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tonycries · 1 year ago

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Bad Boys Bring Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, kníves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)

A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if y’all catch that hehe.

You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that you’ve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now.

And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing bride’s was supposed to be.

We hereby formally invite you to the marriage of…

What?

No return address. No date. No groom’s name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.

You remember perfectly the way you’d flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few “April Fool’s has already passed, y’know.”

Hell, you’d even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasn’t particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird.

Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because who’d worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street that’d gotten their grubby lil’ hands on a printer.

You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place that’d popped up right across the street.

Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.

You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.

Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-

“Oh? Still open?”

“Ah- Uh, yes, welcome!” Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasn’t one of the regulars - no, you think you’d remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing.

And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?

“Roses.” the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldn’t have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, “Could tell ya were checkin’ me out, sweetheart.”

“F-forgive my rudeness, sir.” you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, “Please take a seat and I’ll be there with you shortly.”

You’d expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, “S’alright, m’just waitin’ for someone.”

Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, “A lover?”

Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. “My fiancée.”

“Congratulations, Mr…”

“Gojo Satoru.” he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. “Please, call me Satoru.”

You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. “Right, Mr-” at his disappointed whine, “Satoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.”

“Oh I’m having fun with the wedding planning.” He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. “How’s it going for you?”

What?

You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. “I’m sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-”

“No no no.” he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you weren’t so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, “M’asking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~”

There’s a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. We’re very busy and don’t have time to entertain your pick-up lines.”

Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. “I can see that.” you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. “But you’re really gonna ask your husband to leave?”

Huffing in frustration, “I don’t have a husband.”

“...you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?”

“What?!” Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. “What do you mean you don’t have a- I’m gonna kill those fuckin’- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?”

And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation.

“You.” you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, “You’re the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.”

That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and you’re glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, “Hey! You didn’t like the roses?”

And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than he’d been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almost…frightening. “Didn’t you ask him?”

You whirl around to see your father, who’d apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. “You.”

---

And, well, it’s not everyday that you’re having late night tea with your parents and one of your father’s…business associates. Even rarer when said business associate is…you gulp, praying to whoever’s above that this is all some sick dream you’ll wake up any second from.

“So, let me get this straight…” you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. It’s been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. “My father was conned by one of your-” you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, “-men to take a loan from your um-”

“Family, yakuza. Anything goes.” he supplies helpfully.

You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the ‘yakuza’ bit that makes your stomach lurch. “And now he owes you a favor of…what exactly?”

Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, “Look, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-” backtracking at your withering glare, “...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage n’ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and I’m too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You bet Satoru’s disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of “carrying the family name” it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasn’t acting like it right now.

“Alright. Plan B, then.”

Oh? You couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t that much of a manchild as sits up from where he’d been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, “But I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, n’ dresses for a six foot man aren’t cheap.”

Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, “B-but we’ve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, can’t we pay any other-”

At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, “Now? Aren’t you some yakuza nepo baby, can’t you just ask your parents for money?”

“No.” Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, “Not unless I want a finger cut off for dealin’ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?”

“Take me instead.” you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoru’s half-joking mutters of “Ugh, I’m not into ol’ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.”

It was all too much. You couldn’t take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoru’s warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you?

“Fine.”

The moment that word leaves your lips, it’s like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. “I’ll do it.” you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoru’s eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your father’s protests, “But for a month, until we leave this place. After that m’going with my family and you’re never to contact us ever again. Deal?”

And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than you’d imagined. “Swear on m’life, wifey. You can kill me if not.”

He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.

Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your family’s little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner.

And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head.

You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of “I’ll be back before you know it. One month. That’s all.”

“And don’t worry about a thing,” Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. “If there’s anyone she’s safe with, it’s me.”

“You better keep your mitts off of my baby.” your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly.

“I won’t lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about it…” he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll kill.”

Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. “Ladies first.”

With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house.

“Like the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.” Satoru grins.

Oh, right. You weren’t in here alone - you were here with your new…husband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, “So how do we act m-married?”

You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app.

“Well, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.” flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, “Here’s my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-”

That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. “So we can be foolproof.” he’d whined. And you’d been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.

“We’re here, young master and madam Gojo.”

It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo.

“Home sweet home.” Satoru grunts. “Such a beautiful hell, huh?”

Your home, for the next month. At least.

And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in.

“-and this is going to be our room.” he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner.

“Ours.” you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in.

“Ours.” Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesn’t show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. “Now, I had these made jus’ for you last week. You can give me a lil’ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.”

It’s only when he says the word “rest” that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual.

“Um…” you start, risking a glance at the bed.

Satoru jolts, “Ah- don’t worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.” beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. “Got some work, so I’ll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~”

And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.

“Ichiji.”

“Yes, young master.”

“See to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?”

“Of course, young master.”

---

Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it would’ve been if your husband didn’t burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside.

Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife he’d do anything for.

Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationship…

“I think that stupid plan is really working, y’know.” you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. “Those old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, “That so? S’probably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?” he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you.

Furrowing your brows mockingly, “S’funny for you to say, they don’t even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.”

“Do they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?”

He…didn’t sound like he was joking.

Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word “husband.” Still so jumpy at the idea. “Speaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?”

At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. “Still nagging, but they’re finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.” he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation they’d had before. “And they want to have some family ‘dinner’, but it’s going to be awful and you don’t-”

“Let’s go.” you interrupt, nodding determinedly. “The realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?”

He blinks at you slowly, “That’s…true. For the divorce, then?”

“For the divorce.”

And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.

You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojo’s heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner.

“For you.” he’d murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings you’ve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. “Can’t be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.”

And with that he’s swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and you’re left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit.

You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, that’s probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they were…scared of you.

But there wasn’t much time to think of that - not when you’re being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. “More like a fuckin’ meeting room for those hardasses.” he’d snarked.

The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoru’s, who immediately stands with a smile. “Ah, wifey! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, “Ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in my colors, y’know.”

Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, “Playing up the doting husband bit, huh?”

“Only for you.”

Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.

Stammering out, “Corny.”

“Only for-”

“Now that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?” A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders.

Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now.

Gathered here - for you.

Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them.

“So.” his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesn’t waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. “Congratulations on the…wedding, my son.”

My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. “What~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?”

It’s a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You don’t realize that you’re clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.

He wins.

“Congratulations. Let us begin now.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.

It’s only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really don’t hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.

Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoru’s jaw clenching tighter each second.

Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. “So, dear,” voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. “Is it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?”

You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, “Well, ambushed wouldn’t be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my family’s diner.”

“A waitress, she said?”

“Now we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.”

“The scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.”

The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you don’t. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, “Marrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.”

“Mother, be quiet or-”

“What?” she throws her hands in exasperation. “Can’t I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, I’m just trying to make conversation with your new wife.”

Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. “You understand that we’re just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.” The emphasis on “prestigious” is not lost on you.” And it drives you insane.

Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. “I understand.”

Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, “And you understand that this position is dangerous? You’ll be targeted.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Don’t be swept up in our Satoru’s charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.” tone dripping with disdain, Satoru’s grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. “The Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone call”

“My wife and I are leav-”

“I said I fuckin’ understand.” Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on their graves already. “Neither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.” Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoru’s. “So shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I don’t give a flying shit.”

Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you could’ve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.

His father adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps that is so.”

Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily.

“Not only is she a slut she’s a-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up.

“You’re lucky I’m matching with my wife n’ didn’t want to dirty this new yukata.” a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you don’t realize for a second that it’s Satoru - your Satoru.

He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold.

“Now,” he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, “My lovely wife and I will be retiring. Won’t you all say goodnight to your future madam?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little “Goodnight, ma’am.”, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, “Be right back, sweetheart.”

What the fuck happened?

He could’ve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to.

Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you weren’t…scared? In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.

“Dinner’s better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.” he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner he’d brought for you. And, well, you didn’t doubt that they really were on his kill list.

“Hey, wifey.” Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. “M’sorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.”

You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. “Eat, Satoru.”

That’s all which is said, because maybe that’s all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.

---

“Hey, uh- mister. You alright?” you call out, voice barely audible over the rain.

The sullen figure didn’t react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands.

You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. “Here.” you hold out your umbrella. “S’our diner’s, but you look like you could use this more than I do.”

He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the man’s snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.

“It’ll be alright.” you nod.

And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - he’d just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.

---

Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight.

The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but now…honestly, it was a bit disconcerting.

But other than that, it was almost…peaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife he’d be “taking her to bed every night”. Somehow, you didn’t doubt it.

“Funny how it’s getting close to a month of being married, but you haven’t even kissed me yet.” you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.

Something else also happened - something different.

Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. “Oh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?”

“You wish.”

“Maybe I do.”

Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoru’s, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-

“Young master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-”

Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. “How many fuckin’ times have I not told you to never bother me when I’m with my wife?”

The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoru’s dramatic pout, “I have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.”

“Noo~ my sweetheart don’t leave me~”

You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was so….dizzying. “You’ll be okay, Satoru.” Glancing up nervously to meet the servant’s intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. “I’ll be at the library now.”

And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you don’t hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, “Now, tell me who you’re spying for. Names, first and last.”

Satoru doesn’t join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. It’s dark out by the time you’re raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger.

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoru’s meticulous tours.

“Hey,” you smile softly at a servant making your bed, “Where are-”

Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, it’s only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table.

Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something you’d never gotten before.

“The marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.”

Oh, reading that hurt more than it should’ve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him.You didn’t want to leave him.

Were you going insane?

Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, “Maybe Satoru knows…”

“Thinking of me?”

Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today.

“Satoru?”

His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then you’re engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and that’s when you realize, he’s changed his robes since this morning. “Are you okay?” you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic.

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.

Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Those nosy elders won’t be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. You’re free to go.”

A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didn’t want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, “You’re free to go.”

Run away. Run away. Run away-

There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. “My 30 days aren’t over yet.”

“Leave. Please.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. “M’not a good man.”

You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.” he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than you’ve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into your skin, “I hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-”

“So go with me instead.”

“What if-”

“Toru.‘ you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face he’s been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave.

Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. “It’ll be alright, Toru.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. “Y’can kill me if you don’ want his.” he mutters into your open mouth.

It’s so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-

And then he’s pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoru’s mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hair’s breadth from your lips.

“M’sorry.” Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. “F-fuck, sweetheart. Y’don’t know how crazy you drive me.” he pants.

“Why did you pick me?” you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. “Was it just the debt?”

He’s kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. “No.” he’s licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach.

“Then why?” your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it.

“Because.” he breathes, “You treated me like a human.”

He’s capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were.

But Satoru wasn’t done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Remember that night? You probably don’t, was rainin’ so hard I thought I’d drown out there.” Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. “That night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said I’d either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.”

And you’re reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. “Thought I was gonna take ‘em all out that night.”

“Take them all out?” your breath hitches.

“Every. Single. One.” Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. “Wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.”

Satoru’s licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. “But then…” he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. “But then along came you. So pretty and all worried f’me. The daughter of that diner owner I’d loaned money too.”

You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoru’s holding them apart.

“And then I knew…” he’s sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and you’ve never seen him look so blissful. “I just had to have you.”

Rip!

The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoru’s hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically.

Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. “Hah- please.”

“Please what?” he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. “The wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet you married me.”

With such a cute lil’ whine that makes Satoru’s cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. “Wan’ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, “There’s my girl.”

You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub.

Drunk off your pussy with the way he’s so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You haven’t been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you.

“Shhh, don’t worry, wifey.” words muffled into your cunt, “Your husband’s gonna take care of you.” He’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.

“Real good care of you.” Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard. “Found it. Gonna have you screamin’ my name til’ the entire estate hears.”

You tug on his hair, urging Satoru’s mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now.

And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?

Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-

“Sh-shit. Toru-”

“Mmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.” he groans. And oh he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Feels good? Ya like when m’ruining your pretty pussy?”

“Yes!” you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Wanted it s’bad.”

He’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasn’t enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-

“Move your hips, yeah- jus’ like that.” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please.

“Gonna be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have. N’ anyone that says otherwise, m’gonna fuckin’ kill.” The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Make you cum harder than y’ever have. C’mon, say yes.”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes-”

“Beg for it, beg for your husband.”

“Wanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.”

One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him.

“Hngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-” You’re shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husband’s name. So violent, and hard that you don’t even realize at first. Just that you’re rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.

And he doesn’t stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind you’d wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didn’t show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want.

Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when you’re blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. “S-Satoru.” you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue.

“Jus’ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive.

Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. “All done. Now, keep that pretty lil’ cunt on display f’me, my girl.”

And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear.

“Touch me.” he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time.

“Toru…” you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else you’d had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself.

And he sees right through you.

“Now now, none of that.” he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as they’d go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. “Don’t worry, wifey, m’gonna make it feel good for ya.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lil’ pussy right now.

Then you feel like you’re being split apart - as if Satoru’s cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.

“Ah! Ngh- Toru, s’too big!” you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all.

And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.” Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. “So fuckin’ tight. Jus’ relax f’me. Oh yeah, jus’ like that. You can take it you can-”

You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back.

Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, “Aww, my good lil’ wife. Taking me so well, huh?” Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, “Always knew y’would.”

“Can y’feel me, right-.” Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “-here?” Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard.

You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you should’ve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.

And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything.

“C’mon~ Don’t run away from me,” he grunts, strained like he’s struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. “Jus’ fuckin’ got you, so don’t you dare run away.”

You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. “Won’t run away Toru…” you babble, “Wan’ you to make me yours.”

“Mine? Gonna be all mine?”

“All yours, Toru.”

And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoru’s pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.

With the new angle, your husband’s hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot.

“Ya like this, huh?” he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. “Always knew this cute pussy could take me s’well. Just didn’t know it would feel this fucking heavenly.”

Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.

And exactly where you wanted to be.

You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much.

“Toru-” you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way you’re clenching around him hard enough that it’s almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy.

“Close?”

“Mhm…”

“Well then.” thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Cum f’me like a good lil’ wife, then.”

And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoru’s name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.

Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether you’d make it out alive.

And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper.

You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really weren’t in the right mind to decipher right now.

And then Satoru’s lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him.

Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. “We better not divorce after this.”

“Of course not.” He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. “I haven’t even given you my wedding gift yet.”

Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoru’s toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, “Mhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and I’m leaving if not.”

“Well then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,” he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. “Because I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #tonywrites

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fina1chase · 10 months ago

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I may have had a mild breakdown on friday but everyday I am so fucking grateful I'm not on the sales floor

#naegi.txt #NO ONE FIGHTS WITH ME OVER SALES NO CUSTOMERS ARE YELLING AT ME BC I DIDNT GET A SHOE FAST ENOUGH #NO ONE MAKES TRY TO MAKE FRIENDSHIPS WITH CLIENTS ON THE SLIM CHANCE THEY WANNA BUY SOMETHING #its just me and my silly little boxes

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kisssukuna33 · 5 months ago

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Thinking about your Chef HusbandSukuna! Who always uses you as his personal food critic whenever he experiments with a new dish. You are the first to taste it before it goes into the restaurant menu. When you question him about it one time he said you're his personal lucky charm because whenever you taste a new dish first it instantly becomes a hit in the menu.

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who has a whole wall dedicated to you and the pics of you two together in his restaurant. Oh but did I mention about the big wall art next to those pics? A wall art of you smiling that he painted himself. He still talks about that art piece proudly to this day.

Chef HusbandSukuna! who has no problem attracting customers. His restaurant is widely known in the town as one of the best spots but the only problem he faces is when people come into his restaurant being attracted to something other than his food. You can only imagine the amount of thirsty comments from both men and women under his restaurant reviews.

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who HATES it when people flirt with him even after clearly seeing the wedding ring he wears daily. That's why he lets his co-workers do all the serving and he rarely comes out of the kitchen until someone ask for his presence.

And whenever a customer flirt with him or ask for his number he straight up points to the wall art of you displayed in the restaurant and murmur "my wife" as he go back into the kitchen unbothered.

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who never lets you cook anything in the kitchen. He always prepare you food and snacks whenever you ask him without complaining and you slowly came to realize that's his way of showing his love for you. And when he prepares food for you it's never anything simple either,he makes sure his wife eats a 5 star meal everyday.

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who takes it as personal offense whenever you recommend take out for dinner. He doesn't understand why you want to eat that unhealthy junk shit when you have a whole chef as your husband.

"Just say you don't love me anymore"

"Kuna.. You are being dramatic I asked it for a change not because I don't love your cooking"

"Then marry a fast food worker that way you can eat junk shit everyday"

"Sukuna!!"

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who always decorate your bento box so cutely when you go to work. He doesn't miss with the hello kitty shaped rice balls and the heart shaped vegetables everytime. One time you remember your coworker asking if you're married to a woman because they refuse to believe a bento box that cute was a work of a man.

Safe to say your coworker was even more suprised after seeing the intimidating 6'4 tatted man who came to pick you up later.

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who always knows to prioritize you over his beloved restaurant. You are sick? Yeah he closes the restaurant and stay by your side all day taking care of you. You want to go on a date? Say no more restaurant is closed within a minute. You took a day off ? yeah the restaurant is closed that day. You wonder how he even keep up the popularity of this restaurant like this.

Chef HusbandSukuna! Who always loves telling people the story about how you two met and how his restaurant took off after he started dating you. In his eyes you were a blessing given to him. He always wonder how his life started getting better and better after meeting you. A cold heart that was completely untouched by everyone started melting at the presence of yours.

But one thing he knows is that he's going to cherish the blessing given to him for the rest of his life.

#jjk x you #jjk drabbles #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x #sukuna #sukuna x you #fluff #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #modern au #anime #jjk x reader #jjk

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shadowofroserade · 9 months ago

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Introducing: Undertale Cooking with Kindness!

"This is going to be the greatest restaurant the Underground has ever seen!"

Undertale Cooking with Kindness is a prequel fangame focusing on the green SOUL, Sunny.

Following their fall into the Underground, Sunny meets Luna, a monster with dreams of making the greatest restaurant in the underground. Determined to help, Sunny agrees to work together to achieve this far-off goal. Still, the spectre of the Underground's King looms over Sunny, and it seems as if death is inevitable...

MEET THE STAFF

SUNNY

LUNA

GRILLBY

MAWZZ

GAMEPLAY

Unlike most other Undertale fangames, UTCWK features no battling whatsoever, nor does it feature a fight/mercy system. Instead, UTCWK's main gameplay is reminiscent of a restaurant and cooking sim. Instead of encountering and fighting enemies, Sunny must instead make it through days working at The Eclipse, making food and serving customers.

The game is split up into days. Every day you will have a set amount of customers to serve, and each order has a time limit, so you better act fast!

These orders are handled through cooking minigames! The UNDERTALE battle box and menus have been repurposed into the UI for a cooking game! These minigames are reminiscent of Cooking Mama and WarioWare.

Acting helps you determine the customer's preferences. The faster and closer to their preferences you manage to make the customers’ orders, the more GOLD and PRESTIGE you gain at the end of the day!

For more information please check out our:

GAMEJOLT

and

TWITTER

We hope to see you whenever the Eclipse finally opens its doors!

#undertale #undertale fangame #undertale cooking with kindness #UTCWK #undertale fanart #undertale art #undertale yellow #undertale souls

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mingapace · 8 days ago

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𝕿𝖗𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝕸𝖊

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴅᴏᴍᴇꜱᴛɪᴄ!ᴘᴇᴛ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ x ꜰ!ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴏʀɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʟᴏᴛ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ʜᴜʀᴛ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰʀᴇᴀᴋʏ-ɴᴇᴇᴅʏ-ᴘᴀᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴜʙ ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ꜰ!ᴅᴏᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴇʀᴀ, ᴏʀᴀʟ (ᴍ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ᴘ ɪɴ ᴠ, ᴍᴏᴀɴɪɴɢ, ᴡʜɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱɪɴɢ, ᴄᴜᴍ ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴅʀᴏᴏʟɪɴɢ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ꜱᴇx, ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ, ᴇxᴄᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ, ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ.

𝘼/𝙣: 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙛𝙖𝙧 𝙩𝙤𝙤 𝙢𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙨. 𝙇𝙚𝙩’𝙨 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙖 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠.

𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ: 9,1ᴋ

It’s not even noon when you hear the doorbell ring for the fourth time in ten minutes.

Mondays were always bustling with customers because of the early weekend closure. The business complex was small compared to the big chains downtown, but older folks and local regulars much preferred stopping by a small center rather than driving miles to reach a larger one and stand in endless checkout lines.

You barely lift your gaze from near the stockroom, where you’re logging invoices to send to your trusted accountant at the end of the month. An elderly woman leaves with a polite smile and a bag that jingles.

You hurry to thank her, and she responds with a slow, gentle nod before disappearing into the gray street.

Outside, the sun is scorching the pavement even though it’s only early spring. When the door opens, the smell of freshly baked pizza from the bakery next door makes you sigh with pleasure. But no—you had to hold out until the evening. Remmick was surely cooking something while shut in at home, far from the sunlight.

You smile at the thought of how essential he had become in your life. When you came home from a hard day, he was always there—waiting, comforting you—and like magic, all the fatigue would melt from your shoulders.

His cooking skills were slowly improving, and even though he had no real need to eat, he still did it for fun. He was dead, and normal food didn’t satisfy him, but that didn’t mean he lacked taste buds.

You close the folder and slide it onto the shelf. Then you stretch your arms above your head, yawning slightly. The morning had been calm—aside from the usual parade of indecisive customers and two men asking where to find the most ‘aesthetically pleasing’ toilet paper.

Your coworker, Iwan, is lost somewhere between the shelves. He’s stocking boxes full of new kitchenware—bamboo spoons, decorative cutting boards, all those cute and useful things people buy when they need a little comfort.

Your boss had decided to hire another employee due to the increasing customer flow, and you were grateful—it was getting hard to keep up with everything alone. It hadn’t been a difficult selection. The guy showed up with politeness and precision, a university student, perfect for a part-time role. And you were always happy to help young people who, even while studying, rolled up their sleeves to become independent.

You’re about to dive back into bookkeeping when you hear him arrive.

Fast steps. A thud. Then a low, almost choked voice calling your name.

You’re distracted by a paper your boss left under the register and only look up when he knocks twice on the counter with his knuckles and adds:

“Something happened.”

You frown. Iwan was always a nosy gossip. He knew everything about everyone, and the old ladies loved hanging around the shop to chat with him and whisper the latest news. Of course, he always rushed back to tell you everything—even though you were never much for gossip—and he always had that excited look.

But not today.

Iwan has a face you’ve never seen on him before. Not scared.

More… hollowed out. As if reality had gently taken the words out of his mouth.

“Go on,” you say, concerned. “What is it?”

He removes his baseball cap, holding it in his hands, twisting and turning it like there’s something alive inside.

“Have you heard the news?”

You shake your head, as usual. Ever since you started living with Remmick, your world had shrunk into a bubble.

“No. Why should I?”

“Because… they found a body. In the river. Early this morning. Right behind the spillway, under the small bridge—the one near here.”

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It wasn’t unusual news, especially in recent decades with the whole hunt for night creatures and everything else, but the fact that it happened in the little suburb where you lived—where nothing much had happened in a long time—sets off alarm bells.

“A body?”

Iwan lowers his voice and leans over the counter, getting closer. He looks left, then right, like some browsing customer might overhear and eavesdrop.

“It was one of the guys who came here often. A man around thirty, thirty-five. The one who always had his shirt unbuttoned and wore sunglasses even when it rained.”

You freeze. Your hands stiffen on the counter. A small knot forms at the base of your throat.

“Oh…”

Iwan nods.

No names needed. You remember him perfectly.

He’d come in at least five times over the last few weeks. He’d stand between the shelves, staring at you. Asked dumb questions. Always tried to get closer than necessary. One time he even asked if you lived alone.

You told him: “Just with my pets.”

He had laughed.

You hadn’t.

“A guy from the police said it at the café next door. They found him at dawn. Floating face-down. But the weird part is… the neck. It’s not just broken. It was torn.”

He continues, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I think it won’t be long before the Custodians show up around here.”

A cold, slimy shiver runs down your spine.

“What do you mean… torn?”

You try to sound skeptical. But your voice already drops lower.

“I don’t know. They didn’t explain it clearly. Just that it wasn’t an injury from a fall. It’s something… unnatural. Like he was bitten—”

Iwan stops, noticing the expression frozen on your face.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

You snap out of it, erasing the look from your face and shaking your head.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just… a big thing to hear.”

You step away from the counter. Your hands tingle.

Part of you wants to ignore it all. Close your ears. Say you don’t care, that the guy was deeply creepy and whatever happened to him, he probably deserved it.

But that’s not true.

A man died.

And in circumstances that seep into your skin and your mind, feeding your unease.

At 1:43 pm, you step out of the shop with a weight pressing on you that you can’t shake off.

You asked Iwan if he could extend his shift today, said you weren’t feeling well and didn’t feel up to continuing, and he only nodded, his face locked in that silent kind of concern that kind people wear when they’re unsure whether they should ask more.

You didn’t let him.

You politely greet the people you know and the customers heading into the shop as you walk toward your home. The sun is still high in the sky. There’s no wind, but the air has that sticky, heavy quality that comes before slow thunderstorms—the kind that simply weep melancholy onto the sidewalks.

You cross the bridge that separates your shop from the river, and for a moment, you stop.

Down there.

Exactly down there.

Dark green water. Murky. Slow.

And in the center of that unremarkable canal… early this morning… there was a body.

The body. You knew that man. You’d rung up his groceries, talked to him, looked him in the eyes.

Now his neck is broken. And not because he tripped.

No. Iwan said that part clearly.

Like it had been torn.

You inhale.

The smell of the river hits your nose—iron and moss, with a tired trace of mold. The kind of smell no one really notices anymore around here.

But today, it stings your throat. Clings to you.

You turn away quickly and head down the plane tree-lined boulevard, walking straight home.

Every step feels heavy.

Not because you’re tired—physically, you’re not at all—but because of that feeling in your gut. That feeling that things are starting to line up.

And you’re just pretending not to notice.

A subtle tension walks beside you like a shadow—unseen, but constant.

You grip your shoulder strap tightly. Your headphones dangle from your bag. You don’t feel like listening to music. Not today.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket—just once. A notification, maybe your boss, maybe Iwan, maybe the police.

You don’t check.

Beneath your feet, the cobblestones are damp with moisture.

Now and then your heel slips a little, but you don’t stop.

And then you remember that conversation.

Not yesterday. No. More than a week ago. One of those evenings when Remmick had come to see you for no apparent reason. He was sitting by the radiator in the shop—even though he didn’t need it. Legs drawn up, hands resting on his knees, eyes fixed on you like he was studying your existence in quiet sips.

You had mentioned the guy to him, just in passing. To fill the silence. To include him in your day—usually uneventful, but not entirely that one.

You had said it lightly, almost joking.

“The idiot with the snake face tried again today. He never gives up.”

Remmick had lifted his gaze slowly.

“Did he lay a hand on ya?”

“Nah. Just talked. Doesn’t seem like the type. And I’ve got you to protect me, if anything ever did happen.”

And he had smiled. A smile that, now, days later, comes back to you with a different shade.

Not sweet.

Not tender.

It felt like a promise.

But it was just a joke, right?

Remmick had caught your sarcasm. He must have. He knew you by now.

You cross a small square where pigeons have taken over the benches.

The river’s no longer visible, but you still feel it at your back, as if the water is following you.

Each step toward home brings you closer to a possibility you’ve been trying not to name:

That Remmick knew.

That he didn’t let it go.

That he acted.

And no, not because you asked him to.

But because you’re his.

In that ancient, animal, visceral way, in which certain creatures look at you and don’t see a person—they see a reason to live.

And if someone threatens that reason…

Well.

You’re not entirely sure how it ends.

You reach your front door with your heart beating a little too fast.

You drop the key the first time. You pick it up and slide it into the lock as if nothing happened.

Open.

Close the door behind you.

The cat watches you from the living room window, looking satisfied, lying on a blanket that Remmick has probably folded with geometric precision just for him.

You hear a sound coming from the kitchen: the clink of a ladle, a cabinet closing gently, the soft rush of water.

It’s not an unusual scene.

Remmick often does things for you.

Small things. Careful. Almost invisible—unless you know how he tries to earn his place under your roof.

When you step around the hallway corner and into the kitchen, you see him.

From behind.

A loose t-shirt and a pair of jeans. He looks so normal, so human.

He’s standing in front of the stove, which is turned off. In his hand, a wooden spoon. In the pot—sauce. Simple, fragrant. Like the kind made on good Sundays.

He turns at the sound of your footsteps.

And for a moment… he looks surprised. Then instantly happy.

A flash. Like a dog that wags its tail without thinking—pure instinct.

“Oh—!”

His voice is a breath, suddenly full of enthusiasm.

“I didn’t know you were coming home for lunch, sweetheart.”

You usually never came back before evening. Your shift was continuous, but you couldn’t stay in the shop with that knot in your throat making it hard to swallow.

He sets the spoon in the sink, wipes his hands on his apron—yes, he’s wearing the light linen apron you folded for summer—and comes closer.

“Did you forget something? Or… are you feeling unwell?”

Then he stops.

His eyes fix on your face.

You’re looking down.

Not smiling.

Keys still clenched in your hand.

Your shoulders stiff.

You didn’t come home because you were hungry. You didn’t come home out of affection. You came home with a thought that’s been eating you from the inside out.

Remmick understands it before you even open your mouth.

His face changes.

He doesn’t fall apart. But he slows. Becomes more careful. He studies you as if searching for new cracks that weren’t there before.

“What is it?”

His voice is low now. Concerned, but still gentle.

It’s not an interrogation.

It’s an offering.

You stand a few feet away from him.

The kitchen sounds—the drip of the tap, the sauce gently simmering, the cat stretching on the couch—form a normal frame.

But you two are not normal right now.

“They found a body this morning,” you say, finally.

Remmick doesn’t answer right away.

“Who?”

He looks at you.

You look at him.

Then you add: “It was someone who used to come to the shop. An annoying customer, but nothing serious. They found him in the canal.”

A pause.

And then: “I… I told you about him.”

Remmick nods. Slowly.

“I do, yeah. I remember. You said he was botherin' you. And you said you felt safe when I was there, didn't ya?”

His voice is flat. Not defensive. Just… linear.

As if he’s stating a fact. With the same honesty he’d use to tell you how many dishes he washed.

You stare at him—and for the first time since you’ve lived with him, you don’t see him as a tender, gentle creature, hungry only for your love.

And he notices. Something flickers in his gaze. A trace of red drowns in the gray sea of his irises.

A pain that arrives before any word.

Remmick stiffens.

“No…” he says, speaking with that thin voice he uses when he’s afraid he might break. “No, hang on. You don’t think… you’re not seriously thinkin' that…”

He takes a step toward you.

Not threatening—definitely unsure. As if approaching a flame that might collapse or suddenly burn brighter.

His eyes widen, like he’s just seen the fear in you.

“I didn’t do it.”

His tone is broken now. Full of anguish.

“I swear on it, I didn’t. I promised you, the very day you let me stay here. I swore—”

His voice cracks.

His claws (still kept beneath the skin) seem to press against the flesh.

“I swore I’d never do it. Not even if someone was hurtin' you… not even if I was tempted. Not even if I was starvin'. I… I’ve learned to keep my hunger quiet. For ya.”

His chest rises and falls. He doesn’t need to breathe—but he does it anyway. To mimic life. Or maybe to soothe his soul.

You don’t answer right away. You’re not accusing him, but your gaze doesn’t soften.

And he can’t take it.

His eyes flicker. Not because he’s guilty—but because he no longer knows how to look innocent in your eyes.

He suddenly turns, and the transformation flashes through him like lightning:

His eyes turn red.

His hands stretch and twist.

Claws emerge.

His canines sharpen like knives.

A vase on the cabinet shatters with a single swipe—a violent blow.

The shards scatter across the floor, and you instinctively take a step back to avoid being hit, a startled gasp slipping from your lips a second too late.

Remmick freezes.

He turns to you.

And he sees it. Your frightened expression.

You bring a hand to your chest, your heart pounding—but you’re not sure if it’s truly fear of him or just the raw instinct from his sudden outburst.

But for him… for him, it’s worse than any sentence.

He stands there.

Mouth slightly open.

Looking like someone who’s lost everything in a single moment.

“Darlin'…”

His voice is barely a whisper. The tone unfamiliar—like it doesn’t even belong to him.

You don’t move. You don’t know if your heart is racing or has stopped altogether.

He takes a step back.

Then another.

As if every inch between you could somehow redeem him.

“I didn’t mean to. Please. Don’t—”

His hands tremble as he tries to retract the claws, his fingers flexing convulsively as if trying to push them back under his skin.

The nails retreat slowly. One by one. His hands return to their normal size.

Then his jaw tightens.

His teeth… retract. But there’s blood on his lip. He bit himself in the process.

The red in his eyes lingers a few seconds longer.

They stare at you, lost. As if they can’t look away from the face they love—a face that now fears him.

Then that too fades.

Back to gray. Liquid. Desperate.

You haven’t said a word.

Remmick drops to his knees. There, beside the shards. Not to pick them up. But to lower himself. To take away the weight of you looking down at him.

“Don’t be lookin' at me like that,” he murmurs.

“Not like… like I’m somethin' that'd touch you when you don't want it. Not like I could ever hurt you, really.”

You swallow.

But still, you say nothing.

Remmick leans forward, hands on the floor. You see him trying to slow his breathing, shoulders trembling.

“I lost control, love. Just for a second. Didn’t mean to frighten you, but…”

He stops. The words stick in his throat.

“It felt like… you weren't believin' in me anymore.”

His tone is low, full of something breaking without making a sound.

“And I… I don’t know how… I don’t know what to do if you don’t look at me the same way anymore.”

There’s a nakedness in that sentence that leaves you breathless.

Not physical. Not theatrical. Real.

As if every gesture he made — every touch, every laugh, every kiss — hovered around the way you look at him. And if that vanishes, he disappears.

You can’t breathe properly. Not yet. But you look at him. This time, truly.

And you see everything.

The pale skin still glistening slightly with sweat, as if it retained the traces of transformation. Hands resting on the floor, fingers curled but human again, lined with thin red trails — maybe from the shards, maybe from himself. Lips drawn tight, bruised. Eyes locked on you, glassy, swollen. As if holding back tears.

“I'd never hurt you,” he whispers. “I wouldn’t even lay a finger on you. Not at you. Never at you.”

He takes a breath, broken and ruined, and lowers his head.

The silence weighs like concrete between you.

You standing, him on his knees.

And between you… the fracture.

Remmick doesn’t move for long seconds. He stays there, frozen, as if afraid that even the act of standing might make you disappear. But then he looks at you again. More slowly. And slides a little closer. Cautious, silent. He moves like water searching for a crack, like a wounded animal with nowhere to go.

He drags himself forward on his knees. One hand brushes the floor. The other stays raised halfway, as if offering itself. He doesn’t dare touch you. But he gets closer. A little more.

And you— You lift your hand. Stopping him.

“No.”

The word is small. Not harsh. But final.

Remmick freezes instantly. As if your voice were a thin blade that just carved into his breath.

You look at him. Finally, with firmness.

“I need to… think.”

Your hand stays raised, between you. A gesture more powerful than any word.

“Alone.” you add.

He doesn’t defend himself. Doesn’t justify.

His face lowers, his eyes drift back to the floor. It’s as if every unsaid word slipped into the cracks of silence and dimmed him a little more.

You don’t wait for him to say anything else. You turn your face. And you leave.

You walk slowly toward the hallway. Every step is dense. Every breath heavy. You don’t turn back. You don’t want to see if he’s watching you leave. You don’t want to know if he’s crying, or praying, or simply waiting.

You cross the bedroom threshold and close the door.

Then lean against it, back to the wood, as if holding out a storm.

The cat must have jumped down from its spot at the window after Remmick broke down, and is now curled up on the bed. It lifts one ear. Then recognizes you, stretches, and meows in a tired voice.

You don’t go to it immediately.

Your heart is still pounding too hard.

You move slowly through the room. Run a hand through your hair. Slip off the hoodie that clung to your skin from anxious sweat. You sit on the bed and the cat slides closer, sensing your agitation, rubbing against your thigh.

You take a deep breath. Trying to push everything away. But the image is still there.

Him.

Standing beside the broken vase. The red eyes. The sharp fingers. The mouth full of teeth not meant for speaking.

You try to recall everything he said. His voice, the plea, the ruined tone with which he tried to ask for forgiveness.

“I swore to you.”

“I'd never hurt you. Never you.”

“I don’t know what to do if you don’t look at me the same way anymore.”

You know. You know he loves you. Or whatever distorted, deep, trembling form of love a creature like him can feel. You know he’s devoted to you. That he would never harm you.

But— But.

You saw something. Something that can’t be unseen. That can’t be ignored.

And you wonder if love, by itself, is enough to hold certain things back.

You lie down. The cat jumps up beside you, curls against your shoulder. Its body warm, heavy, familiar. You bury your face in the pillow.

You try to tell yourself: “It was just a moment. He’s sorry. You know him. You’ve seen him vulnerable, humble, small.”

But the mind…the mind doesn’t agree.

Your home. Your safe space. Shaken. Altered.

You close your eyes. The cat shifts, purring softly into your ear. It knows nothing, but senses something.

Your heartbeat slows only after long, weary, suspended minutes. And as your body finally gives in to exhaustion, as your hands relax, as the cat stretches out along your stomach…the image returns.

Not the outburst.

But his other version. The gentle one, the tame one, the domestic one. The one of a creature who loves you enough to die.

With that thought, with great difficulty, you fall asleep.

You wake up at dusk.

Your eyes struggle to adjust to the dim light. The glow filtering through the window is dark blue, thick, sunless. It’s not the middle of the night. But it’s late. Maybe seven, maybe eight. You don’t know. Your body feels heavy, like a stone sunk underwater.

You turn slowly in bed, searching for something to hold onto. The cat is gone — probably found a new cozy spot or a place on the cold radiator.

You move to sit up, and something slips from your shoulders and gathers in your lap.

A blanket.

You don’t remember wrapping yourself in a blanket. Sleep must have taken you before you could do anything.

It was placed over you, gently.

Your fingers touch it, lightly grip it, and a soft smile comes to your lips.

There’s no need to wonder who put it there.

Remmick.

A thought crosses your mind. He must have come in quietly, while you were sleeping. He must have looked at you. Maybe knelt beside the bed. Maybe he just wanted… to do something for you, even without forgiveness.

You get up, finally. Your muscles are stiff. You wrap the blanket around yourself like a cloak and open the bedroom door.

The house is dark, silent. The kitchen light is still on, faint and yellow. Just one bulb — the one above the stove. There’s no sign of him.

No bowl out of place, no cup, no note.

You search for him out of habit: the chair where he always sits, the window where he reads, the hallway where he follows you in the morning to ask if you need anything.

But he’s not there.

He must have gone out to feed, you think. He never goes out this early, but after a day like that…

Then another question comes to mind.

One you can’t bring yourself to say aloud.

What was he feeding on tonight?

You don’t want to think about it.

And yet, you can’t stop yourself.

He often stayed in for days to spend time with you after work, but the next morning he always had that distant look. You always knew he was holding himself back. Even now… your mind keeps circling back to that sentence Iwan said, back at the shop.

“The neck… not broken. Torn.”

You move into the kitchen, slowly. On the stove, the sauce he had probably finished that afternoon still sits. Next to it, a plate and a portion of uncooked pasta had already been laid out. Your stomach tightens with sorrow.

You’re not hungry, but you cook anyway. To distract yourself. To pretend it’s an ordinary evening. You reheat everything in a pan. The steam fogs your eyes. You wait until the pasta is ready, drain the water into the pot, and pour a ladle of sauce over the serving.

You eat standing up, like you only do when you’re nervous. The spoon taps softly against the rim of the bowl.

The silence in the house is a crouching beast.

He should be here. Not to talk. Not even to ask for forgiveness. Just…be here.

Because Remmick, despite everything, has always been there. Even when it wasn’t needed. Even when you didn’t want him.

You finish eating. Put the dishes in the sink. Then you return to the bedroom.

You don’t think of him with anger. Not anymore. But you wonder what he’s doing, where he is.

You get back into bed. The blanket he left draped over you is still warm. You pull it over yourself again. You turn toward the pillow.

This time, sleep comes without asking permission. But it’s not peaceful sleep. It’s a sleep of waiting.

When morning comes and you wake up, you head to the bathroom to wash. You get ready for the workday, and as you leave the bedroom, you expect to see him behind the kitchen counter. However, as you pass through the hallway, sunlight floods the house through the open shutters.

And then you know. Remmick didn’t come home.

The morning light is clear, merciless. There’s no fog today, only cold, transparent air that makes everything sharper than necessary.

You hear your footsteps on the cobblestones. The echo bounces inside your chest.

You arrive at the shop a few minutes early. Iwan isn’t there yet. You open up. You pull up the shutters. Turn on the lights. Open the cash register, put on background music. A gentle playlist, full of guitars and female voices singing about love as if it weren’t something that tears people apart.

Everything seems normal. But it’s not.

The morning drags on slowly. Customers come in, ask stupid questions, impatiently flip through decorative catalogs. You answer everything. Smile. Sell. Assist. But the thought… remains.

Where is he hiding? Where did he sleep? How did he not burn?

Remmick, without your roof over his head, is just a shadow in the world. An ancient, fragile fragment that could be lost — or worse, found.

Because there are the Custodians. After the recent event, they must have split across the outskirts. You know they patrol the cities after sundown, hunting those who don’t conform. Those who show too much hunger, too much threat. And Remmick, even if he’s always obeyed you, is still a walking threat.

You lean on the counter, checking your phone for the umpteenth time. No messages. Not even a shadow of his name.

Maybe he’s tired. Maybe he just found a good hiding place. Maybe he’s under an abandoned church. Maybe he found shelter in the library’s underground levels, where no light reaches.

You hope.

And meanwhile, your heart pulses in your ears every time the shop bell rings.

Until…

At a quarter to noon, Iwan walks in.

He throws open the door with the excitement of someone who’s just seen an explosion.

“Did you see the news?” he asks, without even greeting you.

You shoot upright. Your heart stops. It truly stops.

He drops the newspaper on the table and the words pour out: “They caught the monster! They got him last night!”

You don’t breathe. You don’t move. The universe pulls back.

Iwan smiles, thrilled. He talks, but you don’t hear at first. There’s a ringing in your ears.

“They caught the monster.”

The phrase cuts you in two.

For a moment, you see only him. Remmick. Cold hands. Shaking voice. Eyes full of guilt. His pleading whispers.

And now... Caught.

Maybe tied up. Maybe burned. Maybe — God, no — maybe dismembered in a basement by hands that don’t know the difference between what’s dangerous and what’s merely… different.

You can’t breathe.

“Iwan…” you manage to say. “Who? Who did they catch?”

“Oh, right!” he laughs, not noticing anything. “No, wait — it wasn’t a real monster. I mean, not one of those night creatures. It was some guy. A drunkard. You know, the one we’d sometimes see passed out outside the pub down the street?”

You don’t understand. You’re still holding your breath.

“Turns out it wasn’t a mauling, no. They discovered the victim started a fight with him on the bridge. Apparently, he was out of his mind. The drunk guy smashed a bottle over his head and stabbed it into his neck.”

It hits you like a punch to the gut.

“He fell off the bridge, they say. Hit the bottom. Broken neck. Then the current…you know. They found him later. But the bottle shattered his throat. They only figured that out afterward.”

Iwan sighs like he’s relieved, like he couldn’t wait to talk to someone about it.

“A cyclist saw the scuffle and called it in late. It’s all written down. The papers are saying it. They blew the story up at the bar last night, as usual.”

Iwan shrugs, flipping through the newspaper in front of you.

You stay completely still. Not a single muscle moves.

Your heart starts again suddenly, like it had been held underwater for hours. You grip the counter. Inhale. Hold.

And then the truth slaps you in the face.

Remmick didn’t lie. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t snap a neck. He didn’t kill. He kept his word.

And now…now you have no idea how to find him.

It’s late afternoon when you return home, walking like someone who’s been moving all day without really knowing where they were going. You’re no longer hungry. Not sleepy. Just tired—A kind of tiredness no pillow can fix.

You open the door. The apartment is just as you left it. Silent. Tidy. Empty.

You take off your jacket and let it fall over a chair. Then you hold a mug in your hands out of habit, but don’t fill it. You step out onto the porch.

Outside, the sky is a dirty orange fading slowly into blue. The approaching evening air is cool. Damp. The fig tree’s branches barely move, but they seem to be watching you.

You sit on the wooden step, facing the small garden you’d tried to keep in order—and that Remmick had offered to tend to, even though he couldn’t tell a weed from an herb.

Still, it’s thanks to him the garden is still green. Last summer, he was always outside watering with the hose. You remember how you used to watch him silently from the porch chair, and how he once sprayed you completely with water just because you’d pointed out a spot he’d missed.

You rest your elbows on your knees and let yourself slump forward, like your head is too heavy and pulling you toward the ground.

Where could I look for him?

Under bridges, maybe. In abandoned depots. In the crypts of that ruined church—the one where he once told you the silence was so complete it hurt his ears. Maybe in a library. Or maybe…

The thought ends there. You have no idea where to begin. You bury your face in your arms and sigh—loudly.

Then something moves.

A soft thump.

You lift your head suddenly and turn toward the sound.

Your cat.

It’s jumped down from the window ledge and now walks casually down the stone path, heading toward the old garden shed. You haven’t opened it in months. It had basically become Remmick’s space. He made you buy all kinds of tools for the garden and had stored them in there.

The cat stops right in front of it. Rubs against the bottom of the door. Purring.

You freeze.

Then you notice something. The lock. It’s closed.

Not slightly ajar. Not gently pushed shut. Locked.

Just like that rainy night.

Your blood freezes. Your legs tremble beneath you, but you stand up anyway.

You cross the garden in a few steps, ignoring anything in your way, and approach the door. The cat watches you, meows, then steps aside—as if making space.

You raise your hand. Heart in your throat.

Turn the handle. Pull hard.

The door creaks open with difficulty. The warm light of sunset pours into the dark shed—and you see him.

Curled up near the door, arms wrapped around his knees. He’s pale. Paler than usual. He looks like a ghost. The light hits him full on and he hisses—a low, sharp sound, like a wounded cat.

He recoils instantly, dragging himself back into the darkness. The skin on his arms smokes where the light touched him. It doesn’t burn. But it marks. Small cracks, like dried leaves.

You freeze. Just for a moment.

Then, without hesitation, you step inside and shut the door behind you. The light disappears.

You watch Remmick’s red eyes flicker in the dark as he blinks. But you’re no longer afraid. You hear him breathing heavily, and then he speaks.

“Please. Please, just let me stay, will ya? I only want to be close. Even if it's just....even just to watch you from afar.”

His voice isn’t desperate. It’s exhausted. Worn down. Like someone who’s cried all night and all day and has nothing left.

You stay standing by the door.

He keeps talking, as if your silence might become another sentence.

“I didn’t want to go, but you were all shook up. I didn’t know what you’d do. I just—”

A broken breath.

“Just wanted to see if you were alright. If you could get a bit of sleep.”

You bring a hand to your mouth. You can’t speak. The relief hits so hard it bursts inside you like pain.

He was here. In your garden. Two meters away. Slowly dying in silence, like an abandoned dog waiting for autumn.

And you didn’t see him.

You sit down on the ground, back against the shed wall, knees pulled to your chest. The first tears fall without a sound. Just warmth. Silent streaks sliding down your cheeks. Then—a sob escapes your lips, dragging everything with it. Every ounce of pain. Every thread of guilt.

Remmick, probably misreading your tears, speaks again. Whispers.

“Let me stay. I won’t come out. I won’t say a word. I won’t go near the house again. Just let me be close to ya. That's all.”

You close your eyes and finally, strength returns to your voice, powered by pure relief.

“I’m sorry…”

Remmick’s red eyes go wide. He listens, not even breathing.

“I’m really sorry, Remmick. I’m an idiot. No, worse… I’m a selfish bitch.”

You wipe your face with your sleeve. Breathe deep, trying to make room in your chest.

“I should have believed you. I should have. I was standing there with all the proof in front of me, and I looked at you like—” You stops, your throat tight. “Like you were something to fear. When you’ve only ever been… good. Kind.”

You hear him shift—barely. A soft, scraping movement.

“I treated you like you were guilty. You were right here and I didn’t know. So close. So alone.”

A sob cuts your breath. You can’t speak anymore. Your throat tightens more.

The voice that answers isn’t the same cracked one from before. It’s fuller. More alive.

“You’re not an idiot.”

Still faint, yes, but there’s something pulsing in it now. As if your tears had started to heal him.

“Don’t be sayin' that,” he repeats. “You’re not. You’re not.”

You see him now. His body barely emerges from the darkest corner. His eyes swollen, cheeks streaked with something not quite tears, but close. Hair a mess. Hands shaking. He looks at you, but doesn’t take that final step. He waits.

Like he always does.

So it’s you who makes the move. Small, but clear.

You reach out a hand toward him and Remmick moves instantly.

In a moment—just one—he’s there.

His arms wrap around you, anchoring to your back and pulling you against him. Your body slides into his, fitting perfectly, like puzzle pieces. He leans into your neck and stays there, breathing in your scent. Yesterday, you would’ve been afraid. You would’ve pushed him away. Today, you just feel stupid.

You let him hold you. Give in to the contact. Close your eyes.

The sigh he lets out is the sound of someone who’s been held underwater for days and is finally breathing again.

He touches you with almost childlike devotion. Fingers gently combing through your hair, across your nape, down your spine.

“I thought I’d never get to hold ya like this again.”

His warm breath brushes your neck, and you feel him nuzzle there. You hold him tighter. Afraid he might change his mind and pull away for having been hurt. Your chin rests on his shoulder and you smile. The scent of his skin—that faint, cool note of night and wax—fills your lungs.

He rocks you slightly. As if to soothe you. But also, himself. As if just touching you brings him back to the world. His world.

“I won’t scare ya again, sweetheart. I promise.”

Your eyes soften. You sit up a little straighter, pressing your hands to his shoulders. At first, he resists. He doesn’t want to let you go. But then, sensing you’re not pulling away, just grounding him—he relaxes. You take his face in your hands, fingertips tracing small, delicate caresses and you guide his gaze to meet yours.

“I know, Remmick.” And you say nothing more.

You stay in the shed for hours still, giving the sun time to vanish from the horizon, letting night fall around you once again.

This time peaceful. Together.

When the sky turns a deep blue and the sun is finally low enough not to hurt his skin anymore, you decide it’s time to bring him back inside.

Gently, you disentangle yourself from his embrace and stand up. He looks at you, still a little lost in the tangle of emotions.

You hold out your hand without speaking. He looks at it as if it were a sacred offer, then slowly takes it with both his hands and lets himself be helped up. He walks beside you in silence. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t look for words. He simply trusts.

The house is warm. When you enter, the cat watches you from the armchair with the air of someone who has been on guard, and accepts Remmick’s return without any hostile gesture, as if it understood. You close the door behind you and guide him down the hallway to the bathroom.

You turn on the light and sit on the edge of the bathtub. Remmick stays still at the threshold, as if unsure whether he can really cross it.

“Come here,” you say, motioning with your hand, and he obeys.

He moves slowly, like something fragile, as if afraid to break something just by walking. He passes by you and stops in front of the tub, silently. You bend down, turn on the warm water, and let it run until you find the right temperature. He raises his hands over his shirt but then stops. His eyes search for yours. There is no shame, not really. There is only… hesitation. As if he’s afraid of making a mistake again.

You say nothing. You move closer, take the edges of his shirt, and lift it over his head, pulling it off. Then the pants, slowly, without hurry. As if you were undoing, piece by piece, the tension that had stuck to him.

He stays naked there, full and clear like wax. His skin is dusty, knees scratched, hair stuck to the nape of his forehead. Yet he seems beautiful to you. Because he has come back. Because he is here.

You help him into the tub. The water wraps around his legs, wets his pubic area, belly, chest. He takes a deep breath—not necessary, but freeing. He sits and stretches out his legs. His back relaxes for the first time. His chin lowers to his chest and he stays like that, silently.

You kneel beside him. Take a bowl from the cabinet and pour warm water over his hair. He closes his eyes without protest, and you repeat the gesture two, three, four times until his hair clings to his forehead like black silk threads.

Then you open the shampoo, pour some liquid into your hands, and begin massaging it gently onto his head. Your fingers move carefully: roots, nape, temples. He doesn’t speak, but you feel his breath deepen. He lets go. You understand this from how he slightly tilts his head, from how he trusts your hands like an animal cared for after days of rain.

“Have you ever let someone wash you?” you ask softly, wanting to fill the silence.

He makes a guttural sound, a mix between a moan and a stifled smile.

“Never. Never like this…”

“You could get used to it, huh?” you say with a little smile, to break the emotion.

“If you’re offerin', I’m not sayin' no, that's for sure.”

You laugh softly, and he smiles without opening his eyes.

You pour more water until all the foam disappears. Then you take a soft towel and wipe his face, ears, and the back of his neck. His eyes now look for yours, no longer uncertain. Only full. Of unspoken things. Of silent gratitude. Of a calm you’d seen slip away.

You take the liquid soap and pour it onto the soft glove. Then you start washing his shoulders. The touch is slow, respectful. There is no desire, but something more silent and deep. You wash him like you would wash a beloved body that has suffered too much. Without hurry. Without speaking.

The shoulder blades, the arms, the hands.

Then you slide down the ribs, following the shape of his lean back, the hollow side, the flat belly.

His breath changes, becomes longer, more held. At first, you don’t pay much attention.

“You’re treatin' me like a precious ornament, love,” he says at some point, his voice suddenly tense.

“You are. A bit dusty, though.”

“Still sittin' on a shelf in your mental livin'' room, I am.”

“Sometimes above the fridge, along with glasses I don’t use.”

He laughs. It’s a low, soft sound, echoing lightly against the tiles. It seems like the first real laugh in days.

The sponge reaches his lower belly but you turn and move to his thighs, pressing there. His pelvis shifts a few centimeters but you feel it. You feel the erection pressing firmly against the inside of your wrist.

It makes you smile. Always so sensitive to your touch, even after you almost kicked him out of the house.

Your fingers nestle among the wet hairs at the base of his penis like a tease, and this pulls a new sigh of pleasure from him.

It’s what you want to hear for the rest of your life. Him enjoying your attention.

His hand closes on your wrist and you stop, uncertain.

When you lift your gaze, his gray eyes are fixed on your face. For a moment you think you’ve made a mistake. That you misunderstood and he didn’t want all this.

“I can stop if you—”

He shakes his head and takes your hand out of the water to give a tender kiss on the inside of your wrist.

“Ah, fuck, darlin', no. It’s…,” his voice vibrates in a sound like your cat’s purring, “It’s grand but… let me get out of here first…”

You sigh in relief and continue washing him.

Piece by piece, while the water turns lukewarm, then cool. Only then do you help him stand up.

You take the towel from the small hook and wrap it around his torso. He stays still, arms open to be wrapped. He lets you dry his hands, fingers, even the backs of his knees. When you finish, kneeling, you lift your chin and look him in the face, smiling slightly.

His cock is still erect, pressing against the base of his abs with a slight spasm as if to catch your attention.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

He just nods, not trusting his own voice.

You stand up and take his hand. You walk down the corridor and when you catch sight of your cat from the corner of your eye, you decide to close the door behind you once you reach the bedroom. You didn’t want any conflicts tonight, of any kind.

Tonight was for him.

“Sit down.”

He does it, without thinking twice. He sits on the mattress but as he does, his hands rise and rest on your hips, making you collapse into his lap.

You blink confusedly but he looks at you intensely.

His fingers move away from your hips and go up to your face, tenderly brushing your cheeks.

The way he looks at you, the way he touches you…

You had been so blind.

His lips press on yours. The kiss is neither demanding nor hurried. There is gratitude in it, a feeling of infinite ease and safety. His thumb traces circles on your cheek, making you part your lips for him and pulling you closer.

His beard scratches your face but it’s fine; it was a pleasant pain to bear. Surely less debilitating than what he had been through.

He moves his hips just enough to press his erect cock against your inner thigh, covered by leggings, and moans into your mouth.

You push him back by the shoulders, making his back hit the mattress and the soft fabric of the sheets. You leave his lips and slide down his body, showering him with kisses and touches, enjoying the small needy sounds he didn’t intend to hold back.

When you reach his cock and your fingers carefully circle it, feeling the warmth and weight against your palm, Remmick groans hoarsely.

“Fuck, darlin'. You don’t have to do this…” he says cautiously.

“I know.” Your eyes gleam mischievously and you squeeze just a little tighter. “But I want to.”

Remmick swallows and looks down at you, one arm placed behind his head so as not to miss a second.

“My boy is always so good. So attentive. He would never disobey me.”

You whisper, deliberately sliding your hand along his shaft, pressing your fingertip against the prominent vein running along the underside.

The vampire’s hips jerk involuntarily, seeking more friction, chasing your hand and pressing into your clenched fist, clearly affected by your words.

“I think you deserve a reward for being so good. Don’t you think?”

Remmick nods and a thin trail of saliva drips from his mouth, sliding down his chin.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

A shiver runs down your spine realizing the power you have over this creature, and slowly you lower your mouth where he needs it most.

You start by kissing the tip of his cock, spreading the viscosity of his pre-cum over your red lips.

That alone is enough to break him. His hands clutch the sheets because he doesn’t trust putting them on you, and he whispers your name like a prayer but doesn’t move his hips. He controls himself, like the good boy he is.

You open your mouth and take him slowly, getting used to his size without hurry. The warmth floods you and he moans a sound not very manly but that makes you rub your legs to ease that throbbing pain of restrained desire.

“Yer mouth...is so hot…”

His voice fades into a new moan that can only be filled with despair as you hollow your cheeks and start sucking him, tongue pressed at the base as you go down and circling the tip as you go up.

“Ma’am… hold on… hold on a sec…”

You hum satisfied and feel him writhe beneath you, as if wanting to move away but not wanting to at the same time.

You take more and more, trying to adapt and take him fully, and when you hit the back of your throat you feel his legs tremble strongly under your hands.

“Sugar, please…” he whines pathetically, eyes glowing red again against his will. “I’m close… I'm fuckin' close—”

Remmick brings a hand to his mouth to stifle the deep sound and bites, breaking skin and flesh.

The taste of him starts to fill your mouth in torrents and you have to close your throat to keep the liquid from flowing down. You climb back onto him and, unbothered by the blood and drool that was running down his cheeks, you took his chin in your fingers and opened his mouth. The seed slips from your mouth to his in a wet, messy sound. The white liquid slid over his sharp teeth and tongue and he swallowed it all before he rose and took your lips with his again.

He sucks your tongue and plunders your mouth, searching for more of his sperm and holds your head still so he has plenty of time to do so. You taste his blood but for some reason it doesn’t disgust you. Nothing about him does.

“You’ll be the death of me, so ya will.” He whispers against your cheeks when he pulls away a little.

“You’re already dead.” You laugh as he slides your shirt and bra off with masterly skill.

“Then you’d finish me a second time.”

His hands rest on your waist, helping you stand between his spread legs and you slide the rest of your clothes down yours. You toss everything in the corner of the room. You’d have to think about it the next morning.

His cock is still hard, as if it hadn’t just exploded in your mouth and you shake your head. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. You think he’s going to grab you, throw you under him, line up and enter you in one move given how agitated he is. But no.

He looks up at you, hands pressed to the mattress for support and gasps a couple of times. It looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t.

You frown.

“Remmick-”

“Iloveya.”

He says it quickly, like it’s a curse. As if he wasn’t allowed to say it but he wanted to anyway.

Your lips part slightly. The heart in your chest jumps and you think that if your mouth had been slightly wider, it would have fallen into his lap.

Sarcasm, as always, is your best defense.

“Are you saying that because I just made you come or…?”

“I fucking love ya.” He almost growls at him and rests his forehead against your knees. “It’s alright if ya…if ya don’t feel the same. I've love enough in me for the both of us. I can-”

Your hand presses to his head and before he can say anything else, you muffle his words with your mouth, leaning into him and wrapping your legs around his hips. You taste the saltiness of tears in your kiss and you’re not sure if they’re yours or his. But you don’t care.

“My poor pretty boy. Of course I love you.”

Remmick shivers as the tip of his cock breaks the confines of your entrance, collecting all your wetness and sliding into your cavern.

“You’re soaking wet, love…” he moans as your arms wrap around his neck to keep both of you in a comfortable position. “I’ve missed ya so much…”

His hands settle on your butt and he lifts you up, letting his length leave you before bringing you back down and impaling you again. His drool runs down your collarbone, pooling where you’re joined and you shiver at the sensation.

When your walls have softened enough for him, you feel him push a faster pace and his hips stutter into yours in pursuit of pleasure. He’s panting against you and you want to watch him. You want to watch what you do to him.

Your fingers close in his hair and you pull him back enough to look into his eyes. The image of the bloodthirsty creature is before your eyes, its fangs wet with his blood and his eyes fiery red, but as much as you want to, he doesn’t scare you. Not anymore.

“There he is, my good boy. You fuck me so good.” you tried to keep your voice steady but it still shook.

Your thumb nestles in his mouth, presses against his tongue, grazing his fangs but he doesn’t bite. He doesn’t dare.

“Who’s my good boy, Remmick?”

“I…fuck, it’s me, baby. I’m yer good boy.”

His eyes roll back in his head as you clench your walls around him and his lips close around your thumb, muffled by his whimpers. You see the muscles in his arms tense as he continues to lift you up and down on his cock, and it makes your mouth water.

You feel your orgasm approaching faster and faster, and you reach down to stroke your clit in tandem with his thrusts. It overwhelms you almost immediately, and your hand tightens convulsively on his shoulder as you come around his thick cock, screaming his name.

This seems to push him over the edge, and he pulls you down hard as he buries himself in you all the way to your balls. His seed fills you up and you’re pressed against his chest as he makes shallow, thrust thrusts to pump him deep into you, every last drop.

When his breathing calms but he doesn’t let go of you, you caress the back of his head with little scratches.

“Is everything okay?”

“Forgive me…”

You smile again and kiss the top of his head.

“No more apologizing. But I’m warning you…”

He pulls back at the stiff tone of your voice. His puppy eyes all wide and waiting at you, dreading your next words.

You grin. “Next time you break something I’ll spray you with garlic water.”

#remmick #sinners #ryan coogler #jack o'connell #remmick x reader #remmick smut #remmick fanfic #remmick x you #sinners 2025 #vampire #pathetic remmick #pet remmick

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spearofheaven · 3 days ago

Text

⋆˚࿔ CANDY SHOP — kamo, choso

SUM. horny and inexperienced, choso stumbles across a sex shop nearby. he didn’t expect his purchase of a toy would include more than stellar customer service.

CONTAINS. 18+ content, MDNI. 1.2k words. x fem reader. non canon compliant/au. smut. use of a toy. sorta kinda public. orgasm denial. sub choso. use of mistress.

A/N. couple months later and i still love pathetic men :p (last repost and i’ll stfu i swear)

“welcome to arousal zone.”

you stood behind the counter with a playboy magazine in hand, chewing cherry flavored gum while haphazardly flipping through a couple of the pages. anything that helped pass the slow shift faster.

working at a sex store on the outskirts of tokyo hadn’t been exactly what you’d wrote down on your five year plan—but it paid the bills. once you removed the occasional frat boy that stumbled in buying an anal plug as a gag, the job wasn’t too bad.

you looked over to see the pale man stepping foot into the store—immediately looking out of his element. he gawked at the selection available at the front like a zoo exhibit, staring at anything and everything that he could take in before making his way further into the shop.

choso roamed the halls of the store like a lost puppy—staring at all the different toys outlining the shelves. cock rings. fluffy handcuffs. pocket puss- choso nearly cracked his neck with how fast he did a double take, eagerly placing the box in his hands. he began reading through it, sticking it under his arm when he finished.

along with a waterproof vibrator. until he realized.. he had no idea how any of this shit worked.

“excuse me.” he walked up to the counter with the two items in tow, meeting your bored expression when you looked up from the magazine.

“do you have any tips for any toys… or how they work?” he rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish expression on his face upon asking the question. you raised a brow, leaning across the counter. not missing the way his gaze went down to your chest.

“well it usually depends on what you’re into, but i can give you a hands-on demonstration if you’d like.”

which is how you found yourself locked in the cramped fitting room, rubbing your palm across the stranger’s hardening cock. “lemme see the toys you picked out.” you snagged the boxes up before eyeing each piece, deciding to unbox the vibrator.

“so this one has four modes—each one more intense than the last,” you explained, your fingers tracing the outline of his cock. you looked up from the manual to see him gulp, a devilish smile appearing on your lips. “don’t worry, i’ll take care of you.”

you flipped the switch on, the wand vibrating in your hand, “though i gotta say, you’re desperate. letting me do this and i don’t even know your name.” his cock visibly twitched the moment you pressed the tip against the tent in his pants.

“d’ya want to know my name?” the man asked through shaky breaths, his chest starting to heave. he unzipped his pants, lowering them down to his thighs before speaking up again, his cock leaking onto the patch of hair going up his stomach.

before you had the chance to respond, he quickly spoke up, “choso, my name’s choso.”

“choso,” you tested the name on your tongue, a moan leaving his lips when you did. you slowly started to move the vibrator against his hard cock, watching the man grow even more and more sensitive.

“more,” he looked over at you with big, pleading eyes that almost made you want to agree.

“try that again,” you clicked your tongue, pulling the vibrator away completely. you dragged your manicured nail down his happy trail, pulling away before you reached the trimmed patch of hair at the base.

choso racked his brain as he tried to figure out what you wanted to hear, deciding to go with the next best option, “give me more, please. i’ll do whatever you want me to do, accept whatever. just give me more.”

“that’s it, there you go,” you placed the vibrator against his shaft yet again, moving to the second level of intensity. your hands moved down to his sac, holding them in your palm before starting to gently move them in your hold.

“ngh-fuck!” choso was reduced to a puddled mess, gripping onto the ends of the dressing room bench. you switched over to the last level without much of a warning, feeling his thighs quiver underneath you.

he tried—he really did. try to think of anything else other than the impending orgasm. thought about the wretched smell wafting off his brother’s back. thought about the questionable things he’d encountered during his late night wanks. but to no avail.

it was shameful how quickly just a couple of your words and the vibrator had him this close.

"lemme cum," choso whined, his cock twitching with every buzz of the vibrator that jolted against his shaft. drop after drop of precum fell onto your hand as he approached his climax, his balls growing heavy.

"i don't know, you were being a little impatient there, baby. we talked about this," you cooed, cruelly pulling the vibrator away just right before he had the chance to cum. a loud whine left his lips, bucking his hips to try to get any friction. to try to get anything.

“p-please mistress. make me c-cum, please,” choso’s voice cracked, quickly correcting his mistake. you pressed the vibrator two times, lowering the intensity before pressing it against his sensitive cock. rubbing his own pre with the wand like lube.

“see what happens when you ask nicely,” you mused, leaning in and pressing an open-mouthed kiss on the side of his neck that had him shivering. gently suctioning the skin between your lips, leaving him with a purple-red reminder of your time together. “but fine, i promised to take care of you after all.”

choso came within seconds of you increasing the vibration against him again, a pathetic and desperate moan leaving his lips, “right there, mistress. right there, please please don’t stop.” rope after rope of cum landed over his pants and thighs, a couple droplets managing to land on your fingers.

his eyes were locked on the way you stuck your pointer in between your lips, watching intently as you swirled your tongue around it to collect every drop. it had him wondering what you’d do to his cock if given enough time. “leave a couple seconds after,” you broke his fantasy, getting up from your spot and setting the vibrator down.

discreetly leaving the dressing room like it was all a dirty secret. and as the post nut clarity started to hit—hard (almost nearly as hard as him after that sinful imagery), he started to feel like a dirty secret.

choso took a couple seconds to gather his breath, pulling his pants up and stuffing the vibrator back in its box before making his way over to the register.

"come again soon," he didn’t miss your innuendo, scrambling to pick up his bag as soon as the receipt printed. he left the store with his cheeks slightly flushed and his zipper down, a couple white stains marking the black material of his jeans.

about as subtle as a bull in a china shop.

you turned to look at the next customer in line, a balding middle aged man with a gold ring sparkling on his finger, “can i help you?”

"can i get the same service that he got?"

#⋆˚࿔ 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⋆˚࿔#choso kamo #choso kamo smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk fic #jjk scenarios #jjk au #choso kamo x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x female reader #kamo choso smut #kamo choso #choso smut #jjk choso smut #choso kamo drabble

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chrissssssmut · 3 months ago

Note

Bro I NEEED a IVE catgirl smut.

PURRING, PANTING, BEGGING (SMUT)

IVE x Male Reader

AN: I hope this one's good! The M reader def just gets the time of his life here XD. Also, happy to be able to put out another story! I'll def do your requests you guys!💗

It had been an exhausting day at work—another shift of paperwork, polite customer service smiles, and an overbearing boss breathing down your neck. You weren’t anything special, just another ordinary guy in a city that moved too fast for its own good. You sighed as you unlocked your apartment door, your body aching for the soft embrace of your bed.

But something was off.

Right before you could step inside, your eyes caught onto a small, unassuming box sitting right at your doorstep. There was no note, no indication of where it had come from. Your brows furrowed as you bent down, hesitating before lifting the lid.

Inside were cats.

Six of them.

Different colors, different sizes, all staring up at you with wide, unblinking eyes. Some meowed softly, one even tilted its head, but they all looked as if they had been waiting for you.

“Who...?” you muttered to yourself.

You glanced around the empty hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever had abandoned them, but there was no one. Just the faint creak of an elevator door closing in the distance. You sighed, rubbing your temple. This was not how you thought your night would go.

Yet, despite the weirdness of it all, you couldn’t just leave them there. You weren’t heartless. With careful hands, you lifted the box and brought it inside, setting it down in your living room.

“Well,” you exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “Guess I have roommates now.”

The next few days were filled with adjustment. The cats were oddly well-behaved, unlike the strays you’d encountered before. They didn’t scratch up the furniture, they didn’t hiss or fight over food, and they all seemed... too intelligent.

That wasn’t even the strangest part.

Each of them wore a lace collar with a name embroidered onto it in delicate cursive.

The sleek, elegant white cat had “Yujin” stitched onto a pristine ivory ribbon. A smaller tabby with golden fur bore the name “Rei.” The black one, the troublemaker, had a dark purple ribbon labeled “Leeseo.” Then there was a gray cat with a regal air named “Gaeul,” a soft brown one marked “Liz,” and a strikingly beautiful feline with a midnight-blue coat named “Wonyoung.”

You thought it was odd. Who abandons cats with name tags so well-crafted?

But you shook the thought away. Maybe some rich family had left them, unwilling to care for them anymore. Whatever the reason, they were yours now.

They followed you everywhere.

They watched you.

And sometimes, just sometimes, you swore you could hear something—whispers, laughter—just barely out of reach.

But you ignored it. Maybe you were just tired.

It happened one night, about a week after you’d taken them in.

You had come home late, tossing your bag onto the couch before heading straight to your bedroom. You collapsed onto the mattress, exhaling deeply.

Then you heard it.

Purring.

It came from under your bed, low and vibrating through the floorboards. A deep, rhythmic sound, steady and soothing, yet oddly human. You blinked against the dim glow of your bedside lamp, your drowsy mind slow to register the sound.

With a sleepy smile, you reached down, expecting to brush your fingers through soft fur, maybe scratch behind an ear.

Instead, warmth. Soft.

And then—

Lips.

Your breath hitched, the sensation jolting you awake like ice down your spine. Lips. Warm. Pressing gently against your fingertips.

Not fur. Not whiskers. Lips.

A slow, deliberate kiss.

Your hand recoiled as if burned, and you shot upright in bed, your heart slamming against your ribs. The purring hadn’t stopped. If anything, it grew louder, reverberating through the room like a low hum of satisfaction.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you hesitantly peered over the edge of the bed.

And then—

Movement.

A pale hand, delicate fingers curling against the floor, nails dragging lightly against the wood. Then another. Then another. One by one, figures began to emerge from the darkness beneath your bed, their bodies unfolding like shadows stretching in the dim light.

You scrambled back against the headboard, your breath caught in your throat as you watched them crawl out—six girls, each one impossibly familiar. The white-haired one looked at you with knowing amusement, her eyes glinting like moonlight off fresh snow. The smallest of them giggled, her golden curls bouncing slightly as she tilted her head.

Your stomach twisted, your mind screaming at you to make sense of this. Because you knew them.

They were the cats.

No. That was impossible.

But there they were, kneeling at the foot of your bed, gazing up at you like they had been waiting for this moment. Their eyes glowed with something deep, something hungry.

“W-what the hell—”

Yujin—the elegant one, now with long white hair cascading over her shoulders—was the first to speak. “You’ve taken such good care of us.” Her voice was smooth, almost hypnotic. “We wanted to thank you.”

You tried to move, but your body felt frozen. “You—You’re the cats—”

Rei, the small one who had always curled up in your lap, giggled. “Mmm. We are. And we aren’t.”

One by one, they crawled closer, surrounding you. Their touches were soft, their warmth intoxicating. You could barely process what was happening when the first pair of lips pressed against yours.

A fleeting kiss.

Then another.

And another.

You shuddered, eyes darting between them, overwhelmed. “W-why—”

“You’re special,” Wonyoung whispered against your skin, her lips brushing your ear. “You didn’t throw us away. You didn’t ignore us. You cared.”

You swallowed hard. “Is this—Is this some kind of magic?”

Leeseo, the mischievous one, smirked. “Something like that.”

Your breath hitched as their lips met yours again, one after the other, each kiss sending an odd warmth through your body. Your mind screamed at you to run, to question, to do anything but sit there and take it.

But you didn’t move.

They wouldn’t let you.

And deep down, maybe a part of you didn’t want to.

Their hands were warm. Too warm. Soft fingertips traced patterns over your arms, your chest, the fabric of your shirt bunching under their slow, deliberate movements.

“Shhh,” Yujin cooed, her voice smooth as silk. “Don’t be nervous.”

Nervous? That was an understatement.

Rei giggled, her golden hair brushing against your cheek as she leaned in, lips grazing your jaw. “You’re trembling.”

Were you?

Your mind was screaming at you to move—to fight—but your body refused. You were trapped beneath their touch, surrounded by warmth and the faintest scent of something floral, something rich, something undeniably inhuman.

Wonyoung’s fingers ghosted over your collar, toying with the buttons of your shirt. “You took care of us so well,” she murmured, her lips just barely brushing against your throat. “Shouldn’t we return the favor?”

Before you could speak—before you could even think—Liz’s hands slid lower, tracing the hem of your pants. A slow, deliberate tug.

Your breath hitched.

Leeseo smirked. “Aw, look at him.”

“You’re so tense,” Gaeul whispered.

A delicate press of fingers against your waist. A teasing pull of fabric. The sensation of cool air hitting your skin as your pants were slowly—so agonizingly slowly—peeled away.

Yujin tilted your chin up, her smile sharp, predatory. “Relax.”

The room was suffocatingly warm. Maybe it was the way they pressed against you, their soft bodies caging you in, fingers tracing invisible lines over your skin. Or maybe it was the way they watched you—hungry, amused, like they were savoring every second of your unraveling.

Yujin was the first to move, her hand gliding up your chest, nails barely scraping over your skin. “Still so tense,” she murmured, her lips inches from yours.

Rei giggled beside you, her breath hot against your ear. “He’s trying so hard,” she whispered, the amusement in her voice unmistakable. Then—soft, deliberate—her teeth grazed your earlobe, a playful bite that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You jerked slightly, a strangled noise escaping your throat before you could swallow it down.

“Oh?” Wonyoung smirked, her fingers toying with the waistband of your boxers. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

You opened your mouth—maybe to deny it, maybe to protest—but the words caught in your throat as Gaeul’s hand brushed lower, her touch featherlight over your stomach. Lower. Lower.

A slow, deliberate press of her fingers against your growing need.

You inhaled sharply, body tensing at the contact.

“Sensitive,” Liz hummed, dragging a single fingertip along your hip, her touch maddeningly light. “That’s cute.”

Leeseo tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief as she propped herself up beside you. “Are you gonna keep pretending you don’t like this?”

Your breath was uneven, your mind struggling to keep up, to make sense of the heat pooling low in your stomach.

Rei giggled again, her lips still ghosting against your ear. “You’ve been so good to us,” she purred. “Don’t you think you deserve a reward?”

And then, as if to emphasize her words, Gaeul’s hand curled around your length—slow, deliberate, her grip just firm enough to make your body tense beneath her touch.

A quiet, satisfied hum left Yujin’s lips as she watched your reaction. “Much better,” she murmured. “Now just relax.”

But how could you?

When they weren’t going to stop until you completely fell apart.

You barely had time to process Gaeul’s touch before something shifted.

A sudden weight against your chest—Yujin, straddling you with effortless grace, her hands pressing down on your wrists, pinning you against the mattress. She wasn’t rough, not quite—but the way she smiled, slow and knowing, sent a shudder through your body.

“You’re so easy to handle,” she mused, tilting her head. “It’s cute.”

You swallowed hard, testing her grip, but she didn’t budge. If anything, her fingers tightened just slightly. Enough to remind you who was in control.

“You shouldn’t fight it,” Wonyoung murmured, her lips grazing your jawline. “Not when you want it this much.”

A soft breath left you—half denial, half something dangerously close to surrender.

And then—

A warm mouth.

Hot. Wet. Wrapped around the thickest part of you in a way that made your stomach clench.

Your breath hitched, eyes snapping downward just in time to see Rei’s golden curls bobbing slightly, her lips sealed around your aching need. She hummed softly, the vibration making your entire body tense.

“R-Rei—” Your voice broke, strangled.

She pulled back just slightly, her tongue flicking teasingly over the tip before glancing up at you with a smirk. “Mmm? Something wrong?”

Before you could answer—before you could even think—another mouth joined her.

Leeseo, the little troublemaker.

Her tongue traced along the underside of your length, slow and experimental, while Rei took the tip back between her lips, sucking lightly. The combined heat, the slickness of their mouths, was unbearable.

“Look at you,” Liz giggled, fingers skimming over your stomach, your chest. “You’re falling apart already.”

Yujin hummed in approval, her grip on your wrists unrelenting. “I knew you’d be fun.”

Gaeul and Wonyoung weren’t content to simply watch.

Wonyoung trailed her nails down your thigh, dragging them ever so lightly. “We should see how much he can handle.”

Gaeul smirked. “I don’t think he’ll last long.”

A sudden, deliberate squeeze at the base of your arousal—Gaeul’s fingers, firm and teasing. You gasped, your body twitching at the overwhelming mix of pleasure and restraint.

“You’re making the cutest sounds,” Leeseo cooed, flicking her tongue just beneath the tip, her breath warm and teasing.

Rei giggled, swirling her tongue before taking you deeper, her throat tightening around your length in a way that made your vision blur.

You clenched your fists against the sheets, your breath ragged.

Yujin tightened her grip on your wrists, pressing them further into the mattress as she leaned in, her lips just barely brushing against your ear. “Stop thinking so much,” she whispered, her voice smooth, intoxicating. “Just give in.”

Before you could even form a response, a sharp sting bloomed against your neck.

Teeth.

Your breath hitched as Wonyoung sucked against your skin, slow and deliberate, her tongue flicking over the spot before she pulled back with a satisfied hum. “Mmm. That’s a good look on you,” she murmured, tracing the fresh mark with her fingertips.

Gaeul followed suit, her lips trailing along your collarbone before biting down just hard enough to make you flinch. “We should cover him in them,” she mused, her breath warm against your skin. “Make sure everyone knows he’s ours.”

Liz giggled, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your chest, her teeth grazing before she latched on. “Don’t worry,” she murmured between kisses, “we’ll be gentle… maybe.”

Rei and Leeseo weren’t nearly as patient.

Rei tilted her head, admiring the marks forming across your skin. “He looks so pretty like this,” she cooed before biting down just beneath your jaw, her teeth sharper than expected.

Leeseo smirked, dragging her nails down your side. “I like seeing him squirm.”

Your breathing came in ragged, uneven bursts, your body trembling beneath them as they took their time, leaving their marks, staking their claim. Every kiss, every bite, sent another jolt of heat coursing through you, leaving you aching, needy, and utterly overwhelmed.

Yujin leaned back, admiring the sight of you beneath her. “Much better,” she murmured, tracing a possessive finger along the marks decorating your skin. “Now, let’s see how much more you can take.”

Yujin sank down onto you in one slow, deliberate motion, taking you to the hilt with an ease that made your breath stutter. A sharp gasp left your lips, swallowed instantly by the smirk curling at hers. She didn’t hesitate—her pace was relentless, rolling her hips with a purpose that left you unraveling beneath her, completely at her mercy.

You moaned, voice breaking as you gasped, ‘Y-Yujin, please… s-slow down…’ But she only smirked, her eyes dark with amusement. ‘Please?’ she echoed, leaning in close, her breath ghosting over your lips. ‘I think you can handle more than that.’ And just like that, she moved even faster, relentless, determined to push you past your limits.

While Yujin moved relentlessly atop of you, the others grew impatient—desperate. Hands roamed, lips grazed, and hungry eyes devoured every inch of you. Some craved your mouth, stealing kisses that left you breathless, while others were drawn lower, eager, insatiable, wanting to claim every part of you for themselves.

‘You can’t just keep him all to yourself, Yujin,’ Wonyoung pouted, her fingers tracing over your jaw before tilting his chin toward her. ‘I want a turn too.’

Rei let out a breathy giggle, her lips ghosting over your neck before biting down playfully. ‘Mmm, he tastes too good to share… but I guess we don’t have a choice, do we?’

Leeseo, practically buzzing with impatience, ran her nails down your chest. ‘I want to hear you beg again,’ she murmured, eyes gleaming as she leaned in, her lips just barely brushing against your own. ‘Think we can make him cry for us?’

Gaeul, ever the composed one, simply smirked as she pressed a kiss against your ear. ‘No need to rush,’ she whispered. ‘We have all night, after all.’

Liz, who had been watching the scene unfold with darkened eyes, leaned down, her voice soft but laced with something dangerous. ‘He’s already falling apart,’ she murmured, her fingers tracing lazy patterns along his skin. ‘I wonder how much more he can take before he completely breaks for us.

You felt your climax building—too fast, too intense. His breath hitched as he gasped, “Y-Yujin, I’m—”

But she only tightened her grip on you, her pace quickening, her body pressing him deeper. “Inside,” she whispered, voice laced with need. “I want all of it.”

That was all it took. The moment your release crashed over you, Yujin moaned in satisfaction, her body shuddering as she took everything you had to give. Slowly, she lifted herself off of you, breathless, her fingers lazily tracing over your chest as she admired the aftermath. You lay beneath her, panting, exhausted, body still trembling from the intensity.

But it wasn’t over.

Before you could fully catch his breath, Wonyoung was already there—her touch deliberate, her movements slow and taunting as she guided you back into her warmth. A teasing hum left her lips as she sank down onto you, her fingers curling against your chest. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?” she whispered, her lips ghosting over your ear.

Then she moved.

Faster. Harsher. Relentless.

Her hips snapped against you, her body taking you with a hunger even Yujin hadn’t shown. But it was her gaze that unraveled you—the way she locked eyes with you, deep and unwavering, a silent demand that he only look at her. “Stay with me,” she murmured, her pace never faltering. “Don’t even think about looking away.”

Your eyes locked onto Wonyoung, dazed and helpless beneath her. She leaned in, her breath warm against your lips, her pace growing impossibly faster.

“Say it,” she murmured, voice dripping with possession. “Say you’re mine… you’re ours.”

Your moans spilled out, uncontrolled, raw—but before he could utter a word, Yujin was there, crashing her lips against yours, swallowing every desperate sound. Her tongue slipped past your parted lips, deep and claiming, while her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you even closer.

Rei’s lips followed next, warm and teasing against your jawline, leaving a trail of kisses down to your throat before sinking her teeth in just enough to make you gasp. Leeseo wasn’t far behind, her breath hot as she latched onto your collarbone, her tongue flicking out before she sucked hard, determined to leave a mark.

Liz, not to be outdone, pressed kisses along your shoulder, her touch soft but lingering, her breath fanning over your skin as she whispered sweet praises between each press of her lips. Gaeul, slow and deliberate, traced the shell of your ear with her tongue before catching your earlobe between her teeth, giving a playful bite that sent a shiver down your spine.

And through it all, Wonyoung never stopped.

She only moved faster.

Wonyoung’s relentless pace had you on the edge, your body tensing beneath her. But before you could fully succumb, a sudden force pushed her off you—Rei. Desperate, impatient, her eyes burned with hunger as she took control.

“Move over,” she huffed, barely giving Wonyoung a moment to react before she straddled him herself—this time, in reverse.

And then—heat. Tight, overwhelming heat as Rei sank down onto you, taking you in all at once. The new position had your breath hitching, body locking up as the new angle sent shockwaves through your nerves. She wasted no time, rolling her hips with slow, deliberate movements before picking up the pace, the friction driving you insane.

The others didn’t let you catch a break.

“You like this, don’t you?” Leeseo whispered against his ear, her fingers dragging down your chest.

“You’re so tense,” Liz murmured, lips ghosting over your collarbone before sinking down to leave another mark.

“You can’t even think straight, can you?” Gaeul smirked, her nails tracing over your abs, teasing you as if she loved seeing you unravel.

Yujin leaned in last, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re completely helpless….it’s cute.”

Rei was lost in her own pleasure, grinding down on you with reckless abandon—until she wasn’t.

A pair of hands suddenly gripped her waist, pulling her off with little resistance. “You’ve had your turn,” Gaeul murmured, her tone playful but firm. Leeseo was right beside her, eyes glinting with mischief.

Before you could even catch your breath, warmth enveloped you—two sets of lips, two tongues, teasing and claiming every inch of you.

“You taste so good,” Leeseo hummed, her eyes flicking up to meet yours as she let your length rest against her tongue.

“Mmm,” Gaeul smirked, fingers wrapping around the base as she guided you between them. “Look at you, completely at our mercy.”

A soft, wet slap echoed through the room as the tip met their tongues, sending a shudder down your spine.

“Sensitive,” Leeseo teased, eyes dark with satisfaction. “We like that.”

And just like that, you were undone all over again.

You gasped, body trembling as the overwhelming pleasure built inside you. “F-fuck… please… slow down…” you begged, your voice breaking between sharp breaths.

But Gaeul only smirked against your skin, her lips trailing teasingly along your length before pressing a lingering kiss to the tip. “Aww, but you look so good like this,” she murmured, her breath warm against you.

Leeseo giggled, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Why would we stop when you’re reacting so beautifully?”

Then, they moved in sync—faster, deeper, their tongues swirling, their lips tightening around you, slick and relentless. Gaeul took you in deep, her throat constricting around you just as Leeseo’s tongue flicked along the underside, her fingers gripping your thighs to keep you from squirming away.

Every sound, every movement only pushed you further to the edge, and they knew it. They wanted you there.

While Leeseo and Gaeul made it nearly impossible for you to catch your breath, Liz leaned in close, her warm lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, her voice dripping with amusement.

“You know… this is all because of that sweet little heart of yours,” she purred. “Taking us in, feeding us, letting us curl up in your bed… You should’ve known we’d want to repay you.”

She giggled softly, her fingers tracing idle patterns along your heaving chest before she whispered even lower, just for you.

“I bet you’re grateful we can turn back into cats whenever we want,” she teased. “No one would ever suspect that the guy with six adorable pets is actually being fucked senseless by six beautiful women every night.”

She pulled back just enough to meet your dazed, helpless gaze, a wicked smile tugging at her lips. “You really are lucky.”

As your release built to an unbearable peak, the girls knelt before you, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Their breaths were hot, lips parted, waiting—needing.

Gaeul was the first to take you in her grasp, her fingers wrapping around your slick, throbbing length. She stroked you with purpose, her pace merciless, dragging out every shaky breath, every desperate moan.

"Don’t hold back," she murmured, her sultry voice sending shivers down your spine.

One by one, the others leaned in, their tongues flicking out, teasing—wet heat brushing against sensitive skin. Then came the slow, deliberate drips of spit, each of them making sure you were drenched, slick, gliding effortlessly under Gaeul’s skilled touch.

The pressure coiled tight, impossible to fight, until finally—your body tensed, your breath hitched, and your climax hit hard.

It spilled over them, painting flushed skin and eager lips. Wonyoung let out a pleased hum, swiping a finger across her cheek before slipping it between her lips, tasting you with a slow, satisfied moan. Rei giggled as she licked a stray drop from the corner of her mouth, while Liz, smirking, scraped a bit off her chin with her thumb before pressing it against your lips.

"Don’t you think it’s only fair you taste yourself too?" she teased.

You barely had time to recover, your body still trembling, before Yujin’s voice cut through the haze.

"Don’t get too comfortable," she purred, pushing you back down onto the sheets. "We’re not done with you yet."

You collapsed onto the bed, limbs heavy, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Your body felt like it had been completely drained, every nerve alight with a dull, lingering pleasure. The room was thick with warmth, the scent of sweat and something far more intoxicating hanging in the air.

Your head lolled to the side, eyes unfocused as you tried to process everything that had just happened. The way they touched you. The way they took you. The way they owned you. It was overwhelming—almost surreal.

Your lips parted, your voice hoarse. "W-why...why did that happen?" you murmured, barely able to string together the words. "What the hell was all of that?"

Soft giggles surrounded you, delicate fingers tracing lazy patterns over your chest and arms. Wonyoung leaned in, her lips ghosting over your ear, her voice like silk. "Because you wanted it."

Rei nuzzled against your side, her breath warm against your skin. "Because you needed it."

You swallowed hard, your mind still reeling. A part of you wanted to deny it, to act as if you had no control over what had just unfolded. But deep down, beneath the exhaustion and shock, there was no denying it.

You liked it.

Maybe even craved it.

Your fingers curled into the sheets as you exhaled a shaky breath. "...I don't know what this means," you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Yujin smiled against your skin, her lips pressing into your jawline. "It means you're ours now."

"Close your eyes for us, baby."

The request came in unison, teasing and playful, yet laced with something almost sinister. You hesitated for a second, still trying to catch your breath, but the way their hands gently traced over your skin left you no room to deny them.

With a slow inhale, you let your eyelids flutter shut.

"No peeking," Wonyoung cooed, her fingers ghosting over your lips before pulling away. "Not until we say so."

You swallowed, nodding in compliance. The room went quiet, save for the occasional rustle of fabric, soft giggles, and the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Minutes passed, anticipation curling tight in your stomach.

"Okay, open."

Your eyes slowly blinked open, adjusting to the sight before you—and fuck.

You could barely process what you were seeing.

Six pairs of eyes gleamed at you with mischief, framed by sleek cat ears perched atop their heads. Their outfits clung to them in all the right places—lace, straps, and dangerously short skirts barely leaving anything to the imagination.

Stockings ran up their legs, and you swore you could see the light glint off the tiny bells attached to their chokers.

Your throat went dry.

"Speechless?" Yujin smirked, tilting her head as her tail flicked behind her.

You swallowed hard, mouth opening, but no words formed.

Wonyoung sauntered forward, straddling you with ease, her nails dragging lightly down your chest. She leaned in, lips brushing against your ear as she purred:

"Ready for round two, pretty boy?"

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