#pls let me know if there's something else i should be tagging these with ^^ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rhaenyratargcryen · 11 months ago

Text

you're my shotgun lover and i want it all | tyler owens (twisters)

masterlist ❈

summary: Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells. author's note: i...wrote this...in one.......single......afternoon. my fingers hurt anyway he's so hot i have had a crush on glen powell since 2018 (set it up supremacy) but this movie reawakened something in me. i should probably watch top gun now

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader word count: 9,123 (...oopsie) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), alternate universe: canon divergence, friends to lovers, friends with benefits

also cross-posted to ao3 okay love you bye xoxo your comments and reblogs are appreciated but not required i will love you all the same i hope u like !!!! <3

all characters are 18+ these are 18+ activities minors pls do not interact my eye is twitching as i write this

It has been one hell of a week.

The tornadic activity has been off the charts – more storms built up under ideal conditions for weather hell-bent on destruction in a multiple-day stretch than you can remember ever tracking before. Your team had obviously been up for the chase, but now that the storms have passed, and the sun shines on the cleanup efforts, you can’t help but wish you’d chosen a different life path. You love what you do, but God, were you tired. Blisters have formed on the palms of your hands despite the gloves you’d donned. You could practically feel the knots forming in your neck. You shovel one more load of leaf litter before heaving the blade into the ground and leaning against it. Across from you, a backhoe is demolishing and excavating the remains of a house.

You close your eyes and try to just let the sun warm your face, thinking about how fast it can all just be gone. Mother Nature’s a beautiful force, but she can be cruel.

“Hey, don’t be slowin’ down on me,” Tyler jokes, clapping a hand between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t heard him approach, and his voice has startled you, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re ‘bout halfway done with our part, I think.”

“No,” you reply, swiping the back of your arm across your forehead, trying in vain to clear your bangs from your eyes, but they won’t budge. Tyler reaches up and, almost as if he isn’t even thinking about it, takes the unruly pieces of hair between his thumb and forefinger and tucks it behind your ear, underneath the temple of your sunglasses, to make sure it stays this time. The action is so intimate it sends a flush crawling up your neck. You chance a look around to make sure no one else has seen. “Not slowin’ down, I promise. Just thinking about how lucky we are to be alive. How sad it is that all these people just lost everything.”

You’ve known Tyler since the two of you were in college together, fast friends who’d stuck together through a lot that could've put a strain on any other relationship, although you hadn’t studied meteorology – you’d been in school to be a librarian.

One night, he’d asked you to stay up and help him with a lab he’d missed for one of his classes, and he loves to say he knew it then – that you were hooked – but you were too far along in your degree to do anything about it now. Switching from an arts degree to one in STEM? You’d have had to start over from scratch.

Tyler had formed his team while you were in grad school and he was working as a cowboy for the rodeo back home, and you’d dropped out without a second thought when he asked you to be a founding member, to travel the country with him every tornado season. Said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about doing it without you. You’ve been riding with him ever since.

The two of you share everything, always have, and sometimes you wonder if it might be too much for the professional relationship you’re supposed to have.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tyler grins, the hand still glued to your back rubbing gently, sending goosebumps across your skin under your shirt. “To help ‘em feel like their luck is turnin’.”

Always the optimist, Tyler Owens. He clears his throat, the hand on your back pulling away, and steps slightly closer to you.

“One of the folks over there gave these to me,” he says, gesturing to a group of people gathering in front of a house that looks like something had tried to suck it into the ground from dead center. “I saved their cat from their screened-in porch, poor thing had been yowling all night apparently. Know these’re your favorite, so, here you go. I think you earned it.”

You take the tin from him and open it, your mouth instantly watering at the sight of the small, round butter cookies inside. “God,” you groan, picking one up and taking a bite, savoring it over your tongue. You can feel Tyler watching you carefully. “Thank you. You get me.”

“Do we get cookies, Tyler?”

Lily’s voice sounds from your left, and you glance over at her. The shit-eating look on her face tells you she did see Tyler fix your hair for you. Your stomach somersaults.

“If you’re good,” Tyler says, smirking, “after the sun sets, we can head back to the motel, find some shitty bar, and drinks’ll be on me, okay? How’s that sound?”

Lily whoops, turning to Dani, who’d since appeared beside her, and the two snicker and fist bump.

“You need any help over here?”

You look back at Tyler, cupping one hand above your eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Despite your glasses, it shines bright from directly behind him, and you can hardly stand to look at him.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you murmur in reply, bending down to toss some siding that had been blown off one of the houses on this street into the wheelbarrow you’ve been using. “You should go see what Boone’s up to – I don’t think anyone has seen him in a minute.”

No doubt Boone was hiding somewhere with one of the breakfast burritos Lily and Dani have been rolling since early that morning, seeing how long he can get away with not doing his part. He’s a good guy, but the manual labor side of the job isn’t really his thing.

“Eh, he’s better off wherever he is,” Tyler laughs, and a small smile takes over your face, too. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? You don’t need a break? You can take a minute to yourself, no one’ll judge. I know how this can all get to you a little more than it gets to everyone else.”

You know him well enough to know he’s not calling you weak-stomached, that he’s genuinely concerned for how you feel, but he’s right. It does all get to you. Settling in to help survivors of these natural disasters is just something that comes with the chasing – there isn’t one without the other for you and the rest of the crew. You nod, glancing back up at him.

“I’m okay, Tyler. Go off and be the face of the operation – you don’t have to worry about me.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between your eyes, trying to find evidence you’re withholding the truth from him, but he seems to find nothing. With a minute tip of his head, he turns to resume working through a long-term plan for rebuilding the town with the mayor and some other members of the local government.

This is something else you know he loves to do – shmooze with higher-ups, show off his people skills. Not only are they higher-ups, they’re small-town folk. His kind of people. He knows how to get through to them, how to get them to trust him. You love that about Tyler. He’s never condescending – he always has a genuine desire to help. He’s been through this hundreds of times, and these people may only have been through it this one time. You look around at them, at the people of all ages picking up the pieces that remain of their community, then cross your fingers and send a thought out to anyone listening:

Please let it be the only time.

After a few more hours of genuinely back-breaking work, you hear Tyler’s sharp whistle and know it’s time, meandering over to his truck where it’s been parked for almost eighteen hours. Using your teeth, you pull your gloves from your hands and hiss. They’ve been rubbed raw, the skin blistering where each finger meets the palm. You try to ignore the throbbing sensation, leaning against the passenger side door and closing your eyes. The rest of the crew sidle up to you, taking long drags from water bottles and cigarettes and trying to make peace with how you’re leaving this place tonight.

“Does anyone else want to break off to shower first?”

It seems Dani’s the only one, and they shrug, putting their hand out, palm up, to Dexter, who hands them the keys to the RV.

“Meet y’all there,” they say, stifling a yawn, and you know it’ll be a bit before you see them. The rest of you will have to pile into Tyler’s truck, and before you can object, the other three crawl into the back seat and leave you on the front bench with Tyler. You let yourself in and close the door behind you, buckling and watching as Tyler shakes someone’s hand and hustles to meet the rest of you. His Texans cap hits the bench before he does, between the two of you, and he turns his keys in the ignition, buckling his own seatbelt.

“Where we headin’?”

“There’s a place with a mechanical bull nearby. I vote there.”

“How nearby is ‘nearby,’ Boone?”

“Uh,” he pulls his phone from his pocket, does a quick Google to double-check. “Forty-five minutes?”

Dexter leans over and grips Boone’s phone, reading the screen. “In the opposite direction of the motel, Boone.”

Everyone groans, objecting, and you press your hand against your temple to alleviate the pressure there. The noise, God, the noise.

“Could we go somewhere closer to the motel, maybe?”

“It’s got a mechanical bull,” Boone stresses, and everyone rolls their eyes.

“Boone, you know damn well we’re not making it back to the motel if we go that far away.”

He groans, and you pull your own phone out, checking Maps to see what’s around the motel.

“This one’s three minutes from where we’re stayin’,” you say, showing Tyler your screen, and he nods, shifting into reverse, backing out, and starting down the one lane of the street that’s been cleared of debris.

“Hey Boone,” you toss over your shoulder as Tyler shifts into second gear. “By the way. Long time no see.”

Lily snorts, smacking you on the shoulder to let you know she thought that was a good one. Boone shakes his head.

“Hey, just because you didn’t see me all day doesn’t mean I wasn’t out there, too. How do I know you were workin’, weren’t sitting on your ass in the shade somewhere, hm?”

You hold your raw, red palms out for him to inspect and that shuts Boone up quick. Tyler whistles as he gets an eyeful of your skin.

“God damn, girl,” Lily murmurs. “That looks like it hurts. I think I might have Aquaphor in my bag back at the motel if you want some.”

“I’ll be alright,” you reply, knocking your elbow against her knee behind you in thanks. “Appreciate you.”

The rest of the drive is taken mostly in silence, everyone in the backseat trying to rest their eyes, but you stay up, your eyes on the road, so Tyler isn’t the only one making the thirty-ish minute drive back to where you’re staying, where you checked in only after it’d been decided which towns had been hit the worst, so you could reach all of them easily by truck.

“What’s goin’ on in your head? Hm?”

You turn to look at Tyler and he glances at you from out of the corner of his eye, then at your lap, at the fingernails you’ve picked down to the quick. “Real quiet over there.”

“Nothing,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t let Boone get to you,” Tyler says, tapping his right fist on your thigh once, twice, then letting it rest there. You brush your knuckles against his and he opens the fist immediately, taking your hand in his but not squeezing, careful not to put pressure on the blisters on your palms.

“It’s not that,” you start, then realize your mistake, your admission. “I really – I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

You’re acutely aware of your hand in Tyler’s. It’s not like you’ve ever been shy around him – your cheeks flush at the thought – but this is…different. Sweet. More.

“Yeah, that it has,” he sighs, adjusting his left hand on the steering wheel so he can drive a little more comfortably, but his right hand stays in yours.

You settle back into silence, Tyler seemingly having dropped the subject, and your eyes return to the road, but you feel him looking over at you, checking on you, every once in a while. You try your hardest not to meet his gaze.

Soon enough, Tyler is putting the truck in park, then shutting the thing off. The noise – or lack thereof, you guess – wakes Dexter in the back, then Lily, who snorts when she sees your hand in Tyler’s. You pull away and unbuckle your seatbelt, watching as Tyler, with a hurt look on his face, wipes his hand on his jeans and swings himself down and out of the truck.

“C’mon, Boone,” he shouts, slapping a hand on the door that Boone has his head resting against, and the man sits up straight, wiping sleep from his eyes. “The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. Drinks on me, pal!”

The motel really is that close to the bar, so you all decide you’ll leave the truck parked there and walk home at the end of the night. The unspoken verdict is that you will all be getting shitfaced tonight.

The lingering smell of cigarettes in the air seems to rejuvenate everyone and Lily pumps a fist when she spots the old-fashioned jukebox across the room, then claps a hand over her mouth when she realizes there’s a TouchTunes sitting right next to it.

“Oh, I am so forcing you fuckers to listen to Chappell Roan all night,” she says gleefully, and you laugh along with her, looping your arm in hers and letting her pull you across the room while the boys settle in at the bar.

“So what was that all about?”

“What was what all about?” You play dumb, shrugging when Lily gives you a hard look and unhooks her arm from yours.

“Girl, seriously,” Lily scoffs, bumping your hip with hers and slipping a twenty dollar bill into the TouchTunes. Evidently she wasn’t joking when she meant you’d be listening to Chappell Roan all night. “I saw that thing earlier, the hair thing, don’t think I didn’t. And y’all holding hands in the truck. What’s going on there?”

You shake your head but she grabs your wrist. “I’m serious, Lil. Nothing’s going on. We’re friends – good friends. He noticed I was having a hard time today, and wanted to make sure I was alright. That’s all.”

You can tell she doesn’t fully believe you, and when she opens her mouth to object, you cut her off.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”

Lily watches you, trying to read the small line between your eyebrows, but eventually she nods and lets go of you, letting you turn away from her. You push through the door to the women’s restroom, your nose wrinkling at the smell, but you ignore it. Standing in front of the sink, you watch yourself, hands shaking. This isn’t you. You’re better than this at shoving these feelings for Tyler down, way down – or, rather, you had been, up until this week broke you, apparently. Turning the knob for the cold water to the left, you let it run over your sore hands, hissing at the feeling. Carefully, you cup your palms and watch them fill, then splash the water onto your face, soothing the flush. There. That should help.

There’s a cold bottle of Coors in front of the seat next to Dexter when you arrive back to the group, “Red Wine Supernova” playing from the speakers. You almost snort at all the old men – regulars, no doubt – groaning out their distaste for whoever chose the music all across the room.

“Thanks,” you toss over your shoulder at Tyler, sitting on the other side of Dexter and Boone. He nods and nurses his own. You frown and settle onto the stool, leaning an elbow on the bartop so you can turn and face your friends. The cold beer against the palms of your hands feels so nice.

What’s wrong with him? He won’t make eye contact with you, and you notice his jaw clicking as he grits his teeth. What’s got his panties in a twist?

As the night unfolds, you find yourself laughing more and more, loosening up, letting the stress of the last week fade into memory. Someone has produced a deck of cards from God knows where and Dani – who did join the group eventually – is showing off card tricks you didn’t even know they knew. You feel a warmth spreading through your body, and you can’t stop thinking about how much you love all of these people. Your friends. Your family. Empty bottles are swiftly replaced with full, cold ones without notice, and everyone is languid, relaxed, unburdened by the work that you’re all doing.

You take a pull from your drink, using the cover of the bottle to risk a glance to Tyler three seats down from you to find that he’s already watching you, and the look in his eye tells you exactly what he’s thinking. That somersault-y feeling is lower than your stomach now. You’re only three beers deep, but the air in your head reminds you that you’ve barely eaten all day, so you’re a little more affected by the alcohol than you’d usually be. Impolitely, you reach across Dexter next to you to grab a handful of peanuts from the basket to his left.

Glancing back up at Tyler, you meet his heady gaze again, and he smirks around the lip of the bottle against his mouth. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. You swallow nervously around another sip of beer.

Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells.

“Alright, y’all,” Lily says, slapping a hand on the bar, startling you out of your thoughts. You watch her, popping a nut into your mouth. “Think I’m gonna head out. I suggest you all do, too, fuckers, it’s late.”

Everyone starts to protest, but one glance at the clock tells you you’ve all stayed much longer than you thought – it’s a quarter past midnight, and you’ve got to be up with the daylight. You balk, but if you want to talk to Tyler tonight, you know you’ve got to shoulder your exhaustion and stick it out a little longer.

“I think I might stay for a bit,” you murmur, watching everyone stand and gather their things. You glance over at Tyler, who you can see clearly now that everyone’s out of their seats, and he’s watching you, too. The look on his face reads plain, now – he wants you.

“I’ll stay with her,” he says, eyes on yours. The green in them has disappeared almost completely, you notice, his pupils blown wide. “Walk her back. Y’all head back if you want.”

“I might stay, too –” Boone’s voice cuts off, coughing as Lily elbows him in the stomach, maybe a little too hard. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re going to bed, too, Boone,” Dani interrupts, a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. They poke him once when he starts to protest. “C’mon, now.”

Everyone shuffles out the front, Dexter calling good night, and all of the sudden, it’s just you and Tyler. You don’t know why, but your palms begin to sweat at the thought of being alone with him again. He stands, palming his drink, and slides onto the seat next to you, his body angled towards yours.

He’s never made you nervous like this. You don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“So,” Tyler starts, grinning at you. “You come here often?”

You snort, emboldened by the booze, and he chuckles in response. “Idiot.”

“God, but I do love making you laugh.”

You blush under his scrutinous gaze, and take a quick swig of the dregs of your drink, unsure what to say to that. He mirrors you, taking a sip of his own while his eyes bore into yours. Accusatory.

“You don’t do it much anymore, you know that?”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

You press your fingertips to your mouth and Tyler’s eyes follow your hand. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” you start, sighing deeply. “Tornado season’s been hard this year, and you know how much that – it gets to me. As much as I love what we do. You know. Remember that family a couple weeks back whose daughter was stuck under her bunk bed when it pressed on her too long, lost her leg below the knee? That got to me, Tyler. It did.”

“It gets to me, too,” he murmurs, knocking his knee against yours. “I guess I’m just better at hiding how bad it affects me. You can talk to me about it, though. You can talk to any of us.”

“I know I can,” you breathe, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “I know. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, though, you know, what is there to say? It’s not fair to complain about how sad it makes me to watch these people lose everything.”

“You’re allowed to feel sad. And to feel frustrated. It’s not fair, you’re right, but we’re doing good work, yeah? Fighting the good fight. Figuring out what makes these things tick, how to warn people when they’re in the path, get them outta the way and safe. Maybe they lose their house, their car, but they won’t lose themselves, or each other. That’s what matters most. Just remember that.”

You look up at him, set your elbow on the bartop, and prop your chin on your open palm. Your hands don’t hurt so bad anymore, you notice. “Thanks, Tyler.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, but you shake your head.

“Seriously. You always know what to say.”

A look crosses his face then, too quick for you to read, and he sets his drink down, flagging the bartender over to close out the team’s tab. You frown, wondering if you’d, ironically, said the wrong thing.

“What’s up?”

Tyler looks back to you, and this time, the look in his eyes is unmistakable. It burns. “Taking you home, sweetheart.”

The walk back to your motel is done in silence. Tyler’s hand swings next to yours, and you feel it searching for yours more than once, but you don’t take it. You climb the stairs together, slowly, and he walks you to your door. His room is one more floor up.

You can tell he thinks you won’t invite him in, that you’ve changed your mind – or maybe that you never made it up. He hadn’t, after all, told you plainly that that was why he’d stayed with you at the bar. You unlock the room with your key card and step inside, opening the door only far enough for you to fit through it. You turn back to look at him, his face awash in the street lights shining into the hallway. You flip the lightswitch on next to you, illuminating the room behind you, too.

“Well,” he murmurs, making to head back down the stairs. “Good night.”

“Tyler?”

His head turns back to look at you, watching as you hold out one hand and he takes it, letting you pull him closer to you. You press yourself into him, push your whole face against his chest, your hip keeping the door from closing on the two of you. You inhale deeply, the smell of him overtaking your senses. His cologne, yes, but underneath that, the smell of dirt, earth. Home.

You feel his arms wrap around your back and you turn your head to the side, press your ear to his heartbeat. Your hands come up to scratch down his back and you feel it when he shudders.

“Stay?”

You hear his breath hitch in his chest, then the deep rumble of his voice as he says, “Alright, baby.”

With a short inhale, your eyes flutter, nearly closing at the term of endearment. You step back, pulling him with you, and as you close the door behind you, he pushes one hand up into your hair and pulls your head toward his.

“I, uh,” you whisper against his lips when they get close enough to yours, “I think I might shower first, if that’s okay with you?”

“Alright,” he murmurs, unlacing his hand from the strands of your hair before toeing his boots off and carefully setting them under the chair next to the front door. “You want company?”

You swallow. You’ve never done anything like that before. It’s always been quick. When you do this with him, you hardly ever have time for a chat before he’s got your shirt over your head and his mouth on your skin.

“Sure,” you reply. You feel him watch as you turn around and pull your shirt off, reaching back to unclasp your bra. The modesty feels redundant, but you can’t help it.

“Not gettin’ shy on me now, are you? S’not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles, and you throw a look at him over your shoulder just as he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. He left his hat at the bar, you think. You’ll have to go back in for it when you pick up the truck.

“Tyler,” you scold, and he laughs at you, steps across the room to wrap an arm around your torso and press a kiss to where your neck meets your shoulder. The place he knows makes you melt. You sigh and push back against him, the feeling of his hard chest against your bare back a welcome one. This feels more like what you know, what you’re used to.

“Shower,” you remind him, and he nods, his forehead pressed into that spot now, and he pushes his fingers underneath the waistband of your jeans, running them along the bit of skin there around to the front, where the fabric splits at the button. He pops it undone, then uses his thumb and forefinger to grip the zipper and slowly – so slowly – pulls that down. He can’t help himself, you know that, and so you hold your breath and wait for him to push his hand into your panties. Ever a predictable man, he does just that, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm hand against you.

“Are you sure?” Tyler’s breath against your neck makes you shiver, and you press your ear to the side of his chin. He runs his fingers along the seam of you, finding first your clit, your legs twitching at the sudden rush of pleasure when he brushes his hand against it, then pushing down to find you wet and wanting. You cry out softly. “You don’t sound sure. You don’t feel sure.”

You hum, your neck stretching back until your head is pressed to his chest, and he pulls his hand back up to start working small circles on your clit, your wetness on his fingers allowing for smooth movement, with just enough friction to have you panting for more.

“Sounds more to me like you kinda want me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Tyler,” you whimper, telling him with just his name that you are getting close. He smiles against the side of your neck, pulling his hand away and shoving your jeans and underwear down just enough that his hand has room to smack your clit lightly. You squeal, right leg kicking out at the feeling, and he continues moving his hand in circles to soothe the hurt.

Your breath is coming out of you in short huffs, and before you can come, Tyler takes his hand off of you and wraps it around your stomach to join the other. You pant and whine, rubbing your thighs together to chase the feeling he’d had you practically pressed up against, now ebbing with the loss of his fingers.

“You said you wanted to shower,” he whispers in your ear, pulling your panties back up, and you scowl, pushing away from him. He laughs and holds his hands up in defense as you pick your t-shirt up off your bed and crack it at him like a whip. “Let’s shower, baby.”

“I might kick you out right now, Owens,” you snark, but the small smile on your face gives you away, and Tyler unbuttons his own jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed. Your jeans join his, and you’re both left in your underwear.

“You wouldn’t,” he replies, pulling his briefs off slowly, biting his bottom lip as you watch him. “You like this cock too much.”

You can’t help laughing at him, but the sight of him bare in front of you does have you biting your lip. You step forward to cup his growing length in your hand. Before you can move it, Tyler puts a hand on your wrist.

“How’s your hand?” He makes to pull it away, presumably to turn it over and appraise your blisters, but you shake your head.

“S’fine,” you whisper, tightening your grip. You tug once, twice, and press a kiss to his bare chest, then tip your head back to search out his lips. He leans down to oblige you, his lips parting against your mouth as you twist your fist. You love these moments you share with him, when you’re both bare, physically, emotionally, away from the real world, and you can pretend this is an everyday thing. When you’re not trying to tell yourself you feel nothing for him. Like this is just how it is between you.

Tyler groans when you pull your hand away from him and you click your tongue, press that same hand against his bicep.

“Doesn’t feel so good, now does it?”

Before you even know what’s happening, Tyler is picking you up, one arm underneath your back and the other around the backs of your knees. You look up at his face and laugh. “Put me down, Owens!”

He grins and carries you the few paces into the bathroom, placing you on your feet in front of the tub. Tyler leans down and pushes his thumbs underneath the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to put your hands on his shoulders and step out of them.

He lets you pull away from him to turn the hot water on, adjusting the cold side until the temperature is perfect, before pulling you against his chest once again. This time, you can feel his hard cock pressed against your backside, and you hum appraisingly. You reach behind you to fist him again, but he shakes his head – you feel his chin brush against the top of your head – and he groans out, “Mm-mm.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna shower, baby, c’mon.”

You glance back towards him and watch as he flicks the overhead light on. “So we don’t slip and die,” he says, and you laugh, pushing the shower curtain to the side. Holding Tyler’s hand, you step over the lip of the tub and under the steady stream of warm water, inhaling deeply when it hits the sore muscles in your shoulders and back. Tyler groans at the feeling, too, when he steps in behind you.

“Here, switch with me,” he murmurs, guiding you by your waist until you’re the one underneath the water. You let it fall onto the top of your head, over your face and down the back of your hair, for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the feeling. Tyler reaches both hands up and brushes the water out of your eyes, runs his hand over the top of your head.

“Shampoo?”

You open one eye, the other shut against the water, and nod. You gaze up at him, heart squeezing at the way he’s watching you. His smile widens and he takes the tiny bottle in his hand – it looks even more comically small now – and dumps the product into his other palm, setting the bottle down onto the edge of the tub and rubbing his hands together.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, inhaling sharply through your nose when you feel his hands run through the hair at the crown of your head. Your stomach aches with longing as you register how unnaturally intimate this is. His fingers feel so good against your scalp, which is slightly sunburnt, you’re now realizing. He massages the shampoo further into your hair, running his fingers down the back of your neck and across the tops of your shoulders. When he’s satisfied with his shampoo job, he steers you by your arms to face him again, then carefully helps you tilt your head back and rinses it all from your hair.

You watch him pick up the other small bottle from the shelf, warm water still running down the back of your head.

“I’ll do my conditioner,” you murmur, taking the bottle gently from his hands. “It’s a – it’s a science.”

“I am very good at science, if you can recall.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s something I’ve gotten perfectly right. It’ll take just a sec.”

So you work the conditioner through the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze as he watches your hands first coat your hair in the product, then rinse it out. He reaches forward to run his own fingers across it, as gently as he can.

“Hm,” he makes the noise in the back of his throat, pulling his hand away. “Soft.”

You can hardly look at him, the twisting feeling in your stomach shifting to something warmer, something further from apprehension, something that feels a lot like want. “You?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m good. Here,” he says, rubbing his hands across the plane of your upper back. “You’re tense. You worked hard today. Let me help.”

You weren’t going to protest, but before you can, Tyler guides you forward and out of the direct spray of the shower, then presses his thumbs into your muscle. You groan, your head falling forward onto his chest at the feeling, and he chuckles at you, continuing with his hands. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you whimper, and you feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

“You fucking dog,” you joke, and Tyler laughs against you, pushing your hair off the back of your neck and pressing his thumbs in there, too.

“Hey, what can I say? I like making my girl feel good.”

You freeze. His girl? His girl. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, and he keeps pressing his fingers into your sore muscles, pulling one hand away briefly to push the showerhead down and away from the two of you. You glance up, already missing its warmth, but you find that the steam rising around you is doing a good enough job at that.

“Here, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding you to press your hands against the tiled wall to your left, running his hands down your back.

“What are you –”

Before you can finish the thought, you feel Tyler’s fingers parting the seam of your cunt from – from behind, and you groan at the feeling of his middle finger slipping inside of you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his knees hitting the floor behind you. You toss a glance at him over your shoulder and your own knees nearly buckle at the way he’s looking up at you – with hunger, and with reverence, and with something else entirely unrecognizable. He looks wild. He looks in love.

One of Tyler’s hands clamps down around your hips and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh as his finger starts to shift in and out of you. You shiver and push your face into the cool tile, groaning softly when he finds that rough bit of flesh inside of you, the one that makes you come undone if he works it long enough.

“Yeah?” Tyler sounds fucked out already, his voice breathy against your skin, and you can picture the look on his face, the concentrated expression he gets when he’s trying to make you come. You try to focus on the feeling of the shower’s spray where it hits the edge of your foot rather than how good his finger feels inside you because if you think too closely about how good it feels, you’ll get lightheaded. And nobody wants that.

“Yeah,” you reply weakly, and for a few minutes it’s just like that, the only sound in the bathroom the shower, your panting moans, and the noise your pussy makes as he pulls his finger in and out.

“Sound so good for me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh again, and you whine, trying to protest when he slips his finger from you. He laughs deep in his chest and lightly smacks the swell of your ass.

“Don’t complain when I’m doin’ somethin’ nice for you,” he jok, and you can feel then that he’s shifting himself around. You want to look over your shoulder, want to see for yourself what he’s doing, but freeze when you feel his palms cupping your ass, his nose pressing against the inside of your thighs.

Your mouth forms the word oh, but no sound comes out until you feel his mouth press against your cunt, tongue pushing inside of you, and then you cry out, chest heaving, when he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your clit. You pull your face from where it’s still resting against the tile and look down at Tyler to find he’s already looking right up at you. His grip on your ass tightens when you make eye contact with him, and he spreads you open wider for him, eyes narrowing as his tongue flicks again, and again, and again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans against you, the vibrations causing your legs to twitch. You already thought you were going to burst, the steam from the shower, the way he’d washed your hair, the fact that he was in your room at all – it all made you feel slightly insane. To add insult to injury, he’s just pushed two fingers inside of you and immediately found the spot that takes you out, and you start to shake a little.

“Tyler,” you whine, pushing one hand down to grip his hair. He groans when you tighten your hold on it, fucking into you a little faster. “Tyler, fuck, gonna come.”

“So come, baby,” comes his reply, and you do, you come so hard that the toes on your right foot curl until you’re on tiptoe and Tyler has to reach up and grip your waist to steady you. You feel it crest, and peak, then subside, but he keeps working you through it, his mouth moving against you still, and a second, smaller – though still good – orgasm wracks your body right after the first.

You breathe through it, push your foot down so you’re standing flat on the surface of the tub again, and wait for Tyler to pull his fingers out of you.

“Baby,” Tyler groans, squeezing your hips, his fingernails biting slightly into your skin. “You gotta let go’a me, if you want me to get up.”

His voice, fuck, his voice, you think, releasing your grip on his hair and turning to watch him rise from his knees, the tile cold against your back. You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth and he catches you, smiles against you when you part your lips to taste yourself on his tongue.

“Was that good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, pressing one, two, three more quick kisses to his mouth, before he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “So fucking good.”

Neither of you bother with a towel, instead opting to stumble toward the queen bed in the middle of the room and climb right underneath the covers.

“Hi,” you whisper when you’re settled in, the duvet pulled up under your chin. Your eyes rove over his face, then glance over to the alarm clock behind him. 1:56 in the morning. “You still wanna fuck?”

Tyler snorts, reaching over to poke you in the side, gripping the skin there until you start to laugh. “You still wanna fuck?”

“Yeah,” you reply, grinning, when you catch your breath. “Wanna?”

He’s quiet for a second, watching the duvet rise and fall with each breath you take, before he peels it off of you, using his elbow to push himself up until he’s leaning over you. There’s a rosy flush on your chest, your breasts heaving and it’s all he can do not to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth, the one closest to him. Instead, he runs the back of his other hand across your chest, catching against the hard peak, and watches your breath stick to the inside of your throat. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning toward him as his face comes toward you. You want him to kiss you, but instead, he angles his mouth to kiss the skin below your chin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your neck, pressing his open mouth to you there, and you gasp at the feeling – of his mouth against you, and of his praise. It all feels so nice. He just made you come in the shower, and now he’s going to make you come in this bed, hopefully more than once.

You wrap your hands around his back and pull him toward you, watch as he settles in between your thighs. You can feel his thick cock, heavy, insistent, where it presses against you, and you want to take him into your hands, but he has other plans.

With one hand pressed into the pillow on either side of your head, Tyler uses his knees to knock your legs out further, sitting back against his heels when he’s satisfied. He wraps his big hands around your thighs and pulls you closer, smiling down at you. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blush when he repeats himself, suddenly feeling very bare. He’s just as naked as you are, but you can’t help but feel like he’s seen your whole hand, meanwhile you hardly have any idea what cards he might hold. In the dim light from the lamp beside your head, you notice that you can see the green of his irises again. It seems like the shower sobered the two of you up very quickly.

His gaze locked on yours, Tyler takes himself into his hand, groaning at the pressure of his grip after neglecting his own want for so long, but he suddenly curses, pausing just as he’s about to press inside of you.

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes, sitting back again. He runs one hand through his hair, visibly weighing the options.

“It’s okay, Tyler,” you murmur, leaning up onto your elbows. “It’s okay. I have an IUD, and I got screened after the last time I was with someone. I’m good. I’m good if you’re good.”

Tyler heaves a heavy sigh, running his hands up your thighs. “You’re sure? I’m clean, too, cross my heart. But only if you’re sure.”

You nod. “My head is clear. I think I shook off my drunk an orgasm or two ago.”

A grin crosses his face, and you roll your eyes at him before he even opens his mouth. Two? he mouths, then whistles lowly. You smack his stomach, and he grabs your wrist in his hand, lightning quick, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there. Your jaw falls slack, and you go all soft and pliant, letting him pin your hands above your head. His body comes down over yours, and his mouth presses to your cheek, then your forehead, and when your eyes flutter shut, the ghost of a kiss crosses them, too.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmurs, and normally if a man were to say that to you, you would immediately regret letting him into your bed. But for some reason, when Tyler says it, it sends that familiar warmth spiraling down into your gut. You know he means it.

Slowly – too slowly – he guides himself back to your entrance, shifting his hips so they’re resting comfortably against yours, and he presses himself inside of you. You hiss; the girth of him, although a welcome stretch, is also a bit of an uncomfortable one. He leans down to kiss you, working you through it with a thumb pressing circles into your clit, sliding himself in bit by bit until he’s fully seated.

A groan pushes out of him when you clench around him, testing the waters.

“Careful,” he murmurs, easing his hips back. “I’d like it if this lasted longer than ten seconds, please.”

You laugh against the side of his head, pull your hands down from where he’d left them above you and wrap yourself around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Tyler grips your thighs and starts to work himself in and out of you, carefully, gently, but you squeeze his waist with your knees. Encouraging him. Asking him to pick it up. You can handle it.

His hips start to pull back and snap against yours quicker and quicker, Tyler panting in your ear, lifting up onto his palms and pushing himself off of you. He sits up onto his knees and tilts your hips up for a different angle, one that sets sparks dancing in front of your eyes. You groan, head tossed back, and dig your nails into his thighs as his pace picks up.

“Fuck, yeah, that it, baby? I can feel you – fuck, feel you squeezin’ me.”

You hardly have a voice with the rate he’s slipping in and out of you, barely enough to squeak out, “Fuck,” before your cunt has him in a vice grip, working through another orgasm.

“Ohhh, that’s it, huh, that’s it.” His mouth is going a mile a minute, neither of you really paying much attention to anything he’s actually saying. You’re both focused on his own mounting orgasm – you don’t feel like your body is capable of much more than that – and you weakly clamp down around him once more. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips stutter, and he grits out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” before he slots against you and you feel him filling you. You run a hand down his back, soothing him as he comes, biting your lip at the feeling, foreign but enjoyable.

Tyler groans and glances down to where his cock is softening inside of you. He eases his hips back, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead as he does. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You nod meagerly, pressing the back of your hand against your warm cheek. He watches you and, assured that you’re not going to pass out on him or anything, stands and hobbles into the bathroom. The sink turns on out of sight, and you close your eyes, listening to the water run. Tyler returns with a warm, wet towel and wipes the inside of your thighs, swiping gently across your cunt, before folding the towel and letting it fall to the floor at your bedside.

You feel loose, calm. Safe. You hardly notice him turn the light off, but you do feel the bed dip beside you as he rejoins you under the covers and pulls you into his arms. You melt against his sturdy chest, his heartbeat under your face a comfort, the rhythmic tick tick tick of it lulling you to sleep. But there’s still one thing you have to know before you can relax completely.

His breathing has started to even out, but he hasn’t snored yet, so you know he’ll still hear you when you ask, “Are you gonna leave?”

He grunts an acknowledgement of your question, nuzzling down into the top of your head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You know your answer, but you still bite your lip, considering the question. You hadn’t thought before that maybe he left after every night you spent together because he thought you didn’t want to wake up with him. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then I’ll stay.”

If he’s at all worried about what will happen when you wake up tomorrow, he doesn’t show it, but anxiety courses through you at the thought of anyone finding out. Does he want the others to know? Because that’s what it feels like.

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispers, like he can hear your thoughts racing. “It’ll be fine. Just go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say. He’s out like a light. And you’re left alone with your thoughts until you fall into fitful, dissatisfying sleep sometime around when the world outside starts to turn blue.

A pounding on your door wakes you from deep sleep – the deepest you’d gotten all night, at least – and you try to sit up but find there’s a heavy weight on your chest blocking you. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing down at the sleeping body next to you. It takes a second for it to register: Tyler’s here.

Tyler’s here. Sidled up against you, arm thrown over your stomach like this is where he belongs. He didn’t leave. He stayed, like he said he would. His face looks so peaceful – so beautiful – you almost hate to wake him.

“Come on, sleepyhead! Time to get a move on!”

Almost. You scramble to push Tyler off of you, ignoring his noises of protest, jumping out from under the covers and grabbing various articles of clothing off the floor to pull over your naked form. You plop back down on the bed, this time on his side, right next to where he’s starting to wake.

“Dude, get up, they’re gonna know you’re not in your room. They’re gonna know you’re in here.”

“So what,” he grumbles, rolling over as you push him and settling deeper into the bed. “Let ‘em.”

You sit up straight, one hand on his arm. “You mean that?”

He hums and turns his neck to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re my girl.”

Your face flushes a deep pink and Tyler grins, reaching over to wrap an arm around you and drag you back down into the bed, pinning you under him and peppering an assault of open-mouthed kisses all over your face. You grin, thinking that you could get used to this – just not right now.

“Seriously, Tyler,” you laugh, pushing a hand against the side of his face. He squeezes your hip. “We have to get up. We gotta get back out there.”

Tyler sighs, loosening his grip on your body and kneeling over you. “Yeah, you’re right. Alright, alright.”

He stands and takes the top sheet with him, wrapped around his waist, and heads to the bathroom. To brush his teeth, you hope. God.

“You know,” he says, head popping back out into the room, mouth full of toothpaste. “Yesterday. I wanted them to see us holding hands.”

You watch as he smiles at you and disappears back into the bathroom, then fall back onto the bed, hands pressed over your eyes.

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are dressed, teeth brushed, hair taken care of, day packs slung over your shoulder, and you’re pulling the door closed behind you when you hear a whistle that pulls your attention to the parking lot.

“Damn, Owens!”

The voice makes you jump, and you groan. You thought you were going to get away with the sneaking around, but the rest of your team is watching from next to the RV as the two of you descend the stairs together.

Lily and Dani turn to Boone with smug looks on both their faces, and he rolls his eyes and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. They hold their hands out for him to slap two twenty dollar bills down into.

“What’s that?” You ask when you get close enough to them.

“We had a bet that you and Owens would come out of that room together. Well, that one or his. Didn’t matter which.”

“A bet I just lost,” Boone groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I thought for sure…”

The rest of the crew snickers, including Tyler, who won’t look at you. You poke a finger into his chest.

“Did you know about this?”

“No, I swear,” he says, hands up, and you don’t know why, but you believe him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t drunkenly confess to Lily weeks ago that sometimes we, you know…”

You scoff, almost mad, but then Boone shouts and the scoff turns into a snicker because, hey, you love him, but you can’t help but relish in his defeat.

“So they knew?! That’s cheating!”

He storms off while the rest of you laugh, Dani clutching their side and following him around the side of the building to try to make amends, trailing off, “If it makes you feel any better…”

Lily looks over at you, then at Tyler, a grin swallowing her face. “So, are you guys, like, together now? Or something?”

You look up at Tyler, who’s smiling softly at you, clearly deferring to you to answer that question. You feel a surge of affection for him swell in your chest. Clearing your throat, you turn to Lily.

“Or something.”

#twisters #twisters 2024 #twisters movie #glen powell #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens smut #glen powell x reader #glen powell smut #as a former tyler dater this was soooo triggering for me to write #JFNLKQJBNF

3K notes · View notes

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: 10.6k 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: pls ignore any grammar/spelling errors if so, I wrote some of this on my phone series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

You’re silent for a moment. Firstly, caught off guard by this woman stopping you from your responsibilities, but also the fact that she seems to be regarding you with such disgust. Do you know who I am? That question pisses you off. Should you say yes? Or no? Instead, you straighten up, scrutinizing her right back. Long, pretty brown hair. Hazel eyes. Pink lips. Expensive clothing. Damn it, she’s pretty.

“Should I?” Perfect balance between the two options.

Her lip curves up into a bitter smile, pushing past you into the penthouse with no apologies. This causes you to stumble back slightly before finding your stance again, turning around to face the woman as she paces Satoru’s apartment with a wave of confidence. Almost more than the man himself. “Where is he?”

“Satoru is at work,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest.

Himari pauses mid-step, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she turns to face you. Her eyes scan the apartment briefly before landing back on you, sharp and assessing. She raises an eyebrow, her expression one of disbelief, as if your answer isn’t good enough for her. "At work?" she echoes, her tone laced with skepticism. "And you’re here, what, playing house in his absence?"

Your jaw tightens, her words cutting deeper than you’d like to admit. "I’m here because of my son," you snap, arms still crossed as you try to maintain your composure. "I don’t owe you an explanation."

Himari’s lips curl into a now mocking smile as she slowly approaches you, her expensive perfume wafting in the air between you. "You’re right. You don’t owe me an explanation. But you do owe it to yourself to figure out where you stand in all of this. Because trust me," her voice lowers, dripping with condescension, "whatever this is? It’s temporary."

You feel your anger rising, but you swallow it down, unwilling to let her see that she’s getting under your skin. "I think you’re confused," you say, keeping your voice steady despite the fire in your chest. "This isn’t about me or you—it’s about Koji spending time with his father. And I’m not going to stand here and let you try to turn it into something else."

Her expression hardens, and for a brief moment, the mask of superiority slips, revealing a flash of something you can’t quite place. Jealousy? Fear? "Koji," she repeats, almost spitting the name out like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. "Is that the name of the little brat that’s ruining everything?"

“Watch your mouth,” a motherly wave of protection instantly befalls you at her choice of words.

“Why should I? That kid is nothing but a—”

Your hands tighten into fists at your sides, and your voice hardens. “I said, watch your mouth. I won’t let you badmouth my child.”

Himari’s eyes widen slightly, the mask of composure slipping even further as she takes in your reaction. For a moment, she looks almost startled, as if she hadn’t expected you to bite back. But just as quickly, she recovers, crossing her arms and tilting her head with a sneer. “Touchy, aren’t we?” she says, her tone sharp. “I’m just calling it how I see it. Satoru and I had plans, a life we were building, and then you come waltzing back in, dragging some kid into the picture. Don’t act like this hasn’t complicated everything.”

Your jaw clenches, and it takes everything in you to keep from shouting. “Koji is Satoru’s son,” you say firmly, your voice low but cutting. “If you think for one second that I’m going to apologize for that, you’re delusional. Whatever plans you think you had with him, they don’t erase his responsibilities as a father.”

Himari scoffs, her eyes narrowing. “Responsibilities? Don’t make me laugh. Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing? Using that child as leverage to worm your way back into his life? Everyone can see through this little game of yours. You seem like a poverty-stricken nobody who probably has nothing better to do with her life than go back to a man you never had just for that security. Let me guess, you’re blackmailing him that if he doesn’t help you out, he’ll never see his son again. People like you are pathetic and you leech off the important people like us—like my boyfriend. ”

Your blood runs cold at her words, and your chest tightens with a mixture of fury and disbelief. For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond, the sheer audacity of her accusations stealing the breath from your lungs. But then the weight of her words sinks in, and a protective fire ignites inside you. You take a step closer to her, your eyes locked onto hers with unwavering intensity. “Say whatever you want about me,” you begin, your voice low and steady, though it trembles slightly with suppressed anger. “Insult me, make your assumptions, spin whatever narrative helps you sleep at night—but leave my son out of it.”

Himari raises an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance, but you see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Oh,” she says, her tone dripping with condescension. “I hit a nerve, didn’t I?”

“Damn right you did,” you snap, your voice rising. “You don’t know a damn thing about me or my life. You don’t know what I’ve been through, what I’ve sacrificed, or what I’d do to protect my child. Koji has nothing to do with whatever petty insecurities you have, so don’t you dare use him as a weapon to take cheap shots at me.”

Himari’s smirk falters, and she takes a slight step back, though she tries to mask it with a scoff. “Oh, please. Spare me the sob story. You can play the victim all you want, but it’s obvious what this is. You’re desperate, and you’re using that boy to sink your claws back into Satoru. You have no idea how much this ruins everything.”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You really don’t get it, do you?” you say, your voice softer now, but no less cutting. “This isn’t about Satoru. It’s not about you, either. It’s about giving Koji what he deserves—a chance to know his father, to have someone who loves him unconditionally. If you can’t see that, then maybe you’re the one who doesn’t belong in his life.”

Himari glares at you, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the tension in the air crackling like static. Finally, she lets out a derisive huff, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “We’ll see,” she says, her voice icy. “We’ll see how long this little charade lasts. But don’t get too comfortable—you won’t win. People like you never do.”

“And people like you…” you start, biting the inside of your cheek; debating whether it’s worth stooping down to this woman’s level.

Himari freezes in place, her lips curling into a sneer. “And people like me?” she asks, her voice sharp and challenging.

“People like you,” you say, stepping forward again, close enough to reach out and slap her, your voice unwavering, “think the world owes them something just for existing. You walk around acting superior, but all you’re doing is hiding how insecure you really are. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because deep down, you know Satoru isn’t yours to keep.”

Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think you’ve hit a nerve. She clenches her fists, but her laugh is bitter and hollow. “Insecure? Please. I have everything I need, and I definitely don’t need to play house with some random ex to prove my worth. Satoru’s with me because he wants to be, not because he feels sorry for me like he does for you.”

You take a deep breath, steadying the anger bubbling beneath the surface. “Believe whatever helps you sleep at night. But let me make one thing clear—you don’t get to stand here and insult my son or me. Koji is Satoru’s priority, not some trophy you can use to boost your own ego. So if you’ve got something to say, make sure it’s worth my time.”

Himari’s face twists in frustration, but she doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she straightens her posture, her mask of composure slipping back into place. “You have no idea what you’re saying, do you?” she says coolly, her tone a forced calm. “Someone should really teach you what happens when you fuck with the wrong people.”

“Then teach me.”

You don’t want to egg her on, you didn’t even want to see this girl in the first place. But nonetheless, the things she’s saying—how she’s acting, it’s bringing out a side of you that you try to keep hidden. Composed under years of self-calming techniques and resilience. Maybe it’s just adding onto the extra shit going on right now, but the fact that she’s managed to anger you this much in such little time is infuriating in itself. You don’t want to give her the energy or time of day. But, you also don’t want her to think she can get away with speaking about Koji like this—about you like this.

You two are engaged in a heavy staring contest, neither one of you seeming to want to back down. Facing each other with an equal stance of hostility. The air between you is thick with tension, every second stretching like an eternity as neither of you breaks eye contact. Himari’s jaw tightens, her polished exterior beginning to crack. It’s subtle, but you catch it—the slight twitch of her lip, the faint waver in her composed demeanor. For all her bravado, she didn’t expect you to stand your ground.

“What’s going on?” Satoru’s worried, but quick and abrupt voice interrupts the moment. Coming in through the still-open door, closing it behind him, and meticulously placing himself between you two. He looks at you, checking to make sure you’re okay but focusing on his girlfriend. “Himari, what are you—”

The sound of a palm smacking hard against his skin reverberates throughout the place, cutting him off with such force that it leaves a stunned silence in its wake. Your eyes widen, watching as Satoru doesn’t move his head for a moment from the side it has just been slapped to. Looking closer, red already begins to break out on his pale cheek. Your jaw clenches.

He slowly looks back at Himari, who faces him with an angry look. Satoru’s face hardens as he does so, his eyes narrowing slightly. There’s a flicker of something dangerous in his gaze, a sharp edge that doesn’t appear often but sends a chill down your spine when it does. His voice is low and measured, a stark contrast to the tension radiating off him. “What the hell was that for?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm but laced with steel.

Himari doesn’t flinch, her fury unabated. “For letting this—this circus go on!” she snaps, gesturing between you and him. “For embarrassing me, for letting her waltz in and ruin everything we’ve built! How can you stand there and not see what she’s doing to us?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He huffs out, straightening his jaw out.

“You lie to me, you dodge my questions, and now I find out you have a fucking son? And with a woman like her?” She points to you, scoffing at the idea.

Satoru’s jaw tightens, his hands clenching at his sides as he takes a deep breath to steady himself. His eyes, usually so vibrant and full of levity, are clouded with frustration now. “Himari, stop,” he says firmly, his voice low but commanding. “You’re crossing a line.”

Himari laughs bitterly, her voice dripping with disdain. “Oh, I’m crossing a line? You’ve been lying to me for who knows how long, and I’m the one in the wrong? I think I have every right to be angry, Satoru!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “You’re angry, fine. But don’t you dare talk about her like that,” he snaps, nodding toward you. “This isn’t her fault. If you want to blame someone, blame me.”

You’re the last one to blame, Satoru. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can feel the heat of the moment radiating off them both. Himari’s sharp gaze darts to you, her lips curling in disdain. “Of course, you’d defend her. She’s nothing but a leech, clinging to you because she has no other options. And now you’re letting her use that kid to worm her way into your life.”

“Enough!” Satoru’s voice booms, startling both you and Himari. He steps forward, his towering presence imposing as his icy glare fixes on her. “You don’t get to talk about her—or my son—like that. Ever. Do you hear me?”

Himari’s eyes widen, a flicker of shock passing through her anger. But she recovers quickly, her voice lowering to a venomous hiss. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re ruining everything for someone who’s nothing to you. Do you really think she’s here for you? She’s here for your money, your status. Wake up, Satoru.”

“Himari, you should go now.”

“Oh, I will,” She tilts her chin up at him. “My parents have a lot to say to you and your own. So be ready for that. If you think I’m bailing out on this relationship, I’m not. I am not letting you ruin this—ruin us.”

She speaks with finality, practically pushing into him as she heads for the door. Not even sparing another glance back before exiting, the door slamming after her. All that’s left behind is an uneasy silence. Satoru stays frozen in place for a moment, his jaw clenched and hands balled into fists at his sides. You can see the conflict in his eyes—the frustration, the exhaustion, the lingering anger. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his snowy hair before turning to face you. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, almost defeated. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

Your lips form a faint grimace, your head slowly shaking. “No, don’t apologize. I–I’m sorry.” You pause again before carefully asking, “Are you okay?”

He closes his eyes momentarily with a sigh, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Does she…slap you like that, like—usually?” The question feels nasty to ask, but you can’t shake the uncomfortable feeling of seeing your ex and father of your son being so carelessly and almost nonchalantly hit like that. No matter who did it.

“Well, no,” he says. “But when she gets really pissed at me, well—she lashes out.”

Your stomach churns at his words, and despite the tension that still hangs between you two, your heart feels heavy with a mix of concern and unease. You want to reach out, but you’re not sure how, not after everything that’s happened. “That’s not okay,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that. No one should. I don’t…like seeing you get treated like that, Satoru.”

Satoru’s gaze softens, though he quickly brushes it off with a wave of his hand, as if he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “It’s fine, really. It’s just how she is when she’s angry. I’m used to it.” The way he says it, so matter-of-factly, makes your chest tighten. You want to argue, to tell him that being used to it doesn’t make it right, but you hold back. He’s not a child; he doesn’t need to be coddled. But the way he brushes off the situation, like it’s no big deal, makes it hard to ignore that maybe he’s been through this for far too long. You almost start wishing you could go back in time and slap her instead.

“Still,” you say, taking a cautious step closer. “It’s not right. You don’t deserve that.”

Satoru finally meets your gaze, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place. He seems grateful, but there’s also a wall behind his expression, a part of him that refuses to acknowledge the pain beneath the surface. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “But I’m okay. Really. I just…I know how to deal with her.”

The words seem rehearsed, like he’s convincing himself as much as anyone else. You can tell he’s not fully okay. And, despite the atmosphere between you two, you know he’s not asking for your sympathy. But you can’t help but feel like there’s more beneath it all that he’s not saying, things he’s kept hidden far too long. “It looks a little swollen, do you want to ice it?”

“Yeah, sure.” He agrees, walking to his freezer and getting out a small icepack. You hover awkwardly, unsure if you should leave him be or offer some strange sense of comfort. But it feels wrong to just leave like that. Sure, there’s a certain line marked between you two, but you still have empathy. Morality. You’re still a good person, and so is Satoru. So, you step forward slowly, still leaving enough room for him to deny you.

Satoru doesn’t protest as you move closer, but you notice the way his body tenses just slightly, a subtle indication that he’s still not entirely comfortable. He continues to press the icepack to his cheek with a quiet sigh, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. The sound of the ice against his skin is the only noise filling the silence between you. You can’t help but feel the weight of it all—the tension, the unresolved emotions, the hurt. You know he’s not the type to open up easily, but something about the way he’s holding himself, the guarded look in his eyes, tells you he’s struggling with more than just the immediate confrontation with Himari.

Your hand reaches up and tentatively replaces his own on the pack.

Satoru tenses again for a moment at the touch, but doesn’t pull away. He lets you take the icepack from him, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. The warmth of his skin against yours lingers, and you feel a shift in the air between you, something unspoken, yet palpable. You keep the ice gently on his swollen cheek, careful not to apply too much pressure. Your eyes meet his, the proximity somehow making everything feel more intimate than it should be, and yet, in that moment, it feels right—like you’re not just helping him physically, but in some quiet, emotional way too. His gaze softens, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his usually guarded expression. The situation reminds you of the past.

Nights when he was too sleep-deprived to function, the times when he accidentally cut himself with a knife while making dinner, or the times you used to apply face masks together during your sleepovers. It all feels like how it used to.

"Let me," you say softly, a quiet reassurance in your voice, though you’re unsure why you feel the need to offer it. Maybe it’s because, despite the complicated history between you two, in this moment, it feels like you’re more than just the roles you’ve played—more than the messy entanglements that surround you both.

Satoru doesn’t speak for a few seconds, his eyes focusing on the ice as you hold it against his cheek. The silence between you is no longer uncomfortable, but rather, it feels like a rare kind of peace, a brief respite from the chaos. "Thanks for doing this," he says eventually, his voice softer than usual. "I know it’s not easy, dealing with all the shit going on, but... I appreciate it."

You nod, unsure of how to respond to that. It’s strange, helping him like this, especially considering how much tension has been between you two recently. But the act itself, simple as it is, feels like a small moment of clarity amidst all the confusion. "You don’t have to thank me," you say quietly, looking up at him. “I’m here. For whatever you need. Just…don’t blame yourself. It’s all my fault.”

You both stand there for a long moment, neither of you moving, just sharing the space. No words are needed, the action itself speaking volumes more than anything you could say aloud. He looks like he wants to protest, to say that you’re wrong and that he has some blame in this giant mess too. But he stays silent, enjoying the comfortability of a life that seems to offer none of that so far. It’s like he still—after all this time—finds his peace with you.

That thought makes him feel put off.

Because while he can’t stop how his heart feels and force it to feel the opposite, there are still lingering emotions of annoyance. Of how this all could’ve been avoided. Of how he still hasn’t completely forgiven you. Of how that small part of him hates you. Hate? Does he hate you? It seems like he has an answer to that question when you gently place a hand on his chest. Head leaning up like it’s ready for something, your eyes flickering down to his lips. He sees it; knows it’s coming. But he doesn’t move, for some reason.

Your hand freezes the moment you realize what you’re doing, quickly stopping yourself from leaning up anymore. Though it’s a little too late for that, considering you’re this close to his lips. You hadn't even noticed it at first, your body moving on instinct, closing the distance between you two. But now that his chest rises and falls steadily under your palm, the weight of your action feels impossibly heavy.

“I…” you stammer, the words getting caught in your throat. You glance up at him, your wide eyes meeting his, searching for some kind of response. But his expression is unreadable, his pale lashes half-lowered as he looks at you with something in between confusion and guarded curiosity.

Satoru’s jaw tightens, and you can tell he’s trying to process what just happened—what’s happening now. His lips open like he’s about to say something, but the silence stretches between you both instead. Finally, his hand moves, brushing lightly over your wrist, a cautious touch, testing your reaction. “Why did you do that?” he asks, his voice quieter than usual, yet laced with an edge of something you can’t quite place. It’s not anger, but it’s not entirely calm either.

“I don’t know,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. You pull your hand back quickly, as if you’ve burned yourself, clutching it against your chest like it might shield you from the tension. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m really sorry.”

“No,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours. “You were.”

His words send a jolt through you, and for a moment, you feel exposed, like he’s peeled back a layer of your defenses you weren’t ready to give up. He doesn’t break eye contact, but there’s a shift in his gaze, a flicker of something deeper—conflict, maybe.

“Satoru,” you start, but the name sounds so small, so uncertain, even to you. “I didn’t mean—”

“You’re making this complicated,” he cuts in, his tone sharper now, like he’s trying to create a barrier between you again. “I’m trying to figure this out. Everything. And you…you can’t just—” He stops himself, exhaling harshly, his hand running through his hair in frustration. “You can’t just do things like that and expect me to know what the hell you’re thinking.”

You flinch slightly at the bite in his words, but you don’t back down. “I’m not trying to complicate anything,” you reply, more firmly this time. “I just—I don’t know how to act around you anymore. It’s like I can’t get it right.”

Satoru takes a step back, putting more distance between you, but his eyes never leave yours. “Yeah, well, join the club.”

A silence befalls you two. One that threatens you to curse yourself for ruining something so small and tender because of your own selfish desires. What reason was it for? Why did you do that? Maybe it was just a small moment of hallucination. You weren’t thinking right, only your body was. Or maybe it was the peacefulness that tiny moment brought you, or it felt right and nostalgic. Your feelings are already all jumbled up, this situation didn’t make it any better.

The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, as you both stand there, neither daring to speak or move. You feel the weight of your own actions crashing down on you, each second of quiet like an accusation. What were you thinking? The question echoes in your mind, louder and louder. Was it a lapse in judgment? A selfish impulse? Or something else entirely—a longing for something that no longer exists?

You glance at Satoru, his expression unreadable, the cool mask he wears so well firmly in place. You wish he’d say something, anything, even if it was to scold you or tell you to leave. But he doesn’t. He just stares, and the silence twists deeper into your chest.

Why did you do that? you wonder again, your thoughts spiraling. Maybe it was the way his presence felt familiar, and comforting, even after everything. Or maybe it was the way the tension between you two softened for just a fleeting second when you held that ice pack for him. Or, it could’ve been just the nostalgia—a memory of a time when things were less complicated when you didn’t feel so distant, so broken.

But now? Now it feels like you’ve ruined even that small, fragile thread of peace. The silence between you isn’t just uncomfortable—it’s damning. You’ve crossed a line, one you didn’t even realize was still there.

You open your mouth to say something, to explain yourself, to apologize again, but no words come out. Because what could you possibly say? That it was a mistake? That you weren’t thinking? That for just one moment, you wanted to feel close to him again, even if it wasn’t real? Satoru finally exhales, breaking the quiet. His gaze flickers down, then away, like he can’t look at you anymore. “I think…” He trails off, his voice quieter than before. “Maybe it’s best if we don’t… overthink this.”

You blink at him, unsure if he’s trying to offer you an out or protect himself. “Overthink what?” you manage to ask, though your voice is barely above a whisper.

He looks at you then, his expression softening just slightly, but there’s still a wall between you. “Whatever this is,” he says, gesturing vaguely between you two. “I’m trying to figure things out, and this...it just complicates everything.”

Your chest tightens at his words, but you nod, forcing yourself to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you murmur, your voice hollow. “I get it.” But do you? Or are you just agreeing because it’s easier than admitting that you don’t know where the lines are anymore? Or if they still exist. Or that you don’t even know how you feel—let alone how he feels.

“I should go,” you say finally, your voice steadier now. You grab your bag again that you set on the table haphazardly after the girlfriend run-in, avoiding his gaze, and head for the door. But just as you’re about to leave, you pause, turning back to him. “Satoru… I’m sorry.” I really didn’t mean it.

He doesn’t respond immediately, his hand lifting briefly as if he’s going to reach for you but dropping back to his side. “Yeah,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Me too.”

You don’t waste time in making your departure after hearing his words. The door closes behind you as you briskly make your way to the elevator. Letting out a breath you must’ve been holding the whole time once you’re in. Watching yourself drop floor by floor, each thought sounding louder than the previous one. Questions of why bouncing off the walls of your brain. You don’t know why; or maybe you do, you just can’t face it yet.

You’re not sure you want to face it.

You can only hope Satoru is right about all this and he stays true to his word. Don’t overthink it, pretend it didn’t happen. That should be easy, right? It should be simple, just forget it.

The elevator doors slide open, and the cold air from the lobby greets you as you step out. The stillness of the afternoon settles around you like a blanket, thick and suffocating. You pause just outside the building, inhaling deeply as if the fresh air will help clear your head. But it doesn’t. The questions still echo, louder now in the quiet of the world around you. Maybe the answer, it’s been there all along, waiting for the cracks in your armor to show. But facing it means confronting feelings you’ve kept locked away for years—feelings you’re not sure you’re ready to admit exist.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, breaking the silence. You pull it out, and Hana’s name lights up the screen. Guilt instantly knots in your stomach. You’ve been so caught up in your own whirlwind of emotions that you completely forgot about your shift. “Hey,” you answer, your voice tight but steady.

“Y/N? Where the hell have you been?” Hana’s voice is sharp but concerned. “I’ve been calling you for hours. Are you okay?”

“I—I’m fine,” you stammer, forcing a calm tone. “Just… had some things to take care of. I’m sorry for being late, I’m coming right now.”

There’s a pause on her end, and then she sighs. “Look, just get here when you can, alright? We’ll talk about this later.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, already walking toward the nearest bus stop. “I’ll be there soon.”

As the line disconnects, you tuck your phone back into your pocket and quicken your pace. Hopefully, work will be a distraction, something to keep your mind from circling back to Satoru, to what happened, to everything it could and couldn’t mean. Because right now, pretending it didn’t happen feels safer than admitting that it did. And you can only hope—pray, even that Satoru is doing the same.

Satoru had barely even eaten the lunch he grabbed from his fridge. Driving back to the office in complete silence, not even putting the radio on as background noise. Now, he’s just staring down at his food on his desk, finger tapping against the armrest of his chair. The food sits untouched in front of him, its aroma barely registering as Satoru leans back in his chair. His finger taps rhythmically against the armrest, an unconscious outlet for the storm of thoughts swirling in his head—an unusual quietness for someone who usually thrives on noise.

But now, the silence feels deafening.

His jaw tightens as he replays the scene in his apartment, your expression when you left, and the weight of your hand on his chest, the way you leaned in so casually, so instinctively. He lets out a sharp exhale, raking a hand through his hair. “Get it together,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at the half-eaten sandwich sitting before him like it’s the cause of his current turmoil.

He’s angry—not just at you, but at himself. At the way his heart reacted in that split second, betraying him when he was supposed to have control. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything, not after everything that had happened between you two. But that small moment—the fleeting touch, the look in your eyes—it’s left him shaken in a way he can’t quite articulate.

The sharp knock at his office door jolts him out of his thoughts. He straightens, hastily pushing the food aside and clearing his throat. “Yeah, come in,” he calls, his voice a little rougher than intended.

A junior colleague pokes their head in, a stack of files in their hands. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but these need your signature before the end of the day.”

“Just leave them on the desk,” he replies, barely sparing a glance.

The younger employee hesitates, sensing the tension in the room, before quickly placing the files down and retreating. Satoru leans forward, elbows resting on his desk as he buries his face in his hands. He knows he won’t get anything done like this, but his thoughts are relentless. And no matter how much he tells himself to let it go, he can’t shake the memory of your hand, your eyes, the way you looked at him as if you were searching for something he’s not sure he can give. “Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, shoving his chair back and standing abruptly. Maybe he needs to walk it off, clear his head, do something—anything—to stop thinking about you.

A few minutes pass, busying himself with the signatures before the doors open again, this time with no warning knock. “I’ve had people look into the leak, it was an anonymous source. There’s a group of men your father sent to scout out the possible places the picture was taken from.”

His mother’s voice is a small distraction from his inner turmoil. Of course it’s not the exact thing he’d like to hear and discuss right now, but anything to take his mind off today's earlier events. “Any luck?”

She sighs, rubbing a hand through her greying hair. “As of now, no. But we’re narrowing it down. Your father believes the leak came from a possible rival.”

Satoru sits up straight. “Like the Zenins?”

Grimacing at the mere mention of that family, Akane frowns but shakes her head. “No, surprisingly. They were out on a family vacation to Italy. I got word they landed back last night.”

“Still, it could’ve been from them. Maybe they hired someone.”

The Zenins and the Gojo Group have been rivals for a long time now. Though most would probably consider them to have a “frenemies” sort of relationship, some of the people in that family are just…horrible. Not all, but almost all. Satoru lets out a low breath, leaning back in his chair as memories of past encounters with the Zenins flash through his mind. He’s been forced to deal with them more times than he can count—at corporate events, business dealings, even unfortunate leisure events—and each time, their games get more infuriating.

The Zenins own a massive real estate and infrastructure business called the Zenin Development Group, or ZDP for short. The ZDP hasn’t shied away from the use of rumors in the past that attempted to damage the Gojo Group’s image. Satoru remembers one incident where word had been flying around about the Gojo Group “losing its footing in certain markets”. A sorry try at weakening their investor confidence. The head of the Zenins, Toji, is usually the more critical and logical man. His cousin however, the man who was supposed to be in Toji’s spot, isn’t. That cousin, lacking Toji’s cunning and restraint filled nature, remains a wildcard Satoru would rather not deal with.

Still, their family name alone is enough to make Satoru’s jaw clench.

Akane pinches the bridge of her nose, clearly exasperated. “It’s a possibility, but your father’s men are thorough. If the Zenins hired someone, we’d have a trail by now. And honestly, Satoru, with the way that family operates, they’d have made sure you knew it was them. Subtlety isn’t exactly their strong suit.”

Satoru lets out a dry huff, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, you’re right. They love to flaunt their chaos.”

“Exactly,” Akane replies, crossing her arms as she paces. “This is different. It feels… personal. Whoever leaked that photo isn’t trying to start a war—they’re trying to cause damage. To you specifically or the company name, either or.”

He tilts his head, processing her words. “Why would it be specifically me? And not the family, not the company?”

“Well right now, it’s focused on you. It’s not the usual business sabotage we see with rivals.” Akane’s tone is pointed as she stops pacing, fixing him with a meaningful look. “They knew about Koji. This wasn’t some random slip. Someone wanted that information out in the open.”

Satoru’s chest tightens, his mind flickering to you and Koji. It hadn’t been long since his son came into his life, and now—now everything felt like it was spiraling faster than he could keep up.

“You think it’s someone close,” he mutters, not quite phrasing it as a question. “A partner?”

Akane’s silence is enough of an answer.

Satoru pushes a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “If it’s personal, then who the hell has it out for me like this? Himari’s pissed, but she’s not stupid enough to—”

Akane cuts him off with a sharp look. “Don’t rule her out just yet.”

Satoru scowls. “Come on, you really think—”

“I think people do crazy things, no matter if we think they will or not,” Akane interrupts firmly. “And she’s been in your life for years now, Satoru. She’s close enough to pull something like this without you suspecting it.”

Satoru is quiet for a beat, his mind whirring. “And if it’s not her?”

“Then it’s someone else in our circle,” Akane says, her voice cool and confident. “Someone with access. Someone who knows where to hit.”

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. His world already feels like it’s splitting at the seams, and now someone is actively trying to make it worse.

“What do we do now?” he asks finally, his tone subdued.

Akane straightens, her expression hardening with resolve. “We tighten security, keep this contained as best as we can. Your father will expect you to do damage control. In the meantime, I’ll keep digging to find out who’s behind this.”

“And what’s his plan if we find the source?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

Her lips thin into a straight line. “We’ll handle it as we always do. Quietly. Efficiently.”

Satoru nods, his jaw set. “Good. Do whatever you have to. I want answers.”

Akane turns to leave but pauses at the door. “And Satoru—be careful who you trust.”

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Satoru alone once more, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the silence.

Someone close to him betrayed him. Someone knew about Koji. Was he getting followed again? It couldn’t have been the informant his parents sent after him when he was gone, they already checked in with him and scared him to keep his mouth shut about anything.

Satoru swivels the mouse to his computer, lighting up the screen once more. An article he had stopped reading a few minutes prior appears. The Zenin Development Group, of course, had been the first to make a comment. Within hours of the news breaking, they released a veiled statement—dressed up as “a comment on modern family values”—that clearly took aim at the Gojo Group. The implication had been clear: Satoru Gojo, the golden heir, had secrets. Unpredictability. For a family like the Gojos, where control was everything, it was a calculated jab. The Zenins would never miss an opportunity to capitalize on a weakness. He laced his fingers together as his mind runs.

The real estate moguls weren’t the only ones circling, though. Smaller partnerships had already started asking questions. He was hoping that deals that were already set in stone wouldn’t suddenly slow to a crawl with poor excuses of “we’re just waiting to finalize a few details” piling up. However, investors did send cautious emails, politely “checking in” to ensure the Gojo Group was still on track.

And the last thing the Gojo Group needed were foreign partners—companies Satoru and his father had worked years to solidify relationships with—showing even hints of hesitation. People wanted answers, of course, clarity. How does the man who’s heir to one of the country’s largest conglomerates have a child hidden away? And more importantly, what else don’t they know?

Satoru exhales sharply, his fingers pressing harder into each other. It had taken everything in him not to lose his temper in the initial meetings of this morning. The entire damn building practically gawked at him more than usual when he strutted in. He felt their silent questions, their shock and confusion. None of them voiced anything, but that didn’t stop them from secretly whispering to each other when they thought he couldn’t hear. He kept his voice steady, his demeanor calm—like none of this mattered, like he wasn’t feeling the weight of it all pressing against his ribs. To his credit, most of the major deals were still holding. The Gojo name was far too powerful to be shaken by one scandal, but that didn’t mean cracks hadn’t appeared.

There were still murmurs, even within his own company. Executives muttering over coffee, wondering if the family would take action to “correct the situation.” His parents had already made their stance clear—they wanted this “mess” cleaned up quickly. A statement. A press release. Something that would sweep the story under the rug.

But Satoru couldn’t bring himself to do it. How could he? What would he even say? That he’s sorry?

His son wasn’t a mistake.

He glances over to the untouched lunch on his desk, appetite long gone. Koji hadn’t asked to be born into this family, into this life of scrutiny and power plays. And yet here he was—thrust into the spotlight because of some unruly person who doesn’t give a damn about anything. The Gojo Group would weather this storm—he’d have to make sure of it.

Still, it’s the moments between all the business calls and the carefully crafted emails that gnaw at him the most. When he catches a glimpse of Koji’s face in the news coverage, or sees your name being dragged into articles alongside his. If he wasn’t so pissed, he’d be shocked at how quickly the public found that out.

It’s just business, he reminds himself.

But Satoru knows better than anyone—nothing about this has ever just been business.

He rubs his face again this time harder, checking the time.

Distraction, distraction, distraction. He takes his phone out, going to his messages. Hovering his thumb over your name, before biting the bullet and sending you a text.

I’m picking up Koji today.

A few minutes later…

Y/N:

Are you sure? I can

Already decided, don’t worry about it

Satoru pauses again, his thumbs doing circles over the bright screen as he thinks of the correct way to articulate his next text.

You should probably stay over again. I’ll watch Koji but if you’re working late, he’ll end up falling asleep. I don’t want you guys out alone at night.

Is that too forward of him to say? Truly, he does mean it for your protection and safety. He’s willing to look past whatever it was earlier today, just as long as you and his son don’t accidentally get ambushed by reporters or strangers. Besides, he’s making up for lost time, remember?

Another few minutes passed with no reply. Assuming you’re busy at work right now, he’s about to shut his phone off and stand up when you say…

Y/N:

Oh, okay. Just one more night

He wishes he can read your tone better through text.

“Papa.”

“Yeah, buddy?” Satoru wipes a small stream of chocolate ice cream from his son’s mouth. He wonders if you’d scold him for giving him ice cream on a cold day. But hey, his son did ask. And who is he to say no?

“On January 5th, it’s a special day.” Koji grins, little legs swinging back and forth over the bed, watching his father clean up the room his son will be sleeping in again tonight. Another reason you’d probably be mad at him for eating ice cream, it’s night time and he’s about to go to sleep.

Satoru had gone to the store after picking up Koji from school to buy a quick set of pajamas and tiny underwear for the boy after realizing he had absolutely no spare children’s clothes laying around.

Why would he?

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

Koji’s grin widens, his little hands clutching the edge of the bed as if he’s holding onto the excitement bubbling inside him. “It’s Dad Appreciation Day at school!”

Satoru freezes mid-motion, Dad Appreciation Day. He turns slowly, trying to keep his voice light and teasing even as something twists in his chest. “Oh, is that so? And what happens on Dad Appreciation Day?”

Koji beams up at him, oblivious to the subtle tension in his father’s stance. “It’s a day where we get to bring our dads to school and show them all the cool stuff we made! Mr. Ito says we’re gonna draw pictures and talk about how awesome they are!” He pauses for a second, as if gathering his thoughts. “And I already told everyone my dad is the coolest of them all.”

Satoru swallows, his throat suddenly dry. “You did, huh?”

Koji nods enthusiastically, his little legs still swinging. “Yeah! ‘Cause you are the coolest, Papa.” He says it like it’s the simplest truth in the world, his voice full of innocence and pride.

Satoru stares at him for a beat too long, that twisting feeling growing stronger. He crouches down in front of Koji, meeting his son’s wide, expectant eyes. But he can’t hold back the warmth that blooms in his being. “So, you want me to come to this Dad Appreciation Day?”

Koji nods again, so quickly it looks like his head might fall off. “Yep! And I want you to meet my friends! And—” he pauses suddenly, glancing down at his hands as if shy about what he’s about to say. “And I want them to know you’re real.”

The words hit Satoru harder than he expects. He blinks, his heart stuttering in his chest. “What do you mean, buddy? Of course I’m real.”

Koji fidgets, his fingers tugging at the edge of the blanket. “Sometimes the other kids say I’m making stuff up. That I don’t really have a dad ‘cause they’ve never seen you. But I told them you’re real! And you’re awesome and tall and can do anything. I don’t have pictures of you either to show them.” He lifts his head again, his little face hopeful. “So…you’ll come, right?”

Satoru feels something ache deep in his chest—a mix of guilt, pride, and something he can’t quite name. This is what he’s been afraid of. The impact his absence might have on Koji, the doubts his son has had to defend himself against. Although it’s not his fault, he still feels awful over the fact that his son is getting criticized by other little shitheads for “lying about his dad”.

Again, who is he to say no?

Satoru musters a soft smile, reaching out to ruffle Koji’s hair. “Of course I’ll come, buddy. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Koji’s face lights up, a pure, unfiltered joy spreading across his features. “Really?! You promise?”

“I promise.” Satoru’s voice is steady, despite the weight of the promise he’s just made. Because for once, he isn’t thinking about the scandal, the headlines, or what his family might say. Right now, all he sees is his son’s smile—the only thing that matters.

Koji throws his arms around Satoru’s neck, hugging him tightly. “Thanks, Papa. You’re the best.”

Satoru wraps his arms around the little boy, holding him close as he presses a kiss to the top of his head. “No, Koji. You’re the best.”

At this moment, Satoru feels like he’s doing something right.

Satoru sits back, still holding Koji close as the boy relaxes in his arms, content and unaware of the complexities that hang over his father. For a few moments, the weight of the world feels light, and the chaos of his personal and professional life fades into the background. He can’t help but wish he could bottle up this peace and take it with him everywhere.

Koji yawns, his little body starting to slump against Satoru’s chest, the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. Satoru gently shifts him back onto the bed, tucking the covers around him. Taking his ice cream from him, the room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside. He watches as Koji’s eyes flutter closed, a faint smile still playing at the corners of his lips.

Satoru stands up slowly, lingering for a moment to make sure Koji is comfortable. He reaches for the nightlight switch, casting the room in a soft glow, then turns back to the door. His thoughts are no longer on the promises made to the company or the looming questions about his future with his family. It’s all about Koji, about being the father his son deserves.

As he steps out into the hallway, Satoru feels the familiar weight of the world returning, just a little. There are meetings tomorrow, more calls to take, and a whole slew of problems waiting for him. But tonight, for the first time in what feels like forever, he has something to look forward to. A chance to be present, to be the kind of parent he knows he can be. And that’s enough for now.

He takes a deep breath, letting the silence settle around him as he heads to the kitchen to grab a drink. Tomorrow will come with its own challenges, but tonight, he can rest easy knowing that for once, he has what he wants within his grasp.

Despite his long day, Satoru feels a small obligation to stay up for you. Ensuring you make it back safe and all. You had insisted on using the bus back home, but he sent you money for a cab instead. Sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows floating atop. Still in his white button up and black slacks, white socks on. Once you knock on the door, he’s answering. “Hey, how was work?”

“Okay,” you mumble, walking past him inside. From your demeanor, you look tired. Maybe even still awkward. He locks the door shut and walks over, hovering next to you as you did your body of your coat and shoes.

“Koji’s asleep.”

You nod. “Okay, thank you.”

“No problem ,” he lightly shrugs. “Um…are you hu—“

“No, no. Not really. I think I just want to shower and sleep.”

Satoru watches as you slip off your shoes, your shoulders heavy, and your movements slower than usual. He can tell you’re not in the mood for any more conversation, and he doesn’t want to push. The tension between you both is still there, unspoken but present in every glance, every word. But he’s trying to keep the peace, trying to respect the distance you’ve put between the two of you.

“Alright, well, if you need anything...” he trails off, not sure what else to say. He knows he could offer more, but right now, he’s unsure what would make you feel more at ease. The last thing he wants is to make you feel like he’s prying.

You glance over at him for a brief moment, your face unreadable. “Thanks,” you mutter, the words soft but genuine.

He hums back, putting his hands in his pockets. “And he told me about the Dad day. I’ll clear my schedule and go.”

You glance up at him, a surprised but relieved expression flickering across your face. You hadn’t expected him to follow through so easily, but the way he says it so matter-of-factly makes you believe him. “That’s… that’s really great, Satoru,” you say quietly, trying not to let your gratitude sound too heavy. You didn’t want to make it more awkward than it already is. But deep down, you’re thankful. For Koji’s sake, for his happiness, and maybe for yours too.

Satoru gives you a small smile, almost like a silent reassurance, though his eyes betray a flicker of uncertainty, as if he’s still unsure of how to navigate all the unspoken words hanging between you two. “It’s nothing. He’s my son, after all. I wouldn’t miss it.”

You nod, giving him a small smile back, and you can’t help but feel a little more at ease.

“I should let you get some rest,” he adds, his voice softening, almost like he’s giving you an out. “I know you’ve had a long day. I left some of my clothes out in the bathroom for you, if that’s okay.”

You nod again, appreciative of his understanding. It’s strange how he can act so distant and yet, in moments like these, he can be so… present. For once, you don’t feel the weight of everything crashing down on you. Maybe it’s because of Koji, or maybe it’s because Satoru’s actually trying. “That’s okay, thank you again.”

“Stop thanking me so much,” he shakes you off, walking over to the sink to begin washing the dishes. For a second, you watch his back, seeing the muscles of his firm skin through the almost dangerously thin material of his shirt. You look away, realizing you’ve been staring for too long and head over to the bathroom to begin your shower.

Once again, the water feels warm and comforting against your skin. It’s what you look forward to after your days. Relaxing and letting loose, letting your shower ease your tension in your shoulders. Freeing your body of the day’s dirt and oil, feeling an ungodly amount of clean. Maybe it’s Satoru’s detachment shower head, or his lovely smelling shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, but it makes you sight wistfully.

You allow yourself to bask in it, longer than you would back at your place because it’s not your water bill. As you step out and dry yourself off, the clothes that are left are a simple white t-shirt with boxers. Probably the only thing he has that can semi-fit you.

However, you can’t resist the urge to bring the soft material up to your nostrils, eyes closing as you inhale deeply. It fills your senses with a strange, but familiar twist. Oh god, how you love his smell.

That’s okay to admit still, right?

It’s not even just his cologne, but him. You’ve always loved it, always sniffed him and his clothes randomly. He’d make fun of you sometimes for it, just light teasing. Of course, he also was in love with the idea that just his scent alone can get you going.

Inhale after inhale, practically stuffing the clothing in your face before taking the moment to actually put them on. Still big, but manageable. Besides, it’s just one more night. You and Koji will be back to the apartment tomorrow.

After a good 45 minutes in the bathroom, you step out and walk in the direction of the room Koji’s in. But, you bump right into Satoru as you do so. He’s holding his own pair of pajamas in his arm. “Oh, sorry,” you quickly apologize and step back, voice low in effort to keep your son asleep. The dim lighting of the hallway almost makes his features even more pretty. “Did I take a long time? I thought you showered already.”

“No, it’s okay,” he replies, the bright hue of his eyes moving up and down. “You look…” He pauses, and there’s something in his gaze that’s hard to place, but you can feel the weight of it. “Comfortable.”

You feel your cheeks warm under his attention, but you don’t say anything in response. “Yeah, I am.”

He nods briefly and in silence. Once again, it’s like that moment from earlier today is making an appearance again. But this time it feels a little more electrified. Maybe it’s from the way his Adam’s Apple visibly bobs up and down like he’s gulping hard. Or the way his mouth has suddenly dried out. Or the way he has sudden invading memories of you wearing his shirt with nothing else after a passionate moment. Suddenly, he feels a problem.

“Goodnight,” he swiftly utters, walking past you into the bathroom. His movements are hurried, turning the shower back on, putting his clothes down onto the sink—ridding his current wear. In just a second, a knowing throb is taking place, one that almost causes him to groan out when his hand accidentally brushes against it.

The water’s still cold as he gets in—he figures that’s a good thing.

As the water splashes over his skin, Satoru tries to focus on the cold, the sting of it against his flushed skin, to fight off the growing tension that is so hard to ignore. His thoughts are a blur—memories of moments with you, your laughter, the way you’ve always looked at him, the touch of your skin, your smell. They all collide inside his head, each one triggering the next, until it’s impossible to escape the warmth of his desire. He tries to shake it off, tilting his face up to splash cold water onto it, breathing heavily as the icy droplets hit his skin. But the image of you wearing his shirt, the softness of the fabric against your bare skin, refuses to leave his mind. It’s maddening. There’s a part of him that feels guilty, like he’s crossing some boundary, but another part, the part that craves the connection with you, is too strong.

The tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten, feels like it’s pulling him in two different directions. The man he’s supposed to be—focused, disciplined, in control—and the man who craves more than just physical closeness.

“Get it together, idiot,” he mutters under his breath, the words coming out as a sharp reprimand, though he knows it’s easier said than done.

The water begins to warm, slowly, but he doesn’t notice, his thoughts swirling like a storm. What the hell are you doing to him?

He takes a deep breath and turns the temperature up, letting the water envelop him, hoping that it will cool the fire inside of him. But somehow, it just feels like the heat of the moment is following him everywhere.

What was he thinking letting you wear his clothes again? He’s practically asking for it. He should’ve thought more about his decision. But at the time, he was thinking with his brain, not his hard cock.

Sparing a small glance down, his lips downturn. The tip is already an angry red and he’s barely touched himself, his veins becoming more prominent by the second as the blood rushes up and up. It’s practically begging to be felt, begging to be released.

He feels like such an idiot. A perverted idiot.

But with each blink, he’s getting flashbanged of past memories. The way your moans sounded heavenly in his ear, the way you squeezed around him that had his eyes rolling back. When you’d make that cute little noise when he’d circle a thumb on your pussy clit, simultaneously bullying your hole with his cock. The way you’d hold onto him. The way you—oh god.

His body has such a mind of its own.

He’s twitching in his hand, achingly so. Forcing down the surge of sudden need and focusing on the now. Willing his body to stop reacting so…blatant. It’s hard. In both ways. Satoru’s a grown man. He’s not used to such childish behaviors like this anymore. Keeping the lewd noises that threaten to leave his lips down like he’s a teenager all over again, scared of getting caught jacking off in his bedroom while his parents were down the hall. And he especially didn’t think he’d react like this all over again, and so damn easily too.

That’s what pisses him off most. Aside from the fact that you seemed so nonchalant. As if you didn’t know what was happening. That, or you’ve just become a good actress.

The water pellets down on him, hoping that the sound of his warm shower is enough to drown out the noise of the shaky moan that accidentally slips from his lips. This is bad; you and his son are sleeping peacefully in the other room and he’s here doing this.

But he just can’t help himself. His cheeks are flushed red, not just from the water. Head tilting back as he lays his left palm flat on the shower wall. For a second, he lets himself indulge in his selfish desires. And he doesn’t mind the fact that he just came to the thought of another woman and not his current girlfriend.

Jesus, he’s fucked up, isn’t he?

The next day proves to be busy. With the sudden influx of customers, everyone has been practically busting their ass off. You’re happy to go home, no longer dealing with that hustle and bustle.

Hana stays for another couple hours until she too will be saved. She can’t even count on her hands how many times a customer or customers have asked for you. She feels bad, of course. You seem to be handling it, but at the same time, you’re not.

She’s learned her lesson not to pry anymore when you seem close to the edge, that doesn’t diminish her worry as your friend.

It’s slower as the day continues, the sun beginning to set and paint the sky with pretty shades of orange. She’s cleaning the tables, humming a small tune when the ding from above the door sounds.

Like clockwork, she stops her cleaning and goes behind the register, planting a customer service smile. “Hello, welcome in.”

The man smiles back, though his seems more fake. Stepping upfront in front of her, looking over the menu placed above. He hums and talks his chin with his pointer finger. “What do you recommend?”

“The cookie butter latte is our best seller,” Hana replies.

He nods again, his feline eyes flickering back down to her own brown pair. “That sounds wonderful, can I have that?”

“Of course.” Hana taps the order into the screen of the register, looking back up. “Anything else?”

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” He smoothly says.

Hana blinks in surprise, momentarily thrown off guard by the man's sudden compliment. She forces a smile, not quite sure how to respond. Compliments were part of the job, but this one felt a little too close for comfort. She can feel the warmth creeping up her neck as she tries to keep the conversation professional. "Thank you," she says, voice even and polite. "Anything else I can get for you today?"

The man tilts his head slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Maybe just your name?"

She offers a small, practiced smile, hoping to keep things casual. "Hana," she replies, maintaining eye contact but not giving away too much. "Now, would you like anything to go with your latte?"

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes scanning the pastries behind the counter. "A chocolate croissant, please."

"Great choice," she says, quickly adding it to the order. "That'll be all?"

"For now," he says with a slight nod, but there's something in his tone that makes her wonder if it's really the last time she'll hear from him today.

Hana nods. “And a name for the order?”

He pulls out a crisp total of one thousand yen. “Naoya.”

a/n: writing the "kiss" scene made me think back to a time I dodged my ex's kiss b4 we started dating and I felt so embarrassed for him

taglist is now closed

taglist: @celestialforce @theclassbookworm @tbzzluvr @uhenivid @ofkilljoysandslytherins

@sadmonke @bunheadusa @shartnart1 @lady-of-blossoms @itsinherited

@duooy @ari-sa @dakotali @mew4-ever18 @iv-vee

@devils-blackrose @a-girl-with-thoughts @bitchycloudstrawberry @tiffyisme3760 @iheartshopping

@chiara-hotel @uriahs-barn @celloccino @roronoazorosbxtchh @pseudophyllus

@ratedrrrr @m1gota @tojideckmuncher @yigaclvn @sukunaslve

@eiizabeth-torres @cherrythiccums0 @satorustorm @zoeyflower @username23345

@i0313z @gourdlorddgubes @partypoison00 @quinnyundertow @sorilyae

@redzscare @aldebrana @nycmagi @s4ikooo1 @dreaming-lis @gigiiiiislife

@boothillglazer @miss-dior @miakxn @rjreins

1K notes · View notes

outtathisworld-imagines · 1 month ago

Text

My only sunshine

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x F!Reader

Warning: MDNI! 18+ content, smut, heavy kissing, fingering (fem!rec), Oral (fem!rec), mutual orgasm, aftercare, some fluff, Bob is quite into the dirty talk and just being an all round kind, slightly slutty gentleman, swearing, very mild voyeurism, unprotected sex- pls wrap before you tap. Not proofread 🙃.

A.N: This is a continuation of this fic because I cannot let go of writing for Bob 🥲 Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I’ll start to post soon 😊 and just let me know if you’d liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

—☀️—

When you were launched as ‘The New Avengers’, not everyone expected such newfound fame so fast. Some adapted well, like Alexei, most weren’t accustomed at all.

But in all the media circus, all the cameras, all the general PR chaos, you had one pillar of calm and that was Bob.

Since the moment two months ago shared between you both and the sunrise, the morning where you had both declared that the two of you had loved each other, the pair of you had been inseparable. Of course, you wanted to keep it as private as possible, to the point where you hadn’t even told the team yet- you hadn’t even told your brother. However you both loved your little bubble of privacy as the two of you started to find your feet in this relationship. Sharing a brief kiss every now and then, brushing hands and holding them under a blanket when it was movie night with the team. And of course, you had your nights where you held him close when he was fighting off demons in his nightmares.

“We are heading out for a couple of hours, some suspicious behaviour in Washington.” Yelena told Bob as everyone gathered themselves one late afternoon. “Will you be okay on your own?”

“Someone should probably still stay with him.” Bucky had spoke up, looking at you as he was zipping his coat. It instantly took you back two months ago to your conversation on the roof with him.

You cleared your throat “Y-yeah I can stay. I’ll stay with Bob. We can catch up with the dishes.” You smiled the group who agreed it was a good idea. They had all left and as soon as they did, Bob pounced on you, peppering your face with kisses. “I was serious!” You giggled “We should do some housework.”

Bob longingly sighed “Alright…I can always get my kiss fix later.” He kissed you again before pulling you to your feet.

The pair of you made fast work of cleaning the rooms of the watchtower where you all now lived before attempting the multitude of dishes.

“I don’t think Alexei realised you can wash a plate between each Doordash order…” you joked between scrubbing endless of plates and passing to Bob to dry.

“Let me take over for a little bit, save your hands from getting all wrinkly.” He scooted over and tried to take a mug from you, causing you to drop it in the water and splash over you both. You let out a shriek and looked up to Bob who had bubbles and water all down his front.

“Oh-oh I’m sorry!” You said between giggles. Bob looked at you with a sly grin, scooped up a handful of water and soaked you. “BOB!” You laughed and soaked him back. After a bit of back and forth spraying each other with bubbles and water he suddenly stopped and swallowed hard. “What? What’s up?” You asked, suddenly worrying that you had done something wrong, or worse…that a shadow was creeping back in. “Bob,” you grabbed his upper arms “What’s-“

“Y-your top…it’s wet…” he gulped again, swallowing hard.

“Well, of course it is you got me,” you looked down, your white top wasn’t probably the best idea to wash dishes in. Especially with no bra. “You, uh, got me wet…” you covered your chest with your arm. “I mean the water got me wet, that you soaked me with!” Your words spilled out, fumbled between apologies. You tried to turn away but Bob’s arm was tightening around one of your wrists.

His eyes were darting between your chest and your eyes. “S-sorry, I-I just- you know I think you’re so beautiful. A-and I know we haven’t had the chance to be…you know fully intimate with everyone always being here and-“ you silenced him with a firm kiss, one that he fully embraced along with you. You both stumbled backwards into the living room, lips still locked together.

You giggled falling back onto the large sofa as Bob hungrily kissed you. “You got me all wet too…” he retorts as he sat himself up, his legs straddling you as he slowly raised his t-shirt up and over his head. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip seeing his perfect form glowing in the light of the sun that was starting to set. He leaned back down and feverishly kissed you “But I can guarantee you’re wetter…” you gasped at his words.

“Bob…you might not be as innocent as I once thought.” You kissed and softly took his bottom lip between your teeth, pulling it just enough to tease and draw a groan from him. “Maybe you’re as innocent as me…”

Bob smirked, his fingers tugging at the end of your damp top. “Oh…? I always thought you were a ‘butter wouldn’t melt’, ‘sweeter than sugar’ girl, my sunshine…” his words, dripping with tease made you show how just how strong that serum had made you and you flipped Bob over, now you were the one straddling him. You smiled down as the boy with the curly, floppy hair that captured your heart was now catching his breath.

You pitching out of his misery and mirrored the actions he had done earlier and removed your top. A mixture of a groan and a gasp left his throat as his hands subconsciously reached for your waist and then up to caress the rest of your body. “Oh god, dear god, my god…you’re so unbelievingly stunning.” He watched as the sun shone on your chest, how the tiny droplets of water shone, and suddenly became jealous of the light. How it hugged and caressed every inch of you when it should be him. He sat up ever so slightly. “I need to kiss you everywhere. I need to touch you everywhere…” his hands were jolting in excitement from the sparks he felt from your skin. “Can I do that? Can I have all of you?” He asked. He begged.

“Of course you can.” You softly shared a kiss in the orange glow on the sunset before it turned more and more passionate. Bob nervously fumbled with the button on your jeans which you were happy to oblige helping taking them off. You wriggled out of them and Bob began kissing up your leg and then to the inside of your thigh.

“So, so perfect.” He said between kisses “You’re so fucking perfect, my sunshine.” You felt a flush rush up your chest and to your cheeks at his words. You suddenly felt him stop kissing and you looked down, find him completely transfixed on your underwear. You ran a hand through his curls and he glanced up, as if asking for permission without moving his mouth. You nodded and rest your head on the pillow behind you, feeling his head move closer to the other wet spot on you. Bob gently kissed it, a soft growl leaving his lips as he tasted you on them. You gasped hearing a rip and found your underwear between both his hands as his eyes bounced between them in surprise at himself. “S-sorry I just- holy shit.” He dropped the shedded material and sat backwards in awe at you. All of you. “You’re the most goddamn beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my whole life Y/N.” He then crawled towards you “I bet you’re even prettier when you come…”

“B-Bob!” You gasped in delight as his tongue explored every curve and fold of your wet pussy. You groaned and grabbed onto his hair tightly “Oh god baby, just like that, god YES!” Your sounds only encouraged him more and he added his fingers into the mix, gently pumping one hand in and out of your pussy sand the other rubbing your clit while continuing to eat you out. “God Bob!” You moaned “What did I do you deserve this?!” You could feel him smile as he continued sending waves of pure pleasure through your body. You both locked eyes, he watched you intently how your face and body contorted in the sunlight, what was just right and made a mental note of it so he knew what he could do again to draw these stunning reactions from you.

Bob pulled away and you just had enough time to catch a single breath before kissing you with his slick lips. He giggled as he wiped the rest of his face “You deserve that all the time, my sunshine.” He kissed you again “Believe me I’ll be doing that all the time anyway because you taste so fucking good.” His tongue found yours and danced across it, letting you taste your own sweet mess that he made. He felt you try to undo the belt of his trousers which made him gently laugh against your lips. “Someone is excited,” he teased and you playfully bit his lip as retaliation. “It’s okay,” his hand found yours and moved it from the belt to his already rock hard cock “I’m excited too.” He spoke so innocently and softly while doing the least innocent thing which made you even weaker at the knees for him.

Bob stood up and in one swift and smooth motion, his trousers and boxers were off. You propped yourself up on your elbows, jaw almost hitting the floor at the sight of him. “Y-y-you’re…wow. Just wow.” Bob bashfully swatted away your comments “I’m serious Bob, you’re so beautiful…” your voice could raise barely above a whisper.

“I think I’m pretty well endowed…” He jested and you raised a brow at his underestimated comment. He walked towards you “You look so pretty with your mouth open for me like that, sunshine.” You smirked and opened wider, causing Bob to chuckle. “As much as I’d love that pretty open mouth to take me…” his thumb swiped over your lips and tongue before brining it to his own mouth and licking it with a groan. “It’s that pretty pussy I need. I need to feel that tight, wet, pretty pussy swallow my cock, sunshine. Can it do that?” You practically throw him on top of you, passionately kissing him as he laughed between your lips and said “I take it that’s a yes?” You smiled and gazed in his eyes as he pulled back. “Let me just grab a con-“

“Bob, it’s okay. Being injected with super solider serum and all…” you hinted in a round about kinda way that it would be fine.

He almost choked on his drool at the fact and said it aloud “I-I get to come inside you? I can come inside you?”

“Yes…” you smiled and then dozens of kisses grazed your face and your neck and across your bare chest. You looked up and saw Bob, glowing in the last burning orange light of the day before his lips reached yours again and he gently moved his hips forward towards yours and slid himself inside you. You tightly gripped onto his shoulders as you both let out a groan in delight.

There was no denying the man was right, he was very well endowed. “C’mon baby, you wanna take me all? I can feel that little pussy of yours squeezing my cock so good,” you widened your legs a little more and he moaned “That’s it, take all of me, I wanna give you all of me.” He started moving his hips back and forth and you shuddered in pure bliss.

“Just like that, Bob, god please don’t stop!” You begged as you held onto him for dear life.

He kissed you “Baby if I had it my way I would never stop, I’d never leave this perfect pussy.” You moaned in his ear and he picked up the speed a little. “C’mon my sunshine, so goddamn beautiful, more beautiful as that sunset out there. I love you, I love you so much Y/N.”

“I love you too Bob,” you said between pants and moans. “God I think…I’m gonna come Bob.”

“That’s it baby, come for me, come all over my cock I wanna feel you come for me.” Your face and body contorted in a wave of pleasure and Bob wrapped his arms around you, gently cradling you through your orgasm while still thrusting. “Oh god that was so fucking hot, you’re gonna make me” Bob practically screamed out as he came inside you before landing on your chest panting and trying to catch his breaths. “Holy shit…” he tiredly giggled and you wrapped your arms around him, resting your chin on his head with a smile on your face.

“Good day?” You asked.

“The best goddamn day of my life.” He turned his head and let his lips lock to yours as he pulled out and then sat on his knees to look at his work. “I thought that pussy couldn’t get any prettier,” he lay back on top of you and kissed you again “Turns out it’s just as pretty with all of me coming out of it.” You bashfully smiled and burried your face into the crook of his neck. “Someone getting all nervous on me now? All shy after all that? You’re too cute.” He teased and you shuffled around on the couch so you were laying next to him you looked up and shared a soft, lingering kiss. The stars were steadily burying into the night sky as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

You lazily traced pattered on his chest while he held you close, your limbs intertwined and both your worlds in complete peace.

That was until the doors opened and you both tensely grabbed one another, Bob practically pulling you on top of him as if that would hide you both any more than you were exposed now.

“I told you not to do anything stupid Alexei! Next time you’ll have to get yourself out of your own mess,” Yelena complained.

“Hey guys we’re home!” John called out. “Y/N? Bob?”

You and Bob remained hidden behind the back of the couch, hoping that they wouldn’t spot either of you. “Hey Y/N? We’re back!” You heard Bucky called.

“Maybe there are sleeping?” Ava said “It’s pretty early though, but they could be in their rooms?”

“Whatever, it’s royal rumble tonight! The sofa is mine!” Alexei called out and ran towards the sofa before you called out.

“Stop! No I’m here!” You peeked your head over the back of the sofa. “Hi guys, how was the mission?”

Everyone raised a brow at the same time with a stunned silent look on their faces. “Um…yeah it was good. Are you okay?” John asked and you nodded your head yes with a tight, nervous smile. “Are you…” he looked at your exposed shoulders “Uh…are you…” Bucky snapped his head to John and glared at him, ensuring he chose his next words carefully. “Are you wearing…anything?” With the same tight smile you shook your head no.

Bucky groaned and held his head in his hands. “You’re shitting me. You didn’t. Not there.”

“Uh…well.”

“Where is he?” Bucky clutched his hands into a fist, everyone still completely dumbfounded to what was happening.

“Would you kill us if I told you he’s underneath me?” Bob slowly raised his head and turned to look at everyone.

“Hi guys, how’s it going?” He waved and you were trying to look anywhere beside the wide gawking mouths and even wider eyes staring back at you both. “We did the dishes.”

“Yeah and then did each other…” Yelena smirked and everyone, aside from your brother, stifled a laugh.

You groaned, trying to shield yourself with a pillow and a throw “You guys we, we love each other very much and we’ve never had a moment alone!” Ava and Yelena ‘aww’ed’ while John and Alexei were silently shooting Bob a thumbs up. “I’ll buy a new sofa!”

“Please god do it in a bed next time.” Bucky grumbled while walking away. “I’m getting a drink. A large drink.”

“Don’t worry there will be a next time and we will probably do it in a bed at some point.” Bob shouted out and you cupped his hand with your mouth, nervously laughing. The team had the decency to vacate while you both threw on your now dry clothes.

It was only when walking hand in hand with Bob back to your room did you notice your shredded underwear peaking out of his front pocket. You tapped his chest with a dropped jaw and pointed at it. Bob winked and held his finger over his lips, telling you to not let on.

“Gotta keep a memory of you and our first time together, my sunshine.”

—————

Tags are open! ✨

553 notes · View notes

tan1shere · 5 months ago

Text

Freak

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: Oh hey ! It's tan. You know, the one who can't stick to one fucking story and never ends up finishing them anyways (I have 32 fucking drafts.) N E WAYS. I thought of this, yes another doja song. What can I say, she serves, ENJOY

Summary: you're both just as freaky.

Warnings: smut, car sex, use of daddy, riding, lowkey highkey fb billie - if there's anything else I haven't mentioned pls lmk !

Tags: @trulyy-yourzz @eilishslut @chrissv4mp @n0vabug @dollyvuu @dollarbils @sweetcherriexs @xxangelfarrlzxx

^comment if you want to be added^

Masterlist

Parties like these were the best, dressing up as someone unrecognizable. This theme was roaring 20s for your friends 20th. Music was fitting to the time of this era. People dressed in specific outfits. Women in the iconic dresses, men in the vest, suit. Some wearing the iconic hat. But there was one female who dressed axactly like that. "Well well. Y/n." She says with a smirk. "Billie, always one to stand out huh?" She chuckles. "Why not, kinda pisses guys off and turns women on. Win win." You look at her full outfit. It honestly was turning you on. "What women?" Her brows raise. "Plenty. Heaps." You had zero clue why but that rubbed you up the wrong way. You knew she's been out with heaps of girls.

But it just got to you. Maybe cause you haven't had a piece yet. That'll change tonight, you plan to do so. You and billie always had chemistry. Having near incidents of kissing, sometimes more. But something always happens to get in the way. You were honestly drawn to her and little did you know she was drawn to you too. "Come here alone?" You shrug at her question. "Might have. You?" She thinks for a moment. "Possibly." The tension was thick, and God you just wanted to kiss her. But you keep your cool. Thinking of some form of a plan. You notice girls looking at her. "Damn, maybe you weren't kidding." She laughs again. "Do I kid, darling?" Even her mannerisms were fitting for the theme. Was it on purpose?

"Well, maybe you should go mingle." You go to turn around but she grabs your wrist. "Hey now, what if I want to talk to you." Progress. You smile. "You do? Really?" You ask so innocently. Then she comes out with something that shocks you. "Yeah. Maybe tonight there won't be interruptions like usual." Now you were stumped. So she was known to the coincidence too. She cared... "Maybe you're right." You subtly bite your lip. "Why don't we get a head start and get out of here." Your smile returns. "Sounds like a plan."

The car ride was antagonizing. But once she'd gotten to your place it was go time. So much feeling was brewing inside the both of you. And as you reach the door, followed by your room you waste no time. Your hands reach for the hat, chucking it somewhere. Her hands move to your body, letting out a content sigh like she's finally reached her life long goal. She definitely had. Her lips go straight to your own and you practically do the same sound as she did moments ago, except it came out as a moan. She had zero idea what she was getting into with you, but you had always wanted to try this with someone. But you had zero idea how she'd react. Good thing you'd enjoy it. You had moved her on the bed, watching as she sat on her elbows.

You knew Billie was dominant with the stories she told. But she had no. Idea. Just how freaky you could be. If anything she'd have more fun with this. You go to your closet pulling out some rope casually. Her left brow raises. "What you plan on doing with that?" You say nothing, moving over her. Her hand reaches for your jaw as you sutuate the restraint. "Huh?" Your shoulders shrug. "You'll see." She was about to protest but in a blink of an eye you were already doing it. Pushing her back and tying her to the bed. "Really?" She says as you giggle. "You're a fucking menace." You shrug. "Guess you didn't know how I'd be. Did you?" She looks in your eyes. "Untie me." You contemplate. She looked a little mad. Bingo. Just what you wanted. "Mmm no, Im just getting started Bils." Your hands move to somehow get some of her clothes off.

But with the way she acted before you got a brilliant idea that popped into your head. You go for your own clothing, taking of the head piece. The gloves, your dress. Slowly you did so. Very slowly, you didn't have a bra on so she was unexpectedly blessed by the sight. "Oh God." She lets out. Seeing as all she could do was use her mouth. Use her mouth... Now she, had a brilliant idea. Seeing as you weren't going to budge anytime soon. "Come closer for me." You look at her. "Why should I." "These aren't tight enough. I'd hate to just slip out." Your slow brain doesn't process right away as you lean over. Tits right in her face. Boom. "But you didn't want to escape earlier-" You say, as you tie them tighter. Stopping with realization.

You go to move but suddenly feeling a wet pair of lips on your bud. It hardening on her tongue. You mentally stop, soon after, you move again. "You tricked me." She smirks. "Like it was hard." Oops. "No, come on. Just Untie me. Cone on baby I know you want to." The name had you considering it. But you weren't done. "Nope." This only made her rage heighten. "You're a fucking brat you know that?" She didn't even say that sexually, she was just annoyed. But you loved it. You shift slightly as the words pass her lips. Then she spots it, spots why you were doing this. So she tries again. "Want to get me all riled up huh? You like being a slut." You tried to ignore it. "Go on then, keep going and you'll find out how it ends." You still had some form of confidence. Your lips move to her neck, letting your breasts rest on her chest.

This was driving her nuts. You were so caught up in giving her a hickey, you had no clue she'd escaped. "We could flip the coin." Your brows furrow when she says that. But you knew things were fucked as soon as you felt soft hands on your naked waist. "Uh oh." She smirks maliciously. Flipping you guys so you were underneath. "Yeah, uh oh's right babe. Big fat, fucking. Uh oh." You've never seen her like this. You thought the girls she's been with were exaggerating. Definitely not the case. Your eyes go wide. "How'd you-" She tuts. "So silly. Im surprised you'd try me." A split of confidence shines through. "Yeah it was fun." She laughs. And it immediately compels you. "Cute. Very cute. You won't be saying that soon babygirl. I can promise you that." You just give into her, you're desire won over. "I'll be your slave."

Her head tilts. "That's much better. More so than earlier right?" Your breath increases as her hand slowly slides down to your underwear. "Now shut the fuck up, and let me do my thing yeah?"

Your eyes shut. "Yes daddy."

"Good girl."

I ain't afraid of a little pain.

Weeks pass from that unforgettable night. And let's just say, you and Billie had been seeing eachother on the down low, constantly. Her past flings or whatever they even were would call her. Text her. And she couldn't give a rats ass anymore. Ignoring every single one of them. You infiltrated her brain entirely. Once she had a taste she never wanted to go back. But aside from the sexual, she had asked you to go out tonight. Which you had no idea wasn't the norm for her. She was definitely swoon. She honked her horn letting you know she was here. You scurry out seeing her standing by your side. Already open for you to get in. "Wow." Was all she said. "Could say the exact thing about you." You say hopping in. She was bewildered. I mean sure she's seen you dressed up. But not like this.

The night went on, it was beautiful and peaceful. She was the sweetest, conversation was filled with laughter and meaning. When you two go to leave, heading to the car. Something shifts. All of a sudden conversation was dead. Maybe it was her hand on your thigh as she drove. Her rings clod on your skin. The chunky metal clunking together as she moves her fingers around subconsciously. Her eyes were on the road but her mind was most definitely on you. Her fingers move upwards, under your tight skirt. The pad of her index touches your lacy underwear. Her teeth grabs her bottom lip, hearing you suck in a breath. She dips her finger past the fabric, touching you. Already soaked just from the tiny action. "Fuck." She says under her breath.

Her other hand still on the wheel. She swerves into an empty parking lot swiftly. The act, oddly attractive. She moves her hand out, grabbing your waist, getting you to sit on her lap. "Couldn't wait till we got back?" You pout mockingly at her. "Oh shut up, you have no clue." You grab her face. "Then tell me." You look into her eyes so sweetly. "Fucking hell." She groans, ignoring you and immediately kissing your lips. You sink into the feeling. Molding perfectly. "Need this. Now." She breathes against your lips. You just nod in reply, getting needier. She fiddles with her belt, getting the strap out. It was red, it matched your skirt. How on earth? How'd she even know- But as you were wondering you didn't even realize your skirt was bunched and underwear to the side.

You realize when the tip prods you. "Bils." You gasp, feeling it suddenly go in. Your body rising off of her, slowly sinking down. And the moan you let out almost makes her finish on the spot. "Jesus." She moans. You ride her, but painfully slow. Hearing a sound of annoyance coming from her. You smirk, slowing down more. "God you're a little bitch." Her hands grip your waist forcefully pushing you down all the way. You whimper. You moan, so caught off guard. "That fixed you huh." Your eyes shut at the feeling, feeling full of her. "Billie-" You gasp yet again, shocked at how good this specific one felt. "Chose bigger. Just, for. You." She truly was down bad. She continues her movements, hitting spots you've never felt such pleasure from before. "Daddy I want it faster." You moan into her neck as you had just moved it there. Breathing heavily.

Her hands speed up with ease, loving how your own hips would move on her. "Fuck you're so good. Might make me cum before you do." You chuckle into her skin, moving so you're facing her again. "Them bitches you fuckin with, I know they gon need some practice." She hums. "Nobody does it like you baby." Both of your lips connect again in a heated kiss, more heated than all the other ones you shared. There was something firey about tonight. Her hand moves to grab your shirt, lifting it. "Actually get to suck these without you being a pain." You giggle. "Oh come on, I know you love it." She doesn't say a word, moving her lips to the bud. Your moans high pitched. Her other hand moves to push the seat back. Having her lay down, your own hips take control as your hands move to her shoulders.

Got me like, "Yeehaw," ride it like a horsey.

Kinda like see-saw, up and down on the D.

Her lips still sucking with intense need. Your head starts to spin as your argasm encroached. Moaning incessantly. She felt like she was in heaven, she could definitely die happy. Especially with your tits in her mouth. "Im so close Billie." You sigh out, feeling your movements getting sloppier. Her mouth retracts, moving her hands to your hips once again. Speeding you up. "Mmm, so am I." She bites her lip at the way you felt on her. She could feel your walls tighten as it get harder for her to move your body. "F-fuck!" You squeak, hadn't expected it to come out as fast as it did. The way she moved you, sends your legs to shake. Her finishing soon after, watching your face intently. Your eyes roll back.

After awhile you eventually catch your breaths. Calming down. "I had no idea you were this freaky. Pegged you to be more of the shy type." You smile as you lay on her. "Ain't ever been vanilla, honey, just wait until you get a taste." - "Think I already have." You sit up straight going close to her face. "You haven't tasted me yet though." She smirks at you. "Maybe I should do that. Right. Now."

;)

#billie elish icons #billie ellish lyrics #billie eilish imagine #billie #billie eilish smut #billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fandom #billie eilish x reader smut #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish oneshot

748 notes · View notes

absinthe-over-tea · 17 days ago

Text

either way it's gonna || the pitt

pt 3 <<prev • next>>

pairing: jack abbott x f!resident!reader warnings: age gap (older man/younger woman), allusions to child abuse, suicide/drug overdose, canon-typical death a/n: Shit's about to get just a little✨messy✨. I've been legit floored by the response to this story so far. Thanks to everyone who's along for the ride with me on this. Pls let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list! Not beta read.

Everyone knew. Heather wouldn’t tell anyone about your work crush on an attending, and you certainly hadn’t told anyone else. But somehow, everyone seemed to know. Not only about your incredibly embarrassing and continually growing feelings for your attending, but there was also something else. It felt like you were consistently on the outside of a joke everyone else was privy to.

It started with a raised eyebrow from Perlah after a standard intubation. Dr. Abbot had poked his head in looking for Robby, but ended up sticking around until you’d stabilized the patient.

“You know I always appreciate the assist, but you didn’t have to stay. I had it under control.”

“You always do,” he mused, that small ‘proud teacher’ smile on his face morphing into one of apology. He started to step back toward the door. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t!” you rushed to say, maybe a little too quickly. You took a breath before continuing, trying to recover some semblance of nonchalance. “But I know you were looking for Robby, so…”

“Right, yeah, I should go, uh, find him for handoff. He wasn’t on the roof when I checked.”

“I saw Gloria hovering earlier. Maybe check that surgical on-call room he thinks we don’t know he uses to hide in.”

You both chucked, and he nodded in agreement. He hung in the doorway for an extra second, like maybe he wanted to say something else. But then his eyes darted to Perlah, who was extremely focused on the vent settings, and with a final tap to the door jam, he was gone.

When you turned back to the patient to do a final vitals check before paging the ICU and moving on to the next case, Perlah was giving you a look.

“What?”

She shook her head, a grin plastered across her face. “Nothing.” She mumbled something in Tagalog under her breath on her way out of the room, and you made a mental note to ask Santos what the word ‘bobo’ meant.

A few nights later, Myrna cornered you as you were leaving after your shift.

“You’re not slick, sweet cheeks”

“Excuse me?” you all but choked on the drink of water you’d just taken from your Hydroflask.

“I saw you, checking out Dr. Abbot when he walked by earlier. You were checking out his ass!” Her voice was filled with mirth, but the volume made your eyes go wide. For the love of God, you hoped no one had heard her.

“I was doing no such thing, Myrna!”

“If you don’t climb that man like a tree, I will,” she warned.

“You go ahead and try,” you laughed, giving her an encouraging thumbs up and taking backward steps away from her as quickly as possible to escape further interrogation. It’s a very good thing for everyone involved that Dana had cuffed her to her wheelchair that evening.

Two weeks later, and it felt like all eyes were on you every time that you and Dr. Abbot were in the same vicinity.

“There’s a pool,” Samira kindly informed you one morning, both of you looking at the board with thermoses in hand. You’d grumbled under your breath about people having a staring problem after noticing multiple sets of eyes glued to your brief and perfunctory hello exchanged with Dr. Abbot on his way out the door.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“There’s a betting pool on what’s going on between you and Dr. Abbot. I think just between the nurses right now — they’ve been trying to keep it from Collins since everyone knows you two are friends.”

“That feels… wildly inappropriate,” you said eventually.

Samira laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “It is. But you know how the gossip mill is around here. And Dr. Abbot’s been around more since you joined. Coming in a little earlier at night, doing handoff with Robby a few minutes later. It has people intrigued.”

Her admission had the gears turning long after she’d excused herself before Robby could give her shit for staring at the board for too long. There were a million explanations for the supposed change in behavior. Maybe Robby asked him to start being around more to help during the transition of you settling after Langdon’s departure. Heather had said she’d been more worried about Robby since PittFest, maybe he felt the same and was around more to keep tabs on his friend.

But there was a little voice in your head that hoped maybe it had something to do with you.

It was all very disorienting. You were not this person — confused over whether some guy did or didn’t like you, reading into every casual touch and slightly-too-long-to-be-accidental stretch of eye contact, having inappropriate thoughts about a superior at work.

You liked to keep work and your personal life in two very neat boxes. It keeps things from getting messy, and it helps you compartmentalize. That way, you don’t take out your frustrations with your mom or a rough night on your patients, and you don’t bring the bad days when you lose more patients than you save to Sunday brunch with your childhood best friend who just got engaged.

Admittedly, The Pitt had already blurred those lines in more ways than one. Your close friendship with Heather, the girls' nights out with Samira, Santos and Garcia, the farmer’s market runs with Mel before baking with her and her sister.

But crossing a line into anything more than colleagues with Dr. Abbot felt infinitely more dangerous. Maybe the betting pool was wrong and it was just a coincidence that he was around a little bit more than before. Maybe they were right and he also felt whatever this was between them.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Nothing was going to happen. The lines were drawn, and you were happy to keep things exactly as they were.

Of course, you should have known that as soon as you’d decided that, universe would find a way to flip you a middle finger.

***

When Jack stopped by the nurse’s station before finding Robby for handoff, Dana gave him an indecipherable look.

“It’s been a rough day.”

“They always are,” he murmured, more to himself than Dana. He went to pick up a tablet, but one of Dana’s hands reached out and covered his own.

She told him about the college student who’d been brought in after her friend found her lying next to an empty bottle of pills after a big fight with her dad. How you and Robby got her intubated, but the hypoxia had already caused irreversible brain damage. How the girl’s father had come in and started screaming at you until Robby had restrained him and Dana had called security on him. The way you’d reacted after.

“I’ve never seen her shut down like that, and this is far from the worst loss she’s seen. I’m worried about her. And you know how Robby is with drug overdoses these days.”

Robby took the drug cases harder ever since finding out about Langdon. Jack thought it had something to do with guilt over not seeing the signs sooner, the knowledge that had Santos not reported him, he could have ended up as an OD in one of their trauma rooms.

But he swallowed hard at the thought of you beating yourself up over the case. It clearly wasn’t your fault. He assumed you must have been terrified by the thought of the patient’s father potentially getting aggressive with you, and he knows how that fear can shut you down, though he’s a little shocked at the idea of anything scaring you. To him, you always seemed somewhat fearless within the walls of a trauma room.

He thanked Dana for the heads up and went to find Robby, assuming he’d be on the roof. But when he opened the door, his heart twisted with pure terror at the sight of you sitting there on the railing, too close to the edge for comfort.

You didn’t turn to look at him, though he knew you had to have heard the door. He tried to make his steps loud enough for you to hear him coming closer, not wanting to startle you. You didn’t even look at him as he came to stand next to you, just blankly staring ahead.

“Y’know, you’re sort of in my spot,” he said lamely, grasping for anything to break the silence. To pull your gaze to him instead of whatever fixed point you’d chosen on the skyline.

You shrugged. “You and Robby always come up here after a rough day. Figured I’d see what the fuss was about.”

“Be sure to leave a Google Review.” It was a stupid joke, but you huffed in what was almost a laugh. He took it as a good sign.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he promised as he gently wrapped a hand around your wrist where it sat next to you on the railing. “But can you do me a favor and come back to this side of the railing?”

Your gaze shifted first to where your hands met, then to Jack’s face. He’d tried his best to sound casual, not let any of the worry seep into his voice, but the look you gave him confirmed he was unsuccessful. You nodded, easily swinging your legs around until your feet were back on what Jack considered safer territory.

He let go of your wrist, but you reached out and grabbed onto his arm. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to scare you. I just…needed some air. Needed to breathe without the smell of antiseptic. Be somewhere that wasn’t the ED.”

The relief that flooded through him was instant and overwhelming. He didn’t want to think too hard about what it meant.

“I get that. And I meant what I said — you don’t have to talk about it. But if you need someone to talk to, someone who gets it, I’m always around to listen.” He leaned his head down, making sure you met his eyes as he spoke.

“I’m usually good at holding it together, compartmentalizing. But it’s been harder lately,” you admitted, voice breaking at the end as you looked up at him, and fuck, Jack could see how hard you were fighting for control, trying to hold everything you were feeling at bay. He knew exactly what that felt like, and how destructive it could be when the dam finally broke.

He couldn’t stop himself. “Come here,” he murmured softly, pulling you into his arms and holding you tight against his chest. “Let it out, sweetheart.” Your hands clutched onto the fabric of his scrubs, and he could feel the fight drain out of you as you let out a sob.

It occurred to him that this was something sacred, you trusting him like this. That when you’d needed comfort, you’d gone to the roof. His spot. Maybe it was subconscious on your part, but warmth filled him at the idea that you’d inadvertently gone searching for a piece of him.

You both stood there for God knows how long, him whispering into your hair as you fell apart. Assuring you it was alright, that he had you, that you were safe.

Slowly, you came back to yourself. Your shoulders stopped shaking, your hands softened against his waist, your breathing returned to normal. He could have happily held you against him like that forever, protecting you from the world while you pieced yourself back together — patients and night shift handoff with Robby be damned.

But eventually, you took one last deep breath and pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Sorry,” you mumbled sheepishly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“You might need a new scrub top,” you nodded toward his chest, which was now sporting a wet spot from your tears. He just shrugged; he could honestly care less. “And I’m sure I look a right mess right now,” you joked weakly, disentangling one of your arms to wipe your nose with the long-sleeved shirt you had on under your scrubs.

He allowed himself a rare moment to fully take you in, from your red-rimmed and glassy eyes to your flushed skin to the strands of hair now stuck to your cheeks.

“You still look beautiful to me,” he whispered before his brain could remind his mouth why he wasn’t supposed to admit things like that out loud. Your eyes widened in surprise, darting back and forth between his in search of something.

He hadn’t meant to tell you that, but Jack had always been a stubborn man. He wouldn’t take the words back now that they’d escaped. Instead, he forced himself to continue meeting your gaze, letting you see just how much he meant it and preparing himself for you to pull away and let him down easy.

Except you didn’t pull away. He watched enraptured as your decision clicked into place in that pretty, brilliant head of yours, and you leaned up to press your mouth against his.

The kiss was soft, quick. Before he even had a chance to fully process what you’d done, you were pulling back and waiting to see what his reaction would be. For a split second, you both just blinked at each other.

“Jack,” you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, the question in our voice, and his mouth crashed back into yours.

This time, the kiss wasn’t soft or quick. It was messy, desperate. Months of pent up tension and swallowed feelings being let loose. One arm held you anchored against him while his other hand slid up your neck to angle your jaw just the way he wanted. “Say it again,” he demanded against your lips.

You didn’t have to ask him what he meant. “Jack,” you gasped into his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue tracing your bottom lip. Your fingers dove into the hair at his neck, pulling yourself flush against him.

Kissing you was all-consuming. Nothing existed except the two of you and this warmth taking root in Jack’s chest that he hadn’t felt in so long. He wanted to drown in the taste of you. He wanted the world to stop spinning so he could stay on this roof, this god-forsaken roof that might now be one of his favorite places on earth, forever.

The door to the roof banged open, and you both broke apart at the sound. Robby was standing frozen in the doorway.

You pulled away from him like you’d been burned. “I’m so sorry, I have to go.”

Before Jack could fully process what was even happening, you’d slipped past Robby and disappeared back down the stairs without so much as a backwards glance.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list: @brnesblogposts @nosebeers

#jack abbot x reader #the pitt #dr. jack abbot x reader #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbot fanfic #mads writes stuff

363 notes · View notes

ur-local-wizard · 4 months ago

Note

I love the way you write baby, can you honour me with this prompt idea: Mattheo Riddle loses a Quidditch match against his biggest rival, and his anger boils over. Dragging his girlfriend into the locker room, he takes out his frustration on her in a heated, rough moment of intimacy. Afterward, he leaves her shaken to vent elsewhere, but when he returns, he finds her being comforted by his rival. Jealousy and fury take over as he drags her away, scolding her and accusing her of betrayal—though beneath his anger is a fear he’s not ready to admit: that he might’ve pushed her too far this time.

Losing Game

tysm for the request babes!! this was sooo creative! hope you enjoy, it was my first time writing angst 🤭

mattheo riddle x fem!reader, extremely toxic behavior, mentions of sex, characters are of age, i think that's it

w/c: 1106

nav masterlist

a/n: if there are any tags I missed, pls pls pls let me know!! also, I wasn't sure if i should label it nsfw in my masterlist or not, so if you think it should be tell me and I'll change it!

Angry sex with Mattheo was something you were used to, especially after he lost a quidditch game. Everyone knew he had a temper, and even as his girlfriend, you were not immune to it. But he’s never been so hurtful. Not like this.

The physical part of it was good, as per usual, but his words struck a deeper chord than normal. The names he called you, the blatant disregard for your feelings, the way his touch felt oppressive instead of loving – it was strange, and honestly overwhelming.

So that’s how you got here, curled up in the fetal position just outside the quidditch locker room. You barely noticed the muffled sound of footsteps approaching you on the grass. Blinking back more tears, you look up, not expecting to see the Gryffindor Cormac McLaggen of all people. He was one of many on the long list of people Mattheo hated most, and you knew that if your boyfriend saw him of all people in his current tempered state, someone would end up in the hospital wing.

“You okay?” Cormac asked, crouching in front of you. His tone was softer than you would expect, laced with nothing short of concern and pity. He reached out, and you flinched as his hand brushed your arm. “You’re freezing. Come, let’s get you inside. I don’t want you to contract hypothermia.”

The warmth of his hand sent a wave of guilt through you, and the combination of your confusion and his touch made you flinch away. He’s right – it’s so cold your fingers are going numb. You weren’t sure if it was the weight of your emotions, your exhaustion, or the sheer cold, but you felt your defenses crumble, allowing him to pull you up and off the ground.

Then the locker room door opened.

Out walked Mattheo, his presence looming over you like a shadow. His hair was disheveled, his jaw set like stone. His gaze flicked between you and Cormac, his eyes burning with fury.

“What the fuck is going on here?” He snapped, his voice low and full of nothing but rage and resentment. You opened your mouth to speak, but he roughly grabbed your wrist and pulled you to his side, effectively cutting you off. Your stomach churned, and the emotions swirling inside your gut made you want to puke.

“You think this is okay?” He scolded you, his gaze narrowing into a glare. “The hell are you doing with this piece of shit?” He motioned to Cormac, scoffing. “And you, what are you doing with my girlfriend?”

“Mattheo, stop-” Your voice trembled as you began to talk, but the bitter laugh that escaped his lips cut you off.

“Don’t even try to explain,” he sneered, his grip so tightening so much it may leave a bruise. His expression was still angry, but something seemed off. Beneath the anger in his eyes, you saw a flicker of something else – something raw. Afraid, maybe. “I leave for five fucking minutes and come back to find you cozying up with Cormac fucking McLaggen.”

His words hit harder than expected, making the nausea in your stomach only grow stronger. “You’re being ridiculous,” you said, voice quiet but filled with hurt. You pressed your lips together and fought the urge to cry again.

“Ridiculous? You don’t get to decide that after this little stunt you just pulled.”

Cormac crossed his arms over his chest, his expression solemn. “Maybe if you treated her better and paid attention to her obvious distress, she wouldn’t be crying out here in the cold,” he retorted.

The room seemed to freeze at his words. Mattheo’s head snapped toward Cormac, his eyes dark and burning. The tension in the air was suffocating, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Mattheo hissed.

“I know enough,” Cormac shot back, unwavering. “I know she shouldn’t be out here like this. She could get sick!”

Mattheo’s jaw clenched so hard it looked like his teeth could grind together into dust. For a moment, it looked like he was going to punch Cormac – he certainly wanted to – and the suspense made you even dizzier than before. But instead, he turned his glare back to you. “Get up. Let’s go.” It wasn’t a question, and you could tell by the tone of his voice it was more of an ultimatum. Stay here, and you would lose him.

You hesitated, jaw opening and closing, unsure what to say. You didn’t want to fight. Not again. Not when your body already ached from more than just the physicality of what had just conspired in the locker room. So, even after all the hurt he’s caused, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave him. He just looked so betrayed, so afraid.

“Okay,” you conceded, voice barely a whisper. Cormac scoffed, but you didn’t dare look his way as your boyfriend grabbed your wrist again and led you away, his footsteps crushing the grass beneath his feet. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm – as if he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear.

The journey was silent as he dragged you to an empty corridor. The moment the two of you were alone, he spun to face you, his chest rising and falling rapidly with labored breaths.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said.

“Do what?” You asked, brows furrowing.

His fingers twitched at his sides, as if he was fighting the urge to reach for you. “Sitting with him. Letting him touch you. Letting him look at you like – like that.”

You stared at him, disbelief bubbling up past the lingering hurt. “Mattheo, do you even hear yourself? I was sitting there because of you. Because of what you did.”

He looked shocked, but that quickly faded as he realized what you were talking about. He lowered his eyes to the ground, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed his shame. He looked like he wanted to argue, to push back like he always did in situations like this, but something in his expression told you he knew he would finally lose you if he did. For the first time, he looked unsure.

“Do you even care that you hurt me?” You asked, voice softer now, but still full of lingering hurt. In response, his whole body tensed. A long silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. Then, barely above a whisper, so low you almost missed it, he muttered, “I do.”

It wasn’t an apology – not yet. But you knew it was as close as you were going to get for now.

Ty again for this request!! I had sm fun writing it! Sorry it took me so long to write, life and school is insane rn

taglist: @mattyriddlesbitch @sturniolover13 @thereeallink @voidangxls

©ur-local-wizard translating, republishing, copying, or claiming my work as yours is not permitted. all my work belongs to me and me only. thank you!

378 notes · View notes

naihvty · 6 days ago

Note

my dearest, talented loz. can I pls request “if we were alone right now, what would you do to me? “ reader asking steve during a late night phone call 🤭

my love!! let's not acknowledge how long it's taken me to write this. i started, stopped for months then rushed and finished it this morning. I MISS AND LOVE YOU I HOPE YOU ENJOY <3333

best friend steve x reader phone call

word count: 2.4k

tags: nsfw! 18+, NO MINORS PLS, phone sex, steve being a horny fuck, reader is also a horny fuck but can you blame them, i'm not very good at thinking of tags, they are both in love with each other but they just don't know it, reader is female but no other description, not really proof read sorry xo

"It's late, Stevie I should probably go to sleep... I have work tomorrow," you huff as you adjust yourself in bed, snuggling further under the warmth of the covers in your cool bedroom.

"No no stay up with me, c'mon, you're not tired! Just a little longer!" Steve pleaded, trying not to sound too desperate by saying anything he possibly could to keep you on the phone.

He was in love with you. He knew it. Did you know it? Why would you. He was always stealing glances at you, whenever he physically could, eyeing up your frame, gaze lingering just a little too long on areas that friends shouldn't be looking at for a prolonged period of time.

Your gaze always seemed somewhere else. Anywhere else. He'd come to accept it really, keeping the fantasies playing out in his head just that. In his head. Countless scenarios where clothes were discarded on the floor, flushed skin on show, whimpers escaping your mouth, and all because of him. The things he could do to you, show you, make you feel. You had no idea how much he wanted you.

"Steve? You there?" The sound of your voice snapped him back into the 21st century.

"Yeah yeah, sorry. Yeah. I'm here. What was it that you said?" Steve rambled, the slight breathlessness in his voice not escaping your senses.

You wished you could see into Steve's brain sometimes. Be in there, think what he was thinking. You could sometimes hear the cogs turning in his head every time you caught him looking at you. You hope he didn't notice you staring back, when his attention was elsewhere. You couldn't let him know that all you wanted to do was stare at him. Drink him in. His hair, his eyes, the hair that peaked above his button up shirts that he wore to parties, where there was always one button undone too many.

You tried not to let yourself daydream for too long when you were around him, which was all the time, seeing as you were inseparable best friends. It was just too hard not to. Those big hands roaming around the curves of your body, that deep voice groaning and grunting in your ear as he bucks his hips into yours. Bad thoughts. VERY very bad. But that knowledge didn't stop them from happening.

"Whose the one that's not listening now, huh?" Steve teased, breaking your train of thought. Just as well, you could feel your underwear getting damper by the second.

"C'mon, what're you thinking about?" He probed.

You wish you could tell him, you really wish you could tell him. You just didn't realise you were mumbling out-loud to yourself.

"You wish you could tell me? C'mon sweetheart you know you can tell me anything. Safe space here. What's in that pretty head of yours?"

FUCK. You needed to stop doing that. Talking to yourself without even realising. One day it will get you into trouble. It kind of just did.

"Nothing! Nothing! I'm okay Stevie, sorry, what did you wanna talk about? You better think of something good to keep me awake, I told you, I'm getting tired!" You teased, trying your best to brush off the fact you might've just open a can of worms that you just couldn't face dealing with. Rejection, for starters.

"You are not getting out of this one. Tell me now before I come round and get it out of you in person. And you really don't want that. You know I'll win".

Fuck. You're fucked. You're utterly fucking fucked. You can't lie your way out, he knows you too well to see straight through you when you're avoiding something or not telling the truth. What do you even say? I was thinking of you Steve. I was thinking of you fucking me into tomorrow morning. God, you would die if you told him that.

"I'm putting my coat on! Tell me before I get in my car." Steve insists.

Maybe if you told him he wouldn't even believe you. Or he'd be so taken aback that he'd change the conversation, or even let you go to sleep.

"Uhhhh. You Stevie. I was thinking about you. Not in a bad way. God no, there's no way of thinking about you in a bad way. In a good way! But not a weird way. Just, you." You ramble. So much for keeping your fucking cool. Idiot.

"Me sweetheart? What're you thinking about me for?" Steve asks innocently, letting out a small chuckle. Good think you can't see the shiver that went down his spine hearing you say that he is at the centre of your thoughts.

You speak before you can think about forming a sensible reply.

"I always think about you Steve. You're my best friend. I see you every day, and you mean a lot to me. Is that a crime?" You huff, not realising you'd gotten so defensive.

"Woah woah woah. No need to get like that. My coat is off. I'm back in bed. Calm down honey." He soothes. You try not to imagine him in bed, shirtless, arm tucked behind his head showing off his large muscles. You fail. You rub your legs together as you feel a throb in your core. There is no way you should be doing this, or feeling like this while on the phone with Steve.

"Sorry, sorry Stevie." Something aches in your chest as you realise once again that your feeling will never be reciprocated.

"You're doing an awful lot of shuffling round there honey, you okay? Something got you worked up?" Steve jokes, pulling a quiet gasp from you as you freeze in place in your bed. You didn't even realise that you'd been moving that much by subconsciously trying to get some sort of friction between your legs to soothe the ache that the images in your head had created.

Steve's imagination runs wild as the tension over the phone could be cut by a knife. He pictures you in bed, in your skimpy pyjamas and he wishes to the gods that you'd be touching yourself whilst talking to him. He's had phone sex a few times before with other girls, but it'd just turned out badly with awkward silences from bad, but desperate attempts at connection.

"Do you really want to know what's on my mind?" You blurt out. What are you doing. What the FUCK are you doing. You did NOT agree to confessing your feelings and darkest desires to Steve Harrington, your best friend, over the phone at 11 o'clock at night. Or any time of night for that matter.

"Shoot honey. Safe space here. Ya got nothing to worry about." Steve's soothing tone runs a shiver down your spine.

You can't hold back any longer. You've wanted to tell him for such a long time. Now or never.

"I like you Steve. I like you, okay? And I know you don't like me back but I don't want to ruin our friendship so I shouldn't even be telling you this but I can't take it any longer. You drive me FUCKING crazy okay? I just wanna, I just wanna..." Words start to fail you. Oh god. Oh god. What have you done. You have ruined everything. And all you can hear on the other line is silence.

Steve's head spins whilst silently willing you to finish your sentence. God, he wants you. He wishes he had kept his coat on and got in his car to get the confession out of you in person. He probably would have pinned you to the bed and taken you right there and then. He can feel his underwear shifting as his cock hardens. He's past the point of thinking straight now.

"If we were alone right now, what would you to do me?" He asks softly.

You splutter as you take in the words he's just asked you.

"Wh-, what?"

"If we were alone right now, what would you do to me?" he repeats. You can't gather anything from his tone of voice.

"Stevie are you sure-"

"Answer the question."

"Oh-okay." You whisper.

Where do you even begin. What wouldn't you do to him. What the fuck is even happening. Does this mean he feels the same?

"I would, uhhh. I would. S-Stevie I can't even fucking think straight. I can't string a sentence together. Wh-what would you do to me? Please. I need to know." Your voice trembles. Your thoughts are a blur. All that you know is that you need Steve. You need him there. You need his voice, his touch, everything.

"You sure you wanna know sweetheart? I've known what I would do to you for a pretty long time. Not sure if you're ready to hear it." He retorts, his voice dripping with honey and sweetness.

"Please, Stevie. Please tell me. I'll do anything, please just tell me. I can't take it anymore." You beg.

"Okay baby, okay. I'll tell you. But I want you to touch yourself while I tell you, okay? I want you to feel good. Don't hold back. I wanna hear you. Hear how good you feel while I'm telling you what I'd do. What I wish I was doing to you right now, okay?" Steve gently instructs. He's barely comprehending what's going on. It all must be a dream. The best dream he's ever had. He'd happily stay in this dreamland forever.

You whimper a response back, which he takes as a yes.

You slowly snake your hand down into your pyjama shorts.

"Stevie I'm so wet. Wish you could feel it. Want you here."

"I know, honey. But just relax. It's gonna feel so good, okay?" He reassures. All you can do is nod to yourself and slowly peel your panties away from your slick cunt.

"I'd make you feel so good, baby. If I was there with you. Just imagine. Close your eyes. I'd start with my fingers. Just one, don't wanna stretch you out too quickly. I just know your pussy is tight. So, so tight. Need to stretch you out before evening thinking about giving you my cock. Don't wanna hurt you".

Your finger slowly rubs circles around your clit. Your moans are loud already, any previous embarrassment has completely left your body filling you with only want, and need. Your eyes flutter shut as you imagine Steve in front of you, towering over you with his strong presence. That it's his hand instead of yours that's making you feel so good.

"God you sound wet baby. You're this wet already? And I'm not even there with you? And I've not even got to the best part. I bet you taste fucking incredible. Don't know how many times I've thought about making you come undone for me. Screaming my name. Just want you to feel good baby, want you to be mine. Wonder how many fingers you could take? I bet even two would be a stretch for you.”

You whimper at the thought. Whilst it always feels good when you touch yourself, you can make yourself cum no problems, you just know that being touched by Steve would be on a different level entirely. Those big hands roaming your body, thick fingers stretching you out, aching but it such a delicious way.

“God Stevie, feels good. Feels so good, I wish you were here, I-, wish you were touching me. Want you to kiss me, and touch me, a-and, god please I’ve wanted this for so long”, you babble. So many thoughts consumed your head you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

Steve couldn’t fucking think straight. His cock was hard, bursting at the seams of his underwear, straining, begging to be released. Hearing your breathy whimpers and moans, envisioning you touching yourself was riling him up in a way that he didn’t think possible. Yeah, he’d been with his fair share of girls, but no one made him feel like this, the way that you did.

He snakes a hand down to his boxers, palm rubbing his cock gently over the top of them. He stifles a moan as he feels pre-cum leaking out of his pink, swollen tip.

“How’s it feel, honey? Talk to me. You wanna know what I’m doing? Wish you could feel how hard I am, fuck. So fucking hard already and I’m not even there in person with you. I’m rock-fucking solid, baby”.

Your fingers leave you and come up to circle your clit. You’ve never felt this wet before, Steve has a way with words that was driving you insane.

“Feels good, Stevie, so good… just wish it was you touching me, please, I need to feel it, feel your fingers inside me,” you moan, a delicious familiar feeling rumbling in your lower stomach. Not yet, you thought, you didn’t want this to end.

Steve lets out a groan at the sound of your desperation, wrapping a hand around his thick shaft, slowly starting to pump up and down.

“Wish your hand was round my cock, baby, just know it feels so much better than mine. You want that, honey? You wanna wrap your hand round my cock? Wanna feel your pretty mouth on it, too. Just know it feels good.” Steve mumbles, his already jumbled thoughts turning even further into mush as he keeps a steady pace fisting his cock. He’s embarrassed to admit he feels his release building. You’ll be the death of him, the absolute death of him. How will he last more than 5 seconds inside you when even just the thought of you has him nearly cumming in under a minute?

“I’m close, Stevie, so close, feels so good,” you whimper. “Are you close? Can I cum, please? Wanna cum together, wanna hear you, please Steve…”

“Fuck, yeah I’m close, baby. Want you to come for me, wanna hear you scream my name. And the next time you do, just know it’ll be because I’m there, fucking you. That want you want?”

You nod, words failing you as the coil in your stomach starts to unravel. “Fuck, Stevie, yes! I-I, fuck!” You wail, clenching around nothing as your orgasm blinds you.

Steve follows suit soon after, ropes of his seed spilling onto his chest, hot breathy moans escaping his lips, whispering your name as he rides out the high.

Reality settles back in after a few moments of silence, coming back down from cloud nine to the quiet on both ends of the phone.

“Well, fuck. Guess we aren’t just friends anymore, honey.”

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington one shot #stranger things x reader #steve harrington the man that you are

332 notes · View notes

eimiette · 9 months ago

Text

minutes

࣪♡ ۪ ݁ 𓈒 ── SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: during a high-stakes stakeout, spencer reid and his partner turn their limited time into a distraction from the case at hand. GENRE: smut with plot, idiots in love CW/TAGS: soft!dom spencer (ofc), quicky, piv sex, fingering, lots of banter, est!fwb relationship, reader is referred to as a girl. this is my first spencer reid smut so b nice pls !! <3

the night had settled into a quiet lull, the kind of silence that stretched on and made time feel endless. you’d been parked outside the suspect’s house for hours, watching the shadows play tricks on your eyes while spencer sat beside you, deeply engrossed in a book he’d brought along—one that had nothing to do with the case.

you glanced over at him, unable to resist a little teasing. “you know, we’re supposed to be watching the house, not reading ‘war and peace’ for the millionth time.”

“it’s ‘the brothers karamazov’,” he corrected without looking up, his tone dry but familiar. “and i’ve only read it four times, not a million. it’s called multitasking.”

you chuckled, shaking your head. “right. because when i think of multitasking, i think of spencer reid reading existential russian literature while catching criminals.”

he looked up then, a small smile tugging at his lips. “well, it’s a good thing i’m here to broaden your definition of multitasking, isn’t it?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. “sure, sure. meanwhile, i’m stuck doing all the actual work. keeping an eye out, staying alert… maybe you should take notes.”

he made a show of sighing, marking his place in the book before setting it down. “i hate to break it to you, but i’m perfectly capable of watching and reading at the same time. some of us can do more than one thing.”

“oh, is that so?” you arched a brow, leaning in slightly. “then tell me, genius, what’s happening at the suspect’s house right now?”

spencer paused, his gaze shifting to the darkened windows across the street, then back to you. “the lights in the living room went off about fifteen minutes ago. bedroom lights turned on shortly after, but no one’s left the house since then. there’s a dog barking a few houses down, and someone two blocks over keeps playing the same verse of ‘take on me’ on the piano. badly, i might add.”

you blinked, momentarily stunned. “okay, first of all, how do you even—never mind, i don’t want to know. and second, why would anyone ever play just one verse of ‘take on me’? what kind of psychopath are we dealing with here?”

spencer chuckled, a real laugh that lit up his face in a way that made something warm bloom in your chest. “now that’s the real mystery,” he agreed. “maybe we should call in a second team to handle it.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “only if they’re prepared for a psychological profile of a frustrated piano player. that’s definitely outside my area of expertise.”

“mine too, surprisingly,” he said, his smile softening as his eyes met yours. “though i’m sure we could figure it out together.”

your smile matched his, and for a moment, the banter fell away. it was always like this—easy, comfortable, like you’d known each other forever. bickering was your default, but underneath it, there was something else. something steady. something you never quite acknowledged.

“hey,” you said, breaking the quiet but keeping your voice low, almost conspiratorial. “be honest. are you actually glad we got stuck on this stakeout together, or are you secretly wishing morgan was here instead?”

spencer tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “hmm, well, morgan wouldn’t keep up a running commentary of every single shadow that moves, so that would be a point in his favor.”

you scoffed, nudging his arm with your elbow. “you love my running commentary. admit it.”

he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always made your stomach flutter. “okay, maybe i’d miss it a little,” he conceded. “just don’t let it go to your head.”

“i knew it!” you crowed, leaning closer with a triumphant smile. “you’re not as tough as you pretend to be, dr. reid. deep down, you actually like having me around.”

his smile turned softer, almost fond, as he met your gaze. “maybe more than i let on,” he said quietly, the teasing edge slipping from his voice.

“you know,” you murmured, voice just above a whisper, “for a genius, you can be pretty slow sometimes.” he turned a page slowly, clearly fighting back a smile. “you’re just jealous because you didn’t think to bring a book.”

“why would i bring a book when i could spend my time annoying you?” you shot back, grinning when he finally glanced over at you, his eyes alight with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“mission accomplished, then,” he replied dryly. “you��ve certainly succeeded in distracting me.”

you let out a laugh. “it’s a talent, what can i say?” you leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping to a lower, more playful tone. “admit it—you like it when i distract you.”

he hummed, pretending to consider your words as he closed his book and set it on the dashboard. “i suppose it does have its perks,” he said, turning his body slightly to face you. his knee brushed against yours, a casual touch that sent a familiar thrill through you. there it was—the shift. you’d felt it countless times before, that subtle change in the air between you. it always started with harmless banter, a little back-and-forth that led to lingering touches, heated looks, and eventually, lips pressed together in the dark of the car or the shadows of a motel room. friends with benefits, that’s what you called it, though even that seemed too formal. it was more like an unspoken agreement, a mutual understanding that sometimes, the line between friends and something more blurred when the nights got long and lonely.

you arched an eyebrow at him, leaning in even closer. “and what perks would those be, exactly?”

spencer’s eyes flicked down to your lips, his smile turning a bit more mischievous. “the kind that gets me out of reading the same case notes for the third time.”

you chuckled, your heart picking up its pace as you closed the remaining distance between you. “if that’s what it takes to keep you from quoting tolstoy at me again…”

before you could finish, spencer’s lips were on yours, warm and insistent, like he’d been waiting for this. his hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. it wasn’t the first time, not by a long shot, but it still sent a shiver down your spine the way it always did. he kissed you like it was something he needed, not just something to pass the time.

you tilted your head, smiling against his lips. “so, is this how you imagined the stakeout going?”

he pulled back just enough to murmur, “it’s a pretty standard ending for us, don’t you think?”

you laughed softly, your breath mingling with his. “i guess we have a type, huh?”

“apparently,” he replied, his voice low and teasing as his thumb brushed along your jaw. “can’t say i’m complaining, though.”

you hummed in agreement, fingers finding their way into his hair as you brought his lips back to yours. “good. because i’d hate for you to get bored out here,” you whispered between kisses, your words half-teasing, half-sincere.

“i can think of worse ways to spend a stakeout,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. his lips trailed down to your neck, and you let your head fall back, a satisfied smile spreading across your face.

you felt spencer’s lips brushing against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. his kisses were warm and deliberate, a welcome distraction from the long hours of the stakeout. you leaned into his touch, but a nagging thought pulled at the edge of your mind, breaking through the haze of pleasure.

“spence,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “should we really be doing this right now? i mean, we’re on a stakeout. there’s a chance the unsub could show up any minute.”

spencer’s eyes flickered with amusement, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips. “oh, come on,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “we’ve been monitoring this place for hours. we’ve got approximately 48 minutes before the unsub’s next predicted move.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying to read his expression. “48 minutes? and how do you know that?”

he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “based on the patterns of his previous crimes, the time between his actions has been pretty consistent. it’s a safe bet we’ve got a little leeway.”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “so, you’re telling me that you’ve calculated the exact amount of time we have before we need to get back to being all business? kinda sexy you’ve calculated the timing on this out i must say..”

spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he blinked at you, momentarily thrown off. “sexy? you find profiling talk sexy?”

you nodded, your gaze never leaving his. “yeah, it’s like you’re making crime analysis sound intriguing and… well, a little hot.”

he chuckled, a warm, genuine laugh that sent a thrill through you. “i’ll have to remember that. maybe i should include more of that in my briefing sessions.”

you grinned, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. “just don’t let the team catch on. we don’t need them getting ideas.”

spencer’s fingers worked on the buttons of your shirt, his touch lingering with a hint of teasing. “you think they’d actually believe it’s my secret weapon?”

“oh, absolutely,” you replied with a smirk, helping him with his shirt. “morgan would probably have a field day with that.”

spencer’s shirt joined yours on the floor as he flashed a mischievous grin. “if that happens, it’s on you. you’re the one who brought up the idea of sexy profiling.”

“guilty as charged,” you said, pushing his trousers down with a playful nudge. “but you have to admit, you’ve got a way of making it sound pretty compelling.”

he raised an eyebrow, his fingers brushing against your thigh. “compelling, huh? is that the new standard for our stakeouts?” “maybe,” you said, leaning in closer. “or maybe it’s just a nice change of pace.”

spencer’s lips curved into a grin as he pulled you in for another kiss, his hands sliding around your waist. “i can live with that.” you responded with a playful glint in your eye, your fingers brushing against his chest as you shifted closer. with a confident move, you straddled his lap, your body aligning perfectly with his. the shift brought you eye to eye, a spark of heat dancing between you. spencer’s breath hitched slightly, his hands finding their place on your hips as he adjusted to the new closeness. “i see you’re not wasting any time,” he murmured, his voice a low, appreciative rumble.

you chuckled softly, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders. “why wait? we’ve got a limited window here.”

spencer’s breath hitched slightly, his hands finding their place on your hips. as he adjusted to the new closeness, his fingers slowly slid down, grazing the fabric of your skirt. the sensation of his touch against your skin made you shiver with anticipation. his hands wandered gently, exploring the curve of your hips and the edges of your skirt. his touch was light but deliberate, moving with an almost curious intensity as he traced the contours of your body. you could feel his fingers inching upwards, brushing softly against the bare skin of your thighs.

you pouted, a playful frown tugging at your lips as you looked down at him. “you’re really going to tease me like this?”

spencer met your gaze with a mix of amusement and warmth. “need you to use your words pretty girl.”

you raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on your lips. “oh, is that how it’s going to be?”

he nodded, his touch growing more deliberate but still teasingly slow. “absolutely. tell me what you want.”

you bit your lip, the playful challenge clear in your eyes. “i want you to stop teasing and actually—”

before you could finish, spencer leaned in, his lips brushing against yours as his hands continued their exploration. his touch finally met your soaked core over your underwear, sending a jolt of sensation through you. his whisper against your lips was soft but insistent. “use your words. tell me exactly what you want.”

you parted your lips, your breath coming in soft, needy gasps. “touch me… please.”

spencer’s eyes darkened with desire as he heard your plea. his fingers slipped under the edge of your underwear, meeting the dampness of your core. he let out a low curse, his breath hitching. “fuck, you’re so wet. i should really explain the time management of our cases and unsub patterns more often if-” realizing he was losing focus, spencer shifted his attention back to you. he let out a soft curse, his fingers slipping inside you with a deliberate, smooth motion. the sudden, intimate contact made you gasp, the sensation warm and intense. spencer's fingers moved with a focused precision, sliding inside you with a smooth, deliberate motion. the warmth of his touch and the rhythmic pressure made your breath hitch, a soft whine escaping your lips as the sensation intensified.

he pressed his fingers deeper, his hand moving with a steady, measured rhythm. each thrust was controlled and purposeful, designed to maximize the pleasure that rippled through you. his palm rested firmly against your core, the heat from his hand mingling with the warmth of your skin.

as you whimpered softly, your breath coming in short, shuddering gasps, spencer leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “you’re doing so well,” he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that sent a thrill down your spine. his thumb brushed lightly against you, adding a delicate pressure that made you whine again, the sound filled with both need and satisfaction.

you bit your lip, struggling to find the words through the haze of pleasure. “spence… i want to feel you. i want—”

he cut you off gently, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “i know. just give me a moment.” his fingers continued their rhythmic dance, his touch a tantalizing blend of warmth and pressure.

but as your need became more urgent, your voice grew more insistent. “please, i need to feel you inside me.”

spencer’s gaze grew more intense, filled with a deep, hungry longing, and he pulled his fingers away slowly, his expression a mix of affection and eagerness. “alright,” he said softly, his voice thick with desire. “i’m here.”

he reached into his wallet, retrieving a condom with a practiced ease. his lips curved into a small, knowing smile as he prepared it, a thought crossing his mind. it was probably because of you that he’d made it a habit to carry them during cases—an adjustment made in response to your playful insistence on being prepared. he tore open the wrapper and readied himself, then guided you gently but firmly into position. his hands were steady on your hips, helping you align perfectly.

as you settled into position, your breath quickening with anticipation, you glanced at him, a playful edge to your voice. “how much time do we have left?”

spencer’s eyes remained locked on yours as he checked the time. “forty minutes and thirty-two seconds—oh fuck.” the expletive slipped out as you slid onto him, the sudden, intense sensation making his breath hitch.

you leaned in closer, your breaths coming in short, heated bursts as you adjusted to the rhythm. the space between you was charged with electricity, each movement synchronized with a growing intensity.

“don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with pleasure.

spencer’s fingers dug into your hips, his movements becoming more deliberate as he matched your pace. “so pretty like this…” he replied, his voice low and intense. “so fucking pretty.”

as the urgency and desire between you built, spencer’s breath quickened, his hands guiding you with a steady, firm grip. each thrust was met with a soft, satisfied gasp from you, the rhythm between you becoming a fluid, intimate dance.

“doing so good for me baby,” spencer murmured, his voice barely more than a breath as he leaned in to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours with a heated, passionate intensity. his touch was everywhere—his hands on your hips, his fingers trailing along your sides.

your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you both lost yourselves in the sensation. the car’s confined space only seemed to heighten the intimacy of the moment, making each touch and movement feel more intense, more immediate.

with each passing second, the urgency of the situation only added to the thrill. spencer’s focus was entirely on you, his eyes locked onto yours as he pushed you both towards the edge. “we’re almost there,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire and determination. “just a little longer.”

the combination of his touch, his kisses, and the urgency of the moment drove you both closer to the peak. the pleasure built steadily, every sensation amplified in the charged atmosphere. you could feel yourself unraveling, every nerve ending sensitized and every touch magnified. the sensation of him inside you was electrifying, a wave of intense pleasure crashing over you with each movement. your breaths came in ragged gasps, your body trembling as you felt yourself falling apart.

“spencer,” you gasped, your voice breaking with the intensity of the experience. your grip on his shoulders tightened, your entire body tensing as the pleasure reached its peak.

spencer’s eyes were locked onto yours, a mix of awe and desire reflected in his gaze. “i know, i know, i’m almost there,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent whisper. his hands moved with careful precision, his touch both guiding and responding to your reactions.

as the climax hit, you felt a powerful release, your body shuddering and trembling with the intensity of the moment. your voice broke into a series of breathless cries, each one a testament to the overwhelming pleasure you were experiencing.

as the intensity of the moment enveloped you, spencer’s grip tightened on your hips, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. the way you had fallen apart, your body trembling with pleasure, had driven him to the brink.

his movements became more urgent, his focus solely on the sensation of being inside you, feeling your warmth and responsiveness. you could see the struggle in his eyes, the way his expression shifted from focused desire to complete surrender. “god, i’m close,” he gasped, his voice thick with a mix of urgency and satisfaction. his hands moved more fervently, his rhythm driven by the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

as you clung to him, your body still trembling from your release, spencer’s movements became erratic. the pleasure built within him until he could no longer hold back. with a series of deep, shuddering breaths, he finally came undone, his body shivering with the force of his climax.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breaths ragged and hot against your skin. his hands still rested on your hips, holding you close as he rode out the final waves of his release.

as the intensity of the moment gradually faded, spencer’s touch softened. he pulled you close, his hands gently brushing over your skin as he helped you both come down from the high. his breath was still uneven, but his touch was tender and reassuring.

“are you okay?” he asked softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with a mix of concern and tenderness.

you nodded, a contented smile forming. “yeah, i’m fine. you?”

spencer chuckled, slipping on his shirt. “well, we’ve got approximately 22 minutes to spare.”

you raised an eyebrow, pulling on your top. “and what are we going to do with those 22 minutes?”

he smirked, buttoning his jacket. “well, i could use a quick breather. maybe we can discuss how i should properly schedule my case briefings.”

you laughed, adjusting your clothes. “sounds like a plan. just make sure you don’t forget to factor in the importance of effective timing.” spencer’s grin widened as he straightened his collar. “duly noted. next time, i’ll make sure to account for every possible variable.”

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

1K notes · View notes

emmiesoverthemoon · 1 month ago

Text

emergency kitty babysitter's club

pairing: platonic ot8 x reader

word count: 7.1k

summary: you have to head out of town and you can't leave your precious cat alone, so you decide to call in a favour from your favourite 8 friends.

tags: fluff. cat nonsense. established friendship. skz being skz

You don't anticipate chaos. Not at first at least.

In fact, you expect this to go quite smoothly. After all, the request is simple, the time commitment minimal, and your companions—though chaotic—are all capable adults. Mostly. You tell yourself that a cat-sitting arrangement with your friend group is no different from asking anyone else. Perhaps it will even be charming. Domestic. Bonding.

You should have known better.

The group chat has barely been appropriately renamed to “emergency kitty babysitter's club🐾” when panic begins to unfold.

channie: wait is something wrong why is it named that???

hyunjin: if this is a real emergency i’m going to cry

seungmin: i bet it’s something ridiculous like ‘her plant looked sad’

you: wow okay rude. it is NOT a plant this time thank you.

you: i need someone to watch my daughter, princess murder volcano for the weekend pls pls pls😼

A long pause follows. A virtual silence, if you will. Then—

han: i’m sorry her name is WHAT...

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Princess. Murder. Volcano,” you repeat aloud, as if saying it in your own voice might lend it dignity. As if verbal confirmation would translate through to the men when the conversation was indeed, online. The cat in question is peacefully purring in your lap, snoozing and occasionally huffing or twitching, as if she is in the peak of dreamland.

you: i didn't name her that

you: she chose it herself

jeongin: what kind of cat chooses her own name ???

minho: the dangerous kind. i remember her. she scratched my thigh and then stole my snack.

you: that was one time! she's just a baby

hyunjin: she stared straight into my damn soul. don’t get me started on MY SHIRT. i still have nightmares abt it. she knows things we don't

you: okay....dramatic... no daughter of mine has been raised to behave in such a way

you: anyway listen. i’ll be gone for three days for my cousin’s wedding. i just need you guys to check in, feed her, play with her a bit ! nothing wild. she mostly just sleeps and runs up and down the hallway.... pleaseeee !! i'll treat you when i come back

felix: i’ll do it!! 🥺 i love cats

binnie: me too! this’ll be fun 🤩🤩

minho: you are all fools. she is not a cat. she is a small, elegant war criminal.

seungmin: sounds like your type hyung

You close your eyes and count to ten.

They do, in the end, agree. Through passive-aggressive commentary, chaotic enthusiasm, and mild dread, they do accept the mission. You feel something close to warmth bloom in your chest. Relief, maybe. Gratitude.

Foolish, foolish you.

Because no amount of love or loyalty can prepare a group of overworked idols for one deceptively fluffy, emotionally manipulative, semi-feral feline with the spiteful intelligence of a Victorian widow plotting the downfall of every man who ever wronged her. You're sure that it will be okay—she is not one to misbehave for you!

On the day of your departure, you smile and you wave goodbye to the boys. You leave your precious, sweet, innocent daughter, Princess Murder Volcano in their hands.

And so it begins.

You have yet to even reach the airport security line before your phone begins vibrating incessantly in your bag.

The group chat has transformed into a war room.

channie: she’s glaring at me

felix: nooo she’s just curious 🥺🥺 she’s probably getting used to you

minho: she’s plotting his downfall.

seungmin: if we just don't leave the back door open it'll be fine

You resist the urge to laugh aloud. Instead, you open the chat and peek at the latest photo: Princess Murder Volcano perched on top of your fridge, fluffed out like a disapproving cloud, eyes narrowed at the mere concept of human interaction, let alone with a man. Her ears are slightly tilted outward and back, and her boofy tail curls and uncurls like a fuse.

you: she can be people shy at first! it's fine i promise☺️gtg, i’m at security!

You really should know better.

Day One's debacles begin with Chan, who has shown up with a clipboard.

There are bullet points, color-coded sticky tabs, and a hydration log. He has scheduled enrichment time, litter scooping, feeding windows with optional treat intervals. He has printed out an actual feeding plan and is now consulting it while crouching near her pink food bowl.

“She gets fourteen grams in the morning and ten in the evening, right? Split into two intervals to match her natural hunting cycle?”

“Sure,” Seungmin says, already bored. “Why not teach her to file taxes while you’re at it?”

Princess Murder Volcano sniffs the food and walks away, choosing instead to stare unblinking at Chan from several steps away, paws tucked neatly beneath her body like a loaf of bread with grievances.

He attempts to coax her closer with a laser pointer. She does not even blink.

“Enrichment prevents behaviour problems,” Chan mutters, turning the dot in desperate, swirling patterns across the hardwood flooring. “Keeps their brains active. Lowers stress hormones.”

After an embarrassingly long time, Princess does move, albeit not for the laser pointer; instead she leaps onto the kitchen counter and reaches one paw out. Slowly, with deep intent, she knocks his full water bottle off the island. The metal hits the floor with a loud thud.

Chan stares, stunned by her audacity. She blinks unapologetically and returns to her loafing position.

“Well. Okay.”

Minho, predictably, arrives with armour. Not literal armour—but there is a cautiousness to him that screams veteran of previous battles.

“She remembers me,” he mutters, standing stiffly just inside the door. “I know she does.”

“She’s a cat, hyung,” Jeongin says, watching from the safety of the hallway.

“Exactly. She remembers.”

Minho kneels slowly, cautiously. He extends a small stuffed mouse toy attached to a string. She sniffs it once, then lashes out with surgical precision. A single clawed swipe—nothing dramatic, just enough to leave a faint raised red line trailing down his knuckles.

Minho retracts his hand like he has touched a stovetop.

“She’s gentle,” Felix offers, concerned.

“She’s vengeful,” Minho replies, moving to the kitchen and muttering something about boundary-training and spiritual warfare. He proceeds to scatter cucumber slices across the floor in a perfect circle and perches behind the couch to observe.

“She won’t cross it,” he says grimly.

She immediately does, as if spite itself fuelled her small being.

Hyunjin arrives like he is walking onto a battlefield dressed for the Met Gala.

Hair messy but in the most perfect way, rings meticulously stacked on his fingers, scarf flowing behind him like a war banner. He steps inside and freezes, locking eyes with the cat perched atop your windowsill like a queen guarding her castle.

“Ah,” he says softly. “It’s you.”

The others barely glance up. This is normal for Hyunjin.

“I haven’t forgotten,” he continues, toeing off his shoes. “That day you stole my heart... and then shredded it.”

“She sat in your laundry basket,” Han deadpanned from the couch.

“She clawed my silk shirt,” Hyunjin corrects, voice laced with betrayal. “She knew it was silk I swear.”

Princess Murder Volcano yawns.

He drops his bag with theatrical flair and strides forward slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“You and I,” he says, his voice low, “have unfinished business.”

The cat does not move.

Hyunjin crouches, level with her gaze. “Do you yield?”

Her tail twitches, as if challenging him.

A slow, intense silence descends upon the room. Felix stops mid-sentence. Jeongin holds his breath. Even Minho peeks over the back of the couch like a drama-hungry spectator.

And then—lightning fast—she leaps down from the sill and brushes against Hyunjin’s legs on her way to the food bowl. Not submissive. Not friendly. Just... dismissive.

Hyunjin stands there, stunned.

“She... walked past me.”

“She’s over it,” Seungmin says, “You should be too.”

“No,” Hyunjin breathes. “She won. She chose kibble over me.”

He drops onto the arm of the couch like a spurned lover, eyes dark with tragic reflection.

“She’s more powerful than I imagined.”

Changbin enters the space with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever at a birthday party.

“PRINCESS!” he bellows, holding out a treat with both hands. “WHO’S A LITTLE DANGER? WHO’S GOT TINY MURDER IN HER PAWS?”

Princess drawls out a long meow in reply.

The room stills.

“She—she talked to me,” Changbin whispers.

“No, she warned you,” Minho says without looking up from his cucumber circle.

Changbin sits cross-legged, letting her sniff his hand. She headbutts his palm once—then immediately darts to the other side of the room as fast as possible like nothing significant had ever happened.

“She’s playing mind games,” Seungmin notes.

“She’s mysterious,” Changbin defends, completely smitten.

Han, meanwhile, is documenting everything.

There’s a ring light set up in the hallway. He films in whispered tones like he’s in a nature documentary. From behind the bookshelf, you can hear him narrating.

“This is day one,” he says solemnly. “She’s taken the high ground. Morale is fracturing. Chan has retreated to the kitchen. We’ve lost Minho to paranoia and Hyunjin to drama school delusions.”

He zooms in on the cat as she licks her paw like she owns the place.

“She shows no sign of fear. No remorse. Only mild boredom. I think she’s toying with us.”

“She is,” Jeongin says flatly.

Felix brings a level of sincerity no one else can match.

He sits near the coffee table, legs criss-cross on the floor, hands cupped and eyes full of stars.

“Hi, baby,” he coos gently. “You don't have to come over if you don't want to. I'm just happy to share your space with you. I come in peace...”

Princess blinks and lets her eyes bore into Felix.

He gently places a treat in front of him and looks away, nonthreatening. She creeps forward, her tiny white paws creating dainty steps. She swiftly munches up the treat, making loud chewing noises as she looks up to him.

And then, like a miracle, she pads forward, climbs into his lap, and curls up into a small spherical ball of cream fur.

“She chose me,” Felix breathes.

She stretches one paw and knocks his phone off of his thigh to the floor with a soft thud.

He beams nonetheless.

Seungmin does not volunteer to help with the cat. He simply shows up—hood up, earbuds in, sipping a coffee—and looks around like he already regrets it.

“She’s not going to eat you, she’s actually really nice!” Felix assures him.

“That is not what I’m worried about,” Seungmin replies blandly, “I’m more concerned that I will become emotionally attached and she will ruin me.”

The cat blinks at him from atop your bookshelf.

He blinks back.

A beat passes.

Seungmin sighs and takes a seat on your sofa, pulling out his laptop like he is prepared to work from within enemy territory. He does not try to pet her. He does not speak in high-pitched tones. He simply exists near her, radiating mild disdain and infinite patience.

Oddly… she seems intrigued.

He catches her watching him, head tilted ever so slightly. When he slides his iced coffee onto the side table, she’s down in a flash, silently stalking over.

“Boundaries,” Seungmin warns, not even looking up.

She presses her nose to the condensation on his cup. He shifts the cup a small distance away. She shifts closer. They lock eyes.

“This is not a power struggle,” he mutters. “You will not win.”

She flops dramatically onto the table and begins licking her paw.

Seungmin exhales through his nose. “You’re ridiculous.”

But—he adjusts the cup. Just slightly. So she will not get brain freeze.

“Softie,” Han teases, watching from across the room.

“I will sue you,” Seungmin replies calmly.

When she curls up next to him twenty minutes later, back pressed against his leg like a smug little heater, he pretends not to notice.

He scrolls through his phone at low volume.

She purrs, sending vibrations of a healing frequency through his leg.

He glances down. “You’re manipulative.”

She yawns and stretches, her paw stretching out to push against his thigh.

“…Fine. You are a little cute.”

And finally, Jeongin, youngest, least experienced, attempts to contribute by making popcorn for everyone. But alas, the microwave begins to smoke.

“I can feel her staring at the microwave like she wants to set it on fire with her mind,” he reports, waving a dish towel near the smoke detector.

In attempt to clear some of the smoke from the popcorn bowl, he slides the glass door which leads to the backyard open for exactly twelve seconds.

A breeze slips in. A white blur streaks across the living room floor.

“Wait,” Jeongin says, eyes widening. “Where’s the cat?”

Everyone becomes quiet. Not peaceful quiet. Not earned. Just that too still sort of hush that lands like a dropped pin in a ticking bomb room.

Felix’s head whips around. His whole body jerks upright, like his soul has left his body and come crashing back all at once.

“She was just on the couch,” he says, eyes already scanning the room. “Right here. Right here—where is she?”

No answer.

Only the soft creak of the barely ajar screen door, further nudged open by a lazy gust of wind.

Minho reacts first.

No sound. No warning. Just pure instinct—he vaults over the arm of the couch and lunges for the door like a SWAT officer. He throws it wide, scanning the yard in one sweeping glance, already halfway onto the porch.

“She’s out,” he confirms darkly. “Backyard perimeter compromised.”

“What?!” Chan bolts upright from the kitchen island, eyes wide and already haunted. “How did she—”

“The door,” Seungmin mutters from under his breath, standing with stiff annoyance. “The one I said not to leave open?”

“Technically it was closed,” Han says, following behind with his arms full of cat toys and very little shame. “Just… lightly. Emotionally closed.”

“She’s a cat,” Hyunjin says, appearing in the doorway in a billowing cardigan. “Not a ghost.”

Jeongin is peering out the window, pupils blown like saucers. “She’s in the garden beds. I see her. She’s rolling in the dirt like she belongs there. She's gonna be all dirty!”

And she is.

Princess Murder Volcano—tail flicking, eyes glowing in the sun like two shards of vengeful turquoise—sits proudly among the petunias like a warlord surveying her domain.

“Do not spook her,” Minho warns, raising one hand. “Don't even think about calling her name.”

“She’s already seen us,” Felix whispers, pressing his forehead to the glass. “She’s watching. She knows. She knows everything.”

“She’s licking her paw,” Changbin says, breathless. “Is that... a threat?”

“It’s worse,” Hyunjin replies solemnly. “It’s mockery.”

The mission unfolds in chaotic fragments.

Chan is pacing the kitchen, pulling together what he calls an “extraction strategy.” Of course, no one listens.

Jeongin is already outside with a blanket, tiptoeing through the grass like a nervous cartoon thief. She turns her head slowly, tracking his every step.

“I'm just visiting,” he says softly. “Just a simple gardener. I mean no harm. I'm benevolent—”

She hisses, a sound like a kettle left to scream too long. Jeongin flinches so hard he nearly topples backward into the bush of roses.

“She’s not playing,” he yelps, scampering back toward the house. “She is not playing!”

Felix crouches at the back door, treats in one hand, heartbreak in the other. “Sweetheart,” he calls gently. “You remember me, right? I gave you a treat. You let me boop your nose. That meant something to me.”

She blinks, then turns away nonchalantly.

“Cold,” Hyunjin murmurs from inside. “She’s colder than an ex.”

“She knows we’re panicking,” Seungmin says, rubbing at his temples. “She’s feeding off it.”

“Okay,” Han says, now back with what appears to be a laser pointer strapped to a stick. “New tactic. Diversion and distraction. We blind her with red dot science, someone sneaks in from the east.”

Minho ignores him. He is moving again—silent, smooth, low to the ground.

You would almost think he had trained for this. He probably has, considering his own cats.

He rounds the edge of the deck, eyes locked, stance relaxed. The cat watches him, tail twitching like a fuse.

The moment stretches—

And explodes.

She bolts straight up the nearest tree.

Minho stops mid-step, closes his eyes briefly like he is experiencing a full system failure, then turns slowly on his heel and walks back into the house.

“She is in the oak tree,” he reports dully. “That's as far as I go.”

“She’s gone feral,” Han gasps.

“She's been feral,” Seungmin mutters.

“She’s majestic,” Felix whispers again.

Five of the boys pace aimlessly. One climbs a fence. One googles “do cats feel remorse.”

And Jeongin, still in his socks, saves the day.

He kneels near the garden path—no fanfare, no grand speeches—and opens a pouch of tuna, the stinky kind, the kind you only use in emergencies or emotional blackmail.

The snap of the foil seal is the only sound in the yard.

And slowly, like a queen descending from her throne, Princess Murder Volcano pads down the tree.

She does not run. She saunters. She stops three times to clean her paw. She makes eye contact with everyone.

Then she walks right into the kitchen, brushes the length of her body against Felix’s leg affectionately, and curls up on the floor like nothing ever happened.

Silence again. Except now, it is different. Heavier. Awestruck.

“She is chaos incarnate,” Hyunjin says finally.

“She is victory,” says Minho.

“She is unbothered,” says Jeongin, holding the empty tuna pouch like a relic from war.

“She is grounded,” says Chan, grabbing his clipboard. “Indefinitely.”

The cat yawns and knocks the treat jar off the counter.

Day Two begins with hope. Dangerous, foolish, hubristic hope.

The morning is bright. Birds are chirping. The cat is purring, curled at the foot of Chan’s bed like a cherub who has never committed a single crime.

“You know,” Chan says, sipping coffee and watching her fondly, “I think we’re getting the hang of this.”

Seungmin looks up from his phone. “Did you just say that out loud?”

“I’m just saying she seems… relaxed. Peaceful. Like she trusts us.”

Hyunjin pokes his head into the kitchen, blinking sleepily. “What are we talking about?”

“The cat,” says Felix, feeding her another treat with the reverence of a man giving communion. “She’s mellow today.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin says, yawning. “So we’re jinxing it early. Cool.”

The idea comes from Minho.

Which is important, because it means no one can argue.

“She’s filthy,” he says bluntly, arms crossed. “She smells like mulch and attitude. She's got patches of green and brown all over her, her fur was white when we arrived.”

“She rolled in the flowerbed and played in the grass,” Jeongin adds from the couch, nose wrinkled. “Like, rolled. Fully. I watched.”

“She looks happy,” Han says, filming a slow zoom of her face. “This is the look of a woman who’s done crimes and will do more.”

“Right,” Minho continues, ignoring them all. “Which is why we’re bathing her.”

Silence.

Then seven people speak at once:

“You what—”

“No no no—”

“Do you want to die—”

“Minho, I care about you—”

“She’s going to eat us,” says Seungmin, entirely serious.

“She is literally purring right now,” Minho replies. “It’s the perfect time.”

“That’s a trap,” Chan says.

“She’s coiled,” adds Han. “Like a spring. Or a snake. Or a regret.”

Felix looks pale. “Do we have a will? Like… a shared one?”

Despite every sign from the universe, the decision is made.

The bathtub is filled—warm, shallow, with a drizzle of cat-safe soap.

Hyunjin lights a candle “for peace.”

Han plays gentle jazz “to soothe the mood.”

Jeongin Googles “feline CPR” just in case.

Felix brings in a towel he warmed in the dryer. “Because if we’re going to die,” he says quietly, “we should do it softly.”

Then: the lift.

Minho picks her up—gently, firmly, reverently—and she allows it.

Allows it.

The calm before the storm.

He lowers her into the water.

And hell opens its eyes.

She does not scream. She screeches.

A blood-curdling, feral wail that hits octaves human ears were not built for.

In one fluid motion, she launches from Minho’s arms, scrambles up his shoulder, over the curtain rod, and disappears between the ajar bathroom door and the wall.

“WE LOST VISUAL,” Han yells, diving for his camera like a war correspondent.

“HOW IS SHE WET AND DRY AT THE SAME TIME,” Seungmin shouts, slipping on a towel and crashing into the doorframe.

Felix is on his knees, arms out. “It’s okay, baby. We’re sorry. We respect your boundaries. Please—”

“I SAW MY LIFE FLASH BEFORE MY EYES,” Chan wheezes from the hallway floor, clutching his ribs.

Water is everywhere—on the ceiling, in the walls, soaked into the very foundation of the house. Someone is crying. It might be Jeongin.

Minho stands in the center, drenched and bleeding from a scratch across his cheekbone, eyes distant.

“…She drew blood,” he says faintly.

“You drew her wrath,” Hyunjin corrects, holding an ice pack to his forearm.

“She did this with her eyes open,” Han says, holding up footage that looks like a scene from a horror film.

Jeongin is curled in a towel cocoon, whispering, “She looked at me and I felt… judged.”

Thirty minutes later, the bathroom is destroyed, the cat is mysteriously pristine, and no one knows how the towel rack got bent like that.

She is lounging again. Dry. Groomed. Purring.

Minho walks past her like a man just out of war.

“She let you think you were in control,” Chan murmurs.

“She let me live,” Minho replies.

“Was the bath worth it?” Seungmin asks.

Minho does not answer. He just opens a can of tuna, places it before her like a tithe to an ancient god, and leaves the room in silence.

Later, evening sweeps through the house. A sweet, domestic dream. One full of good intentions and garlic bread.

“We’ll make dinner,” Chan had said, sleeves rolled up and optimism shining in his eyes. “Something simple. Cozy. Homemade.”

Jeongin had nodded eagerly, already pulling out mixing bowls. “Like a family.”

“We are a family,” Felix had smiled, clutching a whisk like it meant something.

In the background, Minho had narrowed his eyes. “What are you all plotting?”

“Love,” Han replied, unconvincingly.

The house fills with delicious smells. Onion sizzling in olive oil. Dough rising on the counter. Tomato sauce simmering in a pot that Felix insists on stirring with one hand while cuddling a dish towel with the other.

“You stir it so lovingly,” Jeongin observes.

Felix beams. “You have to respect the sauce.”

Hyunjin floats in from the hallway, sleeves rolled, lip gloss shimmering, “I've come to taste.”

“You've come to steal bites,” Minho corrects, slapping his hand away from the tray of garlic bread.

“She’s watching us,” Jeongin whispers suddenly.

All heads turn.

Princess Murder Volcano sits atop the fridge like a gargoyle in judgment, pupils blown wide. Tail twitching. Back hunched.

Chan narrows his eyes. “She’s got the zoomies.”

“No,” Hyunjin murmurs. “She’s got plans.”

It happens all at once.

One moment, Felix is piping filling into ziti shells, Han is singing into a ladle, and Jeongin is kneading dough with flour on his nose.

The next, there is a thud, a growl, and a blur of white fury tearing across the countertop like a tiny demonic tornado.

“NO—” Chan lunges for the sauce pot. Too late. The spoon flips. The tomato sauce arcs in the air like a slow-motion crime.

“THE SAUCE—!” Felix cries out, reaching with both hands.

It lands on Jeongin’s hoodie.

She leaps again—onto the drying rack, which collapses under her wrath. Metal clatters. A bowl crashes to the floor and shatters like a scream.

“She’s climbing the spice rack!” Minho shouts.

“She’s in the spice rack,” Han corrects. “She’s wearing the cinnamon like war paint!”

The cat zips past, yowling—a streak of fur and chaos. She skids across the freshly mopped tiles, slams into the pantry door, then bounces back with renewed energy.

“I feel the adrenaline,” Hyunjin gasps, flattened against the fridge. “She’s faster than light. She’s broken the sound barrier. She’s a myth.”

“She’s going to knock over the—”

CRASH.

Flour. Everywhere. A puff of white explodes like someone’s summoned a baking ghost.

Felix vanishes inside the cloud.

“Are you alive?!” Jeongin coughs, blinking through flour tears.

A flour-covered hand emerges, waving weakly. “Tell the sauce… I loved it.”

They try to corner her. They try.

Minho leads the charge, wielding a laundry basket like a net. “Block the exits. Coordinate. Outthink her.”

“She has no thoughts,” Han yells. “She’s pure instinct!”

“She’s in the cupboard!” Jeongin shouts, peeking inside and immediately slamming it shut. “She stared into me. She knows my sins.”

Meanwhile, Chan stands silently in the center of the room, hands on hips, face unreadable.

“She has chosen violence,” he says simply. “And seasoning.”

Eventually, the chaos fades. The sauce is salvaged. The ziti somehow managed to survive.

Princess Murder Volcano re-emerges covered in flour, a single noodle stuck to her side, and promptly curls up in the sink to nap like nothing happened.

Jeongin leans against the counter, breathing hard. “She broke three things.”

“She broke my sense of peace,” Hyunjin murmurs.

“She broke the laws of physics,” says Han.

Felix just stares into space. “The filling. It… it flew.”

Minho tosses a towel onto the counter and sighs. “Next time, we order pizza.”

“She’d still attack the box,” Seungmin says from the doorway, sipping water like he has seen this all before.

Chan places the last clean dish on the rack, closes his eyes, and whispers, “I miss when we were in charge.”

There is a night time rotation schedule taped to the fridge. A real one. On paper. Color-coded.

“For our sanity,” Chan had declared, waving a highlighter like a sword. “For survival,” Seungmin added, darkly.

Because she does not sleep alone.

Oh no.

She selects her human—a new one each night, like royalty distributing favour—and curls up precisely where they had hoped to stretch their legs.

She is warm. She is heavy. She is a little loaf of tyranny.

Tonight, the duty falls to Han.

He approaches the bedroom like a man entering war.

Blanket: comfortable. Pillow: fluffed. Water: on the nightstand. Notebook: ready, just in case inspiration strikes.

He is calm. Composed. Hopeful.

“She’s already in there,” Felix warns from the hallway, whispering like it is cursed knowledge. “Claimed the center of the bed.”

Han squares his shoulders. “This is fine. I’m flexible.”

“She sleeps diagonally,” Jeongin says, walking past with the empty cat food dish. “No remorse.”

“Love requires sacrifice,” Han mutters, and enters.

The light is soft. The sheets are warm. She is… watching.

Perched on his pillow. Eyes glowing faintly in the dark. Tail curled, neat and smug.

Han smiles with gentle dread. “Hey, queen. Mind if I…?”

He lifts the blanket. Slips in.

She does not move.

The seconds tick by.

He turns slightly. She adjusts her weight—to press directly against his ribs.

“…Cool,” he exhales. “This is fine.”

12:38 a.m.

He receives a text.

you: hey!! just checking in! is my daughter being good? 🐱apparently you have the night shift💤

Han types back with one thumb beneath the blanket, moving as little as possible.

han: define good

han: i’m not allowed to roll over and she has full custody of the blanket

you: lmaoo she does that 🫣 just don’t breathe too loud

you: i can't lie to you she's not amazing to sleep with when you're a new person... something about unfamiliarity or wtvr

han: great to know💀

2:17 a.m.

Han is awoken to a pressure on his ribs. He slowly opens his eyes to see Princess Murder Volcano sat upright, directly on his body, her tail slapping lightly against stomach.

“Can I help you,” he whispers.

She steps forward, kneels gently… and places one paw on his mouth. Astonished, he slowly reaches for his phone and texts the group chat.

han: her FOOT is on my MOUTH.

felix: do not resist. accept her.

binnie: you must be on the left side. she likes the left side of the bed. your mistake.

seungmin: sleep is a concept. not a right.

channie: stay strong😫😫

hyunjin: do you have any idea how many tiny teeth she has. do not make her use them.

3:03 a.m.

Another message from you causes Han's phone to chime.

you: also she sometimes sleepwalks. so like if she gets up and stares at the wall… do not engage

He reads it and gazes to where Princess Murder Volcano is situated.

She is already sitting at the corner of the bed, staring into the corner of the room, her tail occasionally twitching.

Han tosses the blanket over his own face.

3:49 a.m.

Han dares to shift by one inch. Which subsequently causes the white furball to let out a low growl. A warning, if you will.

He texts the group chat once again.

han: i made eye contact. she knows i thought about moving. i am not safe

felix: if she headbutts you, congrats. that means she’s claimed your soul

seungmin: stop being dramatic. she’s like 4kg

han: 4kg of fury and emotional manipulation. she blinked and i felt shame for existing

5:10 a.m.

You receive a photo from Han. A close-up of his arm, pinned beneath her white little loaf-shaped body. Her head rests between his elbow and ribs. One eye open. Watching.

han: my arm is asleep but she is not. i have not moved in hours

You find yourself cooing at your screen. Your cat is typically not one to cuddle up so comfortably with strangers.

you: omg she likes you 🥹 this is such a good sign!!

Han does not respond. Instead, he stares at the ceiling, a man transformed. Broken. Blessed. He is vibrating with exhaustion, fear, and the slightest sense of pride.

“She picked me,” he says aloud to the dark room. “I was chosen.”

She promptly moves to sneeze on his neck and falls back to sleep.

7:00 a.m.

The sun rises, leaking golden warmth through the once dark room. The serene morning silence is interrupted by the bedroom door creaking open. Chan peeks inside.

“You alive?” he whispers.

Han stares at the ceiling with hollow eyes. “She took my soul and the entire blanket.”

“She does that,” Chan nods.

“I think she forgave me for existing,” Han mutters.

Princess Murder Volcano is curled on Han’s chest, peaceful as can be, one paw flopped over his heart like she owns it.

Maybe she does.

The rest of Day Three began with an unsettling silence. Not the cosy, purring kind that hinted at nap time, but a stretched, suspicious quiet that crept beneath doorways and settled behind bookshelves. No zoomies. No morning murder-screech. No judging loaf formation in the hallway. Just… stillness.

Felix, already on edge after surviving her 8 a.m. biscuit-serving ritual on his spine, narrowed his eyes as he passed the laundry room.

“Where is she?” he muttered, peering around the corner with all the suspicion of a nature documentary narrator about to witness a predator strike.

Then he saw her. Striding slowly across the hall, tail lowered, ears relaxed, but with a strange hesitance in her step—as though she was deep in feline contemplation. She paused just outside the laundry room door, glanced around as if checking for witnesses, and slinked inside. Felix followed at a careful distance, peeking around the doorframe with theatrical stealth.

She sat in the litter box. Still. Unmoving. For twenty long seconds.

And then—without scratching, burying, or doing anything at all—she stood, turned around, and walked away.

Felix's jaw dropped. “She did nothing.”

He pulled out his phone, thumb flying across the screen as he typed into the group chat.

felix: she entered the litter box room.

felix: stood there. did NOTHING.

felix: then LEFT.

felix: with PURPOSE.

The replies came quickly.

jeongin: maybe she just forgot what she was doing

minho: or maybe she's smarter than all of us and doing psychological warfare

But Felix had already descended into veterinary message boards. In the next ten minutes, he had read five conflicting articles, started a pros-and-cons list of emergency vet clinics within driving distance, and built himself a surveillance pillow fort near the hallway with granola bars and a water bottle, determined to document her every move.

She reappeared eventually, strolling past him like he was a coat rack. She leapt up onto the back of the couch, sneezed so hard her whiskers twitched, then dramatically flopped onto her side in a sunny patch like an overworked heiress.

Felix gasped audibly. “Oh my god, she fainted,” he breathed, frantically texting the group.

felix: SHE FELL

felix: I THINK SHE FAINTED

felix: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY

By the time Chan arrived in the room, Felix had both hands in his hair and a cold rag on his own forehead. “She’s sick. She didn’t go. She looked at the box and left.”

Chan blinked. “Felix, she’s literally sunbathing.”

“She sneezed, Chris. That is how it starts. I’ve been researching. She could be hiding a bladder infection. Or worse—emotional constipation.”

Chan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before unlocking his phone. “Alright. Time to bring in the expert.”

You were just finishing lunch when your phone rang—FaceTime from Chan. You accepted with a smile, instantly greeted by Felix’s frazzled face and the distant sound of your cat dramatically licking her paw.

“Is she dying?” he asked before even greeting you.

You blinked. “What? No? What’s going on?”

Felix spun the camera dramatically, showing your cat flopped halfway off the couch cushion, tail twitching like a lazy metronome. “She went into the litterbox. Did nothing. Came out. Sneezed. Collapsed. Collapsed.”

“She does that,” you laughed at their turmoil around a bite of your meal. “It’s her post-zoomie burnout pose. Very theatrical.”

Chan appeared on screen beside him, eyes squinting. “Would she… fake something like this?”

You nodded immediately. “Yes. Absolutely. One time she limped for a full afternoon because I didn’t give her a bite of my toasted sandwich. The limp vanished the second she saw me grabbing treats.”

Felix’s entire soul left his body in that moment. “She’s too powerful. I believed her.”

“I always do too, it's okay,” you said fondly, watching her slowly roll over and bite the couch cushion for no reason at all.

“She trusts you,” Chan offered Felix quietly after a moment, smiling as he looked down at her now curled into a lazy pretzel. “She doesn’t act like this around all of us.”

“She's showing Felix her weirdest sides,” you confirmed. “That’s like… soulmate trust. I think she's selected her favourite.”

Felix looked into the distance, visibly moved.

Later that afternoon, she returned to the litter box, did her business without fanfare, then strutted out like she had not just sent a grown man into an existential spiral. She leapt into Felix’s lap without warning, turned exactly one circle, and settled.

He did not move for the rest of the night.

“She forgave me,” he whispered, one hand resting on her back like she might disappear if he exhaled too quickly.

Seungmin glanced over, unimpressed. “She just stole your seat.”

“Same thing,” Felix sighed, blissful.

By the time the third and final day of the babysitting debacle had come to a close, all eight of your friends were waiting by the door before you even stepped inside.

The moment your car pulled up, the house shifted into high alert. Shoes half-on, limbs frozen mid-motion, the boys gathered like war survivors at the threshold of sanctuary, a desperate hush falling over the living room.

“She’s here,” Chan muttered, peering through the front blinds. “Everyone act normal.”

Hyunjin tossed the feather toy behind the couch like it was a weapon. Jeongin kicked a half-chewed slipper under the rug. Felix, wild-eyed and exhausted, stood silently clutching a lint roller in one hand and an empty treat bag in the other. Han wordlessly pointed at a scratch across his thigh, his expression haunted.

And then… the front door opened.

You stepped inside with a bright smile and a suitcase sat behind you, immediately greeted by a chorus of overlapping chaos.

“She is not normal,” Seungmin declared, pointing accusingly toward the armchair.

“She bullied Jeongin out of his beanbag,” Minho added flatly.

“She licked a power outlet,” Changbin said, somewhere between awe and concern.

“She gaslit me,” Felix whispered, eyes unfocused.

But before you could react, a blur of fur bolted across the hardwood floors—and suddenly she was there.

Your cat.

Your sweet, precious baby girl, appearing like a cherub descending from above. She meowed softly, nuzzling your shin with gentle affection before curling herself around your ankles like a silk ribbon.

You leaned down immediately, scooping her up into your arms, cooing with all the love in the world. “Hi, my love! Did you miss me? You were a good girl, weren’t you?”

Felix made a noise like he had just been stabbed. “GOOD GIRL?”

“She’s an agent of chaos,” Jeongin protested, watching as your cat blinked up at you with pure, wide-eyed innocence, a slow blink that screamed loyalty and purity and complete, unprovable deceit.

You looked between them all, frowning. “What are you talking about? She’s perfect.”

“She knocked over a plant on purpose,” Minho insisted. “Made eye contact and everything.”

“She scaled the bookshelf,” Chan added, crossing his arms. “Like, the entire thing. And sat on top like she owned it.”

“She stole my hoodie,” Han muttered. “Dragged it under the table. Growled when I tried to get it back.”

“She has mood swings,” Seungmin said, pointing again. “I saw her smack Hyunjin in the face. Twice. For breathing too loud.”

You blinked at them, brow creased in disbelief, while your cat snuggled into your chest in your embrace, already purring loud enough to be heard across the room.

“She’s literally purring,” you said gently. “You guys must’ve imagined it. She’s my baby.”

“She’s playing you,” Hyunjin whispered. “She’s been training for this moment for all three days.”

As if on cue, she looked toward the rest of the group from the safety of your arms, eyes glinting, tongue just slightly poking out in a silent mockery of their pain. Then she nestled her head into your shoulder, curling her fuzzy tail around your wrist with practiced sweetness.

You kissed her head. “Aw. She’s tired. You guys must’ve worn her out from playing so much.”

Eight boys stood in varying stages of psychological collapse. Felix actually sat down.

“She’s gaslighting you in real time,” Chan said quietly.

“I think I have to go lie down,” Jeongin whispered.

“Is this what defeat feels like?” Han asked no one.

You only smiled, oblivious, heading toward the hallway with her still in your arms. “C’mon, baby, let’s go to your room.”

Your cat peeked over your shoulder at the others as you left the room, her face calm, smug, and victorious.

Hyunjin pointed a trembling finger. “Did you see that? She winked. I SWEAR—”

The door shut gently behind you.

Silence hung heavy over those remaining in the room.

Then Felix collapsed backwards onto the couch. “She won.”

By the time night settled in, the house had mostly recovered. Mostly. Chan was nursing a scratch on his bicep with a glass of wine he insisted was “purely medicinal.” Seungmin was researching feline behavioural psychology. Felix had fallen asleep mid-rant while laying on your sofa, with his legs tossed carelessly over your lap.

You sat nestled on the couch beside beneath your shared blanket and a cup of tea, your troublemaking child curled in your lap—technically on Felix's shins—like she had never once wronged a soul. She blinked slowly, innocently, while you gently stroked her back.

The TV screen flashed on.

“Alright,” Han said as he stepped into the room like he was about to deliver a TED Talk. “Enough lies. Enough manipulation. The truth... needs to be witnessed.”

You turned toward him with a raised brow. “What is this?”

“A documentary,” Han said, remote in hand, pride in his stance. “Or rather... a document of war.”

The screen lit up with an opening title:

“Emergency Kitty Babysitter's Club: A House Held Hostage” Directed by Han Jisung. Edited by Han Jisung. Victims: All of Us.

It began with hidden cam footage—timestamped clips from every chaos moment of the week. Your cat skidding across the hardwood at 3 a.m. like a possessed banshee. Knocking over a cup of coffee with surgical precision while Minho gasped in the background. Standing on the kitchen counter, face inside the butter dish, as Felix whispered, “Not again…” from behind the camera.

Cue dramatic music. Zoom-ins. Slow-motion replays. Commentary snippets from the boys layered over the clips like it was some kind of crime series.

“She stared at me and shoved my AirPods off the table,” Chan’s voice narrated solemnly as the clip played. “She knew.”

“She stole a sausage right off my fork,” Jeongin said during a cutaway interview, looking dead inside.

It was ridiculous. It was over-the-top.

It was brilliant.

And yet, as the footage continued to play, you gently scratched behind her ears. “Princess... this isn’t you, is it?”

She yawned, long and slow, and nestled deeper into your lap—unbothered. Unmoved.

“She is literally in the footage,” Hyunjin said, exasperated. “She bit me in 4K.”

“She’s misunderstood,” you murmured, kissing the top of her head.

Han hit pause and turned to you, devastated. “You’re choosing her over us.”

“She’s soft,” you said, petting her side. “And pink. And perfect.”

"Pink doesn't even make sense!"

“She screamed at the mailman like he owed her money,” Changbin snapped.

But you just smiled down at her. “My little angel.”

The credits rolled. The final clip played without sound: your cat perched regally atop the fridge while Felix cried in the corner, holding a can of tuna she had rejected minutes earlier.

A masterpiece. A warning. A call for justice.

And completely ineffective.

Because by the time the lights came back on, you were already dozing off on the couch, her purring against your chest, the embodiment of peace and domestic bliss.

She opened one eye, glared at Han, and flicked her tail once like a queen dismissing her critics.

The boys would never recover.

But you? You were exactly where you belonged.

inspired by my beautiful sweet innocent daughter dior

everyone say hello

taglist (ask to be added here): @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325 @slut4junho

187 notes · View notes