#whenever i think of how i managed to fall in love with him

[the-fiction-filter]

I'm staring at the mess I made | Draco Malfoy

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Y/N

Summary: It was time for the Yule Ball. Draco thinks you've been waiting on him to ask you to the dance. Little did he know he was going to have to face reality that he never admitted his feelings to you. So why would you wait on him?

Inspiration: Hard Sometimes by Ruel 🎵

Word Count: 1454

When I come off cold I'm not doing it on purpose You caught me in a hole That I dig for myself when I'm nervous

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The castle was buzzing ever since the Yule Ball was announced. Every day the halls echoed gossip about who asked who. Who had been rejected.

“It was bloody hysterical!” Pansy cackled as you had finished retelling the story about Ron Weasley asking- no screaming at Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him.

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt. “You guys should’ve been there, they had to drag him away and he looked like he’d been petrified”

The boys next to you all snickered. You managed to even get a chuckle from Blaise. Draco who was one to never turn down mocking the Weasley's, was strangely quiet. He was watching you. Staring for a little too long.

You raised an eyebrow at him. He pulled his eyes off you, jerked his head back to his charms essay.

“Everyone’s making a fuss about having a date but I’m going stag” Lorenzo announced squaring his shoulders. "That way whenever some poor bloke messes up, I’ll just swoop in and save the day without much effort."

Theodore snorted at his statement. "It's brilliant really" Lorenzo defended himself.

"You're incorrigible Enzo" you laughed. Draco's grip on his quill tightened as his body filled with warmth at the musical sound of your laughter.

Blaise, the most observant of your friends, notices Draco's reaction and smirks. He decided to stir the pot. "Say, Y/N, do you have a date yet?"

Almost dropping your quill. You avoided everyone's eyes, "well.. maybe," you chewed your lower lip.

Not expecting this, Draco's head shot up. "Maybe?" he said puffing his chest out. His trademark Malfoy arrogance oozing from every pore. "You don't have to pretend love, you can come with me."

"Pre-pretend?!" you said incredulously, you stared back at him as if he had three heads. "I have a date; I just didn't want any of you scaring him off."

Which was fair — any time a boy outside your friend circle so much as looked your way, one of the Slytherin boys would appear like a shadow. Intimidating whoever approached you and telling them to piss off.

And Draco? He was the worst.

Before he could help it Draco angrily asked, “WHO in their bloody right mind would ask you?”

Silence.

Theodore and Blaise glanced at each other before turning back to the scene Draco was creating. Pansy's mouth dropped at Draco's question.

You felt like someone dunked ice-cold water over your head. You looked up from scribbling on your parchment and eyes narrowing at his question. “Excuse me?" you said sharply. "Just because you may think I’m nothing special doesn’t mean everyone else finds me appalling” you spat out venomously.

You began shoving your belongings into your bag.

Draco's angry expression falling completely off his face. “That’s not- I meant- I just didn’t think anyone would ask you” he stammered, trying to correct himself and doing the exact opposite.

You scoffed and muttered under your breath “unbelievable.”

You turned to the boys, “you lot better teach your friend how to speak to the female species, or he’d end up dateless” you said angrily, turning on your heel and leaving.

Not sparing him another glance.

Draco’s mouth hung open as he watched you storm out of sight. All he could hear was the snickering of Blaise and Lorenzo. “Way to go Malfoy” Theodore added, smirking as he finished his cup of pumpkin juice.

"Guess you'll have to go stag with me" Lorenzo said laughing, clapping him on his back. Draco was spiraling.

Draco turned to glare at them. “Was it one of you? Trying to get back at me for something?”

His friends just laughed harder, shaking their heads. He glared at the seat that had previously been occupied by you.

Who dared ask you to the Yule Ball? Who had the audacity—No. Who had the balls to go and take what was his? He was Draco bloody Malfoy. No one took anything from him.

Draco was losing his mind. Four days passed. Four. You acted like he didn't exist. You didn't glare at him. Didn't even acknowledge him. It infuriated him.

Pansy being your loyal friend, refused to tell him who your date was. So, he was going mad trying to figure it out on his own.

"Ravenclaw?" Blaise said shouldering his bag, as they walked out of Potions.

Draco laughed hollowly, "no Ravenclaw would dare."

Theo smirked, "Imagine it's a Gryffindor."

"Absolutely not, she's not that stupid" he muttered.

Lorenzo snapped his fingers, "I know!" making everyone stop in their tracks. "It has to be a guy from Durmstang" he said simply.

Draco's blood ran cold. It makes sense. Everyone in Hogwarts knew you were off limits. But those bloody gits from Durmstang didn't. He stared off into the distance, watching you walk with your arm linked with Pansy's as you giggled over something.

Clenching his fist, he had to make a move.

If you had gotten yourself a date, well then, he'd be damned if he went alone.

Entering the common room, the idea hit him in the form of Astoria Greengrass. She was sitting there on the couch, aimlessly flipping through Witch Weekly.

He smirked. He knew the younger witch was head over heels for him. He made his approach.

She stared at him, a smile slowly forming on her face. "Draco" she said in an overly sweet voice, Draco internally rolled his eyes.

He tried to play it casually. Pretend this was his first option. "You going to the Yule ball?" he asked.

She blinked slowly, "no.. why? Are you asking me?"

He nodded.

The Yule Ball quickly arrived after that.

You walked through the Great Hall entrance with your arm looped through the strong bicep of a tall Durmstrang. Erik-one of the handsome, charming quidditch players.

You glanced at his side profile. He was dreamy.

You felt eyes on you the second you stepped inside the wintery scene. You knew who it was. And you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of looking back at him.

Draco Malfoy stood there in black dress robes, with Astoria clinging to his arm. He saw you and his stomach twisted violently.

You smiled shyly, looking up at Erik through your lashes. “Let’s dance.”

A slow song came on; your hand slowly went around Erik's neck and his found your waist.

You felt someone staring and you knew it was Draco. You risked a glance, looking over Erik's shoulder.

He just stood there, glaring.

Astoria gave up on the idea of dancing with him, followed his gaze, and her body stiffened slightly. “She's the one, isn't she?”

Draco didn’t answer. He watched as you slipped outside for a moment. Placing the glass he was holding down, he followed you.

“Having fun?”

Draco stood behind you, hands in his pockets, his jaw tight.

“Erik’s wonderful” you said, voice biting.

Draco scoffed. “You don’t even like Quidditch players.”

You scoffed, “says who?”

“I asked her to the ball to make you jealous,” he blurted out.

You blinked. “What?”

“I couldn’t stand not knowing who your date was. It drove me insane. And now? I can't stand seeing you with him—”

“Draco—”

“I was an idiot,” he said. “I said the wrong thing. And now you're happy, with him.”

You stared back, heart pounding. There he was — Draco Malfoy, arrogant, sharp-tongued, cruel when it suited him — finally admitting to something close to vulnerability.

“You never said anything, Draco. You never—never even hinted that you felt anything. But the second someone else does, you pull this?”

He looked away, jaw clenched. “I didn’t think—”

“You didn't think anyone would ask me” you said with a false laugh. “Now you’re here for what exactly? A dance? A kiss?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No—I don’t expect anything.”

His voice cracked slightly, and it stunned you.

“I just…” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I messed up. I’ve never—felt like this. Not for anyone. It terrifies me.”

You exhaled. Draco’s eyes dropped to the floor.

Before you could respond, Erik stepped into the courtyard, searching until he spotted you both under the frosted archway.

“There you are,” he said, his accent laced with concern. “I was starting to worry—”

Draco turned to face him, annoyed at his interruption. “She’s fine. We were just catching up.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tensing. “Is that so?”

You straightened, stepping towards him. “I needed some air. That’s all.”

Erik looked between the two of you for a moment too long, before offering his arm again. “Shall we?”

You nodded taking his arm, ignoring Draco’s eyes as you left.

And he just stood there watching you walk away.

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[thirteenheavens]

Hi Mol! I absolutely love all of your stories, seriously I cannot get enough of them. I know you have a bunch of request so whenever you get to this is fine. I was wondering if you could do Soobin with a breeding kink. <3

Starting a family? || Choi Soobin

Word count:1.2k

Notes: thank you for much anon you’re too cute hope you enjoy!!

Soobin couldn't take his eyes off you at the party, watching as you played with the children with such natural maternal instinct. His grip on his drink tightened as he saw the way you smiled at them, how you gently held them. Back at home, Soobin became unusually clingy and whiny, practically following you around the house. "You looked so good with those kids," he mumbled against your neck, his hands roaming over your body. "It made me think about... other things."

You could feel his hardness pressing against you as he pulled you closer, his breathing becoming heavier. "I want to fill you up," he whispered in your ear. "Make you mine in every way possible." His hands slid down to cup your stomach possessively, imagining it swollen with his child. "I want to see you pregnant with my baby," he admitted, his voice hoarse with desire. "Watch your belly grow big and round with our child."

"Soobin..." you say softly, turning to face him properly. "I had no idea you felt this way." He looks at you with a mixture of nervousness and hope, his fingers still tracing patterns on your stomach. "I've been thinking about it for a while," he admits. "But I wasn't sure how to bring it up."

You cup his face in your hands, your heart swelling at his honesty. "I'd love to have a family with you," you tell him sincerely. "You'd be an amazing father." Soobin's face lights up with joy as he pulls you into a tight embrace. "Really?" he asks, his voice cracking with emotion. "You mean it?"

He kisses you deeply, his hands now moving with renewed passion. "Let's make it happen then," he whispers against your lips. "Let's start trying right now." Soobin carries you to the bedroom with a hungry look in his eyes, gently laying you down on the bed. His hands roam over your body with newfound urgency, knowing what's to come.

"I'm going to breed you so well," he promises, his voice thick with desire. "Fill you up with my seed until it takes." He starts undressing you slowly, kissing every inch of exposed skin as he goes. "You're going to look so beautiful carrying my baby," he murmurs, his lips trailing down your stomach. "I can't wait to see your belly grow."

His fingers find their way between your legs, testing your wetness. "You're already so ready for me," he notices, his cock twitching in anticipation. "Let's make this happen." Soobin's lips leave a trail of hot kisses down your body as he removes your clothes, his touch growing more possessive with each piece that falls away.

"I'm going to take you in every position tonight," he growls against your skin. "Make sure it takes." He pauses at your breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking gently while his fingers tease the other. "These will get so sensitive when you're pregnant," he murmurs, his free hand moving down to part your legs. His fingers circle your entrance teasingly, gathering your wetness. "Already so wet for me," he says with a smirk. "You want this just as badly as I do, don't you?"

"Yes," you gasp, arching up into his touch. "I want it so badly, Soobin. I want to carry your baby." His eyes darken with lust at your words, and he quickly positions himself between your legs. "Then I won't keep you waiting any longer," he promises, lining himself up with your entrance.

With one powerful thrust, he fills you completely, groaning at the feeling of being inside you. "You're mine," he growls, starting to move at a slow, deep pace. "And this womb is mine to fill." Soobin's eyes never leave yours as he thrusts into you, his jaw clenched tight with pleasure. "You're so tight," he manages to say between moans. "So perfect for me."

He reaches down to intertwine his fingers with yours, pinning your hands above your head as he picks up the pace. "I can feel your walls squeezing me," he pants. "You're trying to milk my cum already." His teeth dig into his lower lip as he struggles to hold back, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency. "I'm getting close," he warns, his movements becoming more erratic. "Are you ready for my seed?"

"Yes, Soobin," you moan, your body trembling with pleasure. "Fill me up. Make me yours completely." Your words push him over the edge, and with a deep growl, he buries himself inside you to the hilt. You feel his hot cum spilling deep within you, his hips twitching with each pulse. He collapses on top of you, breathing heavily as he comes down from his high. "You're mine," he whispers again, nuzzling your neck. "My mate, my lover... and soon,a mother."

Soobin continues to watch the mixture of his cum and your juices drip from your pussy, his cock twitching with renewed interest. "You're making such a mess," he comments huskily. "Such a fertile little thing." He pushes you onto your back, spreading your legs wide open. "Let me see it better," he demands, his fingers playing with the mess. "I want to make sure every drop stays inside."

He leans down to lick up some of the cum that's leaked out, his tongue teasing your sensitive folds. "You taste so good like this," he groans. "I could eat you out all night." Soobin pushes his fingers deep inside you, scooping up more of his cum and pushing it back in. "There," he says with a satisfied smirk. "Now it'll stay nice and deep."

His fingers continue to move inside you, curling against your g-spot as he watches your reactions. "I want to see you fall apart again," he murmurs. "Can you cum for me one more time, baby?" His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles as he works his fingers inside you. "Cum for me," he commands again, his voice rough with need. "Show me how much you want this."

"Soobin, please... I'm so sensitive," you whimper, your body shaking from the overstimulation. "I can't take much more." He doesn't stop, his fingers continuing their relentless pace. "Just one more orgasm, love," he coaxes. "One more and I'll stop." His free hand grips your hip, holding you in place as he works you towards another climax. "I can feel your walls fluttering," he notices. "You're close again, aren't you?"

"I'm... I'm coming," you gasp, your body arching off the bed as another orgasm crashes through you. Your pussy clenches tightly around Soobin's fingers, more of his cum leaking out as you squirt. Soobin watches in awe, his fingers still working you through it. "That's it, baby," he praises. "Such a good girl for me."

He finally pulls his fingers out, licking them clean with a satisfied hum. "You did so well," he says softly, pulling you into his arms. "I think that should do it."

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

TW: intrusive thoughts (regarding falling to death, including picturing himself and other people dying from a fall as well as their corpses. Also a quick blink and you miss it allusion to how these thoughts impact Tim's relationship with food)

Welcome to unreliable narrator central. I have a lot of thoughts on the Tim/Jason dynamic. This is not very Jason friendly btw because Dick will always be Tim's Robin (after all, Jason was the replacement first)

To Tim, the most notable thing about Jason is that he isn't Dick. Maybe that changed over time, although I am not sure about that. He is stubborn as fuck and he needs a way to rationalize illogical emotions. He also hates being wrong.

The Flying Graysons are the ones to invade his dreams every night. Whenever he is high up, he can't help but want. Not really, of course (of course not, of course of course), but he knows that the closest he will ever get to being them is falling down and down and down. Sometimes he thinks about Dick and it almost feels worth it. He just wants to know what they were thinking, if it hurt, what they saw and what they felt before they became nothing at all. He is terrified of heights and always makes sure to sit at the window. Loves letting his legs dangle down the edge.

Sometimes he notices how weird arms look, or how long neck are, or how crooked his knee is, or how unnatural their bodies contorted when they fell on the ground. Is it exaggerated, in his mind? It must be, but he doesn't think so. If only his elbow was just a bit higher up maybe he wouldn't feel so wrong. He has managed to find a video of the night, downloaded it before it got taken down. He doesn't watch it, but just knowing it is there makes him feel oddly secure. He avoids mirrors on some days, as well as food.

(They look so elegant, even as they are falling. Weightless, as if their bones were hollow)

The clip with the quadruple somersault goes into the same folder as the fall. He wants to re-watch it, but it feels wrong without seeing the other video, too, and he can't bear to see that one. What if the night is different from how he remembers? Or worse, what if it is exactly the same?

Tim only became truly obsessed with the bats when he realized that Robin is Dick. Robin and Batman are symbols, larger than life, inhuman. To Tim, Dick has been just that for even longer, fulfilling his role even before he first hit the streets. That hug, a ray of light just before the tragedy that will reshape Tim's worldview forever. Of course Dick Grayson is Robin, it could never be anyone else.

Robin can do a quadruple somersault, something barely anyone in the world is capable of. Robin isn't a person. He is so much more. Even more than Robin, Dick is so much more.

Jason is a person. He can not do the somersault. And yet he wears his colors and pretends to fly.

It shakes up one of the foundations of his entire worldview, even though he has no right to it, even though he knows it shouldn't. And he hates hates hates hates it (not that he admits it. He doesn't know why he feels so strongly the first time he sees the other boy playing dress up. Heavy and down to earth and not at all what Robin is supposed to be. He just knows that he sees Dick flying and Jason falling falling falling-)

(it feels wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong)

Tim is honest when he says he doesn't want to be Robin. They have debates about vigilantism in boarding school, about the dangers of serving justice and revenge outside of the law. There is no one more fallible and human than him, and vigilantes aren't allowed to be like that. To make mistakes. To be so fascinated by death. By falling. Sometimes he can feel the wind against his cheeks as he sits in the classroom, windows closed in the winter.

(Dick's anger is - like everything else - elegant. It feels purposeful, even when it isn't. It is not like Jason's rage, that feels so close to his own.)

Tim was there on the day that Dick's parents were murdered and a part of him will stay stuck there forever. He is good at recognizing patterns. He knows where Dick got the inspiration for the costume and he can't help but resent Jason for taking it away from him. From taking Dick away from Gotham, from Tim. And he knows these thoughts are obsessive and weird but he can't help it. And isnt that Di- Robin's job anyways? To be a source of comfort and hope?

He resents Jason, but a shameful part of him is grateful because Robin has never been so close to touch. Jason is human and that means he can fall. The thoughts get worse after Dick (his hero, his hope, the beacon that can guide him away from the hellscape that is his brain) is gone. His arms were so thin when they wrapped around him, so many years ago. He looks at Jason and sees a mangled corpse. He researches what the impact does to a body and applies it to John and Mary and Jason and himself.

(Not Dick. Never Dick. Richard Grayson is Robin, he would never do something as human as to fall)

(he regrets researching)

Dick is bright and large and beautiful. He is a true Robin, always defying gravity, always flying. It is a betrayal, in a way, to put a human being in the costume. A part of him is not surprised when Jason dies. A bigger part of him can't help feeling it is his fault. It's ridiculous of course - he doesn't have the powers to do so, he isn't Dick. Jason didn't even fall to his death. But he remembers all those visions- Jason, limbs contorted in ways that shouldn't be possible; Jason, bones breaking through skin; Jason, hair glued together by bits of brain. And all the while Dick is flying, higher and higher and all the way in space

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Hi the green sunny bunny (for some reason that's how I started imagining you, no I don't know why)

So!!!

Timothy is meant to be the person that no one would ever think it's a vigilante for the exact same and opposite reasons as Brucie, and to make the batfam hate him but not enough to look into him, right?

But he definitely just tries to be the exact person that Bruce made his Brucie persona over right? He just really leaned into the ash-tray (that's a curse as far as I'm concerned) kind of person so that they wouldn't want to look into him because he was too much like Brucie

So so!!!!

Obviously he's called 'Timothy' because Tim is just his close people name and Timmy might remind him of people he loves when he's not supposed to think about them now, but do you think it's also to make the distinction between Cardinal, Tim, and Timothy?

You know, like how some comedians do it? Ones that have a persona specifically crafted for shows with it's own name so they can make the distinction in their own life, because sometimes the persona's have traits that are funny for a couple of hours on a stage but you wouldn't want in real life

So so so!!!! I'm thinking sometime like this

Cardinal is one carefully crafted persona, is the vigilante, he's the one who sometimes sees the bats, the one who gets to truly communicate with them, even if it's just as an accomplice or informant, who is kind of like he needs time to think and process the words in real life so his sentences sometimes sound weird. He's a cryptid, definitely has good training and equipment but no one really knows if he made, bought, or stole them. All that's really known about him are the omens, and the birds that gather whenever he's around, staring in to your soul, just as he somehow managed to do from behind his mask.

Timothy is another carefully crafted persona, it's the public one. Timothy is built for two purposes, to keep the bats away at any cost, and to keep everyone from questioning him. Because of that, Timothy is everything no one would ever except a vigilante to be. He's obnoxious, a racist, a classist, and generally sucks. He gets to have little meltdowns, but never over the things that truly upset him. He's sharp, but only when he's putting someone down. He's built to be the sort of person that if someone jokes they have a secret identity, hero isn't what they would theorize.

Tim is just himself, with all his memories and knowledge, he's the strategist, he's the one who might need some time to process but can find the words in a second, and it's not like someone is waiting for him. After all, only one person he truly talks to knows even a fraction of Tim, and not Cardinal or Timothy. Tim is the one who can never ever fall apart, because no one will ever be there to help him up. The bats know of Cardinal, everyone knows of Timothy, but no one knows Tim.

It's not a split personality, it's still always him in the end, but at this point, does he really know who him is?

(of course you're welcome to ignore this, just felt like writing s something)

Oh very fun analysis!! And yes the comparison to comedian personas is both a very accurate and very amusing comparison-

Thank you for sharing this was a fun read!

[20percentbug]

[seumyo]

when you don’t say “i love you” back to bakugou.

Bakugou says, “I love you,” every time he’s about to leave the house without you. It’s something that he got from his father, and to put it simply, he got influenced.

He’s about to finish putting on his hero gear. His gauntlets were already in place, his boots laced, and his mask pushing his hair away from his face—kind of like how he wore it during high school whenever it wasn’t necessary to wear it properly.

And there you were, sitting cross-legged on the floor without a care in the world.

Books were scattered around you in piles, organized by some system only you seemed to understand. You were focused as you murmured to yourself quietly, comparing sizes, genres, and authors, completely absorbed in your task of organizing the living room’s bookshelf.

“I’m heading out.”

“Mmhm,” you replied absentmindedly, holding up two books and tilting your head as if the slight angle would help you decide which belonged on the top shelf.

Bakugou frowned, his brow twitching. “Oi, did you hear me?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, still not looking at him. “Be careful, Katsuki.”

He let out a huff, running a hand through his hair. He was used to you getting lost in your little projects, but this felt different (were you playing a prank on him?). He stepped closer, crouching down beside you to meet your eye level. “Don’t overwork yourself while I’m gone,” he said, softer this time.

“I won’t.”

Still not looking at him. Unbelievable.

To Bakugou, it felt like being thrown through a building and back—and he wasn’t even exaggerating because it actually happened to him once! And he could definitely conclude that the feeling’s similar when you’re ignoring (not paying that much attention to) him.

Bakugou watched you for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing slightly before he sighed. “I love you,” he murmured, his tone quieter.

“Uh-huh. Have a good day at work.”

Just as Bakugou was about to stand back up, he blinked, the words sinking in slowly. His brow furrowed as the realization hit him—he’s so confused.

You didn’t say it back.

“What the hell?” he muttered, more to himself than to you—because you didn’t even hear him.

He huffed, taking the book you were inspecting as he let your hands fall on his arms instead.

“Hey.”

“Hm?” you glanced at him, your expression innocent as if nothing unusual had happened.

“You didn’t say it back,” he said, his tone sharp, though there was a hint of disbelief beneath the irritation.

The audacity you had. After almost always saying “I love you” to him to the point where Bakugou realized he couldn’t go on his day without hearing it, you decide to not say it now?

What’s next? You’re going to tell him you want a divorce? He’s overreacting, he thinks.

“Say what back?”

He clenched his jaw, his cheeks flushing faintly. “I said I love you, dumbass.”

Realization dawned on your face, followed by a sheepish smile. That smile—the one that managed to win him over—it’s so infectious it might as well be a cause of an epidemic.

“Oh! Katsuki, I’m sorry. I was distracted.”

“Tch,” he muttered, looking away from you. “Yeah, I noticed.”

You leaned closer to where he was crouching, squeezing his forearm softly, your touch light and apologetic. “You know I love you too, right?”

He side-eyed you, his scowl deepening, though it was clear his annoyance was fading.

“Doesn’t count if I gotta remind you,” Bakugou grumbled—almost pouting.

Your laughter bubbled out, so familiar that Bakugou was reminded where his home is, as you then held his face gently—then squishing his cheeks so that his lips are puckered. “I’m sorry,” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “I’ll make sure to say it next time, promise.”

“Better keep thath promish,” he muffled out.

“I will,” you assured him, loosening your hold as you gave him a soft kiss on the lips. Strawberry-flavored chapstick, one of Bakugou’s favorites whenever you kiss him.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

He tried to maintain his frown, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward as you kissed him once more. “You better.”

“Now go save the day, my hero.”

With a sigh, Bakugou leaned away from you, his posture reluctant to even leave you. He made his way to the door, pausing to glance over his shoulder one last time. You were looking at him, blowing him lots of kisses with the emphasized “mwah!”

“Don’t get so caught up in your books that you forget I exist,” he tells you.

You smiled, nodding along. “Never.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too! Text me when you get to your agency; love you lots!” That’s better.

As he closed the door behind him, Bakugou shook his head, muttering to himself, “Ignored for some damn books. Unbelievable.”

Still, despite his grumbling, the faint smile on his face said he wasn’t really mad.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw

Taking one of Simon’s balaclava from the closet, inhaling the lingering musk snd cologne scent while rubbing your pussy needily on the bedsheet. He went on a short mission for a few days, and you missed him, miss how he call you sweetheart with that gruff voice, miss how he sit you on his lap, murmuring sweet nothings while his hand

sneaks pass the waistband of your panties, pinching and flicking your clit to warm you up for his big cock, miss how his veiny and sturdy arms wrap around you while you fall asleep while basking in each other’s presence.

You kiss the balaclava on where his lips should be, but that’s not enough, the ache in your chest leads you to scramble to the closet again, taking out a pair of his skeleton gloves, putting those far-too-large gloves on as you slump down on the bed you two shared again, mimicking how he kneaded and rolled the sweet spot hidden between your slick folds, until you finally reach your high, dampening his gloves with your juices.

You tuck the used balaclava and gloves deep inside a discreet drawer, welcoming Simon back home the next day. He got a crazy amount of gloves and balaclava, sure he wouldn’t notice missing a pair or two, right? You try to convince yourself, till the day you think you finally get a chance to wash those fabric stained with the evidence of your guilty pleasure, that he appears behind you silently and catch you scrubbing them.

You have no one to blame other than yourself when getting put over his knees moments later, pajamas shorts pulled down, ass in the air and whining every time he lands a light slap on your reddened buttocks.

“Think I wouldn’t notice, hmm?” He rubs the spot he just hit gently, soothing that delicious tingle briefly “How many times did you come with my balaclava and my gloves?”

You look back at him, trying to respond with the vibrating dildo deep inside your squelching cunt messing your mind. “One ti-One- ngh…” your incoherentness brings yourself another slap, this time land carefully just above your stretched cunt and on the clit.

“Say it clearly, princess, can’t understand when you’re talking in moans.” Simon rubs your skin after the soft smack again, just like what he did whenever he gives you a teasing slap, but him rolling your over-sensitive bud that just got a sweet slap, only flares up your desire and makes you unable to think straight, his fingers and the dildo occupied your thoughts as you manage to answer more comprehensibly.

“One…only one time…” Your staccato reply receives a feign pity glance from him.

“Only one time? poor girl.” He grabs the base of the vibrating dildo and thrust in and out “Look how you lube this dildo with your juices so well, love. Finally satisfied?”

“No! No…please…” You paw at the bedsheets desperately, happy that he might end his ‘punishment’ soon, yet afraid that you won’t get the thing you truly craved. “Need you, Simon, please…! need you inside”

He grins imperceptibly, though the arrogance in his heart is satiated. That’s what he wants to hear, hear you say out loud about how much you need him, how only him can fuck you in the way others can’t.

Pulling the dildo out, seeing how your cunt grabbing onto it like you try to swallow it back in, he fish out his cock, standing straight and leaking profusely from enjoying the show “No need to feel empty for the lost, sweetheart, you’ll get what you deserve now.”

Simon press the tip of his length at your entrance, looking at you with smugness within those brown eyes, and he knows it’s going to be a long night when you gaze back with droopy eyes, still coming down from the edge, with a bliss-out smile spread across your glossy lips.

[swtheartz]

“ DRIVE WHO CRAZY? ” — M. Grayson variants what’s he like in the bedroom?

info : smut & nsfw, nasty nasty shit idk what to tell you. AFAB reader a / n : i actually need to be spit roasted by every single variant and main mark i’m sorry

SINISTER MARK

biting, scratching, is very condescending in bed. this one doesn’t leave marks to be possessive, as lovely as that thought is. nuh uh. he does it to match with you. he’s the one biting, you’re the one scratching. he prefers cowgirl most of the time, but when he needs to let out his frustrations, he loves a good mating press and full nelson. definitely the kind to record you when you’re fucking—not as blackmail really, but because he likes going back and hearing the sounds you make. likes that he’s the one that makes you sound like that. mirror sex. that’s it. that’s the sentence. spit kink. it’s inevitable with this freak. he’ll put his fingers in your mouth just to see your drool, to feel your teeth on his skin.

MOHAWK MARK

he lovesss someone who’s able to bite back at him. you’re both mean in bed, he absolutely loves it. missionary, cowgirl AND reverse cowgirl, 69. . . i could go on and on. he’s all sloppy kisses and makeouts. will absolutely dry hump you and cum in his suit or pants. don’t ever believe him when he asks for a quickie, it will NEVER be quick. ‘just the tip??’ yeah, no. he’s lying through his teeth. this man cannot live without fully indulging himself in you. you’d think he hated you with the way he fucks you—he’s genuinely, and not so secretly, obsessed. PUSSY EATER. sloppy with it. can’t help but wanna live in between your legs for the rest of his life. spells out his name and a multitude of words on your clit whenever you’re close to cumming, would absolutely suffocate between your thighs if he could. begs you to sit on his face constantly. . . . tongue piercing. . . yum.

SHIESTY MARK

dirty talker 100%. “c’mon, fuck me back. there you go, pretty. keep it up.” doggy style, reverse cowgirl, prone bone. he’s unfortunately an exhibitionist. heavy on eye contact, too, when he’s not wearing that fuck ass shiesty LOLL loves to cover your mouth and tell you to listen, fucks into you harder to get his point across as he obsessed over the filthy sound of your cunt sucking him in. lovesss to finger fuck you. don’t ask him why, he’s not gonna answer. but truthfully, just the thought of making your eyes roll back and to feel you cum around his fingers alone makes him impossibly hard. he’s a little embarrassed about it.

OMNI MARK

very quiet in bed. isn’t messy—no, he’s very precise. knows exactly what to do to make you fall apart. almost like he studies you, wants to know what makes you tick. prone bone, mating press, missionary. don’t ever let this man hit it raw. he won’t ever want to pull out if you do. but if you do. . . he shudders just from putting the tip in. tries to stay calm and collected, but the second he’s all the way down to the hilt, he swears he loses a little bit of his sanity. cockwarming’s a big thing with you two. he doesn’t know how he even manages to control himself, but he manages. for a while, anyway. every once in a while when he feels the need to let out his frustration, this man will put you in a headlock. just to hold you in place because he is definitely big on overstimulation just to hear you squeal. this is why prone bone’s so high on his list. breeding kink. no i’m not elaborating.

taglist : @lxkoluvsu @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha @tokoyamisstuff

[evieelyzabethh]

"glue song"

✭"don't forget to kiss me or else you'll have to miss me"✭ ~ How Arcane characters show affection headcannons {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw ☞slightly pervy jayce (you can't pry him from my cold dead hands), fluff

♞Vi♞

♞Vi kisses like she is starving, and you are the first morsel of food she can get her hands on. Like she is drowning, and you are her first breath of air. It's not just desperate and hungry, but there's also a thankfulness to it. Thank you for sticking with her, thank you for being so patient with her, thank you for loving her. Vi doesn't do anything half-assedly, especially not kissing her pretty girlfriend. It's probably her favorite form of affection because it's so versatile. It doesn't have to lead to the bed if neither of you want it to, sometimes it's just on the couch, you sat in between her large thighs, positively falling into her.

♞Her favorite place to kiss you would be on your lips as she holds you chin in her rough hands. She would kiss you thoroughly and deeply, her tongue languidly kissing your own without a rush or care in the world. She is quite prone to getting overwhelmed herself, squeezing the air from both of your lungs and having the nerve to pout at you when you pull away. On her messier days, she leaves a string of spit behind, but she's always kind enough to wipe it away with a few swipes of her thumb. With every inch you pull back she leans in a mile more, chasing you as you try to catch your breath and when she does pin you down, she holds you impossibly close so you can't escape again until she's had her fill. Even then, she holds you in her large arms and tangles your limbs together, at one point sliding her hand beneath your shirt just to lay it on your tummy and feel it move as you breath.

♞Vi is also secretly a space heater. She runs incredibly hot and because of this, sleeps naked and is always down to give you her jacket. It just makes sense in her mind, seeing her clothing wrapped around you. She likes sharing most things; oddly specifically, drinks. She's gross and thinks it's hot that you're technically swapping spit. When it comes to alcohol, especially if you're not a big drinker, both of you will nurse off the same drink, her tipping your head back and pouring it into your mouth when you get a bit too tipsy to do so yourself without spilling.

♞Her go to pet name is 'pretty' and I will die on this hill. It's the thing that defines you for her. She's an idiot and a loser and she knows there's more to you than just how you look, but she just can't help it that whenever she sees you, all her reptile brain can think is 'pretty'. She absolutely abuses it, too. Besides this, I also think she would use those sleazy kinda bar pet names, like sweets or babydoll. Not in a creepy sleazy way, but that is just realistically what she would've been hearing for terms of endearment.

♞Slight side tangent, in a modern AU she is definitely one of those mascs that gets a hold to some Calvin Klein boxers and takes advantage of every opportunity possible to show the waistband off. Part of it is just her showing affection, even if you can reach tall shelves on your own, she still insists on getting the items for you. This carriers over into many things, like twisting open pickle jars or opening your soda cans if you're someone into longer nails. While she isn't as good with building things as Jinx, I think she would definitely be able to manage putting together the furniture in your shared home. Would it take all day? Well, yes! But you chose to make the best out of it and fuck on top of the furniture to test its sturdiness and congratulate your girlfriend on a job well done.

♞On the topic of nails in a modern AU, she would love a partner who gets them done absolutely goes feral if you get them customized to her liking, like coloring them after her eyes or hair or sneaking her name in there somewhere. She feels like she's made it in life when she can pay to get them done. It seems like a selfless action, but it would be a lie to say she gets nothing out of it. The scratch mark you leave on her back after break her brain a little.

★Ekko★

★Ekko loves cooking for his girlfriend! I feel like that would definitely be his main love language along with quality time. As stated before, you two would spend a lot of time in his kitchen, often times with some source of music providing a background noise to the nonsense that you concoct together, occasionally slow dancing while there's time to kill while waiting for something to finish in the oven. Food fights may occasionally occur, but he does a thorough job of licking you clean after. He claims he 'can't let good food go to waste'.

★He would also have a sketchbook absolutely full of you. You can tell when a new edition is about to be added as well. Ekko isn't loud, but he isn't quiet either. His foot is always tapping, he's usually humming something, he always has something to keep his hands busy. He's hardly ever still, except for those moments when you fully wash over him. Sometimes the lighting is exceptionally beautiful, sometimes it's in appreciation of how the wind moves the world around you, and some moments are just so breathtaking beautiful he has to take a moment to go silent, still, and stare. Sometimes he'll just tell you to be in his presence and be pretty so he can properly commit you to paint and commemorate you forever in oils and brush strokes. He's not above nude paintings, though those strokes look and feel much different.

★Ekko is the CEO of quick kisses. He's a busy guy!! He's running an entire commune. He makes the absolute most out of moments when you have the world to yourselves, but most of what you receive are quick passing kisses on your cheeks or the corner of your mouth. He misses on purpose because he simply does not believe in starting things he doesn't have the time to finish. For this reason, I don't think he'd be a big quickie guy. A kiss can easily just be a kiss, but sex is not something meant to be done in 5 minutes.

★Ekko's favorite place to kiss you would also be your lips. He's a romantic, what can I say!!! At the end of every day, you ask each other how your day was after you've both showered and gotten comfy. You both sit on his bed, set beside each other, your legs haphazardly laid over his as he casually massages your thigh. Sometimes you're both a bit too tired and aren't listening that hard, the occasional tidbit catching your attention making either of you sit straight and get closer until eventually you laid on top of him, both of you half asleep. No matter how much energy either of you has, a good night kiss is to be had. When Ekko doesn't need to be quick, he is impossibly slow. He has all the time and then some.

★Not only does he demand a good night kiss, but a good morning kiss to. He gets pouty without it. And sassy. He tells Scar, very loudly so that everyone can hear him, that you hate and don't love him anymore and he is just so deeply hurt that you would let your boyfriend, you're one true love, leave the house without kissing him goodbye and doesn't shut up about it until he gets his goddamn kiss.

★He loves picking out your outfits. He prides himself on the way he dresses and out of everyone, I think Ekko has the most domestic skills. I've already discussed how well he cooks, but I wouldn't be surprised if he also knew his way around a needle and thread. He is not just wearing any clothes; he has a sense of style that he is very proud of. This being said, he loves going shopping with you in a modern AU and he loves when you eventually get comfortable enough to not retreat into the bathroom when changing from outfit to outfit. He's the one making you do the little spin so he can appreciate the outfit from all angles.

★As far as pet names go, I think Ekko would keep it simple with "babe" or "baby" for more casual usages. I also think he would be fond of "my girl" and expects it from you in return because yes he is "your boy" and yes you are "his girl" and yes he loves you very very much. He wouldn't be a stranger to "my love", especially in the mornings or at night when your face is the first and last thing he sees when he closes his eyes. It makes him feel extra sappy.

❂Jayce❂

❂He is all over you at all times of the day omg. I feel like of everyone, Jayce would be the clingiest. This isn't to say he's attached to you at the hip, but his favorite part of the day is getting to go home to you. You're cooking and there he is sitting on the counter yapping about Hextech or something. You're taking a shower and he wants to join. And it's not just a proximity thing, it's also a touchy thing. Any reason or way he can find to touch you, he is taking it. He doesn't care if it's pathetic, dammit, he wants to be held.

❂Jayce would absolutely thrive in a modern AU. He would be the guy whose social media page are all posts about his girlfriend and does he just love to show you off. He would spoil you so good, but rather than buying anything you wanted like Mel would, I think he would also really enjoy making you presents. This isn't to say he doesn't enjoy buying you things, one of your staple pieces of jewelry is the gold anklet he bought with his initials on it.

❂Physical touch is easily his love language but he cannot handle all that, or rather, he freezes in situations where you initiate it. His hands tend to naturally find your waist and will occasionally, if he's feeling bold enough, slip down to your ass, but one time when it was freezing out, you offered your tits as handwarmers and he got a nosebleed. Jayce is definitely an undercover perv but due to never having a girlfriend before and being completely foreign with the concept that he doesn't need to hide how badly he wants to jump your bones at nearly all hours of the day, he freezes when it comes to you initiating contact.

❂He would definitely be the type to get you teddy bears and flowers just whenever. It's never with any rhyme or reason and it happens rather sporadically, just when he is out and about for any reason and thinks of you and wants to bring you something home. He thinks of you a lot, actually. Mel and Viktor love the both of you, but sometimes he goes a bit overboard when it comes to talking about you. This being said, he jumps at any opportunity to show you off. He loves going to gala's because he likes seeing you in pretty clothes and hanging off his arm. He also likes kissing you in public, even if no one's paying attention. He is well versed in the art of delayed gratification and loves getting the both of you riled up knowing full well he does not have the balls to actually fuck you with people around (he gets loud and is very well aware of this)

❂ Jayce's absolute favorite place to kiss you is your neck. He usually starts with your lips, large hands cupping your cheeks and soft lips moving over yours until he gets more antsy. His hands travel from your cheek to your neck then begin to creep under your clothes to grab and knead at your warm skin. Then he would move down your face, peppering kisses across your lips, down your jaw, then down you neck, panting as he goes along and his hands getting rougher as he tries to remain composed. He stops there for a moment, breath fanning over skin that is now slightly red from his canines nipping you and his fresh stubble scratching the area, reminding himself to be gentle and not take more than he's given. He pleads with you, his own cheeks flushed from the heat of the movement as he mutters out his "please...". He's begged you time and time again to not make him verbalize exactly what he wants, but you are relentless. At least he has the manners to ask sweetly beforehand.

❂He is the type to lay right on top of you. After you've gotten comfy in your bed, thrown on your pajama's, maybe are doing a bit of light reading before bed, he comes around to disturb your peace and lay himself right on top of you, smothering you with kisses while he lays there. He eventually moves out of his starfish position to lay his head on your chest and wrap his arms around your torse. He's like a giant, weighted, warm teddy bear

❂One of his go-to pet names would be 'baby', but only when it just the two of you. He is also quite fond of 'gorgeous' and he always has a stupid smirk on his face when he says it. His favorite would be 'sweetheart'. Slightly off topic, he would be the first to jump the gun and start calling you his wife. Especially to council members that are annoying him and taking up time he'd rather be spending with you, he is very quick to pull a "Sorry, gotta get home to my wife." He bought to matching rings for your one-year anniversary to sell the story better.

☽Viktor☾

☽As far as physical affection goes, I think he would be the least touchy. I think the touches would be concentrated on your face, lazily tracing all of your features, marking where your cheeks sink below your cheek bones, the divot between your chin and lips, and where your face is most pronounced. While he wouldn't call himself an artist, he could probably mold your face in clay from the number of times his feather light fingers have caressed every inch of it. He's utterly entranced by it. His mind often wanders while listening to you speak, eyes roaming from your lips and taking note of them in proportion to your eyes, getting lost in the color of them until his eyes flit to your nose and the way your nostrils slightly flare out. It's very mechanical, but that's just the way his brain works.

☽Less of a hugger but he does like to keep his arms around you. Especially on date nights when you're cuddled up on your couch, a myriad of snacks in between the two of you, your head resting on his shoulder while he tries to hide his snores as he falls in and out of consciousness. You accuse of him trying to go to sleep and he tells you he was just "resting his eyes".

☽He would make you all the trinkets in the world. Many of them start as failed experiments of his or scraps from projects past that need to be repurposed, but the thought is always there. He hates to waste and there's really no need to when he has a girlfriend he can make gifts for. Your vanity is full of pretty side projects, decorative boxes for your makeup, ornate music boxes, tea sets and tiny figurines. Your desk would be full of special tchotchkes.

☽Speaking of tchotchkes, I think that would be one of his playful nicknames for you. It sounds absolutely delectable in his accent. I think he would also go for the classier terms of endearment such as 'dear', 'love', 'darling' as well as variations of them in his mother tongue. He would love teaching you his native language, both as a way to bond even more but also to make sure he never loses it.

☽He would also be big on compliments. He is probably your number one supporter, but not in the loud sports fan with a huge foam finger kinda way, but in a quieter more personal way. He is extremely confident in you and your abilities as well as being endlessly proud of everything you do. He is in complete awe of you, and he tells you as such. It is impossible to feel bad about yourself in his presence, he keeps a mental rolodex of every accomplishment of yours to combat any sort of negative self-talk.

☽Not a big PDA guy. He would rather throw himself out of a window than suck face with you in Jayce's presence. He is a big hand-holder which is disastrous when doing it while walking around because neither one of you can walk straight to save your life. It's not even an issue with his leg because you do it too. You bump into each other all the time, though in the winter it is more often on purpose to keep warm.

☽Viktor's favorite place to kiss you is on your forehead. It's simple and it's sweet and more often than not what he can get away with the most. With how much time he spends in the lab, he has grown to deeply appreciate those quiet moments with you, holding your hand under the table as he works in the low light, papers rustling as he tries to find the specific formula he's looking for. Jayce is across the table, snoring loud enough to keep the both of you awake. You look like you want to kiss him, he can feel your gaze on his lips as your fingers tangle through his hair and he turns to you and gives you a small smile then a sweet kiss on your forehead. When he pulls away, he leans into you and you sit there for a moment, nose to nose. "Just a few moments, love, I'm almost done." You giggle through tiredness. "It won't be a few moments, Vik." And he appreciates your understanding more than most things in the world. "No, it won't. But I'll try to make it quick.", he promises and then plants another kiss on you

☽He really likes reading with you, or just doing activities that allow the both of you to be doing something together without necessarily needing to talk. It doesn't even have to be something he's good at, it could be a painting session, or a pottery lesson, and he would be down. He would also be the type to try and pick up on your hobbies. You like to crochet; he's also picking up a crochet needle to try and work alongside you. And he's not too proud to ask for help, he likes a relationship where both parties are constantly learning and exploring.

☼Mel☼

☼Mel is definitely the type to spoil you. She has so much money and is not afraid to use it. You really like that dress you saw while window shopping? She's already ordered it to be tailored to your exact size. You like that bracelet? You wake up to it in a box on your nightstand the next morning and spot her wearing a matching piece later on that day. It's not to try and buy your love, she just thinks you deserve the world, and if she could buy it, it would be your wedding present.

☼Mel love holding hands at all times and specifically is the type to rub the skin between your pointer finger and thumb. Her skin would also be so soft, touching her feels like touching smooth velvet. She also likes to kiss your knuckles and the inside of your wrist before letting go, the mark her lipstick feeling like a heavy imprint of her lips.

☼She is also very fond of kissing your nose. She thinks 'booping' you with her finger is childish, but she is not above a little peck on the nose, which is the abridged version of her usual ritual of pecking your forehead, nose, and lips. Those kisses are usually taken in the morning when you go your separate ways for the day, particularly those that she knows will be long and tedious. She likes to think she takes part of you with her when she does it. She misses your intellect, she misses the silent indicators of your presence, she misses how you feel. Some days, she greatly yearns to return to you. She feels like a physical weight is lifted off her back and she can actually breathe.

☼She loves spending wash days with you. Those locs take hours and you are there right by her side, gossiping and discussing everything and nothing while royal hairdressers take down or retwist that beautiful head of hair. It's even better if you're the one doing it for her. She likes the feeling of your fingers in her scalp, massaging out the wrinkles in her brain as she goes boneless in between your legs. I, unfortunately, do not think she could return the favor. She is like basically royalty; her whole life someone was likely doing it for her. She would try and learn!! It would just take a little bit.

☼I do think she would be very good at doing your makeup. She has the base routine DOWN and usually likes to do simpler eye looks, though she can do whatever you request of her. All hell breaks loose when it comes time to do lips, and her gloss would end up all over your face as she is overcome with the unabating urge to leave glossy kiss marks all over your face . You would return the favor, whatever pigmented shade you previously wore landing all over her flawless skin, and she would savor the moment with a photo she keeps in her journal

☼In a modern AU, I think she would be really good at carnival games. I can't explain it, she just would. She's not the biggest fan carnivals and fairs as they're a bit too loud and crowded for her taste, but if you wanted to go, she certainly would never say no to you. While I think Vi would try very hard to beat them only to fail, Mel would be unexplainably good at them and win you tons of prizes.

☼Mel carries a purse on her at all times and has absolutely everything in there. Pads, tampons, ibuprofen, lip gloss, hand sanitizer, wet wipes, anything you could possibly need is in that bag of hers. She also carries the big bag so you only have to carry around outfit purses than can barely handle a handful of coins. She also loves matching outfits with you!!! You probably own so many matching outfits, matching pjs, matching workout sets, as well as multiple items of clothing that are the exact same except for sizing.

☼She would be another one who constantly talks about her partner, albeit, in a much smoother way than Jayce does. Jayce jumps at every opportunity to bring you up in conversation, it's always flows naturally with Mel but she also brags far more. It's always, "That's great but my girlfriend..." or finding ways to talk about big accomplishments knowing damn well no one else can compete. See her girlfriend has a doctorate, or her girlfriend won this prestigious award, or her girlfriend was the first to do this...what were you saying about your wife though???

☼As for pet names, I think Mel would be another person who uses "my love" or "my dear" but I also think she'd be the type to refer to you as "princess". Once again, coming from royalty, she treats you as such, and that also comes down to how she refers to you. She also just likes calling you by name, usually in her sappier moments followed by her last name She can't get enough of the way it sounds rolling off her tongue and the two of you together just sounds perfect.

[inkskinned]

i think a lot about exactly 1 thing from the roman empire: the concept of bread and circus. the idea was that if your population was fed and entertained, they wouldn't revolt. you are asking us to give up our one small life, is the thing - for under 15 dollars an hour.

what would that buy, even. i am trading weekends and late nights and my back health. i am trading slow mornings and long walks and cortisol levels. i am trading sleep and silence and peace. for ... this. for what barely-covers-rent.

life really is more expensive right now. you aren't making that up. i make almost 3 times what i did 5 years ago, and despite an incredibly equal series of bills - i am still struggling. the most expensive line item i added was to own a dog. the money is just evaporating.

we were okay with it because it's a cost-benefit analysis. i could handle the customer harassment and standing all day and the manager's constantly changing temperament - i was coming home to hope, and my life planned in a blue envelope. three hours would buy me my dog's food for a month. i can give up three hours for him, for his shiny coat and wide, happy mouth. three days could be a new mattress, if i was thrifty. if i really scrimped and saved, we could maybe afford a trip into the city.

recently i cried in the car about the price of groceries.

business majors will be mad at me, but my most inflammatory opinion is that people should never be valued at the same place as products. your staff should not be a series of numbers in an excel sheet that you can just "replace" whenever you need something at that moment. your staff should be people, end of sentence.

it feels like someone somewhere is playing a very bad video game. like my life is a toy. like someone opened an app on their phone and hired me in diner dash ultra. they don't need to pay me well or treat me alright - they can always just show me the door. there is always someone more desperate, always someone more willing.

but i go to work and know i could save for years and not afford housing. i am never going to own my own home, most likely. i have no idea how to afford her ring, much less the wedding. my dog doesn't have his own yard. everything i love is on subscription. if i lose my job, i have no "nest egg" to catch my falling.

this thin life - they want me to give up summer for it. to open my mouth and throat and swallow the horrible hours and counted keystrokes. they want me to give up mountains and any non-federal holiday. to give up snow days. to give up talking to my mom whenever i want. to give up visiting the ocean and hearing the waves.

bread and circus worked for a while, actually. it was the kind of plan that would probably now be denounced by republicans as socialist commie liberal pronoun bullshit.

but sometimes i wonder if we should point them to the part of the history book that says: it worked until it didn't.

[i-like-loserz]

bunny love

synopsis: hongjoong comes back to find you fast asleep

pairing: dom!hongjoong x reader

warnings: SMUT (18+), idol au, somnophilia (dub-con), tit play, cockwarming, sleepy time, daddy kink, emotionally unavailable!hongjoong, owner! hongjoong, pet!reader, bunny hybrid!reader, rough-handling, ooc hongjoong! :3

word count: 2k

note: happy new years! i find this guy really cute but also i want him to lose it and pin me down -- that's all ૮ . . ྀིა⁩

masterlist

Your face is exhaustedly smashed into the pillow, the plushness of your cheek squishing against your eye. Hongjoong watches as your back rises with soft breaths, your body completely surrendering to a deep sleep. 

Your tiny frilly sleep shorts stick to your body like second skin, stretching nicely over your ass as your right leg is hooked over another pillow.

Your cute little cottontail is pushed through a small hole in the fabric, fluffy as can be, begging for him to tug on it until you're whining out for him.

Lower, he can see the shape of your soft cunt under the pink shorts, clinging to every dip and mound, for his eyes only. 

Hongjoong decided at the last minute to fly you overseas, sparing no expense, merely because he missed you. He wanted to come home to his sweet bunny instead of his temporary call girls, craving the one thing that only you can give him.

Unconditional love.

A man like him shouldn’t be so easily swayed by his emotions, much less the most trivial of them all: Love. He never had time for them anyway, and even if he did it made things far too complicated for everyone involved.

But after another successful comeback working tirelessly as a the group's leader, you were plopped into his lap as a kind of “therapy pet” by a notoriously morally-dubious investor. Within a couple of weeks, he started to see the appeal of such emotions.

Or at least, the appeal of receiving them. 

At first, he resisted your affections, only asking for you when he wanted a warm cunt to bury himself in. Otherwise, you’d sit in your tiny room, doing pretty much anything to pass the time as he actively ignores your existence in the mansion. 

He assumed you’d be a temporary doll for him to play with before you’d attempt to escape, something to chase during his limited off-time, but he never anticipated just how easily you'd fall for him.

It annoyed him how pleasant you were, never complaining or whining, always staying out of sight until you were needed. It was like you were made for him.

No matter how much he’d taunt, tease, and ignore you, you’d only respond to him with unwavering devotion, seemingly unaffected as your eyes continued to regard him with pure adoration whenever he was near. 

Of course, at the end of the day, his ego didn’t mind the constant attention, so he decided to keep you around–at least, for a little bit– if only for the sake of sating his loneliness (though he'd never admit that). Hongjoong’s arm's length attitude started strong, but he was quickly humbled once he made the mistake of letting you in.

He refuses to admit it, but he has formed an attachment to you. He doesn’t understand why he’d want anyone around, much less a needy pet, but he finds himself craving your presence throughout the day, thinking of you as he works in the studio or is on stage in front of thousands of adoring fans.

After a few months, it was quickly decided that you go wherever he goes, serving as his little therapy bunny, ready to be everything he needs. All your energy was drained from the twelve-hour flight he had you on, only managing to get an hour of sleep the whole trip.

A breathy whine pushes through your throat as you shift on the bed, blinding grabbing at the blanket to pull it over your body. Hongjoong watches with an amused smile, having dragged it off of you just a few minutes early to get an eyeful of your body. He gently pushes you to lay on your back before pulling the duvet down once more.

He bites his lip when he sees how your nipples instantly start to pebble through your cropped shirt as his cool hands glide against your exposed stomach, absorbing your natural heat.

Your droopy bunny ears twitch in excitement from the bare stimulation of his touch, but you remain asleep. Your body is always so responsive for him, even when your mind is unconscious. 

Your tiny hands wrap over his wrist, instinctively pulling him closer as you’re slowly nudged awake. He ignores your grabby hands, brushing them off easily as he lifts your shirt, exposing your bare tits to the cool room. Your body arches ever so subtly at the feeling, an eager action that isn’t lost on Hongjoong.

He drifts the pads of his fingers up your skin, trailing goosebumps as he ascends, eyes focused on your perky mounds. He watches you let out a soft whimper as he circles a bud, unconsciously lifting into his touch as pleasure tingles up your spine.

He goes further, flicking and pinching at your sensitive nipples, drinking in every involuntary gasp and groan you let out. One particularly harsh pinch causes you to flinch and open your sleepy eyes.

Hongjoong watches you blink slowly, eyes bleary as they try to focus on what’s in front of them.

“Hm?” You hum drowsily, voice raspy from sleep. 

He splays his palm over your chest, softly squeezing you in his hand as he greets you.

“Hi, bunny. Miss me?” 

“Daddy…” 

He coos, eyes boring into yours as his hand absentmindedly gropes at your other tit. “That’s right princess. You have a good flight?”

“Mhm.”  You nod adorably slow, chest heaving with excited breaths.

His movements start to slow, his hand now petting short comforting strokes against your skin. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip as he takes in the dreamy look in your eyes, still fogged over from your nap.

His actions stop altogether as he considers your reclined form under him.

“You sleepy, baby?”

You shake your head adamantly, pushing yourself up to show your attentiveness. Your eyes suddenly brighten with energy. 

“N-no. I’m up.”

Your avid actions are met with a warm chuckle and a hand that shoves at your chest to push you back against the mattress.

“Relax bunny, we don’t gotta do anything tonight. I just finished a round of interviews with the boys and you had a long flight.”

A small disappointed pout pulls at your lips as you grip a pillow on your lap. Hongjoong raises an eyebrow, not one to accept bratty behavior, no matter how soft he’s become for you.

“Hey, none of that. Scoot over, honey, let me in.” 

You barely push yourself to the center of the bed, preferring to be right against his body when you sleep. 

You patiently lay on your side as you watch Hongjoong undress, pulling off a ridiculously expensive silk shirt before throwing it carelessly to the ground, happy to be out of the fancy fabric after a long day of charming interviewers. 

You squeeze your thighs together as you drink in his exposed torso: perfectly smooth and defined. You remember the nights you would trace each freckle, touch featherlight so as to not wake him up.

The shirt is followed by his dark slacks and shoes, joining the discarded fabric in a pile for someone else to clean up tomorrow.  

He pushes the ungodly amount of pillows you were sleeping with on the floor before slipping in, shivering as his body acclimates to the residual heat you left on his side. He shifts around the bed before propping himself onto his right side, facing his body toward yours. 

“Turn around.” Hongjoong calmly murmurs regarding your closeness, eyes half-lidded either from exhaustion or desire. You flip over obediently, staring at the gray wall in anticipation as you wait for his next instruction.  

He doesn’t speak as reaches over you, letting out a relaxed sigh as he wraps his arms around your waist. As Hongjoong pulls you closer to nestle his hips against yours, you can feel the warmth of his hard cock insistently push against your ass through your shorts. You let out a soft moean, arching your back to press yourself more firmly against him. 

His face rests above your shoulder as he holds you, lips brushing gently at the edge of your fluffy ear. 

“Daddy just wants a hug, sweetheart. You think you could give me one?” You melt as he addresses you with a soft voice. You wrap your arms over his, giving him an affectionate squeeze. 

“Of course-” Your sentence stutters to a stop as he suddenly starts to tug at your shorts, fingers hooking at the waistband before pulling them down your thighs.

You try to turn toward him, confused by his sudden actions, but his hold keeps you still and defenseless against his hands.

“Wait, wh-”

He promptly muffles your confusion with a hand over your lips as he pushes at the fabric until it’s around your knees, effectively binding your legs together. His hand drops from your face as he reaches down to pull himself out of his boxers, already hard and throbbing for your cunt.

“Dadd-”

“Just a little taste, bunny.”

He rubs the tip of his cock through your sopping folds, effectively coating himself in your slick as lewd sounds hungrily escape between your bodies.

You feel him experimentally push the head in before backing out, teasing your hungry cunt as you try to suck him back in.

“Mm, look at this greedy pussy, all wet, just begging for my cock.” 

“Please, daddy, I can take it!”

He pushes in slowly, softly shushing your whimpers as you struggle to stretch around him, your legs still forcefully bound together, making you tighter than ever. 

“F-fuck.”

He lets out a groan as he bottoms out, forehead pushing against your shoulder as he struggles to hold his hips back from fucking into you.

Just a taste, he reminded himself. He can go a night without a fucking you into the mattress. 

Your body feels restless as his cock deliciously throbs inside you, prodding right against your cervix. You’re ravenous for his usual mouthwatering thrusts, anticipating a hard fuck that’ll put you to your sleep. But it never comes.

You let out a pathetic whine when he continues to remain completely still behind you, refusing to rut into you like he usually does. You try to squirm against his arms in an attempt to fuck yourself on his cock, hips wiggling in pure desperation for any type of relief.

A short drag of his cock inside your cunt causes you to squeeze around him, instant shivers running up your spine. Before you can get too far, Hongjoong tightens his hold on your body, tsking lowly as you try to resist him.

“I already told you, bunny, we aren’t doing anything tonight.” He positions his body so he can effectively mold himself along your back. “You’re just gonna keep me warm tonight, okay?”

You secretly wear a pout as you solemnly nod, unhappily listening as his breaths begin to calm down and steady behind you.

A handful of minutes go by and he falls asleep, unbothered by your frustrated form as he relaxes against you, contently stuffed in your warmth.

Unfortunately, his calm silence doesn’t help you one bit. You’re so frustrated that you can probably cum from simply clenching around him. 

Your sensitive clit pulses as you lean back into his touch still worked up from the tit massage he gave you earlier.

Couldn’t he have gotten you off before sleeping? 

You hold a breath as you experimentally tighten around him, waiting for a scolding voice or movement to stop you, but nothing happens.

You close your eyes as you clench again, finally relaxed enough to take in how full you feel. Your cunt flutters in excitement as you mold around his thickness, each squeeze pushing you toward the edge. 

Unbeknownst to you, Hongjoong feels everything. He has to hold back a groan as wakes up to you pulsing around him, slick smearing over his lower stomach. 

You gasp as he suddenly thrusts harshly against your cervix, still thinking he was asleep behind you.  

His fingers painfully dig into your skin as he growls, “Stop fucking around.” He holds himself deep inside of you, ignoring your whimpers at the pressure. “Go to sleep, or I’m leaving.” You give up, eyes wet from losing your orgasm.

You squeeze your eyes shut to force yourself to sleep, desperately trying to block out the sensation of being filled. 

[sanatomis]

⋆౨ৎ˚ ──── 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐔𝐒𝐄.

it's been on your mind for a while now. and, even though he's a little confused at first, it takes satoru very little time to warm up to your enticing offer.

დ content. fr3e use kink, cursing, female!reader, fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, consensual somnophilia, deepthroating, cum-swallowing, mentions of satoru eating it from the back <3

დ notes. second attempt at posting this on tumblr, don't mind me. it's crossposted on ao3 bc my previous attempts at posting all failed miserably (it never showed in the tags ://)

Satoru is confused. It doesn’t take you much time to notice that your softly spoken words have him quite rattled, as the results of them can so clearly be observed on his face. There’s his nose that scrunches up cutely, and a little tilt of his head to the left which comes accompanied by a few snowy strands of hair shifting across his forehead. A small furrow of his brows, the soft gnawing on his bottom lip. He’s thinking about it; mulling over your offer. 

Three times, he tries to say something. His mouth opens once, twice, and it’s futile. Not a word escapes, and he takes a sharp intake of breath. You almost believe that, if you weren’t currently seated opposite him, he’d smack the side of his head a few times to make sure it’s still screwed on right. 

“So, I just. . .” The third time really is the charm, it seems. Though, he never quite manages to finish what he was going to say. 

“Just put it in, yeah.” 

You finish it for him, you’re sweet like that. It does really seem as if he could use the help.

“Wh—whenever I. . .” 

There’s a little voice in your head, chiming and chattering about how all of this is weird. It makes you nervous, and your fingers itch to play with your necklace to fight it. 

“Whenever you want,” you confirm. It’s as if your heart has suddenly moved to your throat. 

“Wha—what if you’re asleep?”

“I said whenever you want, didn’t I?” 

He almost lets out a little squeak at the words you so casually give him. They surprise him, as they do you. Your last sentence wasn’t one spoken by your mind, and you shift in your seat as if it’d shush the part of you that did. 

It’s as if you’re telling him what you’d eaten for breakfast this morning, not giving him permission to slip, bully and sheat his cock into your needy cunt at any given time of the day. Without needing to ask, too. Satoru can fill you up, stuff you full, and dump so much of his cum into you until you’re overflowing, and he can do it whenever he feels the need to—because he’s Satoru, and you love your Satoru.

“Are you sure?” He asks, a hint of apprehension laces his voice. Your heart almost swells at his concern, at his hesitancy and need to confirm your wishes; even if you’ve vocalised them so bluntly. “Maybe, think about it for a little long—” 

“I have,” you interrupt him. As gentlemanly as he’s being, there’s no mistaking the darkening of his eyes. The pretty, baby-blues making way for something sinister. You suddenly don’t feel so nervous anymore. “I have thought about it. Way too much, and for way too long.” 

A string of curse words tumble past his lips. They’re hushed, and quick, and from the way he, too, shifts in his seat you gather that he’s hard. Painfully so, if the bulge forming in his pants is anything to go by. Your relationship has existed long enough for you to know that drops of his pre-cum are staining the fabric of his boxers already—always so messy, your Satoru. The mere thought has you wanting to take him out, to put him in your mouth and lap at the sticky, white beads falling down his length. 

“Please,” you plead softly, and watch how he stifles a groan at the needy, saccharine sound of it. You want more, more of that sound. Right next to your ear, preferably. “Use me, Satoru.” 

There’s little you want more than that, little that arouses you more than that. The thought of Satoru taking you whenever he wishes, abiding by his whims and allowing him free-reign over your body—it instils a heat into your stomach, into your core. It makes you feel filthy, like a cheap whore picked up from the street; but you’d be his whore, and suddenly it all starts to feel like a dream. It’s Satoru. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. He’ll be gentle, and he’ll be kind, and he’ll stop as soon as you utter your safeword, and he’ll love you so much, even if he fucks you as if he doesn’t. 

You have half a mind to ask him again, to plead, to beg for it again, as it almost feels as if he didn’t quite hear you. But, as soon as you open your mouth to do so, he immediately latches his lips onto yours. It’s messy, and sloppy, and entirely fueled by the frantic state his mind is currently in—but you don’t complain, and never will. 

His hands are everywhere and nowhere all at the same time, and you feel him almost buzzing with excitement. Your teeth clash against one another at the force of the kiss, your tongues greedily seek the other out, and saliva gets swapped from your mouth to his, and vice versa. It’s dirty, and sticky, and almost brings you back to your high-school years, when he’d been all clumsy hands and feigned confidence on the night you’d lost your virginity to each other. 

Satoru pulls back from your kiss first, and a small smile falls over his lips when he notices you chasing him. “Wait a minute, sweets,” he murmurs, forehead against yours. His breathing is heavy, as is yours, and you don’t want to wait a minute—you want him, now, tomorrow, and each day after that. “Are you. . .” He chuckles when you kiss him again, and again, and again. You only stop when he holds your head in place. “Are you completely sure about this?” 

You blink up at him, eyes wide and lips swollen. “Mhm,” you hum, and caress his cheekbone with one of your thumbs. Satoru melts in your hold, as he always seems to do. “‘S you, ‘Toru. I’m completely sure when it’s you.” 

He lets out a shaky breath. There’s a storm of emotion behind his eyes, but all of them point to the same conclusion—he loves you. So much, you might even get sick of it one day; he’d told you as a joke, one born out of fear. But you won’t. You never will. And you think he’s starting to realise it, finally. 

“Okay,” he whispers, and kisses your forehead. 

It’s delicate, and loving, and so opposite from the way he buries himself into you over, and over, and over again a mere five minutes after that. Satoru’s needy, and impatient, and so pent-up from your previous conversation that foreplay gets thrown out of the window. 

He bends you over the couch first, that cute little ass of yours jiggling right in front of his face as he mounts you from behind. He slips in easily, with a pussy as wet as yours, and a cock as leaky and hard as his—the lack of foreplay almost goes unnoticed. Almost, of course, as the sheer size of him never fails to elicit a hint of a burn as he stretches you out. Nevermind that you take his cock daily, or that your walls are bound to carry his shape after the many years you spend with him. 

The sounds that decorate your apartment are filthy, lewd, and borderline obscene, but you’re thoroughly obsessed with them. The slapping of his balls against your ass, the squelching with each passing thrust, the deep groans and choked whimpers Satoru releases next to your ear just like you wanted. Even your own moans, your own babbles, and your own whines add to the experience; the combination of sounds. And you love it, because it’s you, and it’s Satoru—and it’s the two of you together. 

It doesn’t end after Satoru cums, nor does it after you do. The agreement between the two of you that was made tonight seems to have done a number on him, and he takes you a second time. On the balcony, where he puts you on display for the world to see as he fills you over and over again. And a third time, in your shared bed that’s never been safe from his affection and blatant desire towards you. And a fourth time, in the shower that was initially meant to clean you up, he decides to dirty you even further. 

If this is the reaction he gives to the mere idea of using you whenever he pleases, you long for the time that he actually does.

It’s well past midnight when Satoru finally decides he’s done with you. You’re curled into his side, a shirt that’s way too large for you (but one that you swore you didn’t steal from him) covers your figure. You’re asleep. Tired, exhausted, and completely knocked out. He smiles. You’re so cute. A love-sick expression is stuck to his face, and it may very well become permanent if he stays looking at you. 

One of his fingers reaches in-between your thighs, gently scooping up the remnants of his release. Satoru almost coos at the way your nose scrunches up cutely when he starts to finger it back into your pussy. It allows his digits to slip easily through your folds, and she sucks them in as soon as he reaches your hole. His cum doesn’t leak out this time. Not yet, anyway, but even if it does, he’s more than willing to repeat the process. 

He sighs. Mind full of thoughts, but at least his balls are empty now. There’s a little huff escaping his lips, and he’s amused at his own comment. Satoru shakes his head, but the small smile remains nonetheless. Strong, yet gentle arms pull your body tighter against him. 

You’re delicate, and sweet, and so precious to him; and he will do his best to take care of you. Use me, use me, use me. He kisses your forehead, his own eyes falling shut. 

He will most certainly try to. 

The very first time Satoru entertains the idea of indulging in your offer, is on a day where you’ve decided to wear his favourite lipgloss. It’s so shiny, such a cute shade, and makes you look so beautiful, but above all—it’s sticky. It’s sticky, and easily smudged, and he knows from experience that everything feels so much filthier when he steals a kiss from you with it on. 

Without meaning to, thoughts of you wrapping those glossed lips around his dick, creating a mess made-up of spit, cum, tears, and thus that delightful stickiness from your lipgloss, enters his mind. The coloured shade will leave a perfect ring around his length, there’s no doubt in his mind. Your pretty face will be all dirty, smudged stains near the corners of your mouth courtesy of his fat cock. You will be a sight for sore eyes. 

You’re talking to him, but Satoru can’t seem to listen. He’s enamoured by your lips, your soft-looking, plumb, and very glossed lips. He briefly feels pathetic, knowing that a mere make-up item has the ability to make his head spin to such a degree—but he doesn’t, as he quickly realises it only does so because it’s you that’s wearing it. 

Fuck, he really wants to stuff his cock into your mouth. 

Five, six, almost seven seconds pass before the realisation kicks in. If he wants to put his cock in your mouth, then he can. Satoru’s body moves on its own before he gets a chance to think about his actions, as is often the case with him, and it's not long before his large hand finds its new home on the back of your head. He falters briefly, watching how you quiet down, how your eyes widen slightly, but continues as he’s doing when you make absolutely no move to stop him when he gently guides your head down, and down, and down—until you’re right where he wants you. 

A small gasp leaves your lips when he puts you on eye-level with his crotch. It’s quiet, and he almost didn’t hear it, but it makes him pause nonetheless. The hand on your head loosens its grip, and he hesitates as he looks down at you. 

“Is this oka—” 

The sentence never gets finished, forever interrupted by a sharp hiss as you take his cock out of his pants with such unabashed eagerness. It slaps against his abdomen, leaky tip staining the fabric of his shirt. Your previous conversation is all but forgotten, it seems, as you don’t waste a second in taking his hard, aching length almost entirely into your mouth. It all happens so quickly, and Satoru’s mind almost can’t keep up. All he did was think about filling your mouth, and now he’s actually doing it; the fat tip prodding near the back of your throat. 

His hands are shaky, he notices, and so is his breathing as a small whine escapes when one of your hands goes downwards to play with his balls. “Fuck!” he curses, caught by surprise at the boldness with which you reached for that part of him. In his startle, his hands return to the back of your head, and your words make their impromptu return to the very front of his mind. 

Use me. 

He will, then. 

Satoru isn’t at all gentle when he does. His fingers tangle into your hair, and he pushes you down onto his cock until your nose brushes against the soft, white hairs near his pelvis. Your poor little mouth is struggling, he can see, but he can’t seem to pay much mind to it; the sounds of you gagging around his thick length are too much of a pleasure to hear. The way he pushes you up-and-down nears the realm of brute force, and still you eagerly suck, and suck, and suck. 

A particularly loud groan echoes through the room when he steals a glance at your small form kneeling between his legs. It seems he knows you well; you are a sight for sore eyes like this. There are tears in your eyes, and some of them have already fallen down your hollowed cheeks; hollowed, to make space for him. Your mouth is filled to the brim with his cock, and even though he can see you fighting for breath, you never make an attempt at catching it—as if you wouldn’t dare to deprive him of the please your throat gives him. 

Satoru catches himself falling in love all over again. 

He fucks your face harder, and harder, and harder the closer he gets to the edge. Deep groans, and slurred curse words join your symphony of muffled moans, and his hold on your head slowly starts to falter. 

“‘M close, princess,” he mumbles, but that’s about all the warning he gives you. A few seconds later, he cums down your throat. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t need to. Not because you’d given him permission to use you as he sees fit, but simply because he knows you’re utterly obsessed with him doing so. “Fuck, f—fuck, look a’you, hm? Gonna take all of it like a good girl? Don’t waste it, m’kay? S’all for, fuck, for you.” 

It’s something he’s done countless times before, but Satoru swears that each time he spills his cum down your throat feels better than the last. Thick, sticky ropes fill your mouth, and you hum around him when it keeps going, and going, and going. You’re struggling to take it all, and he huffs in amusement when bits of it start to drip down your chin. His thumb catches it, and he quickly places it back in your mouth, forcing you to open it wider to accommodate both the digit and his slowly softening cock. You happily do so. 

He pulls out of you shortly after, with his chest heaving as he recuperates. His entire focus is on you, you, and you as he watches you wipe your mouth and swallow the last of his seed. There’s a smile on your face. It’s kind, and gentle, and innocent; almost as if he hadn’t just fucked your mouth and dumped his release down your throat. Satoru is utterly bewitched as he watches you, captivated by all and every little thing you do, and he cooperates as you tuck him back into his pants. 

And then, as if nothing at all happened, you sit down next to him again—and you speak, you continue talking, finishing the story he’d interrupted with his need to be sucked off. Your voice is hoarse, and your cheeks are still stained with dried tears, but you pay neither of those facts any mind. It makes all of this look so. . . mundane. You were speaking, and then you were between his legs, and now you’re speaking again. 

Satoru’s heart starts to beat even faster for you. Fuck, that’s so hot. This time, he decides to try his very best to listen to your tale about some co-worker of yours that pissed you off this week. He pitches in every-now-and-then, adding a low ‘huh,’ or ‘mhm’ to keep you occupied, and he almost feels guilty—guilty, because all his adrenaline-filled mind can think about are the future possibilities of using you.

“And, wanna know what’s the worst thing about the situation? It was my idea to get donuts for everybody! That harlot didn’t even want them initially.” 

Satoru’s downward spiral is inevitable, and he finds himself falling victim to it more times than one would consider healthy in a mere seven days. He very quickly learns that he’s thoroughly obsessed with the notion that allows him to fill you up anywhere, and at any time. To him, it’s one of the highest honours. 

There’s such confidence, such unwavering faith encompassed in your view of him. There has to be, if you’re willing to allow him such a thing. Thinking about it almost causes a cute pink hue to colour his cheek. . .you really do trust him a lot, huh?

He’s never been able to tell you ‘no’ before, and he certainly isn’t about to start. So, he dutifully listens to you and abides by your delectable request. To satisfy you, of course. There’s absolutely no other reason for his actions, and the way he breaches your dripping cunt with his leaky tip, all while soft breaths leave your lips, and your pretty eyes are peacefully shut, is simply to indulge you. 

Use me. Use me. Use me. 

Satoru curses, the crude words that tumble past his lips being plenty colourful. One of his hands settles on your hip whilst the other hikes your (or rather his) shirt up to provide him with better access. It’s your fault, really, that he’s currently sporting one of the hardest boners of the century. You were waiting for him, weren’t you? Waiting for him to return and bury himself to the hilt in that sweet, sobbing pussy of yours. 

There’s no other reason for you to fall asleep with nothing but his shirt on. Not even panties covered your cute little cunt, your sticky folds fully on display and welcoming him home. Satoru wants to bury himself in it—in a multitude of ways if he’s being truly honest with himself. For now, though, he’ll stick to simply one. 

“Shh,” he coos into your ear, delicately rubbing soft circles into your upper thigh with his thumb. You whine faintly, feeling his cock fight its way past your walls. He splits you open, stretching you just wide enough to slip inside. Your nose scrunches up cutely, and he almost rouses you from your slumber.  “‘S me, really need you, baby.” 

And that’s all he has to say. It’s me. It’s your Satoru. A gentle whisper of those words, and he gets to use you as he pleases. All of his previous worries, all of the near-boiling anger he felt at his previous meeting with the higher-ups washes away as soon as he sinks himself balls-deep into your pussy. Satoru groans deeply at the feeling, and gentle, stuttered declarations of love are babbled into your ear with each slow drag of his cock along your walls. 

The garbled mesh of words that he deems too important not to say, even despite their poor enunciation, only ceases to exist a few minutes later—when he spills his heavy load into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. No, into that sweet cunt of his. Because, that’s who it truly belongs to, no? It’s his, to use, to spoil, to worship. You’d offered it to him so kindly, after all. And, well, Satoru has never been the type of person to turn down a gift. 

. . . You unknowingly create a monster. It seems that even the mere idea of being allowed to use you as he pleases has him tip-toeing around the line of borderline insanity. As each time he sees you, he wants you. . .and each time he wants you, you let him. 

It doesn’t matter what you’re doing at that moment. Even if you’re speaking, and he suddenly feels the need, no, the simple want for a blowjob. And even if you’re asleep, resting after what must have been a long day, you still allow him to slip his aching cock into you to satisfy the craving he’s had for hours. 

Even if you’re busy setting the table, you don’t push him away, and you still allow him to bend you over the wooden surface, to sink to his knees and lick, suck, and kiss around his pretty pussy with his tongue. Simply because he wants to do it, and you really do so, too. 

. . .And even now, when you’re cooking dinner. 

There’s a certain cuteness about the way your brows scrunch in concentration, about the way you gently bite on your bottom lip as you prepare the food for the two of you; it nearly makes him feel guilty for feeling the secret desire to ruin such a lovely, innocent view. The word nearly is important, however, as he’s acutely aware of your need for him to do exactly that—and so, any sense of wrongdoing melts away, similar to snow underneath the sun.

He’s not quite sure what it is that you’re cooking, but it smells delectable. There’s an array of spices, herbs, and vegetables strewn around the counter, and Satoru knows he’ll be eating like a King in a few minutes. As for right now, though, there’s a different craving, a different type of hunger slowly making its way forward. He fears it won’t be one that’ll be sated by your lovely culinary skills. 

“Smells good, baby,” he mumbles. It doesn’t take him long to settle himself behind you, large hands gently coming to rest on your hips. He sighs in the crook of your neck, and nudges the skin with his nose. “What’cha making?” 

You answer. He knows you do, as he feels the vibrations of your voice underneath his lips, the soft hum feeling quite soothing as he kisses along the column of your throat, but Satoru can’t find it in himself to focus on the words you give him. His ever-loose hands roam eagerly down your body, and the previous loving, and delicate kisses along your neck turn sloppy, wet, almost, as Satoru dips one of his hands underneath the waistband of your panties. There’s a grin forming on his lips, one entirely too big and full of confidence. 

“‘M startin’ to think you’re just always wet for me, pretty girl,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear, fingers entirely coated in your slick the second he’d sunk them into your dripping cunt. 

Your cheeks heat up, and you try to stifle a moan when he, so very, very slowly starts to move his fingers in-and-out of you. “I—I am,” you admit, and clench around his digits just as he’s about to take them out; as if it’s a last resort to keep them inside. “F’you, Satoru. Just for you.” 

“Hm?” He hums, and almost huffs in amusement as he sees you trying to continue what you were doing so desperately, as if you weren’t being fucked on your husband’s fingers. Just for that—he rapidly thrusts his fingers back into you, harsher, deeper, and so much quicker. “Just for me, yeah, princess?” 

“Y—Ah! Yes, yes,” you squeak, one of your hands seeking out some semblance of support from the kitchen counter.  “Only for you.” 

There’s an embarrassing sound hitting your ears, as each thrust of his absurdly long fingers is accompanied by your wetness squelching around them. You struggle to speak, to breathe almost, as he fucks you on his fingers. Satoru stretches you out, curling his fingers to find the spot he knows will leave you with those pretty tears falling down your cheeks, and to hit it over, and over, and over again. 

There’s such a heat gathered between your legs, such a pleasurable source of warmth, and Satoru suppresses a groan as he’s once again made very aware of that fact when your walls clench around his digits. His cock twitches, and he lets out a shaky sigh as he grinds it against your ass. “You are, aren’t you? Hm? C’mon, baby, don’t be shy. . .be a little louder.”

You aren’t shy. You haven’t been for a while now. There’s a certain hotness in the way you moan so unabashedly, so utterly shamelessly whenever Satoru gets his hands on you in such a way—it’s as if you can’t ever get enough of him. It never fails to harden his cock even more, to make his balls feel achingly heavy until he ultimately empties them inside your tight little cunt. And you know so, which is exactly why you do it. 

“‘M not,” you rasp out, one of your hands coming to rest on his wrist. The back of your head falls against his shoulder as you choke on a moan, seeking some very necessary aid to stay upright. “Please, I. . .’Toru, please.”

In all honesty, Satoru isn’t quite sure what you’re begging for. He knows it’s one of two options: either to cum on his fingers, or for him to push his thick cock inside your pussy already. There’s no desire to ask, however—he’d much rather make that decision himself. The hand that wasn’t currently burying three of its digits knuckle-deep into your pussy busies itself with his belt-buckle. 

There’s a pitiful whine falling from your lips, one that’s released immediately upon the removal of his fingers from your cunt. “Shh,” he coos in your ear, instantly soothing your upcoming tantrum. You stifle the complaint you’d prepared for him, the feeling of his fat tip prodding near your too-eager hole quickly puts an end to it. “S’okay, pretty girl, just wanna feel you cum around my cock, s’all. . .Think you can do that for me?” 

You nod, and rapidly so. “Mhm,” you hum, and open your mouth when he presents it with his soiled fingers. You clean them, suckling around them until each bit of your sweetness is gone. “Want to—really wanna cum around your cock, ‘Toru.”

“Of course, you do,” he breathes, and captures a quick kiss. And another. And another. And one more. It makes you smile, and that, in turn, makes him smile. When he does pull back, there’s as much love as there is lust dancing in his eyes. “Wouldn’t have expected anything less of you, princess.”

Satoru is often greedy. There’s no such thing as savouring something with him—if he’s enjoying himself, he’ll be as gluttonous as he wishes. The exception is you, of course, as you always are to him. There’s no greater feeling than savouring you. It’s why he, more often than not, decides to fill you up slowly. To let his cock drag along your walls, to let your soothing warmth engulf him inch, by inch, by inch, until his firm balls press up against your ass. He does so this time, too. 

Your long, drawn-out moan as he fills you up slowly sounds as if it were gifted to him by the Heavens, and Satoru’s cock twitches inside when he hears you mutter a soft fuck as you struggle to adjust to him. It’s certainly not the first time you’ve taken his cock, but the sheer girth of him still stretches you out—as it always does. Your husband loves you dearly, however, and waits. . .one second, two seconds, three seconds, and he doesn’t get any further before his self-restraint falters. 

Satoru nearly pulls himself out of your cunt completely, only for him to fuck himself back inside so deeply—it has you place both palms of your hands on the counter to steady yourself. It startles you, as he hears you choke on a moan, but he continues. His movements are quick and rough, animalistic even, as he pounds into your cunt. 

“Sa—ngh, Satoru, wait, I. . .” You interrupt yourself with a moan, the feeling of his tip near your cervix too sharp for you to properly finish a sentence. He’s so deep. It feels as if he’s in your womb, in your stomach—it feels as if he’s everywhere. “Fuck, I. . .f—fuck, ‘Toru. . .”

 “Hm?” He breathes out, a groan slipping past his lips. “Want me to, fuck, you. . .” His rapid movements dial down. The self-control needed for it is enormous, but you’d asked him to wait—so he will. Some beads of pre-cum drip into your cunt, as if his cock was upset that he’d suddenly slowed down. “Wan’me to go slower, baby?”

“No,” There’s a small whine near the end of your sentence. It’s the absolute last thing you wanted him to do, even if you originally asked him to wait. “No, don’t, please, keep going. Need—need more.” You feel Satoru wrap both hands around your hips, as if he’s preparing for something. “Harder, please. . .”

“Harder?” He asks, and you don’t need to see him to know there’s currently a sense of smugness ruining his pretty face.  “How hard do you want it, huh, sweets?” 

Little more than the tip remains inside you, and there’s not a moment for you to mourn the loss of his entire girth—as all air leaves your lungs when he immediately thrusts back into you with a newfound vigour, with such force that it has you bend over the kitchen counter. 

“Like, ah, like this, huh? That how you want it, angel?”

You don’t answer—you’re not able to, as Satoru uses the entirety of his thick length to steal your ability to speak coherently. Once again, you’re acutely aware of the sheer size of your husband. Satoru is tall, and big, and he likely isn’t even aware of it. It certainly doesn’t seem so, as he heads no mind to the way your feet are starting to lift off the floor. Each deep thrust has you inching further up the counter; his hands on your hips nearly holding you up and off the floor as he rocks into you from behind. 

There’s little you can do, except take it. 

The kitchen is filled with sounds that definitely do not belong there. Your wetness is prominent, the sound of it borderline embarrassing, and Satoru’s balls slap against your skin with each thrust. He’s relentless, and you want to cry. The good kind of crying; the kind that often comes accompanied with mind-numbing pleasure. You hiccup, and sniff, and try your best to stabilise yourself against the counter. 

Though, your efforts prove futile once Satoru brings one of his hands to your front. You choke on a whimper as he cruelly pinches your clit, toying with it, flicking and rubbing it in the way he knows will get you off. 

“T—Toru,” you warn him. “I—I’m. . .”

“Mhm,” he hums in acknowledgement, not letting up even for a second. There’s a featherlight kiss pressed to your shoulder. “Me too, princess. S’okay, let, shit, let go for me, yeah?”

And because he’s Satoru—your Satoru, you comply. It hits you all at once, and you’re suddenly very grateful for both your husband holding you upright, and your expensive kitchen counter for adding some extra support. You’re still breathing heavily, coming down from your high, when Satoru hits his own. It’s a familiar feeling, but one you’ll never grow tired of nonetheless. 

You sigh in content. His cum fills you up rapidly, and to the brim. It’s hot, and thick, and trickles out of you even with him still inside—simply because there’s so much of it. The both of you are out of breath, and because of it, choose to stay within each other’s hold for just a little while longer. 

Satoru could—and would—stay in this position for the rest of his life. . .but he’s quite sure that you’ve put a lot of effort in today’s dinner and he doesn’t want it to be for naught. With a deep sigh and a quick kiss to your cheek, he goes against every fibre of his being, and pulls out of you. 

A shiver trails down your spine when he does so, and you let out a soft sigh in content. You’re still recovering, he notices. There’s a trail of his cum dripping out of you, though he wastes little time to push it back inside. Satoru takes matters into his own hands, and decides to place your panties back into place for you, too. It gets soiled by his seed rather quickly, but that’s a problem for later. 

After smoothing down your skirt, he tucks himself back into his pants, as well. He’s by your side as quick as he can, and presses a sweet, lingering kiss to your temple. 

It’s only then that he properly takes notice of all the stuff that’s been thrown around the kitchen. Pots, pans, vegetables, spices. It seems you really were busy.

And, as if he hadn’t just finished fucking you silly, he smiles. 

“So, what are you making?”

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

[kingkaisen]

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

♡ — FIND PART ONE HERE . . .

♡ — SUMMARY: After what happened to you & your son, Satoru couldn’t stop drinking . . .

♡ — CONTENT: fem! reader, canonverse, violence & blood, reader celebrates Christmas, mentions of food, Gojo not eating, heavy drinking, & wanting to die. Mention of Gojo’s son & the reader struggling with their disabilities.

♡ — WC: 5.4K

♡ — A/N: thank you @sircatchungus for the idea!

There was so much blood.

It stained the walls of your home. It covered the little markings on the archway of your kitchen where you and Satoru marked the growth of your little boy.

No amount of scrubbing could ever get rid of it.

It soaked into the hardwood floors, the floors that had formerly only known the soft pitter-patter of tiny feet running along it as your little boy would run across it, arms out as he eagerly ran to his father whenever he stepped through the doors after a long mission.

The curses attacked at night, fifteen days before Christmas.

Your baby boy waddled towards the Christmas tree with a blue ornament in his hand, carefully placing it on one of the lower green branches — as high as he could reach.

Despite the holiday classics gently playing in the background, and the sweet smile across your son’s face — he was missing a tooth or two, but even so — you couldn’t manage to crack a grin. Not even a fake one.

Satoru promised that he would return home on Christmas Eve. But, for you, it wasn’t good enough.

He knew that your little family often put more effort into the days following up to Christmas almost even more so than Christmas Day itself.

On that important day, you opened presents. But, on the days leading up to it, you put up the Christmas decorations. Watched cringy Hallmark movies and drank hot chocolate. Went ice skating. Baked cookies. Visited your family. Wrapped gifts for his students.

And he would miss all of it.

“Mommy?” Your baby boy looked up at you with eyes brighter than the lights twinkling on the Christmas tree. “When dad come home?”

You didn’t respond immediately. You didn’t want him to cry when you told him that his dad couldn’t watch How The Grinch Stole Christmas with him this year.

He was used to Satoru disappearing at random times for unknown periods, but Satoru never missed the important stuff. Birthdays. Events. Holidays.

He never missed it until now.

“Hey,” you leaned down, placing your hands on your knees as you looked at your son. “Wanna get ready for bed? Let’s go pick out a book!”

“Okay!” He squealed, making his way for the stairs as you followed closely behind.

But, on your way to the stairs, you noticed something lying on the floor in your foyer.

“Sweetheart, what did mommy say about leaving your toys on the floor?”

Approaching the item, you started to pick it up, and it unraveled.

It wasn’t a toy at all.

It was a finger. A cursed object.

“Mommy?” Your baby boy called out, standing on the stairs. “Let’s read, Mommy.”

The curses emerged from the darkness of your dining room, drawn in by the cursed object.

The sight of the horrifically disfigured monsters brought your son to tears. He ran for you instantly, screaming for you. It only made the curses move faster. They went straight for your loud, crying son first.

There was so much blood.

—

“I never thought you’d fall in love in general,” Kento Nanami sipped on his glass of water as he chatted with Satoru. “But to fall in love with someone who isn’t a sorcerer is risky.”

“How so?” Satoru shrugged, leaning back on Kento’s living room couch as he sighed in utter relaxation.

“Does she know about curses? About how powerful you really are?”

“Of course she does,” Satoru smiled at the other sorcerer. “I’m gonna marry her, ya know. She knows everything.”

“You could also get in trouble for that,” Kento rolled his eyes at his friend’s idiotic behavior.

“No, I won’t. She’s just like you.” Satoru smirked a bit, thinking about how strong his future wife really was. “She can see curses, and she can kill them too, but she decided not to become a sorcerer. She hates the system, and wants me to leave it as well, just like you did before you came back.”

“I see,” Kento sat down on the couch next to the white-haired man. “So she’s one of us, kind of.”

“Yeah,” Satoru smiled fondly. “My girl doesn’t mess around.”

—

There was so much blood.

Nearby neighbors heard screaming and called the police.

Sirens blared through the neighborhood as a police car and ambulance arrived at your home. When they stepped into your house, blood coated the bottom of their heavy black shoes. They were certain that you and your son were dead.

No one could survive having lost that much blood.

Not a normal human, at least.

But you and your son weren’t exactly ordinary, and despite being unconscious, your chests were rising and falling. Faintly, as it certainly wasn’t a fate that would last, but it was enough for the emergency services to rush you and your baby boy to the hospital.

The skilled surgeons spent hours operating on your bodies — fixing what they could.

To ordinary investigators, it seemed as if a woman and her son were attacked by an intruder, and survived.

But, to the sorcerer society who picked up the presence of cursed energy in your home, they knew what really happened.

That you fought two first-grade curses and one second-grade curse.

It was a brutal fight, but you killed them.

Even so, when you awakened from your coma, doctors and the sorcerer society elders staring down at you as you lay helplessly in your hospital bed, you were forever changed.

—

No one told Satoru Gojo the truth.

Only the surgeons, first responders, and the elders knew the real fate of Satoru’s family, and the elders didn’t allow the surgeons and first responders to contact the father and husband of the two victims.

Instead, they told him that his family was dead. That it was Sukuna’s fault. They took advantage of the situation and fed him a pack of lies, all so they could convince humanity’s strongest sorcerer to allow them to execute Yuji Itadori.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he spiraled.

He went on a killing spree. He moved to a new town and nearly drank himself to death every single day.

And, little did he know, his little family had moved to the same town as well.

—

SEVEN YEARS LATER…

Your ten-year-old son walked down the streets of his small, cozy town. The brown and crisp fall leaves crunched underneath his shoes as he made his way down the sidewalk, and headed to your coffee shop after school.

His thumb was tucked underneath the strap of his backpack.

As he walked, staring at the ground so the setting sun didn’t shine in his eyes, he couldn’t help but frown.

School was rough today.

His class went on a field trip, and he had to witness his classmates bring their fathers along with them to the planetarium.

It broke his heart. He barely remembered his father.

He could faintly remember a man — a tall man who used to pick him up and play with him, but he couldn’t remember his face.

And, after the day you and he got attacked — although he couldn’t truly recall the event — you both never returned to your old home, where all of your pictures were.

All of your memories.

All he knew was that he wanted a dad. And he wanted to remember the man who once filled the role and figure out what happened to him.

What was he like? What did he look like? Did he have the same head of hair? Your son felt like he might have, but he wasn’t sure.

What did he do for a living? How old was he? Did he ever love his son? What happened to him?

God, his heart ached. He wanted answers, and he couldn’t get them. Not from you. Not from anyone.

He couldn’t help but wonder if his dad would have even liked him.

Perhaps, it was better if he didn’t have one, as he couldn’t play sports like most dads wanted their sons to do.

The great incident had left him with a bad leg, and he walked with a limp that often exhausted him.

He was even tired now, despite the incredibly short distance between the school and local shops.

He should have used his forearm crutch today. The field trip took more energy out of him than he expected.

And, the fact that he refused to let you leave the coffee shop, pick him up from school, and return to the coffee shop certainly didn’t help.

A tear rolled down his cheek. Even if he did have a father around, what father would want him around?

He already felt like a burden, although you never treated him as such. He just couldn’t help it.

He didn’t bother wiping away his tears, even as they clouded his vision of the leaves coating the sidewalk.

As he walked past the local bar, a tall man gently bumped into him.

“Excuse me,” your son mumbled politely.

The man reeked of alcohol.

“Sorry,” the man slurred out, walking around the boy as he made his way down the street.

Your son never looked up.

And Satoru never looked down.

When your son arrived at your cozy coffee shop, greeting the familiar regulars as he made his way to the counter, you smiled at the sight of your sweet boy.

He sat down at one of the barstools, slinging his backpack onto the counter as he pulled out his math notebook.

“Hi mom,” he greeted.

“Hi sweetheart,” you made him a cup of water and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he said. “My homework’s on decimals. Joshua tried to eat a bug during lunch today during the field trip. It was awesome.”

“Nasty,” you playfully wrinkled your nose, which made your boy grin. “Did you have fun? I’m sorry I couldn’t go.”

“Yeah,” taking a much-needed sip of water, your son pulled out his wooden pencil and started working on his math problems. “And it’s okay.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We’ll do something really special for your birthday.”

The boy simply nodded.

Folding your arms across your chest, you couldn’t help but wonder if your lack of attendance was better.

Not only could you not afford to close the coffee shop during business hours — your only other employees were busy with college classes — but you didn’t want to scare any of your son’s classmates.

After all, the great incident took a toll on you as well.

You lost your left eye and had a deep scar running vertically down your face. Most kids thought that it was cool, claiming that you resembled a pirate with your black eye patch. But you didn’t want to risk the chance of anyone finding it scary.

You had your fair share of other scars as well, and one missing finger.

But, none of your physical injuries could compare to your mental ones, as you also suffered from amnesia.

When you awakened from your coma all those years ago, you couldn’t remember what had happened.

Or anyone.

Or anything.

A couple of old people forced you away from the home you couldn’t remember and the loved ones you couldn’t cherish, and into a new life in a new town.

The horrific head injury you suffered while trying to protect your baby boy wiped away your past until you were nothing but a blank slate. But, after a year of being around him and constantly seeing his face, you started to remember your son.

Years later, he was all that you could remember.

Everything else was fuzzy. You remembered people, but you couldn’t remember their faces. You remembered love, but not who you shared it with.

You remembered how to do things — such as make delicious coffee, of course — but not who taught you.

But, even so, you thought that it was odd for a group of old people to rip your old life away from you.

They said it was for your safety, so the person who attacked you and your son wouldn’t find you again, but, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was anyone out there who missed you.

Who loved you.

Who you might have forgotten.

And, technically, you knew the answer to that question. After all, your son had to have a father, but who was he? Where did he go? What did he look like?

Perhaps, you’d never know.

—

The very next day, on his way to the coffee shop after school, your son bumped into the drunk man again.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“Sorry,” the man slurred.

Several moments later, as your son passed the entrance of the local bar, the bartender opened the door, and shouted, “hey!”

The drunk man never turned around, as he didn’t hear the bartender shouting for him. Your son stopped walking, looking up at the bartender.

“Poor guy forgot his wallet,” the bartender frowned, clenching the leather pouch in his right hand. “Guess I’ll hold on to it. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

Your son flickered his eyes between the bartender and the drunken man making his way down the sidewalk.

The bartender couldn’t leave the bar unattended, even for a second, but your son figured that the man might have needed his wallet before tomorrow.

“I can give it to him, sir,” your son smiled kindly, holding out his hand.

“Thanks,” the bartender handed the wallet to the boy but stood at the bar entrance as long as he could to make sure the kid actually returned the wallet to the stranger.

An unofficial challenge between the drunken man and the limping boy was underway; a challenge to see whether or not your son could catch up to him.

But, as the man staggered around, headed nowhere in particular but in the general direction of his home, your son caught up.

He reached up and tapped the tall man’s arm.

“Excuse me,” he said politely. “You dropped your wallet, sir.”

“Hm?” Satoru stopped walking, his hands in his pocket as he looked down. He made eye contact with the young boy who held his wallet up at him.

—

— ONE YEAR AGO —

Three gentle knocks were heard throughout Satoru’s home. It was a Sunday, and the bar was closed. Even so, the depressed man had enough alcohol at home to make it through the day, but he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he wanted to be. It just wasn’t enough.

When someone knocked on his door, he knew immediately that it was Kento Nanami. No one else visited him. No one else knew where he was.

Satoru opened the front door, leaning against it as he glared at the man with bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, Satoru,” Kento greeted softly. “Happy birthday.”

Satoru stepped away from the door. The other man walked inside.

Kento stepped into Satoru’s living room, which was unpleasantly cold, and he turned around to face his old classmate, who took a swig of his beer, loosely gripping the bottle.

“I won’t stay long,” Kento said. “I just wanted to bring you a gift.”

“What?” Satoru blinked at him.

Silently, Kento handed him a bag.

As Satoru hesitantly grabbed the gift, Kento grabbed the beer bottle.

Satoru slowly pulled out a heavy-framed photograph. A tear slipped down his cheek as his heart snapped into pieces.

“When someone passes away or goes missing, there are people who create photos and art to show what the person might currently look like using age progression.” Kento pushed up on his glasses. “I contacted one of them. Your wife looks the same, pretty much, but . . . that’s your boy. He would have been around nine years old, and that’s what he would have looked like.”

Hot tears fell from Satoru’s eyes and splattered onto the glass.

It was really you and your son — what you would have looked like if you were still alive.

His beautiful, dead family.

“Thank you,” Satoru mumbled. His hands were starting to tremble.

Kento wrapped his arms around the other man, hugging him tightly. He had to use all of his strength to not cry as well. “You’re welcome.”

—

“Sir?” Your son tilted his head a bit in utter confusion, as the drunken man hadn’t yet taken his wallet back. “Do you need some help? Getting home and stuff?”

Suddenly, Satoru kneeled.

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Maybe he simply had too much to drink.

Maybe he was imagining things.

Because what Satoru thought — what he wanted to think — was that he was staring into his child’s eyes. That he was looking right at his baby boy, who he missed so much.

But that wasn’t possible. He was told that his family was murdered. He saw the blood.

“Thank . . . you,” Satoru slowly took the wallet back. “You . . .”

Satoru closed his eyes, and opened them again, fluttering his eyelashes as he tried to shake off what he thought was yet another vision.

Therapists told him that it was a response to grief — seeing his deceased wife and son when they weren’t there. And the alcohol running through his veins didn’t help either, as it distorted his vision a bit.

But . . . maybe, just maybe . . .

“You have’a name?” Satoru slurred out, his drunken words laced with hope.

“Noa,” your son smiled softly. “What’s yours?”

Satoru’s heart ached as his spirit was crushed once again.

His boy’s name was Ren.

The hallucinations must’ve started to return once more. Slowly, Gojo rose to his feet, putting his wallet in his back pocket.

Without another word, the man slowly started to walk off, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did so.

“Mister? I don’t think it’s safe for you to walk home by yourself, you could get hit by a car or something.”

Satoru didn’t respond.

“Let me help,” the preteen limped over, grabbed Satoru’s arm, and slung it around his shoulder as best as he could. Truth be told, he didn’t help much despite his best efforts, but at the very least, he would be able to rest knowing that the stranger was safely at home.

By now, Satoru was convinced that maybe he was with a real person, perhaps an actual kid, and he was simply imagining that the young boy had his hair, nose, and eyes.

Together, Satoru and Noa walked up the steps belonging to the drunk man’s homey brownstone, and after stumbling around with the keys, Satoru managed to get the front door open, and Noa helped the man collapse on his couch.

Suddenly, his phone started ringing. Noa had five missed text messages from you.

“Mom’s gonna kill me,” Noa thought.

After all, he wasn’t responding to your messages, he was inside a drunk stranger’s home due to his overly kind heart, and he wasn’t at the coffee shop like he was supposed to be at this hour.

Not to mention; the great incident had resulted in you becoming even more protective over your boy, if that was possible.

“Hello?” Noa answered nervously.

“Noa? Are you alright? Where the hell are you?”

“I’m okay, mom,” your son said. “I was helping out a . . . friend, I’m sorry.”

“Get to the coffee shop. Now.”

“Yes ma’am.”

After hanging up, Noa faced the slumped-over stranger.

“I’m gonna go now, my mom’s waiting for me,” Noa announced awkwardly. “Do you have somebody around to watch you?”

“You look like a . . . like my son.”

“Okay,” the young boy shifted his feet on the hardwood floor. He truly didn’t know how to respond to the poor man. He must’ve been spouting drunken nonsense. “Well, have a good night, sir. Be safe.”

Noa turned around, coming face to face with a beautiful brown, brick fireplace. But what caught his attention was the photos hanging above it.

There weren’t many — only about four framed photos.

The first one he saw was a picture of a baby. It startled Noa, as the kid did look just like him. It wasn’t surprising, as Noa resembled the drunken stranger, but he had seen other people with white hair before.

“Maybe he’s my cousin’s neighbor’s dog’s mother-in-law’s brother’s uncle,” Noa childishly thought, giggling aloud at his own joke.

Then, he looked at the next picture.

It had that same kid — but it also had you. His mother.

The next picture was just of you and the stranger.

Then, finally, he looked at the last photo. It was an age-progressed picture.

It was you. It was him. But, at the same time, it wasn’t. He didn’t quite understand it — any of it — but it was creepy. And the child didn’t know what to do.

Noa turned to face the stranger, but he was fast asleep on the couch.

The young boy pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the photos, and left as quickly as he could.

—

Satoru awoke the next morning with a pounding headache.

What snapped him out of his sleep was the sound of his front door opening and closing. He didn’t bother raising his head to see who it was, as he already knew the answer.

“If you’re just going to leave your front door unlocked,” Kento called out from the foyer, stepping into Satoru’s home and shutting the door behind him. “Then I shouldn’t have gone through the trouble of having a key made.”

“What are you doing here?” Satoru croaked. “It’s only . . . it’s only — uh, Saturday.”

“No,” Kento stepped into the living room and glared down at the man. “It’s Sunday.”

Satoru frowned. If it was Sunday, then the bar was closed.

Not only that, but he went to the bar on Friday. He must have spent Saturday on the couch, doing absolutely nothing except making an occasional trip to the bathroom.

And Kento could tell. He looked horrible.

No human being was made to endure such self-inflicted mistreatment, no matter how powerful.

Kento had a key to the man’s home for emergencies, but eventually, he started to visit him every Sunday to help him out in any way that he could.

“Come on,” Kento sighed, “get up. You need to get out of the house and go somewhere that isn’t the bar.”

“No,” Gojo mumbled weakly.

“Gojo,” kneeling, Kento tried to look at his friend’s face, but Satoru’s eyes wouldn’t meet his. “Gojo, listen to me. You’re going to die if you keep going down this path. Maybe not soon, but eventually. When was the last time you had food and water?”

Satoru shrugged.

Kento raised to his feet. Walking away, he headed to the kitchen — which was incredibly nice for a man who didn’t cook — and opened the refrigerator.

It was empty. Of course.

“Alright,” Kento said to himself, walking back into the living room. “I’m dragging him to the grocery store.”

—

It was incredibly difficult, but Kento helped his friend get cleaned up and dressed and managed to get him outside. Satoru hated every minute of it. He felt nauseous. All he wanted to do was sleep and drink, or drink and sleep.

As the two men walked into the grocery store, Kento grabbed a cart and instantly started grabbing a variety of ingredients to put together at least a week’s worth of nutritious meals for Satoru.

He’d cook it and store it away in Satoru’s fridge and freezer, and all the man would have to do was heat it in the microwave.

After making his way through the produce section, Kento headed towards the cases of water, and Satoru sluggishly walked down random aisles to find a jar of pasta sauce that the other man asked him to go get.

He had to do some things on his own.

—

“I’m thinking we should go with asparagus instead of broccoli,” you scanned your eyes over the fresh, green vegetables, before smiling down at Noa.

“Asparagus is fine, but can you put cheese on it? Pleaseee?”

“You know what, as long as you’re eating them, I don’t care what I have to put on them,” grabbing the asparagus, you tossed them into your cart as your son clenched his fists in celebration.

You ruffled his head of white hair with your four-fingered hand.

“Stop it, mom. We’re in public,” he frowned playfully.

“Fine, fine,” you started to push your cart forward and reached over to grab a pack of tomatoes. “Go pick out your cereal. Gonna switch it up this week, or get Lucky Charms again?”

“Lucky Charms, always,” your son grinned as he started to limp away. Today, he had to wear his forearm clutch.

Helping that stranger a few days ago took a lot of energy out of him.

He didn’t speak of what happened a few days ago, either.

After all, who would he tell?

You wouldn’t have the answers — or, rather, you wouldn’t remember the answers.

He had planned on returning to the drunk man’s home to ask him the questions running rampantly through his mind.

But Noa wasn’t stupid.

He knew exactly what the pictures meant.

But he didn’t want to give himself any hope, just in case he was wrong somehow, and the drunk man wasn’t his father.

A forty-pack case of water bottles was what you needed, as you and your boy chugged water constantly. But, a careless worker had shoved the cases incredibly far away, and you couldn’t reach it and pull it onto the lower shelf of your cart. You’d have to lift it, and you simply weren’t strong enough.

The nicely dressed blonde-haired man standing further along down the aisle was.

He was rather tall and buff, standing by his cart as he scrolled on his phone, simply waiting for you — the lady in front of him, whose face he couldn't see — to move so he could grab his own case of water, grab his miserably sober friend, and take him back home.

“Excuse me,” you called out softly. “Can you help me? I can’t get this case of water.”

“Sure,” he said, shoving his phone in his pocket and he walked forward, reached down, and pulled the case of water on your cart.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

As the man was about to say “you’re welcome,” he finally looked at you.

His skin paled instantly as if he was staring at a ghost.

And he was certain that he was.

He stood there — staring at you, his throat drying to a crisp.

“I don’t know why the employees always shove the water back there,” you attempted to make small chatter, glancing away from the stranger, as you assumed he was staring at you oddly due to your eye patch, and the scar running along your face right beneath it.

“I . . .” the man couldn’t find the right words to say.

Suddenly, your son made his way down the aisle, putting his box of cereal in the cart.

“Mom, did you know they make Lucky Charms with just the marshmallows now?”

The man’s eyes flickered down to your son, and his eyes widened.

“This isn’t . . . possible,” he mumbled.

Both you and your son were still alive, and yet, you didn’t seem as shocked to see him as he was to see you.

Didn’t you remember him? He was your husband’s best man at your wedding. He babysat your little boy quite often. He cried when he heard that you and your son were killed.

And yet, you only gave him a stranger-friendly smile.

“I-”

“Y/N?”

Kento was interrupted by Satoru, who had suddenly walked down the aisle.

He dropped the jar of pasta sauce on the ground.

It shattered.

“Renny?” A tear slipped down his cheek.

He wasn’t hallucinating — he was sober enough right now to know that.

Your eyes darted back and forth between the two unfamiliar men. After all, you knew well that you suffered from amnesia, your doctors had told you, and considering the man with the white hair called you and your son by your old names — the elders made you change them — you figured that they must have been old friends of yours.

But the white-haired man bore a resemblance to your son as well.

“Hi,” you smiled awkwardly, flickering your eyes between the two men. “You two must know me. I, um, I suffer from amnesia, so I don’t really . . .”

“Remember us,” Kento finished your sentence for you.

He thought that he was going to pass out.

“Well,” he gulped, pressing a hand against his head, closing his eyes as he spoke. This was insane. “I’m . . . I’m Kento Nanami. I was an old friend of yours. And this is Satoru Gojo, he is . . . he was . . .”

Kento glanced back at Satoru. The poor man hadn’t moved an inch. He only stared at you with the saddest eyes, an occasional tear slipping from them.

“I was waiting to die,” Satoru spoke — his words struggling to come out as he did so. “I was waiting to die so I could see you two again, and you don’t . . . remember me.”

The tears were falling even faster now. It was a blessing and a curse at the same time, one that he couldn’t bear. He wanted to laugh and sob. He wanted to hold you, but he was afraid to move. His hands started to shake, but the rest of his body was still frozen.

For years, he dreamt of reuniting with you and your boy again, perhaps in the afterlife. Or, sometimes he’d dream about you coming back to life like a silly child. But a fate as cruel as you being alive, but suffering with amnesia was like a direct punishment from a god and a devil at the same time.

Gojo wanted to fucking die.

He wanted his life to end right now, even glancing up at the ceiling of the grocery store, hoping one of the gods above would grant him his silent wish.

“You don’t remember me,” Gojo repeated. None of it seemed real. “You’re alive, but you don’t remember me.”

By now, other nosey shoppers were strolling by, listening to the conversation, but pretending that they were simply searching the shelves for drinks.

Your eyes darted in Kento’s direction, and he knew that face.

It was the same face you gave him when he and Satoru returned home two days late from a mission. It was the face you gave him when you came home one day and discovered that he accidentally let your baby boy stay up past his bedtime.

That face meant that you wanted answers.

“I don’t know any better way to say this,” Kento frowned. “That’s your husband. And the father of your child.”

Noa — or, rather, Ren — limped forward.

“I knew it,” he whispered happily, approaching the crying man as a tear slipped down his own cheek as well. “I was right.”

Ren looked up at his father with the happiest grin of relief.

And, god, your son grew. He was only three when Satoru had last seen him, and now, he was staring down at his beautiful boy, who was turning eleven soon.

Your son hugged Satoru with the arm that wasn’t holding on to his singular forearm clutch.

“Finally,” your boy said, holding on to his dad as tightly as he could.

He couldn’t remember him, but he didn’t care. He was simply happy to have a father.

Satoru didn’t hesitate to hug his son back.

“God, Renny . . .” the man cried, as his heart ached terribly. “It’s really you, it’s my baby boy.”

Running a hand through his son’s white hair, Satoru pulled away from the hug, only so he could look his boy in the eyes, and see him.

“You’re all grown up now, aren’t you?” A sad chuckle fell from Satoru’s lips.

He only looked away from his son when he felt another pair of arms wrap around him.

It was you — you were hugging him.

Satoru closed his eyes in relief, his tears soaking the front of his shirt, and dripping onto the heads of his family.

You hugged him lovingly, although you couldn’t remember loving him.

Your husband — the father of your child — was nothing more than a stranger to you, but he needed this hug. You could tell how badly he missed you. How badly he wanted to hold you.

As Satoru held onto his wife and son, none of you truly understood what had happened seven years ago.

But Satoru was determined to find out.

And, in the meantime, you’d try your hardest to recover your sweet memories of him, just as you once recovered the memories of your son.

Perhaps, you’d start by making new memories as well.

♡ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤? 𝐈’𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

🏷: @sad-darksoul @sircatchungus @gojossocks @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @star-toruu @yobabymama @s7armin @minmin-minnie @jexx233 @asiaa2prettyy @roninishere @dreamsarenicer @starzcoffeelvr @delghoul @buttercupmuffins @dijaicar @tuliptoot @sweet-yzabelle @creative1writings @lympha @malikazz243 @bforbiblio @galagarts @enesitamor @luffysfav @chilichopsticks @misscellaneousisme @1plwushie @blackjou @gfmima @dazedflvr @safiest58ravenclaw @dyna-mights

[webism]

"and whenever you smile at me, i promise to smile back."

it was a stupid vow, but one you made to satoru at the altar regardless. he had tears in his blue eyes and his lips were quivering and in the moment you really meant it, but god can he be an asshole.

like when he's denying you an orgasm. and he has you on your back, legs parted and hips rocking up against his tongue as he makes out with your pussy like he's on death row. he knows you on a molecular level, every inching indicator of your coming orgasm, and as soon as you give yourself away he's pulling back and wiping his lips while you groan because this is the third time this week.

and when he looks down at you with those puppy dog eyes and flashes you the biggest grin he can manage, you want to flip him off and make him sleep on the couch. you nearly do.

"you made a vow to me, baby," he tsks. "cmon, let me see that pretty smile of yours."

you turn your lips up, just enough to hold true to your vow. "id smile more if you let me cum."

"wrong," satoru shrugs, "you look like this—" he parts his lips and rolls his eyes back dramatically "—when you cum."

"fuck you," you look away, but his hand is quick to shoot out and turn your gaze back onto him. he's pulling his hard cock from his sweats and tapping the tip against your clit a few times before sighing.

"i'm going to, bossy."

and he pushes into you with a sick pace that has you feeling each hard inch of him. you'll never get used to it, to the way he stretches you out and sends you dizzy with just his cock.

"you look dick drunk already," he grins, you shoot him a sarcastic smile in turn.

you grab his bulging bicep with your left hand, the ring on your finger cool against his warm skin. it makes his hips stutter, having you claimed by him in more than one way: with the heavy rock he put on your finger and with his aching cock deep inside of you.

you know what he's going to do, try and edge you again and again until you go stupid on his cock and finally beg. but the way he reacts to just your wedding ring alone gives you a sick idea. you're still hot from him eating you out—it won't take much to push you over the edge.

"my toru," you hum, and smile a little as you feel his pace increase. "how'd i end up with such a pretty husband?"

he shakes his head, white locks falling into his eyes. "stop, i know what you're—"

"marrying you was the best decision of my life, baby," you continue, and bring your ringed hand up to hold the side of his face. his hips buck into you a little faster, a little wilder. "but i want you to fuck me like you did on our wedding night. till i was nauseous with how deep you were inside me. really made me yours, huh baby?"

that's all it takes. he's cutting off your intake of breath with a kiss and sustaining you on his essence alone. his cock splits you open at depths you think shouldn't be possible, and with each mean thrust of his hips into yours the headboard hits the wall in rhythmic mirror of your lusts.

and satoru chides himself: he thought denying you would be fun, a cheeky way to rile you up and get you begging for just the tip if its all he'd gift you with. but he's your husband, your other half: you aren't whole without him and he's empty when not filling you. he fucks you hard and quick and mean but with so much love you'd swear it was your wedding night all over.

and when you finally think you're going to cum, satoru encourages you with quick circles over your clit and the sweetest of praise from his lips. he loves you, he loves everything about you, there's no stronger aphrodisiac than your pleasure.

you cum hard around his cock and milk an orgasm out of him in turn. he fills you, claims you as his all over, and moans symphonies as he does so. your chest heaves, breath lost on you, and when he smiles down at you you're barely seeing straight enough to smile back.

he leans down to kiss you, a hungry kiss. "gonna fuck you so dumb and see if you still remember making that vow, okay baby?"

[kxsagi]

hear me out bllk characters with an “innocent” s/o who doesn’t understand pickup lines/takes them too literally 😭 with my freaky kings shidou, kaiser, aiku, karasu and otoya, pretty please

“𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐳? 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?”

a/n: omg nah this is peak 🙏

(ac: miiuu1103 on tik tok)

ft. shidou ryusei, kaiser michael, aiku oliver, karasu tabito, otoya eita

shidou ryusei

shidou, being the menace he is, cannot resist dropping the dirtiest, most unhinged pickup lines on you. 

he corners you one day, eyes gleaming, and purrs, “you wanna ride me like a skateboard, baby?” 

you blink up at him with those wide, innocent eyes and a soft gasp. 

“but ryu... i don't know how to skateboard.” 

and you sound so genuinely distressed about it too, like you just failed a pop quiz. 

he stares at you for a second. just stares. like a man witnessing the purest creature alive. 

his brain actually short-circuits. 

“nah, nah, princess, you don’t gotta know how to ride. i’ll teach ya, easy.” 

you perk up immediately. “really?! i've always wanted to learn!” 

shidou goes through it. 

next thing you know this man is out here dragging a skateboard out of the garage, fully committed to giving you lessons like he didn’t mean it in the filthiest way possible. 

he falls in love every time you wibble-wobble on the board and giggle when he catches you. 

thinks you're the best thing since violence and energy drinks. 

kaiser michael

kaiser is OBSESSED with you. 

he thinks your innocence is a gift from the gods, handcrafted to make his life more entertaining. 

one afternoon, he leans back lazily against the wall outside, smirking, and says, “are you a magician? because whenever i look at you, everyone else disappears.” 

your eyes go HUGE. like a cartoon character. you start whipping your head around, frantically looking around the room. 

“wait, where is everyone? what did you do?!” 

you’re actually worried. you start listing people: “wasn’t ness just here? and that man selling pretzels?” 

kaiser nearly slides down the wall laughing. 

he’s gripping his stomach like he's about to ascend. 

when he finally manages to breathe, he cups your cheeks and plants a kiss right on your forehead. 

“relax, schatz. it’s just me being stupidly in love with you.” 

you still make him check if ness is okay, though. (he texts ness “u alive?” ness replies “unfortunately.”) 

aiku oliver

oliver has no shame. 

if he sees you in cute shorts or a dress, he will immediately pull out the worst pickup lines he knows. 

lounging on the couch one day, he winks at you and says, “your body’s 70% water... and i’m thirsty.” 

you stare at him, so genuinely confused, like, “you can just drink from the kitchen? i refilled the brita.” 

realizing how sassy that might have sounded, you legitimately run to get him a bottle of water and come back looking so proud of yourself. 

“here, stay hydrated.” 

oliver’s just sitting there with a hand over his face, sobbing internally from how precious you are. 

he accepts the water, kisses your hand dramatically, and mutters, “god gave you to me because he knew i couldn’t handle anyone else.” 

karasu tabito

karasu thinks he’s the king of smooth. 

he leans over your shoulder while you're cooking, breath warm against your ear, and says, “are you from tennessee? ‘cause you’re the only ten i see.” 

you immediately turn around and frown very seriously. 

“tabi... i’ve never even been to tennessee.” 

you sound so sad about it too, like you’re worried you disappointed him somehow. 

karasu has to physically restrain himself from collapsing into giggles. 

he straightens up, clearing his throat dramatically. 

“nah, babe, it’s just a cheesy way of saying you’re insanely hot.” 

you light up like a christmas tree. “oh! thank you!!” 

and then you very earnestly offer, “i can go to tennessee if you want!” 

karasu almost proposes on the spot. 

from that day on he makes it his mission to hit you with a ridiculous pickup line at least once a day just to see your confused little face. 

otoya eita

otoya thinks he’s the smoothest operator in the universe. 

he slides up to you while you're minding your business and purrs, “do you have a map? ‘cause i just got lost in your eyes.” 

immediately, you gasp and start rummaging through your bag like your life depends on it. 

“i don’t have a paper map on me, but i have the maps app in my phone! wait, wait, don’t panic, i’ll find it!” 

otoya watches you absolutely spiral over helping him and he has to cover his mouth to hide the fact that he’s losing his mind. 

when you look up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, holding your phone out like a lifeline, he just melts. 

“no need, princess,” he croons, tucking your hair behind your ear. “i’m exactly where i wanna be.” 

you: "yay! so you’re not lost anymore?" 

otoya internally: somebody please call an ambulance, i’m in love. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[nettedtangible]

An idea I love is when the Foxes become a more well-respected team in the league, Wymack starts talking to them about being “role models” and that they have all these young fans now who look up to them. And Neil is just horrified.

Then the Exy league organises this like, pre-game warm up meet and greet thing where they do some drills and games with the kids of the local teams in the area.

Everyone expects to have to keep Andrew away from the kids but he’s actually fantastic with them. He’s blunt and honest but he does try very hard and they absolutely love him.

Neil spends the entire time running away from the children and hiding behind Wymack (he tried hiding behind Andrew but Andrew was actually getting along with the little demons)

Kevin hates it but the kids LOVE him, they think it’s hilarious how grumpy and angry he gets and they keep falling over themselves laughing anytime he yells. They keep asking him to “do the grumpy voice” he starts yelling in French and they think it’s just about the funniest thing that’s ever happened.

Dan and Renee are keeping the whole thing on track, actually running through the drills and teaching the kids with endless patience. Dan has a little mini me girl who’s like 10 and the captain of her team and just wants to be Dan so bad so Dan gives her a whistle and she’s just shadowing her all day, blowing her whistle whenever Dan tries to get someone’s attention.

Aaron and Allison hang back and only very reluctantly interact with the children.

Matt is the equivalent of a climbing gym. He has about 4 children hanging off various limbs at any given time and a little 6 year old has taken up permanent residence on his shoulders.

Nicky loooves it and teaches the kids all of bad words and gets them to play pranks on Kevin- which results in Kevin yelling at him and he and the kids falling over laughing.

One child seems to be really isolated and quiet. Neil sits with this kid so Wymack will stop yelling at him to get involved. They don’t talk at all but Neil gives the kid some gum and the kid manages a little smile.

Part 2