#because he’s not breathing well on his own

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question born of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[savanir]

DP x DC prompt [6]

Weapon design always came easy to Jack Fenton. He grew up with it, all the way back in Atlantis, when he was just a little guppy.

What he wasn’t aware of at the time was that his parents were from a long and prestigious line of scientists and weapon manufacturers in Atlantean society. But things had been getting dangerous. 

The King at the time cast them out when they refused his demands of greater, stronger, deadlier weapons. The kind of weapons they knew would not only destroy their enemies, but themselves as well.

They fled and went where they thought they would never be found, the surface.

Jack had the easiest time adapting, being as young as he was getting used to breathing air was a lot less of a struggle. 

He adopted one of the most generic male names he could, and adapted the family name of Fenestratus into Fenton. And then it was just living as a human, as humanly as possible, nothing to see here.

By now Jack basically doesn’t know any better. but this piece of heritage is coming back now all these years later, when his son is looking to him for help from the government.

But first he holds his boy close and apologizes, because he sees the fear, and he understands a little too well, and he doesn’t like the picture he’s seeing now that all the puzzle pieces are falling into place.

“I almost became the thing I hate the most. I’m so sorry Danny, I’m sorry I made you feel unsafe in your own home”

The hug is long and warm and tight and Danny isn’t ashamed to admit he might have clung a little bit.

Then Jack holds Danny tightly by his shoulders and gives him a big grin, “Good news though, you’re only half ghost, the other half is not only human but also Atlantean, and there are laws protecting us now” Jack mutters to himself, “I wonder if the whole ghost stuff would actually be put under the meta protection thing… hmm”

Danny blinks for a moment, Jazz gapes, Maddie is suddenly no longer spiraling about how her baby boy got in a terrible accident in their lab and she didn’t know.

“I’m also what?”

“Dad!?”

“oh did I forget to mention that? I thought I did, I know for certain that I had been meaning to”

“Jack sweetie, are you-”

“oh yes, and I remember now, I decided to tell you after our big breakthrough because I didn’t want to distract you, and-” Jack looks sheepish, “I hope you aren’t too mad at me Maddiecakes”

“mad? oh I would never be mad at you about this but we could have- I don’t know, accommodated- Atlanteans are aquatic, well I guess that explains how you could always put away so much water, and when you gave me your umbrella and I thought you were just making an excuse when you told me you didn’t mind and in fact loved getting pelted by the rain-”

Maddie goes on, and Jack thinks to himself that this is exactly the reason why he kept it to himself at the time, Maddie never half asses anything, he’s sure a lot of things are going to change in the house now, it honestly only makes him fall in love with her even more.

Meanwhile Jazz had filled up a bucket of water and then dunked her head in, then came back out not even slightly gasping for breath, just saying “oh my god” over and over.

Danny timed it, “yeah okay, I guess that proves it. now I’m starting to wonder if my weird relationship with air is ghost related at all”

[undercoverpena]

don't move, honey

joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel doesn't want you to move or touch until he comes back to bed.

wordcount: 1.9k warnings: smut. smut. smut. no outbreak. there's a vibrator and then joel's cock. established relationship. he's happy, and you're very happy. an: dedicated to the one, the only @thetriumphantpanda who i have spent all day with, and promise to always dedicate joel too.

He’s already been called for once.

A high-pitched squeal of Dad coming from behind his door, a reminder that you said you’d drop me off following. Yet, as you giggle at Sarah's stomp off, Joel’s face remains buried in your neck, covering your ear with his palm as he bellows that he’ll be a minute.

It’s a white lie. One you know well from the way he’s been sliding his hand across your hip that he hopes for more than a minute, or even five. A thing he’d have if he took her to her party that turns into a sleepover.

“You know, if you—”

“I know, I know.”

Gruffly painting it against your neck in heavy, annoyed exhales as you smile, as your hand comes around to play with the hair atop his head.

“She’ll burst through the door in a moment.”

Grunting, vibrating it across your skin, he drags his palm along your lower stomach. Thick finger, by thick finger falling from your skin till he pings the t-shirt you’ve chosen to sleep with back into place.

Another knock sounds, and you smile against his lips, saying “told you” at the same time as the voice on the other side calls “Dad?”

He snorts, the side of his body flush to yours as he takes one more kiss, fingers either side of your jaw as he presses another, and then another, before shouting “I’m comin’” to the door.

“Don’t move, honey. Please.”

He whispers it. It leaves the back of his throat all gravelly, almost desperately. His hips flush with yours as he leaves messy kisses along your lips, down your neck, and along your collarbone, before dragging himself up. It’s begrudging, the way he pulls on jeans over his thighs, pinning you with a stare.

“Jus’ stay right there—I’ll be thirty, forty minutes. Drop her off and then we can…”

Smirking, stretching in his sheets, your movements force the tee you’ve slept in to stretch out over your breasts, making his eyes drop to your hardened peaks. And you watch him shake his head, cursing under his breath—all *Jesus fuckin’ Christ—*before it’s punctured with the sound of his zip and then a button.

“Don’t touch either while I’m gone.”

Smiling, falling onto your side, knee bent as he throws on a somewhat clean t-shirt.

“I won’t. I’ll be good.”

He snorts at that, hand running through his hair to mess it up—hand wiping his chin as he takes another look at you. “Y’don’t know how to be good—it’s how I end up late.”

“Think that’s shit out of luck planning, Miller.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies, hand wrapped around the door handle. “Don’t touch.”

But you want to.

It’s all you can think about when you hear the door slam behind the two of them and his truck roar to life.

The neediness rises, knowing there’s a patch already forming on your underwear, likely having already ruined the gusset of your panties as thirty stretches to forty to fifty.

And your resolve almost snaps. Pleasure threatens to ripple when you brush your thighs together, close to snaking your fingers under the cotton band, wishing to stroke circles against your clit and be cascaded in a wave of your own making.

You give him another minute, consider two.

Toying with the idea, tempted to see if you can place his pillow between your thighs. See if it’ll give you enough friction, enough of a release. Fingers flirting with the end of it when it echoes through the house—

The front door opening and then slamming.

You bite back a giggle, a laugh. Thrill blooming through you, excitement, all-electric, finding him wrestling with his top as he bursts back through his bedroom door.

He must know you’ve been good, that you’ve done as he’s asked because he kisses you so hungrily once he’s kneeling on either side of your frame. His mouth is desperate in its attempts to take your breath away as the scent of him smothers you, becoming all you can smell.

“Missed you.”

He hums as your fingers clutch at his cheeks, hips trying to roll against him as the presence of him only makes you wetter. A thing which worsens when you hear the sound of his bedside table drawer opening, it rolling on its rails as you whimper, letting it find purpose against his lips.

Fingers tugging on his curls, you swallow his groan as you snake your fingers into his hair and scrape your nails against his scalp. Feeling nothing but confident, cocky—all set to ask him when he’s gonna fill you up, but a gasp is forced from you instead.

It smothers his mouth. Leaves your throat and finds a home in his. Aware of him smirking as you arch into him in surprise—barely recognising it before it’s intensely pressing on you.

He’s begun on low, the vibration. But he’s pressed against your cloth-covered mound with skill. Vibrations ripple out, teasing, as his fingers roll the head of it over your swollen nerves and drenched folds—no aim in sight, just teasing, taunting.

“Was thinkin’ of you the entire ride,” he murmurs, and you can only moan, vision spotting already. “Imagined I’d come back and find you fuckin’ yourself with this.”

Shaking your head, your mouth hangs open. Chest heaving. Little shallow breaths escaping as he drags the head of the toy up and down—

“Thought you’d be writhing, soaking it—gushin’ around it. Making noises that fill the house. Fuckin’ love it when you’re messy. Y’know that?”

And somehow, with a thick tongue and a shaky mind, you tell him that you’ve been good—good for him, all for him. Tongue lazily licking the words into his mouth. Feeling him peeling your panties from your slick-covered pussy, before gliding the silicone through your pleasure, coating it—dragging it up and down.

It’s then there’s a click, the vibrations intensifying.

A depraved, knotty moan escaping from your throat, so low, so loud, it forces a laugh to rumble through his chest at the way you grasp for him—the way you draw-out his name. Arching, head falling back as your neck unveils to him, as he shifts closer to smother you, continuing his assault as he moves the toy between your spread thighs—

Pressing it, rolling it in circles against your swollen clit.

And you’re burning. A mere passenger. Nothing but heaving and desperately pleading, before feeling two of his thick fingers slide into you, curl, press against that spot that makes your thighs tremble. That makes heat turn into fire and lick through your insides as you rock. As you leverage both your feet for balance and thrust into his touch.

Close, close, close—

And it’s not a command or even an ask, Joel just asks if he can have it. You, your pleasure, this. So you give it to him, willingly. Crying out as the pressure builds, becoming overwhelming as you shake and dangle, before it cracks. Eyes clenching shut, sinful noises falling from your tongue as you come hard around his fingers, shaking, trembling.

Aware, distantly, of the vibration still pressing against you, of his voice cooing you back, before you the familiarity of his knee against yours, as he keeps you spread. Your eyes open in time to see him throw the toy down the bed and kneeling to undo his jeans—

“Y’so good for me, did so good.”

You’re aware you’re nodding. Dumbly, numbly. All tingly from head to fucking toe as you feel him slide your underwear down your legs. Lifting on shaky elbows to admire him with his hard, leaking cock in hand as he stares at the mess he’s made of you. The one between your legs before dragging his eyes up to your face before he smiles, smirks, gleams.

“Wanna make you say my name like that again.”

And it is sheepish, shy, lazy, the way you smile, sliding your legs over his upper thighs as he nears, as he shuffles closer until your lower body is elevated and you can feel the movements of his hand up and down his cock before he’s brushing the head through your folds.

Up, down; up, down—

“Joel—”

“I know, honey. I know.”

Swallowing, you place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, tapping, before snaking it to his shoulder. Knowing, digging your nails in as he inches himself in, bottoming out as you stretch, his name shuddering from your throat as he takes a sharp breath in.

“Fuck—”

Fluttering around him, sensitive and yet shameless in your want for him.

He who is all hard, thick, long—mouth sealing to yours as your open mouth turns into kiss, clutching him, all bare, warm and yours as he fucks into you, deep, palm and fingers gripping your side, your hip.

“—Feel so perfect ‘round me…”,

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

He repeats it like a mantra; like it’s a thing he wishes to remind you of as he builds to a brutal pace. Little hisses escaping through gritted teeth, the sound of his hips snapping to yours—and the wetness between your thighs messily coating the coarse hair at the base of him, making him sticky, messy—

And you’re so full. Already ready to crash again, broken sobs writing a poem in the air as it builds and builds. Because the head of his cock is hitting that spot all over again, making your thighs tremble. Only finding yourself able to whine, moan, tangling fingers in his sheets as you feel his palms under your back, lifting, bringing you closer before it latches to your jaw, teeth grazing down your neck.

Somehow, from this angle, he’s deeper. His mouth trailing unspoken words to your skin as you stare down at the place the two of you meet; seeing how he glistens before he vanishes back into you. Tightening around him at the sight, clenching—

Fuck, fuck, Joel, fuck—

And your breath hitches before you’re convulsing—everything blurring*.*

White noise ringing out, vision blackened as you swear you leave your body. Hovering somewhere above it before you become aware of the air being tinged with the sounds of you both crying out—how it’s stained in sweat, in pleasure. How he hisses before he grunts, cock twitching inside of you as his hips lose their rhythm.

He pants, before he collapses on you, your legs nothing but limp as his forearms cage you in.

Three words burn on your tongue as you press your mouth to one bicep, writing it there, leaving it against his skin before your lips are dragged to his. Wet, hot kisses that you give and take willingly as he rocks gently, fucking his come deeper into you as you feel him slowly soften.

And then you smile, lazier than before. Your chest slows in its rise and fall as you feel his heartbeat hammer against yours, hearing him whisper perfect as you grin against his mouth.

an: it's getting hot in here, so....

[princessbrunette]

In need fathers day with baby daddy rafe, pretty pretty please princess 💕

ᘏ ⑅ ᘏ   ഒ    zᶻ

you always felt nervous going to tannyhill. not that you felt unwelcome, everyone in his life made it clear that rafe’s baby was of utmost importance to them — so with that came the kind and supportive treatment toward you. however, you couldn’t help but feel like a burden. if rafe wanted to be around you and his kid 24/7, he would do so — hell, he’d get back with you. due to feeling like this, your palms were all sweaty by the time you’d reached the front door, card tucked under you and baby carrier weighing down your arm.

he looks surprised to see you when he opens the door. still in his shirt and slacks, it’s clear to you that rafe had buried himself in work today. it only then occurs to you that father’s day might be difficult for him, giving his circumstances at all. you inwardly wince.

“uh, hey.” he eyes you, itching his cheek and peering into the baby carrier.

you clear your throat, bashfully holding out the card. he takes it in silence and you place the carrier down, picking up your sleepy baby and holding her to your chest. “happy father’s day, daddy.” you smile, voice soft as to not disturb your child too much. he softens a little, blinking.

“that today?” he breathes and you stiffen a little. surely he knew?

“uh, yeah. we got you a card, wanted to let you spend some time with her today if you’re not too busy.”

“if i’m not too— listen i’m never too busy to see my kid okay? or you. i’m— i’m never too busy to… see my family… and stuff.” it’s awkward, the sentiment too soft for his liking and he looks down, staring at the sweet, milk-plumped angel in your arms. “let me…” he reaches out and takes her, her fat little fists immediately stretching for him and curling into the material of his shirt making your heart swell. he was always oddly a natural at this, handling her so well. it always filled you with a strange kind of sadness, one that regressed you slightly to something more scolded and childlike because your own father hadn’t offered you that same generosity. yet, you were thrilled your baby would receive that love even if you weren’t together with her father.

“come in, please.” he stands aside, holding the door for you before picking up the carrier in his other hand— effortlessly walking it with the baby to the living room. “you walked here?” he converses, setting the carrier down and placing the baby back inside, crouching down to stroke her tummy with the side of his finger.

“took the bus. no way im walking with that heavy thing.” you chuckle quietly and he swivels his head to glance at you.

“should’ve told me you were coming i would have got you. y’know i really don’t like you getting on the bus with her, it’s not safe alright, there’s all kinds of lunatics out there.”

“we survived.” you shrug, and there’s a short silence before he stands up, reaching for the card and opening it up. you fiddle with the hem of your dress awkwardly. you never quite knew what to do around rafe these days.

you watch as he reads the contents. ‘to daddy, thanks for being the best and always looking after me. can’t wait to be able to tell you myself how much i love you.’ you sign it off as your daughter, but his eyes linger over it, your sweet handwriting scrawled around the brightly coloured paper — almost for a moment like you were saying it yourself.

“and before you ask, yes she said all of that herself.” you joke to ease the tension and he snaps out of it, looking up at you with a chuckle.

“our little wordsmith, huh?” he smirks, wandering over to the mantelpiece and displaying the card. it filled you with some kind of pride, though it wasn’t about you. “look uh…” he strokes his jaw, glancing over at the baby. “let me take you both out for dinner, yeah? my treat.”

“your treat? rafe its father’s day, we’re supposed to be treating you—”

“i know, alright but… i’m supposed to be looking after you, right? looking… looking after you both.” he corrects himself, walking closer to you until he was basically looming over you, eyes wide. “and— and i know this is a hard day for you too, alright— shit, it’s a hard day for me. gotta bond as a family at some point, you know that right?”

you nod, feeling a weight off your shoulders a little at the way the tension fizzles out.

“you sure? i don’t wanna take up your time—”

your incessant apologising makes his eyes flutter in irritation and he takes your cheeks in his hands, forcing you to look at him as he ducks his neck down to be more at your level.

“you’re not… yeah? you’re not. so quit.”

you blink all dumb, not realising how badly you missed his hands on you even if it was just as an innocent gesture and you nod, not trusting your voice. you try not to overthink the way he leaves his hands there for a moment as he glances over at your baby, thumb absentmindedly stroking your cheekbone for a second before pulling away and patting his pockets. “has she slept?”

your brain malfunctions so it takes you a second, but soon you choke out a “y—yeah. had her afternoon nap she’s just still waking up.”

“good. i know somewhere quiet, got a host there who owes me a favour.” he strides to the carrier and lifts it before turning back towards you, blinking at you obviously. “well are you coming or— or what?”

“yeah. yes. i’m coming.”

ᘏ ⑅ ᘏ   ഒ    zᶻ

[honoredalone]

ASPECTS OF SEX PART 2 ✮

GETO SUGURU + INO TAKUMA + MEGUMI FUSHIGURO + YUJI ITADORI + YUUTA OKKOTSU ♡ all aged up!!

sex life with the jjk men + links

part one (satoru gojo, kento nanami, toji fushiguro & choso kamo)

𐙚 SUGURU GETO, what that throat do

how he moans - deep, hoarse moans, candied words escaping his throat making your head fuzzy. he could be in your ear telling you how much of a slut you are, how filthy your pussy is but he loves telling you how good you are to him, how sweet you are etc..

how he does foreplay - oh my god he loves this. you both laid naked in your shared bed, you pressing against his side, hand soft and tight held around his long cock and your mouth attached to his nipple. he knows you’ll always take care of him.

how he fucks you - he’s aggressive but loving. firm but sweet. he’s gentle but assertive over you. he loves to kiss, choke and slap you but know after he will take care of you like a princess.

𐙚 INO TAKUMA, shiesty bae

how he moans - he tries to be quiet. once nanami said something along the lines of “the loudest people are always compensating for something that they lack.” and ever since then he’s tried to tone himself down and that includes in bed. he tries his absolute hardest to stay silent but god you’re just so good he couldn’t keep quiet.

how he does foreplay - ino seems like the type who wants to see who folds first. he absolutely loses his mind everytime he even imagines you playing with yourself but when you’re both touching yourselves, he can’t help but need to touch you.

how he fucks you - slow, sensual and fucking hot. he loves to spank your fatty ass and push his shaft in and out at a menacing pace. burning your beautiful moans into his brain.

𐙚 MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, 10 shadows? 10 positions

how he moans - sweet, baby moans. that’s all.

how he does foreplay - fuck he loves this. your tongue covering his pretty dick, your hair tickling his thighs and your eyes on his. it makes his mind run laps, it drives him insane to your your mouth on his cock.

how he fucks you - he loves having you on top, nothing makes him more flustered than having your bouncing tits in your face, your breath tickling the shell of his ear and you writhing because of him. he’s a sweet lover, holding you so tenderly, like he’s shielding you from the world. he’ll show you he needs you as much as you need him, he just wants you to feel so so good.

𐙚 YUJI ITADORI, kirby baby

how he moans - poor whiny baby. i know he’s a shameless whimpering sweetheart. he loves to be in your ear with hushed pleas or loud and clear with deafening groans and whimpers.

how he does foreplay - no doubt yuji is an ass man, but if you were to ask him “ass or pussy” he wouldn’t think twice before ripping your pants off and making you come over and over just with his mouth.

how he fucks you - he fucking adores your body, especially when you squirt. he couldn’t care much about the position, where you are, what time it is and if you have something going on all he wants is for you to squirt. his strong thrusts making it hard to control you own body while riding this ecstasy. he wants you to feel good, that’s all he wants

𐙚 YUUTA OKKOTSU, cursed sexy one

how he moans - SENSITIVE babe, cries, moans, begs and pleads with you. he feels good, he feels amazing and holy shit he never wants you to stop.

how he does foreplay - his dream is you, his cock and several orgasms. he loves your tits so when your perfect hands are rubbing his cock and your bring your chest down to as well rub on his tip he fucking loses it. moaning, shifting and crying like a baby.

how he fucks you - HIS FAVORITE. he loves reverse cowgirl, he thinks your back is perfect, your ass is beautiful and you’re just so beyond amazing. he loves running his hands up and down the canyon of your spine, rubbing shapes into you r shoulders to soothe you while you make love to him.

please please please let me know what your thoughts are on this or anything on my page.

any and all feedback is so so so appreciated. i hope you all are having an amazing start to summer, you are all amazing and so deeply loved and cared for always remember that 🩷

[coffe-and-tea-time]

Yandere shop! Choose your yandere!

I was thinking, did you ever listen to yandere asmr videos? If so, you will catch on quickly that this is based on the yandere shop, which was so popular in asmr videos during the pandemia. - coffee

If you didn’t, quick summary Coffee gave me: imagine if there is a place where you can enter and you can ‘buy’ (they pay you since you are going to take care of a serial killer so he don’t kill people while you two got your twisted love) a yandere of your choosing. - tea

Word count: 1.2k but this will be edited to correct misspellings or weird sentence structure later, sorry in advance.

tw: yandere behavior, willing reader, delulu, written in you/yours, reader is a little nervous but really interested, you can choose humans yanderes and non-human (although humanoid) yanderes!

You fix your clothing and take a deep breath, your mind filled with ‘what if..’ yet, you were here, in a place that you didn’t trust was real

A creak takes you out of your thoughts, a smiling man dressed rather formally, greets you cheerfully.

“Sorry to interrupt when you are so absorb in your pretty mind My dear, but you know, a little push may help you”

He said as he extended his hand to you, well, you already made your way here hoping to get a yandere so you gather all your corague as you take the man's hand. He led inside the shop, you can hear the click of the door closing behind you as you follow him.

“Oh, I hope you weren’t thinking of backing up so quickly Dear, want something to drink?”

You gently shake your shake as you sit down in one of the couches, on the inside it looks pretty much like a coffee shop.

“Smart choice but you still seem rather nervous, want to say something before I go ahead and show you the catalog?”

“Well, I wanted to know, what can you do for the yandere you like to like you back? What if the one I choose doesn't like me back?”

Your worries were met with a not-so-subtly laugh from the man which make you kind of annoyed and embarrassed.

“Sorry Dear, I just never thought I ever meet somebody that feel insecure about the love of a yandere”

Now you wanted to punch him, is a normal question to ask! The yandere have their own way to fall in love!

“Let me give you a quick explanation, if they had a darling, both of us know they would be busy stalking them. The yanderes we have don’t have a darling, but are eager for the sense of love on their own way which may not suit everyone so to avoid problems, this shop was put in place as a matchmaker between differents kinds of yanderes and people who enjoy them"

You sight in relief as you nod.

“alright, who is more likely to go even more insane if they don't get a darling soon.."

"Sorry, what did you just say? I couldn't hear you well"

"Oh, nothing Dear, I was just searching for the ones that been waiting the most, is how the list work, I will show you a few options first so you have an idea, you can ask for another kind if you had something else in mind, I'm sure we got something that will suit your taste; Although, do remember that is just one yandere, we had problems with that before"

"How is it that someone got the permission to have more than one? I thought you guys will keep in track that since well, it's dangerous for anyone"

"She didn't have permission but she manage because she stubbornly wanted a yandere harem, the result are expected, averyone in that house died except for one yandere, he is again on the list, and as you can guess, he end up more being more... intense. He is totally your perfect option if you like a very possessive yandere, he's a more serious yandere for that experience"

“That will be dangerous for me too?”

"Dont worry Dear, he is truly desperate for love like the rest, his name is Dizie. But if you rather a more gentle treat, Gabriel is your guy, I don't know much about him since he said that only his darling will get to know everything about him. As far as I know, he's kind of yandere that will kiss the ground were his darling walk, a worshiper you can say, if you like someone looks at you like you are a deity, he's definitely your perfect match"

“Isn’t every yandere a worshiper in their own ways?”

"Well, I guess? Is true that others have another específic ways to worship, look, he's the baker, relishes in your enjoyment of their pastries, a very skilled baker that knows how to include the most unique of ingredients to make the sweetest of treats, dreams of putting his heart and soul in every treat he bakes for his darling, his name is Oliver”

"What kind of ingredients tho?"

“The next one you may like is actually a popular singer, he chooses to keep anonymous unless chosen, but if you want to be a celebrity or date one, he is someone you can guess that will love to spoil their darling, he’s on the talkative side, if you like art or stuff like that, you will enjoy his house. although he babbles a lot of how he wish to hear the voice of his darling obsessively for hours”

The seller seems to dodge your question.

“Ah, of course, we also have some special yanderes if humans are boring or less attractive for you, look, he’s Myotis, the classic vampire, he even has wings! Isn’t it perfect to see the sky closer while you enjoy the company of a yandere that looks like he just came out of a book? If you are also into short kings, you gonna love him without a doubt”

"He's not going to drain me out of blood, is he?"

“Dear, why would a yandere who waits so long for their darling, kill them? But if vampires aren't your type, you could go for a mothman! You will be the light of his life, literally. He’s a big softie and kind of clumsy; he just eagerly waits for the arrival of his daylight. A good choose if you like special clingy yanderes, he is not around humans too much, but he said he wanted to be called Lior if he got chosen. Oh, if you are on the stronger side, you may want to keep your eye on Tarak, he said something about his name meaning something like star and protector I think, I guess he chose the name by himself, he’s a prideful dragon and really loves to talk, honestly, I’m not that intelligent to understand some things that he say, but if you like to know new things by listening, asking or reading, he's your man, you can try trying to teach him something new, I don't think is impossible to archive”

“You know what ag…”

You stopped talking when you catch a security camera in a corner moving around frantically yet appear like not seeing anything?

“Don’t mind him, is just Grier, even though I don’t know if that's his real name, I do know he loves trying to spy here using the security cameras so we end up having to put tape on them when a darling is coming to the shop; as you can guess, he’s a hacker, if you choose him, you will be very well protected and taken cared of since you gonna be being watched even if you think you are alone, if that what you wish for, please do choose him.”

The seller looks at you, waiting for an answer, to choose what kind of yandere you want or ask for a specific type now.

“You don’t really go outside too much, so I don’t think you gonna have problems with any of them”

You act like you didn’t hear his murmur as you look at the papers in your hand of every yandere he just talked about.

If your favorite options lose or you want something specific, just send an ask! We love comments and interactions in general so don't be shy.

sorry for any misspellings or weird sentence structure ❣

images from pinterest ⚘

[runninriot]

written for today's @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up event ☀️

Heat of the Moment

prompt: summer | wc: 1000 | rated: T | no cw | tags: Eddie has a crush on Steve, pining, Steve's 'stupid tiny swim shorts' deserve their own tag, (implied) friends to lovers

Eddie wipes a hand over the back of his neck, regrets it instantly when his palm comes back wet.

    Gross.

His hair is sticking to his forehead and no matter how little he moves, his body betrays him, wants to drown him in sweat.

It’s too fucking hot.

And Steve isn’t helping. He’s the reason for a different kind of heat wave just by lying there in these stupid tiny swim shorts, no shirt. Unfairly fucking beautiful, even in this unbearable heat, just blissfully existing.

Eddie is going to melt into a puddle on the floor if he doesn’t stop staring at him. If he doesn’t stop following the droplets running down his neck. He’d lick them right off, if he could. Would follow their trail down to where they collect in Steve’s glorious chest hair. Would swipe his tongue through the little rivulet that has formed in the groove between his abs, wouldn’t stop there.

    God.

It’s really not fair. How can someone look so good in this heat?

Steve always looks good. That’s why Eddie loves him. Or it’s one of the reasons. He has a thing for pretty boys, sue him! He wished it was different, too, but oh well.

The real tragedy is that Steve doesn’t know because he wouldn’t care – or worse. And Eddie really should stop staring if he wants to keep his little secret.

Steve is side-eyeing him when he stands up from where he was lying on his deck chair, his bronze skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat, glistening in the golden afternoon sun.

   “You good, Munson?”

Eddie swallows thickly, nods.

   “Want a beer?”

Another nod because Eddie doesn’t trust himself not to let out an embarrassing whimper if he dares to open his mouth.

Those shorts should be illegal.

It takes everything for Eddie to hold Steve’s gaze, to give him a polite smile in thanks for his offer, when his eyes are begging to drop down to where clingy fabric does shit all to hide Steve’s... form.

Steve thankfully seems unfazed by Eddie’s sudden inability to talk, just shrugs and walks inside, which – to Eddie’s blessing and misery – offers a whole other view that would send Eddie over the edge if he hadn’t at least one tiny bit of dignity left in him.

That. Ass.

    Jesus.

How is Eddie even allowed to exist in the same sphere as this perfection of a man?

And how is he supposed to ever get over his goddamn crush if Steve keeps inviting him over to spend time together, just the two of them, alone in this big ass house with no one around to save Eddie from his own dangerous mind, no one to keep him in check?

Had anyone told him he’d be spending the summer hanging around in Steve’s backyard, being served beer by the man himself, who’s walking around in these godforsaken shorts – Eddie would’ve laughed.

But now that it’s reality, all he can do is gawk and wonder and try not to lose his mind when Steve walks back out, two beers in one hand, the other outstretched to where Eddie is sitting.

   “Let’s sit by the pool, cool down a bit. Your face is so red, I don’t want you to have a heat stroke.”

    Oh god.

Eddie hesitantly takes Steve’s hand, lets himself be pulled up, hopes Steve doesn’t mind how sweaty his palm is. Hopes he doesn’t notice his staggered breathing, his trembling knees.

Maybe he does have a heat stroke? Maybe that’s the reason why he’s feeling a little dizzy right now.

Or maybe it’s the fact that Steve still hasn’t let go of his hand as he leads him to the pool.

Maybe, the fact that Steve is smiling at him brighter than the sun herself, is what’s making it harder to breathe.

They sit down on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the refreshingly cool water. The bottle in his hand is cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of Steve’s hand he instantly misses, now that it’s gone.

   “Wanna go for a swim?”

The water is nice, perfect to cool down his overheated skin and mind.

Steve is just chilling there, both arms splayed out over the edge, his head tilted back, eyes closed; soaking his body in the water while enjoying the sun on his face. Just minding his own business, not even batting an eye at Eddie who’s awkwardly splashing around, watching the beautiful man from a safe distance.

A distance that’s keeping him from mindlessly swimming over to him, to cage him against the tiles with his arms on either side, one leg slotted between Steve’s, pressing his own wanting body up against the other man’s.

He wants to kiss him so bad.

It’s not the first time that thought hits him but it’s painful every time.

    Fucking hell.

Eddie closes his eyes, groans in frustration over his stupid heart’s stupid fluttering. What a waste of time and energy to pine after someone so far out of reach.

Eddie takes a deep breath before he dives down. Lets his body sink deeper into the pool until his toes reach the ground before he resurfaces with a loud gasp.

When he opens his eyes again, Steve is suddenly right there, right in front of him, smiling his pretty smile.

And then he reaches out, fingers playing with a rogue curl before tugging it back behind his ear.

Eddie feels like the water around him is boiling, feels too hot again now that Steve is so close.

So close, Eddie could easily reach out to pull him in and-

   “I want to kiss you.”

It is Steve who reveals Eddie’s secret back to him. It’s not a question; he’s stating a fact – unashamed and clear. No talking around it, no shy blush painting his cheeks.

Eddie feels brave, carried away by the heat of the moment.

   “Then what are you waiting for?”

[angel-of-the-moons]

Hear me out.

A Ghost In The Gym

(Ghost x Fem!Reader)

It was another day at the gym for you, only, today... There was a man in a rather scary skull mask glaring holes into the mirror across from him as he used the dumbbells...

You paid him no mind, some people wear masks in the gym. Could be allergies or... Something

Your eyes can't seem to focus on anything else around you, because whenever you look in the mirror, you see he's staring at you

It immediately concerns you, and you try to shove your discomfort aside.

You put in your headphones and try to tune the world out and focus on your routine.

You were ten minutes into your slow climb to a trot on the treadmill when you looked up and he was suddenly right there

You almost trip as you hit the stop button on the mill, and look up at him because he's leaning very close all of a sudden. Your voice is very sheepish and concerned.

"Can I.... Can I help you?"

"I didn't mean to startle you. There's two men staring at you, they followed you in here. They're talking about trying to convince you to come home." His rich voice grumbles softly.

You swallow and casually glance around the gym, spotting the men in question, who suddenly acted like they were busy. You were so concerned with the big scary man in the mask you didn't notice the two guys dressed in street clothes. They looked familiar...

"I told them to fuck off." He says, standing up straight. "Hope you don't mind, but I told them that you were my girlfriend, that you were meeting me here."

"Oh... Um.... Thank you."

He tilts his head, his chocolate eyes softening as he notices you're still on-edge; and honestly? Who could blame you in the situation?

He takes a step back. "My name's Simon. If you like, I can spot for you while you work out and keep them off of you."

Your body relaxes a little bit, comforted by the man's respect of your personal space.

"Y... Yeah. Thanks." You babble, awkwardly fiddling with your water bottle as you take a sip. "You're uh... A big guy, ain'tcha?"

"I'm military. Pays to be big." He replies, tilting his head.

"Oh! Oh... Yeah, I can see why." You laugh awkwardly.

Simon's eyes crinkle at the corners; a smile beneath his mask. You're not sure why, but that twinkle in his eyes makes your cheeks heat up.

"So, what's next on your workout routine?"

"Uh... Well, I use the medicine ball and do some curls... some squats."

"Alright then, luv. Let's get to that. Let me know if I get too close or make you uncomfortable."

He was... Surprisingly respectful. Most guys at the gym who got so close to you were creeps who couldn't keep their distances from you.

Ugh, and don't even get started on the mouth-breathing many of them did... Or the shameless staring at your tits.

But this Simon, your... uh, Gymbro Avenger as it were, was rather kind. He kept track of your sets even when your frazzled mind lost track; even while he did his own. But then again, the man probably worked out so often that it was muscle memory for him to do it without needing to count.

You two got to talking while you exercised; he was some sort of high-class soldier, couldn't tell you more because of how "classified" it all was.

He told you about his unit; his friends. His family, basically. The "Old Man" Price, his annoying "battle buddy" (a US military term that someone named Alex told him) "Soap", Gaz, who apparently always had a "kicked puppy" face...

It made you laugh, some of the stuff he told you.

Talking with you... it made him feel... human. Almost normal.

When was the last time he felt like that?

Too long, it felt.

You had gotten comfortable to the point that you hardly noticed when he'd put a hand on you to correct your form.

You ignored your heartrate spikes when he did, of course. You also had to remind yourself to stop ogling his thick arms or how his veins bulged or how intricate his tattoo was...

The two of you explored the gym and did things you didn't normally do. He helped you use the Olympic bench, the rowing machine...

He stood outside the showers (a respectful distance away, mind you) to make sure those guys didn't creep on you on the way out.

You didn't notice when your stalkers gave up and left, seemingly irritated that Simon "was" your "boyfriend" and wasn't going to leave you alone.

You bought him a smoothie as a thank you.

He'd gotten a phone call halfway through and seemed saddened that he couldn't stay with you, but said his Captain called and he had to go.

You almost protest when he hands you some money to pay for the smoothie, but as you look up he was already leaving, his bag over his shoulder as he mounted his motorcycle.

You open the small wad of bills and realized that he left a scribbled note in it. A phone number.

"Call me when you need to go to the gym or don't feel safe, birdie. I'll be your scary dog privileges."

[astraystayyh]

Starry night.

in which you and hyune fall in love through paintings.

idol!hyunjin x museum guide!reader. love at first sight, kinda. both mc and hyune are romantics.. lots of art analysis and conversations. very fluffy and soft. like so soft i hurt myself with this you guys.

all the info about Vincent Van Gogh’s life and works are from the Van Gogh Museum. the interpretations are my own but im not an art critic, obvi, just a yearner 💔 please enjoy, feedback is highly appreciated 💞

thank you to the lovely reader who commissioned me!!!! the money went to our stayblr fundraiser for palestine. please consider donating if you are able too as well <3333

“You’ll be able to do it, right?” Your manager Martin looks at you expectantly, and you blink slowly in response. It, referring to leading a private tour of the Van Gogh exhibition.

You’ve been a museum guide in New York for four months now. When you’re not painting, you’re here, amidst the array of artworks nestled in a quaint street near East River. You’ve led group tours before, always under the watchful eye of Martin, a middle-aged man who never forgets to bring you a vanilla bourbon macaron every morning.

However, you’ve never handled a private tour before. You see the desperation in Martin’s eyes as he awaits your answer—he’s the one who usually handles these tours, but he has urgent family matters to suddenly attend to.

You blink again, your tongue unknotting in a split second. “I’d be happy to,” you beam. The exhibition feels like a second home to you; you’ve visited it countless times long before you started working here.

Martin heaves a sigh of relief, smiling back at you. “I believe in you,” he reassures, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Remember why I chose you.”

You grin at his words, nodding vigorously. Your love for art brought you here; your very being seems molded to breathe in paintings and live among them. It’s as sweet a life as it can get.

“You’ll find all the details about our guest in our log. He’s famous, so he’ll be a bit discreet. He’ll expect you to be too,” he explains, hurriedly packing his things. You nod, taking the keys to the art gallery from his hand.

“Don’t worry, the gallery is safe in my hands.”

“I know,” he says with a comforting smile, before finally waving goodbye. You take a deep breath and check the booking for tonight’s exhibition—Hwang Hyunjin.

The name is unfamiliar to you, and so is the face that greets you at 8 p.m. sharp—at least, what you can see of it. He’s wearing a navy cap and a face mask, with a varsity jacket sitting perfectly atop his broad shoulders. He looks young, roughly your age.

“Hi, welcome to our Van Gogh exhibition,” you greet him with a grin. He bows slightly in response.

“No one’s here, so you can remove your mask if you wish. I can take your bag as well,” you offer with a smile. He nods and hands you his black duffel bag, which you quickly pass to the security guard, who places it inside a safe cabinet.

Hyunjin removes his Versace cap, running a hand through his silky black hair. There is an aura of assurance around him, as if he’s poised before a camera in a professional photoshoot. But then, a shy smile appears on his face as he finally removes his face mask, his eyes glinting beneath the golden lighting.

You feel your breath catch in your throat; for a split second, the world around you seems to still, the paintings dimming before the beautiful face in front of you.

“Right,” you clear your throat, “shall we?”

Hyunjin nods, falling easily into step with you. You pause before the first painting, ‘Woman with a Child on her Lap’, 1883.

“This is rumored to be about Sien Hoornik, who became both Vincent’s lover and model. She was a former prostitute, pregnant at the time, and had a five-year-old daughter. Vincent was determined to help her through her hardships, and they dated for a year and a half. But then, he broke it off because he said she was too far gone to be saved.”

Hyunjin nods, his eyes fixated on the painting, his head tilted slightly to the side. “The eyes are telling,” he speaks for the first time, and his voice floods your being like dewdrops reviving flowers at dawn. It is smooth and soft, the end of his words getting lost in the air and caught by your heart.

“The way the mother and daughter look at each other, I mean.” He clarifies, stealing a fleeting glance at you. “There is disdain on the mother’s face, but more toward herself, I think. Maybe because she sees her reflection in her daughter.”

Groups usually scurry past this painting, eager to see Vincent’s more renowned works. You feel your heart soften at how much he seems to be thinking about it, lost in his own world. You’re not even sure he remembers you’re there.

“Vincent was really determined to help her, although his brother Theo disapproved. His parents did too.”

“Isn’t that what love is? To hold someone’s hand even if everyone tells you to let go,” he mutters quietly, his eyes still lost in the painting. A hue of vulnerability colors his words before he clears his throat, as if unwittingly revealing his inner thoughts.

“That’s a beautiful way to view it,” you smile, and he nods, shyly biting his lower lip. For some odd reason, his timidity stirs something unfamiliarly tender within your heart.

You walk over to the next set of paintings. “When Vincent moved to Paris, you can see how his style developed. He let go of the darker tones he used in his infamous ‘The Potato Eaters’ and began using lighter colors, like here,” you explain, pointing to ‘The Hill of Montmartre with Stone Quarry’.

“Do you think it’s because he was happier?” he suddenly asks, and you frown slightly. “Pardon?”

“The shift to lighter colors. ‘The Potato Eaters’ is so sorrowful and shrouded in darkness. ‘The Hill’ is much more colorful, lighter, you know?” His eyes glide to yours, a twinkle of curiosity glimmering in them.

“Vincent did flourish in Paris. For once, he was in the same city as his brother Theo, whom he loved dearly. But he was mainly influenced by modern art, which uses much lighter colors than his previous works. Art critics usually attribute this change in the influence of his contemporaries, such as—”

“But what do you think?” he interrupts softly, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are penetrating, and you find yourself lost in the seas of emotion they contain.

You quiet down, licking your lips tentatively. No one has ever asked for your opinion on these tours before.

“Well,” you begin slowly, “I think it’s possible. Being around his brother and other artists who embraced brighter palettes could have uplifted his spirit. But also, maybe the light colors were his way of reaching for happiness, even if he didn’t always feel it. Art often mirrors our hopes as much as our realities.”

Hyunjin listens intently, a thoughtful look on his face. “I agree,” he finally says, smiling sincerely. You don’t know why the sight of his grin renders your brain putty, like melted ice cream under the kind sunrays.

“His use of lighter colors continued when he moved to the south of France. He was delighted with the bright colors in Arles, painting orchards in blossom and workers gathering the harvest,” you explain, pointing to the respective paintings.

“That’s when he told his brother that he wanted to open a studio for fellow painters. He wrote in a letter the following: 'you always lose when you’re isolated.' He sent out many invitations, but only one painter agreed to come.”

“Paul Gauguin,” Hyunjin swiftly replies.

“Exactly. He was the first and last painter to move in with Vincent.”

“It seemed like the more he tried to escape loneliness, the more it found him,” Hyunjin muses, his eyes fixed on ‘Portrait of Gauguin’ by Vincent. The bright colors he asked you about earlier make you wonder if, beneath the spotlight, Hyunjin too feels lonely.

“Sometimes loneliness becomes a friend. You have to make room for it to allow other things to come in,” you say softly.

“It’s sad how nothing good came out of that roommate situation, though” he frowns, and you nod in agreement.

“Paul and Vincent were very different. They had a lot of eclectic views that often led to disagreements. I assume you know their most prominent one.”

“Yes, when Vincent cut off his ear.”

“Correct, he then wrapped it in newspaper and presented it to a prostitute in the nearby red-light district.”

“A prostitute…” Hyunjin muses, his thumb swiping slightly across his lower lip. “It seems like phantoms of his first love found him again. Even in his most disoriented state, he somehow remembered her.”

“You speak of love beautifully,” you suddenly say, before biting your tongue harshly, instantly regretting your words. But Hyunjin’s eyes seem to soften as he gazes at you, the warm light dancing across his pupils.

“It is a beautiful feeling.”

“Only to those who have beautiful souls,” you speak earnestly, and your words seem to morph into brushstrokes, painting the gallery in hues of red. Intimate, soft, too intimate all of the sudden.

“Vincent’s mental health rapidly declined, and he put himself back into the mental asylum,” you quickly clear your throat, though you can still feel Hyunjin’s eyes on you, not the painting. “Still, that’s when he created some of his most famous artworks, like ‘The Starry Night’. He was inspired by the view from the asylum’s window. It’s dominated by vivid yellow and blue, and the colors and paint seem to describe a world outside the artwork itself.”

“It’s breathtaking,” Hyunjin marvels, lost in the painting, leaning in until his nose almost brushes the canvas.

You suppress a giggle, but your laughter fades as you take in the mole right by his jaw, then the one by his neck. The delicateness of his face, the plumpness of his lips, and the curve of his lashes.

He’s beautiful. The painting could seep him in and he’d fit right in with the silver stars. Outshining them too, surely.

“I really liked the tour,” he smiles, nearly two hours of lazy strolls later. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” you grin back, grabbing his outstretched hand. His fingers wrap around yours slowly, deliberately, as if on a mission to ignite your nerve endings. To set your soul ablaze with his palm alone.

His hand holds yours for a few seconds longer than necessary. Your blush mirrors his when he finally lets go.

He quickly bows again, grabbing his bag from his manager, who was waiting by the door. He almost bumps into the handle on his way out, and you let out an endeared chuckle, your eyes lingering on his figure until he disappears into his black van.

You think you'll never see him again, two lines crossing serendipitously at one point, never to cross paths once more. The thought sends a pang of sorrow latching onto your heart, before you quickly brush it away.

But then you do see him again, the very following night, at that.

It is near nine p.m. when Martin exclaims suddenly, “Mr. Hwang!” and you freeze in your place, book guide in hand.

It has been exactly twenty-four hours since you last saw Hyunjin, but when his voice softly echoes through the art gallery, it feels like a lifelong ache finally soothed.

“Please, call me Hyunjin,” he says, shaking Martin’s hand, though his eyes quickly find yours. They stay on you, unmoving yet tender, like a cotton blanket draped over your being.

“How was the tour with Miss Yn?”

“Ah—“ his gaze finally drifts away from yours. “Yes, it was really nice. That's why I came again,” he explains, a touch sheepishly, and your quizzical eyes meet Martin’s.

“Hyunjin booked another private tour. He specifically requested you to be his guide,” Martin explains, and your eyes widen in shock. You don’t have time to reply because your manager quickly scurries away. “I’ll leave you two then. Have fun!”

You wait until Martin disappears into his office before turning to Hyunjin, who avoids your gaze, one hand deep in his pocket, moving side to side. You remain silent for a few moments, simply admiring the side of his face. You’ve always had a deep appreciation for art running through your veins, after all.

“Hi,” he finally says, his eyes quickly meeting yours. You can’t stop the smile that floods your face, coating every nook and cranny of your features.

“You came back,” you say with a breathy giggle.

“Mm,” he instantly grins. “I don’t know when I’ll be back in New York, so I wanted to truly memorize the art here.”

“When are you going home?” you ask as you take his bag again, your eyes taking in his outfit—a green cap this time, a knit vest over a white shirt, and a silver teddy bear necklace nestled perfectly against it. Pretty.

“Tomorrow. We had a tour stop here, and we’ll go back to Seoul now.”

“And you’ll be spending your final night in the city here?” you chuckle slightly, and he shrugs as if it’s the most obvious decision he ever had to make.

“Why not? I think it’s beautiful here.” though his eyes never move to look onto the paintings, gliding across your face instead.

“And I forgot to take pictures yesterday,” he quickly adds, pointing to the camera in his hands.

“I’ll help you then,” you offer, and he smiles so brightly that it renders you speechless, suddenly wondering if the first person who ever drew a portrait had a similar thought—that they saw a smile so beautiful they just needed to immortalize it.

Hyunjin is at ease before the camera. You can tell by the way he almost pretends the device isn’t there, his eyes fixed on the paintings, mere centimeters away from the canvas. He’s whisked away into another world. You see your love for art mirrored in his soul as well.

“Do you paint, by any chance?” you ask between pictures, and he nods.

“Whenever I have free time. And you?”

“I do. I can show you later, if you’d like.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says, pointing his finger at you, before looking directly into the camera this time. “I’ve been painting magnolias lately.”

“Really? Why magnolias specifically?”

“I read a poem about them. It said that when magnolias wither, they aren’t considered beautiful anymore. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t at one point. It really moved me.”

“You have to be very optimistic to view it that way,” you say as you finally hand him the camera, satisfied with your pictures. You are both standing in front of ‘Almond Blossom,’ the pastel colors drawing you in.

“Withering flowers mean that at one point they were in full bloom. Grief means that at one point you did love,” you muse. “It takes a lot of gentleness to find beauty in endings, to celebrate them as proof of what once was. Don’t you think so?”

You turn to look at him when the flash of a camera catches you off guard.

Hyunjin looks at your picture, a soft smile on his face. “You fit right in with the flowers,” he compliments, though it does not feel superfluous or bearing a hidden intent. It’s a simple observation he wished to share.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, a blush sprouting from your very veins. You quickly fix your posture, pointing to the painting. “I told you yesterday that Vincent painted this for his brother Theo, to celebrate his newborn, whom he named after Vincent.”

“Yes, I remember,” he nods, slinging the camera over his neck and taking a picture of the painting up close. “It seemed to bring Vincent a lot of solace in his final days.”

“I’ve been thinking about your question, whether Vincent was happy. I think he was hopeful more than anything. He had hoped his works would be recognized, he had hoped he wouldn’t be as lonely anymore. Sometimes hope keeps you going much more than happiness.”

“Because happiness will eventually wear off?”

“Right, it’s only natural. But hope… it’s like a flame that never goes out. It might flicker and dim, but it will still be there on your darkest nights.” You bite your lip slightly, your thumb digging into your palm.

“I hope you’ll always have hope in your life, Hyunjin. You’ve been my favorite person to talk about Vincent with,” you say sincerely, your eyes unwavering from his.

You imprint the way his gaze softens into your mind, the slight blush that powders his cheeks, the way his teeth peek behind his smile. You memorize his velvety voice in your mind, the way he accentuates certain letters and how it pulls at the strings of your heart when he says—“I’m very happy I met you, Yn.”

May is gone, and with it Hyunjin, and you think you are a fool for thinking of him as often as you do after only five hours in his presence. You don’t know why your mind is permeated with his essence. But why wouldn’t it be? is the better question. When he’s beautiful, truly, body and soul.

You feel slightly less foolish when a postcard is delivered to your exhibition on a sunny Saturday, one month later. It depicts the front entrance of the Museum of Modern Art in Seoul.

June 13.

“yn,

i saw Vincent’s works once again in this month’s exhibition. somehow they seem less beautiful without our conversations.

i hope you’re surrounded by art, too.

hyunjin.”

June 23.

“hyunjin,

i visited claude monet’s immersive exhibition, you have to visit it as well, once you’re back in new york.

i am still surrounded by art, as always. i don’t think i could ever part from it.

did you finish your magnolias? i hope you’re seeing beauty in them even after they wither.

yn.”

July 5.

“yn,

claude’s works are so different from vincent’s... don’t you think it's beautiful that they lived at the same time yet depicted their world so differently?

my magnolias are finished. i’ve been drawing scenes from your exhibition lately, the picture i took of you is particularly inspiring. i hope you don’t mind.

hyunjin.”

september 26.

“hyunjin,

leaves are falling all over new york. new beginnings are upon us. i hope this view of my window inspires you too.

i wish you happiness no matter the season.

yn.”

october 7.

“yn,

i just saw the first snow at dawn, it was such a pretty view! i’m happy i’m alive today.

i hope snow reaches you fast enough, too.

stay warm.

with love,

hyunjin.”

october 23.

“hyunjin,

i’ve always preferred spring, but snow brought me such a happy opportunity. i’m invited to an exhibition in seoul, next month!

i’ll enjoy it well and think of our conversations.

with love,

yn.”

october 5.

“yn,

the weather is beautiful in seoul lately. i’m happy you’ll be here to see it.

it is late at night, and the moon is shining brightly. i hope it’ll shine as brightly for you too, in new york.

with love,

yours.”

The click of your black heels against the marble floors echoes through the museum, a comforting sound as you stroll through the immersive Vincent exhibition; now gracing Seoul. The colors wash over you, reflecting off your skin, swirling around you until you feel as though you’re being drawn into the very heart of the paintings.

“Enjoying the art, Yn?” a voice like honey drips across your being. Your heart skips a beat, plummets to your knees and races back to its place once again. You feel an ache inside you unfold. memories of Hyunjin’s voice rewriting themselves, perfecting your recollection of his accent and the tender way in which he spoke your name.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, though you refuse to turn around and meet his eyes. Not yet. The scent of his rose perfume is enough to have your heart rattling against your ribcage— a bird wishing to escape its cage and deliver your love letter to its rightful owner.

“Isn’t it an amazing coincidence we met here? In Seoul, no less,” he says, his voice airy as he inches closer.

“I know you’re the one who invited me,” you giggle, finally turning to meet his gaze. His eyes widen slightly before morphing into crescents, as if lifted from Vincent’s Starry Night.

“How did you know? I thought I kept it a secret in our postcards,” he grins sheepishly.

“I kept pestering Mr. Martin about why the museum invited me specifically until he finally told me you were behind it.”

“Well,” he licks his lips, his eyes roaming over your face. “I admit, I missed you. I wanted to see you again. And I happen to be a major contributor to the museum.”

“Fancy,” you beam, before your grin morphs to something much softer, as you realize that you are away from your work, and that the Hyunjin of your postcards is finally before you.

“I missed you too. Show me around?”

“Am I your guide now?”

“Mm. I expect you to be an expert.”

“Oh, I am.”

Hyunjin speaks of the paintings as if it’s his first time seeing them, finding new things to admire, new details to point out to you. You find it hard to keep up, only because your eyes seem more interested in observing him. You’ll tell him later that you were right in thinking he’d make every painting more mesmerizing.

But for now, you stroll together, his hand brushing against yours every now and then. Before long, you’re far from the museum, walking into the chilly Seoul night, his jacket draped over your shoulders.

And you talk, you talk about every painting you’ve seen since his departure, the flowers you’ve picked, and the strawberry field you visited at the end of June. He shares stories of his favorite painters and his beloved dog, Kkami, whom he misses dearly. He speaks of the moon and how your postcards lessened his loneliness. You tell him you’ve kept every card by your bedside, the first and last thing you see each day.

Suddenly your pinky is entwined with his, your cheeks ache from how much you’ve spoken and laughed, your heart lighter than it had ever been.

“Thank you for walking me to my hotel,” you smile softly.

He nods, his thumb swiping across your palm tenderly. It’s only after a while that he speaks again. “I know you said that happiness wears off eventually. But right now, the happiness i feel… I think it will last me for the next four months, at least.”

“Just four months?” you tease, and he giggles, tipping his head back. You wish you had your paintbrushes, your camera, a simple pen, anything to commit his laugh into something tangible.

“For a long time,” he finally says, quietly, resigned. Tomorrow’s flight ticket makes your heart ache, all of the sudden.

“I… I’ll get going. Thank you for inviting me,” you smile, dropping his hand. You know it’ll hurt the more you hold it, the easier it’d be for you to remember the softness of his hand.

So you walk back, you’re near the hotel door, a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, the security guards both discreetly look away.

“Yn,” Hyunjin turns you around, his eyes are as wide as the full moon hanging close to earth, listening in to your conversation.

“You didn’t- you didn’t show me your paintings.” he says a bit too quickly, desperately.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“Back in New York, you promised to show me your paintings. You didn’t.”

“You remember?”

Hyunjin's chest heaves in response, his warm palms cradle your cheeks, his eyes speak of a yearning you haven’t thought existed. When his lips crash upon yours, fervently, passionately, like the collision of all stars in Starry Night, you have your answer.

He remembered. He remembered as much as you.

Epilogue— seven months later.

“Now… next question,” Hyunjin grins as he takes out a folded paper from a glass jar, five sets of camera’s all pointed at him in the shooting set of Elle Korea.

“If you could feel only one emotion for the rest of your life, what would you choose?”

Hyunjin puts the paper down, adjusts the sleeves of his Versace blue silk shirt. He doesn’t need to think too much to answer— he already has his reply.

“Someone told me, a long time ago, that hope keeps you going longer than happiness. Because happiness wears off eventually. But hope doesn’t. hope is like a flickering flame, it surges and it dims, but it doesn’t go out, so I choose hope.” he smiles suddenly, eyes looking into those of the staff behind the camera.

“That got deep all of the sudden, right? Done worry, Stay, I have hope, happiness and love, all at once.”

He chuckles quietly, picking up the last piece of paper.

“Finally… who’s your favorite painter? Ah, easy, it’s Vincent Van Gogh.”

“What's your favorite painting by him?” the shooting director asks behind the camera, his eyes fixate on the lens. He knows his love will be watching.

“A woman with a child on her lap. It’s not very known, but… if you look into it closely, beautiful things might come into your life and change it forever.”

from left to right, Woman with a Child on her Lap, 1883 — Portrait of Gauguin, 1888— The Potato Eaters, 1885—The Hill of Montmartre with Stone Quarry, 1886— Almond Blossom, 1890— The Starry Night, 1889.

[vivid-dreamscapes]

~♡~Caught~♡~ Bakugou X reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tw: Swearing, suggestive themes Themes: Humor mainly Summery: Getting caught in the middle of being hot and heavy ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well this was embarrassing. Just two seconds ago, you had been making hella love with your boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugou, at 2:56 AM. Things were going well, you were getting your brains fucked out, he was saying some not so SFW stuff to you, all that.

Then the ever so lovely Kirishima decided to burst in for gods knows what reason, and now you were stuck here, hiding under the covers of your boyfriend’s bed, naked, bound at the wrists with the black tank top he had been wearing, and gagged with the new ball gag he had been excited to try out.

Bakugou’s whole body tensed up in shock as the sound of the door banging open suddenly jolted him out of the state he was in, his eyes snapping to the door where Kirishima was standing.

He was so taken off guard by the sudden arrival that he could barely muster up a response to Kirishima.

“WHAT THE HELL SHITTY HAIR!?!!” The blonde yelled, trying desperately to prepare himself to act like nothing was out of the usual.

The fact that the two of you’s clothes were strewn on the floor didn’t help though. Hopefully Kirishima wouldn’t see them in the dark. And assume that Bakugou just slept shirtless.

Bakugou was practically holding his breath, hoping that Kirishima wouldn’t notice any of the clothes and just think nothing was odd about the room.

Unfortunately, Kirishima was not that thick.

“Hey man, are you alone in here?”

Your boyfriend let out an internal swear inside his mind as Kirishima asked that particular question, knowing that he could not say that he was alone in here without being obviously caught in a lie.

“Y-yeah, why?” Bakugou answered and then silently cursed himself at the slight shake in his voice.

Kirishima paused before looking up at him. “Nothing, I just-“

“Heyy, we bothering kcchan?”

Both you and your boyfriend went stiff. Oh no. For fucks sake. Denki Kaminari’s voice was heard as he poked his head into the room alongside Kirishima.

The spiky blonde heard the dumber blonde’s voice too, feeling his heart almost stop as he realized that not only was Kirishima there, but now Denki was too.

He wanted to strangle both of them for being so goddamn stubborn about coming to check on him at such an ungodly hour of the night.

“Yeah, why’s it so dark in here?” Denki pondered, looking around.

“Because I was trying to sleep, dipshit!”

The little electric boy raised an eyebrow before he recognized your ‘Yeah, I rolled my eyes at you, sue me’ shirt on the floor, plus your favorite bottoms.

He glanced over at Bakugou who was mentally swearing again, but still trying to act as innocent as possible.

“Hey Bakubro…?”

“What?”

You tended up and prayed your friend wouldn’t recognize the outfit as your own. But luck really wasn’t on your side today.

Denki glanced back at the scattered outfit in the floor again, trying to find any other excuse that wasn’t the one right in front of his eyes.

“Aren’t these Y/n’s clothes?”

Bakugou froze as Denki asked that question, feeling every cell in his body just scream at him to answer properly and not make it any more obvious. It didn’t help that they knew you two were dating either.

Your boyfriend’s mind was racing with a million things to say, but none of them were working. Everything he thought about saying failed before it even came out, his brain short circuiting as he tried to come up with an answer.

“Yeah…they are…” Kirishima said, speaking up for the first time with its that minute.

Denki looked up at the shirtless hothead, covering the rest of his indecent self but keeping it under the blankets. You had a nice view of his ass under there while you hid though. “Why are they on your floor?”

“Because…” Bakugou stopped a moment and cursed again before he finally said the dumbest thing he could think of. “…they were here earlier.”

Kirishima raised both his eyebrows at that, both him and Denki now looking at him with the same look of disbelief.

“Really?” Denki asked, clearly not buying the excuse, although he was still giving him the chance to dig himself out of the hole.

“…yeah.” Bakugou said, silently cursing himself again and praying they would just take the lie.

Unfortunately, Kirishima was far from stupid.

“Then why did they take their clothes off? And just leave them?” The shark boy asked, arms crossed.

Bakugou swore under his breath for the umpteenth time at that question, knowing there was no way to answer this that wouldn’t be extremely suspicious now. “…they took a shower…”

He said, the lie sounding just as terrible out loud as it did in his head. There was a moment of silence as Kirishima raised his eyebrow again. “Why would they come over in the middle of the day to take a shower and then ditch their clothes?”

Your boyfriend tensed up as he realized more and more that there was no hope in trying to lie about this situation.

“…Because.” He ever so genius-ly said.

Denki and Kirishima raised their eyebrows again, the answer sounding even more suspicious than before. They knew he was lying at this point, but it was so entertaining to watch him flounder around trying to cover up the truth.

After a moment, Denki broke the silence. “…and why are you shirtless?”

Bakugou wanted to strangle both of those dumbasses in the doorframe, silently cursing the fact that they had to pick this particular moment to come up here to bother him. “…Because I was hot.” He lied, knowing it was possibly the worst lie given these circumstances.

“It’s 66 degrees.”

“YOU TRY HAVING A QUIRK THAT GIVES YOU UNNATURALLY HOT BODY TEMPERATURES SHITTY HAIR!!”

Bakugou shouted again when Kirishima pointed out that it was, in fact, not hot enough to be warranting him to be shirtless. He was losing hope in trying to cover this up. He just couldn’t keep up the facade much longer.

“Okay, so you’re telling us that she came over, took a shower, left her clothes, and you’re in here shirtless, even though it’s not that hot out. You’re sure that’s right?” Denki asked with a raised eyebrow.

“….Yes.”

Bakugo’s eyes darted between Denki and Kirishima, a small voice in the back of his head begging them to just believe him so this would all be over, but a bigger part of him just knew they weren’t buying it one bit. They had him caught and they knew it.

After a moment, Denki spoke up. “Okay, so…prove it.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN PROVE IT?!”

Denki shrugged and gave a sly smirk.

“I don’t know, open the covers.”

“Hell no!!”

Kirshima decided to wedge in real quick before what got intense. “If you really-“

The red head was cut off as the familiar voice of your pink best friend was heard from the door over, saving you from this situation.

“Ejirou, are you coming back yet? I just found another toy we can use! This one vibrates~”

You all froze at Mina’s voice, coming from Kirishima’s dorm.

Knowing her, she had probably known you were going to be caught naked if this continued—by eavesdropping—and was helping you slightly.

But Oh how the tables have turned.

All three boys looked at the door as they heard Mina’s voice coming from it, their eyes wide as they realized that she was also up and possibly doing some frisky stuff in Kirishima’s room.

Neither one of them had expected her to say something so sus at that moment, and all three boys froze, their minds racing to try and figure out how to respond to this new development.

It ended up coming down to Denki and Bakugo turning to look at Kirishima with raised eyebrows.

Kirishima’s face was beet red as he turned to look at them both, his voice slightly shaky as he spoke. “I-It’s not what it looks-“

“Oh shut it shitty hair, and stop acting like you weren’t just trying to catch me when your doing the same thing.”

Denki nodded, arms crossed. “Yeah…hypocrite much?”

“Wait, you admit it!” Kirishima pointed to Bakugou as you giggled through the ball gag under the sheets. Your boyfriend gave them one warning look, a few sparks, and they were gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry there wasn’t much reader interaction! This one was just kinda suppose for be silly and make yall laugh. And like usual, it ain’t proofread

[jo-com]

₊˚.🎧 ✩｡☕ ➛ So this is love?

Max Verstappen x Fem!Sainz reader

Summary: The man who always put racing above anything else; not even caring or investing about others because he thinks it’s a waste of time—What did you do to him to make him change his mind?

Genre: Cold!Max x Persistent!reader

Note: Grammatical errors and this is not proofread!! Enjoy thoo

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Max stared blankly at his mates as he tuned out the noises that they spoke. His eyes narrowed and brows knitted in a frown— obviously not invested in their conversation.

“Yeah, she’ll be coming here, so be nice guys” Carlos spoke,his tone laced with a warning, glaring back at other drivers who he thinks will scare you off.

And of course he was staring directly at max.

Max cocked a brow,“What?”,he was clearly not listening to them, so why the hell are they looking at him?

The other driver rolled his eyes, “i said don’t be batshit crazy and be nice to my sister”.

“Crazy?” Max scoffed, “i don't even give a damn about her, so why do i have to be nice?.”

The room then fell quiet at his words; no one even muttered a single sound as the heavy atmosphere intoxicated them—awkwardness spreading across the drivers as they stare back and forth at each other.

For a whole five minutes, none of them had the courage to speak up and end the insufferable silence.

Not until Charles let out a scrappy cough, making the others sigh in relief from his boldness.

“Carlos didn’t mean it like that, he meant that you should just be a little nice, his sister's pretty sensitive, you see” Charles exclaimed, his voice shaking from the previous tension.

Max tutted in response, mumbling a low ‘whatever’ before standing up and leaving the Ferrari garage.

…

It was finally the day of your arrival, everybody were excited to meet the you… well almost everybody.

Max just slumped in the corner, his body leaning against the wall with his usual scowling face— avoiding others that tries to converse with him.

He was minding his own business and letting his mind wander off.

What’s so special about her that people kept fussing over her.

His train of thought quickly got interrupted as people swarmed the front door, their voices echoing and colliding with one another making a god awful sound.

He rolled his eyes with judgement as he stared abruptly at the doorframe— not even bothering to check or give the slightest interest on you.

But as you walked closer to his eye range, his breath seemed to hitch and his jaw slowly hung opened.

He doesn’t know how or why, but as soon as his eyes met yours it felt like his world suddenly turned in slowmo and all the others that surrounded you, now disappeared— it was like there were only the two of you.

Max never felt something like this before, it’s a weird and uncomfortable feeling. How the hell do you make it stop?

His once cold and composed look now turned into a love sick fool expression.

“Hey man you okay?” Logan asked, his tone dripped with pure concern over his fellow driver.

Max suddenly jumped from Logan’s presence. He never even saw that he came and leaned besides him. It was so unusual for him to be that unattentive.

Max lets out an awkward cough, “yeah, i am good, just looking like everyone else.”

“Looking? Dude you look like you want to get down on your knees for her” the other joked, easing up to max.

But to him it wasn’t a joke, he was conflicted on why he looked like that and was it obvious to everyone?. What the actual fuck is happening to him.

He then raised his hand and gently lay it to his forehead to check whether or not he has a fever. Damn no fever.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Logan responded, his eyes curled into a soft concern gaze.

Max didn’t answer and flickered his eyes back to yours. His face suddenly heats up as you stare back and smile at him. Your smile that was radiant like the sun and eyes soft like sky.

After that short and subtle interaction, he can’t seem to keep his focus and just let his thoughts wander off that lead to that moment.

…

“You’re max right?” You greeted, tugging the excess hair to your side and smiling softly at him. Having him a clear view of your angelic appearance.

Max could feel his whole face being flushed, god he wishes you don’t notice, “uhm yeah” he spoke, his tone that was always high and mighty now turned into a low and shy ones.

You hummed in response and puckered your lips with a pop, “well I’ve been seeing you all day and you’re always avoiding me, is there something wrong?”

Max’s eyes widened, “no..i-uhm there’s-“ he stuttered; trying to find the right words but nothing came out right.

You examined his actions and then let out a few giggles at his antics. You didn’t understand why they call him mean, to you he was just adorable.

…

After that day, the two of you often hang out with each other and would hear whispers and murmurs about you guys, but always brushed it off and ignore people.

“Here try this max” you beamed, handing him the mango that you were holding— smiling from ear to ear as you share your favorite fruit to someone speacial. You loved mango, i mean how could you not? It’s tasty and delicious.

He gave you a look of uncertainty, he never liked mango, it’s weird looking and nothing will ever change his mind about it, even you.

But maybe one bite won’t hurt.

“Haha sure” he replied, taking the fruit from your hand and gently taking a bite out of it. He then gulped it down his throat and stared back at you— your eyes sparkled with joy and excitement, as you await for his response.

“It’s alright” he answered, giving you a thumbs up to which you retorted with a happy clap.

“Thank god you like it, I wasn’t sure whether or not you’d like one of my favorite fruits”

Hmm maybe mangoes aren’t that bad.

…

It didn’t take long before max realized how inlove he was with you and as soon as he did, he asked to court you.

Of course you agreed to it, you as well fell for him but you also wanted to get the approval of both your parents and brother.

That’s why Max took it upon himself to make your parents like him, though he knew that the real obstacle was Carlos.

“So, you’re telling me that you want to date my sister?” Carlos asked, his voice dripped with sarcasm and anger.

Max smiled nonchalantly, “yes”

“You want to date her with that attitude?” Carlos spat, his teeth gritted with each word.

“Yes” he answered again bluntly.

He was getting on Carlos nerves and you could tell.

“Haha uhm Max can you come here for a sec?” You laughed dryly, grabbing Max’s sleeves and dragging him to the side.

“What did we talk about? I told you to be nice” you scolded, rubbing the bridge of your nose to ease your stress.

“I was being nice” max grumbled, his brows knitted in a frown out of habit.

Unbeknownst to them, Carlos was in the sidelines listening, laughing silently at his fellow driver, ‘hehe he’s done for, he never admits his mistake and apologize’ he thought.

“Sorry, I’ll try okay?” Max mumbled, making you smile and kiss his cheeks in response.

Carlo’s jaw dropped, What the fuck, why was THE max verstappen apologizing, is this real??

The two of them came back hand in hand and faced Carlos once again.

“I am sorry for being rude, and yes i am dating her so please approve”.

Carlos was still in shock, never in his life had he seen Max act like a puppy and apologize to anyone.

“No uhm it’s okay we’re good” he replied, his voice shaky from disbelief.

So that’s what max is like when inlove. Damn he’s like a lost puppy.

…

Sorry for not uploading too much🥹🥹 I’ve been busy but i hope you enjoyed this!!💋

[togumie]

“MOVIE NIGHT FLUSTERS!”

WINDBREAKER BOYS + DATE NIGHTS. ft. nirei akihiko, sakura haruka x f!reader

filled requests: one & two !

summary: sakura and nirei always find themselves reduced to a flustered mess when it comes to you, but tonight— they want to try and switch things up for once.

sfw. 1.5K wc. (descriptors such as ‘blush’ and ‘red’ are only used on nirei & sakura, not the reader).

SAKURA HARUKA.

if you were to ask sakura to recite a single sentence from the movie that’s been playing for well over an hour, he wouldn’t be able to tell you.

he’s flinching when your thigh accidentally brushes against his own for the third time in the past ten minutes, his heartbeat picking up a little more each time you adjust your position on the couch. each touch makes it ten times harder to concentrate and twenty times harder for him to breathe. his breath catches in his throat, and he can practically feel his pulse quickening.

movies are usually well over an hour, he remembers. it’s not a guarantee that he’ll make it that long. not like this— not with the way your bare thigh is pressed flush against his own.

sakura manages to steal glances at you throughout the film, trying to gauge your current situation compared to his, so he’s in complete disbelief when he finds you seemingly unaffected by it all, your eyes struggling to stay open as you drift in and out of sleep.

how such a thing is even possible remains a complete mystery to him.

he’s left to shift uncomfortably all by himself, trying to shake off the persistent heat threatening to spread throughout his body. and it’s all because of you, like always. his struggles seem to only encourage you to put more of your weight on him, however, and your arm comes to loosely rest on his lap.

“h-hey,” his whisper comes out as a choked stammer, “you’re not even watching.”

he’s not either, but he doesn’t think about that right now. that’s why it takes him a couple seconds to process what had just happened when he feels a sudden weight plop onto his left shoulder. his eyes widen, and no— you couldn’t have.

there was no way.

the gentle snores his ears pick up on confirm it. you had fallen asleep on him— not on the plush pillows beside and behind you, but on him. sakura freezes in place, hands balled into sweaty fists and his shoulders tense— and he wonders for a moment if his heart might actually burst.

“h—h..” he tries to get your attention, but his words catch in his throat, and he’s unsure if it’s because his head is spinning with heat or because he doesn’t want to wake you up from your peaceful slumber.

he hates that he knows the way he’s slowly turning his head to face you would be hilarious to you- if you were awake, that is. he’s met with the sight of your serene expression, eyes gently shut as your mouth parts in a little o between breaths.

he’s never really seen you asleep before..

the realization hits him like a truck, furious red returning to spread to the tips of his ears, and he briefly wonders if it might spread throughout his entire body as well. there’s a little choked out noise of surprise from him, and an even louder slap when his hand comes to slam shut against his mouth a moment later.

you look so pretty like that.

you always look pretty to him, but it’s different when you’re not awake to tease and jab at him like you usually do. he thinks it’s a little less nerve wracking this way, and he plans on taking full advantage of the situation, tasking himself with memorizing every inch of your face while he still can.

his eyes look over your lips for a moment, watching the way your bottom lip juts out a bit from the way you’ve squashed your cheek against his shoulder. they look soft, and he’s never really paid attention to anyone’s lips until now.

he’s leaning in before he even realizes it, fingers instinctively coming to tilt your head to get a better look at you, then he’s leaning in a little more—

and his lips are on yours.

the kiss itself is soft, lips just barely ghosting over your own for a brief second, just enough for him to register what he’s done a couple moments later.

he blinks once. twice. a third time before his eyes are shooting wide open, inhaling sharply before he’s pulling back violently— or as violently as he can without moving his left shoulder. his palm slams against the bottom of his mouth before he can choke out a noise.

he didn’t mean to lean that close. not at all.

it takes him a minute to compose himself, even slightly, before he’s even able to sneak another glance at you, his eyes finally locking on yours— and oh, you were awake.

not only were you awake, but the face you’re making has his stomach erupting into butterflies all over again. your eyes are wide, the back of your hand nervously covering your mouth as you stare back at him dumbfounded. “sakura…”

“you’re kissing me in my sleep now?”

it doesn’t come out in the teasing tone you intended it to. instead, it comes out like a nervous whisper, and the look he’s giving you in response only worsens the heat that’s rising to your own face.

NIREI AKIHIKO.

“…are you nervous?” your voice breaks the silence.

the sound of your tv is playing softly in the background now, the screen casting a warm glow over your room. you think it’s much cozier this way, especially with the way the two of you are buried underneath your mound of throw blankets, body nestled snugly against your boyfriend’s side.

“no…i’m not!” he’s quick to protest, trying his best to come off as convincing as possible despite the rapid thumping of his heart. the way you press closer against him with each question is killing him, he thinks, and he’s pretty sure that you can tell just by the troublesome glint you have in your eyes.

“are you sure?”

your hand comes to gently trace over his jaw, palm cupping his cheek as his breath hitches involuntarily. you giggle at this, and it solidifies his theory— you can most definitely tell when he’s nervous.

“i-i’m sure,” he lies through his teeth, a rush of warmth spreading through him at your touch. you’ve always been exactly like this. so much so that nirei has started to wonder if maybe you could read his mind, because the way you always seem to know whenever he sneaks a glance your way is almost uncanny.

he thinks he does it so subtly too, just a small peek to the side to catch a glimpse of your face, but your head is always turning a second after his, knowing eyes narrowing at him before you’re teasing him once again, leaving him red and embarrassed before you’re laughing and resuming whatever you were doing before. and always so nonchalantly.

“hmm,” you muse, a small smile tugging at your lips, “you’re blushing though, nirei.”

he just wants to get a reaction out of you for once.

the burst of courage he gets is sudden, both hands coming to roughly cup your face, and it catches you completely off guard, your back hitting the wall behind you.

“oh?” you gasp, eyes widening a bit when he leans in closer. it’s a first for you, and the feeling you’re getting from this is foreign. very foreign.

“um, nirei?” your voice comes out a little quieter when his warm hands stay on your cheeks, “..you okay?”

this was definitely more like the reaction he’s always wanted to see from you, he thinks. a part of him is in disbelief that he was even able to pull this kind of expression from you in the first place.

it’s so very unlike you.

“i’m o-okay,” he stutters a bit, heart racing as he holds his gaze. it might be the only time he gets to see you like this, after all. “you’re always teasing me, and you never let me get a good look at you.”

“i just wanted to be the one to admire your face today.”

“h-huh? my face?” you blink, lips slightly parted in surprise before pressing together in a tight line. the look you’re giving him is to die for, and you don’t tease him like usual. you only stare at him with nervous eyes, breaking eye contact a second later.

it feels nice to see you like this.

your hand comes up to shyly brush over his own, fingers lingering over his, and he’s not sure if it’s a stretch— but there’s the possibility that you’re doing that because you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself when he’s gazing at you like that.

he knows that exact feeling so well, after all.

“yeah, your face,” he repeats, voice coming out a little less nervous now, “you’re so pretty. need to look at you more closely from now on.”

[asidian]

Alright. It is time. Buckle up.

Why you should be watching Dead Boy Detectives: the targeted-specifically-at my-readers edition.

Meet the leads, our two ghost boys:

Edwin Payne: Fussy, repressed intellectual type from the Edwardian era. Exceedingly gay for his partner and best friend. Tortured in hell for seventy years on a technicality because he was ritually sacrificed as a prank gone wrong. Endearingly awful at people and dealing with emotions or his own wants.

Charles Rowland: Impulsive, people-pleasing wildcard from the 80s. Heart eyes 24/7 at his best friend but has zero self-awareness. Badly abused by his asshole of a father. Beaten to death because he saved a kid from bullies. Endearingly awful at sorting his own emotions or talking about his problems.

Some highlights:

/slaps hood you can fit so much trauma in these two

Both leads get sobbing breakdowns that happen on screen. The actors are incredible at crying

Both leads get much-needed hugs

The absolute devotion between the two of them. The shared history that lives in their dialogue and how they work together like people who have been each other's Most Important Person for literal decades

I mean, I'm talking in-canon Orpheus and Eurydice reference level of devotion here

The protective way Charles puts himself physically between Edwin and damn near every threat in the show

They're just fun together. Their interactions and banter and how they work as a team is a delight

Their shared plot arc literally involves them learning to talk to each other and communicate more so that they can be there for one another about their respective issues

The symbolism. God. They are metaphorically and literally one another's light in the darkness

But what about stuff that isn't the main duo? Just wait, there's more:

This show is unabashedly, unapologetically queer. It's there in the text and the subtext. The whole show lives and breathes it

So many good, complex, well-written female characters. The Bechdel test gets blown straight out of the water in episode one and they never look back. Headstrong amnesiac psychic learning to be a better person! Quirky meta commentary matchmaker! Cynical lesbian butcher! Delightfully sadistic witch! They are all amazing.

[audience voice] But I'm here for the hurt/comfort. How can I whump ghosts? Worry not, my friends. Canon has you covered. Not only are there ways, there are ways that happen on-screen. The hurt/comfort and rescue are also on-screen. Yes, it is amazing

Absolute chaos, really cool supernatural cases and creatures, a surprising amount of humor, charming writing, and a cast that absolutely nails it on the acting and chemistry

There is an extremely suggestive trickster type who is also the king of cats. He's a cat in human form. He hits on Edwin nonstop. Charles gets blisteringly jealous

All of the leads have well-thought-through, fully developed, emotional character arcs. They're all messy and flawed and sometimes lash out in their pain, but at turns can be incredibly supportive and kind and loyal

A character who is a crow who is also a boy, who is tortured by his witch/creator and also is crushing hard on one of the leads

There are so many incredible details in the setting, costume choices, prop decisions, etc. that you only catch after you know what it's laying the groundwork for. The level of care that went into this show is phenomenal

It's only eight episodes. The time investment barrier to entry could not possibly be lower

Anyway, tl;dr, if any of this sounds appealing to you, you should give this show a watch.

Dead Boy Detectives is well worth your time. It's easily my favorite show in years.

[gojoluvs]

J'adore

⤿ Satoru Gojo × reader

summary, “her world turned upside down when her boss announced that he was the father of her unborn child. As she navigates her new life as a wife and mother, she finds herself falling for her husband's best friend, Suguru Geto. But is it love she feels? or just a desperate attempt to be noticed by someone other than her husband..”

Warning/ tags; angst, profanity, smoking, cursing, smut, violence.

Genre; angst, infidelity, jik, Gojou × reader, modern au!, business au!

Notes: the tag-list is open if you'd like to be mentioned everytime i update just send me a message.

7k words

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"Welcome Mrs. Gojou, will you take a seat please?" The brown-haired woman gestured towards the chair in front of her desk.

You followed her instructions and sat down, taking in the sterile, white room around you.

The woman, who you assumed was the ultrasound technician, grabbed her gloves and a bottle of hand sanitizer, making sure to clean her hands before beginning the procedure.

As she prepared the ultrasound machine, you couldn't help but feel a mix of nerves and excitement. This was your first ultrasound, and you couldn't wait to see your baby for the first time.

The technician, sensing your anxiousness, smiled and said, "Don't worry, everything will be just fine."

You nodded and took a deep breath as you slowly laid down on the ultrasound table. The technician applied some gel to your stomach and began moving the wand around, searching for a clear image of your baby. As she did so, she asked, "How have you been feeling, Y/N?"

You smiled and replied, "A little tired and nauseous, but overall, I'm doing well.”

As you settled into Satoru's lavish house, the only person you could really call a friend was his maid. She was kind and always made sure you were well taken care of. However, Satoru had a different idea of taking care of you.

He insisted that you stop working because, for him, he made over 7 figures as the CEO of one of the most well-known stock markets. He wanted you to focus on being a housewife and living a life of luxury.

You had never been one to rely on a man for financial stability, but Satoru's charm and wealth was hard to resist. Plus, he seemed genuinely caring and attentive towards you. However, as you spent more time in his house, you couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness and lack of purpose.

As she squeezed the cold gel onto your stomach, you couldn't help but think about your old job and the satisfaction it gave you.

You missed the feeling of being independent and working towards your own goals. But for now, you were stuck in this luxurious prison, under the control of a man who inherited his wealth and business from his father.

You couldn't help but wonder if this was the life you truly wanted, or if you were just settling for the convenience and comfort that Satoru provided. As the cold gel seeped into your skin, you couldn't shake off the feeling that something was missing.

Although you were excited about your upcoming marriage, there was also a sense of unease and disappointment. You couldn't help but wish that your fiancee, Satoru, could be with you during this time.

But the reality was that he was always busy with work, his success as the youngest CEO in Japan consuming his every waking moment.

You often found yourself alone in bed at night, the emptiness and coldness a constant reminder of his absence. Despite the lavish and extravagant lifestyle that came with being engaged to such a successful man, you couldn't help but feel like you were missing out on something more important - quality time and genuine love.

After all, your relationship with Satoru was an arranged marriage, forced upon you after you became pregnant with his child. And as much as you tried to please his family and win their acceptance, there were always those who looked down upon you and your situation.

But deep down, you couldn't help but resent Satoru for his lack of affection and attention towards you, and you couldn't help but wonder if you were truly happy in this arrangement.

“If you can see here,” She grabbed her monitor turning it to face you. You knew her as one of Satoru’s friends. “Your baby is barely a tiny embryo, about the size of a pea.”

You smiled, seeing the small fetus on the monitor. You wished that Satoru could be here with you. Holding your hand and caressing your head but instead here you were. By yourself watching as the screen showed the small heartbeat of your baby.

After what felt like both the longest and shortest 20 minutes of your life, the technician turned off the machine and smiled at you. "Everything looks great, Y/N. Your baby is healthy and growing right on track."

As you stared at the screen, you couldn't help but feel a sense of doubt and insecurity. Would your fiancee ever truly see you as his partner, or would you always just be a means to an end? The ultrasound picture in your hand seemed to mock you, a reminder of the life growing inside you that would bind you to this man forever.

But deep down, you knew the truth. Satoru was still in love with Asami, his beautiful and practical secretary. You had never been properly introduced to her, always feeling like an outsider in your own relationship. You couldn't even go back to work, as Utahime would constantly update you on everything happening in the office - including Asami's constant presence and the expensive gifts she received from Satoru.

The constant flowers and expensive gifts Satoru's lover received from your fiancée only added insult to injury. While you never expected extravagant gifts, you never even received a simple gesture of affection from Satoru. He never touched you, never kissed you goodbye, and never gave you a hug. Whenever you would try to connect with him by asking about his work or if he was hungry, he would give you the cold shoulder.

Despite not being a great cook, you made an effort to prepare breakfast for Satoru like a professional. You whipped up pancakes and served them on a platter, hoping he would enjoy them. But time and time again, he would make an excuse about being "late" for work and leave without even taking a bite.

It seemed like all your efforts to connect with Satoru were overlooked and unappreciated. The only person who seemed to enjoy your company was his maid, who was kind and always treated you with respect. It was clear that your fiancée was not only mean and an asshole, but also had no interest in building a loving and fulfilling relationship with you.

“Would you like me to print the picture for you?” She asked her soft brown eyes boring into you. She was absolutely gorgeous aswell, her noticable eyebags bringing her features out.

“Yes please,” Wiping off the gel she got up, throwinf away the piece of paper before leaving the room.

You sat there, the ac blowing. Placing a hand on your stomach you couldn’t believe you were actually having a baby with your boss.

You never really had a serious relationship with anyone, always having flings. Yet you found yourself making out with your boss after his promotion party.

There was something about the way his eyes stared hungrily at you, maybe it was the liquor that made you two sleep together but now here you were. Sitting down awaiting for a picture of your baby.

Fidgeting with the button of your jeans you waited nervously. Hoping that maybe this would mean a new opportunity to be with Satoru.

"Alright, everything seems to be good, here you go," said the doctor entering the room with a small picture of your ultrasound. She handed it to you with a warm smile, and you eagerly grabbed it, feeling a sense of joy and excitement wash over you.

"Thank you so much," you said, beaming with happiness. You grabbed your purse and quickly made your way out of the room, eager to share the news with your fiancee. As you hurried down the stairs and out of the building, you could feel your heart racing with anticipation.

Your fiancee was waiting for you in his black range rover, looking as handsome as ever. You opened the car door and climbed inside, a bit out of breath from the stairs. "What took you so long?" he asked, side eying you with a hint of annoyance.

"I'm sorry, I just had to grab something," you replied, handing him the picture of your ultrasound. But instead of sharing in your excitement, he just scoffed and spat out, "I'm not looking at that." He carelessly threw the picture back at you, his words stinging like a slap in the face.

You felt your heart sink as you looked down at the picture, tears welling up in your eyes. You couldn't believe the callousness and lack of empathy in his words. But you knew deep down that this was just a glimpse of the kind of person he truly was.

"Listen, I'm going to take you back home," your fiancé said, his voice cold and condescending. "Mina has a dress ready for you. There's going to be a business party and I want you to be on your best behavior." He licked his lips suggestively and pressed the button to roll down the car window.

You felt a knot form in your stomach as you nervously played with the picture of your ultrasound. You knew your husband's business parties were nothing more than excuses for him to flirt with his colleagues and show off his trophy wife.

"A business party? Will everyone from the office be there?" you asked, forcing yourself to look at him. His eyes were fixed on the road, not bothering to spare a glance at you.

"Of course they will," he replied, his tone condescending. "And I expect you to make a good impression. We don't want anyone knowing our personal business, do we?"

You bit your lip, resisting the urge to argue. You knew it would be pointless. Your fiancé always got what he wanted, and you were just a pawn in his game. But as he continued to talk about the party, you couldn't shake off the feeling of dread that had settled in your chest.

“There will be an after party as well, but you won't be attending since,” he paused for a moment, his eyes flickering down to your stomach before returning to the road. “You're pregnant.”

"Just because I'm carrying your child doesn't mean anything, Satoru." You spat back, angrily putting your picture inside your purse.

"I'm taking Asami with me instead. You can stay home and rest." You glared at him, feeling hurt and furious at his insensitivity. How dare he take his assistant and ex-lover to the after party instead of you? Your blood boiled with anger and resentment towards your fiancee.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Why would you need your assistant there and not me? I'm your fucking fiancee, Satoru," you snapped, unable to contain your frustration.

"She's not just an assistant, Y/N," Satoru replied sharply. "And what did I say about talking back to me?" He gave you a warning look, his gaze boring into you. You wanted to scream and punch him for the nerve of not taking you, but you knew it would only make things worse.

"You know what? I don't even want to go to the stupid after party," you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'll stay here and enjoy some peace and quiet while you go gallivanting with your little plaything." You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, hurt and anger mixing together to form a bitter concoction.

The more you thought about it, the more resentful you became. It was bad enough that Asami was his assistant, but the fact that they used to be lovers only added salt to the wound. You couldn't believe he would choose her over you. It felt like a slap in the face.

Satoru's face hardened and he clenched his jaw. "Don't you dare talk about Asami like that. She's just my assistant."

"Oh, I'm sure she is," you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Just like how she was just your lover, right?"

Satoru's expression turned dark as he glared at you. "Watch your tone, she is a professional and a valuable member of our team."

"Valuable in more ways than one, I'm sure," you retorted, your jealousy and anger fueling your words.

"Stop with your baseless accusations and insecurities," Satoru shot back, his voice dripping with irritation. "Asami and I have a strictly professional relationship, unlike you and your constant mood swings."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you exclaimed, struggling to contain your anger. "You have no respect for me, even though I am pregnant with your child."

Satoru rolled his eyes and slammed the car door shut as he pulled into the driveway. You followed suit, opening the car door and slamming it with a loud thud. This man had no regard for your feelings or well-being, constantly belittling and disrespecting you.

As you entered the house, you could feel the tension in the air. You placed your things on the counter and grabbed the ultrasound picture, placing it on the fridge with a small magnet. You couldn't help but smile at the small embryo growing inside you, a glimmer of hope in the midst of your tumultuous relationship.

"Ms. Y/N," your maid appeared behind you, her gentle hands taking your coat and bag from you before leading you to your bedroom. You followed her, grateful for the brief respite from Satoru's intense gaze.

Satoru entered after you, his confident steps echoing in the hallway. He placed a hand on his tie before undoing it, his eyes never leaving yours. You closed the bedroom door, letting out a shaky breath as you leaned against it. Unbuttoning your jeans, you let them fall to the floor before walking to your bathroom. The cold marble floor felt refreshing against your bare feet.

"Um, Mina, can you please have my things out? We'll be leaving soon," you said, forcing a smile as you silently closed the door behind you.

Being away from Satoru's presence for a few minutes felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders. You began undressing the rest of yourself, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes were drawn to the tiny bump on your stomach, only six weeks along but already noticeable.

You open the glass door, feeling a cool breeze hit your skin as you step into the shower. You test the water temperature with your hand and adjust it to your liking before stepping fully under the stream. Grabbing the shampoo bottle, you slowly pour some onto your hand and massage it into your hair, relishing the feeling of cleanliness and freshness.

But as the water runs down your body, you can't help but feel a sense of unease. This whole thing feels wrong. You place both of your hands on your face, the water washing away any traces of tears. You hate this. You hate being away from home, from your family. Even though the only family you have left is your father.

The shower is quick, scrubbing your body with a loofah and doing all your essentials before stepping out. You wrap your body in a fluffy towel and slip on your slippers, walking out of the restroom and into your bedroom. The familiar scent of your own room comforts you, but it also serves as a reminder of how far away you are from home. You long for the familiarity and warmth of your family, but for now, this temporary living situation will have to do.

Your eyes were drawn to the beautiful dark red gown laid out on your bed. Walking towards it, you couldn't resist the urge to touch the fabric and feel the soft silk through the fingertips of your fingers. "Mina!" You yelled, quickly grabbing your underwear and putting it on before your maid came in.

Mina's face was slightly flushed as she entered your room and bowed, closing the door behind her. You could tell she was a bit flustered from seeing your body half-naked, but she remained professional as she awaited your command. "Do you think you can help me get into the dress?" You asked kindly, picking up the gown and passing it to her.

With a nod, Mina approached you and carefully helped you into the dress. She adjusted the straps and made sure it fit you perfectly, like it was made for you. You couldn't help but feel like a princess as you admired yourself in the mirror. "Thank you, Mina," you said with a smile.

Mina then handed you a pair of white gloves and you slid them onto your arms. Mina bowed once again, ready to leave and let you finish getting ready.

But before she could, you stopped her and said, “Please Mina, Help me with my hair will you?” You asked kindly, watching as she made you sit on your vanity, excusing herself for a moment to get the tools and supplies she needed you stared at yourself in the mirror.

As you sat in front of your vanity, Mina carefully brushed out your hair and began styling it into an elegant updo. You couldn't believe how kind she was being, helping you with something as simple as your hair. You were used to doing everything on your own, but Mina's presence made you feel cared for and pampered.

She applied makeup and added finishing touches to your hair, you couldn't help but stare at your reflection. You looked like a completely different person, someone who belonged in a fairytale or a fancy ball. This was all so new to you, as you were used to wearing work clothes or comfortable sweats.

But you had to admit, you looked stunning. And for a moment, you allowed yourself to feel like a princess, basking in the luxury of it all. But deep down, you knew this wasn't really you. You were just a simple person, and all of this was foreign to you.

Mina's hands moved quickly, expertly adorning you with various pieces of jewelry. "We have this pearl necklace, it brings out your collarbones more, and this one," she said, holding up a red jeweled necklace, "it brings out your facial features, especially your eye color."

As she placed the necklace around your neck, you couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was. Her short bobbed hair and dark green eyes were mesmerizing. You couldn't resist smiling at her as she finished her task.

"Which one do you think is better, Mina?" you asked, admiring yourself in the mirror.

Mina seemed taken aback by your question, stuttering slightly before recomposing herself. She carefully chose the red necklace and placed it back on you, clipping the clasp in place. "The red jewel really makes you look like a princess, Miss Gojo," she said with a smile as you turned to face her.

You couldn't help but feel grateful for Mina's help. Her attention to detail and eye for beauty made you feel like royalty. "Thank you, Mina," you said, genuinely touched by her kindness.

Mina smiled back and gave you a small nod before stepping back to admire her work. "You look stunning," she said, her voice filled with sincerity.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn't help but feel confident and beautiful, thanks to Mina's expert styling. You were lucky to have her as your friend and maid.

The whole time you spent gossiping and getting to learn about Mina's life, you couldn't help but admire her. She was truly a sweet soul, always kind and hardworking despite being in a low-paying job as your maid. Her resilience and positive attitude were something you looked up to. As you walked through your luxurious home, you couldn't help but feel guilty.

Mina deserved a better life, one with more opportunities and less back-breaking labor. Your heels clicked on the marble floor, a reminder of the stark contrast between your lives. As you grabbed your designer purse and said your goodbyes to Mina, you couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility towards her.

"Please, take this time off and get some rest," you insisted, knowing how hard she worked every day. You watched as she reluctantly agreed, and as you walked out of your home, you couldn't shake off the feeling that you wished you could do more for her.

Closing the door behind you as you walked out of your house, you felt a sense of tension in the air. Satoru was standing on the driveway, his arms pushed into the pockets of his black suit, his back leaning against his sleek Mercedes Benz. As you approached him, his gaze was fixed on you, his eyes scanning every inch of your body. You could feel his intense stare, making you self-conscious about how you looked.

You were wearing a stunning dress that hugged your body perfectly, accentuating your curves in all the right places. Your face was glowing, and your collarbones were prominently displayed, making you feel both beautiful and vulnerable under his gaze.

But Satoru's reaction is what surprises you. His mouth slightly agape, he looks like he's seeing you for the first time. You pass by him, unable to resist a small smile as you hear him let out a soft sigh.

"Don't look at me like that," you say, trying to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks.

You reach for the passenger door and open it, climbing into the car and trying to ignore the intensity of Satoru's gaze. "Like what?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

"Like you've never seen me before," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

Satoru doesn't respond, but you can feel the tension between you. It's been building up since you walked out of the house, and now it's almost palpable in the air. You can't help but wonder what he's thinking, what he wants to say.

Finally, he opens the car door and gets in, his eyes never leaving yours. The drive to your destination is filled with a charged silence, the tension between you growing with each passing minute. But for now, you just sit in the car, the only sound the quiet hum of the engine and the beating of your heart.

Ignoring his presence, your gaze shifted to the window, taking in the familiar scenery outside. The trees rustled in the gentle breeze, and the sun was just starting to set, casting a warm glow over the quiet neighborhood. You watched as he backed the car out of the driveway and onto the road, his expression unreadable.

The car ride was filled with an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the occasional glance exchanged between the two of you. His hair was slicked back, accentuating his sharp jawline, and you couldn't help but notice the engagement ring on his finger as he turned the wheel to take a sharp turn. Your own ring felt heavy on your finger, and you couldn't stop fidgeting with it nervously.

Sitting in the luxurious car, dressed in a designer gown and adorned with expensive jewelry, you couldn't believe that this was your life now. Just a few weeks ago, you were a struggling employee, barely making ends meet and working for a difficult boss. You didn't know that he would be the man you would be engaged to, or that you would end up pregnant with his child. And now, you were about to marry him in an arranged marriage, all because of that one night of passion.

Looking out the window, you couldn't help but think about the life you could have had if you didn't get pregnant. Maybe you would have met someone else, someone who you could have married and had a family with. But instead, you were now a part of one of the most powerful and influential families in the country. The Gojo family was treated like royalty, and you were now going to become a part of it.

This was the man you would spend the rest of your life with, and it all started with one unexpected pregnancy.

Stepping out of the car, the bustling sounds of the city surrounded you. Gojo, your fiancé, opened the door for you and grabbed your hand, placing it gently on his forearm. The luxurious car door closed with a satisfying thud and Gojo handed the keys to the parking attendant who quickly took his car to the reserved section of the party.

Outside of the building, a sea of paparazzi awaited your arrival, their cameras flashing and voices yelling. You held onto your elegant dress, carefully making your way up the stairs as Gojo led the way. As soon as the paparazzi spotted your fiancé, they erupted into a frenzy, shouting his name and begging for him to look at their cameras. You held onto Gojo's arm tightly, feeling slightly overwhelmed by all the attention.

"Gojo! Over here!" they yelled, their voices competing for his attention. He pulled you closer, shielding you from the flashes and noise before finally stopping to pose for a photo, much to the delight of the paparazzi.

Satisfied with your appearance, you confidently walked over to the entrance of the grand building. As you stepped inside, you were met with the grandeur of the foyer - a large chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm and inviting glow over the space.

The sound of lively conversations and laughter filled the air as you made your way through the crowded hallway, passing clusters of elegantly dressed men and women. You couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation as you walked further into the party, the energy and sophistication of the room enveloping you. Everywhere you looked, there were people engaged in lively conversations, sipping on glasses of champagne or wine, and admiring each other's luxurious gowns and suits.

Satoru cleared his throat once he spotted Asami, wearing a tight long black dress. She scurried towards you, glancing at you before smiling for a split second. Her smile seemed fake, as if she was trying too hard to appear friendly. You could feel your blood boiling as she placed her hand on his bicep and turned to look at you.

You could see the tension in her eyes as she tried to maintain her composed facade. "Do you mind if I take him for a moment?" she asked, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.

Your eyes narrowed at her before turning to look at your fiancé's expression. He seemed uncomfortable, almost avoiding eye contact with you. "I don't give a fuck what you do," you spat back, your anger and frustration rising.

You couldn't believe this woman had the audacity to try and take your fiancé away from you, even just for a moment. You walked away from the ex lovers, the sound of your heels clicking against the floor echoing in the hallway.

You walked away, Feeling Asami's eyes on you, almost like she was waiting for you to lash out at her. But you didn't want to give her the satisfaction. You didn't want to stoop to her level and engage in her petty games. You rolled your eyes at them, walking away and distancing yourself from the drama. You didn't want to deal with her bullshit, especially not while you were pregnant and already dealing with enough emotions. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or maybe it was just the fact that you couldn't stand her, but you were glad to have walked away from that toxic situation.

You were standing next to a table in the corner of the room, watching the crowd of people mingling and laughing. You let out a sigh, feeling a bit left out. You really did wish you could drink right now, but you knew you couldn't. Not with the baby growing inside of you. Suddenly, a girl approached your table, placing a cup of champagne on it before turning to look at you. She was wearing a beautiful white dress, her long brown hair cascading down her back.

"Are you the new fiancée of Satoru?" she asked, watching as you turned to face her. You were a bit taken aback by her sudden question. How did she know who you were? And why was she approaching you?

"Yes, who may you be?" you asked politely, trying to hide your confusion. The girl smiled at you, her eyes showing slight signs of exhaustion.

"Sorry, we met earlier," she explained. She extended her hand out, waiting for you to grab it and shake it. You smiled back and shook her hand, trying to place where you might have met her before.

"I was the ultrasound technician who did your appointment earlier today," she said, taking a sip of the champagne. It all clicked in your mind now. This was the kind woman who had performed your ultrasound and showed you the image of your little bundle of joy.

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. Ieiri," you said, grateful for her introduction. You couldn't help but notice the slight bags under her eyes, a sign of her long and tiring day.

"Please, call me Shoko," she said with a warm smile, retreating her hand and taking another sip of champagne. You couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and familiarity with her, and you were grateful for her presence in this unfamiliar gathering.

Thats when it happened, completely star struck. You instantly recognized him, Suguru Geto. The man who partnered up with your fiancee for one of the most known stock exchange in Japans history.

He walked into the room with confidence, his tall frame and sharp features immediately drawing the attention of everyone in the room. He wore a sleek black suit, his hair styled in a neat bun with a few strands of hair falling out to frame his face. His dark eyes scanned the room, his presence commanding attention and respect.

As he approached your table, he had a warm and gentle smile on his face. He placed his glass of champagne down and turned to look at you. His eyes scanned over your body, taking in every detail. You could feel his gaze on you, causing your heartbeat to quicken. His eyes stopped at your face, lingering on your lips before looking back up to meet your gaze.

"Absolutely gorgeous," he said, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. He reached for your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand. Your heart fluttered at his touch, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of electricity between the two of you. He placed your hand back down with a smile, his eyes never leaving yours.

You couldn't believe it. This had to be a dream, a cruel trick your brain was playing on you. But as the music filled your ears and Suguru's hand gently rested on the small of your back, you couldn't help but feel like you were in a fairytale.

"I- Uhm," you stuttered, feeling your heart race as you tried to recompose yourself. "Thank you."

Suguru's gaze never wavered, his eyes locked on yours as he introduced himself. "I'm Suguru Geto," he said, his voice low and smooth.

"I'm Y/N. Y/N L/N," you replied, feeling a blush spread across your cheeks as he looked at you with a smile. You couldn't believe you were standing next to him, the man you've admired from afar for so long.

"Would you like to dance Y/N?" Suguru asked, his voice low and filled with admiration as he looked at you. His dark hair fell over his intense gaze, making you feel like the only person in the room.

"Me?" You stuttered, taken aback by his request. The Suguru Geto, known for his aloofness and cold demeanor, was asking you to dance with him at this fancy party. And to make it even more surprising, no one else was dancing.

With a nod, Suguru stepped closer to you. "Of course you, who else?" His hand reached out to gently rest on your back as he led you towards the dance floor.

As the music continued to play, Suguru's hand moved from your back to intertwine with yours. You couldn't help but feel a flutter in your stomach as he led you to the dance floor, his touch sending shivers down your spine. The steamy tension between the two of you was palpable as you swayed to the music, your bodies moving in perfect harmony.

He turned you to face him, you could feel the heat radiating from his body, making your heart race even faster. His hand clasped yours tightly, his fingers entwined with yours as he put his other hand on your back, pulling you close to him. You couldn't help but inhale sharply as you felt his cold palms touch your skin, the contrast between his cool touch and the warmth of his body sending your senses into overdrive.

As you looked away, you noticed people beginning to stare at the two of you, their eyes filled with curiosity and perhaps a hint of envy. But you were too lost in the moment, too entranced by Suguru's touch and the way his eyes seemed to burn into yours, to care about anyone else. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you became acutely aware of the intense gaze he had fixed on you.

And then, as if he could sense your discomfort, he spinned you around, his hand on your back guiding your movements as he pulled you even closer. Your dress flowed slightly as he moved, his eyes never leaving yours. And then, with a mischievous smile on his face, he leaned in close and whispered in your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "Ignore them," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

You nodded as you continued to dance in a slow pace, others beginning to join you aswell. Before you knew it most of the people at the party where dancing along with their partners. Smiles and giggles filled the room.

You were smiling at Suguru, your heart beating with excitement as he spun you around on the dance floor. Suddenly, you felt yourself being snatched away from his grasp, and your eyes landed on your fiancée’s face that was full of anger.

His jaw was clenched and his eyes were narrowed as he looked at Suguru, who was standing there staring at you and Satoru. Raising his eyebrows, Satoru cocked his head towards his best friend and said, “So we’re letting other men touch you now?”

You scoffed at his possessiveness as he placed his hand on your back, his nails scratching your skin as he pulled you close. You could feel his muscles tense as you danced with him, maintaining eye contact in defiance. “So now you want to start paying attention to me after I’m seen dancing with another guy?” you said, shaking your head in disbelief. As you spun around, your hands extended outwards, and he did a half turn, pulling you back against his chest as you swayed to the rhythm of the music.

Even though you were dancing with his best friend, you couldn't help but feel drawn to your fiancée's touch. His strong arms wrapped around you, his breath on your neck, and the way he effortlessly moved with you made it hard to resist.

"Your my fiancée," he said, his voice low and filled with desire. As he leaned in closer, you could feel his hot breath on the back of your head, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. His chest was rising and falling with each breath, and you couldn't help but feel drawn to him. "And he's my best friend," he added, his gaze intense as he looked into your eyes.

"And? You were off with Asami doing god knows what," you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you turned away from him. But he quickly grabbed your arm and spun you back around to face him. His hands trailed over your body, causing shivers to run down your spine as you fought to keep your composure. But the music and the buzz of the party seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in the middle of the dance floor.

"Are you jealous?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips as his eyes scanned over your dress and back to your eyes.

"No, disgusted," you spat back, narrowing your eyes at him. But he didn't seem fazed, his smirk only growing wider.

"After all, you are just a man," you added, pushing yourself away from him and walking towards the restroom. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked away, and you couldn't help but glance over your shoulder to see him standing there, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

But your eyes quickly landed on Suguru, who was standing off to the side, watching you with a mixture of longing. You gave him a small smile before turning back to the hallway.

Sighing, you walked towards the ladies room and to the sink, feeling the exhaustion of the day weighing heavily on your shoulders. You turned on the faucet, the sound of the rushing water a soothing background noise. As you washed your hands, you couldn't help but glance up at your reflection in the mirror.

But as you turned around to leave, you bumped into someone, causing their purse to fall to the ground. Immediately, you bent down to pick it up, dusting it off gently before handing it back to the person.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't-" you began to apologize, but quickly stopped as you saw the familiar smile on Asami's face. Your annoyance with her grew as you realized she was probably enjoying this encounter. She scanned her eyes all over you, making you feel exposed and uncomfortable.

"It's okay," she said, her voice almost sing-song as she watched you with a pout. You couldn't help but narrow your eyes at her, your annoyance evident in the way your eyebrows twitched. But before you could say anything, she smiled again and turned to you, tilting her head slightly.

"Y/n?" She called out, her voice almost teasing. You turned to her, your expression still showing your irritation. But she didn't seem to care as she continued to smile at you, her head tilted to the side in a playful manner. It was clear that she was trying to get a reaction out of you, and you couldn't help but feel annoyed at her childish behavior.

"I'm so happy you don't mind that Satoru promoted me to take over your spot in the office," Her lips curled into a smile almost sadistic. Your expression went from annoyed to disbelief as you realized that she was reveling in your misery.

"Y'know, I really did like being his Assistant but now that he promoted me, I can be with him more often..." she paused, stepping closer and tilting her head, her eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "And maybe be even promoted as an associate!" she chirped, her voice dripping with fake innocence.

Clasping her hands together, she waited for you to speak up. But instead, you chuckled, licking your lips as you stared at her, the anger and disgust rising in your throat. "So this is what gets you off?" you said, lowering your eyes and looking at her with disgust.

"Huh?" she replied, stunned at what you were saying.

"Do you enjoy seeing me annoyed? Do you get pleasure from making me mad?" You scoffed, raising your eyebrows and crossing your arms. The music of the party was muffled and the sounds of people talking outside could be heard, but all you could focus on was Asami's twisted enjoyment at your expense.

"Asami, you're nothing but a burden to me," You sneered your eyes cold and calculating. Asami's smile faltered for a split second before she began to laugh at you. The sound was shrill and mocking, causing a chill to run down your spine.

But then, Asami's laughter stopped abruptly and she stepped closer to you. "Is that what you really think?" she asked, her lips twitching into a sly smile. "That I'm a burden to you?" Her hands balled into fists at her sides, and you could see the anger burning in her eyes. "Well, Y/N, let me tell you something. I am not a burden. In fact, I am your worst fucking nightmare."

"You're just another weak and pathetic girl who thinks she can take my place in Satoru's life." She took another step closer, until your faces were only inches apart. "But let me make one thing clear, Y/N. Satoru will never love you like he loved me. And I will make sure that you suffer for trying to take him away from me."

Asami's breath was hot and putrid, and you couldn't help but gag at the smell. But she seemed to revel in your discomfort, her eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "And now, with you carrying his child, you are even more of a burden to him. He will never be able to fully commit to you because of that," she sneered, her words like daggers in your heart.

"Really, Asami?" You said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "I thought you were just a pathetic ex who couldn't move on." Asami's eyes narrowed at the insult. "But I see now that you're not just pathetic, you're also delusional." Your words were like daggers, and you could see them hitting their mark as Asami's expression twisted in anger.

"You know what, Y/N?" Asami said through gritted teeth. "You may think you have some sort of power over me because you're pregnant with Satoru's baby, but you're wrong." Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of her pregnancy, but she refused to show any reaction.

You couldn't hold back your laughter any longer. "Honey, you couldn't even handle a day in my shoes," you said confidently. "But hey, if you want to try and make my life a living hell, go ahead. I could use a good laugh." Asami's face turned red with rage, but she couldn't come up with a response.

Before she could say anything someone else walked in, breaking the small argument between you and Asami, smiling you walked passed her and out of the restroom just to be met with the face of Suguru. You looked stunned, he followed you all the way here?

Pushing past him he grabbed your arm, stopping you from walking away, “Y/N, wait,”

“I want you to work by my side,” he said taking the card out and handing it to you.

“Just call me,” He said before smiling at you and excusing himself.

You fidgeted with the card, feeling the rough material before turning and watching Suguru go back into the party.

taglist: @ryumurin @h0neysiba @satoruontopofme @nerdiellers @iaminyourfloors @aleigant @stariiesz

[sahkuna]

OH, HIM? HE'S SPOKEN FOR — GOJO SATORU

synopsis: one too many women at this wedding think they've got a shot with gojo satoru. but what they fail to realize is none of them are you, the one who holds his unwavering devotion.

content warning(s): non-curse au, plot before the eventual smut so 18+ mdni, afab/fem! reader, mentions reader wearing a dress, established relationship, unprotected sex, gojo's impatient so you guys get it on an empty room upstairs, exhibitionism (sorta kinda?), brief mentions of jealousy, pet names.

word count: 4.6k+ // i lurve weddings.

For the fifth time this evening, Gojo’s teeth catch his inner cheek, biting back a smile that threatens to spread across his lips.

You’ve got a cute habit of toying with pieces of your clothing or whatever object was within your range whenever something’s nagging at your mind. He wonders to himself if this was something you were aware of.

Unconscious of Satoru’s intense gaze on you, you idly gulp down a cold glass of water and breathe a heavy sigh.

As the evening persists, you’re starting to feel your social battery deplete by the second. It’s been almost a whopping 5 hours since the wedding reception began, and with every hour that crept closer to midnight the more you wanted to throw in the towel and go home.

The poor music selection blaring from the speakers stationed around the venue— a collection composed by the newlywed couple, you presume— didn’t aid in your fight to stay here any longer than necessary.

Your index finger mindlessly loops and unloops around the straps of your attire, and Gojo can’t help but softly knock his foot with yours underneath the table to pull you out of your daze.

Rather than blatantly asking what was wrong, Satoru settles for something else. 

“Relax,” he says in an attempt to settle your nerves. Any effort that he’s previously made to stop himself from smiling is ultimately shot down the moment your eyes catch his. “You look nice, quit worryin’.”

Though you did look nice, the word alone wasn’t enough to bring any justice to how you looked tonight. The venue’s warm and orange lighting flattered and illuminated you too well. There’s more he wants to say, and it’s all on the tip of his tongue. 

But Gojo opts to sit back, eyes soft as they make a trail across your bare shoulders, eventually working his gaze up to your face. There, he traces your features slowly, from your eyes down to your cheeks and they finally stop at your lips.

And his eyes just stay there for a few seconds, lingering on your mouth.

He wants to kiss you so badly. 

To him, it didn’t matter if there was a group of old geezers who you two had to share a table with. Gojo would tune them all out if he had to. But knowing him, the moment his lips would press against yours he wouldn’t be able to pull away on his own accord. 

And you’d rip him a new one if you two ever became “that couple” engaging in heavy practices of PDA in front of such critical eyes.

So, picking up the same glass that you drank from, Gojo drinks from it, swallowing down the water along with the nagging urge to nip and lick his way into your mouth.

Huffing at the fact that he’s chugged down your drink in one go— despite clearly having more than enough in his glass— you wrestle the cup out of Gojo’s grasp and place it far from his reach.“Thank you for that, Satoru,” you respond, to both his compliment and how he’s done away with all your water.  

Gojo hums in acknowledgement, completely missing the snarky tone your voice carried. “I’m serious though, you look really good.” 

You flash him a small smile at this. However, it’s short-lived because seconds later your lips pull into a soft pout. 

Noticing the drastic change in your mood, Gojo scoots his chair closer to you so he can get a better read on the situation. He presses his finger to your forehead, tapping once, then twice. “What’s going on up there, hm?” he inquires.

A bit apprehensive, you start with a drawn-out, “Well…”

Throughout the evening as Gojo's plus one to his distant relative’s wedding, you’ve noticed that no matter where you step the guests at this venue seem to have eyes on you. Or more so to speak, who you came with.

It’s no secret that Gojo draws attention to himself wherever he goes, that part doesn’t need much explaining— especially when his appearance sticks out like a ridiculously beautiful, jaw-droppingly gorgeous sore thumb. But today his magnetic charm has pulled much more than you expected.

Like now.

A couple of tables away from where you two sit— perhaps two or three— is where you spot them. There’s a small group of women who hide their blushes and bashful smiles behind their hands, giggling and blatantly ogling at your dashing boyfriend.

You’d be lying if you said that it didn’t bother you. …Because it did, big time. 

Suppressing the urge to cringe physically, you turn your sights toward Gojo. “Doesn’t it bother you?” you ask, nodding your head toward the table of women who were whispering amongst themselves.

You could count on both hands the number of times you’ve had to pretend not to eavesdrop whenever one of the bridesmaids would muster up their courage and make their way up to Gojo whenever he was away from you— which was rare because despite being the one who invited you to the wedding, Satoru stuck to you as if he knew no one here.

Humming for a bit, Gojo throws an uncaring glance over his shoulder to view the mini fan club he had unknowingly accumulated tonight. A few have the decency to abruptly look away when he does so, not wanting to be caught in the act. But the others? They boldly send him flirtatious smiles and shy waves, accented with blushing cheeks.

None of which he returns, but you still feel a gnawing ache settle in your stomach.

Gross. 

Finally answering your question, Gojo meets your troubled gaze. “Nah, not really,” he replies. “It gets bothersome, sure, but I usually just ignore it all.”

You don’t respond to this and decide to flick your gaze elsewhere. If he isn’t bothered by it, then this isn’t even that big of a deal. Don’t let it get to you. It’s fine! Perfectly fine.

Blue eyes trail along your face, tracing your expression slowly. Gojo’s face softens, and his hand slips under the table and brushes against your knee before he squeezes. “Why?” he asks suddenly. “Does it bother you?” 

Yes. “No,” you respond a bit too quickly.

“‘No’?” he tries again. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to crack.

“Fine. It does a bit,” you hiss bitterly, your poker face falling into shambles completely. Gojo’s smile stretches a little wider. “So can we leave now, please?”

You don’t know if you can withstand another hour in here with all things considered. 

It’s also essential to note how you gradually find yourself nodding off to sleep every ten minutes or so the longer you’re here at this venue. You’re hoping and praying Gojo takes the bait so he would finally shoot Ichiji a text telling him he should be coming to the venue to pick you two up soon. 

Behind his rounded shades, confusion swirls in his gaze and a subtle pout tugs at his lips. “But they haven’t even handed out the cake yet!” 

Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

You want to throw your head back in exasperation at the fact that the sole reason why you guys were staying out so late was over a damn cake. 

Throwing a cautious glance over your shoulder, you spot the culprit. An extravagant-looking tower of vanilla fondant stares back at you, where it’s situated many tables away from you and over to where the bride and groom sit. 

You don’t know why Satoru likes that crap anyway, fondant is known for its notoriously awful flavour because of how it tastes like an extremely sugary, yet stale donut glaze left out for far too long.

“Oh my God,” you wail, but you’re abruptly aware that your volume has garnered a few pairs of curious eyes to land on you and Satoru from various tables around you.

Smiling awkwardly at your tablemates, you’re prompted to lean in close to the stubborn white-haired man and lower your tone so only he’s privy to what you say next. “Can’t you ask Ijichi to grab something sweet for you on our way to your place?”

Unyielding, Gojo shakes his head. “I’ve tried, believe me,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest. “But he's always on about how impractical it is for a sweets shop to be open at this time of night.” 

He can’t be serious right now. You think you’re starting to reach your wits' end. “You’re kidding me.”

Thinking you also find Ijichi’s claims outlandish, Gojo leans back in his seat more comfortably. He’s relieved you’re taking his side. “Right?! I tell him all the time that there’s bound to be—”

“I mean you, Satoru,” you say, flashing him a face of disbelief. Gojo wilts a little at this and pouts. 

Pursing his lips, it seems like he’s seriously giving your question some thought. You don’t fault Gojo for having a sweet tooth, but sometimes you wish you could ween him off it. Especially since they got you into predicaments such as this.

But, there is one more thing that Gojo Satoru loves more than his sweets. 

And that’s you.

“Those women really did a number on you, huh?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you throw an incredulous look Gojo’s way. The abrupt topic change flipped so fast it could’ve given you whiplash. He’s purposefully trying to provoke you. 

But why?

Your voice is barely above a whisper now, “What does that have to do with—”

Gojo pushes his chair away from the fancy table and shoves himself up to his feet. Just where does he think he’s going? “You wanna leave, right?”

Like this, you’re able to drink in just how appealing he looks tonight. It’s no wonder since walking in, everyone seemed to rubber-neck their attention to where you two were seated.

You nod slowly, and your hesitant nature has him practically purring when he says, “So let me take you upstairs then. Show ‘em that I’m spoken for already.” 

And at that very moment, you swear you hear the middle-aged woman whose chair is seated one space away from you choke on her drink— you don’t blame her. 

But there’s no way she could’ve heard everything… let alone understand the connotations of what he’s said, right?

She aims a displeased once over toward you and Satoru’s direction and dramatically shuffles her seat closer toward her unsuspecting husband. “My goodness,” she mutters under her breath.

Okay, so she’s heard everything.

Gojo laughs under his breath at the guest’s over-the-top antics and your blood runs a little hot.

Pushing his frames off the bridge of his nose, Gojo’s hand slides them past his hairline to rest on his head. He offers you his hand. “Come with me.”

And you’re sitting there, staring dumbly at his perfectly glossed lips that are decorated with a wicked smile because he knows. He knows you’ll let him whisk you away upstairs to do what even God wants nothing to know of. 

Carefully, Gojo wraps a hand around your wrist and tugs you to your feet. “Let’s go.” Delicate fingers slide down past your palm and lace themselves with yours. You move with him when he pulls you toward the back of the venue, near the huge wooden double doors and toward the exit. Leaving behind many shocked guests and a dejected party of bridesmaids.

Which reminds you…

Before you both slip out from view entirely, over your right shoulder you childishly poke your tongue out at the group of women right as the door is about to click shut. 

A sense of relief washes over you when you both finally step out of the ballroom and into the vacant grand hallway. There’s no boisterous noise to pound away inside your skull, just the gentle sound of you and Satoru’s footsteps padding down the marble flooring.

There’s a mix of emotions that swirl inside of you with each step that’s taken toward the main staircase and up to whichever room Gojo wishes to… well, fool around with you in. “You stick your tongue out at them?” he asks.

How in the hell would he have been able to guess that? You stare long and hard at the back of his head, half expecting to catch a glimpse of a third eye you didn’t know was there. However, there’s nothing but white tufts of snowy, white hair glaring back at you.

Or maybe you’re just that predictable.

“By accident,” you murmur, not even bothering to think up an explanation for your weak excuse.

Repeating your answer to himself, Satoru grins. “Cute.”

Stopping in front of one of the doors, with your hand still in his, he knocks on the door with his free hand, silently waiting for a response. 

When there are no signs of life on the other side, Satoru twists the knob and carelessly kicks the door wide open with his black leather shoe. The action was so harsh that the metal knob clunks loudly against the wall,— seeing that there was no door stopper— its sound reverberating off the many walls inside the building.

“Satoru!”

Uncaring for the commotion he’s made, Satoru squeezes your hand before he releases his grip and pulls you inside the small room. 

“Relax,” he drawls, before flicking on the light and kicking the door shut behind him— this time with a little more tact. “It’s fine, no one’s here anyway.” 

No longer tethered by your intertwined hands, Satoru plops himself down onto one of the two leather couches and sinks into the seat. 

Exhaling softly, you shake your head and follow your boyfriend to where he’s seated. You’re about to sit down adjacent to him until his hands abruptly shoot out to stop you.

“Y’know…” he starts, and you’re prompted to stand in between his open legs. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders when he glances up at you, cerulean eyes shimmering when he tells you, “It was kinda cute seeing you get all mad down there.”

“I wasn’t mad!” you deny, a half-truth and half-lie. “It just got to be too much is all.”

Pulling your body closer in between his spread legs, you feel something firm press against you. He couldn’t possibly be… “Are you seriously…” You swallow and clear your throat, trying to not let the heady tone of your voice take over. “Are you seriously hard right now?!”

You emit a pathetic squawk when Satoru’s hands brush up against the back of your knees. His palms run higher and higher up your legs, and the fabric of your dress pools around his forearms until they stop right under the swell of your ass.

“What can I say?” he breathes, his eyes burning with intensity the more he stares at your face, searching for something. “I like it when you get jealous over me.”

This man…

“Wasn’t jealous, either,” you say, leaning more into his touch. The more you stay like this without the two of you doing anything to combat the growing sexual tension, the more desperate and needy you become.

“Yeah?”

A heavy heat settles through your entire body when you slide down and sit on Satoru’s lap. “Yeah…”

His breath heaving in his chest, Satoru leans forward and kisses you, sighing blissfully against your mouth the moment they’re pressed together. Eyes closing, the gentle press of Satoru’s lips— soft and warm— has got you smiling against his skin, to which he returns one of his own.

Dragging his mouth away from yours, he presses a trail of searing, lingering kisses from your cheek and down your jaw.

Pressing in closer, a puff of warm air fans out over the curve of your neck. 

“I’ll make you forget aaall about them,” he whispers his promise to you, fingers curling into your waist. “Make you feel so full.”

Growing flustered with how explicit he’s become with his words— a habit of his that seems to materialize only when you two get like this—your face is screwed tight with embarrassment and you faintly nudge his face out from your proximity and bury yours into his neck. 

“You… you talk a lot,” is all you can muster as you pull him tighter into your embrace.

Satoru’s lips curl into a small smile and he squeezes your hips. The deliberately slow trail of his fingertips smoothing their way from your waist down to the bottom hem of your dress had your mind dizzy with anticipation. 

When they slip underneath your attire, you’re not surprised when he starts to get more handsy. Palming at your thighs before ultimately winding up to the lacey material of your underwear. His index fingers hook around them, making an effort to tug them off you, but he can’t seem to do that just yet due to the obstacle of you sitting on his lap. 

Groaning, Satoru jumps his shoulder, prodding you to lift your face from his neck so that you may see what he wants from you. “Help me out, will you?”

You’re more than happy to oblige by a simple lift of your hips off his lap. With the weight of you temporarily gone, Satoru lowers the underwear down your thighs and to your knees. One leg at a time you step out of them, leaving nothing but the cool, air-conditioned air of the room breeze past your exposed cunt.

Bunching the garment in his hand, Satoru skillfully tosses it across the room… only for it to land unceremoniously atop a fake fern tucked into a corner of the room.

“Hey!”

Breezing past your sudden exclamation, Satoru's hands slide up your bare thighs and his fingertips tease over your skin, eventually grazing your pussy. When your hips inadvertently jerk back the moment they brush over your clit, your boyfriend holds you still against him.

“Sensitive, huh?” he asks, turning his head to press an affectionate kiss onto your warm cheek. “That’s one of the things I like most about you, how reactive you are.”

Not stopping with his ministrations, your boyfriend’s fingers stroke your bud, rubbing excruciating slow circles against you that send you reeling at the palm of his hands. 

Sounds of content are breathed out from his lungs when he starts to feel you grow wetter and wetter the more he toys with you. Your heart’s pounding loud against your chest, and you’re positive that if Satoru were to press his ear against you and listen real close, he’d be able to hear it.

Groaning, you exhale a pathetic string of nonsense into your boyfriend’s clothed shoulder, tugging harshly at his tie when you start to feel that familiar searing heat start to come undone when he slinks a finger inside you— gathering at the slippery arousal pooling around your inner thighs— only to take it back out again, drawing intricate shapes onto your clit.

“Oh my God,” you mewl, riding his hand now, shedding out of the once flustered facade you had moments prior.

Whispering your name, Satoru unwraps his arm from your waist so he may turn your face to look at him with the free hand that isn’t currently hidden underneath your dress. The tips of your noses brush and he watches you silently with unadulterated desire as you practically come undone by his hand. 

“Kiss me,” he demands, his palm pressing against the back of your nape to bring you closer to him, and you do as you’re told. 

Nipping at your bottom lip, your boyfriend presses one wet kiss after the other against your mouth before his tongue slides inside. The kiss is sloppy and fevered, and your whines are consumed by Satoru when his fingers are poking and curling inside you with passion.

You don’t think you can keep up with him if this continues.

Gasping, you pull away from an all too eager Satoru, who chases your lips only to be met with your cheek when you turn away from him. 

Pouting, the white-haired male searches your face for an explanation. “Why?” he whines, and a brief flash of disappointment strikes his features.

“It’s too much,” you murmur. At this, you feel Satoru’s fingers slow down inside your receptive pussy, but there is the subtle wiggle maybe once or twice to let you know he’s still there. “If you keep going like that I’ll—” You fling a lame hand in the air, hoping the unspoken gesture would speak for itself.

Seemingly catching your drift, a boyish and devilish grin is tacked onto his lips. “Want me to put it inside, then?” He bucks his hips up against your core, not caring if you’d make a mess of his lap. “I want you to feel all of me before that happens. Will you let me, sweetheart?”

There’s some sort of strangled scream that’s caught in your throat the moment the precious pet name drips off his tongue.

 You nod dumbly, to which Satoru laughs sweetly in response.

Lifting you off him, he settles you down onto the black leather seat beside you, not before hiking the bottom half of your dress up to your hips, exposing you completely to him. He presses your back down into the cushion and rests his knee between your legs.

Peeling off the black blazer from his shoulders, Gojo lets the article of clothing drop to the floor before his hands unbuckle his ridiculously expensive belt.

He’s taking his sweet ass time and he knows it because there’s an amused glint that swirls in his eyes the more he looks down at you.

“Hurry. Up,” you bite, unsure if you can withstand any more of his teasings. 

“You’re impatient as ever,” he jabs, tone laced with artificial annoyance.  Finally undoing his zipper, Satoru frees himself from the confines of his slacks and boxers before his hand finds the back of your knee, pushing it down toward your chest to get you ready for him. 

Right before the crown of his head can slip past the entrance of your slit, the unmistakable sound of heels clicking down the hallway catches your attention.

Shit, shit, shit!

You make moves to sit up and at least get yourself together, in case the oblivious stranger miraculously chooses your room out of all the others to walk into for God knows what.

However, Gojo has a different agenda. 

The corners of his lips quirk up as the sounds of what you predict to be two people, approach closer and closer down the hallway and toward your door. Satoru pins you back down and offers you a few words of encouragement along the lines of how good of a job you’re doing, before the thick head of his cock slides into you.

You both moan at the intoxicating sensation. However the sound of his runs deeper, like a pained grunt. It was as if he were a man possessed.

Fucking himself sweetly inside your tight, greedy hole, you can’t stop thinking of the fact that with each step you hear, the closer you are to toeing the line of you and Satoru being walked in on.

God, what would even do in such a situation? Keep going? Stop altogether?

“Fuuuck,” Satoru breathes, the vulgar somewhat audible sounds of your bodies grinding and bucking together had you thinking with other body parts rather than your head.

Yeah, no shot were you stopping anytime soon.

“I should’ve known he was taken, Airi!” You hear a voice exclaim from down the hall. “I mean, look at him!”

Yeah, look at him.

A furious pink blush crawls up Satoru’s neck and hues the tips of his ears as his hips drive in and out of you at such a gruelling, slow pace. His mouth is slightly parted open and the harsh sound of his laboured breathing can be heard echoing off the room’s wall with each thrust he sends inside your pussy.

He looks positively debauched right now. 

His tie (if you could even call it that now) barely can hold itself together, and a few buttons of his linen white shirt are now loose— revealing the milky expanse of his chest. He can’t seem to control his facial expressions either because one moment pale, white brows are furiously pinched together as he obscenely stretches your insides, and the next moment pleasure is etched onto those angelic features of his.

A second voice chips in, who you assume to be the woman’s friend. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it. Some things just aren’t meant to be.”

You can hear the sulk in the woman’s voice when she mutters, “I guess…” 

You’re half relieved when you hear their footsteps walk past your door entirely, unsuspecting of the pure filth that was going on behind it. 

But deep down in you, tucked somewhere far away is the feeling of excitement, knowing that you and Satoru could’ve been sniffed out at any second had you been a wee bit careless and more loud

With the coast clear, you cry out as Satoru sinks his throbbing hard length deeper inside you. His cock expertly works you open, leaving you twisting and writhing in pleasure as you start to near orgasm.

“Feels good, right?”

“So good,” you choke out, wrapping your arms around his neck and dragging him impossibly closer to you. 

“Don’t stop. Please, please, please don’t stop, Satoru,” you beg him weakly, you feel like you’re about to explode. It’s too hot. It feels too good and a bundle of nerves in your core is ready to snap.

With one hand secured on your leg, supporting how it rests around his slender yet muscular waist, Satoru’s other hand comes up to palm and kneads at your clothed breast.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he groans, kissing you through your panting breaths. “You take me so well, just hold on…”

Giving into the pleasure, Gojo’s hips now snap faster into you, his big hands gripping and squeezing your ass possessively, pinning your hips to the couch.

Rocking harder and faster now, Satoru’s whimpers reach a whole new octave as he’s forced to pull out of you when his balls start to pulse threateningly, alerting him that he’s nearing his release.

Shuddering, Satoru strokes mindlessly and you gasp when something warm and gooey dribbles down your lower belly and toward your pubic bone.

“Agh! I—” He’s still pumping and there are small beads of cum weeping out the slit of his tip when’s rubbed all that he’s had left to give out. It drools off his dick and drips onto your lips. “I couldn’t help it…” he responds, knowing that he had nothing nearby to wipe you off with.

At least he had the sense not to come on your dress. 

Content with his performance, Satoru gives your butt one last cheeky pinch before tucking himself back into his pants. You close your legs. “We should do this more often.”

Shimmying your dress back to its proper state, you turn to him with a questioning glance. “What— What do you mean?” you ask.

You’re hyper-aware of his cum that’s beginning its slow descent down your leg. You need to take of that and fast.

Gojo points a tired finger between you and him, and then circling it around the room, he adds to this by saying, “Getting it on in public? I like it, it heightens the ‘experience’.”

You push him away from your body and mutter for him to shut up as you prop yourself off your back and into a proper sitting position. 

Throwing an arm across his face with his forearm shielding his eyes, Gojo laughs a little. “So, are we heading back in?” he asks you. “They must’ve cut the cake by now…”

You have the most insufferable boyfriend known to man. After this whole ordeal, he was still thinking about that fucking cake. 

“I can’t stand you, Satoru.”

thank you for reading yayyy :)

[jakesangel]

firsts w jake ꣑୧ - deep dive playfull love w jake

tw// making out, curses, suggestive not proof read

first holding hands

going on walk w you n layla became one of his favorite thing to do since you became his girlfriend. he get to show you off, to hear all of your stories you want to tell him n to introduce you to his other favorite girl. but as the days passes by, the tension coming from walking side by side w hands touching was starting to not be enough for him. he'd often contemplate whether he can just do it or if it makes you uncomfy. tho it shouldnt as you already cuddled n kissed before. so he'd taste the waters, making sure your hands collide more n more. he would look at your face to be sure you aren't backing away or making a face, n as he can only sense you're usual flustered face, he'd sneakily do it wanting to torture you a little. he'd start by softly holding your wrist to slowly envelope your whole inner hand n finally interwhine your fingers. you're so cute when your shy, you know that ?, he'd say as he kisses the bzck of your hands, after you tried to take it away, my previous baby, i'm never letting you go now.

first flirting

jake invited you to eat dinner out but couldn't help but come over earlier to see you get ready. hi- oh wow baby. you look so ? so beautiful tonight, hed exclaim as you open the door. he wouldn't even let you finish put your earring on, but pull you closer to him, taking your hips in his hands, my pretty pretty girl, should we actually go out ? why don't we stay in mh? he wouks say looking right into your eyea, one hands dinally holding your chin up to make you nod. cant let such beauty go outside, dont you agree ? he'd keep on talking, walking inside, closing the door w his foot. you're everything, do you like what you see whne you look at the mirror ? because i love it baby. you're so pretty- fuck, he'd add still going backwards leading you to the couch. once settle on his lap, his hand would do to your lower back n the other one holding ur face, his fingers in between your hair, you know what's wrong w you baby, he'd say approaching his lips to yours, teasing you, as they just graze over your skin, you need kissing badly. that's what's wrong w you. you should be kissed at all times. don't you agree baby ? he would then fully stop, his lips still overing your face waiting for your answer and it's only when you agree that he'd kiss you. but if you don't use them, use your words pretty girl.

first makeout

first make out w him won't start slow. he'd been waiting to have you, on his lap, eager to have his lips, n he isn't ashame to express his needs of you, his too high to hide anyway. but that doesn't mean he will give it way fast, wanting to tease you first for it. come on pretty girl, i told you to use your words, he'd softly say, he would even pretend to retreat his face off of yours, his back going back to the couch. as you finally express your wants consent,there you go pretty girl, knew you could do it, he'd finish w an eager kiss. as the kisses goes by, lots of hmmm so good or fuck you're so perfect baby would be said along w his hands roaming all over you body and fingers dipping in your skin. hearing your whines or your own hums would said him to heaven, needing to see it as well, he'd take breaks to breath to hear them better. even if you go back in for a kiss, he would let you before flirting w you further more, i can't help it pretty girl, he'd say taking your hair in his hands not even caring of your round eyes, you're fun to mess with, as he dive back in the kiss.

first i love you

jake would realized that he loves you after a day well spent together, under his blanket, ready to fall asleep. but, per usual, he can't help but think of you. how beautiful you were today, how your smile n laugh was hitting different today, or even how your touch is even more electrifying. he also feels so munch more different ? even more giddy to see you tomorrow. today felt like a fever dream n he knows he fell in love w you. the more he thinks of it the more he needs to tell you but what if it's too fast for you ? hed stay to sleep on it but he just can't stop thinking about you. he would just keep turning around his bed n do the best thing he can thing off, to call you. hi baby, he'd say w his sleepy voice, i can't seem to sleep tonight. after you'd ask him why, he'd tell you the truth, way to sleepy n in love to think about the consequences, i just can't stop thinking about you baby. i really enjoyed our date today n i just really miss you, sight, can i come see you. is that okay, love ?, hed politeky ask. and as you say yes, he'd pull a hoodie over his naked chest n his closest sneakers to come fast to you, his needs being strong. he wouldn't stop thinking about you as he walks to your place, he just wants you n wants you to know that he wants you. he wants to makes you the happiest girl in the world n the most love n he wants to see that pretty smile of yours. so as you open the front door to him, messy hair n in a random pyjama, he'd think you're the most beautiful you're ever been. oh y/n, he would say as he hugs you so tight you're lifting over the floor, i've missed you so so munch my love. it might be too early for this, n im so sorry if it is, but i just need to say it. i just want you forever y/n. i want to see all of your happy tears n sad tears. i want to be there for you when you don't need it or when you do. i want to be there however you want me to be. i just, sight, as he finally backs away from the hug, i just. i love you y/n. i love all of your. everything about you. i wouldn't want anyone else. he'd finish n his now worried face, round eyes n slight open month, would appear as he realized he actually said it. and if you say it back he couldn't be happier, already smiling bright again, showing his teeth. he would slightly throw you in the air n kiss you. deeply, full of love w a hand on your chin the other on your waist, pulling you closer so you could feel all the love spearing out of him, you make me the happiest, love. i love you.

꣑୧ one week ꣑୧ one year

notes : idk english pt2 #_#

@imaluckygirl @luvj4key @stwrjvke @amouriu @neos127 @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby @jaeyunpinkyring @pockettwinzz @jwsdoll @heeheeswifey @sjylouvre @txnwvc @oopshee @luvlyhee