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himbo-kuto · 3 days ago

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plot: when you're about to argue but you're so pretty that his brain short circuits (all lads men)

rafayel:

when your phone rang early this morning while you were on your morning jog with a panicked rafayel on the line, you knew what he was calling about. yesterday while you were visiting rafyel’s studio, you found it in disarray. paint, brushes and a variety of different papers littered any and all surfaces. you usually asked rafayel when you throw away scraps in his studio, but this time the clutter was driving you mad that you just threw away anything in sight that looked like garbage.

“hey– sorry to call you so early in the morning. did you or thomas clean my studio yesterday? there was this sketch somewhere around here with a bunch of colors and scribbles for my exhibits that’s coming up and now I can’t find it–” busted. you heard the ruffling of papers through the phone as he frantically searched for it. the guilt washed over you as you tried to formulate what to say.

“i– i’m actually pretty close by. let me come over and help you find it.” he sighed in relief as felt like his drawing was saved.

“thanks, i’ll see you soon.” it was your turn to sigh as you continued your jog (now sprint) over to rafayel’s studio. you might as well use this time to try and figure out ways for him to forgive you.

you stood in front of the gate for a moment, chewing your thumb out of nervous habit before pushing through. you knew rafayel wouldn’t be mad at you, but just the fact you set back his work upset you.

upon entering, rafayel’s back was to you. one hand was in his hair, the other on his hip as if he was trying to retrace all his steps. but before your brain could even register, you just blurted out the truth.

“raf, i threw away the sketch– i’m so sorry! i was in here yesterday and the clutter was driving me insane! i couldn’t even get through here so i just grabbed things that looked like garbage and threw it away–” you had your eyes squeezed tight, not even wanting to see the potentially frustrated expression he was wearing. but when no response came, you peaked through your right eye to see that he was only blushing behind his own hand.

it didn’t register that you were wearing your workout clothes– a matching set that hugged your body, well everywhere. the top you had on was a fitted cropped quarter zip jacket and unbeknownst to you on your sprint over, it had unzipped all the way– your cleavage on full display. though your hair was tucked under a cap, the way it clung to your face and chest from your sweat didn’t go unnoticed by rafayel.

you couldn’t help but bite back a smile as you saw the tips of his ears go red. you decided you were going to use this to your advantage. inching closer to him, you clasped your hands behind your back which only pushed your chest out further. he weakly held up his forearm as he looked away trying to get ahold of any working brain cells, but he showed no resistance once your chest made contact. you rested your chin on top of his arm, looking up innocently at him.

“i’m sorry raf.. could you forgive me? i’ll clear my schedule and help you come up with another draft…” you spoke just above a whisper, afraid he’ll explode if you spoke any louder. a long (shakey) sigh escaped his lips along with what you interpreted as “you’ll be the death of me i swear…”

he fully turned toward you, one hand on your shoulder as the other one zipped your jacket all the way up to your neck. he cleared his throat as he cupped your cheeks together, swiftly kissing your pursed lips.

“you better keep your promise, cutie! we have a lot of work to do.”

zayne:

you did one last swipe of lipstick as you checked yourself in the mirror. you and zayne were going to an event hosted by akso, but zayne made it clear that there was a stritch one hour limit to say your pleasantries and then go home. sometimes these gatherings were entertaining but oftentimes they were grueling to sit through, even for zayne.

you stood up from your vanity, turning your body from side to side making sure that your dress was sitting in all the right places. gold embellishments hung from your ears and neck bringing the look all together. but in the midst of your review, you heard a series of ruffling and mumbling coming from the kitchen followed by your name. you reached over to open the door and called out to him.

“what was that, love?”

“did you eat the fruit tart in the fridge?” you froze in your spot. you totally forgot that tart was his and you had it with your lunch this afternoon. you zoomed out to the kitchen to see zayne looking into an empty pastry box and a dejected expression like you took candy from a baby.

“zayne– i’m so sorry i forgot that you said you wanted it and– .. i ate it” he slowly shifted his gaze from the empty box to you across the counter. your eyebrows were downturned and there was a big frown on your face. zayne always looked forward to having a sweet treat before these events, it was his reward for mustering up the courage to go. you should’ve known to save it for him, but your hunger got the best of you.

you rounded the corner of the counter, taking his hands in yours. your eyes on the verge of tears, as you continued on apologizing but all zayne could hear was blah blah blah proper name, place name, backstory stuff– your perfume, citrusy and sweet, enveloped him like a trap. with your eyelids sparkly, your lips all plumped and your hair pulled back to expose your shoulders, he couldn’t even comprehend your apology.

“okay, zayne?” he blinked once, only now registering that you’ve been talking to him the whole time. the blush immediately grazed his cheeks and ears as he looked away from you.

“it’s okay.. i forgive you.” he pulled you in by the waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck and taking a deep breath, letting the notes of your perfume be his treat until he was able to get one later. your fingers reached up to scratch the nape of his neck as you turned to kiss his cheek, not even noticing.

“i’ll buy you whatever you want from the bakery tomorrow, i promise”

caleb:

“you did what?!” you screeched to gideon over the phone.

“look, i didn’t have a choice okay? caleb can be very persuasive with that evol of his. i’m sorry but i didn’t want to lose my fingers” a big sigh left your lips as you ran your fingers through your hair. you had been taking some secretive pilot lessons with gideon to try and impress caleb on your next flight lesson, but you bit off a little more than you could chew and ended up with a big bruise on your abdomen.

“no, i get it. it was only a matter of time before he found out anyway. thanks though for holding out as long as you did.” you lifted up caleb’s shirt to take a look at your little accident. it was about the size of a grapefruit with hues of yellow, purple and blue painting your skin.

“no, me and my fingers thank you for being understanding. but you know the drill kid, ice and heat every 15 minutes.”

“yeah, yeah, yeah. you sound like–” before you could even say his name, you heard the clattering of the locks.

“gotta go, the colonel is in.” you quickly hung up the phone, looking around the bathroom for places to hide and decided the closet was your best option. you pulled the door shut, trying to close it as silently as possible upon hearing his footsteps approaching.

“pipsqueak.” not a question of where you were, but a known fact. you didn’t answer, choosing to ride this out for as long as you can.

“you can’t hide from me. you left your phone on the counter and the hallway smells like your shampoo.” damn his obsessive nature (and your stupidity thinking you could ever hide from him in his own place).

you held your breath as your eyes snapped to the handle. he was right in front of the door. there was a pause and.. nothing. his footsteps slowly faded to where the shower was, swiftly pulling the curtain back to expose an empty tub.

“come out, come out pips. i won’t be mad, i just want to see.” liar. you got the smallest scratch on your face from a mission and he wouldn’t let you hear the end of it for weeks.

there was no use in hiding anymore. you turned the handle, but didn’t open it all the way. he reached his fingers through the gap and opened the door to find you looking like a dog with its tail between its legs– looking down at the ground, arms guarding your mid section. caleb cautiously took you by your hands and pulled you out of the closet.

“let me see it.” he gently requested. you huffed as you carefully lifted up the shirt to reveal the bruise. he let out a distressed noise, quickly ridding himself of his gloves before his bare fingers grazed your skin.

“i’m fine caleb, it’s not even that bad–”

“not that bad?!” he exploded like a volcano that was waiting to erupt.

“pips, you have a bruise the size of a meteor on your stomach and it’s darkening by the second! what did you even do?” he took the shirt between his fingers, pulling it up even higher to inspect for any more damage. it was then that he realized that you were only in your bra and underwear with just his long sleeve to cover up. he took his moment to take you all in as he effortlessly towered over you.

hair wet, smelling like apples, in a matching set, in his clothes.. brain go brrrrr….

he didn’t know if it was his chip kicking in or his brain malfunctioning, but thank god you were looking away from him. he felt the blush spread throughout his face, every inkling of scolding you fading by the second

he cleared his throat, gently letting his shirt fall back into place as he gingerly wrapped his hands behind your back, pulling you close. burying his face in the hair, he let the scent of you calm him down. he just hated seeing you hurt, especially if there was a mark or bruise to show for it.

“i’m sorry. i was only trying to impress you for our next flying lesson and then the weather suddenly changed and then the throttle did a thing–and i got launched into the control panel and..” you admitted embarrassingly. he laughed as he pulled away, taking your cheeks into his hands.

“okay, okay. just next time please be careful. we don’t want you getting a bionic arm or anything–”

“CALEB!”

xavier:

exhaustion was oozing off xavier the moment he stepped into your apartment. his footsteps were dragging, shoulders hunched over, with a severe lack of motivation to keep his eyes open. it was a series of: lack of sleep, fighting off more wanders than he could even count and then doing that over and over again for the past week. his back and body hurt and all he wanted to do was lay down and sleep for a week undisturbed.

he ridded himself of his uniform, begrudgingly forced himself to shower, dried off his hair and plopped so hard on the bed it skirted and hit the wall. as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was already in his rem cycle, letting sleep take him for however long sleep would have him.

though he was a valiant hunter, he knew that your place was safe. so if he felt a bump or a shift in the bed, he knew it was only you. though he wasn’t expecting you so soon. even with his eyes closed counting sheep, he was able to feel you crawl over his body. your hair tickled his collar bones as you leaned down to shower him in kisses. from his neck, cheeks, forehead, with a final blow to the lips, he didn’t budge. he wanted sleep and so he was going to have it (even if it meant hearing from you later) but you didn’t relent.

you continued to lay kisses all over him, knowing that he’s done this to you before when you wanted to sleep but he wanted you to get up. you wanted his attention and much like xavier, you were going to have it. you held his face in your hands, laying loud kiss after loud kiss, trying to pull him out of dreamland but to no avail. you huffed as you sat your tush on his stomach. you moved his face from side to side before resorting to squishing his cheeks together.

there was a slight twitch in his eyebrows signifying to you that he was slowly waking up, which resulted in you poking and prodding his face. after several minutes of working like a cat clocked in at the biscuit making factory, he let out one final groan before his eyes barely opened.

“there he is.” you said sweetly. he huffed, turning to the side while covering his face to try and avoid your advances.

“no he is not…” you took that as a challenge, now wrestling with him to lay on his back. when xavier was asleep, he was like a log. with much resistance, he flopped on his back while you pinned his wrists above his head. he peeled his eyes open, ready to let you have it only to find you with your hair all disheveled, the top buttons of your pajama shirt all undone and askew with the faintest wash of pink over your cheeks.

“i just wanted some kisses and snuggles…” you admitted as you let go of his wrists. a sigh of defeat left his lips.

“well if you say it like that, of course i can’t be mad at you.” a giggle left your lips as he wrapped his arms and legs around you. it was his turn to shower you in kisses which you happily received. when the shower was over, you laid ontop of him with your face buried in his neck.

“i’m sorry i disturbed your sleep.. you can go back now. i promise i won’t wake you until tomorrow.” he nuzzled his cheek into your head, already mumbling a bunch of nothings into your ear.

“i love you too, honey.”

sylus:

“i said no.” sylus was being unreasonable. all you wanted to do was join him on an ‘auction’ to help him out. he had been stressed about it all week– skipped meals, jaw clenched in his (lack of) sleep, dark bags under his eyes– you haven’t seen him this stressed in a while.

“why not? you know that it would be easier with me there and i want to go, so why no–” he held up his hand to you, too focused on the papers in front of him to even look you in the eye.

“my decision is final. it’s too dangerous, i wouldn’t even go if it wasn’t a necessity.” you knew that he was only looking out for your safety, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less. if he wasn’t going to willingly take you, guess it was time to take matters into your own hands. you didn’t utter another word, choosing to leave his office in silent rage.

once he knew you were out of sight, he heaved a deep sigh. he could feel the pounding headache coming on. removing his glasses, he leaned back onto his chair while squeezing the bridge of his nose. he was already trying to think of ways to make it up to you, though this one would be tough.

—

it was a few quiet days in the N109 zone. you decided to keep your interactions with sylus to a minimum, only greeting him the times he came to bed or when he came to dinner. he chose to respect that distance, trying to make the most out of the times you did give him the time of day. he couldn’t wait to get this mission over and done with.

then came the day of his departure. you weren’t petty enough to not send him off, especially on dangerous missions such as this one. the last thing that you always handed off was his leather jacket. you had done it the first few missions he went on, and from there it kinda stuck. send offs never felt right without it. as he loaded the last suitcase, you stood behind him with his coat.

he leaned in and gave your forehead a kiss.

“i’ll be back soon, kitten.” he mumbled the words into your temple. you offered him a soft smile before holding up his jacket. he swiftly dropped his arms into the sleeves, pulling it over his shoulders, now counting down the minutes until he could be back.

“i love you, get back safe.” you waved off him and the twins as you watched the car went off into the distance.

“you won’t have to wait long, dear.”

—

shit.

this was bad.

sylus knew it was going to be, but he hoped just a little that it wouldn’t be. removed the hand from his abdomen to check if the bleeding had stopped, but surely enough his hand was covered in his crimson red blood. he leaned against a wall, knowing that the twins wouldn’t be here another 30 minutes. he knew his regenerative powers could kick in soon, but he was sorely outnumbered. he heard footsteps behind him and what sounded like a “he’s in here!” and just as he was about to set his guns ablaze, he heard a few shots coming from that same hallway. he squinted his eyes as he concentrated on the commotion.

‘one… two…..three.. four down. who?? they’re not supposed to be there for ano–’ the door swung open and upon instinct, sylus swiftly held up his gun to the intruder ready to shoot. he never hesitated in his life, but something was telling him to do otherwise. his fierce eyes met your intense ones in the same position. you both retracted your weapons before sylus pulled you through the doorway, crashing your back against his chest.

“how many are left?” he leaned down and whispered.

“ten. five in the front and five in the back. the twins should be able to handle them. i took out all the ones in here for now.” for a second he breathed out a sigh of relief, leaning against you. sylus would’ve made it out, but certainly not in the best of conditions.

“why are you here?”

“i think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’” he rolled his eyes, turning you around to take you in. stunning, as always. your hair was a bit disheveled, straps fallen down to your shoulders and your dress was torn around the edges, but in this moonlight he was utterly captivated by you. all his anger and many of the words that he had for you suddenly flew out the window. he tugged your straps gently back up to your shoulders before giving you a kiss.

“i’ll deal with you when we get back.” you basked in his presence for mere seconds before smelling the copper in the air. you stepped back to examine him before your eyes landed on his hand. he showed no resistance showing you his wound, knowing that you were right and he was caught. a heavy sigh left your lips. you knew he would be back to himself in no time, but it reminded you that he wasn’t all that invisible.

“still think you don’t need me?” sylus chuckled as his face made its way into the crook of your neck, arms snaking around your waist. he took in one long inhale.

“... you changed your perfume.. that’s why i couldn’t tell you were here.” you laughed breathlessly into ear, but not before you heard more footsteps coming in from the hallway. you both tensed, trying to remain as silent as possible. he tapped two of his fingers on your left side signalling that’s where he was headed. but before you could move, he noticed a shadow coming from the window. he pulled you down, letting off a few rounds towards the window. it was seconds before all hell broke loose once again.

luckily you both were able to fend off the second wave until the twins got there. when it was all said and done, you two were able to make it out with a few bumps and bruises, you’ve definitely done worse. the car ride back was silent as you were taping up sylus’ arm. you knew he was angry at you, now having to be in pain because you didn’t listen to him.

“i don’t regret coming.” he wiped off some dried blood from your cheek, now his turn to tape up your wounds.

“i know you don’t.” the conversation settled back into a comfortable silence. he started by dabbing some ointment on your scratches.

“... and thank you.. for saving my ass back there.”

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gyuuberryy · 4 months ago

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pushing on my buttons!

pairing: bodyguard!jay x rich ceo's daughter!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, tension

synopsis: after a kidnapping attempt, your father hires jay, a cold and infuriating bodyguard you can’t seem to get rid of. you push his buttons at every turn, but as danger closes in, the tension between you turns into something far more dangerous—an undeniable connection neither of you can ignore.

warnings: mentions of blood, a bit of fighting, kissing

note: i'm dropping smth two months later finallyy(i'm still in the middle of exams AGAIN). i feel like this is not my best work, i had a major writer's block with it and ended up making it basic? idk i haven't been feeling well recently with the insane amount of workload i have since the start of this year and the burn out shows in this ughh. i hope the fic isn't too bad TT enjoy!

word count 5.8k

If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3 | taglist

the heavy oak doors of your father’s office loomed before you, their polished surface reflecting the dim glow of the hallway chandelier. you paused, your fingers hovering over your phone screen, scrolling through a feed of designer handbags you didn’t need but absolutely wanted.

the text from your father had been curt, almost ominous: “my office. now.”

you rolled your eyes. it was probably about the credit card statement again. you had a perfectly good excuse ready��charity auction, obviously. he’d buy it. he always did.

with a sigh, you pushed the doors open, not bothering to knock. “you rang?” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you leaned against the doorframe, still engrossed in your phone.

your father didn’t look up from his desk. “sit,” he commanded, his voice sharp enough to make you glance up.

you blinked. okay. not a good sign.

it was then that you noticed him. the man standing beside your father, a silent shadow in the room. he was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed entirely in black—black tactical pants, black fitted shirt, black boots that looked like they could crush a skull without breaking a sweat. his arms were crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed but somehow radiating intensity. his face was all sharp angles and hard lines, his jaw clenched, his eyes scanning the room with a precision that made you feel like he’d already dissected every inch of it—and you along with it.

you straightened, your phone slipping into your pocket as you took a step forward. “who’s this?” you asked, your tone light but laced with suspicion.

your father gestured toward the man, his expression unyielding. “this is jay. your new bodyguard.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and absurd. then you laughed—a sharp, incredulous sound that echoed off the mahogany walls. “you’re joking.”

your father didn’t laugh. neither did jay. in fact, jay didn’t so much as twitch. his expression remained impassive, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

you turned back to your father, your laughter fading into a scoff. “this isn’t necessary. i’m not in danger. that whole kidnapping thing? a fluke. it’s been weeks and nothing’s happened.”

your father’s jaw tightened. “which is exactly why you need protection. we’re not taking any chances.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but jay beat you to it. his voice was low, calm, and infuriatingly even. “i’m not here to be liked, just to do my job.”

your head snapped toward him, your eyes narrowing. excuse me?

he met your glare without flinching, his expression as unreadable as a stone wall. he didn’t care. not about your annoyance, not about your defiance, not about you. the realisation made your blood boil.

“congratulations on the worst job in existence,” you said coolly, tilting your head as you studied him. “because i’m not some damsel in distress.”

jay didn’t blink. “right. you handled the last situation so well.”

your jaw dropped. the audacity. “excuse you—”

“enough,” your father interjected, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was already regretting this entire conversation. “jay will be with you at all times. this isn’t up for discussion.”

you stared at him, then at jay, who was still standing there like some brooding statue, completely unfazed. your mind raced, already plotting ways to make his life a living hell. fine. if this was happening, you wouldn’t make it easy for him.

you flashed jay a sweet, taunting smile, the kind that usually made people nervous. “try and keep up.”

his lips twitched—just barely—but it wasn’t a smile. more like a challenge accepted. “i don’t plan on falling behind.”

oh, you already hated him. hated the way he looked at you like you were a problem to be solved, hated the way he stood there like he owned the room, hated the way his voice sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. but most of all, you hated that he didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by you.

your father exhaled, clearly done with the conversation. “jay will start immediately. i expect you to cooperate.”

you didn’t respond. instead, you turned on your heel and strode toward the door, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. you could feel jay’s eyes on your back, tracking your every move, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking over your shoulder. let him try to keep up. you were already planning your first escape.

as the doors swung shut behind you, you couldn’t help but smirk. this was going to be fun.

the first twenty-four hours with jay as your shadow were unbearable. it wasn’t just his constant presence—it’s the way he moves like he knows what you’re about to do before you do it, like some kind of infuriating psychic in tactical gear.

you woke up to find him standing right outside your bedroom door. arms crossed, eyes alert, posture straight. like a soldier. like a statue. like someone who had absolutely no life outside of making yours miserable.

you glare at him, silk robe slipping off your shoulder, hair a mess. “do you ever sleep? or do you just stand there like a creep all night?”

jay doesn’t react. not even a twitch. his gaze flicks over you, assessing, before looking away.

he didn’t react. not even a twitch. his dark eyes flicked over you briefly, assessing, before he looked away, his expression as blank as ever.

“good morning,” he said, his tone flat.

you rolled your eyes and slammed the door in his face.

when you went to get coffee, he was already there, waiting. the barista gave him a once-over, their eyes lingering on his broad shoulders and the faint scar that ran along his jawline. then they glanced at you, their eyebrows raised in a silent question: are you okay? do you need help?

you forced a smile. “he’s harmless,” you said, though the words tasted like a lie. jay didn’t so much as blink.

you grabbed your latte and stormed out, jay falling into step behind you like some kind of silent, brooding ghost. you could feel his eyes on your back, watching, always watching. it was suffocating.

in meetings, it was worse. you sat at the head of the conference table, your laptop open, your team discussing quarterly projections, and there he was—standing against the far wall, arms still crossed, his gaze sweeping the room like he was expecting an ambush at any moment. every time you glanced his way, he was already looking at you, his expression unreadable.

you tried to ignore him. you really did. but his presence was like a thundercloud hovering over the room, dark and oppressive. by the time the meeting ended, you were ready to scream.

you had to get rid of him immediately.

attempt #1: the emergency exit

it was simple, really. you waited until you were in the middle of a crowded lobby with jay, your phone pressed to your ear, your face the picture of distress. “no—no, stay right there, i’ll be there in five minutes,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to sound convincing. then you slipped out the back door, quick, smooth, victorious.

you couldn’t help but grin as you rounded the corner, your heart racing with the thrill of escape. finally, some freedom. finally, some—

jay was already there.

leaning against your car, arms still crossed, not even looking at you. like he’d been waiting for hours. like he’d known exactly where you’d go.

you froze, your smile slipping. “how the hell—”

he finally acknowledged you, tilting his head just slightly. his lips curved into the faintest hint of a smirk. “you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

your fingers clenched into fists. oh. it was war.

attempt #2: the disappearing act

you waited until you were at a charity gala, the kind of event where everyone was too busy sipping champagne and gossipping to notice anything amiss. you slipped into the crowd, weaving through the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns, your movements quick and deliberate. you ducked behind a potted plant, then made your way to the service entrance, your heart pounding with excitement.

you were almost there. almost free. and then—

“leaving so soon?”

you whirled around, your breath catching in your throat. jay stood in the doorway, his arms still crossed, his expression as calm as ever. he didn’t even look winded.

“how do you keep doing that?” you demanded, your voice rising.

he shrugged, the motion infuriatingly casual. “it’s my job.”

“your job is to annoy me to death?”

“if that’s what it takes to keep you alive, then yes.”

you glared at him, your chest heaving with frustration. he stared back, unflinching, his dark eyes boring into yours. for a moment, the air between you crackled with something electric, and you wanted to so badly give into it and just cause a tantrum. instead, you turned on your heel and stormed back into the gala, jay following close behind.

attempt #3: sensory overload

the mall was a chaotic symphony of chatter, clattering shopping bags, and the faint hum of pop music playing over the speakers. you strode through the bustling crowd, your heels clicking sharply against the polished floor, your eyes darting toward the exit signs. jay was a step behind you, his presence as unshakable as ever. his dark eyes scanned the crowd, his posture tense, like he was expecting a sniper to take a shot at any moment.

you rolled your eyes. “relax, rambo. it’s a mall, not a war zone.”

he didn’t respond. of course he didn’t. he just kept walking, his gaze flicking toward you every few seconds, like he was making sure you hadn’t somehow vanished into thin air.

you gritted your teeth. this was supposed to be your day. you had a date with someone your mutual friend had set you up with. your father had forbidden you from going, but since when had you ever listened to him? and yet, here was jay, ruining everything like some overgrown shadow you couldn’t shake.

you bit back a sigh. if you wanted to shake him, you’d have to get creative.

spotting a perfume shop up ahead, you darted inside, the overwhelming scent of floral and citrus hitting you instantly. jay followed without hesitation, his towering frame making the narrow aisles feel even smaller.

“why are we here?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.

“to test some new scents,” you replied innocently, grabbing a random bottle and spraying it on your wrist. “you wouldn’t understand.”

jay raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

you tried a few more perfumes, using up the space on your wrists and arms. finally, you turned to him, holding up a bottle.

“hold out your arm.”

jay blinked. “what?”

“you’re supposed to test it on skin,” you said, your tone overly patient. “and i’m out of space. come on.”

reluctantly, he extended his arm. you sprayed the perfume lightly on his wrist and leaned in, inhaling deeply.

jay tensed under your touch, his muscles stiffening as your fingers brushed his skin. you glanced up, noticing the tightness in his jaw, but you didn’t comment.

“it’s not bad,” you said, tilting your head. “but maybe something lighter.”

you reached for another bottle, quickly spraying it on his other wrist. this time, you didn’t stop at one spray. you pressed the nozzle again and again, filling the air with an overpowering mix of scents.

jay sneezed once, then twice, stumbling back a step as he tried to clear his nose.

“what the hell are you doing?” he asked, his voice muffled between sneezes.

“just testing!” you said, holding up your hands in mock innocence. “you’re being dramatic.”

jay glared at you, but before he could recover, you dropped the perfume bottle and bolted, weaving through the crowded store and out into the mall. you didn’t look back. you didn’t need to. you could hear his footsteps behind you, heavy and determined.

your heart raced as you sprinted through the mall, dodging shoppers and strollers. you spotted a clothing store up ahead, its entrance tucked away in a quieter corner. perfect. you ducked inside, your breath coming in short gasps as you scanned the store. the dressing rooms. that was your best bet.

you darted toward them, slipping into the first stall you saw. you yanked the curtain closed, your chest heaving as you pressed your back against the wall. for a moment, there was silence. then you heard it—the sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate, approaching the stall.

the curtain flew open, and there he was. jay. his chest was rising and falling slightly, his dark eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place. he stepped into the stall, his body crowding yours as he pinned you against the wall. the curtain fell shut behind him, enclosing you in the small, dimly lit space.

you stared up at him, your breath catching in your throat. he was so close you could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his pulse jumped in his neck. his hands were braced on either side of your head, his body caging you in. the air between you was thick with tension, the kind that made your stomach twist and your heart race for reasons that had nothing to do with running.

“you’re not as clever as you think you are,” he said, his voice low and rough.

you swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “and you’re not as scary as you think you are.”

his lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk. “try me.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but the words died on your tongue. his eyes dropped to your lips, just for a second, and something shifted between you. the air crackled with electricity, the kind that made your skin prickle and your breath hitch. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his body seemed to press closer without actually moving.

for a moment, neither of you moved. then jay stepped back, his expression shuttering as he regained control. “let’s go,” he said, his tone clipped.

you didn’t argue. for once, you didn’t have the words.

the party was in full swing, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume, champagne, and the faint hum of a live jazz band. you stood near the centre of the room, dressed in a sleek black gown that hugged your figure perfectly, a glass of champagne in hand. you laughed at something your friend said, the sound light and carefree, but your attention was elsewhere.

jay.

he was standing across the room, leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed, his dark eyes fixed on you. he wasn’t even trying to hide it. he was watching you like a hawk, his expression unreadable but his gaze intense enough to make your skin prickle.

your friend leaned in, her voice low and teasing. “he’s been looking at you all night.”

you shrugged, pretending not to care. “who? jay? he’s just doing his job.”

but the truth was, you did care. you were hyper-aware of him now, his presence like a shadow you couldn’t shake. and it annoyed you. it annoyed you that he could stand there, so calm and collected, while you felt like you were unravelling.

so you decided to push him.

you flirted with everyone but him. you laughed a little too loudly at a joke a handsome stranger made. you let your hand linger on the arm of a guy who clearly had no idea what personal space was. you disappeared into the crowd, weaving through the sea of tuxedos and evening gowns, pretending jay didn’t exist.

but he did. he always did.

suddenly, a man—tall, broad-shouldered, with a cocky grin—stepped into your space, his hand hovering near your waist as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear. his breath smelled like whisky, the proximity way too close for your comfort.

you froze, your smile faltering. before you could react, jay was there.

he moved like a shadow, swift and silent, stepping between you and the man with a presence that was impossible to ignore. his voice was cool but sharp, cutting through the noise of the party like a knife. “hands off.”

the man blinked, his grin faltering as he took in jay’s imposing figure. “whoa, man, i was just—”

“i don’t care what you were just doing,” jay said, his tone low and dangerous. “back off.”

the man hesitated, his eyes flicking between you and jay, before he finally raised his hands in surrender and slunk away. you stared after him, stunned, your heart pounding in your chest.

when you turned back to jay, he was already looking at you, his expression unreadable but his eyes blazing with something you couldn’t quite place. he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. “you have no idea what you’re doing.”

your breath caught. “what are you talking about?”

he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, his voice rough and tinged with something that sounded almost like frustration. “flirting with strangers. disappearing into crowds. acting like you’re invincible. you’re not.”

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “i can take care of myself.”

“can you?” he asked, his tone challenging. “because from where i’m standing, it looks like you’re just trying to get a rise out of me.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on your tongue. he was close—too close—his body crowding yours, his heat radiating through the thin fabric of your dress. you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, a mix of vanilla and something woodsy, and it made your head spin.

as the night wore on, you couldn’t stop thinking about it—the way he’d looked at you, the way his voice had sounded, rough and low and so, so close. you caught yourself glancing at him more than once, your heart skipping a beat every time your eyes met his.

oh.

so he did care.

it happens slowly. or maybe it doesn’t. maybe it’s been happening this whole time, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for you to notice. but now, you do.

you start noticing the way he moves. always a step ahead, always positioning himself between you and anything that could be a threat. his sleeves are always rolled up, revealing the veins that line his forearms, his hands steady and sure. you notice the way he watches you, his dark eyes scanning every room like he’s mapping out every possible danger, but it’s never just that. there’s something else in his gaze, something you can’t quite name.

and worse? you start feeling it.

the heat in your chest when his hand brushes yours as he passes you a coffee. the frustration that coils in your stomach when someone else looks at him for too long. the way your breath catches when he says your name instead of brat or princess or whatever sarcastic nickname he’s come up with that day.

this is a problem.

but you handle it the way you always do—by pushing him.

it’s late, with the city feeling quiet, almost peaceful, and the only light comes from the flickering neon sign of a 24-hour diner. you’re sitting in a booth by the window, picking at a plate of fries you didn’t really want but ordered anyway because you were too stubborn to admit you were hungry. jay sits across from you, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the nearly empty diner like it’s a potential battlefield.

you roll your eyes. “relax, jay. the only danger here is the cholesterol in these fries.”

he just takes a sip of his black coffee, his expression as unreadable as ever.

you lean back in the booth, crossing your arms over your chest. “you know, you don’t have to babysit me 24/7. i’m not a child.”

his eyes flick to yours, sharp and assessing. “could’ve fooled me.”

you glare at him. “excuse me?”

he sets his coffee cup down, his voice low and even. “you act like rules don’t apply to you. like you’re invincible. you’re not.”

your jaw tightens. “and you act like you’re my dad. newsflash—you’re not.”

for a moment, neither of you speaks. the tension between you is thick, almost suffocating, and you can feel it building, building, building until it finally snaps.

“why do you even care so much?” you demand, your voice rising just enough to draw the attention of the tired-looking waitress behind the counter.

jay exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “you don’t get it, do you?”

your heartbeat stutters. “then explain it to me.”

for a second, he says nothing. he just looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure you out. then he stands, slow and deliberate, and slides into the booth beside you. he’s close now, closer than he’s ever let himself be, his body heat radiating through the thin fabric of your shirt.

you don’t back away.

his eyes flicker to your lips, and your breath catches. the air between you is so thin, so sharp you can almost taste it.

he leans in, his voice low and rough. “you have no idea what i’d do to keep you safe.”

your pulse is in your throat, waiting, waiting, waiting.

but before anything can happen—

the bell above the diner door jingles, and a group of loud, laughing teenagers spills inside, shattering the moment.

jay pulls back instantly, his jaw tightening as he slides out of the booth. he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say a word. he just walks to the counter, his posture rigid, like nothing happened.

like nothing almost happened.

but you know better.

you press a hand to your chest, trying to steady your heartbeat, but it’s no use. your mind is racing, replaying the moment over and over again—the way he’d looked at you, the way his voice had sounded, the way your body had reacted to his nearness.

this is getting dangerous.

later, as you sit in the back of the car on the way home, you can’t stop thinking about it. jay is in the driver’s seat, his eyes fixed on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. you stare at the back of his head, your thoughts a tangled mess.

you think about the way he’d stepped between you and that guy at the party, his voice sharp and commanding. you think about the way he’d leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his body so close you could feel the heat radiating off him.

and you think about the way he’d pulled away, like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean anything.

but it did. you know it did.

you mentally groan, leaning your head against the window. this is a problem. a big problem. because no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, you can’t deny it anymore.

you like him.

and that’s the most dangerous thing of all.

you don’t talk about it.

the almost-kiss, the tension that stains every interaction now—it hangs between you like a live wire, sharp and charged. you find yourself watching him more, catching the way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice. his gaze lingers a little too long, his movements a little too deliberate, and it drives you insane.

but you don’t talk about it.

instead, you push. you push him, you push yourself, you push the boundaries of whatever this is between you. and he pushes back, always steady, always in control, until—

one day it happens fast. too fast.

you’re walking back to the car after an event, the city lights casting long shadows on the pavement. jay is a step behind you, his presence a constant, grounding force. you’re arguing about something stupid—something meaningless—because that’s what you do now. you bicker, you snipe, you push each other’s buttons, all while pretending the tension between you doesn’t exist.

and then, out of nowhere, it happens.

you don’t even see it coming. one moment, you’re stepping off the curb, and the next, jay is moving—swift, silent, and utterly precise. he shoves you out of the way, his body shielding yours as a figure lunges at you from the shadows.

there’s a flash of metal, a grunt of pain, and then the sound of footsteps retreating into the night.

you stumble, catching yourself against the car, your heart pounding in your chest. “jay—”

he’s already turning, his hand pressed to his side, his breathing steady despite the blood seeping through his fingers. “get in the car.”

you stare at him, your mind racing. “you’re bleeding. we need to go to the hospital—l”

“it’s nothing, just a scratch” he says, his voice calm, like this is just another day on the job. like he didn’t just take a knife for you.

but it’s not nothing. it’s not nothing because your hands are shaking as you reach for him, your fingers brushing against the warm, sticky blood staining his shirt. “jay—”

“get in the car,” he repeats, his tone sharper this time. “now.”

you don’t argue. you can’t. your mind is a blur as you climb into the passenger seat, your eyes never leaving him as he slides behind the wheel. his movements are steady, controlled, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel.

the drive home is silent, the air between you thick with unspoken words. you keep glancing at him, your chest tight with something you can’t quite name. fear. guilt. something else.

when you finally arrive, you follow him inside, your hands still trembling. he heads straight for the bathroom, and you trail after him, your heart hammering in your chest.

“let me see,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

he doesn’t argue this time. he just sits on the edge of the bathtub, his shirt already half-off, revealing the deep gash along his side. it’s not fatal, not even close, but it’s enough to make your stomach twist.

you grab the first aid kit from under the sink and kneel in front of him, your hands shaking as you clean the wound. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel his eyes on you, heavy and unreadable.

“you shouldn’t have done that,” you say, your voice breaking. “you shouldn’t have—”

“it’s my job,” he interrupts, his tone calm, like that explains everything.

but it doesn’t. not to you. not when your hands are stained with his blood, not when your chest feels like it’s about to collapse under the weight of everything you’re feeling.

“don’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “don’t do that again.”

he looks at you, his dark eyes searching yours, and for the first time, you see it—the crack in his armour. the flicker of something raw, something real.

“you don’t get it,” he says, his voice low and rough. “i’d do it again. every time.”

your breath catches, your hands still pressed against his side. “why?”

he doesn’t answer. not with words, at least. instead, he reaches up, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his touch so gentle it makes your chest ache.

and that’s it. that’s the breaking point.

you don’t think. you don’t hesitate. you just pull him in, your lips crashing against his in a kiss that’s equal parts desperation and relief. for a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t respond, and you’re terrified you’ve made a mistake.

but then his hands are in your hair, his mouth moving against yours, and it’s like the world stops. the tension, the anger, the fear, it all melts away, leaving nothing but the two of you.

the room is silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the overhead light. jay’s hands are still tangled in your hair, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips. you can feel the rapid beat of his heart where your hand rests against his chest, and it’s almost comforting, knowing he’s as affected by this as you are.

but then he pulls back, his expression shuttering as he regains control. “we shouldn’t have done that,” he says, his voice low and rough.

you blink, your chest tightening at his words. “why not?”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead, he stands, his movements stiff as he turns away from you. “because it complicates things.”

you stare at him, your heart sinking. “complicates things? jay, you just took a knife for me. i think things are already complicated.”

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “you don’t understand.”

“then explain it to me,” you snap, your frustration bubbling over. “because i’m tired of pretending like this—whatever this is—doesn’t exist.”

he turns to look at you, his dark eyes blazing with something you can’t quite name. “you think i don’t feel it too? you think i don’t want—” he cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as he looks away. “it doesn’t matter what i want. my job is to keep you safe. that’s it.”

you step closer, your hands trembling at your sides. “and what if i don’t want you to just be my bodyguard? what if i want more?”

he doesn’t respond. not with words, at least. but you can see the conflict in his eyes, the way his hands clench and unclench at his sides. for a moment, you think he might give in, might finally let himself feel something.

but then he steps back, his expression hardening. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

you laugh, the sound bitter and hollow. “don’t i? because from where i’m standing, it seems like you’re the one who’s scared.”

his eyes narrow, and for a second, you think you’ve pushed him too far. but then he exhales, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “you’re right. i am scared. because if something happens to you—if i let myself care too much and i can’t protect you—” he cuts himself off, his voice breaking. “i can’t lose you.”

your breath catches, your chest tightening at the raw emotion in his voice. “jay—”

he doesn’t let you finish. instead, he steps forward, his hands cupping your face as he kisses you again. this time, it’s softer, slower, like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you. and you let him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pull him closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, you can see the vulnerability in his eyes. “i can’t promise this will be easy,” he says, his voice low and rough. “but i can promise i’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

you swallow, your throat tight with emotion. “that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

you don’t talk about it for a full twenty-four hours.

not because you regret it. god, no. if anything, the memory of his hands on you, his lips against yours, plays on a loop in your mind, leaving you breathless every time. but now, there’s no going back. no pretending this isn’t real. no pretending you don’t feel the way his presence sets your skin on fire, or the way your heart races when he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters.

jay is still jay. still overprotective, still infuriating, still the same stoic bodyguard who drives you up the wall. but now?

now, every argument ends with him pulling you in by the waist, his voice low and rough as he murmurs, “you’re impossible,” before silencing you with a kiss.

now, every lingering stare actually leads to something—a brush of his hand against yours, a heated glance that makes your stomach flip, a moment where the tension between you becomes too much to ignore.

and now, your father figures it out almost immediately.

it happens during a family dinner, of all things. you’re sitting at the table, picking at your food while jay sits in his usual spot by you. your father is at the head of the table, his sharp gaze flicking between you and jay with a calculating look that makes your stomach sink.

you try to act normal. you really do. but when jay’s hand brushes against yours as he passes you a glass of water, and you catch yourself smiling at him without thinking, your father clears his throat.

“so,” he says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “when were you planning on telling me?”

you freeze, your fork halfway to your mouth. “telling you what?”

your father raises an eyebrow, gesturing between you and jay. “about this.”

you feel your face heat, your heart pounding in your chest. “i—what are you talking about?”

your father sighs, rubbing his temples like he’s already done with this conversation. “at least it’s him.”

jay freezes, his posture stiffening as he looks at your father. you gape, your mind racing. “excuse me?”

your father shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “you were always a handful, but he can handle it.”

you stare at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. this is not the reaction you were expecting. not even close. you were prepared for yelling, for threats, for jay to be fired on the spot. but this? this casual acceptance? it’s almost worse.

you turn to jay, still reeling. “is this really happening?”

jay looks equally disturbed, his jaw tight as he meets your father’s gaze. “sir, i—”

your father holds up a hand, cutting him off. “don’t. just… keep her out of trouble. that’s all i ask.”

and just like that, the conversation is over. your father goes back to his meal like nothing happened, leaving you and jay to exchange a stunned look.

later, when you’re alone in your room, jay leans against the door, his arms crossed as he watches you pace back and forth. “well,” he says, his voice dry, “that could’ve gone worse.”

you stop pacing, turning to glare at him. “worse? he basically gave us his blessing. that’s not worse. that’s… i don’t even know what that is.”

jay shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “guess you’re stuck with me.”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t pull away when he steps closer, his hands settling on your waist. “lucky me,” you mutter, though the way your heart skips a beat betrays your words.

jay’s smirk softens into something warmer, his eyes searching yours. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

you don’t respond. not with words, at least. instead, you lean into him, your hands resting against his chest as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “just don’t let it go to your head, okay?”

he chuckles, the sound low and warm, before leaning down to kiss you. and as his lips brush against yours, you realise something.

maybe, just maybe, you don’t want to pull away.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

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#ady 𝘄𝗿𝗶��𝗲𝘀...👩🏻‍💻.ᐟ #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #enhypen fics #enhypen x reader #jay #jay park #jay x reader #jay imagines #jay fics #jay oneshots #kpop fics #enhypen royal au #jongseong park #jay enhypen #park jongseong x reader #park jay x reader

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dirtylilspawn · 3 months ago

Text

ᴏᴠᴇʀʟᴏᴀᴅᴇᴅ sᴇɴsᴇs

Summary: Rafayel can't seem to get enough of your body.

Fandom: Love & Deepspace

Paring: [Rafayel x Fem!Reader]

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: NSFW (18+), porn w/o plot, slight obsession, intense smut, heavy biting, marking, previous multiple creampies, multiple orgasms, over stimulation, nosebleed, dumbification, dacryphilia, bits of fluff, bulge, lots of cum, heavy squirting, praise, pheromones, blood licking, saliva trade, reeeaally horny & degenerate dom!rafayel, doggy & mating press, rough sex, passing out

"More...give me more princess~"

The room was humid, filled with the scent of lust and sex. Your body rocking with his hard thrusts, as you lay on your stomach, head buried into the sheets while your artistic boyfriend held your hips up to his pelvis with an iron grip. Both of you were you fully naked, as Rafayel took you from behind, his cock ramming itself deep within your tired yet stimming walls. You were on your fifth round with him, two of those rounds involving his mouth ravishing your juicy cunt as he drank up all of your essence.

"Raf! I-I can't -aagh- any mooore..."

Rafayel continued to pound into your pussy, his eyes hooded and clouded with desire. His purple hair damp, bangs falling over his eyes, clinging to his forehead. He watched as his hands grip upon your, spreading your cheeks just to see the delicious site in front of him. There down below was his big cock splitting you wide open for him, he could see his previous loads mixed with your cum coating hid dick. The dirty sounds of your pussy squeezing him, the sick squelching noises filling his ears. And dear god, the smell! Your scent surrounded this man with no hesitation or warning, filling every pour of his. It was enough to make anyone insane, he was truly pussy drunk of your pheromones.

"Ngh! You can...you're my strong bodyguard after all~"

You gasp as you felt Rafayel right hand come in contact with gripping your wrist. He then pulls your arm from behind your back, making your chest rise up from bed. Your knees back in full motion as you have to use your abdominal muscle to sit up. Your right hand grips the sheets as you balance yourself to stay up right, but Raf made it easier as his left and was placed around your waist, holding your tightly. While his chest was slightly pressed against your back. Your breasts swayed below you as he thrusts hard, balls slapping against your ass.

"Fuck [Y/N], I love your body so much!"

His lips were pressing soft kisses along your back, his tongue licking the stripes of sweat that dripped down your back. His mouth moves to your arm he held prisoner, lips sucking on the delectable skin of yours. Rafayel then moved his mouth towards your neck, instantly taking a hard bite to the jugular. You head snaps back, teeth biting your lip from the pain and pleasure mixing into one. His teeth digged into the flesh, making an indent mark whilst drawing bits of blood to the surface. Tears roll down your cheeks, covering up the old tears that dried up.

This wasn't the first bite mark he made on you. There were multiple hickies and bites littered around your skin. Ranging down to your ass and thighs, to your stomach and breasts. He even suggested you mark him, as there were a few bites visible around his neck. The red circular indent gracing his pale soft skin made your stomach turn.

Rafayel lifted his head from your neck, watching as the bits of blood stream down your shoulder. He grins at this before using his slick tongue to gather the blood up, moaning from the taste. Would it be wrong for him to think how he wanted to melt into your skin and become one with you. Because that's what he wanted, to spend this blissful moment with you forever, remaining this drunk on you, and getting you drunk on him. Oh, how the though got him even harder inside you causing you to whine, feeling him hit all of your sweet spots.

His face turns to your face, seeing your fucked expression displayed only for him. Tears falling all for him alone, he couldn't help but smirk at your helpless self, sticking his tongue out to lap up your precious tears off your cheek.

"Such a cutie, my cutie." Rafayel whispers in your ear, giving it a good teasing bite at the end. Your body shook, face hot as you suck up all of his compliments and praise.

You can feel another orgasm trying to escape your body and Raf could tell by just how much your pussy was quivering. His hand that was on your waist moved lower between your thighs. His finger finds your throbbing clit, giving you a nice rub from his index and middle finger. Coxing you to cum around him and his cock. And it really didn't take much long before your body convulses with a powerful orgasm. You could feel yourself creaming around the base of his dick, head hanging low as you whaled a pitiful cry. Sweat dripping down your forehead, mouth open as drool rolled down your chin. your boyfriend came right behind you, filling your pussy with his white liquid. Raf's eyes closed as he lowers his head on your neck, giving you butterfly kisses along your shoulder. The hot load made you moan, as it added with the previous load Rafayel dumped inside you. You were so out of it that you didn't notice Raf was still hard around you. Pulling you off his dick, releasing you so he can move you onto your back.

You let out a sigh of relief feeling the cool sheets against your back. Your head on the soft pillow for a rest as your hair spilled messily around your head. But your eyes suddenly catch Rafayel in a very erotic position. He was on his knees, looking down at you with such intense gaze that sent a deep shiver down your body. You're breathless as you watch him pant heavily, his body glowing with sweat from the bed-side lamp. Chest heaving as well as his abs, his right hand now wrapping around his long dick. He pumps himself slowly, his cock still wet and dripping with your juices, while also his own come dripping down from the tip. It created a very slimy and wet sound with each pump he made. His dual purplish pink eyes never leaving your own eyes, and that made your pussy throb and clench over nothing. His cum pooling down your folds and to your ass.

He smells it again, your arousal, your pheromones still bombarding his nostrils.

He curses under his breath with a low whine exiting his throat. His left hand running his fingers up along his sweaty bangs, smoothing it over his head.

"R-Raf, are you okay?"

He doesn't really say anything just staring deeply, and you swallow a wad spit stuck in your throat. The fear and anticipation bubbling up in your chest, heart pounding so hard that you wouldn't be surprised if Rafayel could hear. Before you could say or do anything else, Rafayel pounced on your body. His hands lifted your legs from underneath your knees, pushing them all the way back till they were almost to your head. Having your folded into a restrictive mating press making you yelp in caution. His hands gripping the back of your thighs tightly, as your ass you lifted up a bit due to the position. He looked down at you with such a craved hunger, his breathing already ragged and desperate. His cock was moved between your puffy folds, his hips thrusting along your pussy. It easily glides with both of your drenched genitals with each other cum. The tip would hit your sensitive clit making your back arch from the pleasure. You could see the sick strings from your arousal stick from his cock to your pussy.

"W-Wait wait Raf! I-I don't know if I can do another-"

"Yes you can...please baby, just one more I promise...one more~"

His voice in a low whisper but you could still hear him. He was begging you for another round, pleading to stuff you full once more, to feel you around him so close and intimate. You whimper, your mind knowing that you should stop this, but your body was aching so much for your boyfriend to ruin you.

Seeing your willing submit on your face, Rafayel smiles all before his cock slowly pushes it way inside your hot walls. The stretch of his cock intense then the last rounds as you can feel him go even deeper. His tip hitting your cervix straight away, brushing up against the organ. Your eyes rolled back into your head, arms clentching the sheets and pillow right under your head. You were so distracted in your own bliss that you could see how Rafayel was fairing to all this pleasure. The boy head fell, as his eyes were closed, feeling every inch, curve, and depth inside you amazing walls. It was so hot he felt as if you'd will leave burn scares -not that it would happen to him-

All of this had stared because the two of you haven't seen each other for a while. And Rafayel, being the dramatic man he was didn't take well from being away from his dear bodyguard any longer. That damn job of yours really was going to be the death of him. Out there, risking your life on a day to day basis, him worrying for your safety even though on the surface he puts on an act. Berating you through banter everytime you get injured, calling you dumb, even though deep down all he wanted to do was hold you tightly in his arms and never let go. You were literally going to be the death of him.

Hell you weren't even injured badly or anything. He just missed you over the past month, cursing your busy schedule just to see you again. Miss having to hang around his art studio while he painted, miss having you do tedious tasks of finding new paint colors for his artistic experiments, miss having you body this close to his, skin to skin. And all that waiting, all that yearning, and patience. All the times he had to hear your voice over the phone, instead face to face made things become a bit more maddening. He almost forgotten what you smelled like, (which he definitely cried over the phone to you, whining how he needs you to return to him immediately) and you rolled your eyes, saying how you'll be over there soon enough.

And so he waited.

Boy did he hate it.

You surprised him the moment you came over to his place, calling out his name with glee. Rafayel made a beeline towards you, his hands grasping your shoulders tightly as he had a pout on his plush lips. His breath heaving, as his face was red, as if he was in heat. His clothes dishevelled, as his white buttoned shirt was open to view. Showing off his lean muscular physique and abs. He then kissed you desperately, trying to get your taste back into his mouth and memory. Sweet, you were so sweet and addicting. He hands moved along your body, grasping it's fill, whining how he was going to die if you hadn't came back. Which was false, but you knew how dramatic your boyfriend could be, especially when it came to you. So you let him have his way with you throughout the late evening.

What you didn't know was how much he was going to take from you.

Rafayel was still inside you, his hips not moving as his cock was motionless. You bite your lip as you wiggled your hips helplessly, wanting him to move. But you soon found a soft plop of liquid falling down chest. You slowly open your eyes, angling them to see what had fallen on your skin. Your eyes instantly are wide as you recognize the red liquid. Your gaze meets with Rafayel only to be shocked at what you were seeing. His nose, with one nostril leaking the crimson blood, rolling down to his own lips and chin.

"R-Rafayel! Oh my god, your nose!?"

You are concerned seeing your boyfriend have a spontaneous nosebleed out of nowhere. Probably due to all the hormones, maybe the blood rushed to fast into his head.

As if realizing this, Rafayel's right hand lets go of your thigh for a moment. His hand rising to his face, finger wiping away the blood that leaked down his upper lip, mouth, and chin. The blood smears against his cheek, his nosebleed stopping. Rafayel blinks for a few moments as he glances down at the small plop of blood that streaked across one of your breasts. He even looks down at his own hand that was smeared with blood that he wiped off his face. His eyebrows furrowed, as he looks away from you.

"Damn it...this is all your fault...getting me so worked up like this."

He whispers this while pouting, embarrassed by his own actions. All you could do was look up at him, and soon after you smiled. A breathless giggle rippling through your chest and out your mouth. He looks back at you with a soft yet annoyed expression on his features.

"Hey stop-"

"Hehe sorry, it's just.."

You smile at Rafayel as your hand reaches to cup his cheek gently. His eyes look at yours in surprise but soon caves in, and he closes those pretty eyes of his. His face leaning into your touch, cool hand against his heated skin, kissing the palm softly. Your thumb caressing a bit of the smeared blood along his cheek.

"I love you so much Raf."

You say this with full genuine love and adoration for the man above you. Rafayel takes in your words, as his eyes were still closed, head nuzzled up against your palm.

You were immediately taken back when Rafayel took your hand away from his face. His hand placed back underneath your soft thighs. Pushing your legs further in-between your head, making you note how you were defiantly going to sore for a few days after this. His hips slowly grind and thrust into your sweet spot, making you squirm in his tight hold of you. His cock digging inside your gut, making a noticeable bulge sticking out from your lower abdomen. You cry and Rafayel curses as he continues to ground himself slowly, swirling his cock around your walls, driving you crazy all over again.

"Shit, I love you so much too princess, -Nngh- you drive me insane~"

His thrusts were hard yet tantalizing slow, taking his time to etch his cock into your pussy. Just so you have the shape of him inside of you forever, ruined for anyone else to take -not that he'd allow you to leave him-

Your head felt so hot, as you couldn't think or say anything. Only letting Raf use your body as you moan in pleasure. But your body trembled for more, for him to just pound you senselessly otherwise you'd might explode. And Rafayel could sense that, he could feel how needy you were for his cock to take you. And he loved it, he wanted to give you everything you deserve. He wanted to make you feel just how he felt waiting for you for that long month. Though he himself was getting antsy and impatient, the urge to fuck you silly and stupid still raging inside his head and body.

"My pretty girl getting frustrated hehe."

Rafayel chuckles watching your facial features clench as his sent a hard thrust to your core. Your body shaking for him to just go faster.

"Open your mouth for me."

You hear his demand and obey him, opening you mouth wide for him, tongue sticking out waiting. His eyes crazed with lust as he watched you do this. He too opens his mouth, sticking his tongue out as he aligned his head above your mouth. Gathering up some saliva in the back of his mouth, he used his tongue to let the saliva drool down creating a slow stream into your own mouth. A moan erupts your throat, eyes lidded as you watched him drool into your own mouth, letting the saliva pool inside. Your pussy clenches heaving around him, causing the man above to groan knowing your aroused from his actions. He then stops himself, pulling his tongue away and closing his mouth with a sly smirk. Closing your mouth, as his own saliva swished inside before going down your throat and into your stomach when swallowing. Once you swallowed the mouth full of his saliva, you re-opened your mouth to him, tongue sticking out showing that you swallowed it all down. A stupid lewd grin carving your lips.

Rafayel watches this in amazement, he could feel himself getting even more harder inside you if that was even possible. The shaft throbbing, wanting to be stimulated more by your sweet cunt. His hips then move faster, his speed crazy and rough. Dick repeatedly punching your cervix with no mercy what-so-ever. Your eyes roll back as your mouth hanged open with cries and moans. Back arching so deliciously while he ruined your pussy.

"Aagh! R-Raf...uugh~!"

"Fuck princess~!"

Rafayel's cock drilled inside you, the bulge protruding from your flesh, making Rafayel go deranged. One of his legs were kneeling, while the other was propped up the bed, his foot digging into the mattress to get a better angle in your cunt. Your pussy in full display for him as it sucked him up, both your cum spilling out from the sides making a nasty mess all around your folds and thighs. The creamy seed dripping up to your navel. Balls slapping onto your ass, sending a loud smack with every thrust he did. The two of you were fucking like animals, very rough and high of each other's bodies. Especially Rafayel, who was drooling with his eyes full blow with lust as he watched your body rocked with his. Your arms above your head, breasts jumping heavily, as well as your legs and feet that swayed in the air.

Rafayel leans in more, his body weigh heavy against yours. He lips crashed with your, tongue violating your own mouth. He wanted to ruin your face as much as he was ruining your body. Both of your tongues swirling together messily, his heated breath mixed with yours. All while he muttered his dirty thoughts between kisses.

"C-Can't say anything can you princess?"

Kiss.

"Has my cute bodyguard turn dumb on me~?"

Kiss.

"-Nngh- Don't worry...you don't have to say anything...shit!"

Kiss.

"Just let me take care of you."

Kiss. Kiss.

"Don't you ever leave for that long..."

Kiss.

"Mm, I-I'll make sure you'll never forget my shape~"

Kiss.

Some of the blood that was staining his cheek moved to your own face. Some wiping along your own cheek and nose, making it look as if you too had a nosebleed. Honestly with the amount of blood flow rushing up to your brain, you figured that was bound to happen. You gasp in pain when you felt Rafayel teeth bite down along your calf. His head kissing your skin that held the new bite mark.

Rafayel can feel your pussy start to flutter around him, making him let out a whine. You were starting to get close to your orgasm, and so was he. He starts to pick the pace up causing you to squeal with much delight. His strong arms holding you close and tight as your toes clench in pleasure.

"Cum for me my bride...I want you to spill all over my cock! Do it for me, make a mess~!"

You let out unintelligible nonsense, babbling slurs that were probably Rafayel's own name. You couldn't tell as you were too fucked out to know anything but pleasure and bliss surrounding your whole body. All you could think about was your boyfriend Rafayel and his thick cock sending you to the edge. Your orgasm came like a hurricane, taking up all your senses and pouring out of you violently. Your back was arched, eyes crossing over as your hands above you gripped the pillow that rested beneath your head. Nails digging in, fearing you may tear it due to how much you were gripping it. Legs shake yet stiffen as your cunt gushed around his cock hard, your cum spraying out of you. Drenching both you and Rafayel, your thighs, pussy, his lower abdomen, dick and balls dripping with your sweet essence. You were crying, as globs of tears streak down your cheeks,

Rafayel shuddered, head dipping down as his teeth gritted. His thrusts were non-stop, and he prolonged your orgasm and entered into his own. His hands gripping to your thighs harshly, a bruise to come later. His tip was pressed up along your cervix, come shooting load after load inside. Filling your pussy to the brim to the point semen snuck out through the crevasses that connected you and him. Rafayel shook, as his thrusts start to slow down, sweat dripping down his body as well as yours. Rafayel kept muttering "I love you" whispering with every pump of his cock made inside you, moaning pathetically. The man then finally stills himself, too overstimulated to move anymore, your whines and sniffles making him stop as you were to overstimulated yourself.

His grip on you lessens, as he slowly lets go of your thighs and places them down on the soft bed. You let out a sigh of relief, eyes closed and tired. They felt so heavy, and it was too much to open them. Rafayel pulls out of you, hissing at the cool air that hits him when coming out of your warmth. He watches as spurts of his own cum squirts out of your stretched hole. He was amazed at the site, and he would have pushed his seed back inside you if it wasn't for the overwhelming exhaustion that pulled him down. Rafayel pulls the bed sheets over you and him, his head toppled over between your breasts nuzzling in them. His breath settling as well as yours, he can hear your heart steady, as your breath slows. Soft snores indicating that you had passed out. He sighs a content sigh, kissing your chest softly while wrapping his arms around your body. Rafayel starts to drift to sleep on your chest, a well knowing thought on how next morning, you'll probably scold him for how sore he made you.

A scolding he was definitely looking forward to.

#love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel smut #lads smut #smut

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witchbitchlovesdilfs · 6 days ago

Text

Change Of Plans

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader

relationship: established

synopsis: reader is sick and accidentally stands robby up

content: sick comfort, fluff, cursing

notes: requested!

This is it. You’re in Hell. You’re being punished. What for? Maybe because you stole Perlah’s leftovers from the break room fridge. Maybe because you were constantly cracking jokes at Langdon’s expense. Maybe it’s just because the world loves to be cruel. No matter the reason, you were sick - which was absolutely insane to you because it’s not even cold season, and it’s been years since you’ve had a fever. But here you were, bedridden, nose red, eyes dry, body so weak you can barely feel it. You have a pulsing migraine, so all the lights are off, and the ceiling fan is on high. It’s already a little after five pm, and you haven’t left the bed since you crawled into it last night. Trust, you were feeling the consequences of zero food or drink, but you were too fatigued to move.

With a groan, you throw your arm over your eyes. Your phone buzzes, and you tiredly reach for it with your other hand. Blindly, you search your bedside table. Just as your fingers brush the phone, they knock it over and onto the floor. “Shit.” Turning onto your side, you peer down at your phone with a glare. It’s probably not important, you tell yourself, completely forgetting the date you had planned with Robby for that night. You roll onto your stomach and shut your eyes.

Robby is at the fancy restaurant. He’s dressed in something other than scrubs, and he even reserved the seats in the back corner of the room - just where you liked them. Everything was perfect - minus one thing. It’s been thirty-two minutes and counting, and you still weren’t here.

Robby was starting to get worried. He told himself different excuses for your absence ranging in emergency, occupying himself by scrolling through his phone and texting you.

The new piano guy’s actually pretty good Are you okay? Should I order?

Robby sighs and puts his phone face down on the table. He spots the waitress sheepishly making her way over and runs his hand over his face. “Is there anything I can get you?” she asks.

Robby slides his phone into his pants pocket. “No, I’m going to head out.”

She nods with an expression akin to pity, and Robby looks away. He doesn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him.

Robby brushes past her with a mumbled goodbye and shoves his hands into his pockets as he exits the restaurant. Stood up, he scoffs. One year, and now she decides to stand me up.

But as Robby crosses the street, he thinks of something. Something you mentioned the other day, right before heading into work: you had a cough. And, come to think of it, you were clutching your forehead like it hurt.

With a newfound energy, Robby turns and speedwalks towards your apartment. You were sick, and like hell was he going to let you suffer alone.

You grumbled as your phone went off again, hugging your pillow and burying your face further into it. Leave me alone.

There’s a soft knock from across the hall - in the direction of your front door. You ignore it, telling yourself it’s for next door, but there’s another knock, louder this time. With a groan, you lift yourself slowly, carefully getting to your feet. The world spins. You check your appearance in the mirror - your pajamas are disheveled, your hair a crazy mess. It’ll do.

Before the guest can knock again, you undo the latch and swing the door open. You’re met with the last person you wanted to see in this state: your boyfriend.

“Hey,” Robby greets you softly, making his way inside.

“What are you doing here?” you ask a little too sharply, shutting and locking the door. You sniffle as you turn to see the worried look on his face, then down at his clothes. “And why are you dressed so nice?”

Robby chuckles, shaking his head. “What, a guy can’t just wear a button-down?” He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “We had a date.”

“Oh shit,” you cry out, leaning against the door for support. “Fuck, Robby, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugs, moving forward to take your weight and help you to the couch. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

You settle down on the cushion and pull your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees. Robby takes the spot next to you. “You didn’t answer my texts,” he says.

You shake your head. “I dropped my phone. I couldn’t move to get it.”

Robby nods. He understands; he always does. “You shouldn’t be here,” you tell him, moving away. “I’ll get you sick.”

Robby grabs your legs and pulls you back into him, putting his lips to the crown of your head. “Don’t care,” he says into your hair.

“But your job-”

“They’ll survive without me,” he cuts you off. You shake your head in disbelief.

Robby moves to situate the two of you so his back is against the couch back and your back is pressed against his front. His arms wrap around you. “What did you eat today?”

You sigh at the question. He always asks you this when you aren’t feeling well. But then you bite your lip in guilt. “Nothing,” you murmur softly, but Robby hears.

He sighs, moving you to the side and getting to his feet. “You didn’t drink either, did you?”

You shake your head.

He runs his hand through his hair again; if he continues this, it’ll be more dishelved than yours. “Did you at least take your pills?”

You shake your head again, looking down, ashamed.

Robby takes a minute to collect his thoughts. “It’s okay,” he says, resting a hand on your leg. “Do you still keep your meds in the bathroom?”

You nod. “They’re in the blue container.”

He pats your knee before leaving in search of your nighttime medication - you can take that at the very least. Before he comes back, Robby moves through the kitchen, rattling everything. You’re too tired to move to investigate.

When Robby’s standing before you again, he has a water bottle and your pills. He places them on the table before you and looks between you and the kitchen. “I’ll make some dinner.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him, pouring the meds into the palm of your hand.

Robby ignores you. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and marches to the kitchen as you gulp down the water like it’s sacred and lean back against the couch.

“I’m sorry for standing you up,” you call as Robby takes out a pot and places it on the stove. He fills the pot with water before he responds. “Don’t be sorry for not feeling well.”

“But we had a date,” you pout, sniffling again. Robby crosses the room in an instant, shoving a tissue box in your face. You take it gratefully.

“We can still have a date,” Robby tells you, going back to the kitchen to watch the water boil.

You bite your lip. “Can we watch a movie?”

“I’ll even let you pick which one,” he assures you. You beam, and he grins back.

“And we can cuddle?” you ask, putting the tissue box down.

Robby clasps his hands together. “Eat a whole bowl of soup, and you’ll get all the cuddles you want.”

You plop back down on the couch, so incredibly thankful for your boyfriend. “Deal.”

#dr robby #michael robinavitch #michael robinavich x reader #the pitt #noah wyle #dr robby x reader #jack abbot #fluff #comfort

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kxsagi · 8 days ago

Note

I had a funny thought

What if the Blue Lock boys had a gf who was super into chiropractics, and every time they complained about a sore neck or something, she just activated like a sleeper agent ready to crack some bones into place?

Maybe Bachira, Sae, Rin, Barou, and anyone else you wanted to add (or remove)

Feel free to ignore if you're not interested! (Or you closed your requests and I didn't notice)

“𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 🙏”

a/n: NO THIS IS GENIUS

ft. bachira meguru, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, barou shoei, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei

bachira meguru

“babe, my shoulder hurts.”

five seconds later, he’s lying facedown on the carpet with your knee on his spine and your hands twisted like you’re about to do a fatality move from mortal kombat.

“okay, but don’t make it worse–” CRACKKK

“i saw god,” he whispers.

starts intentionally walking into walls and sleeping in the worst positions possible just to “accidentally” need your services.

"what do you mean you dislocated your knee dancing to baby shark?"

“you’ll fix it, right? 🥺”

you have to stop practicing on his toes because he got too into it and now thinks he can crack other people's joints too.

"meguru, no. that’s a stranger. that’s a grandma."

once asked you to do a couple’s adjustment video with him for his tiktok. he titled it: “my chiropractor gf cracked me so good 😳💦”

you are banned from the comments section.

itoshi sae

mentions his neck hurts just once. once.

now you follow him around the apartment like a chiropractor on a stakeout.

he sits down, and suddenly your hands are on his shoulders like “you rang?” “i didn’t.” “but you thought it.”

he's always giving you the most deadpan “i’m tolerating this” expression as you twist him up like a pretzel and drop him on your knee like WWE.

meanwhile, his spine is out here singing the hallelujah chorus.

one time you adjusted his shoulder mid-conversation and he flinched so hard he almost roundhouse kicked you by accident.

“warn me next time, chiropractor gremlin.”

but lowkey? starts calling you “doc” under his breath. even sends you anatomy memes.

his love language is letting you fix him, but pretending he’s not enjoying it.

itoshi rin

acts like he doesn’t need you.

“i stretch. i don’t slouch. i’m fine.”

oh? then why did you hear his spine scream when he picked up a dropped sock.

rin freezes when you approach. like a cat being stalked.

“i’m not doing this right now.”

“your pelvis says otherwise.”

he finally lets you do it. and when his back cracks so loud it echoes through the apartment, he lets out this shameful little whimper.

and you catch him… smiling?

“did you just smile?”

“no. that was pain. deep pain.”

now you keep finding him in suspicious poses. like doing yoga near doorways. twisting his neck near you on purpose.

“need help?”

“… no.” (yes.)

he tries to resist, but his spine is in shambles and your chiropractic powers are like a siren song.

next thing you know, he's asking you to come over. “bring your little elbow move or whatever.”

barou shoei

"i don't need your weird crack therapy. i'm built like a god."

okay hercules. but your shoulder literally snapped when you opened a jar of peanut butter.

he tries to tough it out, but the noises his back makes sound like a car wreck in slow motion.

finally caves when you threaten to record him walking around like a malfunctioning robot.

he lies down and braces for death.

the first crack sends him to heaven and back. the second one? full body exorcism.

“i feel… reborn.”

“you’re welcome, broken toy.”

you’d think that’s the end, right? nope.

next morning he’s like “so when’s my next session” like it’s a scheduled business transaction.

turns into your #1 hater if you offer to crack someone else. “i’m your only client. don’t touch anyone else’s bones.”

insanely possessive about it.

one time you adjusted bachira and barou refused to speak to you for 24 hours. spine jealousy is real.

isagi yoichi

the first time you cracked his neck, he thought he was dying.

“OH MY GOSH, was that my soul???”

you had to calm him down like a panicked toddler. “yoichi, you’re fine.” “i saw my grandma.”

BUT THEN… the pain was gone. and the look he gave you was pure worship.

“what else can you crack?”

now this boy pulls out a list. like a shopping list. “right shoulder, left ankle, spine quadrant 3…”

always makes you do it right before a game for “luck.”

once had you crack his fingers and then blew a kiss to the sky like a k-drama character.

you caught him trying to adjust his own back by hanging upside down from the couch.

“yoichi, no–”

“yoichi, YES.”

0 self-preservation. 10/10 chiropractic enthusiasm. 100/10 in love with you and your magical bone-snapping hands.

nagi seishiro

he didn’t even ask. you just bent him over and heard the spine snap.

“sei.”

“yeah?”

“you’re gonna die before 25.”

he shrugs. which makes it worse. his shoulder popped. again.

the first time you cracked his back, he fell asleep mid-session.

“bro, you are SO lucky i’m licensed in fake chiropractor energy.”

now it’s a routine. he lies down, you sit on him like a couch, crack his entire skeleton, and then tuck him into bed like a 6'4 baby.

never complains. in fact, he starts calling it his “daily maintenance.”

“hey babe, oil me up and break me in like ikea furniture.”

refuses to stretch himself. “that’s what i have you for.”

gets so spoiled he doesn’t even get up anymore. just lifts a hand and goes, “crack, please.”

accidentally calls you “chiro-bae” and now you refuse to let it go.

kaiser michael

“ugh. my neck hurts.”

he says it like a prince awaiting servants. not knowing you just heard the bat signal.

you turn around in full chiropractor mode.

he flinches. “no. you’re doing the eyes again.”

“you complained. that’s a cry for help.”

“it’s not! i was being sexy about it!”

too late. he’s already lying flat on the bed like a human pretzel while you prep your hands like you're about to summon a demon.

“this won’t kill me, right?” CRACK. michael.exe has stopped responding.

he genuinely short-circuits. lays there, blinking. lips parted. hair a mess.

“… holy shit i think i saw jesus in a ferrari.”

immediately becomes obsessed. starts calling you “mein kleiner bonebreaker.”

now he fakes injuries during arguments.

“you’re mad at me? fine. crack me. punish me with alignment.”

sir, this is a medical service.

jealous when you offer to crack anyone else. he literally pouts. “you can’t go around giving your healing hands to the peasants.”

shidou ryusei

oh he loves this. too much.

“ryu, your posture’s awful.”

“wanna bend me? ;)”

he lies down too fast. no hesitation. he’s already shirtless and probably screaming “HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT.”

you try adjusting his back once and he moans.

“ryusei, WHAT–”

“sorry! reflex! wanna do it again? louder this time?”

you’re 90% sure he’s weaponizing the chiropractor roleplay.

starts calling you “my little spinal sorceress.”

at some point you have to start locking your door because he’ll barge in at 2 AM like “my kneecap popped funny. quick, do the thing!”

starts cracking your joints and insists it’s foreplay. you nearly deck him.

100% would fake an injury in the middle of a date just to get adjusted in public.

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joemama-2 · 6 months ago

Text

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.4k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: eek series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

i mean, im not that surprised he’s sexy as hell

that’s actually crazy

imagine hiding your son for five years 😶😶 how can you be ashamed of that

doesn’t he literally have a girlfriend?? himari nakamura??

↳ yep for almost two years now

↳ wonder how she’s holding up i’d be pissed, unless she knew

rich people are always shady as fuck

You don’t even know how many comments you’ve read. Staying up practically the entire night, busying yourself with the endless scrolling of people who have not a single clue of how your life actually is. Meddling in your business and acting like the shit they’re spouting on the internet is okay.

They ranged from positive (sort of) to extremely personal and negative.

i bet she just did it for the child support

i wonder if he’s actually the dad, women like that lie and lie just cuz the dad is rich as fuck

i feel so bad for that boy

Bad? Why would they feel bad for him? You’ve given everything you can and then some to ensure Koji’s safety and innocence. You’ve never put him in harm’s way, difficult situations, hit him, nothing. Of course you’ve raised your voice, but every parent does. Why are these reasons suddenly acting like they know a fucking thing or two? This is insane.

The only positive ones you see are praising your son for how cute he is, how much he looks like Satoru, and how he’ll probably get everything he wants. That’s not true, you’re not going to spoil your kid and you’re sure as hell not letting Satoru do it either; he’s humble, that’s how you want him to be. Still, you do feel uneasy at strangers on the internet for talking about your baby like this, in reference to a photo none of you knew was taken.

And you still don’t know who took it.

That’s what infuriates you the most. Because who in their right mind would do that? Who thinks they’re that fucking entitled to chime in on your personal business—your family.

When you find them, you swear on everything you’re punching them.

Your head hangs low, the hood of your sweatshirt pulled tight, shielding your face as you step into the café. You keep your gaze down, avoiding the eyes of the baristas and patrons scattered around. The familiar hum of the espresso machine feels deafening today.

Maybe no one will notice. Maybe no one cares.

But you know better.

That damn image, plastered across every TV screen and newsfeed yesterday, is still burned into your mind. Why do people even care this much? You’re beyond pissed off. Who in their right mind thinks they have the right to invade your personal life like that? To turn your family into fodder for the public?

Maybe no one will say anything. Who even watched the news anyway?

More people than you think, actually. You keep moving, but Hana has other plans.

“Y/N!” Her voice cuts through the noise like a whip, and before you can react, she grabs your forearm, dragging you into the storage room in the back.

“Hey, what the—” you start to protest, wincing as her grip tightens, but she doesn’t care. She whirls around to face you, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief.

“What the hell is going on?!” she demands, gesturing wildly with her hands. “You were on the news yesterday!”

Your stomach churns at the reminder, and your jaw clenches tightly. You pull your hood down, resigning yourself to the conversation you were hoping to avoid. “I know that already,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest.

“Koji’s father is multi-billionaire Satoru Gojo?!” Her voice rises in pitch, and she looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “Is that for real? You’ve been hiding this?!”

You take a deep breath, counting to three in your head. “Yes, Hana. It’s real. Koji’s father is Satoru Gojo. Can we not do this right now?”

But Hana doesn’t back down, her wide eyes searching your face for answers. “Are you kidding me? Of course we’re doing this right now! You’ve been sitting on this—” she throws her hands up, “—while the rest of us thought you were just, like, a regular single mom? What the hell, Y/N?”

“Because it’s none of anyone’s business!” you hiss, your voice rising then lowering, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “Do you think I wanted this to come out? Do you think I wanted his world to invade mine?”

Hana softens slightly, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Okay, fair. But you should’ve told me, at least. I mean, I’m your friend.”

“I didn’t tell anyone for a reason and I don’t owe anyone anything,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. “And now it’s everywhere. Do you know how terrifying that is? For me? For Koji?”

Hana sighs, leaning back against the wall. “Okay, okay. I get it. This whole thing’s a mess. But what are you going to do now? I mean, the story’s out. People are gonna talk, Y/N. A lot. Especially if it involves a man like him.”

You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling heavily on your shoulders. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly, your voice trembling. “I just want to protect my son.”

Hana nods, her expression softening further. “We’ll figure it out. But you’re gonna need a plan. And.”

“Hana, I—“ you’re really trying not to snap at her, really. But she’s pushing every button you have right now and your patience is running extremely low. Don’t snap, she’s just worried. “I know what to do, thank you. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t meddle in my business too. We’re friends, yes, but understand right now that I’m going through a lot of shit and don’t need to be told what to do and when to do it. So get off my back.”

Hana blinks, a little caught off guard by your sudden announcement. Her mouth slightly agape, clearly not having expected your outburst. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, her expression shifting between hurt and something close to understanding. She straightens, her arms falling from where they’d been crossed over her chest. “Y/N, I wasn’t trying to—” she begins, her voice softer now, but you cut her off.

“I know,” you say, your voice quieter but still firm. “I know you’re trying to help, Hana. And I’m grateful, I am. But right now, I need to handle this on my own. I need space. Can you give me that?”

She nods slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Okay,” she says after a moment. “I get it. I’ll back off. Just—if you need anything, anything at all, I’m here. You know that, right?”

You exhale, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. “Yeah. I know.”

Hana offers you a small, tentative smile before stepping aside, giving you the room you so desperately need. As she moves to leave, she hesitates at the curtains, glancing back at you. “For what it’s worth, Y/N…I think you’re handling this a lot better than you think you are.”

You don’t respond, just nod in acknowledgment, and she disappears back into the front of the café. Alone in the small back room, you lean against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment to gather your thoughts.

Better than I think, huh? You shake your head, rubbing at your temples. It doesn’t feel that way.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said this probably won’t be that bad; not a big deal. But hell, it was huge. You hate unnecessary attention, especially attention from hundreds, if not thousands of random strangers. You’re recalling the incident from earlier when you dropped Koji off at school. Mr. Ito stopping you once more and confessing his surprise to you. In his words, “I didn’t know Koji had such an…esteemed father.”

You held back a slew of insults, keeping it classy, as always. But as the days go on and the more shit that seems to be happening to you, you’re getting this close to breaking that. It’s the way he, everyone else, and even Hana seems so…shocked. The lingering glances from other parents at drop-off, the whispers in the hallways. It’s the way their surprise feels so…palpable. You get it, in a way. Satoru Gojo is larger than life—powerful, wealthy, and untouchable in a way most people only dream of. But still, the shock in their eyes stings more than it should. Did they think you weren’t of caliber to bag a man like Satoru? Did they think a man like that wouldn’t even dream of having a child with a woman like you? It feels a tad bit insulting. Actually, scratch that—it feels like a slap in the face.

The implications gnaw at you, poking at insecurities you’d rather not acknowledge. This is exactly why you hate social media. You’re already growing too conscious of the comments people are making—caring too much and it was just revealed. And the worst part? You can’t even fully blame them. Satoru’s world is one you’ve never truly belonged to. You’re not the glossy, magazine-cover type, and you don’t have the pedigree or connections his circle would expect. But that doesn’t mean you’re less than, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean Koji is any less precious because of it.

You sigh, rubbing at your temples. If only these people could see you for who you truly are—if they could see the strength it takes to raise a child on your own, to hold your head high even when the world tries to tear you down. But no, all they see is the scandal and the drama, their curiosity morphing into judgment. Sure, you made mistakes—big and bad ones. But you’re doing all this in order to make up for those mistakes. And sure, Satoru doesn’t 100% forgive you—you’re not sure he ever will—but you don’t think he would agree with these kinds of comments being made. Right?

You huff. Let them talk, you think bitterly, though the tightness in your chest betrays the confidence you’re trying to muster. Let them all talk, they know nothing.

The minutes feel like hours. Unsure of how long you’ve exactly been here. Equally nervous about looking at your phone to check.

“Oh my god, look. It’s her.”

“Shhh! She’ll hear you.”

“I wonder if she’ll give us pointers.”

“You’re insane.”

The conversation doesn’t fly over your head. t’s like they want you to hear, voices loud enough to penetrate the usual clatter of the café. You swear, they’re practically aiming their words right at you. Your grip tightens around the rag in your hand, knuckles going white as you scrub the already spotless table. The motion is a little too aggressive, the poor table bearing the brunt of your simmering frustration. Your jaw clenches, brows knitting together as you try—desperately—to keep your temper in check. Jaw clenching and brows knitting together, you’re counting down to ten and back.

One…two…three… you recite in your head, attempting to steady your breath. It’s an old habit—one you learned a while back from you’re therapist, one you’ve relied on in situations like this, but today it feels like it’s barely working. Four��five…six.

You glance up, just for a second, and immediately regret it. The group of girls sits near the window, leaning into each other as they giggle, their eyes darting your way. They’re not even trying to hide it anymore. One of them, a blonde with an annoyingly perfect smile, nudges her friend and whispers something, sending the others into another fit of laughter. Your fingers flex around the rag, itching to throw it across the room. Breathe, you remind yourself. Just breathe. They’re not worth it. But it’s hard to ignore the knot tightening in your chest, the sting of humiliation creeping in despite your best efforts. Because you know exactly what they’re laughing about, what they’re whispering about. It’s not just idle curiosity—it’s judgment, plain and simple. And maybe, just maybe, if this were any other day, you’d let it roll off your back. But today? After everything that’s happened? After seeing your son’s face plastered on screens and hearing people dissect your life like it’s a soap opera? You toss the rag onto the table, standing up straighter as you look their way. They immediately quiet down, eyes widening like they’ve been caught red-handed.

“Can I help you?” you ask, voice calm but carrying just enough edge to make them squirm.

The blonde fidgets, her confidence faltering under your gaze. “Oh, um, no, we were just…”

“Enjoying your coffee?” you finish for her, forcing a tight smile. “Good. Let me know if you need anything else.” Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk behind the counter, the satisfaction of their stunned silence doing little to ease the weight in your chest. Nine…ten… You exhale slowly, trying to let it go, but the anger simmers just beneath the surface.

It’s going to be a long day.

—-

The walk back home with Koji feels like you never want to use your senses again. It feels like a marathon you never signed up for, every step heavier than the last. The pounding in your head has escalated into a full-blown migraine, the sharp pain clawing at the edges of your skull. You clench your teeth, trying to hold it together, willing the tears pricking at your eyes to stay put. Koji chatters beside you, his small hand in yours, his voice a muffled hum against the overwhelming throb in your head.

So much has changed within just the span of a week and none of it feels good. You like change, but not like this. Not the kind of change that’s so spontaneous and out of nowhere that it makes you dread the littlest things. The kind of change where you feel like every way you turn, it’s a dead end. Every thought spiraling into another reminder of how much you’ve lost control, or of how much you never had it to begin with. The kind of change that you never fucking asked for in the first place. The kind of change where you feel like a ticking timebomb. A simple walk home feels like an obstacle course. The sound of Koji’s innocent laughter, once a balm to your soul, now feels like a weight pressing down on you, a reminder of how fragile your balance is.

This change doesn’t come with warnings or instructions. It doesn’t let you adjust, and doesn’t give you the chance to prepare. It just dumps its baggage on your doorstep and forces you to deal with it, whether you’re ready or not. And right now, you’re not.

The last thing you want to do is blow up on someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially your son. You glance down at him, his bright eyes scanning the world around him with that endless curiosity only a child can have. His tiny fingers grip yours with a trust that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand the storm brewing inside you. And he shouldn’t have to.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Koji’s voice is soft, his head tilted as he looks up at you with concern.

You force a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” you manage, squeezing his hand gently. “Just tired.” He nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and resumes his animated recount of the day’s events. You let him talk, his voice a small distraction from the noise in your head. One step at a time, you tell yourself. One breath at a time. For him, if not for yourself.

You wonder to yourself how many more times you can continue repeating that phrase to yourself, like a broken record spinning endlessly in your mind. Shouldn’t you be allowed to do some things on your own? Something that isn’t tied to the constant grind of making sure Koji has everything he needs, of shielding him from a world that feels more hostile every day? Everything you do is for him—every decision, every sacrifice, every moment of biting your tongue when you want to scream. It’s all for him.

But what about you?

The thought is bitter, curling in your chest like smoke. It feels selfish even to entertain it, but the exhaustion is suffocating. How long has it been since you’ve done something just because you wanted to? Since you’ve allowed yourself the luxury of thinking about what you need, instead of what everyone else expects of you? Is it selfish? Is this not how a good mother thinks?

The doubt gnaws at you, persistent and sharp.

Not like you’d know the answer to that question. Your mother—a woman you rarely ever want to think about—never gave you the guidance for situations like this. You have no inspiration, nothing. You’re doing everything free-handed. She didn’t leave you with blueprints for moments like these, no voice in your head to tell you what’s right, what’s wrong, or even what’s okay. She was a void, an absence, and that absence shaped you more than you’d like to admit.

And now here you are, trying to be everything for your son that she wasn’t for you. But it feels like you’re fumbling in the dark, building something fragile with trembling hands. There’s no instruction manual for this, no map to follow. You’re doing everything on the first try, improvising as you go. Every decision feels like a gamble. Did you do enough today? Did you do too much? Did you make the right call, or are you setting him up for something you can’t even see coming? The uncertainty is exhausting.

You glance at Koji, his small hand still tucked safely in yours, his voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts. He’s so blissfully unaware of the turmoil raging inside you, and that’s how it should be. He deserves that innocence, that security. But the weight of always being the strong one, the reliable one, is starting to crush you. How much longer can I keep this up? The question whispers in your mind, and you hate it. You hate that you’re even asking it, hate that it makes you feel weak. But the truth is, you’re tired.

And you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that you’re not.

You focus on Koji again, his small frame silhouetted against the afternoon light of the day. He trusts you implicitly, and looks at you like you’re the answer to everything. And the weight of that trust makes you want to cry and scream in equal measure. How can I possibly live up to that?

They never said motherhood was easy. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. Maybe this is what being a mother really is—second-guessing everything, carrying the weight of your own past, and still showing up every day, trying your best.

You don’t know if that’s enough. But it’s all you have.

It seems like you’re in for a surprise every second of the day.

Satoru, much to your own dismay and confusion, is perched against your apartment door; waiting for you again. Like a magnet, Koji runs into his lower half, hugging his father with all the strength his five-year-old body will allow.

“Hey, little man. I’m happy to see you.” Satoru smiles wholeheartedly, patting Koji’s back with gentle ease.

“Hi, Papa! I missed you.” His voice is muffled by Satoru’s clothing.

The older man laughs, relishing in the moment for another second, before opening his light azures. His eyes look like they’re darting all around you, as if making sure you’re okay. Standing up, he shuffles his hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you mutter, walking up closer. Arms crossing.

He nods. “I know, I–I should’ve told you. But this was urgent and I knew you were busy at work.”

A hum is all you offer, unlocking your apartment door and stepping in. The semi-warmth envelops you like a worn blanket. Finally, in the comfort of my own home. Even if it is just for a little bit before you’re off again.

“Call off his babysitter.”

You look back, watching him close your door and lock it. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m here.”

Koji runs off to his room, presumably to play with his toy collection. Leaving the two adults alone. Biting your lip, attempting to come up with something to say—or what to say first. Luckily, he beats you to it. “I want you two to spend the night at mine, don’t go to work. I’ll pay you whatever you miss out on. I know you saw the leak and I’m working on figuring out who the hell did it. But until then, I’m a little concerned for your guys’ safety, so stay at mine until we figure things out long-term.”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the resolute earnestness in his voice. The Satoru you know isn’t usually this serious, this concerned. It’s disarming—attractive, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “This is my home, Satoru,” you finally say, your voice quiet but firm. “I can’t just up and leave because of a leak. And I can’t run every time something like this happens. That’s not a long-term solution either.”

“I get that,” he says, stepping closer. “But this isn’t just about you. It’s about Koji. Someone took that photo, and I don’t know who, or how, or what their intentions are. Until I do, I can’t take chances.”

“And I get that, but I can’t just—sleep at your place.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s just…weird.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” he exhales out. “You think something’ll happen? It won’t. I'm doing this for Koji and you because I care. Not because reviving something that’s long-ended is my priority.”

“It’s not about that,” you snap, your voice rising before you catch yourself. You close your eyes for a second, exhaling sharply, trying to rein in your frustration. “It’s just... complicated, Satoru. You showing up like this, offering to fix things with money, with solutions I didn’t ask for, for problems I never wanted—it’s overwhelming.”

He takes another step closer, his presence filling the small entryway. “You think I don’t understand that?” His voice softens but carries an edge of urgency. “Y/N, I’m not trying to make this harder for you. I know this is all... messy. But I can’t sit around and pretend I’m okay with you and Koji being here while someone out there is bold enough to invade your privacy like that. I’m trying to protect you. You can’t keep pushing me away like this, you said you wanted to make things better.”

“I know, but—”

“Then stop it. Stop arguing, complaining, whatever. You’re not going to keep me out of Koji’s life any longer, or yours. They already posted another damn picture of you today at work.”

What? You blink your eyes, widening them. You don’t even want to see the photo evidence, gulping down the weird lump that forms in your throat. What the fuck is going on with my life right now? You hesitate, biting your lip. His words chip away at your defenses, but the walls you’ve built don’t crumble that easily. “And what happens if we go to your place? What’s next? You swoop in, play hero, and then leave us when this blows over?”

His jaw tightens, the faint hurt flashing in his eyes almost imperceptible. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Isn’t it?” you counter, arms crossing tightly over your chest, a weak attempt to shield yourself from the weight of the conversation. “That’s what you always do, Satoru. You show up when it’s convenient for you, and when it’s not, you disappear.”

The words hang heavy in the air, stinging both of you. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m not leaving you this time,” he says quietly, lifting his eyes back to yours. “Not until I know you two are safe. I’m not running, Y/N. Not from this. But you have to stop trying to keep me at arm's length, I’m trying my best to help.” His eyes lock onto yours, pleading yet determined. You hate how convincing he can be when he’s like this. How he makes you question your own resolve. “Please,” he adds, his voice dropping. “Just for a little while.”

The conviction in his voice is startling, and it makes something inside you waver. You’re tired, too tired to keep arguing, too tired to keep carrying everything on your shoulders. It’s true, you’re feeling yourself pushback on him. He deserves this—time with Koji, protecting him, and more. It’s just so hard breaking from the fragile bubble you built for your son and you. Satoru’s presence is like a sharp knife, waiting to just poke through it with ease, to get to his family.“Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “But just for tonight. Koji and I will come to your place for tonight.”

Relief washes over his features, but he doesn’t smile. He nods, stepping back to give you space. “That’s all I’m asking.”

As you turn away to gather what you need for the night, you catch a glimpse of Koji peeking out from his room, his eyes wide with curiosity. You put on a smile for his sake, but deep down, you can’t shake the unease settling in your chest. This isn’t just about staying at Satoru’s place. It’s about what this means—what it could mean—and the part of you that still isn’t sure you’re ready to face it.

The inside of Satoru’s Mercedes is spacious, but asphyxiating. Koji in his car seat in the back, watching something on his tablet. This is the first time you’ve been in the car with Satoru since way long ago. It’s nostalgia, but sickening at the same time. You remember how he would place his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. Or how he likes to rest his hand on the gearstick, or his elbow on the middle console.

Your skin prickles with goosebumps when he brushes against your arm as he reaches for the temperature controls, adjusting the heat. It’s a small, thoughtless gesture, but it sends an involuntary jolt through you. You glance out the window, pretending to admire the blurred city lights instead of acknowledging the memories flooding back. The hum of the car engine fills the silence, an uncomfortable contrast to the weight of everything left unsaid. Koji giggles at something on his tablet in the backseat, his innocence a stark reminder of why you’re here and why you can’t let your emotions take over.

“You okay?” Satoru’s voice breaks the quiet, calm yet cautious.

“Fine,” you reply quickly, too quickly. You keep your eyes glued to the window, your arms crossed as if to shield yourself from the proximity.

He stops at a red light, leaning back in his sight. He’s a pro at side-eyeing you as you’re faced away. Seeing the way your hands ball into small fists. Nervous. Your foot is tapping on the floor. Thinking. And if he looks closer at your chest, he’ll notice how it’s rising up and down a little more quickly than normal.

Oh.

He clears his throat, looking forward as the light turns green. Focus on driving, focus on driving. He doesn’t push, but you can feel his gaze flickering toward you now and then, like he’s reading every shift in your posture, every flicker of hesitation. It’s infuriating how well he knows you, even now. You glance at Koji briefly before turning your gaze back to the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks as the car moves. The nostalgia you felt earlier morphs into a bitter taste in your mouth. You hate how easily Satoru slips into the role of a doting father, as if the years of his absence never happened.

You need to get a better hold of your jealousy.

“You’re quiet,” Satoru says, breaking the silence.

“Just tired,” you reply curtly, not bothering to look at him.

He hums, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “Long day, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “You could say that.”

His gaze flicks to you briefly before returning to the road. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. But I’m glad you’re coming with me. It’s the right thing to do.”

You let out a dry laugh, finally turning to face him. “The right thing to do? Since when have you ever cared about the right thing, Satoru?”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then he exhales deeply, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “I care now. Now that you’ve granted me that option,” he says quietly.

You want to scoff, to throw his words back at him, but there’s something in his tone that makes you pause. Something raw, unguarded. The way he gets out those snark remarks angers you, but only further solidifies the weight of your actions, and the fact that things will never be the same.

The rest of the drive is spent in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts. When the car finally pulls into the underground garage of his penthouse building, Koji’s excitement is palpable.

“Wow! This place is huge!” Koji exclaims, his eyes wide as he looks around.

Satoru chuckles, stepping out of the car and opening the back door to unbuckle Koji. “Wait till you see the view, buddy.”

You follow them, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. As you step into the elevator, you can’t help but feel like you’re being pulled back into a world you thought you’d left behind—one of complications and heartbreak. Satoru presses the button for his floor, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just for one night.”

You don’t respond, staring straight ahead as the elevator begins its ascent. But deep down, you know it’s never just one night with Satoru.

“No running.”

“Sorry, Mama.”

You place Koji and your bags on one of the chairs in the kitchen, watching your son rush to his father’s living room. Satoru follows him, hands on his hips. “Hey buddy, bought some toys for you. Do you want to play with them? You like Spiderman, right?”

If possible, Koji’s eyes light up even more with excitement. Gasping and squealing, nodding his head furiously. “I love Spiderman! Mama threw me a Spiderman birthday last time.”

Satoru hums. “Wish I coulda seen that.”

You freeze at Satoru's words, your hand halfway to unpacking one of Koji’s bags. His tone is light, almost wistful, but it feels like a loaded statement—one that stings more than you’d like to admit. You glance over at him and Koji, your son practically bouncing on his toes as Satoru kneels to pull out a neatly wrapped box from a hidden cabinet. “Here you go,” Satoru says, handing it to Koji. “I think you’ll like what’s inside.”

Koji tears into the wrapping with glee, revealing a Spiderman action figure set. He gasps, clutching the box to his chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you, Papa! This is so cool!”

Your heart twists at how easily Koji has taken to calling him that. It’s like Satoru’s sudden presence is a gift he didn’t realize he’d been missing. And yet, for you, it’s a reminder of the years of absence—of the birthdays and milestones Satoru missed. “Please, don’t spoil him too much,” you mutter, finally unpacking Koji’s things and setting them on the counter.

Satoru looks over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s wrong with a little spoiling? He deserves it.”

You exhale sharply, not bothering to mask your irritation. “What he deserves is consistency.”

His smirk falters, standing back up to his full height and coming over to you. Keeping his voice level calm, in case Koji decides to listen in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head.

Satoru narrows his eyes slightly, his expression unreadable as he watches you busy yourself with Koji’s things. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You let out a humorless laugh, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Don’t read into it.”

His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t push further—not yet. Instead, he leans against the counter, folding his arms as he observes you. “Y/N, you can’t be the angry one in this situation. I thought you understood that.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m just—” you let out a big breath, looking up at him once more. “I’m tired. Forgive me if I’m not overly happy right now.

Satoru’s gaze softens, his posture relaxing slightly, though the tension in the room lingers like a heavy fog. “I’m not trying to add onto that, I’m just trying to be here for my son.”

I know that. I don’t know why I’m snapping. All you can offer is a nod, reaching into your bag, and grabbing a change of clothes. “I…I’m gonna go shower, watch him please.”

Satoru nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before shifting to the living room where Koji is engrossed in his toys. “Of course. Take your time.”

You offer a small, tight-lipped smile before retreating down the hall, clutching the clothes in your hands like a lifeline. Once you’re inside the bathroom, the door clicks shut behind you, and the weight of everything crashes down. Leaning against the counter, you grip the edge tightly, your knuckles turning white as you take slow, measured breaths. The mirror reflects a version of yourself you hardly recognize—tired, frazzled, and barely holding it together. The faint hum of Koji’s laughter echoes down the hall, grounding you for a moment. At least he’s happy. That’s what matters.

The shower is a welcome escape. The hot water cascades over your skin, washing away the grime of the day and the lingering tension from your conversation with Satoru. You let your head fall forward, droplets sliding down your face, mingling with the tears you didn’t realize had started to fall. You didn’t mean to snap at him. He’s trying, you know that. But the past doesn’t let go so easily, and the overwhelming mix of emotions—anger, fear, hope—leaves you feeling unsteady. And you feel angry at yourself for letting your emotions slip through, getting the best of you. You’re surprised Satoru hasn’t been more outwardly rude to you, short, or even snappy. It seems like he’s taking this all better than you are, and once again, that bitter jealousy of yours is shining through. How he can just handle things so smoothly—at least that’s what it seems like. But he’s used to all this: the spotlight, public eye, attention. You just wish things could’ve been handled…differently.

Everything feels like a domino effect, starting all with that dreaded day at the grocery store. How so much has changed.

By the time you step out, you feel a fraction lighter, though the knot in your chest remains. You towel off, change into your clean clothes, and take a moment to steel yourself before heading back into the fray.

When you return to the living room, you find Satoru sitting cross-legged on the floor with Koji, holding up a miniature Spiderman figure. Koji is giggling, animatedly explaining an intricate story about how Spiderman saves the day. Satoru glances up as you walk in, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. We’re just working on a top-secret mission over here. No big deal.”

Koji looks up too, beaming. “Mama! Papa’s playing Spiderman with me! He’s really good at the voices.”

You can’t help the small smile that forms, even as your heart aches a little at the sight. “Sounds like you two are having fun.”

Satoru nods, his expression soft. “We’re a good team.”

You stand there for a moment, watching them, the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders once more. Maybe this is what Koji needs. Maybe this is what you need. But trusting him again…that’s the hardest part.

That night, eating dinner at Satoru’s long dining table, the same one where you faced his parents, it all feels strange, to say the least. The clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates echoes faintly in the vast dining room, filling the silence between the three of you. Koji hums to himself as he picks at his plate, occasionally glancing at his father to tell him some small details about his day or ask about the toys he’d gotten earlier. Satoru engages him with ease, his tone light and playful, but you can see the flickers of something deeper behind his smiles—guilt, maybe, or a desperate need to make up for lost time.

And then there’s you, sitting stiffly at the other end of the table, your appetite wavering as your mind keeps drifting back to the last time you sat here. That memory is sharp and vivid, like an old wound that hasn’t quite healed.

But Koji’s laughter brings you back down to Earth. Looking up from your plate of food to the sight before you. Father and son, son and father, family. They look so alike, you don’t think you can ever get over the blatant resemblance. Satoru’s genes are just very strong. You wish Koji could’ve inherited a few more things from you. You place a hand on your lower stomach, as if a physical touch will make the strange abundance of butterflies flying around in there to go away.

It’s strange, this setup. Domestic in a way you never thought you’d experience with him again. But it’s also…nice.

It feels whole, like this is how things should be. Would’ve been had you not held your tongue for so long. And you’re starting to think to yourself how much you like this sight. How it’s making you feel at home.

But this isn’t your home. However, you think you can pretend for just one night.

“You’re not eating much,” Satoru says, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice is casual, but there’s an undertone of concern.

Your eyes widen at him, realizing you’ve been caught staring and quickly looking back down. “I’m fine,” you say, forcing a small smile. “Just sleepy, I guess.”

“I bet,” he says, and while his tone is conversational, his gaze lingers on you, searching for something beneath your calm facade.

“Yeah,” you reply shortly, stabbing at a piece of vegetable on your plate. You don’t want to talk about your day or your worries or the mounting anxiety sitting heavy in your chest. Not here, not now.

Koji interrupts before Satoru can press further, his voice bright and full of excitement. “Papa, can we watch a movie after dinner? Mama too!”

Satoru grins, lightly pinching his cheekbone. “Of course, buddy. What movie are we watching?”

Koji claps his hands together, listing off a couple of titles before settling on one of his favorites. You manage another smile, this one a little more genuine, as you watch the way Satoru effortlessly makes Koji light up. For a moment, the tension eases, and you let yourself focus on Koji’s joy. Maybe this is enough for now. Maybe that’s all you need to get through the evening.

But as you glance at Satoru across the table, his eyes catching yours for a brief second, you’re reminded of how fragile this truce feels. Of how much history lies between you, threatening to resurface at any moment.

Koji picks Spiderman, of course. You’ve watched this movie at least a hundred times now, maybe more. You can practically recite the lines perfectly. The movie plays on, the familiar dialogue flowing like background noise to your swirling thoughts. You’ve seen this scene so many times—the hero’s triumphant swing through the city, the bad guy’s dramatic monologue, the moments of comic relief Koji always laughs at—but tonight, it feels different. There’s an added layer of tension sitting heavy between you and Satoru.

The living room feels unusually cozy, the dimmed lighting casting a warm glow over the space. Koji wiggles in his spot, clutching a Spiderman plush as he stares at the screen with unblinking eyes, thoroughly engrossed. You, on the other hand, are trying not to let your exhaustion bubble over. Koji sits between you two, Satoru’s arm over his little shoulders. Satoru’s arm rests casually behind Koji, but every so often, as he adjusts his position, his fingers graze your shoulder—a light, fleeting touch that feels far too deliberate to be accidental. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems entirely focused on the movie, his face relaxed, a small smirk tugging at his lips during one of Koji’s excited reactions. So, you ignore it. But you do shift slightly, creating just enough distance to break the contact. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Koji laughs out loud at a particularly funny scene, leaning against Satoru’s side. “That’s so cool, Papa! I wanna do that someday!”

Satoru chuckles, ruffling Koji’s hair. “Maybe we’ll get you a Spiderman costume, and you can be the hero of the city.”

Koji beams at him, his excitement is contagious. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to appreciate this dynamic, the way Satoru fits so naturally into Koji’s world. You hate to admit it, but this is what Koji’s been missing—what you’ve been missing, too, in some small, buried way. Satoru’s hand once again brushes your shoulder during his next adjustment, that buried part of you is quickly overshadowed by the reminder of why this dynamic fell apart in the first place.

Luckily, Koji is already showered and dressed for bed in his matching red set. So as the movie progresses, nearing its end, so does his sleepiness. You along with him. Koji’s head begins to droop as the credits start to roll, his little body leaning further into Satoru’s side. His eyelids flutter with each blink, his earlier excitement now replaced by the slow pull of sleep. Satoru’s about to make a remark, before looking over at you and seeing your body slumped over on the other side.

The scene feels peaceful in a way he hadn’t anticipated—a rare moment of quiet amidst the chaos that’s been your guys’ lives lately. Koji’s soft breathing grows steadier, his small body completely leaning into Satoru’s side now, one hand clutching his Spiderman plush while the other hangs limply at his side. Satoru glances down at his son with a faint smile, brushing Koji’s hair out of his face with a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He looks over to you next, ready your head resting on your hand. Your expression is soft, lips parted slightly as you drift into the kind of sleep that only exhaustion can bring. Satoru looks at the clock; 9:00pm.

For a moment, he just watches you both. Koji, who looks so much like him it’s almost uncanny, and you, the woman who’s somehow always managed to throw him off balance without even trying. He sighs softly, shaking his head at the scene before him. For a split second, he feels a shadow—a ghost from the past appears beside Koji. A baby girl who would’ve been seven by now.The baby girl who never got the chance to grow up. In that fleeting, haunting moment, he imagines her sitting there too, nestled beside her brother, giggling at Spiderman’s antics. He can imagine her features. She would’ve looked so much like you, it’s painful.

His chest tightens, and he has to look away, focusing on a random corner of the room as he fights to steady his breathing. It’s not fair—to her, to Koji, or to you. And yet, here he is, caught in the what-ifs and the might-have-beens, unable to let go of a past that feels like it happened both a lifetime ago and just yesterday. The glimpse is gone as soon as it comes, to which he’s thankful for because he is not crying right now. With a small grunt, he stands up and carefully moves Koji into his arms. Adjusting the boy and making sure he’s not waking up, he walks him over to the spare bedroom.

Satoru moves quietly, his footsteps soft against the floor as he cradles Koji in his arms. The boy’s head rests comfortably on his shoulder, his small body relaxed and completely unaware of the careful handling. The weight of his son in his arms, the warmth of Koji’s tiny form, is a stark reminder of everything he’s been missing. He pushes the door to the spare bedroom open gently, trying not to disturb the silence of the house. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a calm glow across the room. Satoru places Koji carefully on the bed, tucking him in with the same gentle movements he’s always used. He watches for a moment as the boy shifts slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips before settling back into a peaceful sleep.

For a second, Satoru just stands there, hands lingering at Koji’s side as if unsure of when to leave. It’s as if the past week—no, the past years—are catching up to him in this very moment. He never thought he'd be here, standing in a room like this, watching his son sleep under a roof that used to feel so distant. His chest tightens, but he refuses to let himself feel the weight of it. Not yet. Not with Koji so close. With one last look, he slowly pulls away, stepping back into the hallway and quietly closing the door behind him. The house feels colder as he moves through it, but this time, it’s not because of the empty spaces or the lingering tension. It’s because, for the first time in years, he’s truly trying to figure out where he fits in all of this.

And it’s a lot harder than he ever expected.

He walks back to the living room, your body now completely lying on your side. His lips purse as he stands before you, unsure if he should wake you or move you himself. Would that be okay? Is he crossing some boundary of yours if he touches you fully and intentionally?

Satoru stands there for a moment, studying you as you sleep. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your body curls slightly into the pillow, creates a sense of peace in the room, but also a sense of tension in him. The pull to reach out, to make sure you’re comfortable, is strong. But he hesitates, his mind racing with thoughts about boundaries, and the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable, especially when everything already feels so fragile between the two of you. He watches for a few more seconds, the quiet of the room making everything feel so... still. He doesn’t know how he got here, standing in the middle of the room, feeling so torn. Part of him wants to just go ahead and make sure you’re properly tucked in, like he did with Koji. But that other part of him continues to wonderf if that’s overstepping, if his presence, even now, feels intrusive. Satoru exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. Finally, he decides to attempt to recreate his actions for Koji; it’s the least he can do.

He bends his knees slightly, hands reaching out. But just as his fingertips graze your bare arms, you’re jolting up and awake. Head swiveling around, eyes barely open and bleary. “What’s happening? Where’s Koji?”

Satoru freezes, his fingers hovering in the air as your voice cuts through the stillness. His eyes flick to you, wide and disoriented from the abruptness of your awakening. "Y/N?" He murmurs, his voice low and hesitant, almost as if he's unsure whether you’re fully awake. "Koji’s in the other room, he’s asleep."

You sit up, rubbing your eyes, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Your thoughts are jumbled, disoriented from the deep slumber you’d just woken from. “I— I didn’t hear him... when did he go to bed?”

Satoru, still crouched by your bedside, lets out a soft sigh, his expression softening. "I put him down a few minutes ago. He was out before the movie ended." He pauses for a second, watching you carefully, his hand still lingering awkwardly in the air as if unsure whether to touch you or not. "You were really tired, so I thought I'd handle it."

You blink, the fog in your mind barely beginning to clear. Slowly, you nod, still trying to process everything in the haze of your exhaustion. “Thank you.” The words come out quieter than you expect, but there’s something in your voice that surprises both of you.

Satoru’s gaze lingers for a moment, a mix of concern and relief flashing in his eyes. He stands up, backing away from the bed slowly. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he says softly, hands running through his hair as he takes a step toward the door. “But you should go to bed. You can sleep with Koji or um—in my bed if you want.”

You stare at his figure, the weight of the situation still pressing down on you. There’s so much

happening, so much you didn’t expect, and yet… for some reason, having him here, like this, almost feels normal. You rub your temples, trying to stave off the headache forming.

“I’ll sleep out here, of course,” he quickly adds on, realizing the small, but accidental hinting.

You raise an eyebrow at his quick backpedaling, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It's been a long time since you shared any sort of space with him—especially under these circumstances. But the way he’s stumbling over his words, trying so hard to make things comfortable, it makes you wonder if maybe he’s not as composed as he likes to act. “Thanks,” you murmur, rubbing your temples again. The migraine's intensity is growing, and it's all you can do to keep your emotions in check. You hadn’t expected this—any of it. Satoru’s presence here, offering you comfort in his own odd way, only complicates everything more. You never asked for this kind of help, but you can't deny the relief it brings. “I’ll sleep with Koji.”

Satoru’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his expression softening as if he’s weighing his words carefully, trying not to overstep. He knows you’re not the type to ask for help. Hell, you hardly ever accept it when it’s offered. But tonight is different. Tonight is full of a thousand unspoken things. The lingering tension, the awkwardness of it all, and the confusing emotions between you two. It’s all too much, too quickly, and yet you feel the pull of something familiar—a bond you haven’t felt in years. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low. Almost like he’s waiting for you to give him some kind of permission or reassurance, something that lets him know you’re okay. His presence, his concern for Koji, it’s all so overwhelming in its own way.

You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens just having him this close, even if it is just in the same house. “I’ll be fine,” you say, your voice a little softer than you intended. The last thing you want to do is drag him back into your life fully. But he’s already here, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you're too tired to argue. "You don’t have to stay out here." The words hang in the air for a beat.

You take this moment to rise from the couch, wiping your eyes once more. “Where is he?”

“Spare room,” he points.

You nod, more to yourself than to him, and retreat to the spare room. The migraine pounds in the background of your mind. Mind still riddled with sleep, you accidentally bump your shoulder into the wall, footsteps faltering. He moves faster than you anticipated—expected, his hands finally making contact with your upper arms; stablizing you. His touch itself feels reminiscent.

His grip on your arms is steady, firm—just like it used to be. You catch your breath for a moment, not expecting the familiarity of his touch to feel so grounding. For a split second, you’re taken back to moments from the past, the memories of simpler days when his touch brought comfort instead of tension. You want to pull away, to remind yourself that things aren’t the same anymore. But you’re too tired, too worn out, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into the stability he’s offering without question.

"Careful," Satoru’s voice is quiet, but there's a soft edge to it, like he’s genuinely concerned. His hands stay on your arms, not pulling away immediately, as if waiting for you to give him a signal that you’re okay.

You blink, the haze of sleep making everything feel just a little more surreal. "I’m fine," you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, but it lacks conviction. Your body feels heavier than it should, and your mind seems to be swimming in fog.

He doesn’t let go right away. Instead, his fingers give a slight squeeze, a small, unspoken reassurance. "You sure? You look like you’re about to fall over."

"I’m just... tired," you say, the words slipping from your lips before you even realize. You wince internally, but it’s too late to take them back now. There’s no point.

Satoru nods, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the hallway, but the way his eyes linger on you makes something in your chest tighten. It’s like he’s still trying to figure you out, still trying to read you after all these years. He always was good at that. Without saying much more, he gently guides you to the door of the spare room, a hand hovering above the small of your back; his touch still light but firm. He’s not pushing you, just there, a quiet presence in the storm. "Get some rest. I’ll be nearby, just in case."

You nod, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and frustration well up inside you. "Thanks," you murmur, finally able to pull away from his grip and step into the room.

Before you close the door, you glance over at him, standing there in the hallway, his figure outlined by the soft glow from the living room. "Good night," you add, your voice a little softer than you meant it to be.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that you can’t quite place. After a beat, he says quietly, "Good night, Y/N."

And then, with one last look, he walks away, leaving you alone in the quiet darkness of the room. The door clicks softly behind you, and for the first time in days, you feel a small sense of peace—fragile, uncertain, but there all the same.

Satoru has taken the liberty of getting Koji dressed and ready for school. Shushing his son with quiet murmurs so you won’t wake up. He’s a little surprised, but you must be that tired. Satoru usually wakes up earlier than most, having went to go check on you two, but getting shocked to see his son using the bathroom instead and saying something about how “Mama’s still sleeping, I have school.”

He’s a smart kid—a very smart kid. He guided Satoru the entire ride, remembering the name of his school and which streets to use. You raised him well. He parks his car in the lot, it stands out like a sore thumb among the civics, corollas, and trucks.

Carrying Koji in his arms towards the boys classroom. “Excited, buddy?”

“Mhm!”

Satoru smiles and kisses his cheek. “I’ll pick you up, okay?”

“Okay, Papa. Thank you.” Koji gratefully responds.

“No need to thank me, Koji. It’s my job.”

Satoru can feel the lingering stares and hushed whispers as he walks down the hallway to his son’s class. Ignoring it like a pro and focusing on one thing and one thing only. As they approach his room, Mr. Ito is standing outside like usual. As soon as the man sees the two, his eyes visibly widen before playing it off with a cough of his throat. “Good morning, Koji. Gojo.”

Satoru remembers the guy as the one from the cafe. That one. He nods in understanding, setting Koji down and crouching with him. “Have a fun day, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Papa.” Koji kisses his cheek and rushes inside happily.

"Morning," Satoru replies coolly, standing tall as he watches Koji run off to join his classmates. "I trust Koji’s been good?"

"Of course, of course," Mr. Ito replies quickly, his smile tight, the words coming out a little too fast. "He’s been a delight to have here. Very bright."

Satoru nods, but his eyes never leave Mr. Ito’s. "Glad to hear it."

There’s an awkward silence that stretches between them, but Satoru isn’t in the mood for small talk. He could read the teacher’s discomfort, and he’s not about to play into it. After all, it’s not like they’re friends, or even acquaintances. Mr. Ito shifts on his feet, and Satoru can tell he’s trying to think of something to say, something that will smooth over whatever awkwardness hangs in the air. “So, where’s Ms. Y/N today?”

Satoru’s brows tick, arms crossing. “At home.”

Mr. Ito nods, clearly trying to gauge whether there’s more to the story, but Satoru doesn’t give him any openings. He’s not in the mood to entertain questions about you, not now, not here, especially not from someone like him. "Ah, I see," Mr. Ito mumbles, his voice trailing off as he shuffles his feet again. "I just thought... well, with everything that’s been going on, I expected to see her here, too."

Satoru’s eyes narrow, though his expression remains calm, just a hint of warning in his tone. "She’s handling things on her own. We’re both doing fine. You don’t need to worry about it. You have a class full of children to teach."

The other man hides his displeasure behind a stiff nod. “Right, right. Just wondering, that’s all.”

“Don’t have to, she already has a man for that.”

Satoru wonders why he’s being do damn weird right now. Possesive almost. You two aren’t together, but the way this guy is asking about you, it’s slightly setting him off. Who does he think he is worrying about you?

Mr. Ito falters, his smile fading as Satoru’s words hang heavy in the air. "Right, of course," he mumbles, clearly taken aback. He shifts on his feet, his eyes darting to the ground before locking back onto Satoru. "Just asking, I mean… it's just a lot going on, you know?"

Satoru’s gaze hardens, the protective instinct that rises within him catching him off guard. He takes a slight step closer to Mr. Ito, his tone deliberately neutral but carrying an edge. "You don’t need to worry about her. She’s got it covered."

There’s a flicker of something in Mr. Ito’s eyes—something that hints he’s about to say something else, but he swallows it down, nodding stiffly instead. "Yeah, of course." He quickly looks away, clearing his throat. "Well, I guess I’ll… I’ll get back to the class."

Satoru stands still for a moment, his posture rigid, a sharp edge in his expression as he watches Mr. Ito retreat. He doesn't know why it bothered him so much. The guy wasn’t even doing anything wrong, not really. But the way he was asking about you—like he had any right to—made something inside Satoru twist uncomfortably. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this man didn’t belong in your world, that he had no place prying into your life.

Satoru finally exhales, shaking his head. Whatever. It was just a teacher.

With one last glance at the classroom door, he turns and heads back to the school doors. There's no reason to overthink this. It’s just… odd. He can’t let it get to him.

You wake up that day to a lone bed. Groaning to yourself as the sunbeams spray across your face and momentarily blind you. Hand reaching out for the space next to you. Instead, you see a note saying: dropped koji off, i’ll be back around noon to grab some lunch. sleep up

Instantly, your eyes widen, springing up out of bed. Reaching for your phone, the time reads 11:30pm. “Shit!” you curse to yourself, rushing out the door and to your bag still on the chair from last night. You dig in for your work clothes, changing right there and then and praying to the gods that Satoru doesn’t walk through this door. Brushing your teeth, hair, washing your face, putting some moustirzer and sunscreen on, all of it takes way too long. By the time you’re done and messily putting your shoes on, it’s twelve. Four hours after you were supposed to be at work. Hana’s going to kill me.

Grabbing your bag with rough and rushed movements, you’re sprinting to the door at this point. Out of breath and already conjuring up a sorry apology for Hana. you reach the doorhandle, flinging it open. But as soon as you do, you come to an abrupt stop.

Because standing before you is a woman, a woman you’ve seen before on Satoru’s lock screen. The same woman who kissed the lips that you used to. Arms crossed and a nasty scowl forming on her face as she eyes you up and down in a criticizing way.

Finally, she scoffs out.

“Do you know who I am?”

a/n: they so cute

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