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ceruleanchillin · 5 months

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But is she really yours? (141 x Reader)

Note(s) -

It's long, so be warned.

The guys are doing a little of what we like to call Dirty Mackin, and yes, I think this is something they’d all do in their own way.

Still working on getting those accents to come through, while not stepping into cringe/wrong territory.

I apologize, this is a very messy format (borderline stream of consciousness), and I’m trying to figure out a cleaner way to do this. I hope it doesn’t hurt the reading experience.

And I am the only one who kinda wants to see the reverse scenario, where Reader tries to get the guys away from their trash gfs? 👀Thanks to @bunnyreaper for the idea, it wrote itself as I read that.

Simon:

Annoying. That was the first thing Simon thought of you. So of course you had to work at the only cafe near his flat that made tea the way he liked.

You were always on your phone, arguing with someone (he guessed a boyfriend), and he hated getting stuck at your register. The calls clearly distressed you, and he didn’t know why you kept taking them. Especially on the job.

You’d gotten his order wrong more times than he could count, and you were always having to turn around and ask him to repeat the things he wanted. It got to the point where he waited until the other barista’s line was open.

Unfortunately, other customers had done the same, and it was causing a backup.

Then there was the day. His day started as it always did on his off time. The three S’s, and then he was at the gym to get his time in when he knew it was mostly empty. Then finally, his black tea.

He sighed, mentally preparing himself for the wait before he entered. As expected, there was a line.

You were there, and you appeared to be deeply engaged in conversation with the only person at your counter.

He was surprised to see you had a customer. ‘Must not be a regular.’

As he got closer to the counter, he could overhear the whispered argument. The man wasn’t a customer at all, he presumed he was the boyfriend from the phone calls. Based on the things the two of you were saying, that made the most sense.

‘Great. Getting the live version today.’ Simon had to wonder how you kept this job. Were you the boss's daughter? Did you own a share? Could he steal enough of the signature black tea blend and go into hiding until he had to ship out again?

You looked exasperated, and your co-worker stepped over to your side, coming to your aid.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Simon groaned, realizing the wait would be longer.

He stepped outside for a cigarette, making the mental decision that if by the time he was done with it there was still a line, he would forgo his drink that day.

He chose the alley on the side of the shop, not liking the openness of the sidewalk, and staked out against the opposite building’s wall.

He was halfway past the tip of his cigarette when the side door he’d been eyeing warily opened, and out came you.

You looked frustrated, anxious, and maybe a little embarrassed. He didn’t think you noticed him, instead, walking over to the dumpster and kicking it, hard. It sent a loud, tinny groan echoing through the alley. He narrowed his eyes, feeling that itch of frustration under his skin.

You noticed him finally, and stopped angrily muttering to yourself. Instead, you started talking to him. It was mostly an uninterrupted stream of dialogue for two minutes straight (he timed it), before he could finally understand you.

“Mandatory break! That’s the second one this week, can you believe that?”

He started to say yes, and that he hoped the third one won you a prize: getting fired. He kept his mouth shut though.

“It’s not even me, it’s my boyfriend. He means well, but he just…I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.” You were searching for something in your apron, but he couldn’t tell what, out of the corner of his eye.

Simon flexed his fingers, eyes narrowing until the shop’s logo mural was a blur. You found it, and walked closer to him until he turned both eyes to you.

“Can I get a light?” You gestured with the unlit cigarette between your fingers to the one burning between his lips.

“Bloody. Fuckin’. Hell, Bird! S’not enough you keep half the fuckin’ place backed up on a good day, but then you prance your arse out here to annoy me some fuckin’ more? Fuck off.” He jabbed his pointer finger at the door you’d come out of.

The alley echoed his baritone, and somehow made his outburst sharper.

You stared at him like he’d taken his head off, instead of having bitten off yours. Eyes wide, bottom lip trembling, he thought you might cry, and he began to feel guilt grow in the pit of his stomach. He’d forgotten, in the midst of you stirring up similar agitation, that he wasn’t on base talking to some recruit dumped on him.

You did cry, but once you started talking, he suspected it was more due to anger. “Fuck you! You fuck off, I work here!”

He ignored the small voice telling him ‘stop’, and fired back. “Work?” He snorted. “Real fuckin’ rich that is. Don’t confuse work with your million mandatory breaks.”

You clenched your fists, eyes wild with adrenaline and voice shrill with anger. “Go to hell. You’re just some freak in an alley who can’t remember when Halloween is. You don’t know me.”

You angrily wiped at your tears to no avail, as more quickly took their place, and then you started sobbing.

Simon sighed, feeling like shit and wishing he’d held it together just a little more. “Alright. Alright. ‘Nuff of that now.”

“I’m not crying *hic* because of you…” you huffed, trying to get your voice under control. “Just go back to your cigarette. I hope you suck it up and *hic* choke!”

He chuckled, you were the first person in a while who’d lashed back out at his harsh disposition. At least to his face. “Was uglier than I should’ve been, but won’t pretend there wasn’t some truth to it.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’re a shit barista, wanna form a band?” His lips quirked into a smirk around his near-stub cigarette.

For a beat there was silence, until the two of you burst into laughter. Yours a raucous peal of giggles, and his, raspy chuckles.

“Well, you earned that light. Got more balls then a lot of soldiers I know.”

The two of you stayed in that alley for thirty minutes just riffing off different topics. It ended with Simon giving you the friendly (read: rough) advice to not let your boyfriend cost you your job.

That’s not how he saw his day going. Having the most interesting conversation he’d had in a while with the woman who annoyed the piss out of him for the better part of his leave.

You were no longer annoying, you’d been upgraded to interesting, and that was the second thing Simon thought about you.

After your talk in the alley, Simon was pleasantly surprised to find that you’d taken his advice and stepped your skills up. It turned out, you were distracted by your boyfriend, but Simon had come to see why. He was obsessed with knowing where you were, and if you were thinking of him, and wondering if he should drop by.

Simon felt more guilt for being so impatient, and he decided no matter what, he would pick your line. That was the only reason too. It certainly wasn’t because he couldn’t stop thinking about you after your last conversation.

Sometimes you would take your breaks with him now, exhibiting that same forward nature from the alley, but it no longer annoyed him. He’d tease you about whether or not that break was mandatory, but he looked forward to it all the same.

You talked about anything and everything, from where you were from, to Simon having to explain the delicate ins and outs of football to you. (He was pretty sure you were pushing him to have a heart attack by pretending you forgot a different detail every time you talked).

It was an unstated, but mutually understood, thing that your time together fulfilled something missing for both of you. For him it was cutting into his habit of cutting off socialization until he was back on base or a mission, and for you, it was a break from your relationship.

He liked to think that you looked forward to your talks as much as he did, if your expression every time you saw him was an indicator.

Unlike him, you were an open book, so you did most of the talking. Simon soaked up everything you told him, filing it away. You were funny, and fascinating.

On his end, he was careful about some of what he shared, and nervous about other things. He had more dark or restricted anecdotes than humourous or endearing ones, and he didn’t want to bring you down. After all, you had more than enough of that to deal with.

The boyfriend. He was a nightmare of obsession and insecurity. It was perhaps your fourth break-hangout that Simon saw it completely for himself. He’d all but dragged you out of your seat, which made Simon rise from his so quickly, it almost toppled over behind him. He wasn’t unaware of his size, nor was he afraid to use it on the shorter man, but you assured him it was fine until he sat down.

Your boyfriend was panicking, wondering why you were keeping someone like him company. He wanted to know what it meant for the two of you, and Simon hated seeing you in an endless loop of begging the pathetic prick to believe you loved him. All of your humor and your cute little habits disappeared as he forced you to become a helicopter girlfriend, concerned only with his fears.

Simon decided then he would sway you away from him. He didn’t deserve you, and Simon may not have known you long, but he couldn’t stand to see you withering under him and his emotional blackmail. No one ever accused Simon of being sane.

You would be his, and that was the third thing Simon thought about you.

If he said so himself, he was slick about it. He’d forgotten about the amount of energy it took to pursue a relationship with someone, and why he limited his romantic interactions to hookups with women he found interesting.

You weren’t just interesting, he was fully infatuated with you by the time he started to actively move towards getting you away from that neurotic dumpster. You were worth the effort.

It started with seeing you outside of the cafe in a way that seemed natural. He thought about it for a while, before he settled on inviting you to a football game. He couldn’t believe he’d worried that you’d say no, your ‘yes’ came out before he was even done asking.

You were impressed with his timing, confessing that the night before, your boyfriend had thoroughly embarrassed you at a party, and you needed a fun day.

Simon had smiled tightly all through your hurried explanation that everything was fine, and that he had apologized once you got home with him.

The day of the game, you were absolutely adorable when he picked you up. Giddily introducing him to your roommate. She eyed him with approval, and even congratulated you for trading up.

Before you could correct her, he slipped in his answer. “That remains to be seen. Depends on if she embarrasses me at the game.”

You snorted, launching into that now familiar peal of giggles. “I promise I won’t. Now, which of these soccer teams is yours again? The Manfordshire Mermaids?”

“You wanna ride there on the roof?”

The trip was a better investment than he thought. You were enthralled with what was going on, the hype of the crowd, the skill of the players, and just being there in person. However, you had to rely on him to translate this new world to you, and that left you literally clinging to him in interest. Simon was your whole world in that stadium, and he locked that feeling down tightly for motivation.

Step one had gone off without a hitch, and now it was on to step two.

Outings with you became a series. Simon encouraged as many as possible in order to trigger the response he wanted.

He knew it wouldn’t be long until your boyfriend started getting antsy, and insecure again. You were going out twice as much as you had before you started hanging out with Simon outside of the cafe.

To push the matter, Simon told you his work schedule was getting hectic. It was a half truth, the training period before the announcement of a deployment had commenced, and Simon planned on having a girlfriend to come home to this time. Namely you.

He used the excuse to create later meetups. Dinners, movies, wandering the street and stumbling into things to do. All the while getting you hooked on his touch. Simon wasn’t a touchy-feely person by nature, and this was something everyone who knew him picked up on quickly. You picked up on it too, but he wanted to touch you. He didn’t though, at least not often.

Starting off with little touches that could be confused as an accident, he increased the pressure but kept the frequency low so you became addicted to his rare touches. He wanted you to feel special that someone like him indulged you in that way, so that you’d seek out more, even though HE was the one who felt blessed every time he felt your skin on his.

When you were together, he made sure things were about you. He didn’t imagine your boyfriend left much room for that with his paranoia, but he wanted to show you what you were in for once you were together.

One night, Simon kept you out later than usual. He’d stayed away from you for two weeks, which wasn’t hard, work was starting to pick up. He could’ve carved out a day or two though, but he wanted to make you crave his time like he did yours.

It worked. He scheduled a late dinner at an upscale restaurant, letting you fill him in on all that he missed. Namely, you missed being with him. You weren’t the type to keep your feelings to yourself, and you’d inevitably vented to your boyfriend about missing your friend. He didn’t like that label at all, but he liked what would come from your actions.

Periodically throughout the dinner, your phone rang, increasing in frequency as the night wore on.

You had to excuse yourself multiple times, and Simon pretended to be annoyed. In reality, he anticipated that. Each time the phone rang, you cringed and looked at him apologetically.

On what had to be the tenth time, Simon said. “Go on then, run off to pamper the pathetic bastard. Powder his arse too this time.”

Your face screwed up in objection to his barbed words. “He��s just worried…”

He shrugged. “Don’t owe me an explanation lovie. S’just a mystery why you’re in such a rush to be a nursemaid.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood up from the table. “I’m in a rush to be a good girlfriend thank you. Stop being an ass, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“S’go,” he downed the last of his bourbon before he pulled his wallet from his pocket. “I’ll pay the tab and take you home.”

“What? We’re supposed to have dessert, and then maybe a movie.”

Simon watched your distressed body language and expression with mild amusement, and he was proud of being able to hide it, even though he’d forgone his mask that night. “You’ve gotta tuck in your kid. S’not on me you won’t date a man.”

You pouted and sat back down. “If I put my phone away, you put your wallet away. You promised me dessert.”

He smirked, refusing to hide it now. This was the first time, since he’d met you, that you’d ignored your boyfriend, and it said a lot.

You did it once, so Simon was able to turn it into a habit. Your boyfriend looked increasingly unhinged as Simon made sure you starved him of your attention.

The ugly voicemails and text messages began soon after. He didn’t like that at all, and he had to remind himself the time to deal with your boyfriend would come, but he did appreciate that you were becoming less tolerant of him.

Every time you returned to Simon after having to soothe your boyfriend’s ego, and stop his tantrums, Simon made your life easier. He worshiped you in subtle ways, reminding you of what a man was, compared to a child.

There was guilt on your part, but it felt so good to be taken care of for once. To not have to worry about Simon bursting into a fit of insecurity that made you completely responsible for his feelings, and left little to no room for anything else.

When he touched you, it lit your nerve endings on fire. You knew that the touches were bordering on inappropriate, since you were still taken, but you also knew that your brain went numb with good vibrations with even just a brush of his fingertips.

Simon still kept it light, almost questionable as to whether it even happened, and you finally began to seek it out. Wearing backless tops so that his fingertips would brush your bare skin, sitting next to him in diner booths so a thick thigh was always brushing your own, going for things in high places so he’d steady you by your waist.

He never seemed to miss a beat on when and where to touch you, but it wasn’t enough.

The breaking point came when he invited you to a dinner Price was holding as a goodbye to civilian life until next leave. The verbal invitation was the most valuable thing to you in a while. Not only because you were increasingly becoming addicted to him, but because for someone like Simon to invite you into that part of his life, it meant that he was in deep with you too.

All of Simon’s friends were funny, inviting, and very taken by you. They were so polite to you, complimenting you, and telling you as much as they could about their work, trying to impress you.

You were having fun trying to keep up, but you got the impression that Simon inviting a woman he was seeing to meet them was a new thing, and they didn’t know the protocol.

You were surprised to find he went by Ghost in his field, and they were unused to hearing Simon. You shared how the two of you met, and how polite he wasn’t in your first conversation, and they weren’t surprised.

You were enjoying your time with them, the conversation never stopped, and you would venture to say Simon looked fond at times. Though, as each man became more flirtatious, his expression would change. It became an unspoken game between you and his team to try and make him speak up about it. He didn’t take the bait.

Then came the topic of your boyfriend.

“Come now love, you’re a smart girl. Why do you wanna waste your time with that bellend?” - Price

“I don’t ken what the situation here is, but if Ghost and the other one don’t appreciate you, I promise I will.” Soap

“I had a girl once, who used to follow me in her friend’s car, sit outside my apartment, and call me from different phones to test me. You’re fit as hell love, dump him.” - Gaz

It was a little embarrassing, and you were slightly annoyed that Simon had told them, but your mind kept shortening it to ‘he talked about me to his team.’

During dinner, you excused yourself to the bathroom. While you were washing your hands, Simon slipped into the room, making you jump.

Your eyes met in the mirror, where Simon just glared.

“Have fun with the boys, bird?”

“Have fun broadcasting my business?” You raised an eyebrow, but your tone held no anger to it.

Simon chuckled, locking the door. “S’not my business is it?”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head slowly.

He trapped you between the sink and himself, hands locking onto the counter on either side of you.

“Let’s fix that.” His lips pressed to the pulse point on the side of your neck, speaking his command against it. “Get rid of him lovie, and come home where you belong.”

You tried to do just that, but for the first time that you could recall, your boyfriend wasn’t taking your calls.

Simon watched you while he packed, tucked beneath his sheets where you belonged, bare. It’d been a week since you took that next step in his captain’s guest bathroom, and you’d been trying to inform your ex he was now in fact, your ex.

You gingerly rolled over to face him, mindful of all the reminders that he loved you he left your body. “Si, he’s still not picking up. I don’t want to do it over the phone, but…”

“Don’t get worked up. Maybe he got the message already...”

Kyle:

He’d re-visited Chicago on his downtime, and met you in a club. Unknown to him at the time, your boyfriend had stood you up for the third time that month, and you decided not to waste the night. It’d made you so free and enthralling to watch, he couldn’t look away.

Gaz spent the entire night with you, glad he’d ignored the jet lag, even when you took him to all the best after-hours spots.

The only problem was your boyfriend, Keith, who Gaz personally believed formed in the bottom of a toilet, and sought life elsewhere. His team thought he was delusional, and/or giving you too much thought.

“You hitting the States again then? Don’t get in the kind of trouble that you can’t get out of because you’re jealous.” - Price

“Garrick! Get your fuckin’ head off your cock, and on the exercise, before I shove my boot down your throat!” - Ghost (after he fumbled a training exercise twice)

Except for Soap, Soap backed his delusions %1,000. “She let you charge your phone when hers needed it more? That’s wedding bells lad, and I wanna be best man.”

Then there was the relentless teasing every time he spent his leave with you, but Gaz didn’t care. He couldn’t bother being embarrassed when you were waiting for him. Your grin was for him, your excited laughter was for him, and your hug was for him. The one he always held longer than friends do, his heart racing when you relaxed in his hold. Smirking when he felt your nose brush over chest quickly. You were sheepish when he grinned down at you, realizing what you were doing.

You’d gotten him cologne on his first (date) daytime hangout with you. You’d been strolling through the mall, Gaz trying to make you forget about the ugly scene he’d walked into between you and your boyfriend when he arrived at your place.

You’d been so sad, and it didn’t suit you at all. He just wanted to take you out of that environment, and let your real-self blossom again.

His hand brushed with yours, pinkies locking and unlocking so he could feel his stomach dip again and again.

He was able to slowly bring you back, into a little world of inside jokes and friendly culture clashes. Gaz fully had you back by the time he stopped in front of an expensive looking fragrance shop and said:

“You know what? I need a new aftershave, but I’m clueless about shopping for that stuff.”

“Uh, aftershave?” you’d looked puzzled, peering into the store window. “Do they even sell that here?”

He let out a confused laugh, pointing at the bottles on the glass shelf. “We’re looking at it, so I’d guess yes.”

“You mean cologne?” you gave him your first real smile since you’d gotten there, and Gaz forgave yet another correction in favor of it.

“Get in here, and help me find an aftershave.”

He proposed that you guys find the perfect scent for the other and buy it as a gift. The two of you spent the better part of thirty minutes teasing and sniffing each other. Every time Gaz lifted a part of your arm or wrist to his nose, he let his lips brush across your skin accidentally.

“Kyyylee..” you whined every time, making him stir in the right places at the wrong time.

Eventually you both settled on something for the other, but Kyle slyly placed himself in the position of paying for both. The thought of you paying never having been a real thing in his mind.

“You’ll get it next time, love.”

He treasured that scent, you’d specifically picked it out for him, and he’d savored the look you gave him when you’d finally found it. Now he was in front of you again.

“Yeah, it’s the one you bought me. Did me a good turn with that. I get compliments like they get paid to give ‘em.”

“Who’s complimenting you?” you asked, your wince revealing it’d probably come out sharper than you meant for it to.

Gaz didn’t mind, he liked you as jealous as he was.

He chuckled, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “Just..other girls with good taste.”

Your pout and sharp head turn went right on display in the mental gallery he had of you. He couldn’t resist teasing you again.

“Are you wearing the one I picked.” he leaned down hovering just over your neck where he knew you could feel the soft puffs of breath on your neck. He heard your breath hitch when he hummed, confirming that you were.

“I am, and don’t worry about who’s complimenting it, since you have sooo many of your own.”

Gaz laughed as you yanked him after you with a huff. If he was delusional, you weren’t helping.

This visit was going how he imagined it, and he intended to end it exactly that way too. Finally getting that bastard out of a picture he should’ve never been a part of.

When clubbing, Kyle kept you close. You both loved to dance, and every song that came on seemed out to prove that your bodies were built to fit together like a puzzle.

He took an interest in your life, wanting to see what you got up to when he wasn’t there. You’d resisted, thinking it’d bore him. It did not.

He enjoyed meeting your co-workers, and eating at the cafe you loved a block from your job. You even took him to spend an afternoon with your family. Every time he scored a point with them, you gave him this dreamy expression he was determined to see for the rest of his life.

When he suggested making plans with your friends, so they didn’t feel like you were ignoring them while he was there, you were thrilled at how considerate he was, and he got the pleasure of overhearing you hype him up to your friends while you invited them out to do something.

It was you blocking your girlfriends every time one of them tried to push the flirtation with him too far, that let him know it was time.

He decided he would make his move when the two of you were having a movie night at your place. It wasn’t ideal, because that piece of shit was lingering around the place. Kyle hated that you lived together, but wouldn’t let that interfere. He had work to do.

“Kyyyleee.” you giggled, dragging his name out the way he loved when he ran a finger down your cheek to your neck, complimenting your skin.

“Just admiring your skin routine. You’ve gotta share.”

Or, when he shivered, and you instinctively extended your blanket to him. He took it without question, trying not to think about all of the things you could do under a shared blanket. Although, your boyfriend walking in and out of the room, pretending he had things to get out of the kitchen, made the thought more enticing.

You’d invited him to watch in earnest, and he’d just cut you down in a way that made Kyle quickly remind him he was in your apartment, because he’d lost his job, and had nowhere else to go. That you’d sweetly taken him in, and that he should remember that.

He enjoyed kicking him down while raising you up.

Your boyfriend finally just sat at the kitchen table in the dark, fuming. The living room was visible to him from there, but Kyle was glad to have him as an audience to him reminding you of your worth.

You two exchanged snacks and commentary, easily ignoring the unwanted third party.

“No offense love, but beer here is straight piss.”

You laughed, stealing one of the cookies left on his plate. “Beer tastes like that in general.”

“How would you know? You’ve never been anywhere.” your boyfriend snapped at you nastily, from where he’d been glaring at the two of you for an hour. “And why don't you go back to jolly old England if you hate it so much?”

Gaz lazily rolled his head in his direction, body language shouting how much he didn’t respect him. “Mate, you’re being a right prick right now. It’s not like you bought the beer, or anything else you’ve been shoving in that hole.”

Your boyfriend leapt to his feet, fast enough to knock over the chair. “Come over here and repeat that teacup.”

“Blud, that’s not what you want.”

“Kyle don’t, he’s just drunk and embarrassed. Ignore him when he’s like this.” you quickly passed a hand over the back of his, but he just gave you a soft smile instead.

“That’s his problem, he embarrassed himself. Why don’t you go in the back and find something to do.” He was so effortlessly dismissive, that your boyfriend mistook this for being unprepared to fight.

Kyle’s one rule for his plan was that he wouldn’t physically handle your boyfriend unless he got physical with you. He’d planned to show you how you should be loved, and let a smart girl like you do the rest. That went out the window.

He kept it clean, the other man was stocky, but didn’t stand a chance against his training. If you hadn’t been there, he might’ve taken it further, grinding his hatred of him into harsher blows. Instead, he gave him quick, almost surgically effective, blows to put him down. He was too intoxicated and unskilled to retaliate.

“See, he just needed a nap.” Gaz tried to lighten the mood.

“I’m so embarrassed,” you whispered. “I don’t know why he’s always like this now. He didn’t use to be. I just want this to stop.”

Kyle shushed you, crossing the room to pull you into his arms. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. You’ve been dealing with this for too long.”

“I’m so tired.” you admitted, clutching his soft shirt, and inhaling his scent (your scent, that you gave him) that made your eyes roll back in your head. He was so solid, warm, and a darker word popped into your mind, ‘mine.’

“You’ve been so good to everyone, too good. Let me take care of you.” he whispered, hands roaming from your lower back to cup your ass.

He heard the hybrid of a whimper-moan, and it had him at attention before you were done.

“I’d be just like him…” you trailed off weakly.

“That’s not possible.” He lowered his lips to yours, giving you the first kiss from him that couldn’t possibly be mistaken as platonic. You kissed back without any hesitation, not even willing to pull away when he started to lead you to the back. To your room.

Hate him as he did, Gaz noted somewhere in his mind how dark the scenario was. The location, and situation, in which he was about to fulfill the second-to-last step of his plan was kind of fucked.

He cupped your jaw in both hands,“Babe…we can go back to my room at the hotel.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to erase any trace of him here, starting in your room. He wanted you everywhere he could have you in the apartment, and he wanted him to come to just enough to hear it.

“Makes no sense. Too far. Here.” you murmured, pupils blown wide.

Gaz didn’t need to be told twice. You were barely able to string a sentence together, and it was top three one of the hottest things he’d ever heard.

“Yes ma'am.”

Kyle didn’t doubt you’d complete the final step in the morning, and officially dump the forgotten man on the floor.

Johnny:

You and Johnny met through social media. He thought you were gorgeous and, being John “Soap” MacTavish, couldn’t leave your profile without letting you know. Though he threw in some playful critique.

You responded with a thanks, and a challenge for him to do the picture better. It resulted in a months-long photo battle that quickly became a real friendship.

Late phone calls, video calls, and constant strings of texting built a whole world between the two of you.

You were the highlight of his day sometimes, especially when he’d been gone awhile. You helped him reconnect with the world after shutting it out to defend it.

The only problem was your boyfriend. Johnny prided himself on being able to get along with all kinds of people. It was just in his nature. Hate was so rarely felt by him, that he always had trouble identifying it when he felt it.

He felt hate for your boyfriend, and it didn’t take him long to figure that out. He thought he didn’t deserve you. He was always talking to you reckless, like he didn’t have the most beautiful woman in the world in his life. Johnny wouldn’t talk to you like that, he wouldn’t have time to even consider it for all the worshiping of you he’d be doing.

He’d cheated, only to make you feel like that was on you, and you took him back.

When Johnny heard your pained sobs for the first time, he’d been halfway through texting Simon to ask for help with a dark favor before he was able to talk himself down.

It was then Johnny realized how much you’d come to mean to him, and that only made him hate your boyfriend more.

Your conversations ranged from anything to everything, but they always ended with you venting, and Johnny comforting. He didn’t mind it, in fact, most times he initiated it.

He realized, he must mean a good deal to you too, because you got all your comfort from him. Johnny’s thoughts mattered to you, and you sought his advice all the time. He hated what for, but he loved that you did.

“He didn’t even like the dress Johnny. I told him you thought of it, and he accused me of wanting to wear it for you.” your screen shook violently as you stomped into your bedroom, sending said garment sailing through the air.

“M’sorry to hear that. I meant what I said when you showed it to me in the shop. Any guy that doesn’t lose it to you in that dress deserves to be committed.”

You sniffed, choking out a humorless chuckle. “I’m glad you liked it at least.”

“Oh, you don’t ken how much sweetheart. In fact, put it on for me again.”

Six months into the friendship, he convinced you to come visit him in Scotland. You’d been having more trouble with your boyfriend than usual, living with him didn’t exactly give you a lot of places to take a breather.

Once Johnny confirmed he hadn’t hurt you physically, he’d switched to coaxing you into coming to see him for a couple of weeks.

“C’mon bonnie, I’ve been stateside more times than I can count. You haven’t been here once.” He watched you do your bedtime routine, as the sun came up in the windows behind him.

He loved how despite being countries away, the moment felt as intimate as if you were with him. In his home, getting ready to come to bed with him. Except if you were, he’d tell you not to bother brushing your hair. You’d just have to do it again later.

You laughed as you ran a comb through your hair. “It’s not like you came here for me Johnny. We didn’t even know each other the last time you were here.”

“So…you’ll return the favor later. Be my pretty tour guide.”

You wound up in Scotland barely a week later. A suitcase full of clothes haphazardly thrown into it.

“I don’t even know what I packed, it's a mess!”

Cue Johnny, who can’t quit hugging you, and they feel less and less platonic. “Don’t worry ‘bout it bon. I’ll find somewhere for it all to go.”

Somewhere turns out to be designated drawers and shelves, that he’d cleared in advance, for your clothes and bath products. Johnny putting them away himself like the simp for you he is. All the while distracting you from stating how you wouldn’t be there long, and you don’t need all that space.

“We’ll see.”

Johnny had been coaxing less and less innocent behaviors out of you all week, and just worshiping you when he wasn’t. You were a worked up hybrid of desperation, and restored self-confidence. It was addictive, and you started to lean into Johnny’s touches and kisses. You pretended you didn’t hear his murmured dirty statements so he’d have to try again and again.

It came to a head when you finally accepted a video call from your pathetic boyfriend.

You were in Johnny’s living room, wearing his favorite football jersey, with him behind you, absolutely refusing to make himself scarce. You didn’t want to take the call anyway, but Johnny convinced you it’d be good for closure.

Your boyfriend started going off, yelling about how you didn’t respect him or your relationship, and demanding that ‘you bring your ass home’.

“The thing of it is lad, there’s not really anything about this relationship to respect.” Johnny slipped around to your side, tilting your head up to press his lips to yours.

You hummed in surprise, but all of his gentle touches and sweet kisses over the week had you pliant. You immediately responded, squeezing his arm when he slipped his tongue into your mouth as a tease.

He pulled away, looking way too smug, and looking all the more impossibly-handsome for it. “Say bye to your ex-boyfriend then bon. The rest of this isn’t for him.”

You gurgled something like goodbye as you slammed the lid on your laptop, attention still fully on Johnny.

John Price:

Price thought your fiance should crawl in a fire and stay there. Yeah. He wasn’t ashamed.

The man was garbage, and hardly worth you giving him a glance, let alone this much sacrifice. You’d moved countries for him, happy to make your home with him because of his job. He treated it as though that should’ve been a given.

That’s how Price had gotten to know you. You lived in the apartment across the hall from him, and the first moment you smiled at him, John was a goner.

You introduced yourself with a smile, your pretty little hand extended out towards him. He’d stood there, wishing he hadn’t worn his ratty sweatshirt with his old football team logo in fading letters. You looked gorgeous, hair framing your face, slightly out of breath from lugging in your things.

He’d stumbled in his mind until he finally remembered proper social protocol. “Price…Captain John.” He cleared his throat. “Captain John Price.”

Your mouth formed an ‘o’, you were visibly intrigued.“Captain? You’re in the military.”

“Yes.”

“Well…thank you for your service.”

Normally, John didn’t react to that line as expected. He’d heard it enough times to wish he had a pound for every time, but that was about it. He didn’t do his job for thanks, and sometimes felt they shouldn’t be for him anyways.

Coming from you however, it was different. He had the reaction he knew most people wanted. He knew from the heat in his cheeks and the tips of his ears, they were red.

Your fiancé, who’d appeared in the doorway behind you, stole his chance to answer.

“Yeah, thanks or whatever. (Y/N), come in here and figure out where you want your hair crap to go. I’m just going to toss it anywhere in a moment.”

“Oh, you could’ve just put it under the sink.”

“You should be getting ready anyways, we have a dinner engagement.” He adjusted his shirt cuffs, eyeing John like he was picturing ways he could kill him.

John wanted to see him try just one.

“Bye John,” you gave a wave, a soft smile on your lips. “I’ll see you.”

You disappeared inside, leaving the two men in a stare down. There was a silent conversation at play, what your fiancé wanted to say was stated without a word. How much John cared about that was conveyed in the same manner.

Your fiancé broke first, slamming the door behind him.

“We’ll see if I’ll stay away.” He muttered, going into his own place.

Over that first month, you two got to know each other well. Your fiance was often at work, and you turned to John with your questions as you tried to settle into your new home. You had no one else there, and even though John had planned to decompress in complete isolation, he couldn’t do that to you. Didn’t have a part of his being that wanted to.

However, as John got to know you, he got to know your fiance too. Enough to know if he was ever going to murder someone outside of work, it’d be him.

It started with small things like what takeout you should go for, or which grocery store did he use? It seemed your fiance was useless.

One day, you needed help putting together your beauty table. You’d come to John, clearly embarrassed, and something told him you’d debated on asking him for a while. Your fiance refused, because you hadn’t paid attention when you were checking out, and didn’t select the construction help option.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me love. You mean to tell me that he never made a mistake?” John was already coming out of his apartment, ready to help.

“It’s stupid, but I don’t feel like arguing with him over it. We’re in an ok place right now.” you laughed awkwardly, leading him inside.

“Ok probably isn’t a place you want to be when you’re headed for the church.” it came out of his mouth before he could think about how it wasn’t his place.

He was so used to being blunt, and dealing out cold, hard facts or opinions. It always took him a minute to readjust to what was appropriate, but by then he was back on duty.

You looked stunned, clearly not expecting that from him. Your arms crossed defensively, giving him a side glance while you mulled over responding.

He meant what he said, but he never would’ve delivered it to you that way, or at all, if he had thought two seconds more.

“‘M sorry. It’s really not my place is it?” he gestured to the back of the apartment. “Where do you need me?”

There were many more opportunities to spend time with you, and with them, opportunities to point out the toxicity he was seeing. It wasn’t in John’s nature to ignore obvious problems, he got paid to do the opposite. He had to resign himself every time so he didn’t upset you.

With every time he gave you directions, or answered a local cultural difference that confused you, you two lingered in each other’s presence a little longer. He wasn’t going to spoil that.

Your requests started to leave the territory of furniture building and directions, and started to cross more into trying a new recipe, and how you could do better at fitting into your new home. Your conversations started to get deeper, more information about each other being shared.

There were times where you dropped off food, having made too much, or your fiance didn’t want what you cooked. John loved your cooking as it was, he normally lived off whatever he could grab and nuke, but he threw in extra enthusiasm for spite and your pretty smile.

Sometimes John found reasons to come over to your place.

“Share a cake love? Don’t get excited, I picked it up at the shops.” “Just bringing back your bowl.” “I can take a look at that window if maintenance is still laying about.”

And without fail, you made him stay every time. You got lonely, and you still knew very few people in the area outside of him. Your fiance didn’t seem to care, he felt he’d set you up with plenty of friends in his circle. John called them posh knobheads, and you couldn’t agree more. You had nothing in common with them, and you always wound up back with John to vent.

He found it easier to talk to you than he had anybody else, and from the never ending conversation between you two, he guessed you felt the same. The topic of the nature of your relationship was verboten, but that was fine by him. By that point, he was more interested in making you forget you even had a fiance. He really hadn’t even made an effort to do it, it just tilted that way, and he leaned into it.

You weren’t exactly stopping his flirtatious comments, in fact, you seemed to light up in ways he hadn’t seen until then.

Then came the outings. As your fiance got more negligent, you got bolder. It started with you taking a chance to invite John to a movie when you two bumped into each other in the mailroom. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to the cinema, and he couldn’t say what was playing if someone held a gun to his head, but ‘don’t see why not’ fell out of his mouth with no resistance.

Then it was shopping together, or you dragging him to a museum and him bullshitting his art knowledge to make you laugh. He didn’t normally spend his time off being this active socially. He decompressed, and prepared for the next assignment. Maybe he’d meet a woman at a pub and bang out some release before getting back into formation.

He’d wondered if he would regret doing things differently on his next deployment, but that stopped the first time someone mistook the two of you for a couple. That alone would’ve been enough for him to keep his delusions (that he definitely did not have) going, but it was the fact that you didn’t correct them. It happened again, and if he thought he imagined things, he hadn’t. You never corrected the person, just gave a coy smile and accepted the compliment.

Well if you didn’t, he certainly wasn’t going to.

The final time that John could say he only found you attractive, instead of wanting you completely, you’d come to him to ask him if he could drive you to a little farmer’s market outside of the city. Things hadn’t been going well with you and your fiance.

You didn’t have to tell John, he could attest to that himself. He’d heard your arguments in his place, and between the noise level, and trying to make sure it didn't go to a place where you weren’t safe, he wasn’t getting much sleep.

Your plan was to cook your fiance a favorite meal from his childhood, using nothing but farm fresh ingredients. You figured that all you needed to get things on track was a quiet night in, focused on reminding each other why you were engaged. John nearly bit through his tongue to keep himself from bringing up the fact that it seemed the workload on maintaining the relationship fell solely on your shoulders.

Instead, he shoved his bucket hat on his head, and lied about needing to head out that way anyways.

The car ride started out quiet on his part, with you filling in the conversation. Price may have flexed his fingertips in jealousy more times than he could count, but you were so goddamn beautiful when you were excited. It almost hurt to look at you head on, so he gave you side glances to show he was listening.

At the market, your excitement didn’t die down. In fact, it turned into infectious playfulness. You two teased each other, engaged in playful scams to get more samples, and dared each other to come up with crazier and crazier stories about yourselves for the owner of each stall you visited.

Price would die twice before he admitted that he imagined you were on a date a couple times during the day. You never brought your fiance up, and he had to remind you to check your grocery list more than once.

It was late afternoon when you returned to the car, laden with goodies and constructing inside jokes. John was enjoying his time with you so much, he almost forgot he had to tell you he was shipping out the following week. He didn’t know if you’d care so much as to need an announcement in advance, but he felt he should.

He was worried about you, and he would think of you wherever he was bound to wind up, hoping you’d come to your senses and leave the garbage behind. Of course, he’d miss you…and he certainly wasn’t under any delusion that when you’d taken out the trash, maybe you’d consider him.

“Why’re you so quiet?” you’d squeezed his bicep to get his attention, and he instinctively pushed his arm into your hands, encouraging the touch.

It was quiet for a moment, before you slowly uncurled your fingertips, and placed your hands in your lap. His face flooded with embarrassed warmth.

Had he gone too far by leaning into the physical?

Price white-knuckle-gripped the steering wheel, swallowing down what he thought was a rejection he had no right to be hurt about, and cleared his throat. “Right. I’m heading out next week, and it won’t be short. Just thought you should know.”

Whatever reaction he expected from you, it wasn’t the one you gave.

“What?” You placed a hand on your chest, and then rolled your eyes. “Well that’s great.”

John gave you a bewildered expression, and it must've shown, because you quickly straightened up and faced forward.

“I don’t know about great, but it is my job. The one I was quite clear about when we first met.”

“Pull over.” you said so quickly, he wasn’t even sure you’d heard his response.

“What? Why? Are you feeling il-”

“No..just..please.” you gestured to the side of the road.

He obliged, brows drawn tight and carrying all of his questions. “Your boy is going to be home soon, and we still have a bit of a drive ahead of us. What-”

“I wanted to come here because of you.” you breathed out, still facing forward, your posture almost impossibly rigid.

“Me? You’re not making much sense (Y/N).”

You huffed, and when you turned to him, your expression took his breath away. In that moment he could read every thought you were thinking, and it would’ve bowled him over if he wasn’t sitting.

He felt electricity beneath his skin, the feeling he got any time he was about to do something drastic and dangerous.

It was the little hidden thing in your eyes that he couldn’t place that gave him pause.

“I came here, because I wanted to get away with you for today. I needed to.” you turned your whole body to him. “I don’t give a fuck about fresh ingredients for him, he probably won’t eat it anyways.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “We agreed to start over. And I’m going to try, I really am, but…I still can’t stop feeling need.”

In the looming silence, all John could do was scratch his beard, and try not to look as stupid as he was sure he did. He knew what you were saying, what you were toeing at, but surely you were just venting. You couldn’t-

“S’not right love.” Now it was his turn to look ahead. “Not for him, fuck him. For you. You’re upset and you’re scared, and you're raw.”

“And I need this.” you breathed. “If you’re trying to protect me, stop. If you don’t want me in that way..ok, I’m a big gi-”

“Oooh,” his voice came from deep in his chest, baritone thrumming through the car. “That’s not it. I promise you, that’s.not.it.”

Your fingertips gently pulled his face in your direction. “You’re leaving me…and when you get back things are going to have to be different.”

There it was. John swallowed, hard.

“I’m being selfish, but..I thought I’d have a little more time with you before..” Your eyes watered. “It’d be one thing if you really were just my friend, but that’s not right is it?”

John wiped at your eyes with his thumb before cupping his cheek in his hand. “No, it’s not.”

“Just one time.”

It was a struggle to say no to you, and that didn’t stop now. He pulled your mouth to his, hands gripping your shoulders in a subconscious effort to prove this was happening. You were in front of him, kissing him back as hard as he was kissing you.

He unbuckled you, and pulled you into his lap, sliding the seat back.

“I’m gonna miss you.” you were crying now, and neither one of you did anything about the tears.

His hands cupped the back of your head, fingers gently threading through your hair. “Oh, sweet girl. Why didn’t you meet me sooner?”

What transpired after was the most bittersweet moment he could recall. He had heartbreaks and troubled relationships before, but he’d never had to have a breakup with a woman he wasn’t sure he’d been seeing in the first place, but knew that he loved.

He took you twice in his car, before finally, the two of you could no longer ignore the setting sun and had to return home.

John remembered why he preferred to take a girl somewhere quickly, and then spend the rest of his leave in solitude, occasionally seeing a trusted friend. It wasn’t as fulfilling as what he had with you, but it didn’t hurt this deeply either.

He sat in his apartment for hours after he watched you disappear into your own. He didn’t even bother turning on a light when it got too dark, he just sat there, continuing to contemplate how things had gotten to be such a mess. How could he continue to pride himself on being the logical leader he thought he was, when he’d made such a mess of himself so quickly?

How was he supposed to forget you? How was he supposed to forget that he loved you, and that you loved him with another man’s ring on your finger?

The thought of seeing you, carrying your fiance’s child, and looking miserable during what should’ve been one of the happiest times of your life made Price leap from the couch. That familiar electricity raising every hair on his person to a point.

He didn’t know what he was doing, or what he was going to say, but he was moving like he’d planned it for months.

When he stepped into the hall, he paused.

You were sitting on the plush hall couch, eyes puffy, with a death grip on a pyrex dish. Your hair was perfectly styled, and you were wearing a low-cut silken dress that made him want to fall to his knees now that he knew what lay beneath. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, trying to curb your sniffles.

“I was right, he wouldn’t eat it. He got mad and left.”

“You should’ve made him wear it instead.” John’s fist clenched at his side, itching to do what he wanted from the moment he first saw him get short with you.

You shook your head, rising to your feet. “I don’t blame him this time. I didn’t make it for him, anymore than I shopped for it with him in mind, and I told him so.”

You held up the dish, and John saw it was his favorite. His idea of a perfect Sunday roast in one pot. Your meaning was clear.

“I just kept thinking, it shouldn’t be this hard. I mean, it shouldn’t be, right?” you stepped forward.

“No, it shouldn’t be.” He also took a step forward.

“It’s not that way with you.” Another step.

“I would hope not.” he also took another step

You stopped when all that separated the two of you was the dish.

“So this belongs to me then?” he was staring at the dish, but his hands gently grasped your wrists.

You, however, were looking directly at him when you breathed out. “Yes.”

#141 x reader #cod #call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john price #reader insert #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #Soap #soap x reader #tf 141 x reader #fem reader

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panchicha · 1 year

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Messi

#Messi #street art #mural #argentina #buenos aires #casa #House #futbol #soccer #calcio #futbolista

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heyimkana · 7 months

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24 Hours with You (Satoru Ver.) - Ep. 2

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: The second episode of a mini-series where you’ll live through the hours you spend together with your husband, Gojo Satoru. Pairings: Gojo Satoru x Female Reader Genre: Domestic AU, Fluff, Romance, Humor Word Count: 9K Warnings: no plot, just a compilation of fluffy scenes that you share with your whipped, super annoying husband, Satoru. there's a bit of a smutty scene but it's not explicitly written.

Episode 2: Daylight

07.04 AM

The morning sunray seeps through your windows, kissing your skin with familiar warmth. The red roses Satoru bought you yesterday greet you with their sweet scent as they sit prettily in a glass vase that glimmers like crystal underneath the light. You take a quick scan around, expecting the worst but surprisingly, besides the bedroom, your place is still recognizable despite the drunk antics that you and your husband did last night after finishing a whole bottle of wine to yourselves.

Your work doesn’t start until nine, and although usually, you would leave at 8.15 to avoid the risk of turning up late, after noticing what day it is, you reckon that traffic won’t be so bad. Plus, your home is only around ten minutes away from your office anyway. It’s the main reason why Satoru insisted on buying this condominium in the first place—to give you more time to yourself (and for him to cuddle with you on the sofa because you always look so snuggly in the morning). Maybe you can take it easy today. Brushing your teeth and changing your nightgown into an oversized hoodie (Satoru’s) and a pair of comfy sweatpants, you get yourself to work.

Among the clutters on the floor are your cocktail dress and Satoru’s expensive suit and tie, scattered all over the carpet, giving you a quick flashback of what happened after you arrived home from the fancy restaurant he took you last night. The exchange of heavy, scorching kisses in the elevator… Your spine pressed flat against the wall with his head between your thighs the second the front door was shut close… A bottle of red wine tasted directly from each other’s tongue… And…

You glance down at your hands, feeling heat flaring in your cheeks as your eyes land on the thin, but quite noticeable, purple bruises that circle your wrists like dark bracelets.

Last night was… wild.

“God, we’re not young anymore,” you mumble to yourself, shamefaced, as you head toward the kitchen. There are empty plates and half-filled glasses left abandoned on the aisle, and a pizza box that you ordered at two in the morning for an emergency snack (Satoru always gets hungry after sex), but it will only take you a few minutes to clean everything up, so everything’s fine.

Today’s start isn’t so bad.

The condo that you and Satoru bought together felt too spacious and grand at first. The neat white walls somehow screamed lonely, desperate for human touch. But after living here for three years, three whole years of a happy marriage with occasional fights that never lasted a night, it felt truly like home—the kind that you’ve never had the joy to experience before.

Silly Polaroid photos of the two of you are plastered all over the fridge. A collection of your favorite novels sits on the bookcase among healthy pileas that tumble elegantly over the shelves. Satoru’s favorite Hatsune Miku figures are there too, despite your constant begging to just throw them away, but that’s marriage, isn’t it? You just have to compromise on every single thing. Even when the color of Hatsune’s stupid hair—why does it have to be turquoise of all shades?—ruins your aesthetic.

A huge, beautiful mural showcasing the map of the world can be found painted on one side of the wall. In some countries, there are words written by colorful markers, telling a story of the memorable journeys you’ve had together. Satoru’s messy handwriting used to be there but you scrapped them all because drawing a bunch of arrows pointing at different cities and writing down the words “We did it here” or “We also did it here” and “We toooootally did it here” with wink faces on the sidedon’t exactly seem appropriate, especially since Megumi’s son often comes by to visit his favorite uncle. (The word ‘favorite’ here is self-proclaimed. Megumi never said that. His son also never said that. Satoru is just delusional.)

You catch a whiff of your husband’s perfume, still somewhat lingering close, a sweet reminder of your chaotic days in high school and the moment your romance bloomed during your college days. Oh, also, coffee. You’re gonna need a lot of that if you want to get through all of your work meetings today. The smell of freshly brewed coffee is one of your favorite scents in the world and you smile to yourself as you pour it into your mug.

“Someone looks happy,” Satoru sniffles as he places his chin on your shoulder, long arms winding themselves around the dip of your waist. And cuddly, he adds in his head. Though he always finds himself swooning seeing you in your cocktail dress or work attire, he adores this look the most. Messy bun, bare face with acne patches on your chin and nose, his hoodie covering your body to the middle of your thighs. You're precious.

He won’t say this to you though, not today.

“Someone sounds a bit grumpy.” You tilt your head just enough to peck him on the cheek. “Took you long enough to finish.”

“Well, it would’ve only taken me ten minutes if somebody was kind enough to lend me a hand.”

“What, your two hands aren’t enough?”

“They don’t feel as good as yours.” He’s pouting. Even if you can’t see it, you can tell he is. “I didn’t finish, by the way. Thank you for asking.”

A chuckle escapes you. “Honey, you finished, like, four times last night.”

“You’re missing the point,” he sighs. “I don’t think I’ve told you this but…” He turns your body around, making you face him with your cup between your hands and your back leaning against the kitchen counter. He’s still in his boxer shorts, you notice, but he’s made the effort of throwing on a green pastel shirt, hanging loose on his body and unbuttoned to his chest. Satoru rests his palms on the surface, trapping you between his arms. “I think I’m getting so dependent on you now that I can’t even cum on my own.”

“You can’t do anything without me these days, actually,” you comment, running your mouth without realizing that he’s desperate for your sympathy. He gives you a look, staring flatly at you. “And I can’t do anything without you, my love,” you add with a smile, tapping his cheek. “There. Happy now?”

“Wouldn’t kill you to say it once in a while,” he answers, and you roll your eyes. “I’m just saying, I used to do it so easily, you know? I didn’t even need to look at actual porn to jerk off. I was so in control of my body. Just had to picture you naked on your knees with my di—”

“Careful.”

He cuts himself short. “—and I’d be done in, like, two minutes.”

“I see. And here I thought today was going to be boring,” you reply, sarcasm running thick in each word.

“But these days…” His eyes droop. “It hasn’t been that easy. Sometimes I couldn’t even, umm… get it hard,” he admits, blushing. It’s a bit of a confession that he’s been trying to keep to himself for a while.

“What, really? Like, at all?”

He sheepishly nods. “There’s this one time when you were away on a business trip and it had been so long since we had sex so I wanna… You know…”

“Play with your carrot?” You suggest, taking a sip of your coffee. “Rub the eggplant? Stroke the banana?”

There’s a momentary silence where he just looks at you, unamused.

You, also, stay hushed.

Then, “Caress the fresh zucchini—”

“I think that’s enough, babe.”

“Oh, so when I say it, you don’t like it. But when you say it—”

“You’re not saying it at the right time—You know what? Forget it.” Satoru pushes himself away from the counter, fuming and you laugh.

Catching him by the wrist, you whirl him back to you. “I’m sorry. You’re just so cute. I think this is the first time I’ve seen you act like this.”

“Can you be serious, please? This is actually very important to me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You stand on your toes, kissing his pout away. “I’ll pay attention, I promise. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I’m a bit scared,” he says, his shoulders sagging. He looks like a sad puppy. A giant, 193cm tall sad puppy. Even your puppy didn’t look as depressed as him now when she was on the verge of death. “What am I going to do when you’re away for two weeks and I can’t even jerk off once?”

You know you don’t have to jerk off, right? Your mouth is itching to say the words. “Two weeks aren’t even that long.”

“Of course, they are!”

“Okay, so you can’t jerk off for two weeks. What is the big deal—”

“What’s the big deal?!” He gasps, as dramatically as ever, one hand slapped against his chest. “You’re asking me what’s the big deal?! What if this is a sign of early erectile dysfunction?!”

Hereeee we go. “From someone who came four times last night, what are you saying?!”

“Excuse me, are you a doctor?” His voice drops, his face solemn. “Are you an urologist?”

You sigh. “No.”

“Do you have a penis?”

“Satoru—”

“Do you?”

You’re rubbing your head, headaches incoming. “You wouldn’t have married me if I had one now, would you?”

“Not true but okay. Anyway—”

“Wait, hold up, what does that mean—”

“The point is,” he puts pressure on his words, pinching your nose so you’ll stop talking. “No penis, no opinion. Also, multiple studies by Chinese researchers have shown that in order to avoid getting prostate cancer, men should release their sperm around two to four times a week. And—” He holds up a finger in the air, shutting you down before you even begin to open your mouth. “When you orgasm, your brain releases a surge of dopamine, right? I need that, especially when you’re not around to help me manage my stress.”

You press your lips together, as tightly as you can, afraid that you’ll break into another bout of laughter if you don’t. “I see.” It’s so hard to keep your voice away from shaking. He’s so serious, it’s almost out of character for him to be this serious. “So you’re, uhh… You’re stressed, huh?”

“Oh, I am, baby. I’m so stressed out.” He swats his bangs out of his eyes, pushing back his hair. “Look at me. I just woke up and I look like this. You think it’s not stressful to look this handsome every day? I have to work twice as hard as anyone else in my building just to be taken seriously. Especially by the CEO.”

“You mean your daddy.”

“My CEO.”

“Who’s your daddy.” Right after you hear yourself saying the line, you snort, failing to contain your laughter. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I just had a flashback of the time when you said those words to me in bed and—” You wipe a tear away, your body shaking from your titters. “God, that was cringe.”

Satoru narrows his eyes. “So you are laughing at me.”

“Yeah, but not because of the things you’re saying right now.” The more you try to explain, the more he seems insulted. “Sorry. Continue.”

His nose flares. He would’ve been vexed if you didn’t look so adorable holding back your giggles. “All the other workers think I’m not fit to be next in line—to lead the company. They think I get everything I want just because I have a pretty face and I’m his only son.”

Well, I mean, they’re not wrong, you ponder to yourself, though you know if you mention it out loud, he’s going to cry. “They’re jealous of you.”

“And then of course there’s that guy, Kenjaku, who clearly wants to take my place so he’s been trying to get close to my dad,” Satoru clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Can you believe they went golfing together? Gol. Fing. My dad never even let me touch his golf club!”

Oh, he’s ranting. He’s so upset, he’s ranting like a tired housewife and it’s hilarious. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” You spread your arms, offering him a smile. “Do you want a hug?”

“Okay,” he mumbles cutely, moving toward your embrace with his lower lip jutted out. He goes down to his knees, tangles his arms around your waist, and nuzzles his face against your belly.

“I think they just feel intimidated by you.” You land a hand on his head. For some reason, his hair is always extra fluffy in the morning. “Smart, charismatic, and sexy? They don’t stand a chance against my husband.”

Usually, you would have him go back to his feet (figuratively and literally) right away after hearing such words, but Satoru only lets out a small hum—responding but not quite agreeing—as he buries his nose deeper in your fabric. Seems like this one is serious. “Toru, you’ll be okay.”

“I can’t do it without you, babe,” he says, his voice muffled by your hoodie.

“What, getting that promotion without people judging?”

“No. Cumming.”

“Oh, we’re going back to that.” You chortle lightly, stroking his strands. “Okay, listen.” Cupping his cheek, you lift his face to meet your gaze. “You don’t have erectile dysfunction.” You return the small space between you, your lips curving up beautifully as you bend down and give him a light kiss on his forehead. “And next time, I’ll take care of your needs. Promise.” Noticing how his eyes take a quick look at the kitchen counter, you add, “Not right now, Satoru.”

“Meanie.” Your husband groans, playfully biting your hand. “And how are you planning to take care of me the next time we’re separated from each other?”

“I’ll do something to help you, uhh… do whatever it is you need to do.”

His eyes light up. “Will you FaceTime me and give me a strip dance with Closer by Nine Inch Nails playing in the background?”

That’s… oddly specific… “And why does it have to be that song, if I may ask?”

“No reason, really…” He averts his gaze. “Just… You know, it makes me think about you…” He seems a bit shy.

Wait. Shy? Satoru is?

How does the song go again?

You tear down my reason It's your sex I can smell You make me perfect Become somebody else I wanna fuck you like an animal

You send your husband a blank stare. Look at him. This pervert is asking you this while acting like an embarrassed schoolgirl standing in front of her crush. “If it’s not too much to ask,” he says, so cutely as if he was asking you to make him his favorite dish for dinner.

Of course, it’s too much to ask, are you insane? “Or,” you suggest calmly with a forced smile. “We can do slightly more romantic stuff like calling each other on the phone and—”

“DO PHONE SEX?” Stars in his eyes. There are stars in his eyes.

“Uhh…”

“Please say yes, please say yes!”

That isn’t exactly what you have in mind, but can you even decline when he’s like this? Telling him no right now would feel just as awful as when you (because of Satoru, of course) accidentally revealed the truth about Santa to your nephew, giving Megumi a hard time feeding his son who started a hunger strike as he went into depression mode for three days. (This is a horrible comparison, by the way. One child was asking about Santa while this one is asking for the opportunity to whisper “I wanna fuck you like an animal” in your ear when you’re a hundred miles away from home. Two totally different cases, but you know Satoru will behave the same way as your nephew if you reject his wish. Probably even worse.)

With your head throbbing, you murmur, “Maybe just a little…”

“Promise?” He holds up his pinky, grinning from ear to ear.

All that positive energy you had this morning? Drained. “Promise…”

“Yaay~”

As you break into a cold sweat thinking about the unfortunate event that will soon befall you (aka the phone sex), Satoru, is already back to his giddy and frisky self. Well, as long as he’s happy, I guess.

“What are you having?” He asks, jumping back to his feet. “Coffee?”

“Mm. You want some?”

“Nah. I’m craving hot chocolate.” He reaches a hand toward the high drawer to get hold of his favorite mug, looming above you and intentionally knocking his chest against your face as he traps you in between. He giggles when you glare. He’s childish that way.

“How very girly of you.”

“It’s to relieve my stress.” He pokes you in the stomach. “Also, liking hot chocolate doesn’t make me look girly.”

“Sure, but trying on my skirt does.”

“Babe, come on,” Satoru whines, his earlobes turning scarlet. “How many times are you going to hold me on this? I was just messing around!”

“Honey, you were alone in our bedroom, wearing my maxi skirt and checking yourself in the mirror.”

“It was a dare from Suguru.”

“And taking selfies.”

“So I can send some proof to Suguru.”

“Not the point, Satoru.”

“That is the point! Babe, can’t you see? Saying no to the stupid dare would’ve made me seem less manly than he is.”

“So you’d rather put yourself in a skirt?”

“Well, duh!”

You can’t find the logic in his excuse, you really can’t. “In my defense, though,” he adds. “I thought you were gonna be out for a little longer.”

“What would’ve happened if I were? Gonna put on my thong next?”

“No,” he scoffs, trying to regain whatever amount of dignity he has left. “Also, it’s not like you’ve never done something embarrassing before. Remember that time when we went to Megumi’s birthday dinner and you ended up telling his nana a dick joke?”

“That was also you.”

“No, no. I meant, that one with the salaryman meeting a guy in a horse costume—” His realization falls upon him. “Oh my God, it was me.”

You shake your head, amused. “It’s okay.” You turn to face the counter once again, placing your mug on the surface before you reach forward to grab a bit more cream. “After being married to you for three years, the only thing that will surprise me is if you grow another head. Anything else, I can manage.”

“Why does this sound comforting and insulting at the same time?”

“Because it’s both.”

With his lower lip protruding, Satoru hugs you again from behind, his chin settled on the top of your head this time. This is why he claims to be all stressed out whenever you’re away. He’s so keen on physical touch that he can’t bear even a few inches of distance between you when you’re around. He reaches up to open the counter, grabbing a jar filled with cocoa powder. His chest is pressing against your spine, his other arm never leaving your waist. “I think we run out of sugar,” he says. “Wanna drop by the mart after work? I’m gonna have meetings all day today, but I can ditch the dinner party.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Hell no. Suguru’s hosting. He makes the worst parties.”

“Isn’t he the guy who’s rumored to be in love with you? I heard about it from Shoko.”

“Yeah,” Satoru snickers, very childishly. “I was the one who started the rumor by putting a note on his desk that said ‘I wish one day you’ll look at me the way you look at your wife. Your silver hair and pretty blue eyes have captivated me from the moment I laid my eyes on you. I dream of tasting your soft lips every night.’ It was so easy to copy his handwriting, I just couldn’t help it. Yuki found out about it and she started gossiping and by the end of the day, everyone knew. I took the note away before he noticed. Suguru never found out I did that, didn’t even know what was going on. He was so confused when people tried to cheer him up. I saw Choso giving him a pat on his shoulder, saying ‘We all love you for who you are, never change.’ And Suguru was like, ‘Uuuh, thanks, but I don’t want to be a salesman forever.’ And so both of them were confused.”

Your mouth twists into a grimace. “You are evil.”

“I prefer the term genius,” he corrects you, seemingly proud of his deed.

“Also, soft lips?”

“Aren’t they?” He seductively raises an eyebrow. To be fair, yes, they are. Even on the coldest night, they’re still as soft as a butterfly’s wing. He has claimed many times that he only used a lip balm if necessary but you don’t buy it. There must be witchcraft involved. He puckers his lips, ready to kiss you and make you experience the thick jealousy you have of his pretty mouth—because, really, all these lip balms you have and your lips are still chapped during winter. You dodge, pushing your palm against his face instead. The big puppy that he is, he licks it.

“I think I’ll be out of the office around seven today,” he informs as you scrunch up your nose in disgust, wiping his saliva away.

“Okay. Pick me up first?”

“Like you need to ask,” Satoru smiles, granting a cute kiss on your forehead. He dabs his thumb on the corner of your lips, rubbing off a little bit of sugar from the leftover doughnut that you enjoyed with your coffee. He cleans it off his digit with his tongue, randomly ruffling your hair as he makes his way to the living room.

“Oh, wait, almost forgot,” he says, retracing his steps.

“Hmm?”

Satoru snatches a jar from the counter—the one that you just used, filled with cream—and puts it in the highest drawer, the closest one to the ceiling. “Just a little payback,” he sniggers. “For giving me blue balls this morning.”

With him being 193 cm tall, he simply needs to stand on his toes for a little bit to reach it, but you? “I think you’re gonna need a ladder.” His teeth flash in an irritating grin. “Enjoy your creamless coffee for the next few weeks, Sweetcheeks—OUCH—BABY, THAT’S MY KNEE!”

“Grab the jar.”

“Fine.” He retrieves it with a grumble, handing it back to you. “But I’m reporting you for domestic abuse.”

You raise your wrist, showing the actual bruises he left on your skin. “I’ll see you at court then.”

“Babeeeeeee~”

***

07.21 AM

“Satoru.”

Your dear husband has been lying down on the couch for the past ten minutes, a head of velvety hair—which somehow still smells pleasantly like your favorite shampoo—resting on your lap. With a pair of round glasses perched on his nose, he turns deaf ears to everything that’s going on, focusing on nothing but moving his thumbs to win the next round of Momotetsu. As his eyebrows wrinkle in deep concentration, Satoru punches the buttons on his Nintendo Switch, glaring at the screen and swearing under his breath.

“Satoru.”

“Wait, babe, I just need to choose this card and—NOOOOOOOO!” He launches himself forward, sitting up with his mouth gaping, his eyes shaking in horror. “Did I just—yep, lost a million yen. Fuck this game. A Martha card?! A fucking Martha card?! Oh, I’m gonna—” He slams his console against the cushion. Repeatedly. He’s 29, and he throws a bigger tantrum than Megumi’s three-year-old son.

“Watch your blood pressure, Honey.”

“Who even invented this game?! Stupid as shit. Babe, do me a favor and don’t ever let me play—” His phone rings before he can finish. Throwing one glance at his screen, Satoru mutters, “Oh, great. Here we go.”

The name Dumbass Monk is written on his phone. You wonder who it is.

Satoru answers through gritted teeth. “Fuck you, Suguru.”

Ah, yes, of course.

“No, how the fuck should I know that the card was gonna choose me?!” he barks, his voice bouncing off the walls. “I wanted it to choose you—oh fuck off, asshole, you’re broke as hell, you smell like wet socks, and your wife hates you. Wait, what was that?” He suddenly switches his voice, doing his best impersonation of a nosy old lady talking about the latest gossip. “You don’t have a wife? Not even a girlfriend?” He maniacally cackles. “I don’t know, man, I don’t think I’m the loser here. Unlike you, I’ve got a super hot wife who loves me unconditionally.”

You flip a page of the book you have sitting on your lap. “Only ‘cause you’re rich.”

“And—” Satoru continues yapping on his phone but he makes sure to poke you on your side for your unnecessary comment. “She’s not just hot. She’s a complete package. She smells like daffodils, she makes me breakfast every morning and she looks so fucking gorgeous when she fucks—”

You slap a pillow against his head.

“—feeds me cookies,” Satoru finishes lamely, wincing, one hand raised in the air as a form of surrender before he takes another hit. “No, I’m not gonna pay you, idiot, you won purely by luck!” He then gasps, his jaw dropping low. “Did you just call me a monkey? Oh, that’s it—”

Satoru is on his feet, shouting, growling, fingers jabbing and clenching as his mouth runs wild. You can somewhat hear the other man’s voice, giving you enough idea of what they’re arguing about although you can’t make out every word. Suguru’s tone is always soft and melodious when he speaks, but his insults are truly on another level. Chuckling to yourself at the strings of expletives that tumble out of their mouths, you watch your husband yell until blood pools on his face, “Fine! Don’t come crying to me when you have erectile dysfunction, which, based on all the non-existent sex you’ve been having, I know you will! Good day!” Suguru is still calling him names when Satoru ends the call with, “I SAID GOOD DAY!”

You flip another page of the novel you've been trying—and failing due to someone’s endless shouting—to immerse yourself in. “Seems like you two are close.”

“Oh, he can die, I don’t care.” Angrily, he tosses his device away, landing his head back on your lap with the loudest groan he can muster. “Whatever. I’m still a better player than he is.”

“Of course, you are, honey,” you respond, your hand naturally falls back to his hair, caressing it like you’re stroking a cat’s fur.

It only takes a few seconds before your husband stops shaking in vexation, even looking a bit sleepy from your comforting touches. “Were you talking to me before?”

“Mm. There’s something I wanted to ask you.” Placing a bookmark in between the pages, you close your book and set it down on the coffee table next to you. “About before, when you told me about your co-workers. How did you know that they’ve been thinking about you that way?”

He blinks, not expecting you to return to your previous conversation. “Aaaw, honey, are you worried about me?” From wishing someone to suffer crucially from impotence to wiggling in joy like a thirteen-year-old girl at the slightest sign of affection, your husband really does have an emotional range of a teaspoon.

“Of course, I do. You’re my husband.”

His mouth curves upside-down, his eyes glimmering, “Babeee, that’s so sweeeet.”

Though you're not so sure why he’s so happy when you just stated a fact, you let him be. “So what happened?”

“I heard them chatting when I passed by the smoking room one afternoon. I don’t smoke—you know I quit a long time ago—so I didn’t know they were ganging up on me and talking shit about me behind my back. Isn’t it gross for a bunch of thirty-year-old men to gossip?” His face scrunches up in disgust. He, the same man who spent two hours on the phone talking to the Dumbass Monk about the recently hired secretary, Maki Zenin (who’s apparently so strict and vicious that, in Satoru’s words, “Almost made me cry in fear when I arrived late at my lunch meeting last week.”), actually had the audacity to ask that question.

"What did they say?” You ask him.

“They said if it wasn’t because of my family name, I would’ve never gotten promoted to C-level.”

“But that’s not true!”You catch him off guard with your sudden fervor after spending the last conversation acting so dull. “I’ve seen how much you worked for this! Satoru, you earned that position fair and square!” Your husband might act frivolous almost every hour of the day, but there were times that he missed his sleep trying to come up with a new marketing strategy to promote their upcoming products. There were hours spent with him taking one conference call after another with his clients, even at two in the morning from the comfort of your living room due to the difference in their time zones. He’s the CEO’s son, true, but he worked just as hard, if not more, as everyone else in the company.

The more it sinks into your brain, the more irked you become. “Who said this?” You snap. “Huh? Who talked shit about you behind your back? I want names.”

Satoru lets out a chuckle, his eyes thinning into a line. It’s been a while since he last saw you being this protective of him. It reminds him of the old days in high school when you, despite acknowledging yourself as being his archenemy, were always quick to defend him when someone threw shade at him. “Honey, relax—”

“Was it Naoya? Or was it Toji? It was Toji, wasn’t it? Oh, that bitch—”

“It wasn’t Toji,” Satoru says, holding you by the hand in a futile attempt to calm you down. “Though you could still punch him if you want.”

“Why, did he do something to you?”

“I just hate his face.”

That’s very Satoru behavior of him that you don’t even bother to comment. “Nobody talks shit about my husband. If they think you get things done easy for you, it’s because you’re so smart, you make things look easy.”

He sits up, turning around to face you with warm, round eyes. “You think I’m smart?”

“Are you kidding me? You’re the smartest man I know.” You give him a light punch on his chest. “If I were your dad, I would’ve still given you that promotion, regardless of our relationship. You’re just that good at your job.”

“That’s…” He swallows. “This is the first time you’ve complimented me like this.” It’s a surprise to him, a very pleasant one, causing contentment to fill his heart.

You feel awful once you notice that even though you constantly thought of him this way, you never spoke your appreciation out loud. “Satoru, I’ve always admired you.” You rest your fingers on his knuckles, apologizing. “I know you complain about having to wake up early to go to work every morning, but despite your flippant attitude, you bear a deep sense of responsibility. You always manage to surpass people’s expectations—surpass mine and I already thought highly of you.” You give him a squeeze, smiling more with your eyes than your lips. “You make me proud. Every day you make me proud.”

Satoru mirrors your expression, a soft blush painting his cheeks as his joy engulfs him whole. He wraps his arms around you, sinking his nose in your hair as he pulls you close. “You’re not throwing compliments at me just to cheer me up, are you?” He whispers and it’s only during times like this that he lets his vulnerability show. Satoru always shines like the brightest star, his eyes brimming with confidence, but there’s still a part of him—part that he conceals from everyone else except you—that needs to be consoled. He’s still a little boy who wishes for a gentle pat on the head and you always give the warmest one.

“I’m not complimenting you, I’m telling the truth. But yes, I am trying to cheer you up.” You return his embrace, your hand sliding up and down his back. “I wouldn’t have said this if you were okay ‘cause I know it’s gonna boost up your ego even more. You’re already annoying the way you are, so…”

He titters. “Can we stick to you being nice to me?”

You echo the noises he made, returning the space between you just wide enough to kiss his cheek. You cup his face with your fingers, your thumb caressing his cheekbone. “I’m sorry people said mean stuff about you… Are you okay?”

“I am now.” His smile is softer than the clouds. He leans close, cutely nuzzles the tip of his nose against yours. “This is why I need you in my life. You act aloof around me but you always think about me more than you think about yourself. You pretend to be ignorant, but you never fail to notice all these efforts I made. You care about me more than anyone else.”

Watching him put your feelings into words makes you feel flustered but you don't deny it. Not when he speaks only the truth. “I can also kick everyone’s butt for you.”

“As someone who has witnessed your heroic tales in high school, yes, you can, one hundred percent.” You feel his smile forming on your skin as he kisses your temple. “But just having you around me right now is enough. And it’s fine. I don’t care what anyone else thinks about me, at least not anymore. As long as you’re proud of me.”

“I am,” you say without missing a beat. “I’m proud of you, Toru.”

He takes away your hand that’s been warming his face, kissing your wrist while he maintains eye contact with you. “That’s all that matters to me.”

Your stomach swirls at the intensity of his gaze, his voice—just above a whisper—bears the same kind of tenderness and affection he portrayed on the day he asked you to marry him. His lips rub against your veins, the softest kiss against the softest skin. Your hand seems tiny in his grip but it’s a perfect fit. Every part of you is when it comes to him.

“So, uhh…” You clear your throat. “What are you going to do now?”

“I guess I’ll just have to keep doing my best so I can prove them wrong.” His grin returns. “I’ll make my wife feel even prouder of me.”

He replies to your little chuckles with a kiss, light but sweet. Despite your heart wanting more of his touch, of the heat of his lips against your own, you focus on the matter. “Why have you never told me about this before?”

“Because I never cared about it too much,” he replies with a shrug. “Work only feels overwhelming when you’re not around. When you’re with me, no matter how stressful my workplace is, I’ll feel at ease instantly.” He lays his forehead on your shoulder, rubbing his face against the fabric. “So, don’t leave me, okay? If I have to go out of town, I’ll have you hide inside my suitcase so I can carry you around.”

You chortle lightly. “And if I have to go?”

“Well…” He pulls away, his eyes fixated on the shape of your lips as he caresses them with his thumb. He looks back at you, his fingertips resting on your nape, holding you still. You find your breathing stalled as his own fanned your lips. “I guess I’ll just have to convince you to stay.”

And when he kisses you again, you know that he doesn’t mean with his words.

***

07.34 AM

“Bunny!” Satoru calls from the bathroom, his voice reverberating loudly through the hall. “Baby, come over here!”

Standing in your apron with your hands moving to fetch your chopped onions from your kitchen aisle, you try your best to focus on your cooking while answering him at the same time. “For the last time, Satoru, I’m not interested in taking a shower together with you!” You sprinkle some pepper into the dish, wiping your sweat away from your temple with the back of your hand. You take a glance at the digital clock nearby. “Not when we have to leave in an hour!”

“But I’ll let you shape my hair!”

“Not interested!”

“I’ll even let you give me a mohawk!”

“Not intere—oh shit—” It’s a given, really, that you’d accidentally pour too much salt into your cream soup from all this diversion. Taking a deep breath, you start to glare at your ceiling as you chant don’t get angry, don’t get angry inside your head. This is the reason why you try to keep him off the kitchen floor as far away as possible whenever you’re making food but even when he’s meters away from you, he still manages to annoy you somehow.

“Babe, I couldn’t hear you. Was that a yes?”

“NO!”

***

07.41 AM

“Oooh~ Something smells good~” Satoru chirps, popping back into the living room with a toothy grin and a white towel wrapped around his hips. It’s hanging low on his body, showcasing very distracting V-lines that you (secretly) adore. You look away. No good can come from staring at your husband’s lean, perfectly shaped stomach at this time of the day.

But then you catch a glimpse of the scratch marks you left on his back from last night, your face aflame since you can barely remember how hard you dug your nails into his skin. Satoru always likes it when you’re not careful with him—just like how you love it when he’s rough with you—but were you really that… desperate to keep him close, clutching onto him like that?

You shake your thoughts away. “Dry your hair properly,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the plates you’re currently setting on the dining table. “I just mopped the floor.”

“Okay, Mom.” Dabbing a smaller towel against his hair, Satoru walks closer to your spot and pulls back a chair.

You eye him cautiously. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a seat, what do you think I’m doing?”

“You’re not gonna wear your clothes first?”

“Do I have to?” He takes a sip of your half-finished coffee, smacking his lips before he throws a naughty grin. “I mean, I fucked you right here last night. Surely you won’t mind eating breakfast with me only in my towel?” Before you can say a word—and you have lots to say—Satoru adds, “I’m just giving you a chance to ogle at my body as much as you want as you enjoy your food. I know you’re too embarrassed to ask, so you’re welcome. And if you’re willing to take a day off, I can be your dessert too.”

You make a face. “Gross.”

“And yet, you don’t deny the fact that you’re planning to stare.” Peering into your eyes, he places his chin on his hand, resting his elbow on the table. The haughty look he displays on his face is supposed to irritate you, but what it does is make your heart pound harder. “You’ve seen and touched these babies for years, and you still can’t get enough? Babe, come on.”

“You seriously calling your abs your babies?”

“Yep.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “But if you play nice, I’ll let you call them—”

“Just eat your breakfast.”

***

07.46 AM

“Babe?”

“What?”

“I have something to say but promise me you won’t kill me after I said it.”

“Okay…” You look up from your plate, feeling a bit concerned. “What is it?”

Satoru has never looked this serious in his entire life (because face it, Satoru and the word serious don’t really belong together now, do they?).

Taking hold of your hand, he gently squeezes it, providing the comfort that you might need.

“This soup is salty as hell.”

***

07.58 AM

With the taste of salt still lingering thickly on his tongue (and a bump on his head, a masterpiece done by your fist), Satoru steps inside the bedroom with a yawn, his fingers scratching his undercut. He unwraps the towel from his waist, tossing it onto the sheets without care.

Your husband smiles the second he notices the way you’ve prepared his clothes so neatly on the desk, all the way from his tie, his belt even down to his socks. His dress pants are ironed to a crisp seam, and his phone is fully charged (after being married to him for three years, you’ve learned all of his little habits). You’ve selected a matching dark tie to go with his suit, one that he recalled was given to him as a gift during last year’s anniversary. He loves it. He loves how you always buy the things he needs instead of what he wants, even when he, himself, didn’t realize how essential they were. But what makes him the happiest is when he sees the way it makes you smile so warmly every time he wears it, like a painter landing a final stroke on her masterpiece. For someone who doesn’t speak romantic words so often, your little gesture never fails to portray what’s on your mind. You love him and it shows.

“I’m being spoiled, huh?” Satoru mumbles to himself, nothing but elation in his chest. He spots the little notes you left him on the same table, your handwriting scribbled on a piece of paper. “Ooooh~ A love note?”

Dear husband, If you leave your wet towel on the bed again I’ll kill you.

“Not a love note.” Wincing, he immediately retrieves the towel from the bed, his mind playing a traumatic flashback of you scolding him about it for two hours straight (because suddenly it wasn’t just about the wet towel, was it? The forgotten toilet seat. The countless jackets hanging on the coat rack because he kept grabbing a new one. The pile of hentai doujinshi piling up on the coffee table. All of them.)

With the thought of skipping today’s work lingering in his head, Satoru forces himself to dress. As he turns around to face the mirror, he captures a brief look at the kiss marks blooming on his neck, ones that you painted on him last night. They’re faint because, unlike someone in this condo, you make sure to always be considerate of his appearance (though Satoru wishes you weren’t), but even the lightest shade of red seems vibrant on his fair skin.

Although he acts nonchalant most of the time, your husband is quite the possessive type, so it’s a given that he likes the idea of having his marks on you. He gets a kick out of watching you struggle to hide the love bites he left on your neck, even more so when someone notices it. But, of course, nothing beats the feeling of having your marks on him. If you allowed him to, he would’ve worn every bite and bruise like a medal. Proudly. Contentedly. The same way he exhibited every present you’ve given him. Satoru just loves the idea of having a wife—of having you as his wife—and he would showcase that to the world in every second of his life if he could.

He traces the bruises with his fingertips, drowning himself in the thoughts of you gasping against his ear, your teeth grinding against his neck as he pushed your knees further against your stomach with every thrust of his hips. He wasn’t lying when he said you looked absolutely gorgeous during sex. The way you parted your lips. The way your eyebrows stitched together in pleasure. The little noises you made when you breathed out his name as you bounced on his lap—

Satoru looks down. There it is again, the ache between his legs. Funny how you’re already so distracting even without doing anything—or being in the same room for that matter. Sighing, he grouses, “Guess she’s right. No signs of erectile dysfunction.” Willing his indecent thoughts to go away, he tucks his hands into the sleeves, buttoning up his shirt before he circles his tie around his neck.

“Satoru!” He hears your voice resonating from the bathroom. “Toru, can you come here for a sec? I need your help!”

“Oh, now she’s calling me to have sex with her.” He rolls his eyes. “After I finish taking a shower. So much for playing hard to get,” he scoffs. It’s ironic that he says this because right now he’s the one who’sacting that way. With giddy hands, he unfastens his tie, rushing to take off his pants again and almost tripping on his way out. He dashes toward the bathroom, opening the door while he strives to keep his excitement in check.

“WHOA!” You yelp in surprise, your body nude and drenched, hiding behind the door with only your head peeking out. “Why are you naked?!”

He frowns, confused. “Cause we’re about to have sex?”

Now you’re confused. “Uhh, no?”

“Why did you call me then?”

“I forgot my towel.”

“You’re asking me to get you your towel?” He sounds so appalled as if that thought never occurred to him when it’s supposed to be the first thing that should pop out in his head. Before you can respond, however, his mind, delusional as always, answers the question for him. “Oh, I see,” he smirks. “You’re using codes.”

“What?”

“‘I forgot my towel’—isn’t that, like, our code for ‘let’s have sex in the shower?’”

“Satoru.” You hold yourself back from ripping the silver strands out of his head. He’s testing your patience. Again. “We don't have any secret code.”

“We don’t?”

“Nope.”

“Oh…” It almost feels a bit cartoonish the way his shoulders sag upon hearing your words. There he is, a 29-year-old male standing in front of you in all his naked glory, saddened to his core over the fact of not having a cipher for sex. Well, for three seconds anyway. “So… You wanna make this our secret code, effective immediately, or—”

“Get the damn towel.”

With a stomp, Satoru leaves the bathroom only to return with your towel in one hand and his eyes squinting in a glare. Being the brat that he is, instead of handing it directly to you, he lets the thick cloth fall to the floor just a few inches away from where you’re standing.

“Oh, you’re so annoying.”

“Isn’t that your secret code for saying you love me?”

You throw a jab to his stomach.

***

08.24 AM

Pushing your hair out of your coat, you call out your husband’s name. You examine your appearance one more time in the mirror, tidying your strands until they frame your face perfectly. The condo is fairly clean. Your stomach is full though you can’t seem to wash away the saltiness of your soup just yet. You’re only seven minutes late from your original plan, which isn’t bad. You’re all set.

“Toru, you’re ready to go?”

Your husband is still yawning when he meets you in the foyer, carrying his handbag with his shoulders sagging forward. He’s dressed sharply in a white button-up shirt, combined with a black suit that accentuates the broadness of his shoulders. He looks handsome. He always does.

“Well, well, well, hello, Mr. CMO,” you snicker, pulling him by the tie while seductively batting your eyelashes at him. “Do you have time to spare? I would like to have a private meeting with you.”

He’s so tired, he doesn’t have the strength to keep up with your flirting, which says something since it’s usually the other way around. He spreads his arms wide open, his pout turning more prominent by the second. “Come here.”

“What?”

“I need my twenty-second hug.”

So, apparently, Satoru believes in this theory he found recently on the internet that said when you hug someone for, at least, twenty seconds, your body begins secreting the hormone oxytocin which is known to boost the immune system and reduce stress. He said that but you know that he’s just doing it so he can squeeze your ass, and that’s a fact, not a theory.

“Fine, but don’t grope my ass.”

“As long as you don’t grope mine.”

“I literally never did that.” You bury your face in his chest, tangling your arm around his waist. Satoru’s warmth is really one of a kind, or maybe he’s just as warm as a normal human being and you’re just too intoxicated by his scent that you stop making sense. No matter what the reason is, it’s comforting to be in his arms and if he doesn’t make a big deal out of it every time (acting like you’re the one who desperately wants to embrace him), you’d probably spend hours of your day just hugging him like this.

He buries his nose in your strands. “Your hair smells different.”

“I used your shampoo.”

“Yeah? That’s hot.”

You close your eyes, basking in his warmth and enjoying the smell of his perfume. He’s wearing a different brand today, just for a change, and although it’s not as sweet as his other one, this somehow feels much more comforting. Soft and fresh, reminding you less of summer and more of spring this time. “You smell different.”

“I used your perfume. And your bra.”

You’re not sure if you’re laughing over his terrible joke or his deadpan delivery, maybe a bit of both. Nuzzling your face against his chest, you titter, “Yeah? That’s hot.”

And he’s not sure if he’s smiling over your reply or the way you just sounded so cute giggling like that—no, definitely both. He tightens his arms around your shoulders, squeezing your body against him until you start pounding your fist against his chest, begging for a time-out before he steals all the air in your lungs. “I think we should just skip work today,” he mutters as he releases you. “We can watch a wildlife documentary and count on how many times Benedict Cumberbatch mispronounced the word “Penguin” as ‘Pengwings.’”

“That sounds productive. If you want Maki to kill you.”

He shudders in fear, pulling you back to him. “Just for that, I’m gonna need another twenty.”

Though you feel the urge the roll your eyes, you let him tug you back into his arms and rest his chin on your head. After all, he’s your personal teddy bear. You can spend your eternity just sinking into his embrace like this.

“Satoru?”

“Hmm?”

“Your hands are on my ass.”

“Yeah, but I’m not groping them.”

“You are now.”

“Well now that you mentioned it, I just have to, don’t I?”

You break away, giving a playful slap on the chest. “Enough, we’re running late.”

“Where do you find the energy to go to work every morning?” He asks with weariness in his eyes. “I am this close to throwing myself back to the bed.”

Funny how literally an hour ago, he promised you that he’d work harder to make you feel even prouder of him. “Well, I guess, it all started when I turned into a fully grown woman.” You smiled at him, fixing his tie before you dealt with his collar. He might be the youngest person to enter C-level in his company, but he still dresses as clumsily as a five-year-old if it wasn’t for you to keep his appearance in check all the time.

“I’m a fully grown man too and I still wish I could lay around all day,” he sulks.

“You’re a man-child.” Tugging on his tie, you pull him down until your lips meet his in a chaste kiss. “But I love you. Body, mind, and soul.” You beam at him with your widest grin. “How’s that for your energy booster, Gojo-san?”

To your surprise, Satoru answers you by tossing his handbag to the side and dipping his head down once more to re-attach your lips together. He kisses you with the same fervor he had last night, tongue sneaking inside to taste the minty scent of your toothpaste. You gasp against his mouth, fingers fisting the fabric of his suit as you struggle to maintain your balance. Can’t help but take a couple of steps back from how hard he’s kissing you, you stop only when your spine meets the wall. “Satoru—” You attempt to push him away by placing your hand on his chest but he clamps his fingers around your wrist, bringing it over your head.

With his body pressed against yours, you wonder if he can feel your palpitating heartbeat beating against his own. There’s no stopping him when he gets this aggressive with his kiss and it’s not like you can find any willpower within you to stop him. Fortunately for you, he breaks away, wetting his bottom lip once as his eyes still glaze over your bruised ones.

“Spirits lifted,” he smiles against your lips, sending blood to pool in your cheeks. “Thanks, babe.”

When he lets you go, you find it almost impossible to stay composed. Three years… Three damn years you’ve been married to him and he still knows how to make your knees buckle with a single kiss.

“Babe?”

You push yourself away from the wall, your fingers tangled in your hair when you try to fix it. “W-what?”

Putting on his sunglasses, he casts a smirk, “You might want to fix your lipstick.”

“Oh, I hate you.”

He pecks your cheek. “I love you too, baby girl.”

***

08.32 AM

Despite you being the better driver—better as in I’m not gonna try and bribe an officer with a brand new iPhone whenever I get pulled over or threaten him with my family name when things don’t work out my way—Satoru always insists on having his hands on the steering wheel every time you’re with him. “A gentleman wouldn’t let his lady drive, especially when she looks this pretty in that skirt,” he always says, and yes, maybe this is his gentleman sidetalking—even when the said gentleman had put on the same skirt and caressed his own butt in front of the mirror a few days back. But honestly? You know this is just a part of his master plan to control the music playlist for the next ten to fifteen minutes.

“We’re not listening to Hatsune Miku again,” you say, putting on your seatbelt.

“Oh, we totally are,” Satoru cackles, his fingers sliding up and down the touchscreen. He has seventeen different playlists consisting of more than a hundred songs in total, all taken from his favorite albums. Which is not much, really, considering Hatsune Miku is featured in around two thousand songs by now (a fact that you, honest to God, don’t care but he keeps reminding you of).

“Satoru, if you play one more Hatsune Miku song, I swear I won't put out tonight.”

“Well, if I have to listen to cookbook again—”

“Jungkook.”

“If I have to listen to cookbook one more time then I won’t put out tonight.”

“That's fine with me,” you shrug.

“Fuck,” he clicks his tongue, desperately jumping to the next option. “Okay, uhh… Oh, I know! You’re not getting my credit card ever again.”

You have one finger hovering above the screen. “So which Hatsune album are we listening to today?”

He sends you a dead stare. “Do you only love me for my money?”

“Oh, honey…” You rest your palm gently on his face, cupping and stroking his cheek. “Of course, I do.” You give him a tap that goes a little too hard than you intended but then again, he kind of deserves it. “Now, drive.”

Satoru doesn’t even have the energy to come up with a retort. Exhaling in defeat, he kicks in the gear while you, with your face crumpled in repulsion, try to pick the least insufferable Hatsune Miku song. Unfortunately for you, Satoru catches a title that steals his attention.

“OOOH go back, go back! I want to listen to that one!”

You sigh, selecting his song choice. “It’s too early to listen to—” Beaming with joy and oblivious to the hatred you have for that one song, Satoru sweeps in and cranks up the volume until you feel your ears ringing from the inside.

“Oh my God—” You flinch. If his loud nagging didn’t bust your eardrum, this definitely will. “Does it have to be this loud?!”

“Of course, my goddess is singing!” He shouts, grinning from ear to ear. He starts singing along, just as loudly, if not more. At this point, you swear there are people jogging on the sidetracks looking at your car with their faces contorting into frowns.

“I’m the number one princess in the world, so that's how you'll treat me,” he sings, slamming his hands against the wheel, head bobbing to the beat. “Oh my God, this is the soundtrack of my life!”

Still scowling, you have no choice but to listen further to the lyrics.

It's not like I'm acting selfish, I'm not asking for much I just want you to think from the bottom of your heart that I'm adorable I'm the number one princess in the world Notice me! Hey! Heeey! Keeping me waiting is out of the question Just who do you think I am? Whatever, I think I could go for some dessert! Yes, right now!

You grimace. “It really is.”

***

10.54 AM

11.45 AM

01.10 PM

01.29 PM

02.05 PM

02.29 PM

03.22 PM

04.02 PM

05.28 PM

06.11 PM

07.06 PM

***

AN: Thank you so much for reading! I'm so sorry for the amount of cringe that you had to suffer through while you were reading this 😭

#gojo fluff #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru smut #satoru fluff #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fluff #fics.24hourswithyou

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hyomaluvr · 1 year

Text

Michael Kaiser - NSFW Alphabet

cw // reader is afab, objectification, s&m, degradation, not proof read, sorry for any odd formatting :(

Aftercare: Kaiser can take care of the things he thinks are worth it. Fortunately, you’ve become one of those things! He really loves playing with you, but he knows to clean up his mess. He’ll sit you in his lap and wash you himself, right down to your skin care routine. It’s insufferable to think about the inevitable Kaiser debt this will put you in, but you can’t help relaxing against his chest.

Body parts: His favorite part of himself? What’s not to love? He can’t decide! (It’s his adonis’ belt) As for you, anywhere he can grab that will humiliate you in public. It’s a fun way to keep you in check, and if he can squeeze it he will 90% of the time he’s with you.

Cum: Please, you’re just a mural to him. It’s lovely when he gets to have his way with you like this, his fingers tracing over the indents of your hips and tugging at your nipples. The highlight is of course the cum messily splayed over your womb and your cute, whiny face dripping with a mixture of his seed and your sweet tears. Loves cream pies just to look at. Kaiser isn’t going to eat his own cum but he sure as hell will take anything at all you give him like a complete animal.

Dirty Secret: One time when he was beating to you alone he got way more into it than he ever thought he could. Messy tied hair, foggy glasses, and his fist wrapped around his cock, he was completely tunnel visioned in on this stupid fantasy wracking his brain. It was so easy to picture what his fist could be instead of what it was, and it was irritating. He shouldn’t want you this much, it's so absurd, but there are breathy, weak moans parting his lips, and he feels like he’s going to combust. It’s not about chasing his orgasm, he just wants to feel your warmth around him. The thing that makes this something he’ll never tell? When he came ropes onto his abs and lower pecs, there were tears in his eyes, the same kind that he cruelly liked to observe from you whenever he had you and your highs wrapped around his finger. Not to mention that Ness would’ve come rushing in at the sound of his high pitched, sweet cries if the door wasn’t locked. He can’t ever let anyone know that you gave him damn near mind break despite being nowhere near him.

Experience: He’s the kind of piece of shit that sleeps with a girl from each country he visits. It’s funny because if he pushes you against a wall and tries to flirt with you he’s totally confident, but if you flirt back or challenge his dominance in any way he keeps accidentally fumbling over his words. Why does he have to feel like the biggest virgin ever around you when he has a tenfold of your experience? At least he’s really damn good at what he does to you.

Favorite position: Riding. Shit, he loves when you’re on top of him, he can see everything bouncing just how he likes it and best of all, you can’t hide a thing from him. Even underneath you, he knows what to do to best make you feel good. Best of all? He gets to dig his nails into your thighs and leave pretty marks alongside all of the deep purple hickeys on your skin.

Goofy: If the mood calls for it, sure. Especially when he’s making you ride his thigh, looking at you with this shit-eating grin, mocking your moans and whimpers. Sometimes though, every once in a blue moon, all traces of jokingness are absent from his eyes, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking. It’s pretty intimidating when you’re fully naked underneath a fully clothed Kaiser who’s just staring down at you. “Mein liebling” falls from his lips as his hands roam your body. He doesn’t want you to think too hard about this, doesn’t want you to consider how he feels. He prays that you won’t ask questions and just let him love you silently. Just this once, he tells himself, just this once he’ll make love to you and take down his walls.

Hair: Messy, but well kept. Almost dyed his pubes blue for a bet but he ran out of bleach before he could try. Kinda likes seeing your face pressed into his curls when he’s face fucking into you.

Intimacy: Sex with Kaiser, unless he’s in his feelings as mentioned before, is pretty much always some lower level of intimate. Don’t feel insecure though, because he’s never really been intimate with anyone before, not really, so you’re privileged and you should be grateful he spoils you. It’s very easy for Kaiser to get a lot of pent up stress, frustration, and anxiety from his surroundings, so when he can drill his hips into you, he can’t help but feel some gratitude— even he’s not that much of an ass. You’re his first real love, so that has to count for something in his head. Head pets, deep kisses, giving oral, all of these things are helpful for him to articulate his real feelings for you.

Jack off: He jerks it often. Every time he has a relaxation period, he’ll get out lotion and incense, lean back and pump his cock slowly. It’s a routine for him, and at this point he knows to a tee how exactly to make himself feel good. This latter point is a problem when you can hear him in the bathroom, stroking it just like he knows you want to while letting out those lewd grunts and curse words. That’s the worst part— he refuses to say your name when he touches himself around you, and he plays totally innocent when he comes out. He’ll even put you over his knee and spank you if you push him on it. “Fucking whore can’t even get my dick off your nasty mind for a goddamn second. You shouldn’t tell lies, right? So don’t fucking say I was jerking to you. Count to ten. Or can you not even do that?” All the while both of you are keenly aware of the fact that he just blew his load seconds ago to the image of your ahegaoing face. He just likes to play with you like this.

Kinks: Humiliation, degradation, s&m, being called master/daddy, receiving anything that leaves a mark (scratches on his back, hickies, bite marks, etc.), dacryphilia, slight exhibition, face fucking, brat taming, objectification, edging, overstimulation…the list goes on, these are just some basic ones.

Location: He won’t fuck you anywhere anyone else would see you. Unfortunately he’s way too possessive and obsessed to get up to his old antics of not giving a shit about his partner in sex. However, he’ll let people hear how he’s defiling you, in fact he wants it. You’re his, and he’d love to give passerbys a taste of his life of luxury.

Motivation: If Kaiser wants to have sex with you, he’s going to make that as clear as possible. If the thought of having sex with you so much as pops into his head, that’s all the motivation he needs. Still, if you wear his clothes, send him even a non sexual picture that he thinks is cute, show off your butt a little too much, any of it, he’s going to find something to tease his cute partner about until he’s giving you orgasm after orgasm.

No: You’re not getting a threesome from him. Mention someone on the blue lock team even as a joke and he deadpans. Kaiser might be a handful to say the least, but he’s faithful and he will consistently make clear to you that now that you’ve tamed the beast in him, it’s your responsibility.

Oral: Prefers receiving. Bonus points if you give extra oral attention to his balls. He’s mean, he’ll push your head as both punishment and encouragement. Still, you cumming on his tongue is a frequent occurrence too. Since he’s so possessive over you, it’s only fair that he shows you that he’s all you need. At the end of the day, you’re a lot more in control than you think.

Pace: It varies, surprisingly. Kaiser used to be pretty careless about his pace, selfishly fucking into someone as fast and hard as possible, but lately he’s grown accustomed to slowing it down. Oh, you thought it was because of something cute like his love for you? Don’t make him fucking sick (although that’s not really wrong…), he just likes to watch you ache for his length. Nothing is more validating than how he can make you beg and crumble for him with just the pace of his thrusts.

Quickie: Only in public or if it’s in the early morning. If he has time for you then he’s giving it to you for as long as it takes until you’re both satisfied.

Risk: Again, he’s not risking anyone seeing you. He will risk people hearing you, realizing you’re actively having sex or just finished, and getting caught making out with you or groping you.

Stamina: You think stamina is an issue for someone who quite literally ranked S class for that exact category? You’re in for a rude awakening because he’s going to use up your holes until you’re satisfied. Come on, let him get a picture of you sticking up your butt and showing off your cute little cream pie with those handprints and hickies all over your ass. Be a good pet for master.

Toys: He’ll buy you whatever you want, really anything at all. Vibrators to nipple clamps to anal beads, it’s all fun and games to him. How fast does this vibrator go? Can’t you keep this plug in for him until he gets back from practice? He’s going to try putting the dildo in your ass while he fucks your other hole with his cock, okay? Kaiser is a damn mess when it comes to new ways of ruining you.

Unfair: Kaiser is straight up evil. He’s not really a patient man, but he is petty, and if he makes a rule and you break it, you’re getting punished. Or worse, he’ll stop touching you altogether and leave if that’s his ultimatum. He does this all so when he finally does give you what you want, you’re crying his name, thanking him for his mean behavior, and gratefully taking what he’ll give you. It’s just so, so cute how he can break you even from being so cruel.

Volume: He’s pretty good at keeping a handle on his volume usually. If he’s taken off guard, super fucked out, or you’ve put him into a position of submission he can’t help being so loud. Otherwise, you’re getting animalistic grunts, moans into your ear, and hisses of curse words.

Wild card: He’ll often tell you to “take responsibility” while avoiding eye contact to hide the slight redness on his face. Please give him what he wants, if he has to beg that would humiliate him to his core, and outright ordering you to do it isn’t fun. It’s hard for Kaiser to relinquish the reins to you, but that elusive second you see him completely let go it’s all worth it. It’s a new level of vulnerability— it’s not like he’s submitting to you, but he’s giving you the uncharacteristic view of him gripping the sheets, tongue flicked out of his mouth as his chest heaves up and down. Tell anyone about it and he’ll fuck you so hard you can’t walk for days as a punishment though.

X-Ray: 7 inches, curved to the left, nice and thick, circumcised. He’s got a real pretty cock and it slaps his stomach nicely every time he pulls his pants down when he’s hard.

Yearning: Kaiser thought lust and love were pathetic. You should always be able to keep your monkey-brained emotions in check and not be such a fucking cuck. That’s why it makes him feel dizzy with irritation the way he wants you, the way he dreams about you, the way he keeps getting these stupid accidental boners— he can’t keep himself together at first. As time goes on he’s gotten more used to accepting and dealing with his feelings for you, but he can never deal with how bad he wants you when it gets bad. If he can get you, he’ll have you. He HAS to have you.

Zzz: Kaiser stays awake for at least 20 minutes after you feel asleep. He uses the quiet to gaze over your sleeping form and reflect. If he can get a little time off practice in the morning he should take you to a bakery and let you pick something out. Oh, but if you sleep in, then maybe he should just go himself and pick out your favorite for you. A new stuffed animal might make you happy too…Kaiser’s mind is filled with these stupid tooth rotting thoughts when he’s next to his utterly spent, peaceful lover. He hates it, but he loves you.

#blue lock #bllk #bluelock #my work #michael kaiser #michael kaiser smut #kaiser #ブルーロック #not sfw #kaiser smut #kaiser x reader #alphabet

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