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facioleeknow · 5 months ago

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The art of pleasure ch.2

Venus ° Lee Know

When one girl in your class makes fun of you for being a virgin at a party, you are left distraught. It's only natural that you decide to whine about it to your best friend, Bang Chan; but he does more than lending a shoulder to cry on, he comes up with a solution. He and his 7 friends will help you and teach you all about the pleasure of the flesh. What could go wrong?

Genre: College AU, SMUT 18+ ONLY wc: 2k give or take

Warnings: oral f receiving, fingering, inexperienced reader, experienced minho, aftercare??

The rest of the day with Chan was spent kissing and touching. The intrusion of his tongue in your mouth was thrilling, the drag of it down the skin of your neck was electrifying. His hands on you were gentle and soft but firm in their way, he made you feel safe and hot, a delicious mixture that heightened even more your attraction towards him. Chan woke up something in you that you didn’t know you possessed, and by the state of him when you had to go home, dick hard, cheeks red and tousled hair, you seemed to have had an effect on him too.

Slick and arousal had soiled your underwear when you got home and you couldn’t help but get under the covers and slip a hand inside your pants, hoping your roommate didn’t hear you. You couldn’t help but imagine that it was his fingers tracing your slit and gently playing around with your pussy, it was his fingers circling your clit with precise movements. The orgasm that came out of your little self care moment was the strongest one you had ever experienced. Your pussy gushed and pulsed against your fingers. The moment you were done you passed out cold, tired from from the previous sleepless night.

When you awoke the sky outside was black and the city had quieted down significantly. 2 AM read your trusty clock. It was way too early to wake up so you let your eyes close and sleep pulled you into the void. Just as you were about to enter the land of dreams, a ping from your phone abruptly shook you awake.

Chris-py boy <3:

This is the list of the things you should know and which of the guys are gonna teach you. Think it over and let me know. Goodnight baby <3 (attached document)

You:

I don’t know Channie, the last one is a little much, but the rest is fine

Chris-py boy <3:

You don’t have to do the last one if you don’t want to, pretty. Think about it and let me know. What about Minho? Are you okay with that?

You:

I’m a little nervous because I don’t know Minho that much but I trust you, I know there’s a reason why you chose him. When are we going to meet?

A lump formed in your throat and butterflies filled your stomach (and your vagina).

Chris-py boy <3

He's very busy during the week between work and dance practice and classes but he’s available tomorrow afternoon if it’s not too early.

You:

No, tomorrow is fine

Chris-py boy <3:

Brave girl <3. Minho will text you tomorrow morning then, sleep well, pretty girl and let me know how he treated you after ;)

You put the phone down with an ever growing feeling of pride in your chest.

‘You’re such a boss Y/N’

Waking up the next morning was traumatizing; your body was feeling all of the effects of a sleepless night, a special solo cardio session and your nervousness.Grogginess wouldn’t quite cut it, your whole body felt heavy with sleep and your mind was so foggy it was a miracle you remembered your name. The only thing that brought you out of your trance was your phone buzzing several times.

Unknown number: 3 messages

Chris-py boy <3 : two missed calls

‘Fuck what time is it? Did I sleep too much?’

Unknown number: Hi, it's Minho, are you okay with meeting at 4?

Unknown number: Wear something you feel comfortable in :)

Unknown member: Did you change your mind?

2 PM. The time on your clock almost sent you in a frenzy, you were finally getting laid for the first time and you overslept. Embarrassing, you thought to yourself.

You:

I didn’t forget, I’m sorry I was sleeping. 4 sounds perfect :)

Minho:

Don’t worry, I’ll be at your dorm around 4 then. Don’t worry too much, I’ll treat you well and you can always stop me at any time.

Minho’s words made you feel warm inside. He had always treated you nicely; always a polite gentleman, always opened doors around the guys’ dorm for you and every time you slept over and you walked around the kitchen with shorts, he would never let his eyes linger on your bare legs unlike Han.

Just this once time was on your side. You had two hours to get presentable, take a shower and scrub furiously any sensitive areas, get dressed, do your skin care and hyperventilate in front of the mirror. The anxiety and nervousness that flowed inside your body were able to let you finish well in advance. Your feet moved on their own, you couldn’t stay still. If your bed could have talked, it would’ve cursed at you for constantly fixing the sheets and the pillows. It was a seemingly never ending cycle: walk around the bed, look at the sheets, fix the sheets, start walking again, only to do everything from the start. Right when you thought the floor would open up to swallow you whole, your phone pinged. You threw yourself on the bed to see the message.

Minho:

I’m outside, whenever you’re ready, take your time.

Butterflies swarmed your stomach, Minho was cute and nice and you were about to have sex with him. You felt beyond flattered. Without thinking too much, you got out of your room and sped to your door. Your hand wrapped around the door knob with a bruising grip and swung the offending piece of wood open. On the other side stood Minho in all of his beauty, and what a great beauty.

“Hi,” he spoke first and offered you a small sweet smile. You had never seen him smile like that and it made you warm inside once again, it also made your pussy slick in your panties. The fact that this gorgeous man wanted you even if you were completely inexperienced, the fact that you had that kind of power on him, it turned you on, more than a little.

“Come in.” Minho stepped inside your dorm room and closed the door behind him. His hand found yours naturally.

“Can I see your room?” God he was so respectful and kind, you wanted him to absolutely destroy you. Instead of voicing your thoughts, you slowly walked him to your room, his fingers wrapped around yours still. Your tiny room seemed to shine the moment he stepped foot in it; each one of his movements seemed so natural and fluid that you had almost thought that he had already been in your room, already sat on your bed.

“Are you alright?” his voice was soft and sincere, you had never heard him speak like that to anyone. You just nodded and sat down on the bed next to him.

“Since this is your first lesson, I thought I could show you what pleasure is. Is that okay with you?” his words were so casual that you almost thought he wasn’t talking about sex. You nodded again.

“Use your words, pretty.”

“Yes, it's okay.” Minho hummed, his hand reached up to gently stroke your chin.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes please,” it was barely above a whisper but less than a moan, nevertheless Minho heard you and his lips were on yours in a heartbeat. His kiss was different from Chan’s, he was more passionate, more intense, you could feel his mischievous side in it. His lips felt heavenly on yours, they were soft and skilled just like his hands.They move confidently on the curves of your body, from your neck to your back to your hips which he squeezed affectionately.

“Can I touch you, pretty?” you almost didn’t hear him, so focused on the sensation of his hands on you and his lips which had now moved to brush against your ear and the skin behind it. A shiver shook you from your head to your toes and your pussy throbbed. Never in your life had you been that worked up in so little time.

“Please, Minho, touch me,” your voice sounded strange to your ears, your tone was whiny and slightly petulant but Minho seemed to think otherwise. His pupils were fully blown, a twinkle of lust and mischief in his eyes; the more skin you let him touch the more his dick stirred in his jeans. The trust you had in him, they way you keened and wailed with simple touches, the blush that was creeping up your neck to your face and extended to your pretty tits; all of these elements made Minho crazy with want, he couldn’t think straight anymore and it was clear that you had stopped the moment he had put his lips on yours.

In a matter of what seemed both seconds and hours you found yourself flat on your back, your dress pulled down to reveal your tits and the skirt pulled up with your panties dangling from one of your ankles.

“Hm, you have a pretty one,” Minho hummed. It was taking everything in him not to bury his face in your pussy and messily eat you out until you were shaking and crying from overstimulation, but this was your first time and he had to contain himself.

“Minho, please do something,” you wailed once again, every ounce of shame was long gone from your body, replaced with pure lust and need for the man in front of you. Minho didn’t answer, his eyes moved to yours. His piercing gaze hypnotized you and nailed you on the spot, you couldn’t look away. He slowly lowered himself and when he was at eye level with your pretty pussy he gently pressed his lips right onto your clit. Your back bowed and arched off the bed; this feeling was so foreign and intense that it overwhelmed you but in the best ways, you never wanted Minho to stop. Almost like he could hear your thoughts, he peeked his tongue out of his mouth and gave you lick and then another and then another until he was slowly and passionately making out with your most sensitive and private part. Your breath hitched in your throat, obscenely loud moans slipped past your lips and for a second you worried about your roommates hearing the two of you but ultimately decided that you didn’t care.

So immersed in your pleasure, you almost didn’t notice Minho’s fingers circling your entrance until he was gently pushing them in, their drags against your slick walls felt weird but the more he pushed the more the feeling changed into a truly intoxicating one.

Pleasure pooled and swirled into your gut as Minho worked his magic on you.

“Oh Minho, I’m close, I’m so close,” you hadn’t even realized you had spoken until the words had left your mouth. Minho hummed and sucked your clit into his mouth a little harder while thrusting into your sweet spot with a little more vigor. The coil in your belly suddenly snapped and you thrashed around in Minho’s hold. The orgasm was glorious, you swore you had seen stars.

Minho continued to lick at your slit until you were whining and whimpering. You were completely exhausted but strangely your body had never felt lighter.

A warm towel pressed against your pussy and you jolted, you hadn’t even realized that he had moved from between your legs.

“How are you feeling? Did you enjoy yourself?” he softly asked while he cleaned you up.

“It was great, thank you,” your cheeks burned in embarrassment.

“C’mon, let’s get ice cream.” His hands wrapped around your wrist and he helped you stand.

“Ice cream?” you asked confused.

“I was the first ever man to ever be between your legs, I can’t abandon you right after.”

The walk to the ice cream parlor was quiet, but not awkward unlike what you expected. Minho’s presence was warm and welcoming, he made you feel safe and you felt like you didn’t need excessive words to fill up the silence, basking in each other’s presence was enough.

“Minho, can I ask you something?” He nodded. A man of few words, you thought.

“Why did you keep calling me pretty?”

“Because you are pretty,” he mumbled, his ears were starting to get red.

You felt butterflies swarm your stomach.

“We should go out sometimes,” he spoke so softly that you had almost missed it. His ears were now completely red.

“Yeah, we should.”

#straykidsland #kpop #reader insert #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #bang chan #bang chan x reader #lee know #lee know x reader #lee know smut #lee minho #lee minho x reader #lee minho smut #the art of pleasure

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charlotteking23 · 26 days ago

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The Lion's Lamb - chapter 1 - MV1/33

Max Verstappen x reader

The lion's lamb series: Aesthetics, Ch. 2, Ch.3, Ch.4

You spent most of your life alone. It wasn't your decision but artists tend to isolate themselves by accident. you were the type to find inspiration and peace when alone.

You would spend hours in your room, painting, until your vision became a reality.

Most people would never work as hard as you do to make a living, but you lived in Monaco. The country where money flowed. You knew you weren't like other residents that surrounded her in this country.

You weren't rich and you didn't have a trust fund to fall back onto. Don't get it wrong, your paintings sold high enough to be able to live in the country permanently, but you were barely scrapping by.

Some might ask why you choose to live in Monaco when you could have been living somewhere else more comfortably.

Monaco itself was known for their wealth and in your line of work, you need the rich to buy your work. You had about three regular clients in Monaco that provided 80% of your entire income.

Coffee was the only time you took a break and wandered into the outside world. And today was one of those days where you needed a break. you had been in your room for the past 4 hours trying to come up with something, but your mind was blank with ideas.

A client had commissioned a piece about 3 months ago and gave the 23 year old a wide range of creative ability on the painting as long as it was a darker piece.

You were the epitome of bright and bubbly and couldn't seem to get her mind into a darker frame of thought. With the piece needing to be done in a months time, you were starting to stress.

You had ordered your cup of coffee at your usual spot. You heard your name being yelled at the counter and quickly went up to grab your drink. Once in hand, you turned only to run into a wall, spilling coffee all over herself and the wall.

To add fuel to the fire of the already embarrassing situation, you slipped on the coffee that had spilled on the ground and fell to the floor hard causing more attention to be drawn onto you. While on the ground, you noticed two shoes in front of you.

You hadn't run into a wall like you originally thought, but instead a man. Your eyes followed the shoes all the way up at the man's face.

Piercing blue eyes stared down at you in annoyance. You could tell he wasn't truly taking you in but rather glaring at you for spilling both their coffees.

Jumping up quickly, You immediately grabbed some napkins off the counter of the coffee shop and tried your best to wipe the stains off the mans white shirt.

"I'm so sorry sir!" you said with tears building in your eyes. "I didn't see you! I'm so sorry!"

As you wipe the man's chest, he grabs your hands causing you to look up at him. It was then, he took in the details of you standing before him.

Your big eyes stared up at him, tears threatening to spill out of the sides. You had a light sprinkle of freckles that ran along her cheekbones and over your nose.

You had long hair that was pulled back out of Your face, but bangs to frame your face perfectly. Your lips were the perfect size and your cheeks were now the color of your lips from embarrassment.

There was a certain shine in your eyes that drew him. He couldn't tell if it was because of the tears or something else, but he needed to find out.

"It's alright," he said. You picked up an accent that wasn't from Monaco but you didn't know where.

"Please, sir, let me buy you your coffee! It's my fault, I can at least try make up it up to you by getting you another."

He nods his head at your response causing a smile to erupt across your face. The man loved how every part of your face lit up at his response. He didn't even say a word, yet you acted like he hung the stars just for you.

"How do you like your coffee?" you asked.

"Black," he state.

With a nod of your head, you told him to sit down while you waited in line. There were only two people ahead of you but you didn't want the man to have to stand with you after you ruined his clothes.

Being around him longer than necessary would cause more embarrassment on your part.

After getting both their coffees again, you found your way back to the blue eyed stranger sitting at a corner table by the window.

"Here," you said while putting it on the table. You noticed his shirt was definitely going to stain and winced slightly at the brown blob on his chest "Again sir, I am so sorry!"

You started digging in your bag for some money to give to the man for dry cleaning. Pulling out whatever you had, you tried to hand it to the man, "Here. It's not a lot but it should pay for dry cleaning to get that stain out."

"No," was the simple response you got.

"Please! It'll make me feel better if you take it! It's the only way I can make up for spilling you coffee!"

"Sit down," he said. You tilted your head in confusion at the blue eyed man. "Sit down and tell me your name. I don't want your money but I will take a name and a conversation as payment."

A blush quickly took over your cheeks as you shyly looked away from the man and sat down across from him. When you sat down you finally got a good look at his face.

He was attractive. He had these piercing blue eyes that would stare into your sole. He looked at you with softness but you were scared to be on the other end of that stare when he was angry.

He was tall, or at least taller than you, but that wasn't saying much compared to him. He was a dirty blond and had a bit of scruff that started to turn into a beard.

You could tell he didn't smile much due to him having very little smile lines. He was a serious man and it showed.

"Your name?" He stated.

"(name)," she said softly, "and yours?"

The man's eyes quickly flashed a look of surprise before they softened again, "Max."

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llama--plumbobsims · 7 months ago

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day 1

aspiration progress:

eat food at the festival of light, snow or youth

take a selfie with the mt. komorebi mascot

collect a simmi by popping open a simmi capsule

swim for 1 hour in wakaba's river

#i'm not convinced about my editing choices #but i'm gonna keep using the psd templates and play around with how i use them #practice makes perfect #ts4globetrotter #ts4 globetrotter #globetrotter challenge #ts4 gameplay #ts4 #the sims 4 #the sims #globetrotter: r1 #ch: imogen #ch: aiden #ch: steph

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alygator77 · 3 months ago

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ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 4 ᰔᩚ

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

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

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru) » 【note, this chapter contains extreme emotional manipulation from naoya, reader discretion advised】

ꨄ words: 9.3k

ꨄ a/n. okaaaay time for some angst ya'll. this series is taking a serious turn 🥲 also, as i said earlier, originally this chapter was 20k words buuuut i decided to split it up. i know ya'll said you wouldn't mind one long chapter but it's just, there are moments that i really want to give more time to breathe. you'll get ch 5 soon though, enjoy ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

♬ playlist

series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter →

ch 4 // shadows of doubt

“…you sure you’re okay watching Haru?” you ask, hovering by the doorway, your fingers lightly brushing the doorframe as you steal one last glance into the living room.

The television screen casts a soft glow over Satoru and Haru, nestled together on the couch.

Satoru’s brow is furrowed in concentration as he fumbles with the TV remote, cycling through the menu. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his tongue peeking out slightly at the corner in a classic expression of someone deeply focused.

His usually tousled white hair is messier than usual, as if he’s run his hands through it a few too many times in frustration, and his sweater hangs loosely on his frame, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

It’s a stark contrast to the sharp, tailored suits you’re used to seeing him in.

But that’s because right now, he’s just Satoru—the guy who’s clearly struggling with something as simple as setting up a kid’s TV show, and yet, there’s something incredibly endearing about it.

Haru, oblivious to his difficulties, swings her tiny legs back and forth in a rhythm of excitement as she sits beside him.

It’s a picture of domesticity that feels almost too perfect to disrupt—a scene that brings warmth, but also a sharp pang of guilt.

Guilt—of what you are about to do.

“Yes, of course,” he replies without missing a beat, light yet reassuring. He glances up at you briefly, offering a warm smile. “Do what you need to do, it’s important to have time to yourself.”

Right now, it feels like you don’t deserve that smile.

The ache in your chest intensifies at the sincerity in his words, making the lie you’re carrying out feel even heavier.

Finally, after a few more clicks, the TV springs to life, and a triumphant grin spreads across Satoru’s face as the familiar Digimon theme song bursts through the speakers.

The sound seems to ignite a spark of joy in Haru, her face wide eyed as she turns her full attention to the screen.

“Besides, I promised her we’d watch Digimon together,” Satoru says, his voice laced with affection as he glances at Haru. “Now’s the perfect time. Right, Haru?”

Haru beams, her small body practically vibrating with excitement as she snuggles closer to him.

“Wow, look ‘toru, look!” she exclaims gleefully, her voice high-pitched with exhilaration as she points at the screen.

Her eyes sparkle with wonder, completely captivated by the vibrant colors and lively characters dancing across the television.

“Yay!” she claps her hands together.

A tender smile curls upon Satoru’s lips as he shifts his gaze from Haru to you. His blue eyes, always so vibrant and full of life, are soft and inviting, radiating a sense of calm—a calm that should put you at ease, but why does it fill you with more guilt?

“See? We’ve got it all under control. Go do what you need to do, and don’t worry about a thing.”

His words are spoken with such warmth and trust—it should comfort you, but instead your unease twists further in your gut.

You force a smile, trying to push away the shame that threatens to rise to the surface.

“Alright,” you murmur, “I won’t be long.”

But you linger for just a moment longer, unable to tear your eyes away from the heartwarming sight before you.

The way Satoru drapes an arm around Haru, pulling her closer as they both become engrossed in the show—you realize something profound.

It’s in the subtle details—the way he listens intently to her excited chatter, how he nods along, genuinely interested in every little thing she points out, even if it’s something as simple as a colorful character on the screen.

Satoru isn’t just watching Digimon with Haru; he’s immersing himself in her world.

He’s someone who takes the time to enjoy the things she loves, someone who listens to her with the patience and attentiveness she deserves. He’s supporting her curiosity, encouraging her to explore and express herself, making her feel valued in a way that is both gentle and profound.

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted for Haru—a stable, loving figure in her life, someone she can depend on, someone who can always be there for her. Someone who makes her feel safe, cherished, and free to be her true self.

Someone Naoya never was.

But this relationship is a contract, a charade—a lie.

And now, this new lie you’re about to bring to the table, casts an even darker shadow over this picture of domestic bliss.

There is a storm cloud, threatening to break at any moment—to drench you in an unforgiving rain. And that storm cloud is your reality.

The reality that this relationship has always been a lie, hasn’t it?

So... is what you’re doing really any different?

As you turn to leave, your body feels heavy, burdened by the deception you’re carrying with you.

Closing the door behind you, the soft click echoes in your ears as you begin to walk down the hallway, away from the warmth of the living room and into the cold reality of the decision you’ve made.

ꨄ

A soft jingle rings above your head as you push open the glass door to the coffee shop—a sound almost too cheerful considering what’s to come. Once the door closes behind you with a muted thud, your fate is sealed.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee hits you first, rich and earthy, mingling with the sweet, buttery aroma of pastries that line the display case. It’s a combination that would normally invite comfort, a location for quiet relaxation.

Today, however, that feels entirely out of reach.

Only a few patrons are scattered about, each lost in their own world—reading books, typing away on laptops, or simply enjoying company. The soft murmur of conversation barely registers in your ears as your eyes sweep across the room.

Within moments you spot Naoya, seated at a corner table in the back, a place where the dimness nearly swallows him whole, casting long shadows that seem to cling to him like a second skin.

His chosen spot is strategic, offering both a sense of privacy and an air of intimidation.

It’s a stage he’s set perfectly.

The way he sits—one arm draped casually over the back of the booth, the other cradling a coffee cup—exudes an unsettling confidence, as if he’s already decided the outcome of this meeting.

His minacious eyes rake over you and he registers the trepidation in your step, causing a shiver to run down your spine as his lips slowly curl into a predatory smirk.

Setting down his cup of coffee with a practiced ease, the porcelain clinks softly against the saucer. With a lazy flick of his wrist, he waves you over, the gesture so casual it’s almost insulting, as if he were summoning a servant rather than inviting a conversation.

You lower yourself into the chair across from him with measured deliberation, desperately trying to project a façade of composure even as anxiety, anger, and guilt roil within you like a brewing storm.

Unfortunately, the table between you and Naoya feels woefully insufficient, a flimsy barrier against the man who once wielded a terrifying influence over your life—a man who now threatens to shatter the fragile peace you’ve painstakingly pieced together.

“y/n,” he begins, his voice smooth and slick, like oil spilling over water, spreading tendrils of unease. “I’m glad you decided to show up.”

You force a tight smile, though it feels more like a grimace.

“You didn’t exactly leave me much of a choice, did you?”

A low insidious chuckle leaves Naoya’s lips, the noise grating on your nerves. His cold calculating eyes hold your gaze as he tilts his head to the side, and for a moment, you feel like a mouse caught in a trap, every avenue of escape cut off, leaving you with nowhere to run.

“Tch. What else am I supposed to do?” his tone drips with mock innocence, as if he’s genuinely puzzled. “You don’t answer any of my calls. It’s almost like you’re trying to avoid me.”

His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of something dark and unreadable passing through them.

“You look well, though. I’ve missed you.”

The casual cruelty in his tone, the way he throws out those words—words that should carry weight—as if they mean nothing, as if he hasn’t been tormenting you.

It makes your skin crawl.

“I didn’t come here to chat, Naoya,” you say firmly. “What do you want?”

You catch a flash of his white teeth in the dim light of the coffee shop, but there’s a cruel twist to his lips, a smugness that makes your stomach churn with unease.

“Straight to the point, I see. I always loved that about you,” he drawls, his tone almost affectionate.

He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other in a posture of relaxed arrogance.

There is a beat of silence as he pauses, as if savoring each moment of your discomfort, drawing it out and relishing the control he has over the situation.

The control he has over you.

“I think you know what I want, y/n,” he continues, tone almost patronizing, as if speaking to a child who just doesn’t understand. “I want what’s best for Haru. I’m sure you do too.”

“You’re threatening to take her away from me. How is that what’s best for her?” you scoff, though the defiance in your voice barely masks the trembling fear underneath.

His gaze roams over you, assessing, calculating, and it takes everything in you not to shrink under the weight of his scrutiny.

When he speaks again, his voice is a low, dangerous whisper that sends a shiver down your spine, cold as ice and sharp as a blade.

“Because,” he hisses, the word dripping with venom, “you’re not thinking clearly. You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment. Haru deserves stability, a future where she’s not dragged into whatever mess you and Satoru are involved in.”

The accusation cuts deep, and despite your best efforts, you flinch slightly at his words, the reaction small but not unnoticed.

Naoya’s eyes glint with satisfaction, feeding off the fear and uncertainty he’s managed to briefly instill within you.

Before you can muster a response, he leans in closer, his tone shifting, becoming smooth and insidious, like poison seeping through the cracks of your resolve.

“Oh y/n,” he sighs, voice dripping with false sympathy, “I know this thing with Satoru is just a charade. You may think you’re merely playing house, but what you’re actually doing is setting Haru up for confusion and heartache. What kind of future is that for her?”

It’s like he’s pulled the rug out from under your feet. The air around you seems to thicken, making it hard to breathe. Because deep down, a part of you has feared how this arrangement may affect Haru.

The doubt that Naoya is sowing isn’t new—it’s something you’ve deliberately tried to ignore.

The connection Haru is forming with Satoru, the bond that’s growing stronger every day—isn’t it built on a foundation of lies?

What happens when it all crumbles—what happens to Haru then?

What if you’re setting her up for a heartbreak that she’s too young to understand?

Ah…but that’s what Naoya is good at, isn’t it?

He thrives on stirring a visceral reaction within you, on playing your emotions like a finely tuned instrument. And you know better—you know better than to believe that his actions have anything to do with Haru’s well-being.

After all, Naoya has only ever used Haru as a tool to control you, to manipulate you into doing his bidding.

He doesn’t truly want Haru—he never has.

This is just a twisted game, another attempt to bend you to his will.

“Naoya,” you begin, voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation, “this isn’t about what’s best for Haru. Cut the crap,” you snap, the frustration seeping through your words, giving you a fleeting sense of strength. “Don’t play games with me. What are you really after?”

Naoya’s response is a soft, chilling chuckle, a sound so unnerving that it slithers around you, making your skin prickle with unease.

He tilts his head slightly, regarding you with a twisted sense of satisfaction, the corners of his mouth curving into a smirk that’s as sharp as a knife’s edge.

“You’re not as naïve as you look,” he murmurs.

With a deliberate elegance, he runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back and straightening his posture as if ready to present himself for something significant. He then leans forward, fixing you with a gaze that feels like a vise tightening around your heart.

“I’m willing to make a deal with you.”

You swallow hard, forcing the question past the lump in your throat.

“What kind of deal?”

His eyes glisten with satisfaction, a spark of triumph lighting them up as if this is the moment he’s been waiting for all along.

“Do you remember the case that was quietly swept under the rug a few years back?” he begins, tone almost conversational. “The one that could have destroyed the Gojo family? Well of course, you don’t—because the Gojos made sure no one remembered.”

A cold dread settles in the pit of your stomach as the gravity of what he’s saying begins to sink in. You try to piece together what he could possibly mean, but the implications are too terrifying to fully grasp.

“…what are you saying?”

Naoya’s smirk widens, a cruel light flickering in his eyes as he watches your reaction.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, y/n. You know exactly what I’m talking about. The Gojo family isn’t as squeaky clean as they’d like everyone to believe. That closed case—it’s a time bomb waiting to go off, and I’m the one holding the detonator.”

With a casual elegance, Naoya places his elbow on the table and rests his chin in the palm of his hand, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I want you to help me reopen the case,” his voice now a silky, dangerous murmur. “I need inside information, something to poke holes in the Gojo family’s defense. Satoru trusts you, doesn’t he? He’s practically handed you the keys to the kingdom.”

Your blood runs cold as you grapple with the enormity of what he’s asking.

“You want me to spy on Satoru? To dig up dirt on his family?”

Naoya shrugs, the gesture so casual, so dismissive, as if the request is the most natural thing in the world.

“Spy is such an ugly word. Let’s call it… protecting your daughter’s future. You help me get the information I need, and I’ll make sure this custody battle disappears. You’ll never have to worry about losing Haru.”

You feel sick to your stomach as the full impact of his ultimatum crashes down on you.

Your skin crawls at the way he frames it—to him it’s as if he’s offering you a lifeline, a way out of an impossible situation. But the reality is, he’s trapping you, coercing you into betraying the one person who has given you a chance at a new life.

Betray Satoru?

The very thought twists like a knife in your gut.

Satoru—the man who has shown you nothing but kindness, who has gone out of his way to make you feel safe, to make you feel valued. The man who has opened his home to you and Haru, who has treated your daughter with a warmth and love that you never thought she would receive.

How could you possibly betray him? Be his downfall? The mere thought of it makes your chest tighten, your heart aching with the weight of the impossible decision that Naoya is forcing upon you.

But then, the other side of the coin looms large and terrifying: the risk of losing Haru forever. The thought of her being taken from you, of her being dragged into Naoya’s world, is a nightmare you can’t bear to even consider.

The two most important people in your life, and Naoya is forcing you to choose between them.

How can you possibly make such a choice?

“I…I can’t do that, Naoya. Satoru—he’s done nothing wrong,”

The words feel hollow, desperate, as if you’re grasping for some semblance of control in a situation where you have none.

Naoya’s expression darkens, the cold veneer of civility slipping as a more menacing presence takes over. He leans in closer, the air around him growing colder, heavier with the weight of his intentions.

“Satoru and his family deserve whatever’s coming to them,” he hisses. “You just have to decide whose side you’re on. Corporate malpractice, insider trading, possibly even a cover-up. The Gojo family has skeletons in their closet, and I intend to expose them. But to do that, I need information. Inside information.”

“No, Naoya,” you say more forcefully, your voice trembling slightly but growing steadier as your resolve hardens. “That would destroy Satoru.”

For a moment, there’s a flicker of something in Naoya’s eyes—frustration, perhaps, or irritation at your defiance. But it’s fleeting, quickly replaced by a darker, more calculating expression.

“You think this is a game, y/n?” his voice drips with disdain. “You think Satoru won’t throw you to the wolves the moment things get tough? He’s a Gojo, through and through. They protect their own, and you’re not one of them.”

A cold dread washes over you as his words echo in your mind, sinking into the darkest corners of your thoughts.

Wait…is he actually, right?

No—you push back against the rising tide of doubt. Satoru wouldn’t do that. He’s been nothing but kind, patient, and understanding. He’s given you no reason to believe he would ever abandon you, especially not in a moment of crisis.

But… then there’s the stipulation in your contract. The one that states any poor publicity to his name would result in being cut off from all financial support.

The words of the contract flash in your mind, stark and unforgiving.

You had brushed it off as a mere formality when you first signed it, a precautionary clause meant to protect his reputation. But now, under the weight of Naoya’s words, it feels like a ticking time bomb, ready to go off the moment anything goes wrong.

Doubt seeps into your veins, intertwining with the fear that Naoya’s threat might have more truth to it than you’d like to admit.

Could Satoru really turn his back on you if the situation spiraled out of control? Would he prioritize his family name, his legacy, over you and Haru?

Seeing the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, Naoya’s expression softens, adopting a mask of concern. His voice lowers, becoming almost gentle, as if he’s offering you a lifeline.

“But if you help me,” he continues, silky and persuasive, “you’ll have leverage—real power. You’ll be in control. Think about Haru. Think about what’s best for her.”

“I… I don’t think I can do it,” the words escape your lips in a trembling whisper.

Naoya’s eyes narrow, and his voice hardens.

“You don’t have much of a choice, y/n. You’re in this mess because of your own decisions. Instead of relying on me you chose him. But lucky for you, I’m offering you a way out—a way to keep Haru safe. But if you refuse, I will use every legal trick in the book to take her from you. And believe me, I will win. I always do.”

The finality in his words leaves no room for doubt—Naoya isn’t bluffing.

He’s a man who gets what he wants, no matter the cost, and the ruthless determination in his eyes tells you that he’s more than willing to destroy your life to achieve his goals.

“You’re a monster,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Naoya’s response is immediate, his smirk widening with satisfaction.

“I’m a lawyer,” he corrects, his tone dripping with smugness. “And I’m very good at what I do.”

You look down, unable to meet his gaze.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” you whisper.

Naoya’s eyes gleam with triumph as a victorious smirk curls upon his lips. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a slim envelope.

With a deliberate slowness, he slides it across the table, the paper making a soft, ominous rustle as it comes to a stop in front of you.

“Inside this is everything you need to help me. I want information, y/n. Information on Satoru. His business dealings, his vulnerabilities—anything I can use to gain leverage over him.”

The envelope sits there between you, a tangible representation of the impossible choice you’re being forced to make.

Your hands twitch at your sides, but you can’t bring yourself to reach for it—the burden of its contents is far too heavy.

Naoya leans back in his chair, watching intently for any sign of hesitation, his gaze unyielding. He presses you again, his voice a smooth, sinister whisper.

“You help me, and I’ll make sure this custody battle disappears. You’ll never have to worry about losing Haru.”

Your hand trembles as you extend it, hovering over the envelope. Naoya’s grin widens, his eyes gleaming with triumph, anticipating your surrender.

But just as your fingertips brush the envelope, you stop.

The smile slips from Naoya’s face, replaced by a flicker of surprise, then annoyance, as you push the envelope back across the table. The cold edge of the paper scrapes against your skin, the sound eerily loud in the tense silence between you.

“I’ll need some time,” you say finally, your voice quieter now, more controlled, though it takes everything in you to keep it steady. “This isn’t a decision I can make lightly.”

Naoya’s expression darkens, his patience clearly waning. With a swift, almost irritated motion, he snatches the envelope and tucks it back into his coat pocket.

“I’m not a patient man, y/n, you know this,” he warns, the threat clear in his tone. “You have one week. If I don’t get an answer by then, the custody battle begins. And trust me,” his tone drops to a menacing whisper, “you don’t want to fight me in court.”

“I’ll let you know,” you murmur, unable to meet his gaze as your eyes are fixed on the table between you.

Naoya’s smirk returns, a slow, victorious curve of his lips.

It’s a look that says he’s already won, that he’s confident you’ll bend to his will.

“Good girl. I know you’ll see reason. I’ll expect your call soon.”

He stands with a deliberate calmness, smoothing the front of his jacket before tossing a few bills onto the table as if this entire conversation has been nothing more than a routine business transaction.

The casualness of his movements, the ease with which he holds your fate in his hands, only serves to deepen the pit of dread forming in your stomach.

“Think it over, love. I’ll be in touch.”

With those final words, Naoya turns and strides out of the coffee shop, leaving you sitting there, feeling as though the walls are closing in around you.

You can’t shake the feeling that no matter what you decide, something precious will be lost.

ꨄ

It’s much later than you intended—a few hours past the time you told Satoru you’d be home. But after your meeting with Naoya, you simply couldn’t summon the strength to face him.

How could you possibly stand before him now?

The very thought of looking into his eyes feels like a betrayal in itself, as if the truth you’re hiding might spill out just from his gaze alone.

Naoya’s words continue to echo in your mind, twisting around your thoughts like a serpent coiling tighter with each passing moment.

You can almost hear the whispers of scandal creeping through the corridors of the Gojo Corporation.

Surely this custody battle would bring poor publicity to Satoru’s name… knowing Naoya, it would be a spectacle—a media circus designed to tarnish every aspect of Satoru’s life.

Your heart races as you picture the headlines splashed across every tabloid, the relentless swarm of reporters, cameras flashing like a thousand tiny daggers aimed at your very soul.

They’d dig into every corner of your lives, twisting facts and fabricating lies until the truth is buried beneath layers of sensationalism.

You’ve seen Satoru’s world—perfectly organized, meticulously maintained, a reflection of the man himself. But Naoya has the power to create cracks in that perfect image, to expose the vulnerabilities hidden beneath the surface.

He would ensure it—he’d savor every moment of watching Satoru’s pristine reputation crumble, brick by brick.

What would Satoru do if you told him Naoya’s intentions?

Would he support you, or would he choose to protect himself, his legacy, over you and Haru?

The very thought makes your heart ache, a sharp pang of fear twisting through your chest—fear of losing the delicate balance you’ve found with Satoru, of watching it all unravel because of Naoya’s malice.

What is the right choice to make?

The question loops endlessly in your mind, a never-ending cycle of doubt that gnaws at your resolve.

You don’t know what to believe any more.

You need time—something you don’t have an abundance of right now. After all, you can’t avoid Satoru forever—he’ll wonder where you’ve been, what’s kept you away for so long.

And so, reluctantly, with a heart heavy and unresolved emotions, you return home.

ꨄ

The faint ticking of the grand clock echoes in the house as you creak open the door and re-enter. The sound, which usually blends into the background of your day, now feels loud—almost deafening in the silence of the home.

Rounding your way to the living room, the dim glow of the television casts flickering shadows on the walls—the only thing that seems alive in the stillness.

But the sight you are met with is something entirely unexpected—something that pushes away the darkness inside of you, if only for a moment.

Satoru sits on the couch, his posture relaxed but his expression one of bemused helplessness, as though he’s found himself in a situation that he’s not quite sure how to navigate.

His long legs are stretched out in front of him, but there’s a tenderness in the way he holds his arms around the small figure resting against him.

Haru, curled up on his lap, is nestled against his chest, her tiny body rising and falling with each gentle breath as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seems to lull her deeper into sleep. One of her small hands clutches the fabric of his shirt, as if seeking comfort even in her dreams, while the other is tucked close to her body, holding her favorite plush toy—Pikachu.

The TV is on, but the volume is muted, playing some late-night rerun that neither of them are paying attention to as the soft flickering light illuminates against them.

Satoru glances up as you enter the room, eyes brightening as he spots you. A sheepish smile tugs at the corner of his lips, a mixture of relief and quiet joy at your return.

“Hey, welcome back,” he says softly, careful not to disturb Haru.

It’s moments like this, that make it impossible to doubt him. The warmth in his voice makes the knot of tension in your chest loosen, if only a little.

You manage a small smile in return.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

As you begin to set your things down—your bag, your coat—Satoru’s gaze follows you, soft and attentive.

“Did you enjoy your time to yourself?”

It’s such a simple question, yet it’s loaded with the weight of the lie you’re living.

You force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels, and nod, trying to keep your voice steady and light.

“Yeah…it was nice to have a little break.”

A tender smile curls upon his lips, his relief evident as he nods back.

“Good. You deserve some time for yourself.”

The words are filled with such warmth and care that it almost breaks you. But you swallow down the guilt, knowing you can’t afford to let it show. Not now.

As you make your way towards him, your gaze softens, drawn irresistibly to the sight of Haru. You kneel down beside the couch, your eyes tracing the delicate lines of her face, so peaceful and content as she rests in Satoru's lap.

“She fell asleep?” your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, shifting slightly but careful not to wake her.

“Yeah. We were watching Digimon like I promised, but she conked out halfway through. I didn’t know what to do, so I’ve just been sitting here for the past two hours.”

Your heart swells at his words—the thought of Satoru sitting there, his world seemingly paused just to let her sleep undisturbed, truly that is real… right?

You reach out and gently brush a strand of hair from Haru’s face, your fingers lingering for a moment on her cheek.

Her skin warm and smooth, her breathing steady and calm, the gentle rise and fall of her chest—each element is a testament to the trust she’s placed in this space that Satoru has helped create.

She looks so at peace, so completely untroubled and…it’s all thanks to Satoru.

You can’t stop the words from slipping out, even though they’re laced with the bittersweet ache of everything that’s happened.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your eyes meeting his. “For everything.”

He smiles at you, that soft, understanding smile that always seems to reach his eyes.

“Of course. She’s a wonderful kid. It’s my pleasure.”

Leaning down, you gently scoop Haru into your arms, cradling her small body against you. She stirs slightly, her little face scrunching up in sleep, but she doesn’t wake, simply burrowing closer to you as you hold her, seeking the comfort of your warmth.

“I’ll put her to bed,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Satoru watches you with a fond smile, his eyes following you as you move towards the stairway.

“y/n,” he calls after you, his tone a little hesitant.

You turn back to face him, noticing the subtle way his expression has shifted—an unspoken concern lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“There’s something I need to tell you…” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture you’ve come to recognize as his way of showing uncertainty. “It’s kind of short notice, but we were invited to a big charity gala tomorrow night. It’s a pretty important event, and they’re expecting us to attend. And, well… we’re anticipated to do an interview this time.”

Ah—the discomfort returns in an instant, like a cold shiver racing down your spine.

The weight of his words settles heavily on your shoulders, adding yet another layer of complexity to the tangled web you find yourself ensnared in.

The thought of standing in front of cameras, of answering questions about a relationship that is already so fraught with secrets and lies, sends your mind spiraling into a storm of anxiety.

But you can’t let any of that show. Not now.

Not when Satoru is looking at you with such sincerity, his blue eyes filled with a quiet expectation, clearly relying on you to be by his side through this.

You force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels.

“Another gala, huh?”

He nods, his expression softening slightly, but the tension doesn’t leave his eyes.

“Yeah, this one’s for a good cause, and, well, appearances matter. It’s important that we present a united front.”

Appearances matter. A bitter reminder of Naoya’s taunting words.

Satoru is a Gojo after all—and for a Gojo, appearances are everything. The pristine image he maintains is not just for show; it’s a fundamental part of who he is, of the world he navigates with such ease.

But where does that leave you? What happens the moment you mess up?

You’ve always been terrible at public speaking, and now you’re expected to partake in an interview?

Will his soft expression turn cold the moment you fail to meet his expectations?

Your heart races, but you push the fear down, locking it away behind a carefully constructed mask of composure.

“Okay,” you swallow. “We’ll figure it out.”

Satoru’s expression softens with visible relief, and he stands up, stretching slightly after having sat in the same position for so long. As his arms extend above his head, the hem of his shirt lifts, revealing a fleeting glimpse of his toned abs.

“Thanks, y/n. I know this whole public thing isn’t easy, but… I really appreciate you doing this with me.”

“Of course,” you manage to say, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “…we’re in this together, right?”

“Yeah. Together.”

The words feel like a betrayal, a dagger of guilt twisting in your chest.

How can you say that when you know what you’re hiding?

How can you say that when you doubt the very man in front of you?

Pushing those thoughts away, you try to focus on the moment, on Satoru’s gentle, almost boyish grin. Despite it all, it’s the kind of smile that makes you want to believe everything will be okay, that makes you want to cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you will get through this.

There is a beat of silence as you shift Haru’s weight slightly in your arms.

You study his face—the subtle vulnerability there, the softness, it makes you think—maybe, just maybe, you can open up to him. Test the waters, gauge his understanding.

Let’s start small… what if you told him your fear of public speaking?

The words hover on the tip of your tongue, a confession that feels both terrifying and necessary.

Would he laugh? Would he brush it off with one of his easy, confident smiles?

Or would he understand, see the anxiety that lies beneath the surface, and offer the reassurance you so desperately need?

Your heart races as you weigh the options, the fear of rejection battling with the desire for connection.

Finally, you take a deep breath, deciding to take the plunge. It’s a small step, but it feels monumental in the moment.

“I’m… I’m not really good with public speaking,” you admit quietly, your gaze lowering to the floor. “Maybe we could practice a little? Just so I don’t mess up.”

For a moment, there’s silence.

When you finally dare to look up, you see Satoru’s expression softening even further, a gentle warmth radiating from his eyes as he gazes at you.

The way he looks at you, so full of understanding, so free of judgment—it makes your chest tighten.

“Of course, we can. I actually prepared a script earlier today, just in case you may need it. We can go over it together after you put Haru to bed.”

You let out a small sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“Thank you, Satoru… that would really help.”

Why did you doubt him?

Did Naoya instill that doubt? Or has it always been there, lurking in the shadows of your mind, waiting for the right moment to surface?

The question lingers, a quiet whisper that carries both regret and self-reproach.

He had anticipated your need, had prepared for it without you even asking.

On one hand you feel relief that he’s so understanding, but guilt practically consumes it because now his trust feels like a weight you can’t bear.

It seems at this point, there is no winning for you.

No matter which way you turn, you’re trapped—caught between the desire to commit to him completely and the fear that you’ll inevitably fall short of his expectations.

Your mind is at a constant battle.

“No problem,” he says, his voice pulling you back to the present. He reaches for the remote, turning off the TV, the screen fading to black as the room is cast into a quieter, more intimate atmosphere.

He glances back at you, his expression warm but focused.

“Meet you in the study after you put Haru down?”

Not trusting yourself to speak, you nod, and turn, heading up the stairs towards Haru’s bedroom.

In the quiet of Haru’s room, you smooth the covers around her small, peaceful form and press a soft kiss on her forehead.

You take a moment to just sit there, watching her sleep—a moment to collect yourself before you return to Satoru.

The soft rise and fall of her chest, the slight twitch of her fingers as she dreams, it all serves as a reminder of the innocence you’re trying so desperately to protect.

You can’t risk losing her. Haru is everything to you.

But how long can you maintain this lie, this pretense that everything is okay, when the truth threatens to tear it all apart?

The mere thought of Haru being taken away, of Naoya sinking his claws into her life, makes your blood run cold.

Right now, you want nothing more than to break down, to cry, to let the tears that have been welling up inside you finally fall.

But you can’t afford to do that. Not now.

Sometimes the difficult thing about being a parent is putting on a front that everything is okay... that everything will be okay, even when it feels like it will not be.

You have to be strong, not just for yourself, but for Haru. She needs you to be her rock, her anchor in the storm, even if you feel like you’re barely holding on.

You pull back, your hand lingering on the edge of her bed for just a moment longer, savoring the last bit of peace before you straighten up, steeling yourself for the next challenge that you must face.

ꨄ

As you enter the study, the door closes behind you with a soft click.

Satoru looks up, sitting at the large mahogany desk, papers spread out in front of him as he offers you a small, reassuring smile. He gestures to the chair beside him.

“Ready?”

You nod, pulling out the chair and sitting down, the leather cushion sinking slightly under your weight.

Leaning forward, Satoru props his elbow on the table as he studies you with soft, focused eyes.

“So, let’s start with the basics. They’ll probably ask how we met, what drew us together... you know, easy stuff.”

He slides the script over to you.

You take the paper, your eyes skimming over the questions—questions that are so casual on the surface.

They’re questions that, for most couples, would evoke warm memories and easy smiles. But the simplicity of these questions only highlights the complexity of the situation.

They should feel easy to answer—answers that would roll off the tongue naturally if your relationship was carved from normal circumstances.

But, that’s not the situation you find yourself in.

The reality of your arrangement makes each question feel like a test—a hurdle you need to clear without revealing too much.

If only it were different—if only the answers could come from a place of truth rather than a carefully constructed narrative.

But it’s not.

This relationship is a contract, a charade—a web of lies.

You nod again, the knot in your stomach tightening.

“Alright,” Satoru says, his tone encouraging. “Let’s give it a go. I’ll ask, you answer.”

He clears his throat and starts with the first question.

“So, y/n, how did you and Satoru first meet?”

You take a deep breath, the familiar answer already on the tip of your tongue.

This one is easy because it’s part of the story you’ve both been telling from the beginning. Still, your fingers fidget with the corner of the script, as if grounding yourself in the words.

“I was looking for a new job, and Satoru needed someone with my expertise. It was professional at first, but we just… clicked. Like it was meant to be.”

“Perfect,” he says, tone approving.

He leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Now…what drew you to each other?”

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the script in your hands. The paper crinkles slightly under your fingers as you try to commit the answer to memory, but the words feel heavy, loaded with the pressure to say the right thing.

Satoru notices your pause and tilts his head, a gentle smile lingering on his lips.

“I was thinking we keep it simple,” he suggests, his eyes locking onto yours with a reassuring calm. “I’ll talk about how I admire how you always put Haru first. People eat that stuff up.”

“Right,” you nod, your voice a little lighter now. “Then how about I talk about how you’re always so supportive and how you’ve made Haru and me feel safe.”

Satoru’s grin broadens, the corners of his mouth curling into a familiar, playful expression. He lets out a contemplative hum, as if considering your words carefully, and then reaches over to tap the tip of your nose playfully.

The touch is light, almost teasing, but it carries with it a sense of warmth, of genuine affection.

“And you can say something about how I’m the most charming, good-looking guy you’ve ever met.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips, the sound carrying with it a sense of relief you hadn’t realized you needed—like exhaling a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Your heaviness lifts, replaced by a lightness that feels almost foreign in the midst of all the pressure.

Satoru always seems to know how to break through your tension.

It’s one of the things you’ve come to appreciate about him during this arrangement—the way he can make you laugh, even when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.

“Of course, because modesty is your best trait,” you grin, and without thinking, you poke his side gently, eliciting a small chuckle from him. “If I say that, I’m certain it would only go straight to your head.”

“Hmm, what can I say? Confidence is key,” he grins, eyes twinkling with that mischievous spark you’ve come to recognize.

You lean back and fold your arms across your chest in a mock gesture of contemplation, your eyes narrowing slightly as you consider his words.

“Confidence? Or arrogance?” you retort, a smirk playing on your lips. “It’s a fine line, Satoru.”

He gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if you’ve struck a mortal blow.

“Arrogance? Me? I’m wounded, truly,” he declares, his voice dripping with exaggerated hurt, though the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth betrays the act.

“Right…I think I might have to bring you back down to earth,” your voice carries a note of a playful challenge.

“Glad to know I can count on you,” he replies, leaning back slightly as he comfortably puts his hands behind his neck in a relaxed confidence. “But let’s not forget—you’re the one who’s supposed to be singing my praises. Remember? Charming, good-looking…”

“And don’t forget humble,” you add, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Ah, yes, the humblest,” he agrees, nodding solemnly as if he’s just imparted some great wisdom.

But the solemnity only lasts a moment before he breaks into another grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I’ve always been known for my humility.”

You can’t help but laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief at his antics. This fleeting sense of normalcy was everything you needed. It almost makes you forget the storm of emotions raging inside you.

“Wow. At this point, I think your ego has its own zip code,” you quip, rolling your eyes.

He grins, but then, with a small, exaggerated sigh, he drops his head down onto the table, resting it on his folded arms as he pouts dramatically.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try to keep my ego in check,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled.

Here is a man who commands boardrooms and makes decisions that influence entire industries, pouting like a child in front of you.

It’s kind of cute, actually, that the powerful CEO can be this… unguarded, this silly, this human.

In these moments, all the layers he wears—of strength, of authority, of responsibility—seem to peel away, leaving behind just… Satoru.

After a moment, he lifts his head just enough to look at you, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint.

“You know… people tell me I’m charming and good-looking all the time, but… I think it’d feel different coming from you. I wouldn’t mind hearing it… just once.”

Your breath catches for a fleeting moment as you observe a glimpse of something in his eyes, something deeper than the usual teasing.

The way he says it, with that mix of playfulness and sincerity, makes your heart flutter in a way you’re not entirely prepared for.

Would it be so bad to indulge him?

“You’re… easy on the eyes,” you say, your voice softer, almost shy.

It’s not quite the grand compliment he was fishing for, but it’s enough to make him smile—the kind of smile that lights up his entire face, making it impossible not to smile back.

“Well, I’ll take that,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, and for just a moment, everything else falls away.

But then, as if unable to resist, Satoru props his head up in the palm of his hand and leans in just a little closer, his smile turning slightly smug.

“You know, you could say it again if you really wanted to. I mean, I’m all ears.”

You raise an eyebrow, a grin tugging at your lips as you catch onto his game.

“Don’t push your luck, Satoru,” you warn, though your tone is more amused than serious. “Let’s get back to work.”

Satoru chuckles, leaning back with a mock surrender.

“Alright, alright. Back to work it is.”

The world outside fades away—the complications, the secrets, the uncertainty of what tomorrow holds—all of it dissolves into the background as you share this brief moment of connection with Satoru.

It’s as if time itself has slowed, allowing you to bask in the warmth of this exchange, to let the comfort of Satoru’s presence ease the weight of your worries.

But the moment can’t last forever.

The reality of your situation looms just beyond the edges of this moment, reminding you of the stakes, of the careful balance you’re trying to maintain.

After all, there’s still work to be done, and as much as you’d like to linger here, in this bubble of lightheartedness, you know you need to keep moving forward.

ꨄ

The hours slip by, and you go over each possible scenario, each potential curveball the interviewers might throw your way.

The script between you becomes both a shield and a lifeline, something to cling to as you navigate the complexities of everything.

Satoru’s voice is steady and reassuring as he guides you through your responses. When you stumble—when the nerves threaten to get the better of you—he’s there with gentle corrections.

His words never harsh or critical, but rather encouraging, help you find your footing again. And whenever he senses the tension rising—the anxiety creeping into your expression—he cracks a joke, designed to draw you back from the edge of your worry.

You find yourself leaning on him more than you expected, his confidence bolstering your own, his belief in you seeping into the cracks of your self-doubt, and with each passing hour, the fear that had settled in your chest begins to ease, replaced by a cautious optimism that maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to pull this off.

After running through the script for what feels like the hundredth time, Satoru leans back in his chair—the soft smile tugging at his lips telling you that he’s genuinely pleased with your progress.

“I think you’re ready,” his voice is filled with a quiet confidence. “You’ve got this. Now, you should probably get some rest... it's getting late.”

His words are a welcome relief, washing over you like a balm after the tension of the evening. You nod, feeling the exhaustion from the long day finally catching up to you—all you can think about is the comfort of your bed.

But as you begin to stand, you notice that Satoru remains seated. His posture, which had been so relaxed just moments before, now seems slightly more tense as he appears to be focused on something distant, something you can’t quite place.

The shift is subtle, but it’s enough to give you pause.

“Aren’t you coming?” you ask mid-step, your voice tentative, a hint of concern creeping in.

Satoru looks up at your question, the distant look in his eyes fading as his focus returns to you. His expression softens, the edges of his smile returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“No,” he replies, tone gentle but firm. “I’ve got some other business I need to take care of. But don’t worry about it,” he adds quickly, as if sensing your concern. “You should get some rest. You’ve done more than enough for tonight.”

There’s something about the way he says it, the way he brushes off your concern so easily, that makes you hesitate.

Is there something he’s not telling you? Or perhaps, choosing to handle on his own?

There’s a slight droop of his shoulders and his fingers absently drum against the armrest of his chair—a silent rhythm betraying the thoughts running through his mind.

You want to push, to ask him what’s really going on, but something holds you back.

Maybe it’s the way his eyes seem to plead with you to let it go, to trust him when he says it’s nothing you need to worry about.

Or maybe it’s the exhaustion that’s finally settling into your bones, making it harder to think clearly, to muster the energy for another round of questions.

So, instead, you nod again, offering him a small, understanding smile.

“Alright. Just… don’t stay up too late, okay?”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, and though it eases some of your worry, it doesn’t completely dispel it.

“I’ll try not to,” he promises, though you’re not entirely convinced. “Go on, get some sleep. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

Making your way down the hallway, the soft light of the bedroom is a welcoming beacon at the end.

The prospect of finally getting rest is almost too tempting to resist, but as you near the door, something tugs at you—a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that refuses to be ignored.

It’s not fair, you think to yourself—pausing just before the threshold of your bedroom.

Satoru stayed up late, helping you with the interview questions, guiding you through each potential challenge with patience and care...and now, he’s left alone to handle his own business needs while you get to sleep.

There was a weariness in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before, a quiet weight that he seemed determined to hide from you.

Why is he shouldering the responsibility when you agreed you would lead Gojo Corporation together?

The thought gnaws at you, making it hard to turn away.

You sigh, torn between the exhaustion weighing you down and the guilt pushing you forward.

Finally, you decide it’s only right to offer your help, even if just to make sure he’s not taking on too much by himself—and so, with renewed determination, you turn on your heel and quietly make your way back down the hall.

As you approach the door to the study, you’re about to knock when you hear his voice, low and serious, coming from inside. You pause, your hand hovering just inches from the wood, and listen.

“No. That’s not an option. We can’t afford any negative press right now, especially with everything that’s happening.”

Satoru’s voice is firm, almost biting, a tone you’re not used to hearing from him. The usual warmth that so often laces his words is gone, stripped away and replaced by something colder, more calculating.

There’s a pause, and you can faintly hear the murmur of someone on the other end of the line, though their words are indistinct through the phone.

Whatever they’re saying seems to only harden Satoru’s resolve.

“I don’t care what it takes,” Satoru continues, his voice dropping lower, the words coming out with an icy sharpness that feels almost like a threat. “Take care of it. Make sure this stays under wraps. My image can’t take a hit like that, not now.”

Your heart skips a beat, an uneasy feeling creeping up your spine—the warmth of the moment you shared earlier evaporating in an instant.

He sounds different—distant, devoid of the tenderness you’ve come to know… cold.

The man who just hours ago was patient and supportive, who made you feel safe and cared for, now seems like someone else entirely—replaced with this man who seems to care more about maintaining an image than anything else.

Whatever the voice on the other end of the phone says next makes Satoru sigh, a tired, almost frustrated sound.

You inch closer to the door, your breath shallow as you strain to hear more, but his voice drops lower, slipping into a tone that’s more guarded, more secretive.

“Yes, I know it’s not ideal, but it’s necessary,” Satoru says, his words clipped, as if he’s weighing each one carefully before letting it fall. “We have to protect the Gojo name at all costs. And that includes… well, you know what it includes. Just handle it.”

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

…what does that include? The vague words hang in the air and you feel a sharp stab of anxiety.

You feel a lump form in your throat as you back away from the door, the doubts you’d tried so hard to push aside earlier now crashing back with full force, overwhelming you.

What is he talking about? What could be so important that it needs to be kept under wraps at all costs?

Questions race through your mind, each one more unsettling than the last.

And what did he mean by “protecting the Gojo name”? Is that all this is to him—just a carefully crafted image that needs to be maintained, no matter the cost?

The thought stings, a sharp pain that cuts deeper the more you dwell on it.

You can’t help but wonder, as you stand there in the dimly lit hallway, if you’ll ever truly know where his priorities lie.

The man who once seemed so open, so transparent with you, now feels like a stranger—someone who might not be as trustworthy as you’d hoped.

Will he choose to protect you and Haru, or will he always put his image, his family name, first?

The doubt gnaws at you, growing with each passing second, until it feels like a weight you can barely carry.

You retreat further, your heart pounding in your chest, the sound of it almost drowning out the murmured conversation from the study.

The light at the end of the hallway seems so far away now, the warmth and safety you’d felt earlier slipping through your fingers like sand.

As you finally turn and make your way back to your bedroom, each step is heavier than the last—a shadow cast on everything you thought you knew.

The warmth of the bed offers you little comfort as you slip under the covers, and your mind replays the conversation over and over again.

As much as you want to believe in him, in the connection you share, the seeds of doubt have been planted.

You're uncertain if you're ready for what's to come—the interview, the public scrutiny, or the complicated feelings that have begun to tangle between you and Satoru.

But throughout all this uncertainty, there is one thing that is without a doubt evident.

You still have a decision to make.

poor y/n can't catch a break...girl is going through it. man i cannot tell you how much i enjoyed writing the coffee shop scene with naoya though, idk it was just so satisfying to write, i literally despise naoya so much lol. and satoru being so clueless with haru 🥲 he sat there for two hours 🤭 he's such a goof. anyways, i really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and i hope you're ready for what's to come! thanks so much for reading 🥺 seriously, your comments make my day. much love 🫶🏻 → onto the next chapterꨄ

taglist :

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fakeuwus · 1 year ago

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UNDERSTAND | park jongseong smau (ongoing)

now playing ☾⋆⁺₊🎧✩°｡ understand by keshi

"maybe we could try, if you let me"

PAIRING: idol!jay x idol!yn (femreader)

SYNOPSIS: coming fresh off your debut, you get invited to be a part of the revival for the beloved variety show 'We Got Married'. what happens when you find yourself falling for your "husband", as he's the perfect partner on and off screen?

FEATURING: enhypen, son jiwoo, moon chanelle, choi jihyun, bang jeemin, + other idols!

GENRE: smau, crack(ish?) (its just me trying my best to be funny but i have the humor of a 12 y/o boy), fluff, angst, idol au, fake dating?

WARNINGS: suggestive jokes, suggestive content(just making out and lots of TENSION!), couple stuffs, will specify in chapters if needed, ignore timestamps and dates!!!

MESSAGE FROM NIC: ahh my first smau!!! sent this prompt to @enmayz on anon and now im bringing it to life :3 IM SO EXCITEDD it's my first smau and im getting the hang of things, so pls be nice!! feedback is always appreciated as well :D

TAGLIST: OPEN (send a ask or comment to be on it!)

PROFILES: worst group ever | ENHA ENHA ENHA

CHAPTER 1: ill choke you in your sleep

CHAPTER 2: we live in a Society . 😕

CHAPTER 3: that's not very pride month of u

CHAPTER 4: u mean *OUR girlfriend

CHAPTER 5: jay pookie nation???

CHAPTER 6: mentally physically weak .

CHAPTER 7: im a sensitive little fella

CHAPTER 8: the eyes chico, they never lie 😔

CHAPTER 9: bros got attachment issues idk!

CHAPTER 10: JAYYN NATION RISE

CHAPTER 10.5: see you loverboy!

CHAPTER 11: copium 💀

CHAPTER 12: omg i love jungkook sunbaenim

CHAPTER 13: eunchae... 😡😡😡😡😡😡

CHAPTER 14: call that idgafism

CHAPTER 15: ch*emin happend

CHAPTER 16: floppy disk or balls

CHAPTER 17: the dots are connecting...

CHAPTER 18: he's MENstruating

CHAPTER 19: a lovers quarrel 😟

CHAPTER 20: —

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noiriarti · 3 months ago

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The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU)

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: mentions of masturbation WC: 3.4k AN: hello darlings!! another anakin x reader longer fic coming your way!! lmk what you think, and asks/requests are always open!

[Ch. 1], Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6

Chapter 1: Soldering

The moment the competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the department. As soon as he heard about it at the thesis info session of your senior year, his eyes found you in the crowd, because he knew you're his biggest rival, and you're coming for him. He was surprised to find you were looking at him, based on the way his eyes widened, and you found a shocking amount of satisfaction in it. The top prize was 10k and a job at Boeing, after all. The more you surprised him, the more likely you were to catch him off-guard. Not that you would sabotage his work, that was just unseemly conduct for a senior at Coruscant U, but you'd encourage his sloppiness.

The instant after the presentation finished, you rushed to the lab. The thesis lab adjoined the regular makerspace in a continuation of the glass walls and sleek design of the rest of the engineering building. You'd spent the end of your junior year there, when you'd had to submit your thesis proposal (A Novel Method for Glaucoma Detection Utilizing Machine Learning and Mass-Producible Hardware). Anakin was always there too, which made the space just a little more annoying, with the loud music blasting out of his headphones and the hair-raising racket of the band saw.

Last year, you'd decided to admit to yourself, despite your best efforts since you had met him, that okay, Anakin Skywalker was hot. Like, horrendously hot. He was a looker no matter what he did, with those blue puppy dog eyes, full lips, and his gorgeous chestnut hair, which looked so soft that you had wondered on multiple occasions what it would be like to touch it. And, being captain of the university taekwondo team, he was muscular as all get-out. You'd catch a peek at his calves and ass on hot days when he wore shorts, and his biceps and shoulders were almost always flexed in the lab when he was sawing something or bent over the soldering station. One time, he wore grey sweatpants, and you had to literally tear your eyes away. But it wasn't just those features that made him hot. It was, unfortunately, him as a person. The confidence with which he sauntered through the building. His mischievous smile that he'd cast you in group projects, or the clench of his jaw as he wired something finicky. Your roommate, Ahsoka, a junior and also his vice-captain, told you that, oh yeah, he was also really good with younger team members. That he taught kids in the nearby school once a week, too, even though he had such a busy schedule. Wasn't that just sweet.

He wasn't that kind to you. Another thing that made him hot, unfortunately, was his brain, and his wit. He was kind of smart, okay, very smart, and that might make him the one thing standing in your way this year. Anakin also never shied away from a biting comment at you, usually about how if you had done it correctly, you wouldn't have an issue with some wiring. Unfortunately, he was usually right, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of telling him that.

Your rivalry started in freshman year, when your physics professor would choose the best student's homework and post it to the class as an example. You were sure you'd be chosen--your first homework was perfect--but then you saw his name. Anakin Skywalker. The next week, you beat him, but then he came out on top immediately after. And so it went. Always fighting for the top spot, to see who could outdo the other. Now, the department was just paying you to do it.

You were in the lab right after the "Senior Thesis Information Session" presentation, using the few minutes you had before your thermodynamics class to tinker with the 3D print that had just finished. Then, the door slid open with the beep of an ID card. You didn't have to turn around to know it was Anakin. Only he would be insane enough to work on day 1 of the semester. Him, and you.

"So you're seriously competing for this, huh?" He asked, watching you sand off some rough edges off the plastic. His tone was playful, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness. He was sizing up the competition.

"Yup. And I'm gonna blow you out of the water," you said self-assuredly. Your project was too good not to win. Anakin barked out a laugh.

"Sure. Right. We'll see about that," he remarked. His voice was dripping with smugness, just like usual with you. You just rolled your eyes. It wasn't worth it to waste time verbally sparring with him, you had better things to do. Like thermo. So you pushed out of your chair, leaving the print on the shelf that had your name laser cut into wood (a gift you had made yourself after your junior thesis proposal got an A), and heading to Lecture Hall 3.56B. Anakin was, of course, heading there too. You were in lockstep, as always. However, he refused to walk there with you, so he waited precisely enough for you to close the door before he left too.

And so, the first three months of the semester passed in relative peace between the two of you. There was only a handful of people who used the thesis room, and you were the only ones there consistently. It helped because safety regulations meant you had to have a buddy in the room to use any of the really useful machines, so you sometimes found yourself pleased to see him. It meant you could get work done. At night, the engineering building was fifteen minutes away from the dorms where you both lived--in the same building, which vexed you to no end when you saw him in the dining hall--so you both had to make the walk home late at night through the city. Oftentimes, you ended up walking home at the same time. It would be wrong to call it walking together, because that would imply you were near each other, or in each other's company, which would be plain wrong. You were always as far as possible on the sidewalk, and oftentimes you two would end up speedwalking home, not allowing the other person to be faster. Was it childish? Maybe. Did you feel a rush of joy every single time you hit the door to your building before him? Definitely.

In November, as the biting cold chilled the air, you found yourself done before him. All your current tasks were done, and you had to wait for a print to finish before you could keep going, plus he wasn't using any machines that needed a buddy, according to lab rules. It had been a long day, and you'd barely dragged your bones into the lab, let alone through all that work.

"Hang on," his voice called from across the space. He was at the soldering station in his safety glasses, bent over some chip.

"What?" Why couldn't you just go home? To your beautiful bed?

"I don't feel good about you walking home alone, so can you just wait for, like, three more seconds?" He wasn't even looking at you as he said it, instead he was pressing the soldering iron to some metal. You scoffed. Like you were so frail you couldn't walk fifteen minutes on your own.

"Are you serious? Do you think I'm vulnerable because, what, I have a vagina? I've taken self-defense classes, thank you very much." Your tone was poisonous, and you tried to infuse every drop of venom you had in you at his stupid idea. Anakin finally looked up from the bench, turning the iron off and cleaning it in the steel wool, catching your eyes with an angry glare.

"No, dumbass. You're just less likely to get robbed in this part of town if you're not alone. But do what you want, I guess. Have fun getting all your valuables taken!" He shrugged sardonically and turned off the vent fan above him. Anakin was right, it killed you to admit. You didn't exactly feel safe walking home at 3am through this part of town. There were enough reports of students getting hurt. So you planted yourself in your chair and waited. When he saw you, a smug smile grew on his face. Asshole.

"C'mon, let's go home," he said nonchalantly once he'd shut down and locked the woodworking room and the laser cutters. As you walked home, this time at a comfortable pace and with his headphones off, you realized it was almost nice, peaceful to be with him like this. The night was still, not a single thing moving in the dark of the night. You passed the corner store, its graffiti-covered grate down at night, then the Vietnamese restaurant you loved, dark and empty. There was no one on the planet but the two of you at that moment. Much to your chagrin, you didn't mind it at that moment. Anakin looked even more ethereal in the moonlight, lighting up the light parts of his hair a silvery white and casting shadows all over his face. He really was handsome, you admitted reluctantly. When you got home, he wished you a good night, which he had never gone. You found the word escaping your lips out of habit. After that, your walking home at the same time turned into walking home together. On November the 8th, he asked you how you were doing. You told him you were good, your tone clipped. He echoed good into the quiet street, then you lapsed into silence. On the 10th, he asked if Ahsoka was feeling better. She had sprained her ankle at practice the previous day. You told him she was, and he said good again. On the 11th, he asked how your project was going, and, in a fit of weakness, you told him it wasn't great. That you were nervous about your first real test of the finished product, the one that would tell you if the past three months had been wasted or not. He told you that if anyone could do it, it would be you, and you spend the rest of the walk wondering where the insult buried inside the statement was hiding. Later that night, once you had tucked into bed, you realized there wasn't any insult at all, just genuine encouragement. For the next week, your walks were filled with slightly guarded conversation, sometimes about upcoming homework assignments, but sometimes about how the taekwondo team was doing, or if you thought Professor Yoda's ear hairs were a countable or uncountable infinity. But he was still an asshole.

About a week later, you were alone with Anakin in the lab around midnight, working on a piece of the lens, trying to get the refraction just right before the test run, when your phone buzzed. Midterm Grade Posted for PHYS 485: Thermodynamics. Your heart stopped. You had been hoping and praying that the number of hours you'd poured into your thesis wouldn't come back to bite you in terms of classwork, but now was the moment of truth. You opened the notification, then to the Canvas page, where you saw your grade. 38/100. Everything in the world stopped. How could you have fucked up that badly? Your eyes scanned over instructor comments. Average class grade: 40/100. Maximum grade: 49/100. Okay, okay. It would be curved up, and you'd probably get a B, but you were below average for the first time in your life. Fuck. Fuck. How could this happen? You glared at Anakin, who was screwing in a bolt to the metal scaffolding of his project. That motherfucker was probably the one who got 49. The thought made you so angry you bolted out of your chair and went to go grab the materials for your test. That motherfucker got everything. It wasn't fair.

You lined up the small device you made, plugged it into the port of your phone, and opened the corresponding software. Through the external lens, you scanned the two printed-out pictures of eyes, one with glaucoma and one without. You held your breath throughout the loading screen. Please, just let one thing go right. Please. Please. The little loading circle stopped. Both eyes were cleared of glaucoma. A false negative. Motherfucker. Three months of work, and for what? You'd never get the prize at this rate. You'd have to start from scratch. You slammed your fist onto the table in anger.

"Hey, there's hammers for that," Anakin called, teasing from the other side of the room. He looked up at you, mouth open to snark something else out, when he saw your eyes welling with tears.

"Woah, are you okay? What's wrong? Did you hurt yourself?" His voice was soft, warm. Anakin dropped the wrench he was holding on the table and half-jogged over to you, putting his hand on your shoulder. You jumped at the contact, but it wasn't entirely unwelcome. It was kind of comforting, actually, but you were too upset to notice that.

"It's just, it's not working, and I've spent so much time and--" you trailed off.

"Don't cry, it's okay, we can fix it," he said with a shrug and a smile. Why was he smiling? God, was he actually pleased right now? Suddenly, your tears turned to anger, not at yourself or the system or the difficulty of your project, but at him.

"Like you're not happy about this. I bet you sabotaged it yourself," you spat out and shrugged his hand off your shoulder. He balked.

"Sabotage? Are you serious? I'd never do that." You stood up, incensed, and pointed a finger into his chest.

"Really? It sounds exactly like something you would do--remember in sophomore year when Barriss's robot mysteriously stopped working?" He half laughed, half scoffed, mouth dropping open, then snapped back with his voice raised.

"You've got to be kidding! Maybe if you paid two seconds of attention to your classmates or anyone around you, you'd know it was her wiring! The connections were bad!"

"Sure," your voice dripped with sarcasm as you scoffed at his insult, "And when you told her it served her right? You were so smug!" Your voice was rising. He ran a hand through his hair and bit out another laugh as he retorted.

"And if I was? Like you're not the queen of being smug in this department. 'Oh, my robot's better, Anakin. I got an A, Anakin.'" He raised his voice high, mocking you. His eyes were wild, furious.

"Me? Smug? Look in the mirror, asshole! Pretend all you want, but I know who you are. You can pretend to be oh-so-nice to everyone else, but I see you for what you really are. Just. A. Fucking. Asshole." You emphasized each word with a jab of your finger, getting closer to him each time. The tension between you was turning somehow--were you losing the argument? You couldn't tell.

"Oh yeah? You don't know a single thing about me," he gritted out, right up in your face, jaw flexing. His intense eyes bored into yours, flicking back and forth, and then they dropped down to glance at your lips.

You weren't sure which one of you moved first, but all you felt was his lips against yours and your hands fisting in his hair, which it turned out was as perfectly soft as you had imagined. Bastard. Anakin's kisses were hot, insistent against your mouth as you sloppily made out in the middle of the lab. His arms, warm and firm, circled your waist and pulled you to him while you tilted your heads this way and that to get closer. Your tongue swiped his lower lip, and he treated you to a surprised, low moan that you wanted to hear again and again until your ears bled. He got your hint, though, and started teasing your lips with his tongue until you opened your mouth just enough to touch your tongue to his. His arms tightened and pulled you against him so that you could feel his warmth from chest to thigh. The two of you were frantic, like if you got close enough, deep enough in each others' mouths, you'd figure out why you were doing this and why it felt so goddamn good. Your heart was pounding when his hands slipped lower and grabbed you under your ass.

"Jump," he whispered huskily after he reluctantly separated his mouth from yours. You hopped, and he used the hands under your thighs to lift you up and sit you on the lab table. Dutifully, you wrapped your legs around his hips, interlocking your ankles around his unfairly attractive ass, and kept your hands buried in his hair. Anakin was back on your lips immediately. He was sloppy and excited until you shifted your hips against him, and then he became electric against you, even hungrier than before. You were definitely feeling something underneath your hips, a lump. It hit you that he was hard, and that sent a bolt of lightning between your legs. You'd stared a little bit more than you cared to admit that time he'd worn gray sweatpants, and what you'd seen was now pressed against you. You drew in a shaky breath at that idea, and you realized that God, he smelled like metal from his soldering earlier and, underneath that, sandalwood and vanilla.

Sometime around the time his hips tilted forward into yours, a beep echoed through the empty lab. You both jumped apart, leaving you sitting on the table, and the noise continued. Beep beep beep. The insistent noise came from one of the 3D printers in the corner. Anakin's print was done.

The silence of the lab felt deafening as you both panted. What had you done? Making out with your enemy was completely against lab safety guidelines, for one, and your morals, for another. Your heart was still pounding in your chest, despite your misgivings, but you willed those wisps of excitement deep down into some mental box. This couldn't happen. If there was a single person on this campus you couldn't fuck, it was Anakin. Not only was he rude, but if you got too close, how would you navigate it when only one of you won? Most importantly, though, you had hated him for four years. And for good reason. (Though you couldn't remember exactly what it was, or think critically at all, in that moment.)

"We shouldn't do that again, Anakin." Your voice was small in the empty space. For a second, his face fell, but he pressed his lips into a thin line to disguise it.

"Definitely not. I--Sorry." And that was that.

You walked home in complete silence, stealing glances at one another in the dark night. When you got to the door of your dorm, you opened your mouth to say something, but then closed it. Better not. So why, once you separated, did you feel so sad? Why did you want to see him again, to feel that silky hair under your fingers in your bed? You laid awake until the early hours of the night, and told yourself that your fingers slipping inside the waistband of your pajamas wasn't about Anakin, you just hadn't gotten some in way too long. It wasn't about Anakin. Even though it was his mouth and chest and arms you thought about when you came on your fingers, it wasn't about him.

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