#he most certainly doesn’t have a son

[desperatecheesecubes]

I should have been asleep a few hours ago but:

Bruce confiding to Clark that he regrets not getting to be there for Damian’s earliest years and then later Clark returning the favor by lamenting not getting to be there for Jons later years. About how this is the second son he didn’t get to see grow up and maybe he’s just not supposed to get to do that.

[tonycries]

Great With Kids? (You Can Have Mine) - C.K.

Synopsis. When your younger brother gets a new babysitter, only two questions linger on your mind: 1. How come your parents didn’t trust you in charge? 2. How dare the sexy babysitter be so perfect - it made you want some attention too.

Pairings. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, babysitter! Choso, male masturbation, voyeurism (from reader), Choso with nipple piercings and eyeliner hngh, unprotected, 69, choking, overstim, oral (male + female receiving), creampie, dirty talk, friends-to-lovers, Choso is down BAD and always has been, mentioned younger brother, swearing. 

Word count. 9.0k

A/N. Gojo longfic next time because I miss my pretty blue-eyed princess.

Your younger brother’s new babysitter was hot.

With a capital h. 

Scarily hot, in fact, that it made you wonder why the hell people stopped having babysitters past the age of 14.

Ah, Choso Kamo, the ever-elusive eldest son of the Itadori’s from next door. You still remember the first time you met him - well, mostly. 

The world was rocking gently at exactly 12:34AM after a night out with your old high school friends. And so were you, stumbling tipsily into your driveway, soaking up the warm summer air. 

Fumbling with the doorbell, you fully expected your parents to still be away on that extravagant couples’ cruise they’d won - one that probably cost more than your tuition.

Which also meant you expected the old lady from down the street to be babysitting tonight. Still wide awake and absolutely bursting at the seams to give you a detailed rundown about the neighborhood tea - who’s divorcing who, and her top suspects for who stole her prized garden gnome. 

What you certainly did not expect was for that door to swing open and to find yourself face-to-face with the most ridiculously attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Shirtless.

Dazed, your eyes involuntarily sweep his figure from head to toe - taking in every inch of those dark, sleep-mussed locks falling effortlessly around his slightly smudged eyeliner, all the way down to the chiseled- oh god, were those nipple piercings?

Alas, the universe isn’t on your side, and you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly the door slams right in your face, almost rattling off its hinges at the force. The sound echoes in your ears as you blink in disbelief at what the fuck that was. Was that real - was he real? 

You double check the address you’ve known for years - just in case - because, hell, if you were dreaming then this was a damn good one. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on something that won’t make your head spin before reaching for the door again.

But before your finger could even graze the doorbell, it cracks open once more. The same mysterious man towered before you, this time - you note, with a tinge of disappointment - wearing a snug t-shirt that still doesn’t do much to hide that godly physique. 

“Not that m’complaining, but who’re you and why’re ya in my house?” you manage to slur out, voice betraying the shiver that runs down your spine at his intense gaze. He simply leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and expression unreadable. 

“Choso,” he drawls lightly, eyes never leaving your face. Shit, even his voice was hot. 

You nod slowly, mind racing as you blearily try to remember just where you’d heard that name before. Some family friend? Nah, you’d know him if that was the case. An actor? God, he sure had the looks. 

Mercifully sensing your struggle, he clears his throat, snapping you out of your drunken reverie. “Not surprised you haven’t seen me around, sweetheart, but my parents live next door.” he offers, tone laced with amusement and something else you can’t place. “M’babysitting your brother for tonight.”

You almost don’t hear the second part of his explanation, because it hits you like a ton of bricks - oh shit, this was Choso? Choso either-a-hallucination-or-a-vampire Kamo? 

In all your years of having the Itadoris as your neighbors, you’d only seen fleeting glimpses of their eldest son - a flash of black hair at the window, or a sculpted, tattooed arm waving off Yuji at the doorway. And, well, you didn’t know what exactly you’d anticipated. You just didn’t expect him to be so…hot. Or stand half-naked in front of you.

God, he made you more dizzy than the alcohol. 

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anything. Yet Choso still hears, quirking an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Everything alright there?” he hums, the hint of a tease in his tone. Smug bastard.

You nod your head, clutching onto the doorframe for support as you lean in closer. “Mhm, perfect.” Wait- was that a blush dusting his face? Damn, this dream just keeps getting better and better.

Liquid courage coursing through you, you bat your lashes, too tipsy to even attempt a wink, “Well, Choso, let me know if ya need any help babysitting, jus’ know I’m always down to-” 

And then - perhaps to save you from the embarrassment of an awful pickup line - that’s when the universe decides to remind you of exactly how many kamikaze shots you’ve downed. The world lurches beneath you. Your hands scramble for something - anything - solid.

Ah, falling down really does feel good, especially when the ground is so warm, and soft. Smelling faintly of vanilla, with a hint of sunshine. 

And then it’s all black. 

To match his eyes.

---

The smell of vanilla still lingers in your mind as you slowly pry your eyes open, squinting against the harsh morning sunlight streaming in through your window. Groaning, you feel as though you’ve been run over by a truck. Five of them, in fact. 

Trying to will away the pounding headache, you bury yourself deeper into the snug covers of…your bed…that you’ve been tucked into? 

Oh shit. Sitting up with a gasp, you hastily try to rub away the sleep from your pointedly makeup-less eyes, remnants of last night now flooding back to you with a surge of embarrassment. 

Choso. Shirtless. Babysitting. Shirtless. But most importantly - your awful display of drunken flirting. The man appears once in a blue moon and you hit on him? Perfect. Great. Wonderful. 

And just as you’re entertaining the idea of convincing your parents to move neighborhoods, you realize with a jolt that he must’ve been the one that carried you up here and took care of you. Even after all of that. 

With a sigh, you rub your temples, wincing as it throbs at the laughter carrying from downstairs - one of them so decidedly Choso. Deep voice ringing in your ears, you can almost feel the lingering traces of his strong arms holding you flush against his chest, or the warm hands gently wiping off your eye shadow.

And it seems Choso had a penchant for interrupting your barely-lucid thoughts, because the door creaks open, ripping through the heavy silence in your room. Heart in your throat, you startle as Choso carefully steps into your room, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“G’morning,” he says, voice so gentle that some small, strange part of you thinks you could listen to it forever. “Feeling any better?”

You offer him a sheepish grin, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks at the memory of your drunken antics. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for... well, everything.”

Chuckling softly, his gaze softens as he steps closer, taking in your slightly-disheveled appearance. “It was the least I could do, sweetheart. Now, c’mon, your brother and I are making pancakes.” 

You fidget nervously under his gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious even as he turns to leave the room at your silence. Say it, you idiot. Say it. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, words tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to... y’know, act like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time-” 

“It’s al-”

 “I swear I’ve seen ankles-”

A large hand cradling your cheek, his thick rings searingly cold against your chin as he tilts your chin up to meet his warm gaze - and those suspiciously red cheeks. “S’alright, sweetheart. I didn’t mind.” 

And, well, if this was his way of shutting you up then by God was it effective. Because you didn’t trust yourself to speak even as Choso gives you an easy smile. Even as he withdraws his hand, the air thick with something you were too hungover to overthink about. 

Not until he turns back to the door, flashing you a teasing smile, “Besides, it was kinda cute.”

And with that, Choso steps through the door with the audacity of someone that hadn’t uttered words that sent your mind reeling. 

As the creak of the door echoes behind him, Choso’s warm touch still sears into your skin. Something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Only one thought rings clear in your hazy, still-hungover mind - one that makes your cheeks flare: this was going to be a very interesting summer.

You just didn’t realize how interesting it would be. Not until two weeks, four days, and sixteen hours after you first met Choso. 

It starts out innocently enough, taking the early shift at your internship, volunteering to help with the chores - you find yourself subconsciously making excuses to be around him whenever he’s scheduled to babysit.

You’ve probably learned everything there is to know about the man by now - from the way he likes his eggs (sunny side up) to that time he accidentally dyed his brother’s hair neon pink while trying out a recipe for homemade hair dye. 

Likewise, Choso happens to be the only one who knows that you were the one that accidentally caused that flood in your dorm that required five floors and two plumbers to resolve. 

At this point, Choso’s at your house more often than not - where Choso is, there is you, and where you are, there is Choso. And your brother…and sometimes Yuji, but semantics.

“Semantics” are probably why you find yourself rushing home straight from your internship, ignoring every invitation for an after-work drink - to see your brother, of course. No other reason - definitely not because of the way Choso will inevitably be there too. Or because of the way his smile makes something strange coil in your stomach. Or-

Okay, maybe you speedwalked up your driveway faster than usual a little bit because of Choso. But as you’ve said - semantics.

Yet, sometimes you even think there’s a familiar flicker of something more in those dark eyes.

…

Nahhh. 

Stepping into the yard, the air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the deafening sounds of splashing, a smile tugs at your lips at the awfully wholesome view that greets you.

Your brother and Yuji are locked in a fierce battle, water guns being brandished like the most seasoned warriors.

And Choso - towering over everyone else - was at the epicenter of the chaos, his laughter booming over the commotion. Shirtless. Again. 

His bare, tattooed torso gleams in the light, muscles flexing with each movement as if sculpted by the gods themselves. Droplets of water glistening on his dark hair like diamonds in the fading light.

Traitorously, your cheeks burn as you step closer, desperately trying to rip your gaze from the milky abs peeking out and the tantalizing glint of metal winking so sinfully at you under the sun.

So he does have nipple piercings.

God, you have to get your mind out of the gutter.

As you approach, Choso’s grin widens, a playful sparkle dancing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he scoops up a large water balloon and takes aim, launching it with frightening accuracy in your direction.

The icy water hits you before the realization, and you squeal in surprise as the balloon connects right with your chest, seeping into your shirt. Glancing down with a startled laugh, you realize a moment too late that your once-pristine white shirt is now completely see-through. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks, but the damage has been done. Smug bastard, you think, glancing up at Choso, slightly red-faced yet wearing a sly grin as he surveys the aftermath of his well-aimed shot.

“Shoulda just told me if you wanted a peak, you lecher. This shirt was expensive, y’know.” you call out, mock-glaring at the man that stood so infuriatingly beautifully in front of you.

Choso throws his head back in a laugh that makes something tingle all the way down from your toes to your burning cheeks. “Maybe you shoulda just kept your guard up, sweetheart,” 

You scoff, “Maybe you should stop being a distraction then.”

His grin widens, reaching for another nearby water balloon, “S’not my fault you’re so easily distracted. No need to be a sore loser.”

“Oh, it’s on now.”

“Well, well, looks like we have a new contender in the water war,” Choso remarks mischievously to the kids, gesturing towards you. Yeah, really smug bastard.

Ah, what the hell. This shirt was on sale anyway.

---

Now, Choso knows you’re hot - always has.

Ever since that first day he moved in next door, when he stumbled upon you sunbathing in your backyard wearing that sinful bikini. And, well, after hours of moving boxes upon boxes of Yuji’s dumbbells, the mere sight of you was like the gates of heaven spread wide open for him. 

But, especially now - all drenched and disheveled. Your shirt sticking to your curves like a second skin in all the ways that should be illegal - and also makes some strange part of him slightly jealous. Beaming smile directed right at him - shit, this might as well just be the final nail on his coffin. Death by you.

Amidst the chaos and confusion, you're a force to be reckoned with. Choso can barely tear his eyes off of you, breathless and victorious in pure adrenaline-fueled bravado, declaring “Beg for mercy and I’ll let you off easy, Choso.”

“Kinky, but absolutely not, sweetheart.”

Clutching a particularly large water balloon, raising your hand high high high - hurtling it straight at him with an unapologetic smirk, “Then, better run for your life.”

Oh? Maybe Choso was a masochi- what was that- 

A flash of his favorite lacy pink, your poor buttons faltering at the sheer force of your throw. Choso doesn’t even feel the cold splash! square on his chest as he’s drenched icily from head to toe. Too transfixed.

Too focused on trying not to make it obvious he’s mentally calculating the chances of your shirt coming off altogether…

Eyes locked on the sliver of soft skin peeking out at him. Only registering you and the traitorous rush of heat flooding his cheeks - and his cock - as he averts his gaze, internally smacking himself for letting his thoughts wander into such dangerous territory. 

Both thanking and cursing the gods above, Choso realizes with a pang that he’s not just screwed, he’s absolutely twisted, tangled, and tied up in knots.

So utterly screwed, in fact, that he probably needs to make a quick run to the bathroom now.

Like, right now.

Shit. 

With a muttered excuse of a bathroom break, each step more urgent than the last, Choso can’t help but wonder if the water balloon incident was some sort of cosmic punishment for his wandering thoughts. Some divine intervention from his ancestors for being such a pussy around you all these years.

And as he slams that bathroom door closed, bunches his pants bunched underneath his heavy balls, and takes his throbbing cock in his hands, Choso thinks he might just see the gates of heaven - well, at least he’ll be able to give his ancestors a piece of his mind there.

With a groan, he leans against the closed door, eyes scrunching shut as he takes his swollen cock in his fist. Leaking hot precum and glistening in the dim bathroom light. He grips the base tightly, pulsing and achingly hard for you. 

Cold rings searing against his skin, Choso wastes no time - wanting to get this over with and join you again more than anything - starting up a hasty, desperate pace up and down his length that makes his knees buckle. Tighter on the base, just teasing his furiously flushed tip. Pink. Pink to match your bra.

With you so sinfully soaked through, wearing that goddamn lacy bra out there, Choso wasn’t as strong a man to possibly get you out of his mind. He can’t help but imagine your sultry smile, how it would look wrapped around his cock. 

Arm straining now, a shiver runs down his spine - all the way to his throbbing erection. “Shit.” he breathes, “J-jus’ like that, sweetheart.” 

Head only filled with you, and your lips and you-

He milks his base tighter - would you take him all in one go? Look up at him with those beautiful, teary eyes as you choke around his cock? 

One hand pulls in urgent, jerky little moves that have his hips bucking into his fist. The other reaches up muffle the fucked out moans leaving his swollen lips. God, it would take everything it had in him to not fuck up into your pretty lil’ mouth. Watch you cock-drunk and taking him so well. 

Or maybe…

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, Choso fights back a groan as he reaches a hand up to teasingly thumb under his slit. Delicate beads of precum dripping onto the cold tile with a deafening drip! drip! drip! Smearing at the way he rubs maddening little circles under that one spot, grazing his sensitive veins. 

Maybe you’d be a a fucking tease - run your tongue under his pulsing head so agonizingly slow. Knowing you, you’d probably pull away as soon as he bucks his hips into your mouth. Lips swollen and glossed prettily with his precum as you whisper, “Now now, baby. If you don’t act like a good boy then you won’t get to cum~”

“Sh-shit, hah-” Choso thinks he’s going insane, he can practically hear your hums as you kiss along his length, tongue darting out to trace his throbbing veins so obscenely. Flicking at his sensitive head. Eyes sparkling - ready to positively devour him. 

All for him. 

It’s too much. 

“Ah- Ngh, fuck.” he moans hoarsely, letting out a low, fucked-out little call of your name. “More. Need m-more, sweetheart.” 

Body shuddering violently, sweat dripping from his brow, Choso’s thighs quiver as he fucks his fist at an almost-animalistic pace. Chasing his release with reckless abandon. 

Choso’s heart pounds wildly in his chest as he tries - and fails - to maintain control. Raspy whines of your name escape through the crevices of his fingers, cracking ever-so-slightly in a way he knows he’d be embarrassed about if he was in a better state of mind. 

Giving up his futile attempt, long fingers snake down below to cradle his balls in a way he knows you’d do better. Tugging and pulling at a jerky rhythm that matches his hand. 

Some tiny, practical part of his brain hopes - prays - that you won’t call off the water fight early and come up to check on him. He knows he should hurry up, he knows he’s fucked if you ever found out. Shit, he should bake you apology cookies tomorrow.

But fuck are so you perfect for him. Voice so pretty and eyes so warm as you turn your gaze to his undeserving self. He’d kill to see if you still look at him that way when - if - he absolutely ruins you.

Would you be able to take all of him? Would you pout adorably until he shoves his dick down your throat? Gagging as he hits the back of your throat over and over - oh how Choso would love to mess up your mascara. He’d fucking tattoo your lipstick stains on his dick if he could. 

“Cum f’me, baby.” you’d mewl, and shit would he burn down this entire world to hear you call him that. “Mm, fill me up with your cum, wan’ taste you, baby-”

“Fuck,” he curses again, voice thick with need, and tight balls twitching so sensitively. “Fuck...fuck fuck fuck. M’gonna cum- shit- gonna cum, sweetheart.”

You - all see-through white shirts and lacy bras that drive him wild. Giggling with the audacity of someone who isn’t making him slowly lose his sanity. You with prettily lips painted white with his seed. Cum and saliva mixing into a lewd pool on the sterile tile as you suck the soul out of him. 

You. 

And then he’s cumming. 

A raw, drawled-out keen of your name and he’s spilling into his fist. Thick, hot spurts of cum that paint his palms white in a way he wishes he could do to you. And behind his closed eyes all he sees is you - you you you-

You, dragging out his orgasm so torturously, lips decorated with his seed, dribbling down to your lacy pink bra, gushing so lewdly down your ready throat. You with your eyes dazed, lips swollen and quirking up into a fucked-out smile as he does so well for you - cumming, all for you.

You, with your wide eyes and disgust on your face as you realize just what he’d been doing on this suspiciously long “bathroom break”.

Shit.

Body still twitching with the shockwaves of probably one of the Top 5 orgasms of his life, Choso all but collapses against the bathroom door, panting heavily, utterly spent. For a moment, he lies there, wondering if this is what heaven truly felt like.

But as the euphoria of his high ebbs away into nothing but mere tingles, a slight wave of nausea crashes over him. 

Sighing, Choso reaches for the paper towels, ready to clean up his mess. If only you were there to milk him dry then he wouldn’t have to-

…

God, he was definitely baking you apology cookies tomorrow. 

Now, when it started drizzling shortly after Choso left, you took it upon yourself to usher the kids back home and hand over his t-shirt personally like the good samaritan you are - out of the goodness of your heart, of course. 

Not for any reason whatsoever because you were hoping to get at least one more glimpse of those sinful nipple piercings up-close.

…

Okay, perhaps there was a slight ulterior motive involved. 

Either way, what you’d expected was for a flash of silver as you handed over his drenched t-shirt. Or maybe that familiar easy smile to warm you up from the icy water.

Literally anything but to find yourself frozen outside the bathroom door, cunt dripping, and ears ringing with the muffled echoes of his pornographic groans.

At first, completely mortified, your fight or flight instinct had kicked in as you realized just what those rhythmic, fucked-out little grunts meant. Only for you to choose neither option - staying rooted to your spot with the utterance of one, simple, word - your name.

Confusion whirls in your mind almost as much as the throbbing in your cunt, knees weakening. Heart thumping louder and louder in your ears at each whine of your name. Shivers running down your spine - all the way to your wet cunt as it really sets in that this was Choso. And he was fucking his fist in your bathroom. To you.

And you didn’t mind?

In fact, you find yourself leaning against the door, thighs squeezing together - mere inches away from where you imagined him slumped against it. Soft strands sticking to his forehead, cock hot and heavy, aching for release. Ragged breathing as if caught off guard by the intensity of his own pleasure. Broken whispers of your name leaving him over and over-

Really, you know you should give him your privacy. But if the white-hot ropes of pleasure running up your spine are anything to go by then, well, is it really that bad?

You have half the mind to just reach down down down - just a little release. Almost jealous of Choso-

Click!

You’re sure you could rival Usain Bolt with the way you ran down those stairs. Cheeks flaring, his damp t-shirt still clutched tightly in your hand. Mind racing with only one thought - this little fuck wanted you just as badly as you wanted him.

---

You can barely remember what transpired after your little discovery. You couldn’t decide who looked more dazed - you or Yuji, who was being practically dragged out that front door as Choso exited hastily with vague mentions of baking and cookies

And in the ringing silence that followed after that front door slammed, you couldn’t help the smirk that found itself onto your face. This was going to be fun.

But if there’s anything you’ve learned about Choso - it’s that even after twenty-something years on planet Earth, that man can not take a hint.

You somewhat had an inkling after the fifth time you decided to sunbathe in just a skimpy bikini at exactly when you knew he’d be watching. Well, you might not have gotten any reaction other than an extremely flushed face at the window, but at least you knew he’d have more very fun bathroom breaks.

Hell, one time you even bought ice lollies for the whole house - but especially Choso. Making sure those dark eyes followed every lick and trail of it dripping down your fingers under the scorching summer sun. Ultimately resulting in nothing more but a heavy gulp and for his ice lolly to hit the grass faster than it could even begin to melt. 

Ugh, should you get your brother to start another water fight? That went down well last time. 

It’s only after another failed attempt at trying to get him alone and a few hours of deliberating whether you should ship your interrupting brother off on a cruise too that you realize you have to get out the big guns.

“The big guns” being stealthily organizing a sleepover for your brother at the Itadoris, then inviting Choso over for a movie night. Simple, right? And, well, if anyone asked, you could just say the movie just so happened to be rated R. 

It wasn’t too hard to convince your brother that a sleepover with Yuji would be the best thing since sliced bread. The excitement in his voice palpable as he agreed, not suspecting a thing.

You just didn’t think it would be even easier to convince Choso to come over with a simple playful text of “Netflix no chill. Haha jk…unless?” But then again, when has Choso not surprised you?

And that night, as your brother eagerly headed off to Yuji’s place, you couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt - but, hey, it was for a good cause, right? 

It’s a win-win either way - your brother gets to spend the night with a friend and you get to be here, so achingly close to Choso on that couch. So close that you could feel the heat radiating off of him, stealing glances at his sharp profile as the conversation flows easily about the movie playing on screen.

Shifting ever-so-slightly closer, electricity crackling between you two was palpable. You smile in anticipation, after all - you weren’t lying about the movie being rated R.

Now, Choso certainly didn’t come over to your house tonight expecting a wholesome rerun of Cars 2. However, he also wasn’t expecting the blockbuster action movie to suddenly unfold into something so steamy.

Goddamn lecherous directors and their goddamn pervy movies.

Eyes firmly trained on the ground, instead of the actress currently fake-moaning dramatically onscreen, Choso tries to ignore the subtle shift of your hips or the way the temperature in the room has currently increased by about 10 degrees. Or the way your moans would sound a million times prettier in his ears.

Alas, Choso was not a strong man, and he especially tries to will away the blood rushing straight to his cock right now - but how could he? You were such a vision of temptation, so close and warm and close to him on the couch.

This was absolute torture. 

“God, this is so painfully fake. Don’t you think so?” your voice rips through the deafening silence between you two, tone careful and balanced, startling Choso out of his little reverie.

His eyes flicker hastily to meet yours, and for a moment, he seems caught off guard by your sudden interruption. “Oh, yeah.” voice rough with a hint of nervousness. “I’ve seen better performances in middle school plays.”

You nod, the tension between you thickening as you lock eyes. “I mean, who even writes this stuff?” you continue, leaning in even closer to Choso, words positively dripping in sarcasm. “It’s like they’ve never actually had sex before.”

Choso lets out a shaky laugh, the sound strained as he shifts subtly in his seat - but not subtly enough. Because you catch the way he desperately tries to adjust his now-uncomfortably tight pants. Success. 

“Yeah, exactly,” he clears his throat, ripping his gaze away from yours.

You study him for a moment under the dim lighting, noting the way his hands clench and unclench in his lap, the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to control his breathing. He was nervous. Nervous and horny - exactly where you wanted him. 

A sudden rush of adrenaline courses through your veins, and you lean even closer to the man. Not even a hair’s breadth between you two - you relish in his strangled gasp as your tits press so enticingly against his arm. 

“Choso, just a thought.” you hum casually, lips mere inches from his ear. “Wanna recreate the scene better?”

His breath hitches at your words, muscles rippling so deliciously beneath your touch. “Do you know what you’re saying?” he rumbles, lowly. Eyes darkened and unreadable.

You smile, heart pounding against your chest as your lips brush against his earlobe. “Absolutely.”

It was like something snapped.

Because then he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him. Because goddammit you haven’t spent the last month sneaking glances at those pretty lips for nothing.

Movie completely forgotten, Choso is warm under your touch - all sculpted chest and urgent pulses as his lips kiss you dizzyingly. Groaning lowly as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.

He breathes you in with an infectious desperation that bleeds into his hands, wandering every inch of your skin - as if he didn’t have enough time. And he probably didn’t. Distantly, Choso thinks that no time in the world would be enough to absolutely fucking wreck you the way he wanted to.

Large, hurried hands grope your chest, squeezing so teasingly in a way that almost made you think he was trying to feel out what bra you were wearing - lacy pink. His favorite, of course.

You minx.

Urgently tugging the hem of your tight shirt over your arms, Choso tosses it god-knows-where. Mouth watering as he pulls away to greedily take in the heavenly view of your heaving chest - the same one he’s shamelessly fucked his fist to for too long.

God, you were perfect. With a soft, little oh! Choso leans down to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses on every bit of exposed skin he could reach. Nipping, and tugging lightly. Relishing in the way you whine for his lips again.

Threading a hand through his soft hair, you lightly pull him back to you. Breath fanning his face, lips ghosting over his own.

“Kiss me, you fool.”

And, well, Choso didn’t have to be asked twice. Molding his mouth against yours once more. Letting your lips part, you intertwine your tongue so sinfully with his. He tastes just like he looks - so intoxicatingly delicious.

With a breathy sigh, he lightly taps the curve of your ass. Hands lingering for far longer than necessary, kneading the flesh in a way that has your skin searing. 

You get the signal. Urgently, you loop your legs around his waist. “Choso- bed.” you whisper, muffled in-between kisses. “Now.”

Shivers run down your spine at the way he chuckles darkly, “Honestly, sweetheart. I don’t even hah- know if we’ll make it there.” Mumbling against your lips, “Would you kill me if I take you right here right now?”

“I’ll kill you if you don’t fucking do something.” you hiss, words dripping in desperation. Ah, but Choso, ever the merciful man, shuts up whatever other retort on the tip of your tongue with his own. Kissing you with almost-bruising intensity as he gets up from his seat. Strong arms securely wrapped underneath you, holding you flush against his warm skin.

Choso doesn’t pull away even once as he hastily makes the route to your room. And honestly, with the speed at which your back hits the soft mattress, bouncing at the sheer force at which you two fell on top, you wouldn’t even be surprised if he teleported there.

Now safely in the confines of your room, you all but rip off Choso’s snug t-shirt. Those familiar obscene nipple piercings winking at you under the dim lighting in greeting. 

“Always wanted to do this.” you murmur, surging forward as if on autopilot. Lips latching delicately onto the pretty pink nipples, tasting the cold metal on your tongue. 

“Oh- oh, fuck. A-always knew you had a thing hah- f’my piercings, sweetheart.” Choso breathes out, letting you have your fun. His favorite bra now at the foot of your bed. Fingers deftly sneaking under your skirt, blood rushes straight to his cock as he feels the positively soaked state of your panties - if you could even call them that. 

Sanity snapping, he immediately flings off your skirt. Throwing it somewhere across the room with no care or concern for where it ends up. All so he could look down at oh-

Oh god, if you had to describe Choso’s face as he takes in the sight before him - it would be absolutely losing his sanity. Your pussy dripping and clenching around nothing - all for him.

Strings of slick trail down your thighs as Choso hooks one, long finger under your slutty g-string, tugging impatiently.

You keen as the cold air hits your dripping cunt. Yet Choso’s eyes stay locked hungrily on the sticky fabric intertwined around his fingers “Guess you were expecting this, huh?” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. 

Scoffing, you buck your hips up for something - anything. “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since that first night I hit on you, y’know,” you admit, the heady air of your room melting away any reservations you had previously. 

And that seems to snap Choso out of his trance - eyes flickering over to you, darkened with something so carnal that it makes your cunt throb. “Oh yeah?” he mumbles, swiftly stuffing the g-string in his pocket before leaning down, hot breath hitting your ear. “Now, what was that pick-up line you were gonna say that night?” 

You gasp in embarrassment, heat flooding to your cheeks at the memory. “Wha- that doesn’t matter. I was drunk and-”

Smack!

The delicious sting on your ass hits you before the realization that Choso smacked you. He smacked you. Even later do you realize that you like it - slick beading so obscenely at your sloppy hole.

“What was it, sweetheart?”

You shudder at the tone that leaves no room for argument. The words tumbling out of you as Choso caresses soothingly over the handprint on your ass. “I- it’s stupid. I was gonna say that I’m down to sit on your face, baby.”

“Thought so,” he grins, pulling away from the dizzying proximity. Shifting - well, more like manhandling - you to flip positions. 

God, you could almost sink into his muscles as he lays back on your bed. Voice low and dangerous as he utters words that go straight to your dripping pussy, “Now, sit on m’face.”

And before you know it, you find yourself hastily straddling Choso’s pretty face. Hands snaking down his milky abs, lips kissing along his tattoos, catching purposefully on his sensitive nipples. 

Warm breath fanning your quivering cunt, he reaches up to cup your ass, nudging your needy core to his mouth. Kneading. Groping. 

Not stopping his ministrations even when your slick oozes slowly, torturously through your swollen folds and onto his awaiting tongue. A maddening drip! drip! drip! ringing in your ears above your thundering heartbeat.

Choso groans at the mouthwatering sight above him. You - spread so shamefully open for him and clenching around nothing. 

“Luckily for you, sweetheart, wanted you to sit on m’face ever since I saw you.” sweet juices flowing down his throat, words muffled against your throbbing lips. 

He barely even gets the words out before he’s surging forward. Licking a long, languid stripe up your heated folds. Again. And again. Faster at the pretty moans that spill from your lips.

Pushing his tongue in between your slit, past that first, tight ring of muscle. Bullying it deeper and deeper. Chin pressing against your throbbing clit, ravaged at each movement of his face. 

He caresses your warm walls, relishing so filthily at the way you clamp down on him in surprise. “Hngh- oh shit, baby. Ah-”

Your sweet moans are music in his ears and shit - you called him “baby”. It’s as if every wet dream he’s ever had has come to life as Choso dips in and out at a ruthless pace. Pulling out to tease your dripping entrance, pushing past mercilessly into your plushy walls. In and out in and out in and out-

His cock strains so painfully against his pants at the way your sloppy hole sucks his tongue in so obscenely - almost as if it hurts to part. Tongue fucking you the way he wishes he could with his cock right now.

“Oh- Hah- Choso! Fuck, baby. S’good.” your body arches into his absolutely depraved tongue. 

Desperate whines spilling incessantly from your mouth at the way he quirks his tongue up just right to graze that spot he knew would have you grinding down on him for more. “Ah! Right there - jus’ like that!”

As if he knew exactly how to drive you wild. Exactly how to break you. You almost don’t notice the mindless, shallow little thrusts of his hips into your open palm. Almost.

Eyes snapping open at the tremors, you reach a hand across his quivering thighs. All the way down towards the very obvious dark patch on his pants - right where his furiously hard tip was leaking thick, relentless precum that made your mouth water. 

Oh, how you’d kill to taste him - see if the rest of him is as intoxicating as his mouth is.

So you do. 

Choso was so pussy-drunk in-between your thighs that you think he barely notices the way you fumble with his belt. Shakily pulling those pants down just enough to glimpse the rock-hard erection that those boxers do nothing to hide. 

“Shit,” you whisper, voice strained with need. 

You always imagined Choso had a big cock - but this was ridiculous. Your pussy clenches in both nervousness and anticipation as you imagined the delicious stretch of him splitting you apart on it. Breaking you. 

And that’s probably when Choso notices - you clamping down so filthily on his tongue. 

“Oh?” he rasps, voice sending white-hot vibrations of pleasure right up your spine. “Didn’t think you were so desperate for my cock, sweetheart. Gon’ make me cum, hm?”

Now, you’ve always thought of yourself as a woman of action rather than empty words. Which is probably why you urgently pull down his boxers. Choso’s painfully hard erection springs out, hitting his lower abs. 

You take a moment to admire the long, heavy cock in your hands - a deliciously pretty pink on top, furiously leaking glistening precum. Saliva pooling in your mouth - you shove it as far down your throat as you possibly could. 

Oh, how many times in his life has Choso imagined this moment right here. In the shower, right before bed, right after waking up too. You’re really a dream come to life. 

A startled, strangled moan of your name leaves Choso’s kiss-bitten lips as you take him all in one go. Only to pull back and spit once- twice on his throbbing cock. The steady stream of spit cool - followed so maddeningly by the warm heat of your mouth once more. You start up a torturous, filthy pace bobbing your head up and down on his cock.

He strains his head to catch a glimpse - even just one - of your nose pressed against his pelvis. Breathing in the heady scent at the tufts of hair at the bottom, already wet with precum and spit. His dirty girl. 

Popping off with a lewd squelch, “Feels good, baby?”

“Feels perfect.”

But he wasn’t gonna fall far behind.

Immediately attaching his lips with yours once more, Choso dives nose-deep in your dripping cunt. Rolling your throbbing clit in between his lips. Flicking his tongue along the sensitive bud in a way that makes your head feel so light. He alternates between a slow, languid torture on your clit and fucking into you unforgivingly.

Your movements stutter as you teasingly lick at his sensitive slit. The salty flavor of his precum is probably your favorite taste now. That bastard.

Reaching down, you cup his heavy balls, massaging the tender flesh in harsh, hasty circles that match your mouth down his length - up and down up and down up and-

Muffled moans and lewd squelching filling the heated room. A rhythmic, sinful cadence that both of you were losing your sanity to. Movements more frantic now. Desperate to make the other cum. Desperate to be first.

Letting out soft, raw grunts, Choso fucks up his throbbing erection into your mouth. Your eyes water as his tip abuses the back of your throat. And it makes you wish you could see how messy he looked right now. All smudged eyeliner and slick-glossed lips. 

Gagging around him, a mixture of drool and precum drips sinfully down the corner of your mouth as you increase your pace, pooling messily on his lower abs. Sloppy - so sloppy.

So it only made sense that your orgasms were the same. 

Pleasure dizzyingly overwhelming, you gush around Choso’s mouth with a stifled squeal. Stars behind your eyes, vision blurring, mind blanking - the only things you register being the languid tongue lapping up at your sweet juices and the guttural groan of what sounds like your name as Choso shoots thick, hot spurts of his cum down your throat. 

Throat burning as the salty taste fills your senses, you milk his cock for more more more- his dick pulsing and stuttering in your mouth. Cum staining the fresh sheets below - a problem for later. 

Right now all you were focused on was riding out your high, grinding almost animalistically on Choso’s pretty face. 

You’ve barely removed yourself from him with a lewd pop! before Choso’s wrestling you back onto the mattress. Two fingers squishing your cheeks into an embarrassing pout, cold rings digging into your skin. The other hand snaking in between your thighs to play with your still-twitching cunt. 

“Didn’t say we were done yet, sweetheart.” he mutters. You weren’t done - no, far from it. Because fuck a refractory period - both of you were going to take all you could get.

And before you can think of anything else, Choso is leaning down, hand prying your lips apart for him into a brutal kiss. Teeth clashing, lips bruising. He forces his tongue down your throat. Tasting himself before you barely get a chance to taste him as well. 

“Hah- fuck-” you flinch as he swears into your bruised lips. “So fuckin’ sweet. You taste so good sweetheart.” The sheer debauchery and ache of his cock too much for him. 

Tasting him. Tasting you. Both a heady flavor that leaves you yearning for more. 

You bite down on his bottom lip in retaliation, relishing in the drawn-out groan that rumbles into your mouth at this. The kiss is feral. It’s animalistic. It leaves you feeling so fucking dirty. 

And you barely recognise the dazed, predatory glint in Choso’s eyes as he pulls away, his mind clearly miles away as he spits once. Twice. Three times on your face.

The wads of saliva and cum hit your face with a warm, wet jolt. You whine at the way it seeps into your skin, dripping down your cheeks so fucking obscenely. Pooling at the sheets below in a way that makes you feel sorry for whoever had a shift at the laundromat tomorrow.

“Now, what do we say, sweetheart?”

A fucked-out, delirious smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you realize - yeah, you wouldn’t have it any other way. “Thank you.”

Not even when Choso lets out a dark chuckle, throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders and manhandling you so that you’re splayed out so shamefully for him. Dripping cunt spread for his greedy gaze and clenching around nothing - aching for him. Begging for him.

Not even when he lines up his still-rock hard cock at your entrance, tip - angry and red - weeping so desperately as he nudges at your sloppy hole. Dragging his head along your folds collecting every bead of slick, just grazing your pulsing clit. Every muscle in your body trembling and anticipating what was to come.

You mewl at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, boderling insane, and exactly what you wanted right now. Splitting you apart on his throbbing cock. 

And especially not when he bottoms out inside you in one, harsh thrust. Burying himself inside your sloppy walls till his twitching balls smack against your ass. 

“Ah- hngh- oh fuckkk.” you keen in both pain and pleasure - broken, raw moans leaving you uncontrollably. But not for long, because suddenly Choso’s shoving two ringed fingers in your mouth, bullying their way inside till you’re gagging and moaning around them. 

Pressing right at that spot on the back of your tongue that makes your eyes tear up so prettily. Hey, if he couldn’t see you choking on his cock properly, the least he could do is see you choking on his fingers, right?

“Now now, wouldn’t want anyone else to hear, hm? Our brother’s would get worried.” he chuckles. Pure, dark amusement in his eyes as he takes in your swollen lips, the teartracks down your cheeks, how utterly beautiful and debauched you look underneath him. So much better than any lust-hazed imagination of his.

And yet, even when you’re being gagged and split apart on his cock, you find it in yourself to be mouthy. Words muffled around his thick fingers as you raise a brow. “There’s no one else home, though?.”

The corners of Choso’s lips lift into a devilish grin, “The neighbors, sweetheart.”

His tone is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness that sends a chill down your spine. He’s just joking, right? Right?

“Wha-”

And probably because he was losing his patience - and partly to shut you up - Choso begins to move.

Pushing past the resistance, beginning to fuck into you in shallow, uncontrollable movements of his hips. Just little motions to get him off, groaning at how sinfully tight you were - the way you were sucking him up so good.

Next time, Choso thinks, reaching down a hand to draw tight, little circles on your poor, abused clit - next time he’ll fuck you right. Hours upon hours of teasing you so you don’t know what it feels like when you’re empty without him. 

But fuck does he think he could just about pass out right now.

There’s no going back now. Choso fucks you in a way that makes you feel so deliciously filthy. Plunging into your heated cunt with no restraint. Thrusts positively savage.

Pulling all the way back so that his leaking tip just barely kisses your sloppy entrance, slamming down down down, Choso fucks you at a merciless pace. Relishing the delicious stretch of your cunt as he thrusts into you with a desperation that surpasses the need for reason. 

“Sh-shit, sweetheart. God, s’tight. better than I ever could’ve imagined.” he moans breathlessly, brows furrowing, eyes rolling to the back of his head, the feeling of you milking the absolute soul out of him just too much.

“Oh, yeah- wanted this for so long-”

You yelp every time he rams his cock into you, the smacking of his toned pelvis against your thighs stinging almost as deliciously as his tip kissing your cervix. The obscene slapping of skin on skin makes your cheeks burn - both pairs as his heavy balls smack against your ass each time he shoves his throbbing cock into you.

And because you can’t leave him alone, of course, you find your nails digging harshly into his muscled shoulders. 

Pulling him impossibly closer. You want more. You need more. 

Maybe you say those words out loud - you don’t even know anymore, too delirious and cock-drunk from Choso and your last orgasm and Choso - because his eyes widen ever-so-slightly, mouth falling open into a small oh. Your cunt twitches at the surprised, fucked-out little laugh that leaves him,  “More? My sweetheart wants more?”

And, as you’ve come to learn with Choso - anything you want, you will get. 

“Then fucking- take it.” he grunts lowly, each word punctuated by a harsh thrust of into your plush walls that sends both of you spiraling deeper and deeper into insanity.

And God does he make you take it. Every inch of him fills you, stretching you beyond your limits - both your cunt and your senses as he leans down to bury his head into your neck, hips moving so sloppily, hiking your leg further up his shoulder. The change in angle making you see stars.

Your hips buck up in tandem with his, uncontrollable little ah! ah! ah! leaving you at each thrust. You whimper in pleasure and overstimulation into the heady room, “Yes. Yes yes yes- wan’ cum. Need more. Need you-”

“Fuck- Hngh-” is all he manages to gasp out, pleasure overwhelming his sensitive cock. Choso’s balls twitch almost painfully as they keep smacking your ass. Brain still not keeping up with his body because shit, this is all he’s wanted for years, the least he could do is make you cum before him.

“Sh-shit, sweetheart.” he rasps into your heated skin, “So close- m’ so close.”

You all but sob at his words, “M’too- hngh- ah, m’gonna cum, baby.”

You didn’t expect the petname to be what breaks him, but then again you didn’t think there was anything more left to break. Because Choso groans gutturally, cock twitching inside you “Shit, you’re driving m’crazy, y’know that?”

“I know.” you mewl, voice breaking at the way he increases his frenzied pace on your clit. You could barely even call them circles, just filthy little movements to get you closer and closer to the edge. So close. You writhe beneath him, desperate for release.

And what you didn’t expect was for Choso to connect his sweaty forehead with yours. You take a second to admire just how beautiful he is - all smudged eyeliner, tousled hair, your release still shining on the lower half of his face, and yours. All yours. You could probably stare at the sight forever.

Choso’s hot breath fans your face as he moans breathlessly against your lips, words slurring together as he ruts into you mindlessly, “Always did, y’know?”

“I know.”

“No- y’don’t hah- understand, I- for so long fuck- I-”

“Choso, just kiss me.”

And then you’re kissing him. And he’s kissing you like you’re the most precious thing on Earth. A slow, tender little dance that doesn’t match the way he rams his cock inside you. 

And then you’re cumming. Stars behind your eyes - or maybe those were tears - clamping down desperately on the harsh, jerky movements of his glistening cock that fuck you so sinfully like his little slut. 

White-hot pleasure runs down your spine, or maybe that was Choso - painting your insides the prettiest white you’ve ever seen. Shooting thick, hot ropes of his seed into your waiting pussy. A creamy ring forming around his base as he spills his cum into your snug cunt as he moans against your lips.

It’s messy. It’s sloppy. And as Choso fills you to the brim, hips still unforgiving, seed dribbling out of your dripping pussy at the way it was so overfilled - you think that it’s all you could ever want. 

As his cock twitches finally, exhaustedly - and you distantly wonder how the fuck it isn’t seizing up - Choso collapses onto you, thoroughly fucked-out. Finally pulling out with an obscene squelch, you hiss lowly at the pool of cum that forms beneath you. Gushing out of you sinfully. 

A weighty silence in the air as you both try to catch your breaths.

In the haze of your orgasm you realize that even after all that transpired, he still isn’t laying his full bodyweight on you.

Too afraid to break you.

To break whatever this tender little understanding in the air was.

And it makes some part of your heart clench so delightfully. Subconsciously, you thread a hand through his damp hair, breathing in that familiar smell of vanilla and sunshine - and the heady scent of something so Choso. It makes you intertwine your body so impossibly close with his, not knowing where one of you ends and the other starts.

“My parents are coming home tomorrow.” you start, casually. 

“Mhm. But I’ll still be around here, sweetheart.” Choso rumbles into the crook of your neck. Kissing soothingly over the marks he’d made in the heat of the moment - some carnal little part of him proud of the way you looked like you were fucking thrown to a pack of wolves. 

Words hiding a tense little fear beneath them as you probe further. Something prickly and scared rolling around in your stomach. “For babysitting?”

“Nope.”

Settling deeper into the covers, basking in the afterglow of him. You know you should get up and clean, but right now this was all you wanted. And maybe no other words were needed. 

“God, am I glad your parents aren’t home.” 

Except maybe those. 

You chuckle as you pull back to stare into those deep, dark eyes. Cheeks flaring at the tender little warmth in them much more than they had when he was fucking you so sinfully. A devious idea coming to mind - because now that you got a taste, you were absolutely hooked.

Choso Kamo was absolutely intoxicating.

“Well, we still have time so how about-”

A distant click!

“Honey, we’re home~!”

Shit.

A/N. Fun fact this was originally supposed to be called Timeout! but it was giving too much me during beep test.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[doobea]

YOU'RE A MEAN ONE, MISTER GOJO ─ SATORU G.

synopsis: satoru gojo is spoiled and arrogant. he's also the next in line to inherit his family's fortune. his father sends him far away in a small town for a week in hopes that he'll 'change' for the better. instead of the usual five-starred hilton hotels, he stays at a local inn and starts to befriend the owner's daughter.

tropes: small town romance, christmas au, golden retriever x black cat

MILESTONE EVENT || MILESTONE MASTERLIST

contents: fem!reader, spoiled rich boy!gojo, acts like an ass to everyone but hopelessly falls in love with you at first sight, feels like a really bad hallmark movie, mentions of wealth class differences, reader isn't a tsundere - she's just indifferent for the most part and introverted word count: 7.5K (idk i will uh make the fics shorter in the future) a/n: thank you anon for requesting this!! idk if this is what you wanted but hopefully you like it!! :3 everyone also give a round of applause to @popponn for beta reading this big mess LMAO

Satoru Gojo has a lot of expectations, but this certainly isn’t one of them.

He isn’t particularly excited about spending a week away from his big city penthouse to be rotting in a small town motel in the middle of nowhere but, his father, CEO of Gojo Corporations, heavily insisted that he ‘needs this’ and that ‘it’ll be good for the company’ — whatever that means. Satoru is confident that his father thinks he’s incapable of running the family business after last month’s run with the paparazzi and his third fling of the month. It wasn’t his fault that they got caught doing drugs at one of Zenin's parties, everyone else was doing the same thing, it just so happened that the cameras were only focusing on him. 

Well, that’s what he gets for signing up to be the son of one of the richest men on Earth.

“You need to start taking this seriously,” he recalls his father slamming his fist down at the desk before throwing a bottle of Henessy at the wall. “I don’t want this company to go bankrupt just because I have a son who only thinks with his dick.”

Ouch… but he’s not wrong about that.

So now Satoru finds himself driving up a winding road somewhere very deep in the mountains. Exactly five hours away from the city. And, for the past three hours, all he’s been seeing are miles and miles of pine trees, sheets of snow, and — he had recently learned this from Suguru — sugar shacks. Apparently when you’re out over a hundred miles into wilderness territory these sap houses are littered everywhere.  The fact that Satoru is beginning to count more shacks than designer cars on the road is really starting to get to him. 

“This whole thing is so fucking stupid,” Satoru has also been talking to himself throughout the journey in order to not lose his mind. “He could’ve just sent me door to door caroling instead of whatever this is.” Satoru doesn’t know how to sing well, but he does know all the lyrics to ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ and that usually gets him all the tips. He wonders if he can manage to make a small side hustle when he starts wasting his week here.

He takes a sharp turn up around the hill before finally recognizing a big red sign with the name ‘Mistle Town’ as seen on the postcard his dad left him before leaving. It takes him another five minutes of driving through said small town, which is quite literally something out of one of those really bad holiday movies that his mom would force him to watch when he was little, before arriving at the inn. Upon arriving, Satoru is noticeably disappointed at the lack of valet assistance and, the size and design of the inn, is rather lackluster. 

First, it just looks like a regular white farmhouse. Maybe having a max of ten rooms, none of them being penthouse sized, Satoru assumes. There are a couple of flowerbeds out front, all covered in a couple of inches of snow, and there’s subtle signs of holiday decor slowly bleeding its way outside. He sees someone dressed in an oversized puffer by the entrance, arms occupied with red tinsel and large white ornaments, and figures that the first nice thing he’ll do is to help out a random stranger — just to prove something to his dad.

Satoru parks his Rolls Royce in a spot furthest away from everyone else in the parking lot and sends a ‘im alive and well’ text to Suguru, because he’s very much so going to be in frequent contact with him for the remainder of the trip, before heading up.

“Need a hand?” He points out the obvious but still manages to throw a smile as if he’s already fixed the situation unfolding in front of him.

Satoru’s presence seems to pull you from your busy trance. You wiped your body around, nearly smacking the damn tinsel in his face, and made a small surprised noise.

“I’ve got it,” you muffle out and he looks entirely unconvinced but, whatever, he tried anyway.

Satoru gives you a few encouraging pats on the back before heading inside, failing to realize his strength and causing you to lose your balance, making a few ornaments tumble to the ground. Thank god they’re all plastic though.

He pretends to not hear you yelling after him as he enters the double doors, immediately greeted by the scent of roasted coffee beans and leather. It’s the precious hour in the morning where nobody comes by, right after the cleaning staff had just finished vacuuming, when he struts in. He immediately spots someone vaguely familiar by the front desk. Long black hair, a red poofy bow tie in the back, and a distinctive scar across her face. The woman isn’t working alone, a man with another facial marking is next to her, brewing two cups of coffee by the espresso machine. 

Satoru looks at the woman again and outwardly smiles. “What are you doing here?”

“Ugh,” Utahime’s composure immediately falters at the sound of his voice, not that it’s a big shock. “Helping the family business, what else?” she throws back with a certain sharpness to her tone, and waves off the casual talk. “Have you even mentally prepared yourself for what you’re getting into?”

Satoru simply shrugs and saunters over to a nearby seat by the counter. “Nah, honestly just planning to fuck around till I get back.”

Utahime flushes a little, though it’s mainly from frustration. “Satoru Gojo, you really are—”

“Utahime,” the man next to her speaks, handing her a cup of coffee, and slides Satoru a freshly brewed one, too. “I can explain the details to him, if you would like?”

The older female rubs the bridge of her nose and exhales a long, overdue sigh. “Please do, Choso.”

“Yeah,” Satoru leans into the counter, lips pointed down at this new face. “Please, do tell.”

“You’re basically our little Santa helper.” A new voice rings out from behind him. It spooks Satoru from his seat and he whips his head around to be met with your narrow eyes.

“Huh?”

“Also think of this as an unpaid internship.” You start laughing when he gags on his own saliva at your statement. “Okay, you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.”

Satoru swallows. “U-Unpaid…?”

Now it’s Utahime’s turn to speak, she huffs and tosses a couple of stockings into his arms. “Your father sent us a lengthy email a few days prior regarding your bratty behavior. So, of course, we came prepared.” 

“Prepared…?” He feels the fabric in his hands and whines at the grainy texture. This is so not 100% real wool.

If Satoru thought he had any chance of actually taking over his father’s company, because he knows the difference between supply and demand, he’s wrong.

Customer service is not his forte. He’s always thrown emails and sponsorship paperwork at his many assistants, and Satoru doesn’t even know his own email log-in password. So, when you walked up to him first thing the next morning with a brown apron, the inn’s logo large and embroidered in the center, telling him how to function all these coffee machines that he’s seen behind hundreds of counters, it invoked some fear into his already wrecked nerves. Plus, no one dared to warn him about the clientele during a holiday rush.

“I want a venti peppermint frappe with two pumps of chocolate, three pumps of hazelnut, replace it with almond milk, one shot of espresso, and top it off with a drizzle of caramel on top.”

He slumps against the counter. “You sure you want all of that?”

“Can I please get a half dozen sfogliatella and a cannoli?

He starts picking at his cuticles and sneers. “Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.” 

“My change is supposed to be five dollars, you only gave me three back?”

Satoru groans. “You’re trying to scam me, aren’t you?”

By the end of his four hour shift, Satoru feels like he’s just done more charity work than he’s ever done in his life — actually, maybe this could also be comparable to the time where he did the ribbon cutting ceremony at Chanel; gotta support small businesses, right?

“Gojo.” You’re seated across from him behind the counter, arms crossed and pursed lips.

He barely spares you a glance as he idly plays whatever shitty mobile game that’s number one on the app store. “Mhm? What is it?” He clearly knows you’re upset, your voice practically screams ‘I will end you’ in the most monotonous way possible. But can you blame him? Of all places, Satoru does not want to spend his winter break here.

You jerk your head to the side, fingers rhythmically tapping away on the counter, clearly unimpressed. “It hasn’t even been a full day and you’ve managed to piss off every single customer.”

Satoru expression shifts, brow creasing, and sighs, grabbing a handful of mint chocolate from the freebie candy jar by the register. “Don’t be dramatic,” he rolls his eyes and shoves three pieces in his mouth before jabbing a finger at a young man. “I didn’t piss him off!”

You glower, cheeks slightly puffed out. “That’s Yuuji and he’s practically a family friend and Choso’s little brother, so he doesn’t count,” you explain before adding, “Plus, he’s literally nice to everyone. You’re not special.”

And for a second, Satoru considered arguing that fact. Having been born into wealth, granted whatever wish he wanted, his butlers and maids are always on speed dial, that’s the lifestyle he’s used to. Placed on this tiny rock called Earth just to take over it one day, is what his father used to always say to him. But how can he, Satoru Gojo, take over when he’s stuck working a minimum — scratch that, unpaid — wage job as punishment? 

Instead of fighting, Satoru slumps against the counter and pouts, like a little kid who just got their toy taken away. You and your sister Utahime have a clear advantage over him, by somehow being close, yet distant, friends to his family. Maybe karma is real. 

“I’m putting you on ski lessons later.”

Satoru’s ears perk at this. “Oh, so I get some employee benefits, right?”

You roll your eyes, digging deep in your pockets to pull out a sheet with his name next to a list of others. “Wrong. You’re in charge of teaching five year olds how to ski.” 

“Huh?”

Somehow that sounds even worse than being a barista. Kinda. 

By the end of his first day of unemployment, Satoru tries to convince himself that a full change of scenery is nice. Well, he has to convince himself, otherwise he’s stuck dreading each coming day for the rest of the week. 

“Tired yet, Gojo?”

You flop down on a spare armchair in his room, squishing his Canada Goose jacket underneath. He’s too tired to yell at you to get off and tumbles onto his bed, feet dangling off the edge, letting out a loud groan when his face immediately makes contact with the rough wooly blanket. Surprisingly to him, everything just feels so comfortable that the quality of the products doesn’t even cross his mind.

Sure, the air in the room is a bit musty, and he can feel his cheeks flaring up from the sudden change in temperature and the dull aching nag in his legs from demonstrating ski tricks to toddlers, but there’s an odd sense of fulfillment swelling in his chest just about now. He almost suggests taking over Choso’s lesson but, according to the hotel pamphlet, there’s going to be an ice fishing tournament tomorrow and he kinda wants to check that out, too.

“Exhausted,” he mumbles into the sheets, eyes squeezed shut. Satoru wiggles his body around for a few moments before slipping out of his snow boots and stares out the window, noticing flickering green and purple lights in the night sky. “Woah, are those…?”

He hears you laugh beside him. “Yeah, northern lights. We see them all the time during the winter.”

“Only seen them bitches in ‘Polar Express’.” Satoru finds himself saying whatever’s on his mind right now, his brain too whipped out to control his mouth. “You guys are lucky to see this every night.”

“I know you’re all pooped out from today but,” he feels the mattress dip by the edge and your fingers poking at his thighs. “Did you wanna head up to the balcony and watch them for a bit?” you say this experimentally, waiting for his reaction. 

Satoru might be a stranger to most natural phenomenons, having to zone out all the time whenever he did go on family vacations to a fancy national park when he was younger. Though, during the short time of spending his time here, it makes him think about packing up and leaving behind the fast paced city life for a bit of natural beauty and brightness.

“Carry me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re like a giant.” 

He manages to gather some energy to sit up on his elbows. “You should at least have some form of hospitality to a family friend, you know?”

You eye him for a long moment, and then finally huff, breaking the contact to kick your feet into the festive carpeted floor. “Alright, just don’t lean your whole body weight on me.”

“Wouldn’t count on that.”

Both of you end up tumbling onto the balcony rails around one in the morning. As expected, Satoru couldn’t keep to his promise, throwing his ridiculously long arms around your shoulders, and whining the whole way up the stairs. It’s not his fault that the inn didn’t have an elevator installed. In all, it’s not a bad day — a bad night, even. 

You straighten him against the railing before throwing a blanket over him. The fabric is thick and heavy, and Satoru forgets the ache in his limbs as he watches the way your eyes focus, eyebrows knitted, when you’re making sure he stays bundled up against the winter air. Once upon a time, Satoru never would’ve thought he would actually enjoy being in the company of someone who’s actively trying to teach him a lesson.

“Okay,” you say suddenly, almost like a reminder that you need to breathe, and pull away from him once he’s wrapped tightly like a swaddled baby. 

You both sit in silence for a moment, and Satoru feels the urge to fill all that silence. He supposes maybe that’s why most people find him so annoying. He never really shuts up, always wants to add the last comment to everything. Though, with the help of Suguru by his side, it’s gotten slightly easier and bearable for others but, when his head is big and full of loud thoughts, it’s so hard trying to calm the buzzing noise in his head and —

“Gojo, look,” your pointer finger darts at the illuminated skyline in the distance and he snaps his head, following the trail, before gasping.

He feels your other hand tugging at the blanket when he finally makes out two faint bright lights in the distance. You squirm slightly next to him, to the point where your shoulders touch, and Satoru finally breathes, because suddenly, there’s heat rushing in. The loud, rough winds around him seem to die down and he’s aware of the slightly gazed expression on your face as you look into the far distance.

“Did you make a wish?” he finds himself whispering.

You grin. “Yeah, gonna make you work here for eternity,” you reply back in good natured spirit.

Something stirs inside Satoru. Something important. Well, Satoru-level important, so in the grand scheme of things, not very — but still. He unravels parts of his blanket and throws it over your head, making sure that it messes up your hair, and laughs when you throw him another pout. 

“Did you make a wish?” you adjust the blanket so it covers your shoulders, moving a little closer to him, avoiding the cool breeze.

Satoru nods but presses a finger to his lips. “Not telling, though. Might not come true if I do.”

“Oh, shoot. Maybe I should’ve kept mine a secret then.”

He rolls his eyes and nudges your waist with an elbow. “You will definitely not see me here again.”

Satoru realizes, very fast, that his life has become very different, very quickly. And it might not be the bad kind of different. 

Over the course of the next few days, he’s practically glued to your side as you’re showing him all things related to hospitality that his father tried to drill into him when he was a pre-teen. Obviously, it didn’t work at the time. Satoru’s known for being defiant just because he wanted to, and eventually his father stopped with the after school etiquette lessons. You, on the other hand, unfortunately have him tied around your fingers.

“You need to tidy up the edges more, Gojo.”

“There’s barely a wrinkle in these sheets!” He points at the bed sheet on the mattress, the one that he’d been working on for the last ten minutes in vain while you stood next to him with slightly concerned eyes. It’s a room service type of lesson today and, even though Satoru has never made his own bed before, he’s positive that he didn’t leave behind any smudges that might catch anyone’s eye.

“Did you check tuck in the sides? Or are you trying to get off easy for today?” You say, there’s a mild accusation in your tone when you speak, smiling as you step aside. 

And, despite the warm smile, Satoru frowns a little, because guess who forgot to tuck in the sides? 

When Satoru ducks his head around the mattress and sees a good loose chunk of the sheets hanging off and groans when you’re right. “It’s not my fault that they’ve made them so big for no reason,” he replies, somewhat embarrassed, rubbing the back of his head and messing up his already ruffled hair.

You roll your eyes and stick a tongue out. “You’re getting the hang of it though, maybe even faster than Yuuji when he first offered to help.”

He flushes at the unexpected praise and quickly fixes the sheets, turning his whole entire body away from your sight. “Better than Yuuji, right?”

“Oh? So, you only work better with compliments, Gojo?” You sound amused, as if a lightbulb just popped on top of your head.  

Satoru flattens out the bed once more, strangely now feeling satisfied with the final outcome before turning around, sticking out a tongue of his own. “Only if it’s from you,” he answers, honestly. 

You laugh, and hopefully it’s not at him. “I thought you would be more annoying to deal with.”

“So, I’m just regular amounts of annoying?” He points out, with a fake frown, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the sheet.

You turn your gaze, seemingly in deep thought, before responding with a small shrug and grin. “Possibly a perfect amount of annoying.”

Satoru feels the blood rushing to his cheeks, again. “Well, of course, it’s the perfect amount because I’m perfect,” he replies, instantly, but suddenly he’s shy and feels the need to go to the next room to fix their stupid sheets before he combusts in front of you.

“Gojo,” you say, almost hesitantly. 

He swallows and rubs the back of his neck, wiping off evidence of his sweaty palms. “Yeah?”

“You missed a spot,” and your pointer fingers direct at the far right corner of the bed frame. He must’ve pulled the sides too hard and it caused the other side to flip over. Ugh, he’s not cut out for this at all.

“I’m… uh, still better than Yuuji, right?”

“Mhm, getting there, Gojo.”

By day four, Satoru has surprisingly adjusted to the rules and responsibilities. He’s not entirely sure what’s gotten him mildly well behaved, Suguru is a bit surprised by the daily updates being less… aggressive and whiny. What started as long vent paragraphs about the lack of heated flooring and needy customers, soon turned into photo albums of kids face planting into the snow and unconsented selfies with you in the background. Satoru absolutely makes sure you end up looking the worst out of the two because he’s gotta let his best friend know who’s the prettiest and he’s definitely racking up a blackmail album of all of your worst moments in case anything happens in the future. 

It’s closing time and he just got back from the reindeer shed out in the back, covered head to toe in all things hay and snow. First things first, and no one bothered to tell him, but reindeers smell bad. Like, really bad. Especially at the end of the day, where their pens are covered in shit and countless carrots and apple bits from the little kids overfeeding them. Satoru is vaguely aware of the fact that he smells, just like he’s vaguely aware that the hotel lobby is oddly quiet from the usual banter between you and the usual workers.

Utahime and Choso are sitting by the cafe bar, seemingly deep in conversation about ordering more supplies for next week. Satoru thinks about interrupting their session with probably an unrelated dumb question, but the idea dies when Utahime notices his presence and motions him to come over. 

“You stink,” Satoru casts a half-glare at Utahime and begins picking out some of the scattered hay pieces stuck to his sweater. 

“For the record, I became good friends with Rudolph and Vixen today,” he grumbles back and Choso throws him a pat on the back.

“Hey, I don’t mind your stink, by the way. Smells kinda nice,” Choso offers up, but Satoru only shoots him a very unhappy look.

“If you think I smell nice then I’m really worried about what you think smells bad,” then he turns over to Utahime again, who’s engrossed in whatever is on her clipboard right now. “So, what did you need from me?”

“My sister,” she starts and taps away at the clipboard before handing it over to him. It’s pages upon pages of invoices from the past month. “Could you hand this to her? She should be in the back.”

“You treating me like an errand boy?”

Utahime scoffs. “What? Don’t wanna see her?”

“No, I do,” he responds, a bit too fast for his own liking, and straightens out. “Uh, is that all?” Satoru hopes his face doesn’t betray how much he’s a bit excited to interact with you, given that today was a full day out in the trenches, and he absolutely needs to hear you say his name at least twice a day in order to have a good night’s sleep.

Choso is trying really hard not to laugh, and Satoru takes it as a sign that he currently has a cheesy smile on his face — go figure. “One of the corner rooms upstairs requested a weighted blanket, mind also doing that too?”

There’s a certain relief that floods through Satoru and he thinks maybe he can take on a few more tasks for the night if that means spending a little more time with you, even if his body is screaming that he needs to take a two hour long shower. 

“Hey,” he starts to say when he rounds the corner, “Where’d you put those weighted blankets again?”

Satoru expected to walk in on you neck-deep in paperwork. You’ve mentioned earlier in the week that this year would be the busiest and there’s a bunch of stuff due. Something about end of the year tax returns and inventory counts, it all goes out his ear but he remembers something similar that his father told him in a prior conversation. He thinks he could probably help you figure out some of it, but that might be a bit much.

What he walks in on, thought, is you sitting in your little makeshift office. You’re on your laptop, the screen’s tilted just right enough that he gets a glimpse of what you’re looking at. You’re looking at flights and hotels, even got a whole spreadsheet on the second monitor. From what he’s seen of you so far, you didn’t come off as the type to talk about your future that much.

His voice catches you by surprise and your expression flickers from something vaguely focused to embarrassment real quick. You hastily close out the tabs and go back to the hotel’s homepage.

“What is it, Gojo?” And there’s this awkward, oddly frantic moment of you fumbling around with the keyboard and mouse, like a teenage boy who’s just got caught looking at porn.

“Ah,” Satoru thinks seeing your flustered side is rather adorable, to say the least. “You tryin’ to plan a vacation or something?” He struts over to your desk, placing a firm hand onto the back of the chair, and there’s this smile on his face that just screams ‘gotcha’.

Your face scrunches up but it’s not out of annoyance. “Kinda?”

Even with a grumpy look, it’s a good look on you. Makes you kinda dark, brooding, and beautiful, and it turns your eyes into dark storm clouds, or some other weird, waxy poetic shit that Satoru can’t figure out the words to. Either way, Satoru thinks you look cute and can’t stop noticing your little facial movements. You’re more expressive than you would probably imagine.

“Ooh, where to?”

You sigh and start playing with your thumbs. “Malaysia. My friend told me great things about it and I’ve been meaning to go for a while now but time and money are always iffy.”

“Makes sense, I can imagine that being an inn assistant doesn’t pay all the bills.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say. You huff and glare, an icy-death glare, at him. If looks could kill, Satoru is sure that he’ll be six feet underground by now. 

“Weighted blankets are on the second floor closet by the laundry room,” you answer his initial question curtly before shutting the laptop. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“It was just a question,” he mumbles slowly, and maybe even a little dangerously. “If money’s an issue—”

“Gojo.” Your voice is fixed and rigid, one that leaves absolutely no room for debate. “Your dad was right about you; you always just fall back to your fame and wealth.”

As you’re busy staring, Satoru realizes that you’re kinda being a total ass to him right now.

“That’s not fair,” his voice is rising and can’t seem to put a stop to the words spilling out. “Don’t bring my dad into this conversation.”

“Or what? You can go back to your privileged life anytime you want. This is just a field trip for you while others actually have to try hard and make a living.” You spit out. 

“No one forced you to become an inn worker, you know? If you’re so worried about money then you could’ve just found another high paying job.” Satoru wrinkles his nose and his volume continues to rise. 

You immediately offer him a dark glare and it comes off in a cut-throat way that shuts Satoru up mid thought. The rest of his counters die in his throat when you start making hand gestures at the office exit and he gets the hint: ‘leave before I lose my shit’ is the calling he sees.

And it works, because he finds his tone shifting a little, awkwardly kicking the floor and backing off. “Whatever…”

That was last night and, by now, Satoru is realizing that he’s kind of a giant asshole and the guilt is slowly eating away at him. Was he always like this? It couldn’t have been — he’s only met you a few days ago, and this is only meant to be a quick, ‘vacational’, getaway. Sure he might be a bit selfish and a dick, but he had been able to function perfectly fine before all of this, hadn’t he? 

Satoru’s not really sure.

It’s noon, and he’s lying in bed. Choso had asked him to cover his shift at the cafe, and he’d agreed, readily, even though it’s supposed to be his day off, because you’re working. Choso had texted him, though, saying that you had simply said you’d work the entire shift by yourself.

Of course. It’s absolutely not funny anymore.

Satoru sighs. He’s going to apologize, that’s for sure. It wounds some of his pride, yeah, but whatever, this tension between you guys, though, isn’t worth it. He finds himself wasting his entire morning away rotting in bed. There are things that he could be doing, that he looks forward to, like feeding the reindeers or demonstrating basic ski moves to little kids. Choso and Yuuji totally got him addicted to yelling out ‘pizza’ and ‘french fry’ at every chance he gets. They also got him addicted to a shitty relationship forum they both browse, but somehow the idea of reading other people’s relationship drama, when he’s facing drama of his own, is kinda mentally exhausting.

On second thought, maybe he should post on that forum, actually.

It might not be such a bad idea.

Or maybe he could reach out to Suguru and ask how to apologize? 

His best friend is a bit more grounded and attuned with other people’s feelings compared to him, afterall. Satoru’s not good at this stuff and he’s always just cut others off whenever they do argue, but this feels different. And, well, for the first time in forever, Satoru is desperate. 

“I fucked up big time and I need to apologize, help me out here?”

Suguru scoffs over the line. “Wow, what happened to saying ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’?”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Hi, hello. How are you? How do I make a sincere apology?”

“I’m good, thank you. Now, for your request, depends on how big the fuck up is.”

He bites his tongue, finding the right words to essentially not sound like a huge dick but, no matter how he wants to rephrase it, the outcome is the same. “I might’ve implied that she’s poor and needs someone to take care of her?” It sounds so stupid, so mean, and so degrading now that he’s saying it out loud. 

He hears Suguru sucking in his teeth and sighs. After a couple of pauses, his best friend finally speaks. “That’s pretty fucked up.”

Satoru frowns. “Okay, yeah, it is,” and he sits up in his bed when a snowball makes an impact against the window. It’s Utahime. And, currently, she’s throwing him the nastiest glare that a woman has ever given him in his life. “Um, I’ll call you back, buddy…”

“What? I haven’t given you—”

“Don’t have time for unwarranted advice right now.”

“You called me!”

“Bye!” Satoru ends the call before shuffling towards the window, swallowing a hard lump, and inches the glass panel just small enough for him to hear coherently and not big enough for her to punt him across the face. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

But Utahime is in an obvious shitty mood and Satoru’s lack of charming antics aren’t going to work this time. “I’m going to apologize, I promise,” he tries to insist.

“This is all your fault,” she immediately gets to the point and it makes him shrink back just a tiny bit. He’s starting to see that the bluntness runs in the family. “Just get your ass to work.”

“But my shift doesn’t start till—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Utahime starts to form an even bigger snowball and raises it to the window panel. “Ass out of bed, now.”

Okay, so as much as Satoru had tried to tell himself that this week wouldn’t be bad, it’s really starting to get fucking awful.

Everyone’s in a shit mood. Yuuji tries to crack some jokes but the usual crowd isn’t having it. You’ve been throwing Satoru dirty looks while working behind the cafe counter together and he’s been put on drink duty — which is his worst nightmare — while you’re attending to the customers because you’re young and cute enough for them to be nice to you. Satoru has spilled hot coffee and chocolate on himself like four times so far, and the shift just started. He’s terrified that the rest of this week is going to be like this.

“Can we talk?” Satoru whisper shouts over the espresso machine.

He sees your shoulders tensing up but immediately relaxes them afterwards. “Did you hear something, Yuuji?”

The boy looks up from the bar counter, it’s his day off and he’s catching up on some homework, but the seemingly growing tension that’s unfolding in front of him is making it painfully hard for him to focus on anything engineering related. Yuuji scratches the back of his neck before darting his eyes back and forth between the two of you. Normally, he would be the voice of reason, but Satoru doesn’t blame him when he shakes his head.

“N-Nah, must’ve been the wind or something...” 

Great, he’s been reduced to an air draft.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you agree without missing a beat. As the next customer in line spends an eternity holding everyone up, debating whether to get the seasonal muffin or french toast to go with their drink, you continue, “Thought I heard a rotten brat for a second.”

He absolutely doesn’t expect the harsh insult. Satoru widens his eyes at the outburst and there’s a small pause, the silence ticking in between everyone, and he’s sure that you’re glaring him down somewhere in a small reflection on the counter. 

Satoru debates whether to call out your name and shake some sense into you, but Yuuji quickly swallows and makes a motion with his hands to his throat, a universal signal saying — ‘I wouldn’t test the waters, if I were you’.

And, after the customer finally decides that they didn’t want any pastries with their coffee order, you finish the transaction before announcing that you’re going on a small fifteen minute break to “stretch”. Though, anyone could see that you’re planning to cool off before you manage to actually blow up in Satoru’s face.

“How the hell am I going to talk to her?” he groans to Yuuji once you’re finally away. He’s managing the cash register and, surprisingly, finishes taking the remaining orders quite smoothly compared to his first day. At least he can pat himself on the back for this. 

“You’ve really pissed her off, dude,” Yuuji replies and Satoru just rolls his eyes because that’s all he’s been hearing from everyone else all day today. “You should talk to her when she’s not… charged up.”

“Way to point out the obvious.” Sometimes he forgets that Yuuji is a bit oblivious. How is he doing so well as a mechanical engineering major? 

Yuuji makes an audible ‘pop’ and whistles. “What did you even say to her?”

Satoru groans into his hands. “Did she not tell you?”

“Well, she wasn’t exactly in a chippy mood to talk about anything this morning — outside of work, that is.”

“Here’s a little TLDR version: might’ve said something classist.”

“Might’ve?”

“Okay, definitely said something classist.”

“Then…” Yuuji drums his fingers against the counter, deep in thought. “Y’know, whenever me and Megumi fight, I always invite him out to the movies to try and cheer him up. Might not be applicable to you but…”

Satoru blinks. “Are you suggesting a date would help?”

“Maybe not a date—”

“No, I’m sorry for calling you dumb, you’re so right—a nice date might work!”

“You never called me dumb, though?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, kiddo.”

Satoru unravels the ribbon on his apron and throws it in Yuuji’s general direction, not caring if he tossed the stained uniform directly in his face. He hops the counter and pats the younger male on the shoulder, flashing him a genuine smile because, hey, maybe Yuuji actually is smarter than he looks.

“Gonna totally invite you to the wedding.”

It’s no secret that Satoru Gojo hasn’t been on a proper date in a pathetically long time.

He has swiped right on a number of highly influential celebrities and figures on dating apps before. Matched with nearly all of them. Gone on…maybe a lot of first dates with not a lot of second dates coming right after. Who cares though, everyone’s just there for the photos and followers anyway. Satoru knows that he’s attractive and that he personally loves big, lavish dates but, at this point, he knows you enough to understand you absolutely hate big gestures. 

After a short winded conversation with Suguru and Utahime, separately, Satoru has concluded on not buying you first class tickets to Malaysia. 

“Are you trying to get her to hate your guts?” Was the general consensus of the conversation with said people. 

So, what’s the next best option if he can’t fly you out to Malaysia? The answer is pretty simple — bring Malaysia to Mistle Town. And no, he’s not going to be relying on his black card for anything, even though the back of his mind is telling him otherwise. 

Choso blinks several times at Satoru’s printed out proposal. The colorful letters and Google image photos of beaches and coconuts slapped poorly onto the document screams back at Choso and Yuuji, bright and early on Christmas Eve. 

It’s unusual for Satoru to be bouncing excitedly in place for someone other than himself. So this catches everyone off guard. 

Yuuji whispers something intangible to Choso, but Satoru is able to make it out as, “Do we even have coconuts here?”

To which Choso replies, “It’s winter, so I don’t think so.”

And Yuuji moves onto the next question in queue, “What should we do about the lack of palm trees?”

A patient sigh from Choso, “We could always trim the pine trees outside?” He lamely suggests. 

“It’s a good idea, no?” Satoru jumps right back in, completely missing the flat vibe from the brothers. He frowns. “Why are you guys giving me that look?” 

And, like his best friend and your sister, the brothers throw him a confused head tilt. 

“Well,” Yuuji weakly starts, “Your plan ‘Project: Bring Malaysia here in hopes of Y/N falling in love with me’ doesn’t really sound that great… even on paper.”

Satoru grins, fully expecting that to be the response. “I’ll order the things, don’t worry about it. I just need to borrow your lungs for this project.”

Yuuji scratches his cheek in confusion, laughing nervously again. “Our lungs…?” he echos. 

“How long do I have to keep this dumb blindfold on, Choso?”

“U-Um,” Choso shoots Satoru a brow as he carefully guides you through the hotel lobby. 

It’s currently decked out from head to toe in all things yellow, green, and pink beach themed inflatables. Choso and Yuuji reminded Satoru last night that maybe two flamingos would’ve been enough to get the message across, but seeing that he ordered a whole colony? Yeah, he’s sending the rich boy prayers as he reels you in further, avoiding collision with the colorful balloons and seven-foot tall palm trees, too.

“Choso?”

He squeezes your shoulders when Satoru shoots him a thumbs up. “Ten seconds.”

Satoru quietly walks over to both of you, tip toeing so the sounds of his loafers are minimized against the flooring. Once he’s inches away, Choso retreats off into a different room, mouthing to him words of final encouragement, which Satoru gladly took. 

You appear restless under the blindfold. “I swear to god, if I take it off and there’s a giant pile of reindeer shit in the middle of the lobby I will actually kill somebody—”

And Satoru quietly debates whether or not he wants to keep you like this for a little while before revealing the big surprise. Seeing you flustered and confused is a very cute look on you, after all. But, he’s gotten you this far and it would absolutely kill him to leave you on such a bad notice. It’s now early evening, and the sun’s just starting to set enough that the golden rays illuminate your features from this angle. It takes Satoru back to his first private meeting with you on the balcony and he remembers why he’s even doing this in the first place.

Carefully and slowly, he slips down the blindfold and softly calls out your name. “Hey, take a look around you.”

Your eyes are blown wide when you see his face. Anger and frustration dissipate from your face when you soon realize that Satoru carries a soft expression. He watches as the emotions wash off as quickly as they came. Then, you finally take a look around your surroundings and gasp. “You—You did all of this for me?”

Satoru tenses a little, a bit on the edge. “You want the short or long answer?”

You don’t notice because you’re too preoccupied with the numerous fake flamingos around you. “On second thought, maybe no answer would also work.”

He laughs at this, slightly, before turning shy again. He feels silly, ashamed, and it makes his cheeks flush. “I wanted to say sorry again for what I said earlier.”

“You finally want to talk about it?”

He looks at your idle hands and then back to your face. When he sees that you don't move them away as he inches closer, he takes both of them into his palms, giving them a tight squeeze. “Yeah, I was a big idiot and I thought I was trying to help in the beginning but I just sounded—no, I am—a giant ass.” Satoru concludes. 

The atmosphere grows quiet and heavy again. The air humid and thick despite the opened windows and you’re looking at him. Then, there are tiny little smiles that break out on your face, like freckles and stars in the sky. 

“You’re such a pillow princess,” and he outright blushes ten shades darker at the nickname, “you’re lucky you’re cute.” Coming from you, that’s as good as a love confession.

I like you, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. He really likes you and doesn’t want to fuck this up.

But, everyone knows that Satoru Gojo is a child at heart. 

Satoru doesn’t know who gives in first; realistically, it might’ve been one of those stupid, rare, impossible moments where it’s completely shared. Suddenly the gaudy blow up palm trees and inflatable pool blur from his vision and he feels the world roaring around him when your palms rest on his cheeks. He ducks his head down but you’re the one who closes the distance between. 

You taste like strawberries and lavender, smell like warm cocoa, and feel softer than any sherpa blanket he’s had. Satoru closes his eyes and his vision goes white, his hands shakily snake around your waist, pressing you hard against his chest as if you might disappear at any moment. Satoru sighs into the kiss, it feels pleasantly warm, that throb in his chest, it’s a slow, steady thrum of simmering desire and comfort. He’s pretty sure he’s adding way too much tongue, the drool and saliva that comes dripping between you two will be uncomfortable soon, but for now, it adds to the blissed out, satisfaction you’re both basking in.

Finally, you pull away, shortening yourself a good several inches from planting the rest of your feet on the ground. Your eyes are glossed over, watery and looking at him without vexation. “You’re something else.” You say, but there’s no bite.

Satoru doesn’t speak for a moment. He’s too focused on the feeling of your warm fingers sprawled all over his heating face. Too focused on the dull pulse of both nervousness and infatuation slowly spreading through his body because you’re giving him that look. This all feels romantic and stupid, he thinks.

“I’m sorry, again.” The words are quiet, hesitant, and Satoru almost regrets them the moment he speaks.

You shift around a little, now dancing on the balls of your feet, but the grasp you have on his cheeks is still relatively firm, even applying a bit of more pressure as if it’s your way of showing reassurance. You tip your head; your eyes are so vivid and bright, it sends a shiver down Satoru’s spine. In this moment, he remembers every single thing between them in shocking detail — the awkwardness, the tension, the frustration, the dumb banters, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed.

“I’ll forgive you if you give me a private city tour,” you laugh. “And come back to work with us again next year.”

Satoru offers a small smile. “Unpaid?”

“Will you say no if it is?”

He hugs you tighter, a chuckle bubbles in his throat. “I don’t think I can say no because it’s you.”

Though, while some might think that Satoru is the real loser here for being whipped so hard over a small town girl, you know that deep down the real loser is you. Because you managed to have the son of a CEO wrapped around your fingers and now you will never know peace again. But you’re not really complaining; instead, you’re working even harder to save just enough to eventually see your dream destination while Satoru whines and sends an ungodly amount of selfies everyday when he’s back home. And you won’t allow yourself to get snappy because, well, you’re very much head over heels for him, too.

© 2023 DOOBEA. do not copy any of my writing and translate/repost.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 18] Preparing for Vacation

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

You’re packing Ren’s bag, a bit in disbelief that you’re going on vacation with your ex-boyfriend. You feel nervous about it, wondering how it’ll play out since your relationship with Satoru isn’t the best– Maybe you shouldn’t really worry about it, he’s doing it all for his son. Perhaps he’ll pay you no mind. Hopefully he won’t pay you no mind.

He has a vacation home in the perfect tropical place, which you aren’t surprised about. You’ve heard of all the houses that the family has around the world, and you forgot about half of them. It was rare staying at a hotel when you traveled with Satoru.

“I’ll come pick you up tomorrow morning. At around five.” Satoru enters Ren’s room to help you pack. Ren is too focused on his cars to pay attention to Satoru, and Satoru eventually got bored of just being another track for his son’s toy cars. You hum in response before you go to a cabinet to pack pajamas for Ren. “Is your suitcase ready?”

“It’s almost ready.” You lie because it’s far from ready. You’ve been simply too busy and tired to come around to it. You’re still working as Satoru’s assistant since for some reason, you suddenly don’t have the heart to quit. Of course, since the truth came out, Satoru has lightened your workload. He doesn’t care if he has to do it all himself, he wants you to come home early to spend time with Ren. You almost hate yourself for not telling him the moment you saw him again… Almost. 

“I can finish Ren’s suitcase while you finish packing for yourself.” Satoru says, and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Would that be a smart idea? Satoru is Ren’s father… But he doesn’t know everything that Ren needs for a vacation. Worst comes to worst, Satoru can buy what Ren is missing since he can certainly afford it.

“Fine.” You end up agreeing, neatly folding the pajamas you hold and putting them in the suitcase. You leave it to Satoru to pack everything else up. 

You get to your room and check what you need to pack up, which is almost everything necessary. You hear your name being called, which causes you to come to a stop, “Mommy!”

“Ren!” You yell back, and you turn around to find your son at your door. He walks over to your bed and lays down, grabbing one of your fluffy blankets and throwing it over himself.

“I’m bored.” He announces. Ren can entertain himself playing with anything for hours, but the moment you’re doing something important, he’s the most bored kid in the world. It doesn’t help that you haven’t been allowing him to watch TV since he’s been misbehaving lately, which means he’s more bored than usual.

“Your dad has gotten you so many toys. Go play with them.” You tell him, but that’s not the answer Ren wants to hear. Ren wants to hear you say that he can watch TV, but you’re not saying it which makes him pout.

“Want to watch TV.” He responds which makes you sigh. It’s easier to let Satoru handle it, since he’s been telling you that he has no idea how to properly parent. The only way for him to learn is to practice.

“Satoru! Come here! Ren has a question!” You yell, and Satoru is in your room within seconds. Maybe he should’ve stood in the doorway, but since it’s his son that has a question, he doesn’t really think twice before entering your bedroom.

“What is it, honey?” Satoru looks at his son, patiently waiting for Ren to ask.

“Can I watch TV?” Ren asks, and Satoru is about to nod, but he has to look at you first.

“Since when do you ask that question? I thought your mom–” Satoru begins but you cut him off to explain why Ren is asking the question. The correct answer is no, but you know that’s how you think. Satoru is also Ren’s parent and deserves to have some authority over how Ren is raised and punished.

“Ren has been misbehaving lately. He’s been writing on walls even though he’s been scolded for it many times, and he’s been throwing tantrums to get what he wants.” You explain, and Satoru doesn’t immediately see a problem with it. Why? Because he was raised in a house where the rules were that he did whatever he wanted. No one really dared to deny him anything but he can’t do that with Ren. 

“You’ve been misbehaving lately, Ren. Your mother gave you an appropriate punishment, and I’m not going to ignore it.” Satoru responds, and Ren crosses his arms as he gets up from your bed and walks back to his own bedroom. Satoru awkwardly stares before following behind, because Satoru still has to finish packing. 

When Satoru walks into the room, he finds Ren sniffling in his pillow, and he swears his heart cracks at the scene. He shouldn’t walk over to Ren to comfort him… He’s surely doing it because he’s not getting his way. But he’s not strong enough to ignore his baby boy, not yet at least.

Satoru sits down on the edge of the bed, his hand running up and down his son’s back to soothe him. Satoru sighs before asking his son, “What’s wrong, Ren? You know that your actions can have consequences… And while I love you a lot, I can’t just let you do whatever you want to do.”

“Mommy doesn’t love me.” Ren claims, and Satoru is shocked to hear Ren say that. He had no idea how dramatic kids were. But maybe Satoru shouldn’t judge since he would’ve reacted the same way– Thing is, Satoru isn’t sure if his mother does love him. 

“Your mommy does love you, that’s why you’re grounded. If she didn’t love you, she would just allow you to do all you wanted.” Satoru hopes he’s saying the right words to comfort his son. He isn’t the best at comforting people though, so he’s not sure if that’s going to work. Ren sits up from his bed, crossing his arms.

“It’s not because of that.” Ren will shift the attention. It’s mainly because you’re not allowing him to do whatever he wants. But of course he does feel a bit neglected lately because for the past year you’ve been so busy.

“Then why is it, buddy? So I can talk to your mommy about it.” Satoru says, and Ren debates if he wants to speak about it. Should he voice his thoughts? Is that smart?

“Mommy is never home, and when she is, she’s too tired to do anything.” Ren shares, making Satoru purse his lips together. He knows it’s not something that you can control, but maybe that’ll change in the near future. 

“She’s never home because she’s making sure that you have everything you need and could possibly want. It’s not because she doesn’t love you, it’s because she loves you so much.” Satoru defends you. It’s obviously something that’s difficult for Ren to understand, after all, he’s only four (though he keeps reminding everyone that his fifth birthday is coming up). “Don’t ever say that your mommy doesn’t love you, Ren. She would do just about anything for you.”

“Okay…” Ren answers, hesitantly nodding in agreement.

“Now go give your mommy a big hug, okay? And an apology too. She just wants the best for you.” Satoru tells his son, and Ren gets up from the bed, walking out and running to your room.

It’s fair to say that you’re shocked when you see Ren running your way with his arms wide open. You crouch down to receive his hug. Ren kisses your cheek before he mutters out an apology, “I’m sorry, mommy.”

“Have you learned your lesson, Ren?” You ask and he hums in response, which makes you continue, “What is the lesson?”

“Um…” He begins, unsure as to what the lesson is. You try not to laugh.

“I have rules for a reason, Ren. When I tell you something, it’s for your own good.” You tell him, and he nods. “Now what’s the lesson?”

“To listen to you and follow the rules.” Ren responds, and you smile at him before kissing his cheek.

“Promise you won’t ever misbehave like that again.” You put out your pinky, and he intertwines his own with yours. Ren takes pinky promises very seriously, so you doubt he’ll break it. “Alright, you can watch thirty minutes of TV, but you’re still punished tomorrow and the day after that.”

“Okay. Thank you, mommy.” Ren says before running out of your room, and you stand up. You catch a glimpse of Satoru near the doorway and you signal him to come inside. When Satoru is inside, you smile at him.

“Thank you.” You tell him, going back to packing up your suitcase. Satoru decides that he’s going to try and help you when he doesn’t know what you need.

“It’s my job. We can’t have a disrespectful and entitled child.” Satoru replies, and you’re about to make a joke about it, but you bite your tongue knowing that it isn’t wise. You end up patting his back. 

You don’t really pay attention to Satoru, not until your peripheral vision catches his sudden change in color. His face is burning red when he opens a drawer that he isn’t supposed to open.

“Oh that’s– Not mine.” You’re completely embarrassed. You shouldn’t be, it’s just Satoru. You have a literal child together, and that didn’t magically happen. But your relationship with him has clearly changed. “The toys are… My friend’s.”

“Yeah… They’re your friend’s.” Satoru ends up chuckling, closing the top drawer. “You don’t have to lie to me. I know better than anyone that you have certain needs.”

“Satoru, shut up. You’re making it worse.” Your face is hot. “Matter of fact, go watch TV with Ren.”

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t try to help you!” Satoru walks out of the room, and you lay down on your bed, grabbing your pillow and screaming into it.

It’s hard for you to wake up the next morning, but luckily your child doesn’t have an issue waking up. He knows that you’re going on a trip with his father, and he’s beyond excited. He’s finally getting on a plane though, and not just any plane but a private one (although he doesn’t know that detail). It’s nice to have someone that’s so energetic when all you want to do is sleep.

Satoru waits in his car for the two of you, sending the chauffeur up to help with your luggage. Throughout the whole car ride, Ren enthusiastically talks, knowing that he’ll be going to the beach soon. It’s a fifty minute drive to the airport, and he nearly drives you insane, but you have to remind yourself that he’s simply excited. 

“I call dibs for Ren as my seat buddy.” Satoru says when the chauffeur opens the door for him. Satoru gets Ren out of his booster seat, and practically runs to the entrance of the plane. You slowly follow behind them. You can’t really complain about Satoru stealing Ren for the plane ride because while you love your son, this morning he’s too energetic for you to handle.

You take a seat far away from them, deciding that you’ll take a nap during the plane ride. You barely slept last night so you certainly need the energy for when you land. But Ren doesn’t see that logic, he just wants his mother close to him, so when you take a seat far away from the pair, Ren leaves his seat and goes to you. He grabs your hand and tries to pull you up, “There’s a better seat.”

You almost groan before standing up, but you follow him. You take a seat across from the pair, putting in headphones. Before you can put on some music, Satoru says, “Do you really want to try to fall asleep now? Before takeoff?”

“Fine, I’ll stay awake for now.” You answer. You begin to listen to Ren talk, simply staring at him as your eyes grow heavy. You’re not sure how much time passes but Satoru certainly does, a frown overtaking his face.

“Why is it taking so fucking long?” Satoru asks, and you glare at him for his language. He realizes and quickly says, “Sorry, Ren.”

Satoru stands up with the intent of asking a staff member but just as he begins to walk, he realizes the reason why it’s taking so long. He crosses his arms, a sigh escaping his lips. “What do you need, Sayo?”

“Just wanted to accompany my dear husband on his business trip. I need a vacation too, you know?” Sayo responds, already fully in vacation mode. She pokes her head to the side, since Satoru blocks her view. She calls out your name and waves at you, and panic begins to settle in your body. She moves Satoru to the side to take a seat next to you, and that’s when she sees Ren.

“Satoru!” Sayo looks at her husband, although she raises her voice but not of anger… But of excitement? “You didn’t tell me you were bringing your son along!”

[giuliettagaltieri]

A River of Honey

Pairing: Husband!Gojō x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Navigating through life with your husband and son who both seemed to have developed an appetite for something only you can provide.

Warning: breastfeeding, mild lactation kink, innuendos

Word Count: 1142

With the two of you being forced into a marriage you did not want, it was difficult to coexist with each other, let alone initiate anything between you.  Your two-year marriage did end up with you having an 8-month old son as Gojō is only a man, ever so vulnerable to the natural charm of a woman.  But aside from sharing a child, you have nothing else that binds you to each other.

But lately, his crystalline blue eyes have been wandering to your ample bosom much too often.

Being in the Gojō estate house, you had to follow a few rules.

One is that you are never allowed to speak ill of your husband and your family.

You must not meet any man unaccompanied.

Entering the council hall is strictly forbidden.

Your hair must be in a specific bun, adorned with ornaments to symbolize status.

And lastly, you must follow the traditional dress code.

Most of the time, you wore kimonos, all having the colors of the Gojō banners.  It was their way of branding you as theirs.  And your husband did not like that.  But you, well it always reminded you of his eyes so you cannot bring yourself to complain.

During the course of your pregnancy, your husband protested about making you wear heavy fabric when it was too hot.  They did not relent.

So, your husband took it upon himself to rid your closet with the intricate kimonos and obi.  He threw them all in the cold of the night through your window, and shot a blast of cursed energy on the pile just for good measure.

From then on, your kimonos were lighter.  You did not have to wear multiple layers.  And even after you gave birth, the clan decided not to test their luck and just let you wear whatever is comfortable for you.  After all, you gifted the family a promising heir.  One that looked exactly like the master of the house, an exact replica of his father.

Gojō leaned on a tree in your garden one day, his legs stretched out in front of him.  He was watching you as you sat by the pond with your little boy on your lap, pointing at the koi fish that swam by.

“No.”  He hears you chuckle.  “We don’t eat them.”

As Gojō expected, a tiny frown forms on your son’s face the moment you said ‘no’, his lips wobbling and he turns to his father as if silently asking for rescue.

You sigh as you stand up.  “Wanna come to dada?”  Upon hearing this, your son hesitates and his tiny fists tighten on your sleeves.  But before he can protest, you drop his bum on Gojō’s lap.

“Hey there, bud.”  Gojō grins but the little boy doesn’t respond to him as his eyes remain trained on you as you sit next to your husband and pick up the book you brought with you earlier.

A poke to your son’s cheek finally made him look at his father, with a slightly irritated look in addition to his in-distressed expression.

“Mama’s not upset.”  Gojō says as he smoothens the hair of the child.  “She’s only teasing.”

Your son thinks for a moment and slumps on his father’s chest, his cheeks squished as he looks at your face.  Waiting for you to confirm it.  But you pretend not to hear as you turn the page on your book.  You’re not going to tolerate this attitude, you don’t need two spoiled Gojōs.

“Lighten up, Satoshi.  We’ll get you a non-koi fish to eat later.”  Gojō tried again, his grin widening every moment.

But Satoshi scowls at his father and shook his head. 

“Oh?  You don’t want to eat fish anymore?”

His son shook his head once more.

“What do you want to eat then?”  Gojō scratched his head.  “Want some taiyaki?”

Satoshi glares at his father.  “No!” 

Gojō’s eyebrows rise slowly.  “Come again?”

A red hue appears on Satoshi’s nose and judging by the large gulp of air he took, a wail is most certainly coming.

“MAMA!”  He bawls, his hands outstretched to you as large tears spill to his cheeks. 

Gojō grimaces, quickly handing you your son.  “Alright go to mama.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh as you drop your book to the side to cradle your baby.  He buries his face to your chest, soaking your kimono.  You rub his back in a soothing manner.

“What a crybaby.”  Gojō laughs, making his son glare at him behind his tears.

“Don’t listen to dada.”  You smile while smooching Satoshi’s chubby cheek.  “Stop crying now, I’ll ask them to make you something good to eat, okay?”

Satoshi looks at you with apprehension. 

“What?”  You smile sweetly.

He looks away from you and his tiny baby hands play with your kimono making you laugh.

“You have to talk, Satoshi.”  You say even though you know what he’s doing.

“Milk mama.”  He mumbles while he fiddles with his fingers.

After looking around your garden and not seeing anyone, you shift your kimono to the side and unbutton your nursing bra showing your lush breast and still puffy nipple.  Satoshi latches instantly.  His eyes become droopy almost immediately, breastfeeding is becoming a swift sleep inducer to him.

You turn to your unusually quiet husband and see just in time how he stared at your bosom with his pupils dilating as he swallowed audibly.  Warmth ran through your body and you looked away quickly, pretending that you saw none of it.

“That’s really convenient huh.”  He spoke, his voice a few timbres deeper.  “You just unbutton and your teat is out.”

“Mhm.”  You hum as you play with a lint on your lap.

Gojō wets his lips and he tries to look away but his eyes often wander to you every now and then.  You see his leg bouncing slightly in a steady motion.  And his hand raked his hair way too much that it started sticking out to multiple angles.

“I should put Satoshi back in his room.”  You say softly after you unlatched your son and tidied your clothes.

Gojō is quick to stand and offer his hand to you.  “I’ll come too.”

You thanked him and walked side by side with him.  He doesn’t tolerate you walking behind him.  

You smiled at him gratefully as he opened the door to Satoshi’s room and placed the pillows around your son’s crib.  Gojō pretends to look interested in a furby, as your neckline dips while putting your son down.  His heart softened when you smoothed his hair as you whispered, “I love you”.

He guided you out of the room and you are about to head back to your garden when his arm finds your waist and you are being led to your bedroom instead.

“My turn now, mama.”

Where the Blue Roses Grow

[atinylittlepain]

Hiya! I love your writing so much it's amazing. Can I request Joel and Reader! smut? Maybe angry s3x? I loveeeee grumpy Joel. They would def be primal and rough and fast about it too...oof. I'm not too good at coming up with plotlines haha

Anyways thank you so much if you do! :3

oof, this was fun to write

gif by @tightjeansjavi

Menace

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel Miller masterlist

When Joel refuses to join her at the bar, she has a good time by herself. But he just can't stay away.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, rough sex, little angst, little fluff, mostly just smut tho

...........................

If Joel were here right now, she knows he wouldn’t like the looks of things one bit. Not because she’s in any sort of danger, the only real danger at the Tipsy Bison is whatever that cheap grog is that they keep stewing in the back. No, what Joel wouldn’t like to see is her having a good time, for once, without him. And that’s exactly what she’s doing. 

It’s a Friday night in Jackson, a town in which she can actually enjoy the luxury of having a real Friday night after a long week of patrol shifts. Joel, in all his brooding glory, had rejected her invitation to go out to the bar, telling her that all he wanted was some “fucking peace and quiet.” She hadn’t let that get her down, though, scoffing at his petulant grumbles and heading out by herself. And she was having a damn good time too.

“Goddamn, girl. Giving me a run for my money.” She grins at the man, idly spinning her cue stick in her hands as she walks along the pool table. 

“You better shape up then, or you’re gonna owe me another drink.” The man throws his head back in a laugh at that, his eyes crinkling up as he looks at her. His name is Teddy, one of the younger men around town who also works patrol shifts. She had a shift with him earlier in the week, and he had been warm and welcoming to her, still pretty new to the swing of things. It doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s flirting with her, and she’s happy to play along for now, knowing she’s got her grump of a man waiting for her back home, probably snoring in bed already. Love is strange, but she is Joel’s and he is most certainly hers, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. But for now, a little banter with this sweet boy isn’t going to hurt anyone.

“Watch and learn, Teddy. I’m gonna show you how it’s done.” The man whistles low as she bends over the table, lining her cue stick up with her target. So what if she’s hamming it up a bit? Shimmying her hips and flicking her hair out of her face. A small crowd has gathered around the table to watch her smoke this kid, and she’s enjoying the feeling of letting loose after being tensed up for so long.

She moves cool and slick around the table, driving home her last three balls before setting her sights on the eightball. It looks like a tough shot, and she revels in her confidence that she can sink it, feeling Teddy’s eyes sweeping down the slope of her back as she arches over the table. There’s a hushed swell of laughter and a few whoops when she hits the eightball clean into a pocket, and she turns and shoots Teddy a crooked smile.

“Pay up, boy. I want the good stuff this time, top shelf only.” Teddy barks out another laugh, but it quickly dissolves as his eyes flit just behind her. She feels him before she sees him, the solid warmth of him pressing up behind her and a broad palm splaying over her shoulder. He’s certainly not snoring in bed.

“You’ll have to take a rain check, son. She’s needed at home right now.” The low rasp of his voice tells her all she needs to know. He saw her, and the little moves she was making, and now, Joel Miller is pissed.

She can see the bob of Teddy’s throat as he swallows, nodding jerkily. She winces at the crack in his voice when he says that’s alright, he’ll see her around. Joel may be a grump, but he’s also a scary grump when he wants to be, like right about now as he’s steering her out of the bar with his hand still on her shoulder.

“Putting on a little show for all them townsfolk, darlin?” His southern drawl always gets headier, slower, when he’s angry. It’s never a good sign when she starts having a hard time pulling his honey-thick words apart. But she refuses to let him intimidate her, huffing as they trudge through town toward their house.

“It was just a little fun, Joel. I know you’re not too familiar with the concept, but—”

“Oh, you’re wrong about that, darlin. Me and you? We’re about to have a whole lot of fun.” So it’s like that. She can’t help the excited shiver that runs up her spine at his words, heat already starting to lick at her core. She’s known him long enough to know that when Joel is pissed at her, it can only go one of two ways. Sometimes, he’ll shut down and sulk off, keeping his distance until he’s gotten some sense back in his body to come talk to her. But other times, his anger flirts over into a jagged lust, only simmering to cool when they’re both too sore to bitch at each other anymore, a heaving tangle of sweat and pleasure. And judging by the hard flush she can see peeking out of his shirt collar as they get home, she’d put money on this being one of those other times.

The instant the front door closes behind her, he’s pressing her back up against it, swallowing her gasp as he licks into her mouth. She presses her palms into his chest to try to get some space, but he’s immovable, dragging his lips down her neck and nudging the collar of her shirt out of the way to suck searing bruises into her collarbone. She tugs harshly at his hair to get him to finally take a breath.

“Hey, hey. What about Ellie?” 

“At Dina’s.” And with those few gruff, syllables, he’s back on her, shoving his jean-clad thigh between her legs and pressing up hard into her core, her hips immediately grinding down to seek any kind of relief to the quick-building heat blooming up her spine. 

“You’re something else, you know that? Saw you acting so tough, so cool down at the bar.” His words are a smear across her chest as he works the buttons of her shirt open, dipping down to mouth at the fabric of her bra the moment he gets access, her back arching up into his mouth as she lets out a long sigh of his name. He chuckles into her skin.

“None of them know how sweet you get like this, though. S’just for me, right?” She chokes on a breath as his hand wrenches down the front of her jeans, rough fingers swiping through the slick pooling between her folds. He drags his nose up her cheek as he works one, then two of his fingers into her, her knees buckling when he crooks his digits just so, her cunt clenching hard.

“Asked you a question, darlin. Who’s all this for, huh?” His fingers are pumping into her relentlessly, the squelching noise of each thrust embarrassingly lewd and loud. It’s all she can do to give him a response.

“You– it’s all for you– fuck– only for you– it’s– just you– please–” He laughs, the smug bastard, smearing a kiss to her temple as he continues to fuck her with his fingers, the heel of his palm digging just right into her clit.

“That’s right, baby. S’all for me. Think you can give me one just like this? C’mon, know you can. Be good for me. Just for me.” He doesn’t have to tell her twice, her cunt already spasming around his fingers as she lets out a broken cry, pleasure crashing over her in ebbs and flows as he fucks her through it. He finally relents when her preening whines turn into whimpers, pulling his hand away and sucking his fingers into his mouth as she slumps back against the door.

She’s a complete mess, her shirt hanging loosely off her arms, the cups of her bra shoved down to let her tits spill out, while Joel stands before her still fully clothed, a contrast that sets heat simmering in her belly all over again. She closes the gap between them this time, pressing in for a demanding kiss as she shrugs her shirt off the rest of the way, fumbling behind her back to snap the clasp of her bra open as well. Joel’s hands are on her right away, palming the swell of her tits before squeezing just harshly enough to make her gasp into his mouth, her fingers stuttering where she was working on the buttons of his shirt. He seems to get the hint, swatting her hands away from his half undone shirt and tugging it the rest of the way off by the collar. 

“I need you right now, darlin. Got me fucking aching here.” 

They’re a stumbling swirl of limbs as they fumble upstairs to their bedroom, banging into walls and slamming doors along the way. 

He gets her exactly where he wants her, on all fours at the end of the bed, and she yelps as he wrenches her jeans and panties down her thighs. She cranes her neck over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of him, his jeans rucked down just enough for him to free his cock as he fists himself over her, his other palm kneading the swell of her ass. He nudges his swollen tip through her folds and she shivers at the sensation, trying to press her hips back into him to get more of anything. Joel doesn’t seem to like that though, laying a harsh smack to her ass that makes her nearly jump out of his hold.

“Mind your manners, darlin. Don’t get greedy on me.” She huffs, trying to look back over her shoulder at him but he presses a rough palm between her shoulder blades, forcing her back to bow until she’s collapsing onto her arms, cheek smushed into the sheets. 

He presses into her with one hard thrust, his hips grinding into the plush of her ass as she lets out a broken cry.

“Fuck– always so tight for me– fucking made for me, huh?” She can’t respond to his breathless words, not with the brutal pace he’s setting, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room as he pumps into her, his leaking tip hitting a spot inside her that has her mouth opening in a silent scream. Suddenly, he’s snaking his palm up her chest, pressing between her tits to pull her up until her back is snug against the warmth of his chest, his lips pressed hotly to the shell of her ear.

“Tell me you’re mine, darlin. Wanna hear you say it.” She lets out a low moan as his hand dips down, the rough pads of his fingers dragging across her clit. Meanwhile, he’s skirted his other palm up to her throat, curling his fingers lightly, a faint but firm pressure making her mind go hazy. 

“I’m yours– I’m all yours– please, I’m so close–” His thrusts are getting shorter, more of a deep grind up inside her that has her clenching hard around him.

“Want you to say my name when you come, darlin. Make a fucking mess– c’mon, that’s it.” It becomes too much all at once, and she finds herself letting out a panting sigh of his name as pleasure finally snaps inside her. His hands slacken where they had been holding her up and she collapses forward, resting her teary face in her arms as he fucks her through her high.

“So perfect for me, darlin– shit– just a little more, huh? Fucking close.” His hips start to stutter against hers, and she does her best to press back against him.

“Please, Joel– want it so bad– c’mon, baby, give it to me.” He lets out a low curse, pulling out and fisting himself once, twice, before he’s painting her ass with his spend. He lets out a hard breath before flopping down next to her on the bed, dragging a hand down his flushed face. She winces as she lets her legs splay out, slinking down onto her stomach. There will be bruises tomorrow, without a doubt. She crooks her face to the side to look at him, still panting, eyes scrunched closed.

“Feel better now?” He cracks one eye open, glancing at her before fully turning on his side to steal a kiss from her lips.

“Fucking menace. Yes, I feel better now.” With that, he flops onto his back again, crossing his arms behind his head. She shimmies over to rest her head on his chest, her chin propped up on his sternum so she can look at him. 

“You better get me cleaned up, Miller. Made a damn mess.” He huffs, bringing one hand down and smacking the curve of her ass, making her yelp in surprise. She tries to kiss away the all too smug grin on his face, but it’s still there when she pulls back.

“I will. But first, I gotta know. Where the hell did you learn to play pool like that?” She lets out an exasperated laugh at that.

“Come with me to the bar next Friday night and I’ll tell you.” A low grumble resounds through his chest, but he’s still smiling as he shakes his head at her.

“You’re on, darlin. I should warn you though. I’m gonna whoop your ass.”

“Looking forward to it, Miller.”

[anthurak]

So I thought I’d throw together a bit of a timeline theory I’ve been thinking about since the last episode surrounding Fizzerolli, how he started working for Mammon, when and how he may have gotten together with Ozzie, who exactly kept him and Blitzo apart after the accident, and also an idea for some rather appropriate karmic irony.

See, we hear in Mammon’s Midseason Special that Fizz has won Mammon’s Clown Pageant the last ten years in a row. But nothing about that indicates that ten years ago was the first time Fizz won.

Instead, I think the actual first time Fizz won Mammon’s Clown Pageant was fifteen years ago. As in, shortly before the accident. For one this really adds some additional weight to the flashbacks we get in Oops. The big celebration we see wasn’t just for Fizz’s birthday, it was celebrating Fizz getting his big break. Winning this competition and getting the chance to work with Mammon, the Sin of Greed himself.

As well as adding even greater weight to Blitzo trying to give Fizz a love letter. Blitzo likely thought this would be the last chance he would get.

Additionally, this would also neatly explain Mammon’s involvement in Fizz’s recovery after the accident. It’s clear that Mammon bankrolled Fizzerolli’s recovery and cyberization, so that begs the question of what would prompt Mammon to invest so much time and effort into helping seemingly some random imp circus kid? Well, what if said kid not only just won his Clown Pageant, but did SO good that Mammon decided pretty much immediately that he wanted THIS kid as his new brand mascot? And then just a few weeks or even days later, that kid was horrifically maimed in a terrible accident at his home? Yeah, I think that gives Mammon ALL the reason to stick his neck out for Fizz. And if you’re going to ask ‘Why didn’t Mammon just drop Fizz after he was basically crippled?’ Because Mammon is the embodiment of GREED. He WANTED Fizzerolli and he was going to HAVE him.

Plus, I think we can assume that this is where Asmodeus entered the picture, with Mammon calling him in to do Fizzerolli’s cybernetics. In turn, I think it’s easy to guess that Ozzie being so closely involved in Fizz’s recovery is when the two started falling in love.

In short, Fizzerolli spends the next few years recovering before making his big debut as Mammon’s new hot brand mascot, winning his next Clown Pageant, and goes on to win every pageant for the next ten years up to present.

Now the other angle here is the big ‘Who conspired to keep Blitzo and Fizz apart after the accident?’ And I’m going to be honest; it is DEFINITELY Cash Buckzo. Like I know some people have theorized that it was Mammon, but frankly that theory just doesn’t make sense anymore. Mammon simply doesn’t have much motive or means to have done this, and if nothing else, he straight up doesn’t recognize Blitzo in the newest episode.

Cash on the other has both motive AND means in abundance. He was certainly one of the people most closely looking after Fizzerolli after the fire and he had every reason to want to cut Blitzo out of Fizzerolli’s life. Likely a combination of petty spite against his son for causing the accident which burned down their circus, likely injured dozens and even killed his wife, and also wanting to isolate and ‘protect’ Fizzerolli, his big cash cow. Especially now that he’d gotten the attention of Mammon, with Cash likely hoping to get/mooch as much as he could out of this new arrangement.

Now that last bit in particular get’s interesting because it’s clear that if Cash was hoping to continue profiting off Fizzerolli, it clearly didn’t work. What with how we have seen neither hide nor hair of Cash around Fizz, who in turn has not brought him up once.

So what happened?

Well, in a bit of delicious karmic irony, I think Cash was the one to cut Blitzo out of Fizz’s life, only to later get cut out of Fizz’s life himself by MAMMON.

[bomber-grl]

“Wanna get married?”

Damian Wayne x Gn!Reader

(They’re about 19)

“WHAT??”

“What…? Why’re you so freaked out?” You and Damian were currently sitting across each other in the living room.

“What do you mean, why am I so freaked out?…explain yourself” his sudden mood changes never ceases to amaze you- something you seriously shouldn’t be thinking while being suspected of by an ex assassin .

“Well… Since we’re tired and bored, I asked if you’d wanna get married-“

“Yea, I understood the first time but why and…in what sense?” He interrupted you, rude

“Ok ok look, just hear me out” he glared at you but then sighed and just nodded.

“Alright” you sat up “so imagine this,me, you, fancy high end restaurant- AND before you say anything!” You shove a finger against Damian’s lips.

“Imagine the food, we can, idk… go in together and I could fake purpose to you for fun” you sat back and studied Damian’s facial expressions .

He let out the deepest sigh you’ve ever heard in your life that you’ve heard from him. Which is to say a lot since sighs from Damian aren’t exactly uncommon.

He leaned back and started thinking “where would you even get a ring-“

“I’ve thought of that” is how you responded and quickly pulled out the best looking ring you have.

“Okayyyy, I don’t know why you have that but, ugh, fine.” He said finally admitting defeat. He got to his feet and held out a hand for you to grab.

Show time.

The two of you decided to head out the the fanciest, high class restaurant damian knows and once the two of you got dressed you had Alfred drive you there.

You’d be lying if you said you and Damian didn’t look absolutely stunning, I mean anyone would be jealous if they saw the two of you, not knowing whether they’d want to be with you or you.

Once you finally stepped out you stayed behind and watched as Damian managed to get a seat despite not having a reservation, maybe all he said was that he was Bruce Wayne’s son.

Well anyway, a waiter led you there and had you two seated in a very public place, nice.

Although it was good for your plan it wasn’t exactly ideal, especially since Damian really hates being the center of attention.

Anyway the both of you ended up eating away without a care of the cost (mostly you) and when you saw it fit you got up, cleared your throat and began your plan.

“Damian Wayne, you and I had been friends for a long time now and we’ve been dating for a good while aswell. I’m aware we are young but our young age doesn’t make my love for you invalid. So I ask this with upmost sincerity-“ you go to kneel and continue your cringe ass over the top speech.

“I wish for you and I to be lovers and even more in the near future so-“ you pull into your pocket and get the ring and open the box “will you make me the happiest person alive and marry me?”

Collective gasps could be heard around the restaurant and even some people pulled out their phones to record- I mean imagine Damian Wayne and y/n l/n getting married of all people???

An event of the century

Well Damian’s shocked face was worth it and although unexpected, his blush certainly wasn’t unwelcomed.

Nice! He was s totally selling it

Anyway he got up abruptly and nodded his head, that wasn’t enough for you though. “What?-“

“YES ILL MARRY YOU” he hastily let you slip the ring on his finger and he called over the waiter to bring your check.

Someone had to have called paparazzi because when you stepped out of the establishment there was flashing lights all around you while you two hurriedly got into the vehicle driven by Alfred.

-

The very next day you were forced to go to the Wayne manor because of how much Damian kept pestering you.

Once you managed to sneak past the news reporters you entered the living room and the whole family was there, everyone had mixed reactions but most of them Thought it was hilarious.

But in all seriousness Bruce said that you’ll have to give an official statement saying it was all a stunt while a video of the news played on the tv talking about you and Damian’s new engagement.

-

The next few days were full of people spreading “Damian x y/n” all over previous haters and people were also mentioning how absurd it was due to your young age.

“Damian’s and y/ns engagement “ was trending all over twitter and any social media platform and although it was fun while it lasted an official statement had to be published eventually. 😔

It was fun calling Damian your “fiancé” when in interviews, but everything must come to an end 😔

[sunnytarg]

Aegon discovering he not only has a breeding kink but also genuinely enjoys fatherhood???

Him and reader will probably out do King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne with how many kids they have.

He’s probably a better father to his children then Jaehaerys was because whenever his children act up he’s probably causing havoc with them or encouraging it.

Duty becomes something else entirely when after his wedding he fucks his wife and watches his seed drip slowly out of her. He doesn’t know what comes over him when he brings his fingers down to his wife’s cunt and pushing in all of the cum that had dropped out. He certainly is not doing that just so she has an heir.

He still fucks her several more time that night and makes sure to fall asleep with his cock in her to keep his seed inside of her.

After having his cock in her nonstop for several months after their wedding, it’s no surprise when his wife starts to grow round with his child almost immediately. The sight of her large belly and fuller tits that begin to lactate soon enough has Aegon harder than usual. Instead of fucking his wife once a day or every other day he is now buried deep in her almost all the time.

He loves to whisper how he was the one who put the babe in her. He’s the one she spread her legs for and let him seed and how she’ll do it again soon after their first child is born.

When their first child is born, less than one year after the wedding he doesn’t think he will care much about it. He thinks he’ll leave the raising of his child to his wife and perhaps his mother but when he walks into the room after his wife has given birth and he’s handed his son. Things change for Aegon.

He always has his infant in his arms. Whether it’s when his mother or grandsire demand to talk to him (he learns quickly they tend not to yell when his infant son is asleep in his arms) or just sitting in his shared chambers with his wife.

He adores his son so much and surprising Ioves being a father more than he ever thought he could. So when the maesters tell him his wife is healed after only a few moons after giving him a child, he’s climbing back on top of her to give her another baby.

Aegon soon develops a schedule that everyone in the castle is aware of by the time he and his wife have their third child three years after being wed. If Aegon is not holding or playing with one of his children, he is most likely balls deep in his wife.

Everyone in the castle learns pretty quickly that when the youngest has grown past their third moon, Aegon’s wife will soon be pregnant again.

[back2bluesidex]

Afterglow - JHS

Pairing: Husband!HoseokX Wife!Reader

A follow-up drabble of Girl Crush

Theme: Angst, arranged marriage au, hurt to comfort au, little bit of fluff

Wordcount: 1.6k+

Request: "Afterglow with hoseok. Where the reader and hoseok had a fight, and hoseok walked out, which left the reader thinking about the argument. thank uu💓"

Summary: Hoseok looks at you, smiles at you, and makes conversations with you unlike Yoongi. Hoseok’s eyes are full of warmth and adoration for you unlike Yoongi. Hoseok feels for you, unlike Yoongi.

Based on Afterglow by Taylor Swift.

Warnings: angst, reader was previously divorced, argument, some annoying aunties, mentions of divorce, past relationship, broken marriage, that's all

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: You guys are really persistent. Most of you wanted a follow up of Girl Crush. But I had 0 mind of doing so. So, I turned this request in a drabble and made it into the part 2. Hope you guys like it. And no more parts will be added to this.

If there are 100 people in this room right now, then 80 of them want to be at your place, in your shoes. But you would sign your soul to the devil to be anyone else other than yourself. 

You are not being cocky, neither ignorant… you just can’t take it anymore. 

Being rich doesn’t mean you are the happiest person in the world, but quite the opposite. At least in your case.  

Being rich means losing your right of loving a person and being loved by them as you are nothing but a pawn that is to be exchanged at the right time through the right deal. 

Being rich also means you will be traded again and again even if you are a worn out, old, rugged piece because there would be someone always trying to buy you at the lowest possible price. 

That’s how you landed on your second arranged marriage (as if the first one had not broken you enough), your second husband and this is the second time you feel like you are falling and breaking, crushing your soul, exhausting your emotions to its extent. 

Three years ago you got married to Min Yoongi, someone you loved and someone who loved someone else. 

It’s been two years since you divorced Yoongi. It’s been two years since you walked out of his home with a broken heart.  

Yes, your love life certainly didn’t gain anything out of your and Yoongi’s broken marriage but your father gained what he was promised with.

For a year, you tended your broken heart, your insecurities, you made yourself believe in the fact that you indeed deserved to be loved. Just because your first husband didn’t love you, doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world. 

Just when you were at the peak of your healing, your father decided to sell you off once again. This time to a larger empire, holding more power, more wealth and endless benefits for your company.  

“It’s only been a year since my divorce, appa! How can you sell me off once again?” You had cried, screamed at your father for the very first time in 27 years of your life.

“Dal, Mr. Jung made the proposition. He said you have caught his son’s eyes! How could I say no?” he reasoned. 

You didn’t say anything more that night. For once you contemplated running away somewhere far from all of this. But your rationality didn’t allow you to leave your old father embarrassed and helpless. So you stayed.  

And, this is how you ended up here, tugged at the side of Jung Hoseok, your husband. 

Hoseok looks up at you with apologetic eyes and you know he is sorry. 

This is one of the thousands of differences you have found between your married life with Yoongi and your married life with Hoseok. 

Hoseok looks at you, smiles at you, and makes conversations with you unlike Yoongi. Hoseok’s eyes are full of warmth and adoration for you unlike Yoongi. 

Hoseok feels for you, unlike Yoongi. 

But the question is do you feel anything for him? You don’t know. 

Or maybe you do but you are way too afraid to start feeling again, to start loving again. 

“But darling, why her? She divorced her previous husband within a year!” Mrs. Lee, one of the shareholders of Jung Group of Companies, exclaims in her high-pitched voice. Even though she’s trying to keep her voice as low as possible, or at least pretending to do so, you can hear her clearly.   

The hold of your drink goes tight. Mr. Kang is complementing how good you are looking tonight but you can barely hear anything. All you can hear are the taunts that the old snitch is throwing at you. 

“Mrs. Lee, it’s business.” you hear Hoseok saying and all of a sudden everything around you turns dark. 

You whip your head to meet Hoseok’s eyes but he is avoiding looking at you. 

Within seconds your vision starts blurring. So, the impromptu dates, the youtube recipes, the sweet gifts, that luxurious honeymoon, those late night beers.. Everything was for business? 

You were wrong the entire time you thought you had seen love in Hoseok’s eyes? 

All.. all of it was business?

Or was it pity? 

Hoseok knows everything about Yoongi and you. Is that why he treated you kindly?

Your life feels like a lie and once again.. You see your hopes crumbling down like a house made of cards. 

“Why?” you throw your purse on the couch and stand abruptly in the middle of the living room. 

Tears stream down your face. You successfully suppressed your anger for the better part of the night but it is impossible to do so anymore. Since you and your so-called husband are alone now, he better answer your questions. 

The tremble in your voice hints Hoseok that you are crying. He takes long strides and reaches where you are. 

Placing a hand on your shoulders, he turns you around and murmurs, “Y/N? What-” 

He tries to wipe your tears away but you swat his hand, “why were you always so kind to me? Why? Because it’s business or is it because you pity me?” 

“Y/N.. No. it’s not what you think. I told her-”  Hoseok tries to hold your trembling form with both of his hands but you push him away as harshly as possible. 

“You told her because it’s true. All of those gifts and dates and dinners.. Everything, everything was a lie!” screaming at the top of your lungs, you break down. 

Hoseok runs towards you, tries to hold you in his embrace. 

“Don’t.. Don’t fucking touch me!” you seethe through anger. Hoseok retreats. 

“Okay, I won’t.” He replies calmly but you can see his eyes filling bit by bit, “but just so you know, you were never business for me. Mrs. Lee only shut up because I said what she wanted to hear and she is not a family or a friend so I would have to explain the truth to her.” 

“No- don’t. Don’t lie!” your voice comes out harsher than you intended to.

“You think I am lying because I said something insignificant to someone insignificant just today but what about everything I did to make you realize how I feel for you?” Hoseok’s voice trembles. And it hurts you but you are hurt as well. 

“You don’t feel anything for me. And you, too, should know that I don’t and won’t feel anything for you.” your heart breaks at the lie you throw at your husband but the way tears run down his face.. It instantly makes you feel like a criminal. 

“Is that so?” he asks, sniffing once, “then.. I should leave you alone.” 

Before you can register what’s happening, you hear Hoseok walking out of the door and shutting it loudly enough to signify his departure. 

And then you start wailing, loudly. Your cries fill the empty space of your apartment as you realize you are all alone once again. 

Staring at the moon always brings you solace but tonight it doesn’t. Your mind keeps playing whatever happened a few hours ago and how hoseok left the house. 

He has always been so kind to you, from the very first day you two met at a charity gala, some five or six years back. You didn’t really acknowledge his presence much as you were always busy admiring Yoongi from afar. 

You remember Hoseok once saying that he looked at you while you looked at Yoongi. You were not sure what he tried to mean but that was the first time your heart took an erratic pace in a while.  

A phone suddenly starts vibrating, pulling you out of your thoughts. But it’s not yours. Your eyes find the glowing object near by the door. It’s Hoseok’s phone, which he probably dropped on his way out. 

When you reach the object and pick it up, the screen glows again. There are a couple of notifications, which you clear for seeing the background. 

It’s a photo from your honeymoon. The photographer ajussi forced you to stand closer and place a sweet kiss on Hoseok’s cheeks. He blushed hard that time. 

Sobs start spilling from your throat as soon as you realize what you have done, what you have lost. 

You blew things out of proportion, you put him in jail for something he didn't do. You unloaded all of your insecurities on the man who only loved you.

Clutching his phone on your chest, you start crying again. It’s you who burned things down. It’s you who hurt Hoseok. And now you have lost him, really lost him. 

The door clicks open, forcing you to look up from your crouched position. 

“Y/N..” it’s him, it’s your man, it’s your husband, Jung Hoseok. 

He walks towards you but then remembering something he takes a step back. 

His eyes are red. You know he has been crying just like you.

“I- I forgot my phone-” 

Before he could end his sentence, you leaped at him. You hold him tightly in your embrace. Hiding your face in his chest, you cry, cry and cry. Hoseok holds you back and starts sobbing with you. 

“I love you. I fucking love you so much that it hurts, Y/N. It hurts when you don’t understand, when you turn blind eye.” He says as he strokes your hair softly. 

“I- I was afraid, Hoseok. What if I was wrong again. What if- what if you didn’t-”

“I always did, Y/N. I have loved you for a long time. I loved you when you were a bachelor and I loved you when you got married. I loved you when you divorced him. And I loved you when we took vows. I still love you and I always will.”   

“I love you too, Hoseok.” you finally confess and it feels euphoric. You must have found utopia where the person you love, loves you back. 

Hoseok leans down, seals your lips with his and now you know… You have found your forever. You have found your afterglow. 

[suzukiblu]

If you feel up for it, for the writing meme prompt, Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, with the song You And Me by Lifehouse? If it's not your thing I totally get it though and hope you have a great time and fun writing the things that do catch your fancy!

I think we ALL knew that I was gonna do baby Kon for this, lbr. Also ngl, this came out way more cracky than the prompt would suggest it should've but it is absolutely my favorite thing I’ve written for this meme so far, as the necessity for the following cut should help attest, haha.

Unfortunately, Lex takes one look at Cadmus’s progress report on the newly-crafted Experiment Thirteen and realizes he has paternal instincts. 

Well, that’s inconvenient. And a little disgusting, honestly. Certainly a disappointment. 

He supposes it could be worse. He could be Lionel about this. 

Anyway, that’s how he has a physiological four year-old on his lap when he hears the news about Superman coming back to life and fistfighting an evil cyborg with his own face about it, because of course the man didn’t have the decency to just stay dead. Why would he, after all? 

Lex needs a drink. That would be a bad example for the physiological four year-old, though. 

Then again, Experiment Thirteen should be completely immune to the effects of Earth-based alcohol in about another four to six months of consistent yellow sun exposure, so . . . 

Lex is halfway through his second brandy when Superman shows up on his balcony at super-speed wearing a very pretentiously dramatic black suit and looking both winded and bewildered. And still alive, unfortunately. 

“Don’t you have a murderous cyborg to be ensuring is in custody?” Lex asks dryly, deciding to just not acknowledge the presence of the physiological four year-old who’s moved on to messily but methodically coloring on the floor underneath his desk. Lex didn’t actually give Experiment Thirteen either a coloring book or crayons, mind, but he appreciates the clone’s resourcefulness in breaking into the office supplies. Anyway, it’s useful for developing its hand-eye coordination and fine motor control. 

Superman’s pupils are pin-pricks, barely even there at all. Which is an unusual reaction from him, and Lex notes that fact reflexively but doesn’t particularly care about it. Meant-to-be-dead people do unusual things, especially the alien ones. And it isn’t as if–

“Baby,” Superman blurts, his eyes wide. 

Lex . . . pauses. Takes a slow sip of his brandy. 

Alright then. 

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” he settles on eventually, raising an eyebrow at him. Experiment Thirteen peers out from under the desk, immediately decides Superman isn’t an interesting presence, and then goes back to coloring all over Lex’s floor. It seems to be drawing either a puppy or a chain of complex genetic sequencing, but judging by the kinds of things it’s been drawing so far, it’s fifty-fifty. Lex has been getting the impression the clone actually likes art, which is a baffling interest to find in his own progeny, but how does that quote go . . . “I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet”? 

Or something like that, anyway. 

“No, I–baby,” Superman stresses, looking bewildered as he floats down a little closer to the open balcony door. 

“. . . yes, I’ve noticed,” Lex repeats, raising his eyebrow again and taking another sip of brandy. Superman looks frazzled, bobbing up a little higher in the air again to get a better view of Experiment Thirteen under the desk. Experiment Thirteen keeps ignoring him in favor of its coloring, displaying no apparent interest in the most powerful uninvited guest in the history of illegal immigration. Lex experiences a moment of overwhelming paternal pride, which is such a bizarre and unanticipated experience that he doesn’t even know what to do with it. 

“Where’d he come from?” Superman asks with a wondering expression. Ugh.

“A cloning lab,” Lex replies dismissively, setting his near-empty glass down on the desk. It’s hardly worth lying about Experiment Thirteen’s origins at this point. He didn’t want to murder everyone in Cadmus to keep the secret. He might need them if there’s an issue with Experiment Thirteen’s genetics later, after all. “We mixed it up a couple weeks ago while you were off wasting everyone’s time being dead."

“You had my baby?” Superman says, tilting in the air and still staring at Experiment Thirteen, as if he's somehow forgotten both how much kryptonite Lex owns and how much kryptonite he keeps specifically in this office. “While I was dead. You had my baby while I was dead.” 

. . . alright then, Lex thinks again, both eyebrows raising this time. 

“I really wouldn’t put it that way, personally,” he says. “Also, I don’t recall saying it was in any way yours.”

“Baby,” Superman repeats inanely, then lands on the floor and ducks down into a crouch to peer under the desk better, his pupils still reduced to barely-there pinpricks. Lex is so mystified he doesn't even activate the security system or the weaponized red sun lamps. Experiment Thirteen frowns at Superman–Lex, again, basks in unanticipated paternal pride–and then turns its back on him and hides all its drawings from him as seriously and carefully as if they were under NDA. 

It's almost adorable, frankly. 

Not that Lex finds things adorable, of course. 

“His heartbeat's so cute,” Superman says, looking absolutely fascinated. Which is surprisingly useful of him to mention, actually, since Lex had previously been vaguely concerned that Experiment Thirteen's odd thrumming heartbeat might be a sign of a heart defect, but apparently it’s just a Kryptonian thing. A . . . “cute” Kryptonian thing, according to Superman. 

Lex is increasingly mystified by this interaction. 

“Can’t say I’ve spent much time listening to it, personally,” he lies, because he has in fact obsessed over that heartbeat’s health and stability since first finding out about its unusualness and has done a truly aggravating amount of research into heart murmurs and conditions and the like. But that’s hardly Superman’s business, now is it. 

“. . . what’s his name?” Superman asks hesitantly. Lex is possibly having an out of body experience. 

“Experiment Thirteen,” he says. Superman immediately looks offended. 

“We need to give him a name, Lex,” he says. Lex, again, has an out of body experience. 

“‘We’?” he repeats incredulously. “I made it, I get to decide what it’s called.” 

“He’s got my DNA!” Superman protests, looking indignant. Lex has absolutely no idea how to process that expression. 

“It has both our DNA, in fact, yours was too irritating to stabilize alone,” Lex informs him dubiously. More accurately it was literally impossible to stabilize alone, but he’s not mentioning that to Superman. “So it has my DNA, and I made it. And also put eight point two billion dollars into its production, as a lowball estimate. Therefore I’m the one who decides what its name is, thank you very much.” 

“Lex,” Superman says disapprovingly. “You can’t call a baby Experiment Thirteen.” 

“It’s physiologically developed enough to complain if it doesn’t like it,” Lex retorts, narrowing his eyes at him. Superman frowns at him. Lex has never had a more ridiculous conversation with the man, including all the times Superman’s tried to appeal to his nonexistent “better nature”. “Well it is.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Superman says, then ducks back down and peers at Experiment Thirteen again, gentling his voice to address it while Lex is still incredulously mouthing “ridiculous”? to himself. “Would you like a real name, kiddo?” 

Experiment Thirteen sticks its tongue out at him. 

Lex is finding parenthood to be a very rewarding experience, actually. 

[stevebabey]

ok brain whipped up this concept & would NOT leave it alone today so here. have this. this is like ‘started making it. had a breakdown. bon appétit’ in a steddie post for me but alas <3 cw: talks of past sexual coercion

Eddie is mad at Steve.

Which, honestly, might be the worst thing in the entire damn world for all Steve cares. The whole world feels just a little bit off kilter when Eddie’s mad at Steve — because Eddie just loooves the silent treatment.

He’ll usually make a show of it. Pout and stick out his bottom lip, cross his arms, maybe even give a stamp on his big booted feet. Doesn’t say what’s wrong, just glares sulkily. It’s a bit childish, they both know, but Eddie likes to be doted and Steve loves to do the doting — and it hasn’t caused any proper fights yet.

This time, however, he can tell Eddie is more mad than usual, because this time he hadn’t thrown the usual fuss. Instead, he’d just gone quiet. All glowers and glares. Not even a pout, and certainly not a peep.  

And it’s just the worst because the version of Eddie that Steve knows best is a chatterbox. Can’t shut up, won’t shut up. Steve normally loves it.

And alright— maybe Steve deserved it for not picking him up after one of Eddie’s gigs. Especially because Eddie had specifically asked him too as well, considering his own van was in the shop.

But it’s not like Steve could control when his parents decided to waltz back into Hawkins!

They always seemed to run on their own timetable, or on what seemed like an entirely different orbit. Yet, they had no trouble roping Steve back into their routine, stuffing him back into a place, without any regard to his opinion on the matter. Which was exactly what they had done that evening.

But that didn’t really matter, Steve thinks with a sigh, because he knows it’s not really just because he didn’t pick Eddie up. It was because of what Steve said.

Gareth’s mom had swung by and while Eddie had gotten an eyeful of that suspicious look that followed him everywhere since the events of the Upside Down, Eddie had gotten home safely. Majorly annoyed but safe which was what mattered most.

He had then released his said-annoyance onto Steve.

But see, Steve was already tired from the prodding and lecturing of his parents. They’d been awfully disappointed to find he had yet to move on from his job at Family Video and worse, had badmouthed his choice of friends. Had brought up Tommy and the likes, asked pointedly why Steve hadn’t been seen with them in a few months.

Steve had bit his tongue to not spew out the fact he hadn’t been seen with Tommy for years and that was unlikely to change any time soon.

So, yeah, he was wound up. And Eddie was too. A bit too impatient, a bit too cut that he’d been on the receiving end of yet another scathing interaction because Steve had been so careless to forget to pick him up.

He’d said as much, jabbing a finger and dramatically reenacting the tense conversation he’d had to have with Gareth’s mother.

It had led to a spat, which led to an argument. Steve sat on the bed in Eddie’s trailer and toyed with a loose thread as Eddie pacing before him.

“You should’ve been there.”

“I know.” Steve ground out the words, eyes on the floor, feeling too much like he was still back home, still being lectured by his father about his good-for-nothing son. The thread was coming looser in his fingers with all his fiddling.

“You know? Is that all you’re gonna say?” Eddie asked, exasperated, but the moment Steve’s lip part to respond, Eddie had steamrolled on. Gareth’s awkward smile and his mother’s tight bunched up shoulders were still fresh in his memory.

“Great! That’s just fantastic, Steve. You knew and you still didn’t show up!”

Steve’s head shot up, brow furrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

Like a kettle coming to boil, Steve could feel some bitchy comment lurch up his throat with his growing frustration. It was easy to think of things to say to hurt Eddie, to lash out, to make it so Eddie was the one with his head bowed, voice quiet.

Steve had learned that the hard part in these moments, is biting his tongue. Swallowing back mean comments. He doesn’t want to be vicious. Loathes the idea of falling back on snarky comments to win a fight, least of all with his boyfriend.

But... old habits die hard.

So, when Eddie had got all up in his face, firing himself up, and said, “Oh, pray tell then Steve what was so important that made you fucking forget your boyfriend.”

Steve had snapped.

“Fuck, do you ever stop? You are so much sometimes!”

The words had flown out in a harsh sneer and they hit their mark exactly as intended.

Because Steve knew all about that strange bubble of fear that lives inside Eddie— the part that didn’t care at all what strangers thought of him, but cared so much about those he came to trust. The part that worried that being big and brash all the time would be too much for people. That the reason they originally liked Eddie, would become the same reason they’d eventually dislike him for.

Steve had once told him he couldn’t ever get enough of him— let alone too much. It’s why he’d known where to strike.

Eddie’s expression has flinched, his eyes going from simmering to hurt in a few seconds flat. His fists unclenched at his side and Steve had felt the regret curdling up in his gut, a terrible sour feeling that had him shooting to his feet in an instant.

“Eddie, wait, I—”

“Leave.” Eddie said, voice dangerously low. There wasn’t room to push it. Nothing left to argue.

But still, Steve had wavered, swaying as a tidal wave of shame burned hot up his neck. He wanted to fix it. He needed to fix this.

But Eddie couldn’t look at him, eyes fixed on the ground and despite how much it had pained Steve to go, he knew he couldn’t fix it, not then and there. The door had hit him on the way out.

That had been two whole days ago. The guilt of it makes it feel like it was hours ago, still fresh as ever.

Steve had been diligent in giving Eddie his space to cool off.

The call Steve made the morning after never got picked up, just rang endlessly until the voicemail kicked in. Even though Eddie was always home Wednesdays. It told Steve well enough that Eddie was still well and truly mad.

Which was fair enough. Steve had been an asshole. Let himself fall back on old habits and stab a weak spot he only knew because Eddie trusted him, then twisted the knife as well.

But it’s like he said — silent treatment from the guy who usually can’t keep quiet is discerning to say the least. It itches uncomfortably at Steve who finds himself unusually eager to apologise.

Because, damn, if Steve doesn’t hate apologising.

Apologising means pulling out the stops, means admitting shamefully everything you’d done wrong, means having to prove how sorry you were.

It had been like that living under his father. When he was seven, Tommy had accidentally pitched a baseball through one of the windows. It had smashed right through, completely shattered. Steve had taken the fall.

He’d said sorry, head bowed, even though it had been an accident. And after he’d made Steve repeat his apology til it was a rigid phrase in his mouth, Richard Harrington had said; ‘Well, why don’t you prove how sorry you are, Steven?’

He’d ended up being his father’s personal beer boy for that week. Fetching them ice-cold from the garage at his father’s every call, from the moment he was home from school, to prove the apology was legitimate.

It had worked— after a week of doting, extra effort into keeping his room clean and to keep his father happy, Richard had permitted his son a rare smile and ruffle of his hair. ‘See? I know you were sorry now.’

Steve had learnt quickly in his childhood to go to lengths to avoid trouble with his father. To avoid the tumultuous apologies he’d have to perform, jumping through hoop after hoop for forgiveness.

But even then, Steve couldn’t escape them with friends, and especially not with girlfriends.

Tilly had been like that too. She’d been Steve’s freshman girlfriend, eyeshadow baby blue and lips always glossy. When Steve did things she didn’t like —spent Saturdays with his other friends, was late to dates— she’d pout her glittery lips and bat her eyes. ‘Aren’t you gonna make it up to me?’

Steve had — had pulled out the stops, emptied his pocket change to buy her flowers, went to second base because she really wanted him to, all to prove his apology. Until Tilly was back to her sugary smiles and fluttering hazel eyes.

It had even been like that with Nancy, though not quite to that extent. Forking out his savings to buy the nicest bouquet he could find, prepared to make it up to her, even if he wasn’t quite sure if it was him who was supposed to be apologising. But she’d gone silent treatment on him, so…

So, Steve hates apologising— but even more than that, is how much he hates Eddie’s quiet. So, when his boyfriend calls the Family Video on Friday midday, when he knows Steve’s soloing, and invites him over, Steve prepares himself for the grovelling to come.

The mixtape he’d already made sits in the gearbox of his car, carried around with him since he finished it. Upon hanging up the phone, Steve’s eyes catch on the florist across the street. His mind spins with all his knowledge of Eddie’s favourites — should he get those sour candies Eddie loved so much as well?Would it be too much?

Steve scoffs at the irony of his worries, considering what he was apologising for. Besides, it was never too much. There were never enough things to show he was sorry.

And Eddie couldn’t exactly be bought — not that was what this was. But Steve knew his boyfriend preferred all things in the manner of touch. That Steve’s affection was a far higher currency than anything bought with money.

That’s fine. Steve can do that.

He’s got a whole speech planned, honest. The smudged bullet points scrawled on his palm are testament to that, there to keep him on track and Steve checks them over religiously as he drives over after his shift.

It all goes out the window when Eddie opens the door, because Steve’s heart hiccups, splutters, soars forward in his chest.

Eddie looks just the same, his usual ripped jeans and dark shirt with a band Steve doesn’t know and yet— yet.

Steve is overcome by how much he missed Eddie.

Overcome at how those two days felt like two weeks to him. His mouth opens and the words burst out, “I’m sorry.”

part two.

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 17] Father and Son

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Satoru tries to make up for the past four years of Ren’s life in a matter of weeks. His focus drastically changes, from his work to his son. He ignores the matter of so many people knowing before him, he avoids his mother and his so-called friends. His main and only priority is his son.

You both wish you could say that your relationship has gotten better, but you don’t really speak to each other unless it’s about the son you share. You’re hopeless that it’ll progress past what you have. Neither of you have the courage to bring up the situation, either way, your attention should be on Ren. 

Ren is finally meeting the man that he’s been dreaming of, and he’s getting to know his father after four years. You’re mostly excited for your son, while also regretting hiding it when you had the chance to tell him. Your relationship is the last thing on your mind– It’s certainly the last thing in Satoru’s mind.

He visits daily, bearing many gifts for his son. Satoru has become a regular at the toy store, buying something each day for his son, something that he thinks Ren would like. He hopes that material stuff will make up for the time wasted. Sometimes he brings some candy, but he doesn’t do it often. Satoru is still his father, he can’t just spoil him rotten, he also has to care for Ren’s wellbeing. He’s slowly growing accustomed to becoming a parent.

“What’s this, Ren?” Satoru holds up a cute white cat plush, one that Satoru always finds on the bed. He wonders if that’s the toy his son has had ever since he was a baby, he guesses it is since Satoru feels like he’s seen it in the background of a picture before.

“It’s whiskers.” Ren answers, taking the plush from his father and putting it back on the bed. That’s before he turns to other matters. Ren doesn’t mind sharing his toys (because you’ve been the one raising him), but whiskers is someone that Ren doesn’t like anyone touching. Anyone and anything can get the toy dirty, and when that happens, you refuse to let the toy on the bed, at least not before you wash it and get it clean again.

Satoru doesn’t bother to ask if that’s the plush that he sleeps with, because that’s most certainly a yes. Ren wants to talk about other important matters though so Satoru gives his undivided attention to his son. Ren then asks, “Are you sleeping over?”

“Uhm… No.” Satoru answers. You most certainly wouldn’t want that. Plus, Satoru has a wife at home who has her suspicions that something is going on. He doubts that she’ll care too much, but he wants to keep Ren protected from the world. If Sayo finds out, so does her family, and if her family knows, the whole world will know. “But I’ll stay until you fall asleep, Ren.”

“I want you to stay.” Ren sticks out his bottom lip, obviously disappointed that his father isn’t staying for the night. You let him on your bed all the time and you sleep together, why can’t he do the same thing with his father? Satoru can’t help but feel bad, so he thinks of how to respond to cheer him up.

You commented how you had plans of going on a small trip with Ren before summer ended, but summer evidently has come to an end. It’s colder now and the leaves are changing color. Satoru finally decides, “We can go on a trip soon, and we’ll be together all day every day.”

“Really?” The little boy’s eyes light up, making the biggest smile come to Satoru’s lips. Satoru now wonders how he was ever happy without him– Well, with you… But that memory slowly fades away since your relationship is now filled with awkwardness. Satoru nods his head in response. He can lie and make it a business trip, it’s not an issue for him really.

“We’ll have to talk to your mommy first, honey. Then we can plan it all.” Satoru answers, and Ren turns around to go look for you. Satoru feels awkward sitting alone on a bed that’s far too low and small for him. He stands up and follows Ren. They both look for you around the apartment until they land in your bedroom. The bathroom door is closed, and Ren immediately knows what to do.

Ren opens the door to the bathroom, and you immediately make eye contact with Satoru. Your face grows hot of embarrassment, and obviously Ren doesn’t see an issue with it. Ren’s issue is when he actually steps into the bathroom, and he just has to comment, “It stinks.”

“Yeah, I wonder why. Get out, Ren, and close the door!” You raise your voice, your embarrassment getting the best of you. Ren closes the door, leaving you to it, and Satoru chuckles. He ruffles Ren’s hair as both walk out of your bedroom.

“You gotta learn how to knock, baby. Give your mommy some privacy.” Satoru says, but it goes one ear out the other. Ren isn’t going to knock, you’re his mommy. If you want your privacy you better lock the door. They take a seat in the living room, where Ren grabs the remote to put on a movie. He knows how to get the movie he wants, even when he’s just learning how to read and spell.

“Where do you want to go?” Satoru asks, wondering where his son wants to go. Ren drops the remote on the couch, putting his tiny index finger on his chin, humming and tilting his head to the side as he thinks of the answer. 

“The beach.” Ren answers, but it’s cold. They can go out of the country though, go somewhere warm. He needs to talk to you first, of course. When you finally walk out of your bedroom (after mentally cursing your son for not having any manners when others are around), you go to the living room to see what they needed.

“What did you need, Ren?” You ask, and he looks excitedly at you. Satoru is the one that speaks up for him though,

“We want to go on a trip, can we?” You almost laugh since Satoru sounds like a hopeful child.

“Where are you two going?” You respond. You can’t really say no because Satoru is supposed to have equal authority as Ren’s father.

“Ren wants to go to the beach.” Satoru answers, Ren nodding in agreement. You cross your arms, your brows furrowing.

“It’s too cold to go to the beach, do you not have any other place in mind?” You point out, making Ren pout. The pout doesn’t last long though since Satoru says,

“We can go to another country. Somewhere warm with better beaches.” You’re certainly not convinced since you doubt you’re part of the plan. You’re not letting your baby boy in another country without you– Well, technically he’d be with his father, but you’re still not convinced. Until Satoru says, “Of course, you’re included! I doubt Ren would go anywhere without you.”

“I wouldn’t.” Ren affirms, and you laugh. 

“If you plan everything, then sure. We can go on a trip. You need to give me time off though– Paid time.” You say, and Satoru nods in response. He does pretty much everything you ask of him, and you certainly can’t complain about it. Ren focuses on putting on one of his favorite movies, and you begin to walk to the kitchen, asking, “Are you staying for dinner, Satoru?”

“Yeah.” Satoru answers. He’d definitely rather eat here with his son and you than dine alone at home. He helps Ren put the movie on, and they both begin to watch the movie. He’s watched this movie around five times the past week, and to be honest, Satoru is sick of it. But he’ll watch it because Ren loves it. 

He’s grateful when you call his name, and he has to tell Ren that you need him, so he can’t stay to watch the movie. Satoru walks to the kitchen, and he finds you trying to reach something that’s far too high for you. Satoru’s eyes land on the white bowl and he reaches for it before handing it to you. You mutter a thank you, and you expect him to go back to Ren, but he doesn’t. You then tell him, “That’s all I need from you, you can go.”

“Do you need help with anything else? You know I love Ren but… I’m sick of that movie.” Satoru answers, earning a chuckle from you. You think about what he can do for a moment, and he patiently waits for you to answer.

“You can make the salad, and then set the table.” You respond, and you think you’ll regret it for a moment. Satoru has had everything done for him, he probably doesn’t know how to cut a cucumber; but then you remember that he lived alone for some time, he had to cook for himself for a while. Satoru immediately gets to work, opening the fridge to get all the vegetables that he needs. He looks around the cabinets and drawers for the cutting board and knife, and he quietly begins to cut the vegetables.

“Have you talked to Shoko?” Satoru asks, washing the lettuce throughout. Pretty much everything is wrong between the two of you, but you can’t just stand in awkward silence every single day. You have to talk to each other, after all, you doubt you’ll stop seeing each other.

“I haven’t. I’m not going to for a while.” You reply. In Satoru’s eyes, she did nothing wrong. He’s glad that Shoko told him, otherwise, he probably wouldn’t be with Ren. But in a sense, he understands why you don’t want to talk to her. “Tell her to stop calling my phone because I’m not going to answer. I’ll call her when I’m ready.”

“I’m not really talking to her either.” He responds.

“Is it because she has the hots for your wife?” You blurt out, and you bite your tongue the moment the words leave your lips. Satoru’s brows raise, definitely surprised by your words. You can’t be serious, can you? Before he can ask more questions about it, you change the topic, “Speaking of… When are you going to tell Sayo about Ren? She’s your wife, she has to find out eventually.”

“Maybe after our trip… I’m not sure how to tell her.” Satoru shares, and you understand that it’s a tough situation. He has to figure out a way to tell his wife of almost five years that he had a kid that’s almost five– And he never cheated, he just found out about him. This was all before their marriage. It’s definitely hard. Satoru clears his throat, mustering up the courage to ask about Suguru, someone else that he has been ignoring. “So… How are you and Suguru? Are you still seeing each other?”

“We’ve been busy, but we’re still… Talking.” You answer. You won’t lie and say that you don’t feel nauseous every time you talk to him, your heart nearly beating out of your chest for the simple fact that you lied to him. He has to find out that you lied eventually. “Have you talked to him?”

“I’m not talking to him. I’ve been ignoring him. I’ve been ignoring everyone.” Satoru responds. He puts the knife down, watching you as you begin to cook. He bites down his lip, holding back on saying a couple of things that are on his mind. About this situation, about you and Suguru, maybe an apology. Satoru has been a complete mess with so many things going in his mind, but not voicing any of them. He does have to ask one question though, “Is Ren the reason why you quit school?”

“Yeah…” You feel embarrassed to say it. “I couldn’t afford both. It was either my baby or school, and that was an easy choice.”

“Sorry…” He mutters, and it’s barely audible but you hear it. You don’t really pay attention to it, in the end it was your decision. Given the option, you’d do it all over again. 

[ghcstao3]

Hi would a Demigod 141 AU with SoapGhost be a weird promt? All of the 141 are demigods who joined the military and Price collects them into a taskforce to try and keep them safer then not.

This doesn’t have to be Percy Jackson themed but it is what spawned the idea.

Have a great day

not at all weird! but it's just going to be general greek demi-gods because i know very little about percy jackson (also i am so so sorry for how late this is)

-

Perhaps Price should have figured earlier that wrangling a group of demi-gods together wouldn’t be so easy.

The bastards would always be difficult to track down, of course, but he'd at least hoped that with his ability as Captain to cut through red tape and see everything hidden behind those thick, black redacted bars, the task may be just be a little less daunting.

But alas.

John "Soap" MacTavish is both the easiest to find and most willing to be recruited for Price's to-be task force; the former, of course, due to his... explosive nature.

Being a son of Ares, his penchant for fire and C4 and battle were not something to be overlooked; Price thought his enthusiasm and skill were something he immediately wanted on and for his team—even if he'd been discouraged by Soap's previous superiors about his bouts of insubordination.

(Years down the line, Price would discover he very seldom had an issue in that regard—the kid just had a better idea of the worth of certain calls.)

The next, recruited with only slightly more difficulty and an unimpressive amount of persuading on Price's part, was Kyle "Gaz" Garrick—one of Athena's sons, his moral compass and eye for strategy were unbelievably solid, if incredibly unshakeable.

Thankfully, he isn't nearly as impulsive as MacTavish, instead keen on a level-head and using only sharp words and well-disguised insults to influence what may originally stand as poorly-thought out ideas. He'd been skeptical, at first, about joining a team with other demi-gods, fearful the potential butting of heads would only mean mortal destruction—but, ultimately, he came around to it, partly because he'd already previously worked with Price.

And lastly, the most headache-inducing endeavour—Simon "Ghost" Riley.

The man was naturally elusive, especially considering a past suffered that most wouldn't wish upon their worst enemy, but actually recruiting him had been an entirely different problem in and of itself. But Price was determined.

Ghost takes to his callsign in far more likeness than Price would have preferred, always having disappeared by the time the captain finally finds an updated contact—and, much to his dismay, Ghost would often leave men temporarily incapacitated if only to rid himself of Price’s insistence just a bit longer. An insistent lone wolf type.

It takes the Gaz and Soap along with Price to be any kind of successful, and even then Ghost's acceptance is reluctant—but Price can work with that. Maybe it'd take time, but it was certainly more doable than a flat out refusal from a man who had once singlehandedly destroyed a prominent cartel.

Although, perhaps Price should first start with bothering Laswell about finally telling him Ghost's true lineage. Maybe then he’d have something of substance to work with, rather than basing his assumptions on the generic but perfected skills of a soldier.

Or maybe he should begin by investigating the way Ghost and Soap already seem awfully close, despite claiming to have never met prior.

Either way—Price can only hope the task force would work out, for all this effort to not go to waste.

[alisaint]

guys, i have good news for once. i've found proof of intelligent life out here in these wastelands:

my favorite excerpts:

Will, Jonathan, and Joyce Formed a Special Trio

If Eleven is the main character in Stranger Things, the Byers family is the conduit through which she flickers. Will’s disappearance in the first season spurred the Hawkins community to rush to his aid. The tight-knit camaraderie between Will, Jonathan, and Joyce juxtaposes the stereotypical family composed of kids and teenagers. Parents and children are supposed to fight and bicker in television and other media, often to build the main conflict of the story, but the Byers family already underwent that trauma offscreen.  Lonnie Byers (Ross Partridge) makes a brief cameo in the first season, flexing his standoffish demeanor and abusive nature. It’s clear that the Byers patriarch doesn’t possess much empathy for his ex-wife or his sons. Jonathan valiantly steps into the father, husband, and big brother role, amalgamating into a combination of responsibilities that no other character on the show could dream of emulating. 

Jonathan Binds the Byers Family Together

Jonathan’s multifaceted arc in the first two seasons made him one of the series’ most easily dissectable characters. Stranger Things often differentiates itself from other shows by keeping the antagonists separate from the main characters. There are no Walter White or Tony Soprano-style antiheroes in which fans must compromise one part of their moral compass to appreciate the character. One might think this makes the series boring, but it’s the opposite. Jonathan was proof that a nearly perfect brother and son can still be fascinating to watch. After Will was found in season 1’s climax, he was taken over by the Mind Flayer in season 2. Jonathan again stood by Will’s side as his little brother felt outcasted by friends and society at large. Schnapp and Heaton’s chemistry often leads to tender, humorous exchanges like this one in which the boys remind the audience that being weird can be a human superpower in its own right.  These moments became few and far between in seasons 3 and 4. Will and Jonathan were relegated to minor supporting characters as the aforementioned new additions took center stage. Will at least gets to tag along with Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and the other younger friends. Jonathan often only appears in a few small scenes with his girlfriend Nancy (Natalia Dyer), and the writers even flirted with pushing Nancy back into Steve’s arms in the most recent season. Jonathan spent the majority of season 4 high on marijuana and frolicking around in a faux buddy-comedy routine with the one-off character Argyle (Eduardo Franco).  The decision to waste Heaton’s work from the first two seasons with a 180-degree personality change made no sense. Jonathan suddenly seemed careless, distant, and uninspired, but not in a dense way that could be unlocked by further character development. Little-to-no time was spent on him. While some fans might concur it is a necessary evil to take screen time away from older characters when expanding the world of Hawkins, it certainly transforms Stranger Things from a show about family into a show just about monsters and romances. 

Jonathan’s Enhanced Role in Season 5?

Many theories point to Will being one of the critical pieces to defeating Vecna (Jamie Campbell Bower) in the fifth and final season. His connection to the Upside Down and the evils underneath the surface should open up opportunities for Jonathan to lend his ears and counseling once again. Jonathan grows on an individual level when he aids others. When locked out of his family’s life, it stunts his ability to shine as a listener and an empathizer.  Jonathan’s best scene from season 4 again features a tear-jerking moment with Will. On the cusp of coming out of the closet, Will needs Jonathan more than ever before, and his brother responds supremely to the task at hand. The poignant conversation validates that the Duffers haven’t completely forgotten how to flesh out the Byers family. When the world gets too enormous for the characters and the audience, Jonathan serves as a connector to the most human elements of the series’ thematic thesis. He may not be as funny as Steve or as neurotic as Robin, but Jonathan symbolizes the good in all of us. In a show shrouded in darkness, Jonathan’s presence will be instrumental to forming a satisfying, optimistic conclusion in Hawkins, Indiana.

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * “Parent Teacher Meeting” — Toji Fushiguro

Synopsis: Toji Fushiguro was not exactly the father you expected to meet when he showed up for his kids’ (aka Megumi’s) parent teacher meeting—especially not when you find yourself being the one punished for bothering him by wanting to talk about Megumi’s behaviour.

— Word Count: 1.9k

— A/n: Based on this ask here by @misaki-the-lotusflower . Thank you so much for requesting sweets<3 and uh- dilf toji? Yes please

— Warnings: AFAB! reader; MDNI!! Porn without much plot; toji is a bitch; slightly naive reader?; cursing; name calling (slut, whore, etc); age gap(?)—reader is in her mid twenties and toji in mid thirties; face slapping; mutual masturbation; degradation; oral (male receiving!); not proof read, might have typos

He was late—you huffed in annoyance.

After 8 tries of trying to schedule a meeting with him, the least you could expect was the insolent man to show up on time—he was a good kid, Megumi but a genuine concern flashed you everytime his behaviour came to check.

A hefty talk with a parent was always the way to go, it was useful to say the least—but it was well past half an hour that the school had ended and he still hadn’t shown up—and as a teacher, things like this made were sure to infuriate you. After all, no wonder Megumi Fushiguro acts up.

Your eyes bummed onto Megumi and Tsumiki—contrasting, they both stood and yet so similar, a sincere smile you passed them—fingers reaching out for the fifth time to call the concerned man.

“No need to call me again,” his voice deep—the first thing you noted, then his hair and face, Megumi was an exact replica in most sense of the word. He wasn’t very old— and whatever age he carried, he did it well—certainly appealing to your eyes.

Megumi’s distasteful expression could never go ignored by you—but you passed a thin smile, pressed—“After noon sir,”

“Fushiguro’s fine—or Toji, if you prefer,”

A nod you passed, “Mr. Fushiguro,”

“I prefer Toji,” your jaw clenched, released as you looked at the kids—ignoring his comment you smiled, “can you guys give us just a couple minutes? We’ll be done soon,”

And ever the lively kid, Tsumiki was quick to pull Megumi out with her, a pleasant smile—all so different from the man who sat across you.

“Mr. Fushiguro,” you began—“You’ve an issue by taking my name woman?”

Your blood boiled, lips pursed, you stared at him.

“Excuse you sir?” Your words were steely- firm, any other person would’ve noted onto your frustration and beckoned it—Toji Fushiguro? That was a new challenge you’d seemingly encountered.

“Cut the ‘sir’ bullshit—what do you want?”

Head tilted to your side, you stared at him—“Your son’s behaviour, Mr.Fushiguro,” you stared into his eyes, emerald just like Megumi’s—gorgeous, really.

“He’s a nice kid, good student and he’s fine at academics too—”

“—is he?” The man drew out, a subtle smirk resting on his face.

You looked at him confused—“I mean with that slutty skirt of yours?” Your mouth hung open—ears burning and embarrassment fresh upon your face—“But then he’s a kid, it doesn’t matter right? It’s for men like me isn’t it?”

From ears to your face, slowly it spread—flushing all over.

A denial lay loose on your lips, unsure—you felt dirty from his mere words—he chuckled.

“Mr Fushiguro I assure you that’s not the sort of language-”

“-shut up,” he snapped, another grin—wolffish this time, hungry as if—“I’ll keep it short and simple for you, I’m sending my kid here because I can’t deal with him. He’s your responsibility,” he paused letting his words process, “next time you call me, I’ll fuck you so good you wouldn’t be able to walk—let alone talk,”

Mind a mess, you stared at him—bewildered, not a single part of it was unserious, you knew and yet, even threatened you couldn’t help the certain feeling of need emerging, sprouting in you.

“You can’t- I- sir this isn’t…” your words fumbled, his mere gaze piercing enough—“what?” He promoted once and you were putty in your seat.

“You can’t talk to me like that- I’m a teacher for fuck’s sake-” you internally cursed at the outbreak, but regret lay a thin line—“well in all particularity, you can’t wear such clothes either,” eyes gazed down—it wasn’t all so bad, per se.

But it just passed the dress code so it wasn’t much better either—a sheer white blouse and black slacks that defined your figure—it was all so intentional, but nothing bad when the context be the kids you taught.

But then again, Toji wasn’t a middle schooler—and his eyes were seemingly stuck onto your chest.

“Nor is the way you just talked the protocol, is it?”

Your face burned all the more—Toji knew the effect he had, all so evident in the way your thighs were pressed together, face flushed at his words and lip bitten all so cute—he knew you liked it.

“Now,” he paused, getting a look at your desk to catch your name, “Y/n,” he grinned and you couldn’t help the butterflies emerging in your stomach as he did so—“You know what would happen if I complained? To your authorities?”

Blood running dry, you coughed out a “excuse me?”

His grin only widened, “You’ve pissed me off woman, calling me these many times—even the whores I fuck and leave don’t bother so much,”

And in the moment, he could see the discomfort on your face—a roll of the eye, he softened, “I won’t call your mistake out alright?” He smiled—as if treating you a miracle—even when you had no mistake in particular, “But I do want something in turn for it,”

Eyes narrowing in confusion, you paused, “money?”

A laugh he barked out, “Had money been an issue I wouldn’t have wasted my time with you doll,” he smirked, “just need you to use your tongue the right way,”

A deep pit seemed to have dropped on you—you stared at him, dumbfounded.

He stared back—hands moving slow as he pushed his chair back, an invitation

“It’s either this or losing that pretty job,” and in that particular moment, you lied to yourself, that all of this—propping yourself on your knees between his thighs—you looked at him through hooded eyes, a slight pout on your lips.

“You’re shameless,” you whisper, staring at the tent in his pants—he was huge, he raised a brow, “says the slut on her knees for me,” he chuckled—“Sucking your students’ dads—is that what you do Hm?” A soft hand caressed your cheek as his eyes bore into yours—contrary to his degrading words.

But you stayed quiet—nimble fingers working fast, any and every pretence dropped as you focused eagerly upon the hook of his best, pulling carefully the zipper down.

And there it was, you smiled, it was hard—it’s tip leaking with precum and you passed him a knowing smile, proud of your affect upon—the moment lasting only so long before you felt his hands grab your hair.

His grip was rough—a yank, hard, and your face was at level with his cock—salivating you stared.

“Beg for it,” he ordered, voice gruff as he stared down at you—“beg for it like the whore you are,”

He was all so mean, with the way his foot nudged at your clothed cunt—with the way he pushed your body a little —“please,” you whispered, desperate.

“Please let me ah!-” a cry you let you as his hand came crashing onto your cheek swiftly, sharp—“that’s the best you’ve got?”

You felt tears at the brink of your eyes, “Please,” you began again, voice breaking—perhaps it was the tension that did so, “please let me suck your dick Toji—mm!” Words interrupted by just another slap—“Ah ah ah,” his tongue clicked at your mistake.

“Who’s Toji baby? Mr.Fushiguro, right?” You gulped and sniffled at his words, “Yes,” you but your lip, a pout resting there soon—“Please let me suck your dick Mr.Fushiguro,” expectant eyes encouraged you for more—“Wanna- wanna make you feel good, wanna taste you,”

And just then he snickered, pulling your head hard towards his base, “Open yoour mouth slut- tongue out,”

You followed numbly, instantly—tongue plopped out for him as you stared at him with big eyes, “Such a good pet,” he groaned—same hands caressing your head as he slapped his cock on your tongue—plop-plop-plop—until thick fingers squeezed your mouth open suddenly shoving his entire length into your mouth.

Every groan gagged by his thick length, you could only let your tears out as he abused the back of your throat, pulling your hair in a messy ponytail—and shoving you deeper and deeper with each thrust.

You could hear him groaning loudly, carelessly—after all your reputation barely mattered to him, “Fu-ck so eager for my dick, my pet,” you continued moving your mouth around him, experimenting hesitantly.

A roll off your tongue around the sensitive tip and simple, swift suck at it too—a moan he let out.

Your eyes shot up, fascinated as he chuckled—“hmm~? Is this what you want? my taste? the way i stretch your mouth?”

You nodded to his words, ready to seek his pleasure.

“you can’t keep your mouth off of me can you? Some teacher” a scoff he passed, the embarrassment you felt never truly stopped.

Broken moans fell from his mouth—and obscenities that would have you hurling but you loved it, loved the way he feel apart for you.

“Wanted you- ah…” another suppressed moan, “since the day I saw you in that fuckin’ sundress—always dressing like a cockslut aren’t ya?”

You could feel the wetness between your legs grow—begging to be touched, desperate.

“Wearing all these skirts—just ready to be fingered yeah?” The pressure he applied on your head increased as you gagged—daring not once to pull away, hair and makeup ruined minutes ago.

You could tell he was close—in the way he twitched, in the way groans and insults had suppressed into breathy moans.

You looked pretty though, hair disheveled, and lipstick all over your lips and his cock—a pretty mess of his.

A needy, desperate mess for him, especially in the way your fingers—laying bare for Toji was fully face-fucking you then, broken and choked out cried you let out—fingers inching towards your throbbing pussy.

You needed it—he did too.

“Don’t touch,” a warning, “not until I tell you to,” your movements came to a hault—a ‘ok’ you whispered as pulled away from your warm mouth—hands pumping his own cock fast.

“Remove the blouse,” he was close—so very close—“now,”

Shirt lay unbuttoned half way when he stopped your frenzied movements, “cup your boobs,” a confused glance you would’ve passed had you had the chance—but a glare from him lay more than enough to continue.

Tired your fingers felt as they moved to grab your boobs together—squeezing them, pressing them how you imagined he would, you sat there kneeling before him.

“Shit—you’re so fucking pretty,” he groaned, voice breaking as his head hung back, pushing his own climax—“pinch yourself,” and so you did without hesitation.

It was simply erotic, the sheer image of you two, your mouth hung open too—in the pleasure the pain provided you—“touch yourself,” he moaned then.

And just what you needed then for you found yourself touching yourself through your pants—applying just the pressure you needed—so wet.

Filthy—in the way the sound of his hand pumping his cock—flesh on flesh; your moans and his filled the room.

“C’mere” he growled—and you did, closer to him, musky his scent—you were so close, just a little more and—

A gasp you let out as sticky, white hot mess he spilled on you—your boobs and neck and face—cum spilling out in thick ropes as he pumped.

And just at that—you came too, mouth hung open as you traversed your high—it felt the best it ever had, under his panting gaze.

A series of sweet nothings he provided you, putting your head as you settled back—a frown on your lips and a chuckle on his own.

“Get decent,” he commanded and your frown deepened further—“you’ve got plenty of kids for me to fuck you anyways,”

A roll of your eyes as you too, beside him started getting dressed—“and anyways,” he grinned, “I’m sure gumi’s gonna act up soon,”

A sharp slap on your ass and a squeeze and just like that he was leading his way out as non-chalantly as he entered.

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

Taglist: @4sat0ruu @illogicallyx @rizzmin @lavendervogh @kazoomas @spaceisfarfarawayy @gojoismybitch