathed out as his hands went out to grip her thighs.

“Mhm. Not with my words though. You like that idea?” She asked while her hand traveled down his chest to run over his covered member. 

His eyes fluttered shut. He liked the idea, a lot. 

Getting hard from a few kisses and some touching was insane. 

The puppy whined and wriggled in her arms.

“Put her in the crate for a bit,” she said, biting her lip and looking up at him from the edge of the bed. 

He didn’t have to be told twice. He handled the dog and crossed the room to put her away. 

She got up to stretch and glanced over to Smoke. He held her gaze and said nothing as he leaned against the window sill. 

She could tell he was still a little stiff. A bit uncomfortable with everything that had gone down in the past few days. 

She mouthed an “I love you.” to him and the grumpy man couldn’t help but crack a smile. 

“You’re trouble.” 

Now Stack sat on the edge of the bed, watching her — still glowing from the surprise, the love in her chest blooming like a rose.

She walked over and dropped to her knees between his thighs, unhurried.

She turned her head and glanced to Smoke. 

“You not coming over?” The man was now staring outside. 

He glanced at them before huffing “Ya’ll don’t need me over there.”

Annie let out a giggle before focusing on the man in front of her.

Petty. Petty. Either way the show would have to go on. 

She looked up at him and reached up to unleash the dragon. She unzipped his pants and pulled him out. 

“Hi baby.” She said, big brown eyes staring up at him. 

“Hi.” He responded, voice light. 

She had pulled his dick out and stroked him a few times before she moved his tip along her lips. Slightly sticking her tongue out to taste. 

Her eyes fluttered closed. She kept the head between her lips before nippling and kissing it. She was getting in the zone. She loved the build up. Once she took him fully into her mouth, Stack hissed. Then she went to work.

Smoke leaned against the window, arms crossed, watching the way she rocked on her knees. 

One thing about Annie? She got off on sucking dick. Nothing could get her going faster. So yes, the blow job was for Stack but it was also for her. He was looking right at the proof. Smoke focused intently on the essence that slowly oozed onto the floor from her pussy as she sucked the life out of his brother. 

He adjusted himself in his pants, eyes on the woman’s swaying form and the evidence she left behind. She was so sensual. Everything she did made him wanna bow. He wanted to worship at the altar of Annie. 

Right now, he really didn’t deserve it — her. They had fucked up bad. But could he resist her, like this? Right now? She was a picture if he ever saw one. 

He told himself he’d just watch. Let her have this moment with Stack. But when he saw the way her back arched — the soft sounds slipping out her lips — his resolve cracked in half.

“Fuck it.” He’d deal with the guilt after. 

Before she knew it he was crossing the room over to them and ended up right behind her. 

He flexed his knees a bit and she heard him undo his belt buckle, unzip and pull himself out of his pants. Those were some of her favourite sounds. 

She was gonna get it tonight and she was so excited. 

He placed a hand on her hips and slightly angled her body upward. 

“Lemme see that arch baby.” And arch she did. 

Smoke didn’t have it in him to play for long. He was hard as a rock and watching Annie drip onto the floor earlier did his resolve no favours. 

He rubbed his dick along her folds, collecting her essence and watching it glisten on his dick. Fucking glorious. 

He timed his entrance with when she had Stack out of her mouth so he could hear her delicious moan. Fuel for them all.  

Slowly but deliberately he thrust into her. There they set their rhythm, moving in sync. Back and forth — Annie at the center of their world. 

They’d danced this dance time and time again. It never got old. They were a unit. They knew each other's bodies and triggers. It was beautiful for each one of them. Being known so deeply. Being loved so intimately. 

Annie’s eyes had become heavy and lidded from the additional sensation and she set her eyes on Stack. Those eyes coupled with his dick being in her mouth was a problem. 

The man managed to get out a tight “Stop lookin’ at me like that.” Before throwing his head back and letting out a drawn out “Fuck.”

Smoke looked up at his tortured brother and smirked. 

He bent down to whisper comically in his wife’s ear. “Keep going baby. Don’t let him tell you what to do.”

The man could feel the effects of her enthusiasm on him. Every time she came back her pussy would swallow his dick. It was beautiful the way she was creaming on him. It was like an ocean in there and he didn’t wanna stop swimming. 

“If you can make Stack cum, I’ll make you cum. Deal?” Smoke asked.

She bobbed her head enthusiastically and he took that as a yes. 

Annie always felt so sexy when she could have them both at the same time. It was all encompassing and she loved it.  

She grinned to herself and continued to top Stack from the bottom. Licking up and down his thick shaft with her hands twisting at the base periodically. 

She felt the sensation of his dick sliding in and this time she let it slip right down her throat and she held it there. 

“Shit.” Stack exclaimed. 

The man gained the strength to look back down at her and still she looked up at him. Love, adoration and something dangerous in her eyes. 

He made the mistake of glancing even further down and there they were. Annie’s tits were bouncing and jiggling on account of her getting railed by his older brother. 

Oh, the life they lived. 

Stack loved every part of Annie but he went feral for her titties. He was always pinching em, holding em, looking at em, he couldn’t get enough.

His resolve was being tested. He didn’t want this to be over. He wanted to savour this — getting head was a gift. He employed every shred of willpower to hold on. 

He raised his eyes to the ceiling trying to get the graphic image out of his head. He counted 11 planks of wood before glancing down once more. A mistake. 

The man wanted to last, he really fucking did but then Annie took her mouth off him and spat right on his dick. There was a trail of spit still attached to her lip and she held his gaze while rubbing her thumb over his tip. 

She was a wicked wicked woman. 

He watched as her lips enveloped him and she increased her pace and sucked him down her throat once again. 

This time though, she didn’t pull back. She held him tight and he could feel her tongue lapping against the shaft, tickling his skin. Her dark brown eyes stared into his soul. 

She was so heartbreakingly pretty. His hand reached out to cup her face but he didn’t get a chance to. 

She hummed and that's what sealed his fate.  The vibrations created an unreal amount of pleasure. He had no chance against Annie’s prowess. 

His self-control snapped like an elastic band. He was gonna finish. Right fuckin’ now.

At this point he pulled himself out of her mouth and grabbed the base of his dick. 

“Where you want it baby?” He asked his wife, gripping himself tightly. 

She took her hands, pushed her titties together and breathlessly begged “Right here.” 

Her tits then. He let his orgasm rise within him. He was good. 

That was before she dropped her mouth open and stuck her tongue out. 

The man short circuited. 

Annie would save the moan that left Stacks mouth in a box in her mind for later use. 

His internal dialog was overwhelmed. In mere milliseconds he had to make a choice. Her mouth? Her tits? He couldn’t decide in time and shot his thick load somewhere in the middle. 

Most of it landed on the tip of her tongue. She sported a smile as his seed dripped from her mouth right onto her titties. 

It was straight up pornographic. 

The man struggled to catch his breath. He watched the scene mesmerized and as he attempted to recover. 

The little minx that she was, the woman pressed her breasts together spreading his seed across her chest.  

He looked down at her in a flustered accusatory manner. She knew what she did. She fluttered her pleasure laden lashes at him before letting out a breathless “Thank you.”

She continued to smile up at him as if she hadn’t just given him the most insane blow job of his life. 

He had married a wicked woman indeed. 

He cursed under his breath while closing his eyes. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy.” 

Stack was almost in a daze, and he became preoccupied with watching her tits bounce but this time with his cum spread across them. He imagined this was what heaven would be like. 

Behind her Smoke observed their interactions. His measured thrusts were about to become a lot sloppier. 

She turned her head over to look at her husband, her eyes low and lidded and simply said “It’s my turn.”

“I got you baby. You did so good, I’m gonna give you —“ his voice trailed off as she began to fuck back with enthusiasm. 

“Shit Annie.” Smoke placed a hand on her lower back, that arch was doing something to him. 

She was throwing her hips back and letting out soft pants that hit Smoke’s ears in all the best ways. 

Everything was sloppy. And wet. And Annie loved it all. Mentally she was transcending. She felt so special and loved — they paid her so much attention.  There was cum on her lips and on her tits. She wanted it inside of her too. Cover all her bases. 

Stack began pulling at her cum covered nipples, she liked that. 

Smoke reached a hand around her waist to find her clit. 

Slowly he began to tease the sensitive nub. Matching his movements with his thrusts. Back and forth he swiped at her pleasure center.  

“Yes. Yes. That feels so good.” She panted out. 

Her husband was hitting her in all the right places at just the right pace. She met his thrusts with enthusiasm and the stimulation she received on her nipples added to the experience. She was home. 

“I want more.” she let out. 

“More. More. More.” She chanted out breathlessly.

She was getting demanding. This raised an alarm for Smoke. 

How much more could he give?

When she got like this. Hungry for it? He couldn’t control himself. 

“Are you gonna give it to me daddy?” She threw her head over her shoulder, dark low eyes and kiss bruised lips looking back at her partner. 

“Annie — chill out.” He warned, hand placed firmly on the small of her back. 

Annie did not chill. In fact she clenched her walls greedily for a fuller feeling. The very opposite of chilling. 

He gasped. 

“You promised.” She whined. 

Annie wanted — so Smoke provided.

He worked quickly to swipe his fingers across her clit. Leaning over he began to murmur in her ear hard thrusts not letting up. 

“Look how good you are… how perfect you are. How pretty you sing for me.” 

She nodded. A sob building up in her chest. She loved it when they talked her through it. 

“We’re sorry baby.” He continued and she needed to hear it too. 

And he just kept giving — every thrust, every touch, every whispered word. Telling her in the only way he knew how:

You ain’t never alone.

Not while we’re alive.

Not even when we’re dead.

That one final statement did it for her. Her voice cracked as she panted out her pleasure — tears streaming down her face. 

“Yes, yes I’m gonna—” Urgency coated her voice as she reached for Stack’s hand like it was the only thing tethering her to earth.

Stack laced his fingers with hers, grounding her with a steady squeeze. She didn’t have to say anything — he felt what she needed.

Annie always needed a little encouragement to let go. She lived in her head too much — always watching herself from the outside, afraid of losing control. And with the boys? Truth be told, her orgasms scared her. How big they were. How undone they made her.

“Go ‘head, baby,” Stack whispered, voice thick with heat. “It’s okay. You just let go — we right here with you.”

And let go she did.

Smoke watched her — how she shoved her hips back, how tight she clenched around him, how wild and beautiful she looked when she finally let it hit.

She came like a storm breaking open — happy, wild, free.

Stack felt her tremble, felt her trust him — and it stirred something deep in him. If that was loneliness, what she’d felt, then this was the cure. He’d give it to her again and again.

Smoke felt it too. The freedom. Free from last night’s weight. Free from the pressure of always holding it together.

That was all he needed.

He grunted, sank into her one last time, and came with a shout that left him breathless.

____

“Annie?”

“Mhm?” she murmured, distracted as she tickled the puppy’s belly and giggled at its squirming paws.

They were tangled up in bed — a mess of warm skin and lazy limbs. Stack was already out cold, chest rising slow and deep, mouth parted like he’d been knocked out.

Annie rested on his outstretched arm, her fingers drifting up Smoke’s chest, playing with the gold chain that hung between his pecs.

“Next time something’s bothering you…”

“Enough,” she said, cutting him off gently but firm.

He nodded.

“It’s done, baby. We’re good. It’s water under the bridge.”

They were fine. That’s all he needed to know. They didn’t need a hundred words — not when the truth was already pulsing between them.

Stack let out a small snore, body slack.

Annie didn’t know it, but that moment had wrung something out of him too. He’d meant every word — about being there, about her not feeling alone. And when she let go, so did he.

Silence stretched, soft and full.

“You sucked the soul outta him,” he joked.

“He deserved it.” she replied.

Smoke smiled, watching her settle deeper against his chest.

Yeah. They all did. ____ Interested in my future works? Let me know if you'd like me to add you to my tag list. a/n Thank you for every single comment and reblog of Part 1. I was cracking up 🤣 I'm really glad you're enjoying this AU, though a little unconventional. Your thoughts and encouragement keep me writing. Can't wait to hear what ya'll think! My other works can be found in My Masterlist. Thanks for reading! ___ Taglist @chaneajoyyy @pyraomen @browngirldominion @sarcastic-sunshines @goddessofthundathighs @rolemodelshit @bbymuthaaa @boonoonoonus @joysofmyworld @twistedsistas-stuff @blackctrl

@heytemporary

[ann1-wr1tes]

Leon Kennedy NSFW Alphabet

Dynamics: RE4! Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Spicy Alphabet

Warnings: Adult themes, obviously smut

A/N: Hey Leon simps...hope ya'll enjoy! Also if anyone wants to request any other characters for an alphabet, let me know!

-----

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

-Leon is very good at aftercare. He always makes sure that you are comfy and well cared for. He'll run you both a warm shower and he honestly just likes to take his time, washing your body and making sure you are well cared for and clean. His favorite part is when he finally gets to lay back in bed with you and relax as you drift off to sleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

-Leon loves your whole body honestly. If he had to pick one thing he'd probably say your hands. He likes to hold them and kiss them and its just something that's so grounding to him when he's fucking you and he intertwines his fingers with yours.

-On himself I think he'd be particularly proud of arms. He knows he's got some muscle on them and it just makes him feel strong.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

-Leon would probably prefer something simple like your stomach if not inside a condom. If he has to pull out, he doesn't like making too big of a mess so your stomach will do.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

-He's always wanted to wake you up with a little surprise. Whether that be waking you up with head, fingering you, or fucking you awake. Its just something about how pretty you look when you're sleeping next to him and you have your ass pressed against his dick...

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

-Since this is taking place around RE!4 he doesn't have a lot of experience. Of course he's not nearly as clueless as he was in RE!2 but he's too busy to have that much experience under his belt. Luckily he's a quick learner.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

-He likes it simple. Missionary or maybe Doggy-style. Missionary is just perfect, he can gauge all your reactions and see how you feel when he looks at your face and its just perfect. Doggy-style is nice when he presses his chest against your back and he gets to be as close to you as possible. His arms would be wrapped around your waist as he rolls his hips into yours.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

-Not too goofy but he may crack a few horrible jokes here or there. He wants to keep the mood light and not too serious.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

-Not too messy, not completely bare. Given his line of work and very limited amount of time he has at home, I think he tries his best to stay as well groomed as possible but he leaves a little bit and has a nice happy trail.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

-In the moment he an get very sucked up into all the emotions and the feelings that happen during sex. His life is hard and he rarely ever gets to take the time to unwind so sometimes it can be emotional for him and he just wants to show you how appreciative he is.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

-Oh absolutely. When he's off on the other side of the world, away from you he's got to have some way to relieve stress. Its not that frequent but he does it often enough late at night when he's thinking of you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

-Definitely has a praise kink. He wants to hear how good he is doing for you, how good he is making you feel, and if you happen to tell him how strong he is or how handsome he looks then he might just cum right then and there...

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

-Usually at home in bed, but there have been a few instances where he has enjoyed some shower sex. You two just wanted to spend some time together after he got home from a mission and he couldn't help himself when he saw soap running down your skin and your pretty body standing there in front of him.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

-Just you in general. He loves everything about you and god does he think you're hot. You barely even have to do anything to get him hard. You could probably give him a few good kisses and he'd start to get heated.l

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

-No guns, no knives, and I don't think he'd be huge into choking. Anything that could hurt you is a definite no for him. I also don't think he'd into the whole "daddy" thing..it kinda just weirds him out-

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

-He prefers giving. Its one of his ways he likes to show you how much he loves and appreciates you. Just having you lay back and spread your legs is one of his favorite things.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

-Steady. Not too fast, not too slow. He likes to get the job done but not rush it too much. Of course if you want it rougher/faster he'd be happy to oblige and there are moments when he's feeling more emotional or soft so he'll be a bit softer and slow then.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

-He doesn't mind them. Sometimes he'll get a call for work and he'll have to leave soon but he wants to fuck you on last time before he goes. I feel like it'd be a common thing between you too.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

-He's neutral on taking risks. He's pretty much down for anything you'd like to try, so long as its within reason. But if you want to experiment then he's more than happy to give it a try with you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

-Leon has good stamina but the poor boy is tried most of the time. I think he'd be able to give you a good few long rounds before passing out lmao-

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

-He doesn't own any toys himself but if you had some and wanted to use them he'd be happy to. I think he'd be more eager to use them on you but if you convince him you'd probably be able to use a vibrator on him or maybe a cock ring-

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

-Doesn't tease at all. He's very giving and generous while having sex and he loves to make you feel good.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

-Not too loud but not quiet. I'd say he's somewhere in the middle. He'll let out a few good groans and maybe some moans if you get him feeling really good.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

-He loves it when you wear his clothes. Whether that be an oversized shirt or his jacket, its just something about seeing you in his clothes that gets him going.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

-Definitely a grower. Leon when he's soft is a good 6.5 inches and when he's hard, he gets to a whole 7.5 inches. When hard his dick tilts slightly to the left but has one of two prominent veins running up his shaft.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

-Pretty high honestly. He's always pent up from his job and stressed so one of the best ways he can relieve himself it by fucking you. Plus he just loves you and can't seem to get enough of you so his sex drive is decently high.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

-He tries to stay up long enough for you to fall asleep first but sometimes he's just so worn out that he either falls asleep with you or a little before you.

[skeletonh0e]

Hear me out, OK? What if on a random day you just feel excited, like like Ahmed.This is mine.I love it so much.I'm going gna kiss it all over, but with all the sans ( NSFW or no that is up to you)

I'm keeping it SFW for now, I got plenty of NSFW requests in my drafts (which I love ya'll for)

Get smooched on idiot (ft. The Boys)

Classic Sans:

"oh hey ba-"

Can't even get the words out before you set yourself upon him, smooching all over

And you sure as hell aren't going to hear him complaining

Even if you do it in public

Might get some people telling you to get a room but you sure as hell ain't listening

"Mine, mine, mine," You repeat placing smooches all over his stupid little face, "Loooove you."

The skeleton chuckles, probably covered in god knows how many smooch marks if you're wearing makeup "yeah yeah love ya too"

His entire face just screams content happy fat cat energy

Underswap Sans:

Congrats you have flustered him

Granted he's probably pulled something similar on you before in the past but still! That's different! (Not really)

He'll pout and whine especially if he's in public "honeyyyy im workingggg" but he doesn't make any active effort to stop you

Well he's very squirmy but he's kind of always like that

The magnificent Sans cannot keep losing his composure!

Y/N: "Are you miiiiine?"

Blue, completely flushed: ".....yes-"

He's going you back for this

Underfell Sans:

If you try in public he's grumpliy shoving you off

"none of that soft shit!"

If you try in private he's still gonna complain but just kind of let's you do what you want

He loves it make no mistake he's just a grouch and struggles to express emotions still

He'll say you're being cringe but the moment you actually stop and pullbaway he'll basically just go "i didn't say you could do that"

And pull you back forward

If you do it while he's drunk he's basically just melts in your arms though

Horrortale Sans:

Horror: "What is this?"

Y/N: "Affection!"

Horror: "Disgusting......."

Horror: "Do it again."

For as scary and intimidating as he looks man is a sucker for physical affection, honestly somewhat touch starved and just idly wraps his arms around you while you nearly smooch him to death

Just be meanwhile of the crack in his head though it doesn't hurt but it's definitely sensitive

He nearly purrs or let's out something akin to that, it's more of a soft growl but it's definitely not a sigh of disenouragement

"Mine~" You playfully whisper as you smooch around his neck bone and you get a very gruff "always" in response

Underlust Sans:

"is this my reward for being such a good boy?"

You know the dirty jokes are coming, this is him we're talking about but you enjoy bombarding him with all types of intimacy, sexual or otherwise

And he certainly doesn't mind the attention, though honestly just being completely mushy gushy is a fairly decent way to fluster him

Especially as you dote on him telling him out much you love him

And the fact you get a rare moment of him blushing just makes you wanna do it even more

He's definitely returning a few of them make no mistake and giving you a playful squeeze as he teases you

Fresh Sans:

Takes it as a challenge

Get ready for a smooch war!!

And he's gonna win!!

You two quickly fall to the floor, rapidly kissing and holding each other, occasionally giggling like idiots

The bastard cheats, tickling you in certain areas so he can get the upper hand and you call him out on it

"all is fair in love and war broski!"

"You're lucky I love you"

He definitely documents this all down later, he has a notebook of all he people he kisses and he has a special section dedicated to you in particular

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her I Die |21|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Twenty-One: Beneath Thin Ice

warning(s): death, drowning, grief, cannibalism, violence, hunting humans, trauma, and starvation.

notes: ya'll gonna hate me.

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson @serendippindots @mikuley @sleepyjackets @wnbawag

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The wailing reached you first.

High and keening, it cut through the frozen air like a blade, drawing you from the hollow sanctuary you'd found after Javi left. Hours had passed—too many hours—with no sign of him or Travis. The waiting had worn your nerves raw, leaving you pacing the small confines of the dilapidated hunter's cabin until Nat had finally snapped at you to sit down.

"Did you hear that?" you asked, freezing mid-step.

Nat raised her head, the wariness never having left her eyes since your escape. "The lake," she said after a moment of listening. "It's coming from the lake."

Fear crystallized in your chest, sharp and cold as the winter air. Without discussion, you both moved toward the door, the instinct to investigate overriding caution. Outside, the wailing grew louder, more distinct—human voices raised in something between hunting cries and mourning songs.

"I don't like this," Nat murmured, her breath clouding in the frigid air.

You didn't either, but something pulled you forward, an invisible thread drawing you toward the sounds. The lake lay about half a mile from your hiding place, its surface frozen solid for weeks now. As you approached through the trees, the scene before you made your blood run cold.

Figures moved across the ice—your teammates, your friends, transformed into something primal and terrifying. They ran in strange patterns, some with arms outstretched, others crouched low like predators. At first, the chaos made no sense, until your eyes found the center of their attention.

Two smaller figures fled across the frozen expanse—one unmistakably Javi, the other Nat.

But how could Nat be—

You turned to your side, finding only empty air where Nat had been standing seconds before. Somehow, she'd slipped away while your attention was fixed on the lake, moving to intercept Javi in what appeared to be a rescue attempt gone horribly wrong.

"NAT!" you screamed, your voice lost in the cacophony of hunting cries.

Your body moved before your mind could process fear, legs pumping as you broke from the tree line and onto the ice. The surface was treacherous, forcing you to slow your pace even as panic urged you faster. Ahead, the terrible tableau continued to unfold—Javi and Nat racing across the lake, the pack in pursuit, closing the distance with each passing second.

You heard it before you saw it—the deep, resonant crack that seemed to vibrate through the very air. Time slowed to a cruel crawl as Javi's small form suddenly dropped, his forward momentum halted by nothing visible until you realized with horror what had happened.

The ice had given way beneath him.

"JAVI!" Your scream tore from your throat as you pushed forward, ignoring the dangerous sounds beneath your own feet.

You were still too far away, still helpless to do anything but watch as Javi surfaced once, his small arms flailing above the jagged hole in the ice. Nat had turned back, was trying to reach him, but Misty appeared from nowhere, grabbing her around the waist and physically restraining her.

"They'll just come after you if you save him!" Misty's shrill voice carried across the ice, her glasses flashing in the winter light as she struggled with Nat.

By the time you reached them, it was too late. Multiple pairs of hands grabbed you, holding you back as you fought and screamed. Through tears, you saw Javi's head disappear beneath the surface again, his last desperate attempts at survival growing weaker.

"Let me GO!" you howled, twisting against the grip of whoever held you. "He's DROWNING!"

"The ice won't hold!" someone—Van?—shouted in your ear. "You'll fall in too!"

"I don't CARE!" you sobbed, still fighting, still watching as Javi's hands broke the surface one last time before slipping under.

Through the chaos of bodies and screams, your eyes found Shauna. She stood apart from the others, not participating in restraining either you or Nat, her face a mask of shock as she stared at the place where Javi had disappeared. Something in her expression—horror, disbelief, a terrible dawning comprehension of what they'd done—cut through your panic, leaving a different kind of pain in its wake.

The struggle on the ice seemed to last forever and no time at all. When it was over—when Javi's occasional resurfacing stopped completely���a strange silence fell over the group. The hunting frenzy evaporated, leaving behind fourteen girls and one boy standing on a frozen lake, staring at a ragged hole where another boy had been.

Nat's broken voice finally cut through the silence. "We have to get him out."

No one moved at first. Then, as if emerging from a collective trance, several figures shuffled forward cautiously. Mari lay flat on her stomach, distributing her weight as she inched toward the hole. Tai followed her lead from another angle. With trembling hands and carefully coordinated movements, they reached into the frigid water.

It took both of them, plus Akilah and Gen, to pull Javi's waterlogged body from the lake. He seemed smaller somehow, his limbs akimbo, his lips already turning blue. Someone—maybe you—let out a keening cry as they dragged him onto solid ice, laying him out like a broken doll.

"CPR," Nat said suddenly, releasing from Misty's hold and rushing forward. "We have to—we have to try—"

But even as she positioned herself over Javi's chest, beginning compressions with mechanical precision, you knew it was too late. The cold had taken him too quickly; the water had filled his lungs too completely. Still, you watched with desperate hope as Nat worked, counting aloud, pausing to breathe into Javi's mouth before resuming compressions.

Minutes stretched, becoming an eternity of watching and waiting and praying to whatever might be listening. Eventually, Tai placed a gentle hand on Misty's shoulder.

"Nat," she said softly. "He's gone."

"No, no—we just need to keep trying," Nat insisted, her movements becoming frantic. "Sometimes it takes—"

"Natalie." Tai's voice was firmer now. "He's gone."

The realization settled over the group like a physical weight, bending shoulders and bowing heads. The madness that had driven you all onto the ice dissipated entirely, leaving nothing but the hollow shell of grief in its wake.

Someone started crying—not the theatrical wails of before, but quiet, broken sobs that spoke of genuine remorse. Others joined, the sound spreading through the group like contagion until nearly everyone wept openly.

You remained dry-eyed, shock numbing you to everything but the sight of Javi's still form on the ice. Nat's face was a stone mask that betrayed nothing of what must be raging inside her.

"We need to take him back," she said finally, her voice devoid of emotion. "Travis needs to know."

Travis. The thought of him waiting at the cabin, hoping for his brother's safe return, sent a fresh wave of pain through your chest. How would you tell him? How could you possibly explain what had happened here?

Moving like sleepwalkers, you all prepared to transport Javi's body back to the cabin. Van and Tai fashioned a crude stretcher from jackets and branches, lifting Javi's small form onto it with tender care that seemed obscene after what had just transpired. No one spoke as the grim procession made its way through the woods, the stretcher bearing Javi's body leading the way.

Travis was waiting outside the cabin when you emerged from the tree line. The hope that flared in his eyes when he spotted Nat—alive, safe, returned to him—was almost more than you could bear. He rushed forward, pulling her into an embrace that she endured without returning, her body stiff and unyielding in his arms.

"Thank God," he murmured into her hair, oblivious for one precious moment longer to the tragedy you carried. "I thought—"

Nat pushed away from him abruptly, shaking her head and moving past without a word, unable or unwilling to be the one to deliver the blow that was coming. Travis's confusion lasted only seconds before his gaze found you.

"I'm sorry," you began, the words catching in your throat. "Travis, I'm so sorry—"

Something in your face must have conveyed what words couldn't. His eyes darted past you to the stretcher that Tai and Van now lowered gently to the ground, the burden they carried unmistakable despite being covered with a jacket.

"No," Travis said, the single syllable a desperate denial. "No, no, no—"

He pushed past you, falling to his knees beside the makeshift stretcher. With trembling hands, he pulled back the jacket covering his brother's face, a sound escaping him that wasn't quite human—grief and rage and disbelief twisted into something primal.

You wanted to approach, to offer comfort, but how could you? Your presence was salt in an open wound. You had promised to protect Javi, had sent him back alone into danger. Every choked sob that tore from Travis's throat was an indictment.

Shauna stood apart from the group, arms wrapped tightly around herself as if physically holding her body together. Tears tracked silently down her face, though she made no move to wipe them away. When her eyes met yours across the clearing, you saw something there that mirrored your own hollowness—a particular kind of grief that went beyond the loss of Javi, extending to everything that had led to this moment. To the people you had all become.

Travis's initial shock gave way to questions, his voice breaking as he demanded explanations. "What happened? How did—who did this?"

The silence that followed was damning. No one wanted to be the one to explain how a hunting party had driven a child to his death. How madness had consumed you all to the point where Javi—sweet, innocent Javi—had become prey.

"The lake," you finally said, when it became clear no one else would speak. "We were... he was running across the ice. It broke."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't exactly a lie. You couldn't bring yourself to tell Travis that his brother had died fleeing from people who should have protected him. That knowledge would break whatever fragile threads still held him together.

Travis gathered Javi's body into his arms, cradling him as he might have when they were younger—Javi small against his chest, head tucked beneath Travis's chin. He rocked slightly, murmuring words too quiet for anyone else to hear, private benedictions for his brother's journey beyond this place.

The group dispersed slowly, shame driving them back toward the cabin one by one until only you, Travis, and Shauna remained in the clearing. You stood awkwardly, caught between the desire to comfort and the knowledge that your presence might be unwelcome, might be a reminder of failure.

Eventually, Shauna approached, her steps hesitant. She placed a gentle hand on Travis's shoulder, saying nothing but offering silent solidarity in his grief. To your surprise, he didn't shrug her off, instead leaning slightly into the touch as if drawing strength from it.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was hollow. "We need to bury him."

But even as he said it, a terrible understanding passed between the three of you—burial was impossible. The ground was frozen solid, had been for weeks. And you were all starving, had been driven to madness by hunger just hours before.

"I'll..." Shauna began, then stopped, swallowing hard. "I'll take care of him."

The implication hung in the air, unspoken but unmistakable. Travis's face contorted with fresh grief, but he didn't argue. Couldn't argue. The survival of the group had already been purchased with his brother's life; to waste what Javi could provide now would make his death even more senseless.

"Let me," Travis said finally, gently laying Javi back on the stretcher. "I'll carry him inside."

You wanted to help, to shoulder some part of this burden, but when you moved forward, Travis's eyes flashed with something that stopped you cold. Not hate, exactly, but something adjacent to it—blame, perhaps, or the need to blame someone for what had happened.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again, the words wholly inadequate.

Travis didn't respond, turning away to lift Javi's body as Shauna followed close behind. You watched as he carried Javi toward the cabin, his movements slow and deliberate, as if hoping to extend these final moments before the terrible necessity that awaited.

Left alone in the clearing, you felt hollowed out, scraped raw from the inside. The events on the lake played in endless loop behind your eyes—Javi falling, arms flailing, the ice closing over him while you could do nothing but watch. The memory lodged in your throat like a stone, making it difficult to breathe.

Without conscious decision, your feet carried you away from the others. You found yourself drawn to the attic, to Lottie, though you couldn't have explained why. Perhaps because she existed outside the immediate horror, had not been part of the hunt. Perhaps because some part of you hoped she might make sense of the senseless.

The climb up the ladder felt endless, each rung requiring more effort than you thought possible to muster. When you finally emerged into the dim space, Lottie was sitting upright on her mattress, her eyes clear and focused in a way that suggested she'd been waiting for you.

"Why was Travis screaming?" she asked without preamble, her voice steady.

You sank to the floor beside her mattress, legs no longer capable of supporting your weight. "Javi's dead."

Even saying the words aloud didn't make them feel real. Lottie's expression remained unchanged, as if she'd already known what you would say.

"The hunt," you continued, the words spilling out now that you'd started. "They were hunting Nat. Javi tried to help her. They chased them onto the lake and the ice... the ice broke."

Lottie was quiet for a long moment, her fingers absently tracing patterns on the blanket covering her legs. "This wasn't supposed to happen," she said finally, her voice soft but certain.

"What does that even mean?" you asked, frustration flaring through the numbness. "None of this was supposed to happen. We weren't supposed to be stranded here. Jackie and Javi weren't supposed to—"

Your voice broke, unable to complete the thought. Lottie reached out, her hand coming to rest on top of your head with unexpected gentleness.

"Come here," she said, patting the space beside her on the mattress.

You hesitated, then complied, too exhausted to resist. Lottie guided your head into her lap, her fingers beginning to stroke through your hair with hypnotic rhythm. Despite yourself, you felt some of the tension leave your body at the contact.

"The wilderness takes what it needs," Lottie murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes we misunderstand what that is, but the outcome is the same."

"Stop," you said weakly, not wanting to hear her mystical interpretations of tragedy. "Just stop."

To your surprise, she did, continuing to stroke your hair in silence. The simple human contact was both comforting and unbearable—a reminder of connection when you felt most disconnected from everything, including yourself.

You're not sure how long you stayed there, head in Lottie's lap, grief and exhaustion washing over you in waves. At some point, the light in the attic shifted, shadows lengthening as afternoon moved toward evening. From below came the sounds of movement, of preparations being made that you couldn't bear to think about.

When you finally sat up, your face was wet with tears you didn't remember crying. Lottie watched you with that unnerving stillness that seemed to see through you rather than at you.

"They'll be needing me downstairs," you said, your voice rough from crying or silence or both.

Lottie nodded once. "We all have our parts to play."

You didn't want to know what she meant by that, didn't want to think about what "parts" awaited any of you in the cabin below. As you moved toward the ladder, Lottie's voice stopped you.

"It wasn't your fault," she said softly. "Or Nat's. Or even theirs."

You didn't answer, continuing your descent into a place where reality waited, cold and inescapable.

The smell reached you as you made your way down—copper and iron and something else, something that turned your stomach with recognition. You watched Shauna from the window as she worked. Outside, she stood at the table that had become her butcher's station, movements precise and practiced in a way that would have been admirable in any other context. 

Travis sat in the corner, face ashen, eyes fixed on some middle distance that existed only for him. Nat stood nearby, not touching him but present, a silent sentinel to his grief. The others were scattered throughout the cabin, some huddled together in small groups, others isolated in their own guilt and horror.

No one spoke as you entered. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken accusations, shattered trust, impossible choices. You couldn't look at Shauna, couldn't watch what she was doing, so you found an empty spot along the wall and sank to the floor, knees drawn to your chest like a child hiding from monsters.

Time stretched and contracted, measured now only in the rhythmic sound of Shauna's knife against the wooden table. When she finally stepped away, wiping her hands on a cloth with mechanical efficiency, her face was a mask that revealed nothing of what must be churning beneath.

She'd pulled her make-shift beanie low over her eyes, but not before you caught the gleam of tears tracking down her cheeks. The sight twisted something inside you—her grief somehow both infuriating and heartbreaking. She had no right to cry, you thought savagely. None of them did. And yet, wasn't their pain as real as yours? As Travis's?

The meal that followed was a grotesque parody of communion. Travis, in a moment of either supreme courage or complete detachment, took the first portion—his brother's heart, prepared by Shauna with the same careful attention she'd given to all the meals that had kept you alive through the winter.

"For Javi," he said, the only words spoken as he raised the meat to his lips.

The cabin remained silent as everyone followed his lead, accepting their portions with downcast eyes and heavy hearts. You couldn't bring yourself to eat, your stomach revolting at the very thought. When Shauna approached with a plate for you, you turned your face away, unable to look at her.

She didn't press, simply placing the plate beside you before retreating. The gesture—its gentleness, its acceptance of your rejection—made something fracture inside your chest. You wanted to hate her, wanted to hate all of them for what had happened. Hate would be cleaner, simpler than the complicated tangle of emotions that actually filled you.

As the meal concluded, people filtered out of the cabin in ones and twos, the atmosphere too oppressive to bear for long. Soon, only you, Shauna, Travis, and Nat remained—the four of you bound now by a shared trauma that no one else could fully understand.

Travis stood abruptly, the sudden movement startling in the stillness. "I need air," he said, his voice flat and distant.

Nat followed him outside without a word, leaving you alone with Shauna for the first time since everything had fallen apart. She moved around the cabin with careful precision, cleaning up with the same methodical attention she'd given to the more terrible task earlier.

When she finally approached you, kneeling at your side with hesitant movements, you couldn't bring yourself to look at her.

"Y/N," she said softly, your name a plea on her lips.

You shook your head, still unable to form words around the stone lodged in your throat. Her hand hovered near yours, not quite touching, asking permission you couldn't grant.

"I didn't want this," she whispered, her voice breaking on the last word. "Any of it. I never wanted—"

"But it happened anyway," you said, the first words you'd spoken in hours emerging harsh and unfamiliar. "We let it happen."

Shauna flinched as if struck, her hand dropping back to her lap. "Yes," she agreed, the simple admission carrying the weight of everything between you. "We did."

Silence stretched between you, filled with all the things neither of you knew how to say. How could you possibly articulate the horror of what you'd witnessed? The guilt of survival? The terrible knowledge that hunger and fear had reduced you all to something unrecognizable?

"I keep seeing him," you admitted finally, your voice barely audible. "Every time I close my eyes. His arms above the ice, trying to—"

Your voice broke, unable to continue. Shauna's hand found yours then, gripping with desperate strength as if she could anchor you both against the tide of grief threatening to sweep you away.

"Me too," she whispered, and in those two small words was a universe of shared trauma, of understanding no one else could offer.

You didn't pull your hand away. You didn't forgive her, couldn't forgive any of them or yourself. But in that moment, her touch was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, to humanity. You held on, both of you adrift in the aftermath of unimaginable loss, clinging to each other because there was nothing else left.

Outside, somewhere in the darkness beyond the cabin walls, Travis screamed—a primal sound of grief that echoed through the wilderness. Neither you nor Shauna moved to comfort him, knowing there was no comfort to be found, not for this. Not yet.

The sound faded, leaving behind a silence more complete than any you'd known since the crash. In that silence, Shauna's fingers remained twined with yours, neither of you speaking, neither of you needing to. Some pains went beyond words, beyond understanding. All that remained was presence—flawed, human, complicit presence.

It would have to be enough. For now, it would have to be enough.

[spaced-out-muses]

Violence is still violence, Satonaka. And he's feeling pretty fucking violent right now.

Uhhhhhh sure violence, but she never bit Yosuke when he was shirtless so what's the deal with that, Kenji....huuuuuuh?

[spaced-out-muses]

Top/Bottom/Switch

... Aggressively kicks the machine.

"... Acceptable."

[sparkbeast20]

Seven deadly sins meets Seven rulers

This is my second attempt of remaking this OM x WHB crossover fic. I'll make no promises, if I feel like making more of this crossover, I'll just post it.

Note: This will be rated 16+, there will be mention of sex and both MCs sex life with they're respective devils/demons. OM MC will stick with game default name which is Yuki, and WHB will be named Raon both are GN.

Yuki POV

It was suppose to be a normal day, you were asked to join in to that day's student council to discuss something about a thing that Satan and Belphegor found in a weird shop, of course you knew that the reason those two found the strange item in the first place is because they were planning something against Lucifer.

Levi was with you, as the two of you arrive at the student council room. As soon as you open the door, both of you stopped in your tracks when you saw Barbatos sitting limply on his chair as Diavolo, Lucifer and Satan shielding him, while the rest stared at the floating object in the center of the room, all in their demon forms. Levi instinctively shifted and hid you behind him.

The object which was a strange scroll glow a bring light, as it open itself up, and soon a ominous voice speak, which you notice cause Levi and the rest of the brothers flinch, as if they knew the voice.

It spoke in a language that you weren't familiar, but judging from the reaction of your seven lovers, it something that struck a nerve.

And soon the scroll suddenly changed form, ripping from the center, revealing a light portal.

Diavolo, quickly acted and picked up Barbatos and ordered all of you to-

"RUN!!!"

You quickly move, but Mammon was faster. Hell you didn't realize that he quickly dashed towards you and picked you up. Beel picked Belphie, and Asmo picked Satan. And along side Lucifer and Diavolo flew out of the room, with you in Mammon's arms and Levi ran as fast he can.

Soon the portal ripped wider, and soon a voice soon can be hear.

And in a slip second a person was threw out from the portal and landed in the table of the room.

They groan in pain, and was calling out names. Then suddenly the portal violently ripped farther as if someone is tearing it from the inside.

Two massive black clawed hands tore the portal wider. And soon a swarm of flies flew out of the portal followed by five other figures and hand that was holding the portal open shrink and turn into pale hands and the figure jumped out of the portal and landed next to the first person that came out of the portal.

"Ow! That hurt!!" The first figure, who has purple hair and seem smaller compare to the other six with them. But as soon as the purple hair human stood up and dusted themselves off, the swarm of flies flew next to them and quickly formed into a tall blonde tan man, wearing a black crop top, ripped jeans and a green long over coat, that has "Sex, drugs, and Feed" on it. However what stands out is his one horn, that resembled a unicorn horn and his eyes, are green and a bit of yellow, with his pupils having the roman numerals VI VI VI

He quickly stood next to the human, and slide his arms over their shoulders. He smiled and quickly started sniffing the area.

"Oh~ there's some good food here"

When all that was happening, Lucifer, Mammon and Satan peak from the hall way through the crack of the door.

"Ya'll feel that ri-right" Mammon nervously whispered, with Levi, Asmo and Beel nodding in agreement. While you held Levi and Mammon's hands

Mammon gasped when he saw one of them, a man wearing a black kimono fell back as if he passed out, however the tallest one of them all quickly caught that fallen man and fling in on his shoulder.

For whatever reason, both Mammon and Belphie feel nervous about those two specifically.

"What are we suppose to do-"

"K̷̠͂̃͗͐n̸̫͉̹͌̀̀͑ͅe̶͇͕͆̍ě̴̺͉̿̿̚l̴̡̙̞̣̔,̴͚̄̆̓̄́ ̶̪̬̟͒̓̀ḣ̶̯̩̟̻̏̆ë̶̱̦͈̲̲́̈́͗͝ ̶̧̤̱̱͌͠w̸̢͓̲̞̳̎̒͠h̴̨̢̪͖͚̄̒ö̶̝̳̻̤́ ̵̟̙̐̔͠ͅͅw̴̡̡͓̭̌̍͜ȁ̷͇̹l̵͚̰͎̱̺̔̉k̵̨̨̬̙̙̓ş̵̗̗͎̲͛͗̽̉̿ ̴̛͓͈̄̽̿ỏ̷̬͙͉̱͇n̴͍̦̐ ̶͓̬͛̃͘ẗ̴̛̼̣́͗͝h̶̛̥͎̐̈́̚e̷̥͉̬̜̗͂̌̉ ̴͎̖̰̊ģ̷̳̤͔̿̈̆̒̕r̶̨̡̼͓̯͛o̵̓̑͋̃̃͜ͅữ̸̭̼́̄̒n̸͔͖͂d̴̢̯͋͗̅̚͝"

All of a sudden, you, six of the brothers and Barbatos as if by force was pushed to the ground, Levi and Asmo groan in pain. As if there was a strong weight pressing you down the ground.

Diavolo and Lucifer was shock by the sudden power and as quickly, Diavolo used his magic to open the door. Clearly knows that the "visitors" were the cost of this attack.

But in a instant, Diavolo was smack by a golden fist. lunching him across the hall and through a wall.

"My- Ugh... MY LORD!!!" Barbatos scream in agony, calling out to Diavolo.

"Tsk... Ya'll are noisy bunch." You slowly turn your head even with the pressure of the force crushing you, saw the man... with slit back hair, wearing a black kimono and a black halo over his head, click his tongue in annoyance. You shook when you saw his eyes, sliver however his left eye has two pupils giving off a strange unnerving feeling when you stare into them.

"Mm~ My, my~ what a wonderful bunch. I can't wait to have a taste of all of them... especially the one small human among the demons." Said the one wearing only a toga, but even then his red eyes, with his left eye has black sclera. Stare right at you.

You started to tremble... what is this feeling... You thought.

These beings... Are something else.

Raon POV

"There goes Asmodeus, making things weird for everyone in the room" You thought to yourself, as he was making creepy comments to these people... Wait are these humans? Like sure the shortest among them is clearly human... but the rest of them... have tails and wings and... Horns?!?! They might be devils of this world.

As other kings groan, or rolled their eyes at Asmodeus' comment. You thought back what happened before you and the seven sins got here.

You where aiding them with the fight against the angels, and the Seraphim. When all of the sudden a dimensional rift opened and sucked you in, Beelzebub acted quick and jumped into the rift followed by the other kings and that it. Now you're here. In a strange place with Lucifer using his power to make these poor people pushed down the ground, Mammon slapped one of them into a wall, and Belphegor and Asmodeus intimidating them.

"Guys... I think they ain't no harm... So..." You lean out and looked at Lucifer... "Lucifer, no one can beat you, so maybe... cancel the Order?" You try to appease Lucifer. After years spending time with them. You've learn how to stop them from going to far.

Lucifer looks at you and nodded and with a snap of his finger, his order was cancelled.

You looked back and watch as all of the people gasped and yelled in relief as they pushed themselves off the ground. The dark green hair demon? Quickly stood up and rushed over to the big bulky demon that Mammon slapped into the wall.

Next you notice that the demon with wings, and black hair looks at Lucifer with a shock expression.

"You're... Lucifer?" He spoke. With a slight anger and frustration in his voice.

"Eh? Got a problem with that?" Satan spoke, irritated at senses this demon's anger. You quickly pry away from Beelzebub and rushed over to Satan grabbing his arm and digging your nails into his skin, he chuckled and glance at you, and you sticked your tongue out at him in a playful manner.

This works a bit, until you can senses Leviathan glaring at you from behind. He grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you to him and he hid you behind him.

And Satan didn't like that. He started ripping Leviathan a new one, but Leviathan just started arguing with him

"Hehehe. Come on... Satan and Leviathan can't fight here-"

"SHUT UP BEELZEBUB!!!"

"Wait a fucking minute!!!!" You and six of the kings, cause of course Belphegor is asleep on Mammon's shoulder. Turn to the white hair demon with tan skin. "Lucifer?!?! Satan!?!? Leviathan!?!!? Beelzebub!?!?!" He screamed out their names and point at each of them as if there something wrong.

"Yes, as side from my Master Raon" Mammon laugh and gestures at you making you blush and flustered causing you to hide behind Leviathan. "We, are the seven deadly sins. The kings of hell"

Satan snarl at them, Leviathan glare at them, Beelzebub playfully salute at them, Mammon stood proud with his chest puff up, Lucifer looks away, Asmodeus winked at them, and Belphegor is sleeping and snoring.

The seven demons stood there in shock and confuse.

All the while you turn and looked at the human with them. It seems that you sensed something about them. Something that reminds you of Seraphim.

Its so hard writing for all the characters here. I'll still write more, but it would depend on my mood and motivation.

Honestly I like the idea of the Seven sins meeting the Brothers. And their MCs interacting with each other. But I do want to write a fight scene with them first :3

If there’s grammar or spelling error, please let me know and don’t be shy to leave a comment or reblogging with cute tags. I just love to see you guys thoughts on this :3

[jazeswhbhaven]

A Successful Hunt in Heaven | React | Spoilers | Prologue

LETS GO YA'LL

First, let me say that this is completely different than Levi's Torture story and when I get a chance to read the rest of this???? I'm pretty sure it's gonna be a 10...

Cause let's jump in???

We start with the fact that MC is standing in front of a throne, everything is in white and angels are calling them Gabriel.

I was like???? AYO ARE WE GABRIEL???

It seems, that we are indeed Gabriel....

it's so good to see our angry bae again, even if he's cussin' us out

not that he can help it, we are literally Gabriel right now. but why the fuck are we????

SO it's flashback time and we're in Gehenna after a big battle. Three kings Mammon/Levi/Beel came to help out and the results were victorious.

Mammon is so that guy because if I were watching him lifting buildings with ease all day, I would. Lemonade in hand like those ladies watching the lifeguard at the pool.

So the kings are talking amongst themselves about Satan reacting to Mammon's saying of "how Gehenna is his so ofc he's gonna help" and Beel saying that Satan would headbutt him with his horns if he heard him and it's surprising that he didn't (foreshadowing??)

Mammon just loves to call his boyfriend small huh? Lol

We know Beel, you like to spy on us. Next you're gonna be randomly showing up when we're showering or something and be like HEY JUST CHECKING UP ON YOUUUUU.

My stinka boo. <3

Anyways....

Leviathan, give me one reason why I shouldn't box with you right now. One good reason other than the fact that I can't fight demons 💀

I ain't payin' you nary a cent back.

But yeah everyone starts to depart though, since the job is done and it's time for the devils of Gehenna to relax and chill!

I'm crying because I like how Levi and Beel's dynamic here is still "Ugh my dumbass best friend that annoys me sometimes" because He was getting onto Beel for being careless and making Bael work too much and Beel was like "Awh but you're closer to me :(((((" and Levi is like "Nah you got 6 other kings" skskskkskskksks And then he drags him away here? I love them your honor, their dynamic makes me crack up each time.

BUT now that this is over and done with we're at the PUB GETTIN' DRUNK LETS GET IT

Even Ppyong comments that he hasn't had a drink in a while and Sitri is over here yappin' about tea and how long it takes to brew compared to just pouring alcohol and throwing it in your mouth. Then a funny thing with Leraye happens...

I can hear him in my head and it's hilarious. Because Leraye why you sayin' it like this? lmaoooo

After being chided that he was being too damn loud in his ear and some other interactions from the other nobles, it's then realized that Satan actually hasn't been around in a while. No one has seen him in a couple days and I'm just like....wait ya'll just been doing whatever and not concerned that your King is literally not around for over 48 hours? o k

We then get Belial/Jjyu busting in the pub and saying there's an emergency meeting to talk about Satan's disappearance. Turns out Zagan and Belial noticed that Satan has been gone for a quite a while, Zagan being the first to notice and so he called the meeting. During this time when everyone is thinking of what's happening and what's going on, with MC thinking more about the "how this happened" rather than the "how can we fix this"??? There's a solution right outside the door.....

BUT FIRST

Paimon is so real because if a bead can shut up Jjyu it really does give us a reality check on how small he is lmao

ALSO POINTING WEAPONS AT THE DOOR? ITS ON SIGHT?

Oh.

oh.

That's my cat daddy right there.

I'm so happy we get to have Ronove content ya'll. And so randomly too. I wonder if we will get other Abaddon devils as a cameo in the other cards??? Hopefully? MAYBE?

So the nobles are wondering who called him there, and it turns out Zagan did.

And he was trying to say that from the beginning but since Ppyong wasn't looking at him, he couldn't translate. To which Astaroth is like "Just speak tho." LMAO

Anyways,

It seems the Abaddon devils love the thrill of danger. Dantalian also seems to love that to where he will literally put himself in harms way. But I mean I guess the devils there are just built different as they keep saying anyways.

So in order to save Satan though, someone has to go undercover as an angel. Problem with that is devils are unable to lie so if they were caught they would immediately just give up and admit they were sneaking in. But MC....

LOL this dialogue had me like??? OMG p l s. First...this is actually for once something I'd say, more in a joking sense even though this is clearly a serious moment.

I also love how Sitri was like "okay but the only thing you know how to do is lie, MC" and I was like...thanks Sitri thank you so much for your support you have no idea how much it means to me /s

But he's right, MC doesn't know how to do anything else which at this point damn we still don't know how to fight with magic or something??? Anything??

Thank you for letting us know this information Ronove. You are a treasure.

So, we end up seeing Ronove's power in action btw. How it works is that he says the words, and they work as long as he doesn't swallow.

R o n o v e

I do not need to know how you were eating food with your butt. Thank you sir. (why did I go there? Because it's a joke that's been done already in another media lmao so if you know you know) Honestly though if not his butt then probably made another hole somewhere or he ate through his dick who the fuck knows this is Hell and he's from Abaddon, anything could go.

He's so hot I'm crying. Like...I'm trying to imagine what a wet voice is and it's making me shiver in a bad/good way.

So his power is in action, he says "you will be an angel" and he pretty much spits in in MC's mouth and mixes it up and tells you to swallow. (reference my thirst post with him saying to swallow it)

So, there's no specifics to his powers. It works, but not the in way anyone would expect. This type of theme in most stories always ends up bad in some shape or form when the words are vague or broad. So yeah MC was an angel alright.....

So we were back in Heaven, and now we understand that MC is possessing Gabriel's body. I wonder if he's aware that's happening and he's internally screaming or if he's just kinda unable to do anything about it and is unconscious the entire time?

It's believable surface wise because everyone is falling for it, even Satan who was cursing and spitting on MC/Gabriel to point where they had to gag him.

Ngl, I'd have a hard time being into this "roleplay" too because he legit doesn't know it's MC so he hates them. It's kind of like a revenge mirror thing from Gabe's christmas card (i still have to do a react on that btw)

THIS????? FACE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gabriel needs to make those faces more.

But the entire time MC was pretending to be Gabriel I was like "GURL FOCUS" because they kept getting distracted by Satan looking fine as fuck in those restraints and that gag in his mouth. Which I mean??? EYAH but we're here to do mission rescue. But now we about to do some

Mission I'm going to fuck Satan as the angel he hates. And I'm so anticipating that Satan is going to react and sort of like it....SO YEAH YEAH YEAH INDIRECT WAY OF CXC

I did not originally ship any of the angels with any of the Kings or Nobles butttttt after I get my hands on the rest of this card story I'll be a believer.

Funny thing though is that I did in fact get the artifact for that discounted 250 pull they give us each time and it clearly is a reference to the key from Hellraiser which is one of my favorite Horror films~

we have such sights to show you

Okay but crossover of Kings as each of the different Cenobites when? Cause I need it.

[actuallybean]

Cupid's Shuffle* | Part Three

Cupid’s arrow was supposed to patch things up with Sam, not point you straight at Castiel—and resisting it might just be harder than falling. *Contains sexual material, slow-burn, brief mentioning of a past relationship with Sam Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader(former), Castiel x Reader (Eventually), Dean Winchester x Reader (Platonic) A/N: Sorry it's been a while since I've updated this series! My mind has been running with new ideas and I've been trying to get other stories together... I just have a lot to give ya'll lol Part Four Taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @this-is-me--1998 @scary-noodlesblog @ratkidcalledallie @fox-saturn @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing Supernatural Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester had made a lot of mistakes in his life.

Like, a lot.

There was the time he accidentally summoned a Norse god while trying to order Thai food in Enochian—don’t ask. Or when he tried to fix Baby’s carburetor with a cursed monkey paw because “it looked like a wrench.” And of course, the crown jewel: when he accidentally jumpstarted the literal apocalypse by trusting a demon with a Meg Ryan haircut. That one still held the gold medal for catastrophic poor judgment.

But this? This was a new personal best in dumbassery. A masterclass in well-meaning disaster. Even for Dean.

He was pacing—again—across the bunker’s library like a tiger in a cage, his boots echoing sharply against the cold stone floor. Each step hit the ground with irritated precision, the sound almost rhythmic, like the heartbeat of his anxiety. The air inside the Men of Letters bunker was thick with old paper, cracked leather, and the kind of silence that smelled like regret. Somewhere beneath it all lingered the faint scent of motor oil and Castiel’s cologne—something between clean laundry and a lightning storm.

Dean’s jacket flared with each frustrated turn, the hem brushing against shelves groaning under the weight of ancient grimoires and demonology texts, as if even the building itself was judging him.

In one hand, he held the evidence of his failure—a small glass vial, now empty, glinting mockingly in the amber lamplight.

“This was supposed to work,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the little bottle like it had betrayed him personally. “This was supposed to fix it.”

He could still hear Cupid’s infuriatingly chipper voice in his head, from that cursed little “favor.” An interdimensional vending machine of poor decisions.

“It’s harmless,” the winged menace had said with a sparkle in his eye and a cocktail that looked like it came from a unicorn’s minibar. “Just a nudge. A romantic Red Bull. Helps people see what’s already there. Trust me—practically a rom-com in a bottle.”

And Dean—idiotically, stubbornly hopeful Dean—had bought it. Hook, line, and glittery, goddamn sinker.

Because something had to give.

You and Sam had been walking around like strangers trapped in a shared ghost story—never speaking, never meeting each other’s gaze. The kind of cold silence that made the temperature drop. Dean had tried to stay neutral, tried to play Switzerland, but even he had his limits. The tension in the bunker was so thick it could’ve been bottled and used for demon traps.

So he came up with a plan.

A harmless, subtle, stupid plan.

Two cups—your favorite herbal tea and Sam’s apocalyptic-grade black coffee—each laced with a few drops of Cupid’s rose-gold tonic. Not a love spell, nothing twisted. Just a little clarity. A push. A moment of courage for two people who clearly still loved each other and were too damn proud to admit it.

Then a movie night. Something nostalgic and safe—The Princess Bride, maybe. He even fluffed the goddamn couch pillows.

But of course, fate—or God or Chuck or whoever the hell was playing puppeteer these days—had other plans.

Castiel had wandered in mid-setup, looking like he’d just stepped out of a cologne commercial for divine angst. And with no ceremony, no warning, he reached out and grabbed a mug like it had been preordained.

Dean had watched, horrorstruck, as the trench-coated drama magnet picked up Sam’s cup.

He’d twitched so hard he thought he might pull a muscle. “The one time you decide to be spontaneous, and this is it?” he whispered under his breath. “You don’t even drink coffee, Cas!”

Now Dean was neck-deep in a situation so absurd it felt scripted by the writers of Supernatural: The Musical. A romantically-charged, emotionally-vulnerable Castiel. A confused, blushing you. And a thoroughly screwed Dean Winchester pacing himself into a coma.

Which led, inevitably, to this moment.

Where Dean, shoulders tight with the weight of yet another catastrophic idea, finally stopped pacing and made the one call he’d been dreading.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Time to bring in the big guns.”

✦

Somewhere in the War Room—lit only by flickering overhead lamps and poor life choices...

A summoning circle of red chalk sat on the floor, surrounded by six half-melted candles, a bottle of Glenfiddich, and a strand of Mardi Gras beads (Rowena’s bizarre but non-negotiable requirement). It looked less like a magical rite and more like a drunk wizard's failed Pinterest spell.

Dean stood just outside the circle, arms crossed, every inch of him radiating grim resignation.

“Rowena MacLeod,” he intoned, voice deep with ceremonial sarcasm, “we call upon thee—Mistress of Magic, Queen of Drama, and World-Class Pain in My Ass...���

The circle flared crimson, air shimmering with heat and perfume.

In a swirl of fire and expensive silk, Rowena appeared, looking like sin in high heels and a robe that could kill a man. Her expression was one part irritation, two parts amusement.

She swept her gaze around the room, nose wrinkling. “Honestly, darling, couldn’t you have at least vacuumed?”

Dean didn’t miss a beat. “You’re lucky I didn’t summon you in a Waffle House.”

Rowena smirked. “Tempting. But you don’t have the gall.”

Her eyes finally settled on him, sharp and knowing. “Alright, moose boy’s older brother. What’ve you done this time? Cursed object? Misfired summoning? Did you finally turn into a were-chicken?”

Dean held up the empty vial like it was damning evidence. “Love potion. For Sam and Y/N.”

Rowena’s eyebrows launched upward. “Scandalous. But those two were already quite... entangled, weren’t they?”

“They broke up,” Dean muttered. “It’s been hell around here. I just wanted them to talk. Clear the air.”

She grinned like a cat with a new toy. “Ahh. So you meddled.”

Dean exhaled through his nose. “Castiel drank Sam’s cup. Y/N drank the tea. And now it’s... escalating.”

Rowena cackled, throwing her head back in delight. “You let a repressed, emotionally-stunted celestial drink a love elixir? Oh, Dean. That’s not magic. That’s bloody sitcom-level chaos.”

“Can you fix it?”

She tapped her crimson nails against her chin. “Fix? Technically, yes. But clean? Emotionally tidy? Oh, sweetie. That ship has not only sailed—it’s already sunk and become a haunted reef.”

Dean groaned. “Just tell me how to stop Cas from making heart eyes at Y/N before they start braiding friendship bracelets or summoning love doves.”

Rowena purred, “Now that, I would pay to see.”

✦

She stepped toward the chalk circle with predatory grace, robe whispering across the stone like a living thing. She plucked the vial from Dean’s hand, inspecting it like a fine wine.

“Let me guess,” she said. “The spell’s kicking in?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “They’ve been... hovering. He made her tea again. She laughed at one of his jokes. Something about soufflés and angel blades.”

Rowena’s grin was wicked. “Adorable.”

Dean’s phone buzzed.

He checked the screen—Sam.

Dean sighed and picked up, already bracing for impact. “Hey.”

“Where are you?” Sam’s voice was low. Tense. Controlled in the way only seriously pissed off Sam could manage. “Cas and Y/N are in the kitchen. Together. Baking.”

Dean blinked. “Baking?”

“Cas said it was symbolic,” Sam growled. “He called her his emotional constant. She let him tuck her hair behind her ear. I swear to God, Dean, it’s like watching a Nicholas Sparks scene unfold in real time.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Okay. Don’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” Sam said tightly. “I just want to know why our emotionally constipated angel is acting like a Disney prince on ecstasy.”

Dean winced. “I may have… tried to help. A little.”

“You drugged us?”

“No! I—well. Yes. Technically. But not you. It was meant for you and Y/N.”

Silence.

Then: “You absolute jackass.”

“I know! That’s why I called Rowena.”

Sam was quiet for a long moment. Then: “You are not dragging Rowena into my love life again.”

“Too late,” Dean said, watching Rowena pour scotch into a teacup with alarming cheer. “She’s already here. And she brought alcohol.”

“Of course she did.”

Dean hesitated. “Also… the potion might’ve made Cas a little emotionally available.”

Rowena cackled. “That’s not the potion. That’s years of pent-up yearning and too much Grey’s Anatomy.”

“I’m coming down there,” Sam snapped. “And we are fixing this. Now.”

✦

The bunker doors slammed open with theatrical fury.

Sam Winchester entered like a man on a mission, boots echoing like war drums. His eyes were sharp, his jaw clenched, and he looked every bit like an avenging angel in flannel.

Dean flinched. “Sammy—”

“No,” Sam snapped, marching into the chaos of the summoning circle. “You summoned Cupid. You summoned Rowena. Behind my back.”

Rowena gave him a flirtatious little wave. “Hello, darling. You look positively edible when you’re furious.”

Sam ignored her. His gaze was locked on Dean like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You went behind my back. You tried to… manipulate me. Her.”

“I wasn’t trying to manipulate you,” Dean snapped. “I was trying to help! You two were just—circling each other. Miserable. Like a couple of ghosts. What was I supposed to do? Just watch you both rot in silence?”

“I didn’t need you to fix it, Dean!” Sam shouted, voice echoing off the stone walls. “You think this is something a potion and a pillow-fluffed movie night is gonna solve?”

Dean crossed his arms. “No, I think this is something that needed a push, and you’re too damn proud to admit it!”

Sam stepped forward. “And you think I’m proud now?” His voice dropped, raw. “You think I’m okay watching her laugh with Castiel in the kitchen like he’s already replaced me?”

That landed hard. Dean’s mouth parted, but no words came.

Sam’s chest heaved as the fire behind his words dimmed into something more broken.

“I walk past her room and it smells like her still. I sit at the table and I look at the chair she used to drag sideways because it didn’t face you or me—and now Cas sits in it. I hear her laugh, and it’s not for me anymore.”

He turned away for a moment, hands on his hips, like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling completely. Then his voice cracked—just a little.

“I don’t need a potion, Dean. I need a chance. A real one. I need her to choose me. And now…”

He faced Dean again, eyes glassy but hard. “Now you’ve taken that from me. You’ve turned this into a goddamn game. You’ve turned us into a cosmic joke.”

Dean swallowed, guilt hitting him like a sledgehammer.

“Sam—”

“No,” Sam said, quieter now. “You don’t get it. You think this is just another mess to mop up with magic and snark. But if this doesn’t get fixed… if she and Castiel fall into whatever the hell that potion’s doing to them…”

His voice trailed off, and when he looked up again, his pain was naked. “Then I lose her. For good.”

There was a silence that even Rowena didn’t dare fill.

Dean stepped forward slowly. “Sammy… I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t,” Sam said, softer. “But you did it anyway.”

He turned his eyes on Rowena then, sharp and unforgiving. “You gonna fix this?”

Rowena gave a delicate shrug, suddenly more sober in her theatrics. “I can neutralize the potion’s influence. That part’s easy. But the rest? That’s between the three of you.”

Sam nodded. “Fine. Then do it.”

Rowena raised a brow. “And what will you do in the meantime?”

Sam didn’t hesitate. His voice was steel.

“I’m going to remind her why she loved me in the first place.”

[evilminji]

Ya'll know our BELOVED? Little Baby Man?

The noodliest ghosty boy?

What if he WAS Baby? It wouldn't be the first time Danny's enemies plotting gave him offspring. Only this time it's not a clone! It's a proper GHOST baby. Like Lunch Box.

Who's the other parent I hear you ask?

Pretty human-centric view point there buddy, to assume Ghosts NEED two participants to make an offspring. OR are limited to two! Just cause Lunch Lady And Boxie are a couple doesn't mean that's the standard!

We lack data here! ASSUME NOTHING. *sciences harder in your direction*

*awkward cough*

*shuffles notes*

ANYWAY! The child! All it would really take is one(1) VERY poorly timed ambush attack. Imagine if you will, a cell. How does it multiply? While not even close, the simplistic images ARE pretty good as an explanation!

But isn't that just an ecto-clone? You say?

Close!

But THOSE? Are hollow bags of GOO!

No CORE! *slaps the chalkboard behind me*

However! If you wanted, say, a precious bundle off joy? Well, nothing can come from perfect void! You must contribute the building blocks of LIFE! And what are those, my students, in ghost biology??!

Two vital pieces! The Ectoplasm aaaaaaand? That's RIGHT!

The CORE!

A critical and ever vital part of ghost biological function.

Which, like every OTHER part of the body, is malleable. One could, say, make it smaller. Create part of a proto core. OR, should one be ALONE in this process, a FULL protocol.

Upon which, ectoplasm latches, builds, develops and grows. Becomes its own soul.

Now! Do Not mistake me! There is a WILDLY vast difference between the formation of a core and a shattered core. Between willing life and untimely second death. It is not, and never WILL be, easy to create the soul of a child. Tampering with your core is PAINFUL, dangerous, and leaves you WILDLY vulnerable.

There is a REASON Neverborn are so precious.

Buuuuut..... *pulls out a book labeled "Curses Though The Ages"* we must ALSO consider the famed Fenton Luck(tm).

Consider! Where would be the "safest" place to practice making clones of yourself? A place that's wide open. No one wearing white likely to take pot shots at you while your attention is divided in multiple places at once. No parents blowing up the basement at a delicate moment and leaving you trying to hide that extra arm for a week...

Maybe you forget... oh yeah... OTHER GHOSTS.

So there Danny floats. In the Zone. DISTRACTED. His core HUGE from all that recently Royal business as it tries to digest it. Feeling bloated. Trying to work off some energy, as it were. Then who should come along? Why, the universes BEST HUNTER of course! To say *gun powering up noise* :) HI :)

Like buddies DO.

Danny doesn't see him.

Danny is mid-split.

At his limit, honestly. Already made as many copies as he usually can. Is trying for ooooone moooooore..... when...

PAIN. Something cracks.

He loses concentration. Tries to curl in on himself.

Both 1.5 of him tries. He loses hold of the "clone's" Ecto. Somethings free floating leaving his chest along with it. Behind him, Skulker is freaking out. That was MEANT to be on opening volley. A gentle little "hey, come fight me". That crack sounded SERIOUS.

Danny can't breathe. It's like the portal all over again. He curls tighter and tighter. Feels the crown, which was not THERE until this moment, press down tight and gripping onto his head. Thrumming. And then... something feels like a muscle releasing.

His core is... smaller? He'd been watching its progress, it couldn't have digest so fast... how did it lose so much... mass...

Danny feels all the blood drain from his face.

He nearly died.

Again.

His... his soul... WHERE IS HIS SOUL?? That's a piece of him! A part of his SOU-!

He spins around... only to meet the eyes off a blearly blinking, noodlish, cartoon like gremlin with his color scheme. Who's floating along like they're in zero-g. Just... drifting in a slow circle.

They yawn at him with a mouth full of teeny tiny baby fangs. Then chirp.

That's his Son. He doesn't know how, he doesn't know WHY, but he somehow instinctively... just... KNOWS?

They blep.

Danny looks a Skulker. His eyes hold MURDER.

"You're paying child support."

"......yes sir."

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

[dracosprettygirl]

۶ৎ someone you could love.

Pairing: post-war!draco x reader

Word Count: 1.8k words

Summary: Months after the war, you wander the halls of Hogwarts—haunted by ghosts, grief, and the boy you once knew behind a broken garden fence. Memories of saving Draco Malfoy—of pain, blood, and a choice you never regretted—linger like ghosts in the stone. But Draco remembers too: every scream, every look, every undeserved act of kindness. In stolen glances, silent companionship, and whispered names, something fragile begins to bloom amid the ruin.

warnings: post-war!draco; implied slytherin!reader; theo makes a lil cameo appearance; hogwarts 8th year; post-war trauma; mentions of violence & injury; descriptions of pain & injury; torture; mentions of blood; literal war flashbacks; implied childhood poverty & neglect (reader grew up poor); not proofread. let me know if i missed anything!

A/N: first fic??? this feels like a good time to tell ya'll that english isn't my first, second or even third language. also i have finals in two days. do with that information what you will.

♫ my tears ricochet by taylor swift.

Sometimes, you wondered if it would’ve been better if you had died during the Battle. 

On nights like this one, when you walked the dark, moonlit hallways of the Hogwarts castle, running your fingers over the parapets still riddled with holes—so familiar, so much like the scars that riddled your own body–you wondered if you’d ever live to see the world you’d given up everything to save recover.

If you’d ever live to see the people you loved recover.

This night was quiet, deathly still as you paused in front of the Astronomy Tower. Your mind was racing—it was almost impossible to quiet it down these days. War was a cruel reality, its repercussions still trailing shivers down your spine months later.

You could almost taste the metallic tang of blood and magic on your tongue again, almost hear the sounds of the Battle engulf you. You could almost see the ghosts of your past still frozen at the base of the Tower, almost see yourself throw your own body in front of the flash of bright light issuing from Lucius Malfoy’s wand—aimed at his own son.

You could almost feel the searing hot pain cracking your bones, mixing with your blood and marrow, like burning poison spreading through every inch of life in your limbs. You could almost see Draco, silvery hair mussed up, pale skin streaked with dirt and blood, watch you fall to your knees, writhing in pain as the curse hit you.

You could almost see the emotions flashing behind those icy grey orbs he had for eyes, almost recognize them—fear, anger, hatred. 

It almost made you regret ever saving his life. Almost.

Because the truth was, saving Draco was as much of an instinct for you as saving your own self. Because Draco wasn’t just the Prince of Slytherin to you—he wasn’t just a house-mate or classmate or a friend of a friend. 

It was because you knew him—knew who he was, under the scarred, broken boy that had never had the chance to learn how to love. Because you knew him as the boy who had seen you sneak in through the broken garden fence of the Malfoy’s holiday home, five-years-old and enticed by the delicious smell wafting through the kitchens. Because you knew him as the boy that had stolen you stew and bread from his own kitchens when your stomach ached with hunger—until his mother caught him and positively berated him for sneaking food to filthy muggle scum.

You had never heard from him again—until you turned eleven, and stood on Platform 9 and ¾, waiting for the Hogwarts Express to take you away.

“Reliving your moment of glory?” a voice asked, breaking you out of your stupor. 

You didn’t have to turn around to know whose voice it was. “Malfoy. What’re you doing out here?”

He stepped out of the shadows. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the moonlight cast shadows over the sharp angles of his face. “Watching you mope and sigh. You always did have a flair for the dramatic, always playing the hero, even when you have no bloody business doing it.”

“The way I remember, there was no one around to save your sorry ass but me, Malfoy,” you retorted.

“I never asked for saving. I have nothing to thank you for.”

“And yet,” you said, turning to face him fully. “Here you are, alive and well. You’re welcome.”

A pause. Then— “Is it because I’m Muggle-born?” you asked, holding his icy gaze. “Would you rather be dead than have someone who isn’t a pure-blood save your life?’

Draco shook his head. “No. No, of course not. That’s not it.” 

“Then what is it, Draco?”

But Draco didn’t say a word—just walked away silently, blending right back into the same shadows from which he’d emerged.

Sunday rolled around with sunny skies and a cool, pine-scented breeze. You sat by the lake, sketchbook open on your lap, only half paying attention to what you were drawing.

No, your mind was elsewhere—on a pair of silvery-grey eyes that had followed you throughout that week In the dungeons, during Potions, when his gaze was almost a tangible weight on the back of your head. In the library, his stare heavy, the silence between you heavier, as he sat quietly across the room, facing you, books strewn listlessly around him. 

And now—when he dropped onto the grass next to you without a word. You could feel the heat of his eyes on your face, but you refused to give in, refused to look at him.

The silence stretched out between the two of you, until— “I remember everything.”

Your hand froze mid-sketch.

You turned to look at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes, staring straight ahead at the lake instead. “I remember the way you screamed. The way you fell to the ground. The way blood dripped out of the corner of your mouth. I remember the way you looked at me—like all the pain you were feeling was worth it if I got to live.”

He finally turned to meet your eyes. “I didn’t think—I don’t think I deserved that. I don’t think I deserved to live.”

And in that moment, you could see the honesty, the sincerity in the eyes of the five-year-old boy who used to steal you food.

It cut deeper than his cruelty ever did.

You could almost watch him become the boy you remembered. 

He never left your side, joining you during Potions, grabbing the seat next to you in Charms, sitting quietly across the table from you in the Library as you did your homework. He didn’t say much more than a quiet hello or a whispered good morning—but you had a feeling neither of you really minded the silence. 

You began to find notes tucked into your textbooks, your sketchbook, scrawled in pencil at the bottom of your scrolls of parchment—words meant just for you, in Draco’s perfect handwriting.

One evening, as you left your room to head to dinner, you saw him standing by the fireplace, cleary waiting to walk you to dinner at the Great Hall.

“Trying to be a gentleman, Malfoy?” you asked, tilting your head, unable to help the small smile that tugged at the edge of your lips as you came to a stop in front of him.

He shrugged. “Trying to be something you don’t hate.”

You took a step closer to him, slow, but not cautious. Not anymore. “You could start by using my name when you talk to me, Draco.”

He whispers it once, soft and uncertain.

And then again, and again, again, like a prayer.

Christmas rolled around, too soon and too sudden for you to notice. You stayed at the castle because you had nowhere left to go, and Draco stayed at the castle because he refused to be anywhere you weren’t. 

The Christmas feast at Hogwarts was as good as you ever could’ve expected it to be, with roasted turkeys and boiled potatoes and buttered peas and rich, thick gravy. A thousand candles lit up the Great Hall, casting a soft golden glow over the room as Headmistress McGonegall waved her wand, clearing the tables to create a dance floor. Music seemed to pour out of the very walls of the castle, and as professors and students alike crowded the dance floor, you stood in the corner, watching, sipping your drink.

“Care to dance with me?”

You turned your head to the side to see Theodore Nott standing next to you, his dark hair messy, eyes gleaming. You knew of Theodore more than you knew him—knew of him because of Draco.

You shrugged, taking his outstretched hand. “Sure.”

Theodore was charming, all smirks and large, warm hands at your waist, his body moving to the same rhythm as yours with a grace that seemed also effortless. He twirled you around once, twice, three times, and when you threw your head back laughing, you felt it—the all too familiar weight of icy grey eyes staring at you from across the room. You looked up, your chin resting on Theodore’s shoulder as he pulled you in when the song changed to a slower, unrushed tune that had his hands gripping your waist, guiding your body to the unhurried beat.

Draco’s gaze was sharp, heated, stormy eyes clouded with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Just watched as Theodore leaned in to whisper something that made you laugh.

Your breath caught in your throat as he turned around and walked out of the room, just as the score came to an end. 

You pulled away from Theodore, murmuring some half-hearted excuse about how tired you were, before pushing through the throngs of bodies still on the dance-floor. You made your way down the stairs to the Slytherin dungeons, entering the Common Room to see Draco sitting on one of the armchairs by the fire, his jaw set into hard lines, eyes stormy. His sleeves are rolled up, tie loosened, hair mussed from running his fingers through it. He looks half undone, half destroyed.

He didn’t even look up, not even when you came to a stop directly in front of him, saying, “You left.”

“You looked happy.”

“I was trying to be,” you said, crossing your arms. “Why’d you leave?”

“I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t breathe. Seeing you with him.” He finally looked up, finally met your eyes. “I lied that day when I told you I was trying to be something you didn’t hate. Truth is, I’m trying to be someone you could love.”

You took a step closer, then another, and another, until you stood in the space between his parted knees. “You are someone I love, Draco. You always have been.”

His fingers brushed the back of your knee as he looked up at you, his eyes vulnerable—so much like the boy you once knew. “Why did you save me? I never gave you any reason to be kind to me.”

“You did,” you said. “You saved me first—when you fed me through the fence of your holiday house.”

His grip on your knee tightened. “That was you.”

You nodded. “It was. But that’s not why I saved you, Draco—not because you saved my life. I saw someone human, a person who didn’t deserve to die for someone else’s war. That’s why I stepped in front of the Cruciatus Curse for you.”

“And now?”

“Now,” you said, tangling your fingers in his silvery hair. “I see you as someone I’ve loved far longer than I realized.”

With that, you leaned in to kiss him—not gentle, not soft. It was years of pain, of silence and stolen glances and longing. 

It healed something you didn’t know was broken.

When you finally pulled away, he didn’t say thank you or i love you.

He just said your name again.

And you smiled. Because you knew.

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[spaced-out-muses]

Nope, no way, he's not meeting his gaze, he's not looking at him—

"It's... uh... something for sure. It's a hat. That's.. . fish related."

"... Please don't go walking around like that top-hatted guy from the one American cartoon..."

And yet he comes over to sling his arm around the boy's shoulder. "Whaddya think? This one caught my interest, but I did see another more elongated hat catch my eye."

@spaced-out-muses

[noodlewritez]

can you please do something for sub! dave lizewski? possibly including a mommy kink? like maybe she finds out his kickass and he apologizes (like the one scene) and then smut? or you can do whatever else you want

I didn't mean to scare you...

Pairings: Fem!reader X Dave Lizewski

warnings: smut (EVERYONE IS 18+), mommy kink, femdom, swearing, he's kinda gross but ya'll already knew that.

A/N: YESSSS! I need more requests like this oml! Also, I am so sorry this took so long to whip up but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!!♡

It had been a few months since the internet and Myspace all started to get overtaken by the popularity of Kick-ass, the world’s new superhero, which, yeah. It was a little weird that you could approach him in any stray alley you wandered into. You kinda liked it. The way his voice cracked in that clip all over the news got you hotter than you would've liked to admit...

You sat in art class, mostly just using the period to talk to your friends while lazily sketching in one of your notepads so you wouldn't get in trouble. "He is so hot! Oh, my lord, i would hit that." You exclaimed to your best friend, Dave and his little 'group' of friends (if you could call them that). Marty exchanged a smirk with Todd and snickered. Dave chuckled and looked at you, a little longer than he had before. “I-Really? Him?” He asks, almost nervously.

“Automatic yes.” The conversation ended when the bell rang deafeningly as he quickly gathered his books and comics and whisked himself off to biology class while you stared him down, taking your time to get up as you would ditch the next class.

That night, you're playing on your computer, with your headphones on, letting the blaring music take over your brain for the thoughtless task you were performing when you see a person next to your window on your roof and your heart spikes. You get up slowly, not wanting to alarm them and you grab your knife your parents gave you for self defense. You then hear a knock on the glass.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion then open the window to reveal Kick-ass, the city's superhero. Your eyes widen as you back away purely in shock. "Kick-ass?!" You shout. He motions for you to be quiet as he climbs into your bedroom.

"Y/N...I...I have to tell you..." He pauses, looking down. He takes his mask off, revealing Dave Lizewski...The school nerd...? You shoot him a confused look. "Dave?!" You exclaim. His look turns to worry.

You get up, grabbing his hands. "You should've told me sooner..."You look up to him. "I always thought Kick-ass was hot and now he's even hotter." You smirk up to him. His eyes widen. You get up, grabbing his hands. "You should've told me sooner..."You look up to him. "I always thought Kick-ass was hot and now he's even hotter." You smirk up to him. His eyes widen. "I don't want this ruin our friendship..." He blushes. You kiss him in a hurry before he can say anything more.

You make your way down to his neck, leaving hickeys and nipping at the sensitive skin that hadn't been touched before. "Fuck, Y/N...!" He cries as your teeth catch onto a particularly sensitive spot. Your lips curve into a mischievous smirk as you push him down onto your bed, climbing over him and pinning him to the bed.

You like that?" You ask teasingly, gently dragging your knee over his painfully obvious boner. He inhales sharply and throws his head against the sheets. "Fuuuuck!" He moans while you throw your leg over his, sitting directly on his hard cock, teasing and dry-humping him through the green fabric that held him prisoner. "You like to be cock teased, hmm?"

"Fuck, please, mommy...Just fucking put it in." He pants as he watches your waist torment him further. "Say please.." You weren't gonna make him beg any further, while you would've loved that, your sopping heat was just getting more and more soaked as you grinded against his 7 inch, red, violently stiff cock.

"Please....Please, mommy, please put it in.." He mewls as he bucks his hips into yours. He sits up, unzipping his suit, leaving it to you to tear if off of him, throwing it off somewhere in your room.

You slam him back onto the bed, pinning him by his biceps. You sink yourself down onto his angry, red cock. He sucks a breath in and once again, throws his head back, his curls bouncing against the bed. He lets something like a groan and whimper slip past those cracked, cold lips, his fingers interlocking yours. You sit still while he holds onto your hand, his nails digging into the back of your hand. "Shit, you're so fucking big, Dave..."

"God...Fuck, quit squeezing me...Gonna run out of air here." He jokes, letting an airy chuckle out again. You chuckle back and lean down, your chest touching his, getting right in his ear. "We're just getting started, baby." You whisper. "Can I move..?" You lick up the side of his ear and the bite down harshly at the top. "He whimpers again and nods.

You slam down onto him and he grunts, taking your rough manner with such grace. "Fuck, Y/N...Fuck!" His voice cracks as you roughly slam down on him repeatedly, milking him of every drop he has to offer you. He sits up, sloppily kissing you, silencing his whimpers. His brows furrow as he can feel himself get close. He breaks away, roughly grabbing your hips. "I- I can't... I'm gonna cum, I'm sorry..." He mumbles against your lips. You can't help but smile at how cute he was, apologizing for cumming too quickly when in realty you thought it was cute. Tears form in his eyes as he pumps his seed into you. He cries as he falls back, exhausted, his eyes closing.