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inkykeiji · 4 months

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you be my revolver, i got you in my hands

character: choso kamo x fem!reader

genre: curseless!au, smut

notes: eeee first choso piece ever!!! i had such a blast writing this and i wish i could’ve gotten it finished in time for christmas but alas! anyway, please enjoy this and as always please heed the warnings below and stay safe! | title credit: girl like me by dove cameron

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest (reader + choso are family friends), age gap, bratty reader, rough sex, minimal prep, teasing, hints of manipulation, hints of dubcon, size kink, pet names

words: 6k

synopsis:

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.” “What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…” “Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—” “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.”

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you.

You’ve known each other for a long time—so long Choso’s lost count of the years, now, having met you when Yuuji was just a toddler (and you were, too) at the bus stop on Yuuji’s first day of Pre-K, only to discover you lived a mere few houses from each other—but you haven’t seen each other in a long time, too.

It’s not through fault of either of you; life had gotten in the way, as it has a tendency to do so, had grown busy with intricacies and obligations that demanded time and attention, tangling around you and keeping you apart.

You had both embarked on university endeavours; him pursuing his PhD, you continuing your undergrad, had both stuffed more and more into your lives—art shows and book readings and music festivals and tropical trips—and lost space for each other in the process.

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you, but it feels as though no time has passed at all, as it normally does with family—you’re still just as bratty as you’ve always been (some things never change, he guesses; some things you’ll never grow out of, he supposes).

Family.

Family is not a word he uses lightly, but you and yours had quickly become his and theirs, had quickly become ours, morphing from neighbours to friends to practically kin, members mixing to form something special, a hybrid of some sort, stuck somewhere between long-standing family friends and blood relatives.

Which is why how you’re acting—how you’ve been acting, this entire winter break—is so undeniably inappropriate.

And although he’s lost track of the years, everything beginning to blur together, to melt and flow and shift and breathe, he still remembers the day he told you to call him onii-chan.

That he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

Yuuji’s so lucky, you had pouted, kicking at the sandy ground with the toe of your shoe and swaying a little on the swing. He has a big brother. I don’t. I’ve always wished I had one. Sighing, you looked away, fingers tangling in the chain. But I’ll never get one; it’s impossible.

It’s not impossible, Choso had responded gently, nudging his swing against your own. I’ll be your big brother, if you want.

And you—well, you had been so incredibly happy, all bright smiles and sunshine eyes and breathless giggles, to have a big brother to call your own.

Never in his life did he think he’d come to regret such a decision.

But you seem to be on a mission to make him, this Christmas.

Because you’re really testing his fucking patience, this Christmas.

The term of endearment oozes from your lips as if it’s melted in the wet heat of your mouth every single time, always paired with your worst behaviour: bending over in those short, sweet, slutty skirts and flashing cute Christmas panties at him; placing a hand much too high to be appropriate on his thigh as you watch a film together, leaning close to his ear to murmur out a silky question you already know the answer to; twining your ankles with his beneath the dinner table and gazing at him with eyes full of sin, leaning so far forward on the table that your tits swell, nearly spilling from the too-low neckline of your dress, then giggling when you catch him ogling.

As a result, he’s been meticulous about avoiding being alone in a room with you—he doesn’t trust himself, doesn’t trust what he might do, especially if you start playing your little games—but he should’ve known it would only be a matter of time until you get want you want.

Because it always is.

And on Christmas Eve, you finally succeed.

Somehow, you’ve managed to get him alone in his childhood bedroom—something about wanting to flip through his old sketchbooks, to search for some doodles he had drawn for you many years ago, to rip the pages from the spiral-bound spine and stuff them in your back pocket, for safekeeping, you had claimed.

Tugging at his heartstrings, that’s how you succeeded.

Sitting on the edge of his small twin bed, thighs slotted up against one another and both of your arms looped around one of his, he flips through the curling pages of his drawings, smudged with graphite and pastels.

“Oh, I remember this one!”

A dainty finger points to a cute kitten sketched out in astonishing detail, with a pink nose and a satin ribbon tied in a bow around its neck.

“It’s you,” he smirks. “You asked me what animal you’d be, and then demanded I draw you as a kitten when I responded with a cat.”

“You drew a lot of me,” you lean forward, swelling breasts pressed flush to his bicep, a palm sitting high on his thigh as avid eyes scan over the spread, gaze stuttering as it sweeps from doodle to doodle.

“I drew a lot for you,” he says, the observation entirely unthinking. “You wanted a specific page, but I might as well give you this whole sketchbook. More than half the pieces in here are for you.”

It’s a fact that shocks him in its authenticity, a realization that sends a painful, sick thrill searing through his body, saliva beginning to collect in the dips beneath his tongue.

“I’m such a lucky girl,” you hum out in a sigh, nuzzling your cheek into his arm and looking up at him with shimmering eyes. “I have such a good big brother.”

“You’re spoiled,” he says, but his voice holds no malice, eyes softening as he stares down at you, a small smile on his lips.

“I dunno about that,” you frown, but mischief glints in your eye. “You haven’t really given me what I’ve wanted all holiday…”

Blood turns to shards of ice in his veins, whole body going rigid as his breath stalls in his throat, pounding heartbeat reverberating in his ears.

“Wh-What’s that?”

He doesn’t want to ask it, doesn’t mean to ask it, but the question claws at his tongue, pries past his teeth and tumbles from his lips in a ragged, tangled heap.

And the smile that spreads across your face is nothing short of sinister, that glint flaring to a sharp shine as your pupils breathe, pulse, swallow him whole.

“A Christmas kiss,” you say, stare unblinking and intense as your hand slips between his legs, rubbing little circles into his inner thigh, a mere centimetre or two away from his cock.

The motion makes him jolt, hips involuntarily twitching toward your touch, brushing his half-hard cock against your knuckles.

“That’s all I want,” you sigh almost dreamily, tits pressed harder into his bicep as you lean closer, so tight they’re practically being squeezed from your sweetheart neckline. “A kiss from my onii-chan. Though…”

Trailing off, your hand slides up a little further, pinky and ring finger tiptoeing along the rapidly hardening lump in his jeans, squealing out a short giggle as it jumps beneath your touch.

“I’m not sure that’s all onii-chan wants.”

“Onii-chan doesn’t want anything from you,” he breathes out, but his voice is rough, unconvincing, his hands curled into firm fists on his bedspread, trembling slightly, skin stretched taut across pointed knuckles.

“Another lie,” your lips tug down, voice saturated with disappointment. “You know, good big brothers don’t lie to their siblings,” you fix him with a look, glaring through feathery lashes, expression teetering dangerously on the edges of a pout.

A shiver skitters through his bones, whole body stiffening. His jaw flexes as he grinds his molars, a slow, controlled breath exhaled out his nose, his eyes flicking down. You’re still touching him, two fingertips rubbing gentle circles into his clothed cock.

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.”

“What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…”

“Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.”

“That—That—” he swallows hard, dense saliva pooling at the back of his tongue. “That doesn’t matter—We shouldn’t—”

“But—” your lip juts out further, forehead crinkling. “But I want to.”

You can’t always get what you want.

That’s what he wants to tell you. That’s what he wishes he could tell you. But it just isn’t fucking true, when it comes to you.

“Stop,” he says instead, and although it’s supposed to be an order, it comes out as a plead, his voice hoarse, strained, thin, the proclamation high and false and tinny.

“You’re a terrible liar,” the tip of your index finger traces the head, looking up at him through your lashes. “Did you know that?”

He does, he does know that. He’s a terrible liar, eyes too honest, voice too sincere, expressions too candid, always giving away his true intentions and forthright thoughts.

He’s a terrible discipliner, too, incapable of saying no, of refusing his siblings anything. You know this, too.

“St—” he tries to force the word from his tongue again, protest sticking in his throat. Stop, stop, he wants you to stop, he needs you to stop, please.

But that’s a lie, too, the rejection refusing to take shape, to mold into something audible, something tangible, something worthwhile.

No matter how much he wishes it were true, he can’t will it to become true—not when he wants this just as badly as you do, his straining cock exposing his real desires to you.

You’ve already taken full notice of it, yearning for you through rough denim, hot and hard and throbbing. The pad of your finger rubs over the slit in rhythmic motions, smooth and gliding, aided by the copious amount of pre-cum oozing through the material, and it jerks beneath your touch, eager for more attention.

“It’s so hard, onii-chan,” your hand cups the impressive bulge, rolling it in your palm, a girlish giggle tickling your tongue. “It—It’s throbbing, onii-chan.”

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that?” he breathes, attempting to keep his tone stern and his eyes stony.

“It’s making me want to ride it,” you whimper loudly, squeezing your thighs together, completely ignoring his question. “Oh, please, onii-chan, can I ride your cock?”

“Fu-fuck,” the curse breaks on his tongue, eyes shut tightly, breaking away from your invasive stare. “Fuck, fuck, f-fuck.”

No.

“I’d really like to ride it, onii-chan.”

No.

“Can I? Pretty please?”

No-no-no-no-no!

He wants to say no. He should say no. It’s the right thing to do.

He’s the older brother, the eldest brother, it’s his duty to say no, to mentor, to lead by example.

But he can’t.

He can’t form the word in his throat, can’t mold it into a sound and push it from his mouth.

He’s never truly been able to, when it comes to you—and he was so fucking stupid to think he would.

Because, as always, you are making it exceptionally difficult to deny, gazing up at him with shimmering eyes like that, mouth licked raw in anticipation, bottom lip bitten puffy from the front teeth constantly sinking into it.

“I—It isn’t right—” he attempts, swallowing thickly, cords in his neck straining, desperately attempting to quell the tremor in his voice.

He knows you don’t care. If he’s being entirely honest with himself, he doesn’t, either, his morality eroded to nothing more than a farce, a thin façade, not nearly strong enough to force him into doing the right thing, not nearly strong enough to fortify his rapidly waning self-discipline.

“I—I won’t tell,” you whimper, and he can see the fine film of tears lacquering your eyes, shielding lust-blown pupils. “Pinky promise! I just—I just want you so badly,” your nose twitches cutely with a sniffle, your bottom lip beginning to waver with infinitesimal quivers, soft palm caressing his cock like you love it. “Please, onii-chan?”

And Christ, you’re so pretty, so pouty, with your glistening puppy-dog eyes and pleads dripping from your lips like thick syrup.

How could he possibly say no to something so precious? How could anyone?

“Alright,” he whispers, defeated, eyes squeezing shut as he nods. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“Really?”

And just like that, the tears are incinerated from your eyes, gaze bright and blazing with excitement, lips molded into a brilliant smile.

You look so sickeningly beautiful when you get what you want.

“Yes,” he nearly whimpers, and it’s pathetic, his hips twitching up into your touch, craving, desperate. “Yes, yes, ride my cock.”

The affirmative is all you need, squealing a little with happiness as you climb into his lap, fingers up your own skirt to push your soaked panties to the side, other hand pawing clumsily at his waistband.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the words soaking into his neck, sealed with a sloppy kiss. “Oh, thank you, onii-chan.”

He can’t help but chuckle a little as his hands find your waist, instinctive, steadying you.

“Eager little thing, aren’t you.”

“This is all I want,” you tell him, pulling back a little to search his face. “S’all I’ve wanted for a long time.”

He wants to ask you to elaborate on that, confusion warping his brow, but then you’re yanking at his belt loops and pulling at his zipper and wrapping a soft palm around the base of his cock, a heavy groan vibrating in his throat.

“Wait, wait!” he chokes on a gasp as you hover over his cock, head bumping against your hole. “Let me—”

“I don’t wanna wait,” you whine out, petulant and stringy, whole face scrunched in frustration. “I’ve been waiting! I want your cock in me now!”

Fuck, you’re such a fucking brat, he’s growling as he forces you down on his cock in one swift motion, the sudden intrusion pushing a yelp from your lips. Your forehead knocks against his, sugar-stained breath wafting across his face, his tongue darting out to mop up remnants from his mouth.

It’s really cute, the way your little cunt spasms around his shaft as he bottoms out, pressed snug and tight against your cervix, desperate in its attempt to adjust to his girth. It’s really sweet, the way your body splits itself open for him, cracking at the core and struggling to swallow him down.

“Oh, it’s so big, onii-chan!”

“God,” he nearly sobs. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know that?”

Giggling, you wind your arms around his neck tighter, nuzzling your cheek into his skin, then stringing a garland of wet kisses along the line of his jaw.

“S’really thick, Choso-nii,” you tell him honestly, nodding in lethargic little motions. “I feel so full, onii-chan.”

A laugh falls from his lips, breathy and exalted.

“I don’t know if it’s that I’m big, or if it’s just that your cunt is so fucking small,” his voice tapers off into a whine, raspy and gruff.

“H-Hurts a little, onii-chan,” you admit in a whimper, hips shifting in experimental little movements, conjuring a groan from deep within his chest.

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that, huh?” he asks for the second time in fifteen minutes. “Who was too impatient to let onii-chan prep her?”

“Don’t care,” you mumble. “Wanted you s’bad.”

He laughs again, warm and gentle and full of love, his hands squeezing your hips just enough to make you gasp, fingertips pressing his name into your flesh in blotchy little ovals of purple.

“You have me,” he says, his words ringing clear and true with a painful sincerity.

The vibrations of your responding hum seep from your chest into his, and he sighs, body deflating against yours, pleasant little tingles snuggling between his ribs.

You stay like that for a moment to two, wound up in one another, chests pressed flush, breathing as one. Your auras ebb and flow, presences bleeding, tangling together and creating something that is neither one nor the other but both, a single shared entity.

And it’s nice, it’s real, it’s natural.

But then you become impatient, as you normally do, as he knew you would, wiggling a little in his lap, fingers twining in the strands at the base of his neck.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he urges gently. “Ride onii-chan’s cock.”

And so you do, hips beginning to roll in slow, languid circles, fingers still laced at the back of his skull, half-buried in messy ink.

He allows you to set the pace, allows you to take your time, allows you to enjoy and savour every rock and grind and bounce, staring at you through heavily lidded eyes, hands on your waist merely guiding you—keeping you stable, just like a big brother should.

He’s absolutely breathtaking; gaze glittering in the dim light overflowing with awe, spit-slicked lips licked raw and shimmering as his tongue glides over them again, swollen and bitten cherry red.

You can’t help but reach out to trace his features; the strong line of his brow, the delicate curve of his cheek, the enticing bow of his lips, hips slowing to uneven little ruts as you hone your focus, his eyes observing you with a sick sort of fascination.

“Did you—Have you—Have you thought about this before?”

The question stings his tongue, revulsion flushing through his blood as guilt pricks his flesh, his cock throbbing eagerly.

“Course I have,” you breathe out with a little laugh, as if he’s so silly for thinking you might not have. “Actually, I—I—”

A sudden shyness overtakes you, an unsure giggle on your lips fading into a soft squeal as you hide in his shoulder, shaking your head a little.

“What? Huh?” he shrugs, nudging your face up gently, curiosity clawing at his irises as they search your face, voracious. “What?”

“Well, sometimes I…”

The words tangle in your throat and you choke on them, gaze fleeing his own, and you shake your head again, chest beginning to stammer.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, rubbing reassuring circles into your flesh. “You can tell onii-chan, go on.”

There are tears in your eyes now, mouth wobbling a little with the verging confession, and God, that’s so hot, why is that so fucking hot?

“Where’s my brave little sister gone now? Hmm?”

“M’right here, onii-chan,” you whisper, face teetering on a wince, as if you’re bracing for a blow, terrified to admit to him, fearing reprimand. “It’s just that—Sometimes I do, um, really bad things with my stuffies while—while thinking about you…”

Dewdrops of shame glitter in your lashes as your lids flutter, nose scrunching with a soft sniffle, tears breaking free of their wispy confines to roll down your cheeks in fat, glimmering streams—so fucking beautiful in the dim light of his bedroom—but you don’t dare break his stare, gazing at him through a thick shield of water.

“Oh, Christ,” he coughs on the curse, hands flexing on your waist, blunt nails digging into your skin. “And what—what do you think about?”

“Um,” your gaze flits from his own, to his wrinkled bedspread, then back to his face, wide and honest. “Riding you, like this. And—And riding your thighs, makin’ a real mess all over them, and your thick fingers too, filling me up…”

Bolts of dizziness sear his brain as his lungs deflate, oxygen eaten up by pure lust and leaving his chest buzzing, burning, some sort of response mangling itself in his throat, escaping his lips as nothing more than a cracked moan.

“Do you think about me, onii-chan?”

Your question pulls him from the depths of his hedonism and he blinks, your face swimming into view, a peculiar mix of hope and cognizance infusing your expression, eyebrows raised with false curiosity, a smirk twitching on your lips.

Ah, there she is, that brat he knows so well, that brat he’s come to crave, every ounce of uncertainty eradicated from your face, replaced with assured confidence, contradicting the tears still staining your cheeks.

You fucking know he does.

And, oh, how he wishes he was stronger, how he wishes he could lie, how he wishes he could devour the smugness in your eyes and complacency in your smile, to humble you, to knock you from your high throne.

He settles for a kiss instead, mouth crushed to yours as a large hand cups your head, thumb pressing into your ear, fingertips dragging across your scalp as he yanks you closer.

It hurts, his front teeth scraping against your lip as he practically gnaws his way to your tongue, his own big and thick and so fucking strong as it overwhelms yours, shoving it further into the cavern of your mouth and forcing it to stay put as he explores.

He’s making a real mess as he slathers over your molars, over the inside of your cheeks and the backs of your teeth, drenching your mouth in him. Drool oozes steadily from the corners, collecting along the underside of his bottom lip and leaving his chin sticky and slick.

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes shut so tightly his whole forehead crinkles, mouth wet and sliding against your own. “Yes, yes, I think about you—much too often.”

Nose nudging yours, he nuzzles into your face a little, planting a chaste kiss to your lips, then peppering a few more, quick and sloppy, around your mouth.

“But right now, I don’t want to think about anything. I just want to feel you creaming all over my cock—you think you can do that for me, princess?” His palms cushion your cheeks, thumbs swiping across your cheekbones, then brushing strands of damp hair from your temples. “You think you can do that for your onii-chan?”

Yes you can, of course you can, you’re nodding, blinking the last remnants of tears from your eyes, rapid movement eliminating the final stubborn drops, clinging delicately to your outer lashes.

“S’it, baby,” he encourages as your hips start moving again, working up a steady rhythm. “Just like that, good girl.”

A mewl slips from your lips, burrowing your scalding face in his sticky neck again, his undivided attention almost too much to bear.

“Like it when you call me a good girl,” you murmur, lips dragging across his skin with the confession, streaking him with thick glimmers of spit.

“Is that so?” he laughs a little, pressing a few kisses to the crown of your head. “That’s because you don’t hear it often.”

Lifting your head, you scowl at him, though there’s no heat to your glare, fury dimmed by fondness, unable to smother the smile playing with your lips.

A dazzling smile spreads across his own face in response, and he laughs again, his eyes so bright, so brilliant they almost hurt, blazing like two small suns, scorching your skin as his gaze glides over it.

He watches you like a man possessed, a man obsessed, entirely entranced by the way pleasure passes over your face, twisting your features into the cutest little winces as you grind the head of his cock against your cervix, then smoothing them out with bliss as his shaft drags along your favourite spot, bouncing in shallow little motions to rub over that fleshy patch hard and fast, a stream of mewls spilling from your lips, stitched together with his honorific.

“You’re so pretty when you ride my cock,” he groans, words tapering off into a hoarse whimper, as if it pains him to admit it.

His palms run up your sides, fingers counting over each rib, hands committing every dip and curve and bulge to memory, marvelled by the way you fill his grip, as if he can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re his—even if just for tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going, use onii-chan like a toy, sweetheart.”

And he tries to be patient, he swears he does—tries not to rush you, tries to relish in the moment, in each swirl of your hips and every puff of his name—except your pace never accelerates, never moves past anything but teasing as you use his now aching cock to continually edge yourself; moans building higher and higher, louder and louder, on the cusp of the crest before they disintegrate into nothing and you start the process all over again, the delicate fluttering of your cunt enough to drive him fucking insane with desire.

It has his entire form trembling with such vigour it’s quivering the mattress, muscles locked stiff and tight as he tries to keep from moving, from bucking up wildly, from forcing you to speed the hell up. Rough fingers sink into your flesh so deep it dimples, a pathetic attempt to ground himself, rapidly blooming bruises staining your flesh.

But he’s powerless to stifle the whines leaking through the gaps of his gritted teeth, hands flexing on your hips, whole body pulled taut with restraint.

He’s sure you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, eager and impatient, begging you to move faster, to fuck him harder.

But you aren’t going to do any of that—not unless he asks for it, he realizes dimly, after you bring yourself to near orgasm for the third time in a row, giggling a little at his crestfallen expression, his hair having fallen almost completely from its trademark spiky buns, braided fishermen sweater soaked with sweat and sticking to his now heaving chest.

He really thought it was real this time. He really thought you were finally going to cream all over him, so he could finally flip you over and fuck you properly, pound you into the mattress and stuff that pretty, cute little cunt to the goddamn brim with his seed.

He’d been trying so hard to be nice, to be the loving, doting, good big brother he is—but he’s also only human, and there’s only so much misbehaviour he can bear before, finally, he snaps.

Because, sure, big brothers are meant to care for, to lead and to nurture, but they’re also meant to teach, to punish, to put bratty little sisters back in their fucking place.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Huh?” his grip on your hips tightens, halting you from moving. “You think I’m fucking stupid?”

“Never, Choso-nii,” you gasp, astonished. “I would never—”

Sincerity rings in your voice, but he can see it, the mischief tugging at the corners of your mouth, barely suppressed by your façade of innocence.

Anyone else would’ve been fooled—enchanted by your doe eyes and your dainty voice.

But not him.

No, he knows better now.

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off, eyes narrowed sharply. “You wanted to ride my cock, but you’re clearly incapable of it—”

“No I’m not!”

“—So it looks like I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

“No! I—I can do it!” you cry, face crumpled in fury, nails scrabbling at his shoulders.

“You lost your chance to prove it to me,” he growls.

The world flips suddenly, momentarily a blur of inks and ivories, a breath of surprise punched from your ribs as your back slams against the mattress, trapped between the bedspread and your big brother’s heaving chest.

“You have been testing me all fucking holiday,” he snarls, specks of spit splattering across your cheeks. “Onii-chan shouldn’t give you his cum—onii-chan shouldn’t have given you his cock at all!”

A certain type of haughtiness corrodes your shock, lips spreading into a pompous smirk.

“Oh, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you, onii-chan.”

“You little bitch!”

His hips shove forward, forcing you further into the plush of the mattress, cockhead ramming against your cervix. A little noise of pain vibrates on the back of your tongue, shattering your arrogance, and a grin smears across his face, glinting in the moonlight.

“I think it’s time your big brother teach you a lesson in respect.”

“Y-Yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“You’re going to take what onii-chan gives you, and you’re going to fucking like it. And then, at the end, when you’ve gone stupid from the cock you don’t deserve, you’re going to thank me for giving it to you at all. Do you understand me?”

Defiance shines in your eyes, lacquered by a thin coating of tears, nose scrunching up in a glower.

A rough thumb and forefinger, hardened by charcoals, clamps around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks with such force that your mouth puckers, a sticky little whine squealing in your throat.

“Do you understand me?” he asks again, each word said slow with purpose, each word annunciated with intent, his eyes boring into yours, sharp and painful.

Finally, those tears push past your bloated lashes, shoved from your eyes by rapid blinking and rolling down your cheeks in glistening pairs, a half-stifled hiccup stuttering your chest.

“Y-Yes,” you whisper, nose twitching.

“What was that? Onii-chan couldn’t hear you.”

“Yes, onii-chan.”

“Good girl.”

And then his hips are snapping, hard and fast and immediate, fucking into you with such ruthlessness that it jostles your body up the bed, sheets collecting in little wrinkled bunches beneath you. Your nails sink into his shoulders, piercing flesh through the knit of his sweater, the muscles in your thighs tensing as your ankles hook around his waist, his shirt riding up, your heels digging into the those cute little dimples that cushion the base of his spine.

It hurts, every pound of his cock producing a dull, throbbing ache low and deep in your gut, another torrent of tears rushing to flood your vision.

“Ch-Choso-nii, Ch-Choso-nii,” you whimper, face screwed up in pain, his name stuttered by his rapid thrusts.

“What’s the matter?” he pouts, and it’s so condescending, dripping from his lips in an over-exaggerated coo. “Can’t take onii-chan’s cock?”

The question wafts across your face in a panted breath and you lick at your lips, sopping it up with your tongue.

“N-No,” you say, and that telltale brattiness is back, watered down by his viciousness. “I can do it—I-I can do it for you, onii-chan.”

A throaty curse escapes his lips, thrusts stammering out of rhythm for a moment as his cock twitches, and a helpless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

Even angry, he’s still so fucking easy.

He regains his composure quickly, though, face hardened to stone but beginning to splinter with pleasure.

“Brat,” he breathes out, though there’s mirth shining in his eyes, pure and fond and full of love. “You better.”

And even angry, he still sounds so fucking pretty; cracked moans and dense groans and choked gasps, all flowing from his mouth in a single stream, fractured by the piston of his hips.

The pain doesn’t fade, of course—it barely diminishes at all, the sheer massiveness of his cock making it near impossible to be dispelled, keeping the cramping pang in the pit of your belly steady and constant—but it does amplify the pleasure, nerves gnawed raw by the agony, left hypersensitive to the sparks of ecstasy that blaze through your veins with every quick, rough pump of his hips, every deep, hard slam against your bruised cervix, every rapid drag over that engorged spot.

It leaves you feeling high, leaves you feeling stupid, brain melting in a hot haze of lust and rendering you incapable of forming a single coherent thought beyond how incredible his cock is, his name and his title the only two things your sloppy, numb tongue can fully scrape together.

It’s all so much, too much, but it all feels so fucking good—s’good, Choso-nii, y’r so-so good—sentiment vibrating indistinctly in your chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, words gone wispy, fading into a whine. “Does your onii-chan’s cock make you feel good?”

Yes, yes, yes, onii-chan, it’s so good, you’re so good!

Your head nods frantically, fingers curling in the collar of his sweater, a mess of affirmatives fucked from your mouth.

“Y’know, you’re kinda cute when you’re too cockdrunk to misbehave,” he chuckles a little, biting back a moan as your cunt clenches at the compliment. “May-Maybe onii-chan should fuck you stupid more often, huh?”

Oh, God, yes, onii-chan; oh, please, onii-chan!

“Yeah, you’d like that a bit too much, though, wouldn’t you, you little sl—ah—slut.”

Drool dribbles from the sides of your mouth as you continue nodding, eyes wide and unblinking, encrusted with stars.

“Y’so pretty, onii-chan,” you manage to mumble out, sentiment tangled in threads of spit, fingers flexing in the fabric of his sweater, as if they yearn to touch but can’t find the strength to carry out the action.

And he is, so beautiful it’s borderline sickening, strands of onyx plastered to his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, strung together in clumps and saturated in sweat; damp skin glittering in the waning moonlight spilling through the slits of his window, dewdrops catching delicately in the beams as he pounds into you, every drive of his cock accelerating his pace.

“W-Wan’your cum now,” you slur the demand through a lax pout, lids beginning to weight with exhaustion, heavy as they frame dopey eyes.

“Yeah?” he laughs a little, gaze shining with adoration, and it’s breathless, it’s beautiful, his affection wafting over your scalding face. “Onii-chan needs you to cream all over his cock first. Can you—” a grunt cuts him off, and he whimpers, pushing through his sentence, his voice strained. “Can y’do that for me, angel?”

“Uh-huh, uh—uh-huh,” your head begins nodding more fervently again, pushing your lids open with some effort to stare up at him, pupils swelling with devotion and determination.

“Then show me—Show me how gorgeous my good girl looks when she’s making a mess all over her big brother’s cock.”

Three more thrusts and your cunt is obeying, convulsing on his thick shaft as heat gushes around him, so much that you can hear it—a sick, slick squelching as he jackhammers into you, your essence coating his thighs in a shiny layer of arousal.

“Oh, fuck,” his eyes shut tightly before springing open again, suddenly rabid, ravenous.

The bed creaks as his hips speed up, skin sticky with arousal as it slaps against your own, the sharp sound mingling with his ragged pants and your hitched mewls.

“Onii—Nii-chan,” you nearly wail, fingers tangling weakly in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails scraping against his flesh. “Please, please, cum, gimme—gimme y’r cum!”

“Greedy little thing,” he rasps out, voice cracking into a whine.

But you don’t care, you can’t care, pleads spilling from your lips as your thighs tense around his waist, hips twitching in erratic little motions, crudely trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Need it, need it, onii-chan, fill my belly with it, onii-chan, please!”

“Christ,” he chokes on the curse, pace faltering as he finally gives his baby sister what she wants, cock throbbing almost violently while it fills you with hot, thick cum, so much you swear you really can feel it, stuffing your belly as full as it can be, tummy bulging cutely with his seed.

You must tell him that, sentiment slipping from your lips without your permission, because he moans again, his cock giving another weak spurt, hips stuttering as he tries to fuck further into you, grinding the head into your sore cervix.

“Yeah, yeah,” you’re murmuring, hips rolling up to meet his own. “Push it into me, onii-chan, push it into my cunt nice n deep, do-don’t waste a single drop!”

“You really are gonna be the death of me,” he whines, face buried in your hair as he collapses on top of you, hips still moving in lazy little circles, shudders of overstimulation rippling through his form.

“Mm,” you hum, on the cusp of unconsciousness, nuzzling your face into his neck like a kitten, then lapping at a few droplets of sweat streaming down the column. “What are lil sisters for?”

#choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x you #this ended up being waaaay longer than i originally indended #absolutely no one is surprised #tw:pseudocest

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tanniefm · 10 months

Text

all mine | jjk (m)

summary - after a heated argument in the car, jungkook makes sure to set you straight in the only way he knows how.

pairing - jungkook x (f) reader

genre - smut/minor angst, established relationship

word count - 1.5k

song inspo - all mine by brent faiyaz (but also seven cause FUCKKKKKKK)

warnings - jealousy and misunderstandings, lowkey sexual harassment (not from jk ofc), explicit language (especially calling kook out his name 🫣), angry car sex, daddy kink, unprotected sex (yes yes bad we know), creampie, reader says sorry while she gets fucked and jk like doesn’t care 😭, they love each other a lot still

a/n - heard the explicit ver of seven and my jaw dropped and pussy started throbbing and this is the result of that :)

♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°

Jungkook is having the worst possible time right now. When he came home from the studio this evening, he fully expected to see you laid out on the couch watching some random show in those tiny little pajamas he likes. He’d forget all his stress and the minor headache he’s had for the past hour and squeeze, and kiss, and touch his pretty girl to his heart’s content. He did not account for the fact that you’d be slipping into a form-fitting dress and fussing over how long it would take to do your hair and makeup.

“Um…where are you going?” he asks with a raised brow. “To the company dinner I told you about, remember? I told you about it before you left.” Jungkook does not in fact remember. How could he when his dick was stuffed down your throat and his eyes were rolled to the back of his head? But that was earlier, and this is now.

“Oh. Should I like, change or..” he trails off. In all honesty, he really didn’t want to go, he knows if he said as much you’d be completely fine with him staying home, the problem is he doesn’t want you to go either. You look over at him and see his cute little pout. You had a feeling he'd act this way, he had a tendency to be needy for your presence. You always found it endearing though, he was like a clingy puppy at times.

“Yes baby, wear something nice please, it's business casual but you know I can't pass up an opportunity to get dolled up,” you wink. He sighs wistfully and goes into your shared closet to find an acceptable dress shirt. Since your dress is gray he felt it was only right to wear a gray shirt with a black blazer overtop and some freshly pressed black slacks. You always call him corny when he tries to coordinate his outfits with yours but he knows you secretly love it. All he can do is hope the dinner is short so he can end the night with both of you fucked out in bed.

♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°

He really tried to have a good time, honestly. You seemed to be making it very hard for him, however (both literally and figuratively). He couldn’t seem to stop staring at how good you looked in your dress, the way his hands itched to caress your curves drove him insane. And not to mention how everytime you’d politely laugh at whatever your coworker was saying, your boobs would jiggle like they were purposely trying to taunt him. If Jungkook had his way, he would’ve taken you in the restaurant bathroom by now, but he promised before you two left to be good. But you just make it so, so hard for him.

“_____? Oh my god, how are you? I haven’t seen you in ages!” You turn to see the source of the familiar voice only to find an old friend from high school. “Chris? Holy shit I didn’t know you worked here! I’m good, it feels like we haven’t talked in forever,” you say cheerily. Jungkook slightly furrows his brow, Chris? You never mentioned a Chris before. As he watched the two of you catch up, he couldn’t help but notice the dark look in Chris’ eye. The way he seemed to look down at your breasts and ass more than he did your eyes. He knew exactly what that look meant, and he had no intention of watching him continue on with it. What especially irritated him was how naive you seemed to be to it. How could you not see that Chris wasn’t listening to a word you said? But the last straw was seeing him lean in for a hug and watching his hands slowly but surely make their way to your lower back, dangerously close to your ass.

“Ok that’s enough,” Jungkook said gruffly. He tugged you out of his arms and swiftly pulled you along out of the restaurant. “Jungkook what the fuck?” You were honestly surprised he was handling you like this, who the fuck does he think he is to be gripping on your arm like you’re some kind of bad child?

“Get in the car,” he says sternly. He must’ve lost his damn mind. “Excuse me?” Where was this coming from? Just a second ago he seemed fine, why is he acting so pissy all of a sudden? “What the fuck is your problem Jungkook? What are you so mad about?” you ask desperately. He says nothing as he opens the passenger’s door and waits for you to get in. You scoff and sit down, rolling your eyes while doing so. He always hated when you rolled your eyes at him, and frankly, it was pissing him off even more. But it’s ok. He knows how to get that little bratty attitude you had to go away.

He gets into his seat and takes a deep breath. “So. You and Chris seem close huh,” he says calmly. You raise a brow and look at him with utter confusion. “Uh no, not really. I haven’t talked to him since I graduated,” you reply. He gives a huff of laughter and shakes his head. “Then why exactly was he giving you ‘fuck me’ eyes baby?” Realistically he knows he’s being overdramatic. Chris was obviously being a creep and you just so happened to be the person he set his eyes on. But Jungkook’s been annoyed the whole night, and it seemed like this was the catalyst for his patience.

“How should I know? It’s not like I was purposely trying to seduce him!” you say exasperatedly. This is ridiculous! Does he think you wanted to make him jealous or something? For what? He was making zero sense right now, and all it was doing was making you angry.

You two went back and forth for what couldn’t be more than 10 minutes before saying something you knew you should’ve never said. “Fuck Jungkook, why are you being such a little bitch right now,” you exclaim, annoyed. His eyes widen slightly before his entire face hardens. You’ve never seen him look so serious. “Come here.” He leans his seat back slightly and looks at you expectantly. “Baby I-“ “I wasn’t asking,” he interrupts. You’re so fucked.

♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°

“Fuu-uu-uuuck m’ sorry! M’ so sorry!” you cry out into the steadily rocking car. Jungkook grips your hips tight as he pulls you up and down on his fat dick. “Sorry? Oh, but I thought I was a bitch? What happened baby?” he grunts. This is exactly what he needed. He's been pent up ever since he got home and he needed to pound into this tight cunt to relieve all this pent-up stress he’s been feeling.

“N-no! Didn’t mean it I promise daddy, promise!” Your eyes start to roll to the back of your head. You’re so fucking close. He’s hitting your g-spot with precision, angling his hips in just the right way to take you over the edge. His big, strong hands move down to your behind and grab each globe. He holds you still and pistons into you with an ever-growing speed.

“Don’t give this pussy to anyone else, do you hear me? he pants as he throws his head back in ecstasy. “Whose pussy is this?” he questions. “It’s yours, daddy! Yours yours yours, no one else’s!” you moan out. His moans start raising in pitch as he works his throbbing length in and out of you. Your wetness staining his dress pants and his seat. “Uhhhh fuckkk I’m almost there princess I’m right there hold on baby,” he babbles.

You bring your hands to the back of his neck to lift his head to yours, making sure those pretty doe eyes of his look directly into yours. “C'mon, daddy. Cum in your pussy,” you say seductively. His eyes shut tightly as he lets out a loud whine. His hips still and press into you as deep as your walls will allow him as he paints them white. Feeling his warmth overflow from inside of you triggers your orgasm right away, you tuck your head into his neck as you sob and shake.

Jungkook wraps his arms around you and kisses your head repeatedly as you both breathe heavily and try to bring yourselves down from the intense moment. He squeezes you into his arms as if you’ll disappear if he doesn’t have a strong hold on you. His kisses go down to your face where he peppers them all over your cheeks and lips, whispering how much he loves you and how good you were for him.

“I love you so much ____ please don’t ever leave me,” he whimpers into your mouth. You pull away and look at him incredulously. “Baby…why would I leave you?” you ask softly. “I just…I don't know. I guess I got a little insecure back at the restaurant. I know it's stupid but, for a second it really seemed like I was losing you.” he explains sadly. You frown and give him a long, heartfelt kiss. “Koo baby, I don't even think about anyone else when I have you. You're all I need.” He blushes and grants you his precious bunny smile.

“My big jealous baby, you know I love you.” ♡

#bts fic #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fic #bts fanfic #jungkook boyfriend #jeon jungkook fic #jungkook x reader smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 13 days

Note

Aita for telling my mom not to invite grandma to my dead dad’s birthday dinner?

For context, my (19M) dad (44M) died in January of ‘24. He was a dick and I don’t miss him, but he was my mom (46F)’s husband and I’ve been there for her through the grieving process. Unfortunately, Mom’s mother (80F) has taken over my mom’s grief and has made it about her.

For what I mean, it’s that Grandma wouldn’t let my mom stand next to my dad as he was dying in the hospital bed from jaundice and cancer, was praying very loudly that her son-in-law would get better and putting her hands all over my dad’s chest, kept comparing what my dad was going through to how her 7th husband died back in ‘09 (also cancer but not the same), and overall was just obnoxious during the worst moment of my Mom’s life.

This isn’t a new thing for grandma to do. Grandma is just a dick. She’s openly racist against Asian people, she’s stupidly Homophobic (but not towards me because I’m family and I’m ber favoritr grandkid because I’m not afraid to talk smack about people who get on my nerves. barf.), and any achievement that my Mom receives, Grandma has a story about how she won something even better.

It has gotten worse when my Mom’s dad (85M) moved in with us for health reasons. Grandpa was Grandma’s 3rd husband and their marriage didn’t end amicably. Still, it’s been 40 years and Mom wants a relationship with her dad. Grandma HATES him. Constantly yelling at him for forgetting things when she comes over, brags about being there for us grandkids (I have two younger sisters) when we were little, and overall is just plain rude. My dad used to be able to just tell her to leave, but now that he’s gone, he can’t.

Well, last week would have been my dad’s 45th birthday. Mom wanted to celebrate by taking me and my youngest sister (the older sister just moved out for college and is across the country) to Dad’s favorite restaurant. As we were leaving, Mom was stressing very heavily about not inviting Grandma or Grandpa. She stressed about Grandpa because he often forgets to eat dinner and she stressed about Grandma because the old bitch has flamed my mom on Facebook for not being invited to events before, even though my mom knew that Grandma wouldn’t like those events (think late night soccer games, plays where I’m not a main role/has an 18+ theme, etc. stuff an old Christian woman who hates driving at night would hate)

I told Mom not to invite either grandparent and that the three of us (me, Mom, and little sister) should just go alone and enjoy some immediate family time. We did and we had a great time, talking with my little sister about her high school classes, talking shit about my mom’s coworkers, and me getting to infodump about Fallout because my mom just watched the tv show.

Towards the end of the night, my Mom gets a text from Grandma asking what we were up to for Dad’s birthday. I tell Mom not to answer and she doesn’t. Grandma then sends Mom a screenshot of the family Life360 map and starts sending walls off texts saying how hurt she is that she wasn’t invited, how neglected she is, how awful it is that she can’t spend time with the grandkids anymore, how Mom always prioritizes Grandpa over Grandma (he wasn’t even with us?) and shit like that. I take Mom’s phone and block Grandma for her since she’s sitting next to me, frozen and locked-up.

It’s been a week now and we haven’t spoken to Grandma. That’s fine by me, but I can see that my Mom is upset and regrets how the dinner went.

Here’s where I may be the asshole:

I was the one who said not to invite Grandma

I was the one who blocked Grandma

I butted my head into my Mom and Grandma’s relationship

Here’s why I think I’m not:

My mom has never been good at standing up for herself

My mom shouldn’t have to deal with this bullshit while grieving her fucking husband of 22 years

Not everything is about Grandma. She inserts herself into everything needlessly

TL;DR: Dad died. Went to dinner with my mom and sister to celebrate his birthday. Grandma found out and bitched a fit that she wasn’t invited. I took mom’s phone and blocked her. Now mom is stressing about losing her relationship with grandma. Aita?

#aita #am i the asshole

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luvangelbreak · 3 months

Note

watching a horror movie with Chris, and every time you get scared you hide your face in his chest!!! And he’s just rubbing your back the whole time comforting uu

Safe

christopher sturniolo x alice reyna (female!oc)

summary: alice has the bright idea to watch a horror movie to prove she’s not a scaredy-cat to her best friend chris. unfortunately for her, it backfires and chris gets his point proven. warnings: swearing, fluff (sm fluff my god), mentions of panic and dolls? word count: 1.2k a/n: ik the request said “you” but for those who haven’t read my pinned, i cannot bring myself to write w y/n so i use oc’s as a replacement. i hope that y’all will like this one tho i love chris fluff sm (this is also so funny bc chris is the biggest scardey-cat out of the triplets)

not proofread!!

I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to convince Chris to watch Annabelle Comes Home with me, I couldn’t sit through any horror movie without screaming my head off like a little kid. Chris didn’t like them either but because of a stupid bet and neither of us never backing down from a challenge, we agreed to watch one.

“I bet you can’t sit through a whole horror movie without crying into my shoulder,” Chris challeneged, a daring look in his eye and I scoffed at him.

“I could say the same for you, scaredy-cat. You can’t even watch Coraline without pissing your pants,” I pointed an accusing finger at him and he gasped, throwing his hands to his chest dramatically.

“I was 9 when that happened. That does not count you asshole!” he retorted, shoving my shoulder in protest.

After an hour of arguing about who would get more scared, the bet was made. Whoever gets scared first loses and has to pay up the $20.

We sat down on Chris’s bed, the darkness of the room making the movie seem more eerie than usual, the only light being emitted from the TV. We were only 15 minutes into the movie and not much had happened yet but it didn’t stop my shoulders from tensing in anticipation.

“You’re so losing this bet,” Chris taunted me and I looked over to see him completely relaxed with a beanie on his head, covers over his torso and arms behind his head as he smirked at me, “You already look like you’re about to shit yourself.”

“I look like this when I watch any movie,” I lied through my teeth, holding my head high as I unwrapped my arms from around my legs, letting my knees fall away from my chest as I fiddled with the hem of Chris’s hoodie that I stole since I forgot my own.

“Mhm,” he hummed unconvincingly and I rolled my eyes, ignoring his taunts as my eyes focused back on the screen. I could feel his eyes burning into the side of my head as I continued waiting for a jumpscare at any given moment.

“It’s cheating if you’re just watching me the whole time and not the movie,” I mumbled, not looking away from the screen as I bit my lip nervously.

“Who’s gonna call you out when you get scared then?” he retorted quickly and I leaned my hand over his torso, smacking him in the chest causing him to let out a huff.

“Watch the goddamn movie, Christopher,” I grumbled, regretting my decision of agreeing to this bet in the first place. As the movie continued, I jumped at the small jumpscares and I heard Chris chuckle.

"You know you've already lost?" he asked rhetorically and I nodded, sliding into him as my fear started to show. With a snicker, he lifted his arm as I wrapped my arms around his torso, cuddling into his side to hide my face from the jumpscares of the movie.

"Why didn't we pick a movie without dolls? They're like my worst fear," I mumbled and Chris began tracing circles on my back with his thumb, distracting me from the movie slightly.

"Because I wanted to win," he said and I could hear the smile in his voice making me shake my head, a sour expression covering my face.

"You're an asshole," I mumbled, hiding my face in his hoodie when another jumpscare appeared on screen but I was now determined to get through the whole movie at the very least.

"You love me," he retorted, being unphased by the movie now that he was amused that he won the bet and I looked up at him, flicking his forehead with my finger before resuming my place on his chest.

"I hate you actually. This was not a fair movie to put on," I grumbled, my anxiety spiking as the movie progressively got more terrifying. Chris could sense my terror as he pulled me tighter against him and I yelped when another jumpscare appeared on the screen.

"Ali, we can turn it off if you want," he said softly and I stubbornly shook my head, eyes still trained on the screen.

"I want to get through the whole movie. There's only thirty minutes left," I announced and he hummed, an unsure tone behind the sound as I gripped onto his hoodie like he was going to slip away from me at any given moment.

The last 30 minutes of the movie felt like it lasted forever as I gripped onto Chris for dear life but soon enough the movie came to an end and I let out a breath of relief.

"Alright, twenty on my Venmo thanks," Chris ruffled my hair as I sat up before I swatted his hand away, annoyed that he was so amused by my fear as I frowned at him.

"I'm not going home," I deadpanned and his eyebrows furrowed, an amused smile on his lips.

"Why?" he questioned, adjusting his sweatpants before sitting up further and I knelt back onto my heels.

"Because I'll have a fucking panic attack if I sleep alone tonight. I'm gonna be seeing dolls all across my room for the next week!" I exclaimed and he shook his head, a smile plastered on his face still.

"You're so dramatic," he laughed and I let my body slump back further till my back hit the bed making me sigh loudly. My mind kept flashing of the jumpscares in the movie making my anxiety spike once again and I think Chris noticed because he leaned forward, placing a hand on my knee.

"This was such a bad idea," I mumbled, my breathing becoming more shallow the more I thought about it and I looked up to see Chris's demeanour change, now softening at my genuine fear.

"Come here," he opened his arms and I sat up before sliding forward on my stomach, placing my head on his stomach as he ran a hand through my hair to calm me, "It's okay. Nothing gonna hurt you. It's all made up, remember?"

"I know," I mumbled against his hoodie, the feeling of having him close to me bringing me a sense of calm again, "I just really hate horror movies."

"It wasn't fair to put Annabelle on. I'm sorry," he said softly making me look up to see an apologetic expression covering his face.

"Does that mean you will let me watch a movie with your biggest fear?" I asked with a smile and he gave me a confused look as I reached over him, grabbing the remote before flicking through the movies on Netflix.

I found one of my favourite movies, putting it on before Chris groaned, throwing his head back onto the headboard.

"Are you serious? Ten Things I Hate About You?" he groaned and I laughed, nodding as I looked up at him.

"You're biggest fear. A relationship," I twinkled my hands in front of his face, shaking my voice to make it sound more spooky and he swatted my hand away.

"You're lucky I feel bad for you right now or I'd knock you out," he threatened and I rolled my eyes in response, placing my head back on his stomach as his hand returned to my hair.

“I’m terrified,” I mumbled sarcastically as I smiled against the cloth of his hoodie and I practically hear him rolling his eyes.

He continued massaging my scalp and playing with my hair as I focused my attention on the movie instead of the terrifying thoughts in my head. Soon enough, Chris's soothing motions and the familiar movie sent me into a slumber as I held Chris against me closely.

tags:

@dsturniolo @sturniolopepsi @chrissturnioloswifesblog @chrisstankyleg @lov3bug @stunza @pinklittleflower @v1nuswrites @trinity2058 @alorsxsturn

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kingkatsuki · 1 year

Note

jo!! about the ask of the boys thirsting over y/n, what else do you think they would say, maybe about the other girls or even like about what kind of thing you and the girls are into, kinks or what would they do to be with reader or any of the other girls,, omg!!

Part One.

They’re all a bunch of icky pervs, so I’d imagine Sero would be talking about how you must be into some nasty kinks, because you’re just so nice.

Denki saw you wearing a collar necklace one time and now he thinks you’re into bondage.

Kirishima thinks you have the prettiest, poutiest lips that would look so pretty wrapped around his cock. And one time he saw you wearing a red lipstick which was almost the identical shade of his hero colour which had him waddling off to the bathroom halfway through the day.

Mina ends up laughing at every single one of them, because she says there’s more chance of you scissoring her than there is any of them getting a piece of you. (And then the guys end up fantasizing about watching that for the next twenty minutes).

There’s an argument that breaks out about what your favourite position is, and Bakugou’s sat there scoffing because all of them couldn’t be more wrong— and that’s the exact moment he takes a huge swig of his drink and tells them your favourite position, and why. But of course, no one believes him. “Ain’t no way, man. Come on, be serious.” Sero laughs as he takes a sip of his own drink.

“I wonder if she’s ever tried anal.” Denki groans, his head resting against the back of his seat, “Bet she’d moan like a bitch in heat.”

“Don’t fuckin’ talk about her like that.” Bakugou snarls, his hand tightening around his pint glass.

“Oh come on, bro. Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it either.” Sero smirked, “With such a great ass I bet she’d love it. Imagine that bouncing back on you—”

“I bet she’s into the nastiest shit. She wouldn’t mind if I slipped her the finger-” Denki continued.

She fuckin’ would, Bakugou thought, his lips curling into a snarl.

“What kind of toys do you think she’s got?” Kirishima questioned shyly, but Bakugou could see the depraved thoughts running through his best friends eyes.

“Bet she’s got one of those rose suckers.” Denki shouted as Bakugou rolled his eyes, knowing for certain that his friend had no idea what women actually liked and had spent too much time on the internet, “Do you think she’s a squirter?”

Yeah but not for you, asshole. Bakugou thought, “You couldn’t make her squirt.”

“Could too!” Denki almost whined, but he hid his face with a sip of his beer.

“Imagine one of those remote control vibes,” Sero continued, “The ones you can control with your phone. I bet she’d be into that public stuff, no one realising that you’re makin’ her cream her panties.”

“If she’s even wearing panties.” Kirishima blurted, his cheeks turning as red as his hair. “She acts so nice, I bet she’s secretly a freak.”

“What? Like you-” Bakugou snaps, downing the rest of his pint as he slams the glass down on the table.

“Touchy,” Sero grins like a Cheshire Cat, “So what do you think then, bro? If we’re wrong.”

The worst part was, they weren’t exactly wrong. You were a freak, and he loved it. But that didn’t mean any of these assholes knew what they were taking about.

The countless videos and pictures you’d send him during those long patrols, when he was away on missions or when he was trying to get some work done would show them in an instant what you were really like. Bakugou could already feel his cock getting hard at the memories of some of those videos, especially the ones that he’d filmed himself. Videos of your debauched face staring into the mirror while he fucked you from behind at the annual hero gala, tits spilling out of your pretty dress, or the ones of you staring up at him with teary eyes as you sucked his cock. Things that would show the guys once and for all who you really belonged to, what you were really like.

“I’ll show you.”

#Bakugou thirst #Bakugou smut #jo thirsts #thirst posts

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mediumgayitalian · 4 months

Text

The message comes from the constantly-running humidifier in the darkest corner of his cabin.

(It’s an eyesore. That’s why it’s there. It’s a bright, shiny pink, decorated with painted yellow suns and silver stars and random other doodles. At the bottom, there’s a messily painted signature next to a black heart. Will presented it to him proudly one random day, beaming that stupidly wide grin of his: “I made it in Arts and Crafts! It’ll help with your lungs, swearsies.”)

(It works wonders. When he breathes and feels like the air won’t settle in his chest, he stands close to it and clears up. When he’s hacking up a lung and smelling the phantom scent of acrid, monster air and the bronze staleness of his own recycled breath, it clears his throat. When he wakes up hyperventilating, eyes wide and unseeing, the soft bubbling of the steaming water and rhythmic pulsing of the glowing light gives him something to focus on.)

(If anyone asks, Nico threw it out the day he got it.)

He startles when his name is called, dropping the breastplate he was polishing with a clang. The sound makes him wince, and the Iris message flicker.

“This a good time, kiddo?”

Nico’s tongue feels like lead. Sally Jackson watches him carefully from the projection, small smile on her face, greying hair curling around her temples. Her brown eyes remind him of Bianca and how she would sometimes look at him, when he was fidgety and overwhelmed. Patient. It doesn’t help with the ache slowly spreading from his chest.

“Hi, Mrs. Jackson,” he manages, finally. His voice is more of a croak than anything.

Her smile widens, even as her face turns chastising.

“Sally, Nico.”

“…Mrs. Sally.”

She laughs, although Nico hadn’t meant it as a joke. Her laughter is twinkling and calming, like the rustling of leaves in a summer breeze. Nico’s shoulders relax without him realising, and a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll take what I can get, I suppose. How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in too long.”

Nico winces. The last time he’d seen her was an Iris message similar to this, only her eyes had been red-rimmed, and she hadn’t been smiling. Nico had pushed past the lump in his throat to report that he hadn’t heard anything about her missing son, either, although he’d promised he was looking, and then a few weeks later he felt like the worst person ever when Percy showed up in the Little Tiber and he said nothing. He’d clenched a drachma in his hands for hours after, guilt eating him alive.

Sally looks fine, now. He fights the urge to apologise — it would only upset her. His guilt is something he simply gets to live with.

“I’ve been okay,” he says finally. She hums. “Uh, busy.”

“Saving the world again, I hear,” she replies, grin turning wry. “Carrying a forty-foot statue across the world.”

Nico flushes. He wonders who told her, Percy or Annabeth. Or both, or maybe someone else, even. He knows the Jacksons’ place is something of a refuge, in this day and age. He’s not sure how he feels about other people talking about him like he’s a hero or something. He had a job to do, and he barely managed still.

“That was Reyna’s quest.”

Sally hums again. Her eyes never leave him, piercing and soft as they are.

“Happy Birthday, Nico.”

For the second time in ten minutes, he jumps out of his skin. It’s been a while since he’s heard those words — he forgot that Sally is one of the few people who knows his birthday, that he told her, two years ago, when he’d crawled through Percy’s window when he was sure the boy was at school because he was bleeding and half-delirious and didn’t know where else to go, so soon after the Titan War. So soon after ditching camp, skin crawling at the stares of the other demigods, knowing how strange he was to them. Sally hadn’t asked questions. She’d cleaned the empousa scratch and wrestled him into staying for lunch, soft voice and kind, calloused hand prying answers out of him he hadn’t expected to give.

(She was aghast when she found out he was walking the streets on his own birthday, celebrations not even crossing his mind. Even more so when she noticed his cold-chapped hands and thin, ripped jeans. “Thirteen, you know, is a big deal,” she’d said, and when he’d insisted on leaving before Percy got home she sent him out with snacks and a pair of gloves.)

He clears his throat. “Thanks.”

“How’d you celebrate, today?” Her grin is wide and creases her forehead, eyes nearly shut. Her smile is identical to her son’s, only with less of the trouble attached. “First year at camp as a full timer! Annabeth has told me that Chiron usually brings you all to the city to celebrate, it must have been fun.”

Nico avoids her gaze, shrugging. He picks at a loose thread in the hem of his shirt.

“I didn’t — um, we didn’t do that.”

He can practically feel the face she makes, eyebrows furrowed and mouth downturned.

“…Something else, then? How did you spend your day?”

Nico shrugs. “Stayed in the infirmary.”

He looks up just in time to see her face crease in alarm.

“You’re hurt?”

“Oh, no, I’m — I’m not —” He stumbles over his words, rushing to assure her. “I’m not hurt. I was just cutting bandages, helping out. My friend —” his face glows, he knows it does, he pretends it doesn’t — “my friend says I have a magic touch. He’s full of it, because he actually does have a magic touch and does not need my help organizing nectar bottles, but. He’s stubborn. And annoying. And too lazy to organize it himself, probably.”

Sally’s grinning again. This time, the expression has just as much mischief as her son’s does, and despite himself Nico flushes darker.

“Sounds like your friend just wants your company.”

“Or something.”

She watches him for a moment longer. Nico fidgets. He wonders what he’s supposed to say, if there’s an etiquette to talking to ex-crushes’ mothers who kind of mother you a little bit, too. Then he wonders who the hell he’s supposed to ask about that.

“Why didn’t you tell your friends about your birthday?”

It’s an odd thing for Nico to hear. ‘Your friends’. He has those now, he supposes. Will, and Nico, and Lou Ellen. Kayla. Austin. Cecil. Percy and Annabeth, even, and of course Hazel and Reyna and Jason. Maybe even Piper and Leo and Hedge. Mellie, too, ruffles his hair when she breezes by him, and Grover grins and waves when he catches his eye. Tyson beams at him when he visits camp. Sometimes Rachel picks the lock of his cabin for no reason and sighs dramatically in a corner until Nico snaps at her, then she grins and drags him off to do something stupid. If Nico thinks about it, about the list of people who insert themselves in his life, now, his head starts to hurt. When did he become so social?

Nico shrugs. “They’re gonna — make a big deal out of it. Will’ll probably try to — sing to me, or something.” He snorts just thinking about it. “He’ll break my ear drums. He’s a horrible singer.”

“I see.”

“Or, worse, he’ll write a poem or something. And it will be bad. The worst part about it, actually, is that he’s really quite good at poetry, but he thinks it’s funnier to write bad poetry, so he does and he recites it all the time and drives everybody crazy. One time I read a good one he wrote and he got all embarrassed because he is a walking indovinello, that’s what he is, let me tell you —”

“Hm.”

“— and Cecil, gods, don’t even get me started, Cecil would do something stupid like — like — steal me a car, or something. Even though I’m not even old enough to drive! And Lou Ellen would probably help him. And who even knows what ridiculous thing Kayla and Austin would plan, and, Zeus’ beard, I know Jason would start crying about something —”

“Nico,” Sally interrupts, gently, grinning, “it sounds like your friends would be very happy to celebrate with you.”

“They would be — overbearing,” he huffs. “Well — not Reyna. Or Hazel. Maybe a little Hazel, but mostly not.”

“Have you told them?”

“…No.”

“Why not?”

“It just seems — off, I guess,” he admits softly. “I didn’t have to tell Bianca about my birthday. She knew. She —”

His voice breaks, and he looks down, embarrassed. He swipes the tear from his eye and hopes Sally doesn’t see, even though he knows she does. Sometimes he feels like the record his mother has that was so thin and played-out that it skipped on every track and always made the needle get stuck. She was too attached to throw it away and get a new one. Nico is that track, he thinks, worn out and bumpy and always making the needle stick, always coming back to the same thing. He used to complain every time his mother brought it out. He wonders how many people must roll their eyes at his own skipping, repeating track.

“Maybe you don’t tell them, then,” Sally says, hushed. Nico finally gathers the courage to look back up at her, and she doesn’t look annoyed at all — kind, only, and determined. “You mentioned your friend in the infirmary. Do they still have patient files?”

He tilts his head, confused. “Yes? I think so.”

“Do you have one?”

Nico grimaces, remembering his first stay in the infirmary where Will left forms out for him to fill and Nico balled them up and chucked them at him. Will had chucked them back on reflex before remembering Nico was his patient, blurting out a red-faced “Sorry! Gods, I’m so sorry!” that had Nico laughing until he cried, as Will cussed him out, practically glowing a bright tomato-red. They never did get back around to filling those out, despite the numerous times Nico has landed himself back under Will’s dorky stethoscope. The medic must be stuffing the injury reports in a random file somewhere.

“I. Will definitely get one.”

“Put your information in,” Sally suggests. “Percy’s told me about the head medic in passing — Will, I think? He mentioned he’s quite thorough, I imagine he checks the files regularly.”

Nico nods. He does. They get messy and cluttered fast, what with the sheer number of maimings and stabbings et cetera, so once a month Will sits on the floor in the middle of the room and organizes everything in some inane system that only makes sense to him. If Nico fills out a form and stuffs it in his file, Will will definitely notice.

“That’s — doable.”

Sally smiles. It’s kind of radiant and hard to look at, and Nico feels himself smiling back on reflex, if a little shyer.

“Good! Oh, Nico, I’m so glad. I’ve worried about you, kiddo. I’m sure Percy’s tired of me asking.”

Nico whips his head back up to stare at her, jaw dropping.

“You…ask about me?”

“Of course.” She raises an eyebrow. “I’d have to do it less if you visited more than once or twice a year.“

Nico opens his mouth, then closes it again. He doesn’t quite know how to say that he had no idea that he was welcome — that she wanted his visits, rather than dreaded them.

“I made cake,” she says casually, like she can sense his turmoil. “Blue, of course. The best kind.”

Nico snorts. She winks at him.

“I’d hoped I would see you today. But cake lasts, you know. It will still be good tomorrow, if you don’t have any other plans.”

He imagines asking Argus to drive him into town — Will has still banned him from shadow travel, although he has begrudgingly allowed other “less draining” magic, not that Nico has to listen to him or anything — and pulling up to the apartment in Manhattan. Climbing up the rickety fire escape; or, this time, knocking on the door. He imagines Sally’s wide smile, maybe even Paul Blofis’ charming grin, her kiss on both cheeks and strong hand guiding him into the warm kitchen.

He swallows roughly. “I’d like that.”

“Good. Consider it done,” she says lightly. “Come over when you have time, I’ll be home all day. I look forward to seeing you, Nico.”

Nico smiles at her. Some of the ever-present ache in his chest lessens. “Me, too.”

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.”

He swipes through the message, dissolving the connection. The billowing steam from the humidifier returns to its usual soft plumes, and Nico stands there for a few moments, breathing deeply, imagining it settling in his lungs, clearing out the lingering smoke he imagines has taken home in them. He breathes in, breathes out, and walks, trance-like, to his dresser, tugging on his PJs and feeling like he’s floating.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of sweet blue cake and sweeter laughter ringing through a small kitchen.

#i had so much fun with this truly nico i love you #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #nico #nico do angelo #sally jackson #nico di angelo & sally jackson #happy birthday nico!!!!#fluff #i feel like i should tag will 💀 he’s not in this but nico talks about him so damn much omg #pining nico di angelo #solangelo #will/nico #idk what else to tag i’m not familiar enough with this fandom’s tagging system yet #i’ve only been lurking #anyways #my writing #fic #longpost

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jungkookslipring · 4 months

Text

2 am

summary: you and your best friend had a rough day at work, but the group chat remains alive and well

pairings: reader x bff x Wonwoo x Jeonghan x Minghao

genre: slight angst but w/ a happy ending

relationship: platonic

You ever have those days where it starts off shitty but ends on a good note. That wasn’t your situation unfortunately. Today your day started off pretty great. One of your favorite bands dropped a new song, and you FaceTimed your bestie to jam out together at the crack of dawn. But as your day went on, it started taking a turn for the worst. Work kicked both of your asses, more than usual, and everything seemed to get worse before it got better. You two were exhausted by the time you got home from your 9-5. You both talked about it over dinner, knowing that getting whatever was bugging you off your chest would help. It did in a way, but that didn’t change what happened. You both bid each other a good night and went to your separate rooms. Hours passed and you haven’t slept a wink. You tossed and turned for a while, even ignored screen time so you could sleep properly. Nothing. You pulled out your phone and not only saw it was 2 in the morning, you noticed your friend was online. You threw on a shirt so you wouldn’t accidentally flash them, and knocked on their door.

“Yo” they say in a groggy voice. You creaked it open and saw them with one AirPod out of their ear, you could hear the new song playing.

“They filled this shit with crack I swear” they said as you give them a tired chuckle.

“You can’t sleep either?” they ask, briefly pausing the song. You shook your head.

“Nope,” you say yawning into your hand.

“What should we do?” They ask, pulling out their other AirPod. You shrug.

“I don’t know we could watch something?” You ask. They nod as you jumped into their bed and grabbed the remote, scrolling through Netflix to see if any of your shows came out with new episodes. While you were rewatching your favorite supernatural episodes, your phone lit up. It was your giant group chat that had wayyyy too many people in it.

Minghao: Who’s up

Jeonghan: Go to sleep

Minghao: but maaaaa

Jeonghan: Istg

Y/BFF/N: We’re up

Wonwoo: Who’s we

Y/n: Who do you think

Minghao: Kiss

Y/BFF/N: why are you the way you are

Jeonghan: please pardon my dear son

Minghao: pardon?!?!

Wonwoo: I’m going to sleep

Y/N: Who wants free food

Minghao: Bet

Wonwoo: Bet

Jeonghan: Bet

You two shut off the TV and quickly throw on a sweatshirt and sweats. You two hop in your friends car and speed off to the guys’ apartment. You pull up almost ready to honk the horn but remember it’s 2 am and you didn’t wanna get yelled at tonight, again. Your friend texted the guys that you two were parked across the street, and not too long later, three crackheads zoomed down the steps after quietly shutting the door.

“Get in losers we’re going shopping!” your friend yelled out the window, nearly blowing out your eardrum. You gave them a look before slapping their arm playfully.

“What’s the move?” You ask as the three pile into the back of your truck.

“Ice cup and tteokbokki” Wonwoo says almost immediately.

“7/11?” Jeonghan asks giving you puppy dog eyes.

“Step on it!” Minghao and your bestie yell at the same time. You two could already feel your moods lifting. Before you knew it you five were walking around 7/11, grabbing ramen, snacks, and ice drinks. After you paid for everyone’s food, you nodded towards the door, instead of sitting down like you normally would.

“Where are we going?” Jeonghan asks.

“You’ll see,” you say with a smirk, your friend’s face already lighting up.

“Are we getting kidnapped?” Minghao asks.

“Beats going to work tomorrow,” Wonwoo says sipping his drink. You all pile back in the rowdy boys are already fighting over the middle seat.

“Don’t spill in my truck,” y/bff/n scolded jokingly.

“They’ll kick you out on the freeway,” you say with the most serious face possible before you two broke out into cackles. You drove a good 10 minutes until you reached a hilltop that overlooked the skyscrapers. You guys have been up there countless times, but the fresh air after a day like today did your body and mind wonders. You dropped your tailgate and everyone piled in, laying out multiple blankets and dispersing all the snacks. Everyone laughed and ate to their hearts content, groaning at how full they were just from the ramen and drinks an hour later. You all laid in a cuddle pile staring at the stars in comfortable silence until Minghao spoke up.

“God this was so needed” he whispered. You lifted your head to look at him.

“Bad day?” You ask. He nodded slowly. The guys all hummed in agreement. Everyone had stressful jobs, and it was only the beginning of the week.

“Thanks for reaching out Minghao,” Y/BFF/N said as she rested her head back on Wonwoo’s chest. Everyone once again hummed in agreement as you all cuddled closer. Your day may have sucked the life out of you two, but you could count on the ones you love to make your heart beat again.

taglist: @felixmainacc@felixburneracc@myforevermelody143@dunno-wut-to-do@itzsana-kiddingmenow

#svt fanfic #svtedit #svt x reader #svt #svt fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen #seventeen angst #wonwoo #jeonghan #minghao #svt au #seventeen au

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ficnation · 10 months

Text

Chapter 2: The Guilt She Bears

Series: “She” Word count: 2,5k+ Pairing: Angel Reyes x Female! Reader; Past! Angel Reyes x Luisa Espina Warnings: SPOILERS for Mayans MC season 5 episode 7, mayans mc typical warnings A/n: I’m starting to enjoy all of this angst muahaha

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A few days have passed since Luisa’s death. Angel tries to return to the life he once knew, but it isn’t easy. He tries not to think about Luisa, but the apartment they once shared reminds him of her every second of the day. Every moment he spends there makes it harder not to reach for a bottle of cheap whiskey and the company of another woman.

One day he shows up at your doors, hastily packed bags in his hands as he supports Maverick’s bottom with one muscular arm. Angel’s fist shakes as he raises it to knock on your door. The sound echoes in his ears. He wonders if you’re even home, he forgot to text you before getting in the car, but something in his heart tells him you will be there. You’re always close when he needs you.

As Angel waits, staring intently at the door, each minute feels like an hour. The weight of worry and anticipation seems to become physically tangible. Finally, his impatience wins, and the man reaches for the doorknob, but the door is slowly pushed open from inside before he can make contact.

The door opens just an inch so you can peer out at the intruder with a grimace. You look exhausted, your hair is all over the place, and your eyes tell him you haven’t slept in a while. You give the impression of someone who has been through hell and is struggling to survive. On top of all that, you seem stressed and worn out, ready to give in at any moment. Angel knows he doesn’t look much better, but seeing you like that still worries him.

The grimace falls from your face when you recognize him, and you open the door wider. You see the bags he’s holding in his hands as he stands before you, your expression turning into one of pure confusion.

“Angel? What are you doing here?” you ask him with a raspy voice. You notice Maverick in his other arm. The baby looks just as tired as his father, his big brown eyes drooping sleepily.

“Please, can I come in?” His voice is pleading even though he knows you’d never refuse him that.

You nod, stepping back out of the way to let him in. He can feel your eyes studying him intently as he walks inside. You watch his every move, every breath, and every blink.

“What’s going on?” You grab Maverick from his arms, holding him against your chest as you kiss the crown of his head softly.

Angel heads over to the couch and sets his bags next to it, letting himself fall onto the furniture heavily. He ignores your question for now, and you refrain from asking again, focusing instead on the child in your hold.

“Is he okay? Does he feel better?” you question, observing the little boy. He’s so quiet and tired. You wonder if he can’t sleep without his mommy, if he can sense her absence in his life.

“He’s okay. Just doesn’t sleep well lately,” your friend explains with a deep sigh.

“Oh… poor baby,” you say to Maverick, caressing his soft hair. The child presses his face into the crook of your neck, grabbing your shirt in his tiny fists. You turn your gaze back toward Angel. “What’s in all those bags?”

He doesn’t respond to that question, instead cutting right to the point. “I can’t be there anymore. Everything reminds me of her,” the man confesses, his eyes pleading.

You pause, trying to understand what he’s asking. “You want to... live here?” you finally say, your expression conveying your confusion. It’s not something you had anticipated. It hasn’t even crossed your mind.

Angel nods, shamefully hanging his head. “Please, it’s either you or my dad.”

You bite your bottom lip, noticing how abashed he is to ask you this. Angel has always been so strong and independent that you never expected him to need you this much. Even when he was at his worst, drinking himself into oblivion, he has never turned up to your door asking for a place to stay. Not even once. He was always the one making sure you were alright. But you know the circumstances are different this time.

“Angel,” you begin, and the man sitting on your couch prepares for you to say no. “You know that you’re always welcome here.”

He sighs in relief, some of the tension disappearing from his muscles as he slumps down against the couch. He thanks you wordlessly with an appreciative nod of his head.

“What about your dad?” you inquire, meeting his tired brown eyes.

“It’s not that I don’t want to live with him, but he’s old, you know. He needs his sleep and I don’t wanna be a burden,” your friend explains. “Not that I’m not gonna be a burden to you but—”

You cut him off before he can doubt himself even more and try to explain something that doesn’t need to be explained. “No, no, Angel, you’re not a burden. Trust me,” you reassure him, “you and Maverick are more than welcome here.”

You know their company might help you too. You have been lonely lately more than ever. The nights seemed too long and restless as you kept overthinking every little thing—the guilt swallowing your whole being, drowning you in its darkness. You kept thinking day and night—what could you’ve done to save Luisa, what could you’ve done to take her place and die that night instead of her.

“I’m not sure where I’ll be in a few months. My lease is almost up. But for right now, and as long as you need it to be, my home is your home.” You look down at Maverick, who’s fallen asleep in your arms, the corner of your lips arching as you kiss his head softly.

A faint smile crosses Angel’s face as he watches the two of you together. It’s painful to know his mommy will never hold him like that again—will never kiss him like that again, but he cherishes the fact that at least you’re there for him and his son. You bring them the comfort—the love they need so desperately right now.

“I have a spare room.” Your voice breaks through Angel’s thoughts. His eyes follow you as you step toward the archway and nod your head in the direction of one of the doors across the corridor.

You can feel the nervousness radiating off him when he follows you. He’s uneasy at the prospect of crashing here, at your house. It’s not like he hasn’t been here before—he has—many times, sometimes with Luisa or Maverick and other times by himself, but he’s never spent the night.

“I don’t have a crib, but we can arrange something. Get the one from your house or get a new one,” you offer, opening the wooden door and stepping inside. You make a gesture with your hand to bring Angel’s attention to the room.

He looks around curiously. The room isn’t too fancy, but it’s cozy and bright. There’s a bed, a small dresser, and other minor furniture. The walls are a light blue color, with a few clouds painted onto them to give the feel of a dreamlike peace. You can tell that Angel likes it by the way he takes it all in with sparkling eyes, the corner of his mouth curving up.

“I can bring it. I planned on that,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I knew you wouldn’t have those stuff.” He sets the bags down by the wall, the tips of his fingers trailing over one of the painted-on clouds.

Maverick fusses in his sleep, still cuddled up to your body. You hum softly, caressing his back. “He’s finally getting some good sleep,” you whisper, a smile crossing your face.

“He feels safe with you.”

Angel’s words are simple, but nevertheless, they stir something inside your heart. Something you’ve buried deep within a long time ago.

The two of you remain silent for a few more minutes. You take in the fact that your friend will be living with you, sharing your space—your mornings, evenings, and nights. The thought of it makes you feel peaceful in a way you haven’t felt before.

“We can take out the mattress from the bed frame and place it in the corner of the room,” you propose, making Angel look at you confused. You roll your eyes at him. “So Maverick doesn’t roll off the bed,” you explain further.

“Yeah, that’s smart,” he agrees, nodding his head at your idea. It feels like his mind is somewhere else.

Your eyes soften, and you giggle softly as the realization hits you. Angel’s head is in the clouds, almost literally. “Well, my hands are kinda busy, so you have to figure it out yourself.”

It takes your words a minute to reach the man. He shakes his head and looks at you, confused. You repeat the sentence, and Angel chuckles softly—the tension relieved by a bit of humor. Just like when you first met him, your heart can’t help but soften at the sight of his smile.

“Oh, you’re funny. Just wait until I’m holding Maverick,” he says, moving past you toward the bed.

He kneels down in front of it and tries to lift it up without success. You notice his struggle and almost let out a very unladylike snort, but you catch it at the last second, not wanting to wake the baby in your arms. Angel doesn’t look like he wants to ask you for help—his manly pride is not allowing it in this matter.

Knowing fully well he won’t be able to figure it out on his own—you decide to save him the embarrassment. “It’s attached to the bed frame. You have to reach underneath and pull the elastic loose,” you guide him, amusement in your eyes.

Angel listens to your instructions and reaches under the bed. He feels out the elastic and begins to pull at it. It takes some effort, but he’s successful in freeing the mattress. He straightens up and lifts it off the bed frame, placing it in the corner of the room.

His brown eyes look down at his little son, cuddled up in your arms. “He looks comfy,” he says softly. “He’s still asleep?”

You walk up to the mattress and place Maverick in the middle, the mattress barely dipping beneath his weight. “Sleeps like a rock. Just like his daddy.”

“So small,” Angel whispers quietly, his eyes glued to the boy’s tiny body—to his clenched fists and his small chest, rising with every steady breath, to his round pink cheeks and the little waves of his hair. His little miracle.

You look back at your friend, tears prickling in your eyes. You know you can both see so much of her in Maverick. The resemblance to his mommy was painfully evident. It was hard for both of you to look at his innocent face and be reminded of what you’ve lost.

Angel notices the tears threatening to escape your eyes. He feels responsible, knowing his presence has indirectly brought you to tears. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes in a whisper, his hand reaching out to gently caress your arm.

“No, I’m sorry. I know you’re hurting just as much as I do.” You wipe your tears away with the sleeve of your shirt. You stand straight, stepping out of Angel’s reach and nodding at him in appreciation.

“Do you want to get some rest? You look like hell,” you say, glancing at him.

He still hasn’t taken his kutte off; he looks exhausted and worn down. But he still refuses with a shake of his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

You know it’s a lie, but you don’t push.

“Come on, I will make us some tea.”

You walk into the kitchen, Angel rubbing his temples in an attempt to relieve the headache he caused himself by the lack of sleep and food. You take out two mugs from one of the cupboards above as your friend moves to lean on the counter beside you.

“How are you holding up?” He can easily guess the answer to this question, but he still lets it slip out of his mouth, concern in his voice.

You’ve known Luisa for years; you’ve known her before Angel has even joined her world. The lack of her quiet presence in your life is devastating—sometimes, it just makes you want to blow your brains out. But you know you wouldn’t be able to do that—not when you had people who still loved you and needed you there. And you know Angel is one of them; he cares about you probably more than he cares about himself. The two of you have grown much closer after Luisa’s death. In the span of those few days, you became each other’s lifelines.

“Just getting through, I guess... I miss her a lot.” You let out a deep sigh. “How are you holding up?”

“It’s been hard. Especially—” Angel pauses; he hesitates, unsure if it’s something he should share with anyone. He clears his throat, his voice breaking slightly. “Seeing him… It’s a constant reminder.”

You sense the pain in his words, the struggles he goes through every day. It kills you to hear it. You squeeze his hand in yours for a second, wordlessly showing him your support.

You can tell the conversation took its toll on Angel. He remains nearby, not wanting to leave your side. You fill the kettle and place it on the stove, turning around to lean against the counter next to your friend.

“I miss her,” the man admits; he wraps his tattooed arms around himself. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. I thought I was just dreaming.”

“It’s tough,” you nod in understanding.

“I always knew someday we would have to say goodbye. I always knew that,” Angel continues, his eyes gazing off into the distance. “But I didn’t think it would be so soon.”

He turns his attention to you. You can see that there are so many things he wants to get off his chest, but he doesn’t know where to start. You reach for his hand to hold it in yours, to comfort him. You wish you had the ability to make it all better, but there’s not much you can offer him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles out, his voice so shy and quiet you can barely hear him. “I’m sorry that you have to be here for me when I’m like this.”

“I don’t have to do anything, Angel.” You squeeze his hand to make him look you in the eyes. “I want to be there for you.”

You watch as his eyes fill with so much love and gratitude. He looks like he wants to pull you close, hold you in his arms, and cry it all out. But he fights it, trying his best to stay afloat.

“I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’d be miserable by yourself. Now, at least you have some company,” you joke, trying to change the topic. It was starting to be too much; you could feel the darkness of guilt crawling up the walls of your brain. You couldn’t save her. You did nothing to save her.

#angel reyes x you #angel reyes x female reader #angel reyes fic #angel reyes imagines #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes #mayans m.c.#mayans fx #mayansmc #mayans #mayans x reader #mayans mc x reader #mayans mc x you

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saras-almanac · 11 days

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I’ve seen this idea or comment multiple times: That Tommy has no character. Which is either on its own or in connection to not understanding why anyone likes BuckTommy apart from two hot guys together. I’m not going to get into the second one here, but the idea that Tommy has no character is just false and either a completely failure in media literacy at best or a blatant ignoring of canon at worst.

Now do we know everything there is to know about Tommy? Absolutely not, and I’m not trying to claim otherwise. But I would also point that question to any of the other characters on screen: Do we know everything about Bobby, about Chimney, about Buck, etc? I would say No, we don’t. I think the one we have the most information about is Buck just purely because the framing of the first season being about his growth and also because Buck is just such an open book about pretty much everything in his life and feelings. But even still, I don’t think we know everything about him. And that’s okay!

But back to Tommy—we actually do know a fair bit about him and have seen him grow and develop a bit. When we met him in “Hen Begins” in season 2, he’s not outright rude but he is very much, “not gonna put a target on my back here” because of Captain Gerrard (and/or perhaps because he had already realized his sexuality or was beginning to uncover it). When we meet him for the first time chronologically in “Chimney Begins,” he’s more rude and pretty dismissive of Chimney’s offer of friendship, even actively avoiding him. Again, this could be because of Gerrard, the environment here where it didn’t feel like anyone was really friends per say, or it could be down to what Eli tells Chimney: That these guys are not going to let just anyone in until they prove themselves, especially not a probie.”

However, the thing that shows the most about who Tommy is and his growth is his time in “Bobby Begins,” where it’s clear he’s got a really solid friendship with Hen and Chimney, making bets about the new Captain, going out for drinks, having those looks in the engine as Bobby gets them lost. It’s clear in the narrative in season 2 that Tommy, for all of being in only 3 episodes, has grown and changed a lot. (Which is why I find it so ironic that so many people criticizing this “retcon” of Tommy’s character always forget to mention Bobby Begins where it’s clear that Tommy’s friends with Hen and Chimney. I get that some fans want a full apology, but to me it reads like that probably already happened, or at least a conversation, a clearing of the air. Not everything needs to be directly spoonfed to you.)

Tommy coming back in season 7 has shown a bit more growth, as well as showing us sides of him we haven’t seen before. His patience and kindness with Buck and the newness of their relationship and Buck’s sexuality. His humor being dry and a little dark—“We’re all gonna die anyways” or even him suggesting to give Buck flying lessons because his fees are competitive. He’s open with his vulnerabilities when he feels safe enough to do so—immediately sharing his own jealousy at the 118 to Buck when Buck’s talking about his jealousy, telling Buck he cut the date short because he didn’t want to pressure Buck. To me, it shows maybe more growth or just another side of him because we only saw him in connection to his friends, where as Buck is a love interest.

Is this a lot of information? I guess it depends on what you want. Do we know his favorite color or his interests or how he romantically woos people or what he likes to do on his days off? I would argue that we do know a decent amount of that—he likes monster trucks, I assume watching romantic comedies as his favorite movie is canonically Love, Actually, he enjoys craft beers, knows and participates in Muay Thai, has a car lift in his garage so must know something about cars or mechanic stuff, is a pilot and firefighter, enjoys flying for fun on his days off, and has a trivia / karaoke thing (I’m still not sure if it’s a karaoke trivia or trivia at a karaoke bar, the wording confused me but whatever). Honestly, that’s more information than we have about any love interest Buck or Eddie have ever had when they were just starting a relationship.

And that’s also a huge point that I think is being missed by these types of arguments: Buck and Tommy are just starting a relationship, as in they are just getting to really know each other. So there is more to learn and uncover about each other. And honestly, we the audience are probably not going to be privy to a lot of that because it’s an ensemble show. So instead, they’ll likely show us that they’re moving forward and getting more comfortable with each other when they do interact—the kiss in the hospital reads to me as two people who’ve been spending time together and getting to know each other a lot more where they feel more comfortable. Hell, even just Buck’s change from his hesitance in episode 5 to his confidence in episode 6 is supposed to show his growth in accepting his sexuality and comfort being with Tommy.

The whole point is that the show sketches the outlines and maybe fills in some spots, but they sort of expect you to be able to still see the bigger picture of things. We know the outline of Tommy and are waiting to see it all filled in. That’s why he’s such an intriguing character and love interest for Buck—because he’s developed enough as his own person but there’s still enough blank spaces to explore with. He is the most developed love interest that Buck’s ever had, but he’s still just become Buck’s boyfriend so there’s still more to learn about him. That’s what dating and being in relationship with someone is: learning about them, their likes and dislikes, and what they are like in relationships, seeing if you’re compatible. So while there is already a massive head start in characterization than anyone else (except maybe Abby but even she wasn’t a fabulously written character and was honestly a terrible protagonist), there’s still more to learn about him and that’s a good thing. And while I can’t speak for everyone who ships BuckTommy, I can say that for me, it’s so fun to extrapolate on the bare bones of character and see how they develop in canon.

Tl;dr: Tommy does have a character. It's just a lot of showing and not telling and some people can't handle that.

#honestly wild that this is an argument from the same fandom that loves creating intricate backstories but i digress #tommy kinard #911 abc #evan buckley #911 show #long post #been thinking about this for a while since i started seeing those posts

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Unexpected 18

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, car sex, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You sit on the couch with a few too many pillows and layers of blankets around you. There’s a bright smoothie and a tray of snacks courtesy of Dottie. As you flip to a reality show about single people on an island, Harlan appears, almost like a ghost, and sits in one of the cushioned chairs. You watch him lean an elbow on the armrest.

“I can change this,” you offer, embarrassed.

“No, darlin’, I’m just fine,” he waves you off, “just restin’ my old legs.”

You leave the show on and reach for a cracker. You haven’t seen Lloyd since the hospital and you’re happy for it. He wasn’t in a good mood, not since he found you outside, but his parents did little to help that. You hear Dottie’s distant singing, an Elvis song you vaguely recognise.

“She don’t look like it, but my wife is a ball of energy,” Harlan chuckles to himself, “she’s so excited for ya, kid. Me too, no doubt, me too.”

“Oh, well, uh… it’s a big deal. A baby and all that,” you say evasively. “I appreciate all your help and sorry for putting you two out.”

“Not at all,” he tilts his head at the TV, going quiet as he listens to the confessional, “you know, I don’t trust this one. He’s got skittery eyes. Like a bug.”

You almost laugh. You’re hardly paying attention but he seems to pick up every word, even as he talks to you. You chew the cracker, nearly choking on a crumb as Dottie sweeps in. She leans on the back of the couch.

“Dearie, I was just scoutin’ out a place to put the nursery and I noticed, you ain’t got no photos with Marion,” she reaches to touch your shoulder, “this ain’t no home, y’all need to warm it up. Never you worry, I’ll be talkin’ to my son.”

“Dot, really, it’s–” you begin to protest.

“Oh, if I don’t got some pictures of Marion as a boy,” she chirps, “Harlan, would you fetch my iPad thingie?”

“Yes, honey,” Harlan stands and obediently strides out of the room.

He returns as Dottie flits around the couch and you make space for her as you turn your legs over the edge of the couch. You can’t protest. You can’t bring yourself to be rude to either of them. Funny how their son drives you to the worst rage you’ve ever felt, meanwhile they can calm you with a single word.

Harlan hands over the tablet and bends to kiss his wife’s forehead, “there ya go, sweetness.”

“Thanks, handsome,” she smirks and taps her acrylic on the screen, “my hubby, genius that he is, put all my old photo albums on here. I couldn’t figure it out, ya know, I’m new and all that to this fancy interweb stuff.”

She brings down the menu and searches until she finds her files. She squints and holds the tablet closer to her eyes.

“Dot, you should get your glasses, like the doc said,” Harlan girds.

“My eyes are just fine, bubby,” she insists, “here we are.”

She brings up a picture of a young boy. A posed photo, likely from school. You barely recognise the blonde with the strawish shanks of blond hair in faded overalls. A goofy smile slants his lips as the camera flash gleams in his blue eyes.

“Oh, he was a cutie, huh?” Dottie swipes through the photos, “and look!” She stops on a photo of Lloyd in a pair of those plastic glasses with the nose and mustache attached, “seems he found his look early… now I never know why he went with the look, but he likes it, I s’pose. But he’s so handsome without.”

You hum indecisively as you watch her flip through the pictures. You peek over at her, her cheeks round as she smiles at her son’s likeness. You feel better to know she’ll be around. She’s got all the love you feel like you’re missing. She’ll make up for what you can’t give.

“I hated that suit,” Lloyd’s voice startles you as he bends over the back of the couch, peering down at the image of his in a too tight three-piece. Likely a borrowed outfit from Harlan that was too slender for his growing adolescent figure, “ma, why you gotta show her all this?”

“You were a good kid once, ya know, Mar?” She twists her head around and reaches you pinch his cheek.

He grumbles and his eyes nearly roll back. He stops himself and kisses his mother’s temple, “thanks for comin’, ma.”

“Yes, yes,” she turns and puts the tablet down, “you should be thankin’ me, boy,” she stands and puts her hands on her wide hips as she faces him, “we gotta find some paints for the nursery. And a crib, change table, a nice cozy rockin’ chair for mama, and let me tell you, you’ll be changin’ the little darlin’ too, so you start practicing–”

“Ma,” Lloyd crosses his arms, “are you done?”

“No, not even close. This is real, Marion, you can’t just throw money at a child,” she tuts as she marches around the couch, “or me.” She points her long nail under his chin, a comical vision as she’s at least a foot shorter, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere til you get it sorted. And start treatin’ your babe the way she deserves.”

She pokes his chest harshly then grabs him by the front of his shirt. She pulls him down and whispers in his ear, a scratchy hiss you can’t decipher. Lloyd’s nostrils flare and she lets him go. He stands and lets out a long sigh that shows in his chest.

He slinks towards you, shoulders slumped, and chews his lip. He looks at his mother as she remains behind the couch, glaring at him. He juts his chin out and slowly lets himself down to his knees before you. His eyes meet yours, your forehead lined with confusion as he takes your hand in his.

“I’m sorry,” he says bluntly. Dottie growls, a warning. He nods and his cheek twitches, “Peaches, look, I’m… a jackass and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… chased you out and I should’ve stayed at the hospital. You don’t deserve that–” his words are stunted as he peeks over you at his mother, “and I… I’m very sorry.”

He leans forward, making you flinch, as he kisses your cheek, “please forgive me.”

“Nah, don’t,” Dottie steps forward and claps her hand on the back of the couch, “he ain’t earned it yet, but it’s a start.”

You stare at Lloyd, barely able to keep a triumphant smile from dimpling your cheeks. His blue eyes spark and you sense the threat in his grip. Don’t enjoy it too much. Still, it feels good to have some back up.

“I appreciate the apology,” you let the smile break through, “I’ll think about it.”

“Good girl,” Dottie praises, “son, you could work on that a bit longer.”

“Wha–” Lloyd lets you go and stands, “I said sorry–”

“You needa think,” she points to her own head, “I’m a bout to send ya to your room like the child you’re bein’.”

“Ma’s right, boy,” Harlan says without looking away from the television, “lady deserves better than you.”

“Huh, you–” Lloyd sputters, “this isn’t fair. It’s three against one.”

“It’s right against wrong,” Harlan retorts coolly, not missing a beat, “you know you done wrong and you gotta take the flak.”

Lloyd scowls and crosses his arms like a spoiled child. He pouts in his mother’s direction as she smirks at him. She nears him slowly and pats his chest gently, “now, I’m gonna need a budget for the nursery, and your card.”

Lloyd stares at her and drops his arms, easing his stature as he reaches back into his pants pocket. He slides out his wallet and pulls out the gold card. Dottie flicks her fingers at him and grabs the wallet herself, wiggling out the black one. He doesn’t stop her as she shoves the leather back into his hands.

“We’ll go tomorrow when mama is feelin’ better,” she declares as she tucks the card into her bra, “I’m sure she could use some time outside, and away from you.”

“Ma,” Lloyd whines.

“Don’t ma me,” she warns as she comes back to you and plucks a chip up from the tray, “you can do me a favour by clearin’ out the room next to the master. That’s the one.”

“My office?” He stammers.

“You got a dozen more rooms,” she chides, “now be a doll and go make yourself useful. You got strong arms, you can manage.”

He huffs as you try not to gloat. You watch the television as his silhouette slumps away, dragging his feet out of the room. Dottie chuckles through her mouthful, “He always was a drama queen.”

#unexpected #lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #the gray man #dottie only knows how to use tiktok and has a huge following lmao

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violetsaffron5 · 1 year

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Dirty Little Secret (2)

Taglist • Ao3 • Social Media • Discord 18+ • Masterlists • ← Chapter 1

↳ 2 | Confessions

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

Both you and Satoru have been keeping secrets.

words: 7.1k

cw: restraints, edging, vaginal fingering, oral, rough sex, spit kink, spit as lube, breeding kink, degradation, dacryphilia, cum play, praise kink, pregnancy sex

an: thank you to everyone who has read this little two-shot, especially those who have liked, reblogged and left comments. Those seriously keep me going. I'm not always able to reply to them, but I do read all of them and love them, so thank you!

The boutique store bell dings loudly as you run your hand through several silk dresses looking for a new one to wear when you see Satoru again.

You sigh as you walk around the store, listening to the quiet, barely audible music playing on the overhead speakers. You stop to look at a simple black dress with a cinched waist, visualizing the way it would accentuate your curves before grabbing it off the rack to try on.

Satoru hasn’t been around the last few weeks after his wife showed up at the hotel looking for him because he had missed their therapy appointment.

Every time someone would come to the club with a similar shade of hair, wearing sunglasses or you’d hear a boisterous laugh from across the building, your hopes would instantly rise - that it would be Satoru back to watch you dance and whisk you away for the night.

It hasn’t happened. You’d gone home disappointed every night you’ve worked.

“Excuse me,” a soft, tender voice rings through the air at the front of the store, “can you tell me where you keep your…”

The voice sounds familiar like you’ve heard it before, in a different tone, but you’re unable to place it until you round the corner of the aisle you’re in and spot her.

She looks the same as the last time you saw her, a spitting image from your nightmares manifested in real life to torture you for the sins you’ve committed with her husband.

The picture of perfection: long raven hair in loose curls, high-waisted gray pencil skirt, white top, and cropped jacket. She has black heels on which make her slender legs look even more elegant and long, accentuating her height as she talks to the store attendant.

You’re frozen in place, just staring as your heart beats so frantically in your chest that you feel like it could jump out and explode onto the tile of this tiny boutique.

And then the overhead bell dings again, almost silently due to ringing in your ears and thoughts racing through your mind until you see a head of unmistakable white hair walking towards the woman.

Get out.

That’s the only thing you can think as you take a few short, shallow breaths and look at the garment in your hands with a furrowed brow.

It’s so pretty, and you were going to purchase it but now you just need to put it back and leave as quickly as possible.

As you try to calmly walk down the aisle on wobbly legs, back to where you grabbed the dress you find yourself wishing you had superhuman abilities. Preferably one where you could turn invisible or even warp away and end up anywhere in the world, just so you don’t have to be in this situation right now.

“Shit! I’m so, so sorry,” you frantically yelp when you turn the corner, ready to shove the dress onto any rack and sprint out of the store because you’ve just run into Satoru’s wife.

And not only that, you made her spill her coffee all over her well-pressed, tailored outfit.

Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as you place a hand over your stomach, taking a deep breath, silently talking yourself into not vomiting on her as well.

You’re expecting the worst. Who wouldn’t?

Either she’s going to recognize you from the hotel or Satoru has been working on their marriage, going to counseling like she wanted and that’s why you haven’t seen him in almost a month.

She’s going to know who you are, splash the remnants of her coffee all over you in retaliation, or worse.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she places a gentle hand on your upper arm and gives a sincere smile before shifting into a look of concern, “Sweetie, are you okay? You look a little sick.”

There’s a horrible feeling at the pit of your stomach when Satoru walks up from behind his wife, placing his hand on the small of her back lovingly.

His eyes are unimpeded by his glasses, shining brighter and more crystalline than the prettiest of oceans. They sparkle as he looks down at you, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips like it’s some divine justice to find you here talking with his wife.

“Satoru, honey, can you be a dear and pay for her dress? I don’t want to cause her any more trouble.”

“You got it.” He retorts cooly before leaning down to place a peck on her lip causing the butterflies in your stomach to scratch and claw.

You could have handled her being a bitch. Being called every name under the sun if she knew who you were, which she clearly doesn’t. But being nice, and sweet is so much worse.

She doesn’t deserve what you’ve been doing behind her back.

“No, that’s okay,” you manage to croak out finally, “I was going to put it up anyway.”

“Nonsense.” Satoru cuts in, “I bet this will look great on you. Besides, it looks like you’re having a strange day.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed and bewildered, “Yeah, you could say that.”

His wife cocks her head to the side smiling before turning, leading the way to the register upfront, before curiously stating, “Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar.”

You begin to answer, an automatic response whenever anyone says they recognize you, “Oh, I dance at-”

“The dance studio.” Satoru interrupts, “She’s a dance instructor.”

“Uhm. Yup. Some would say that.”

She furrows her brows, looking between the two of you before Satoru speaks again, “Don’t you remember? She was one of the instructors for the kids.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” his wife says with a heavy sigh, and a soft laugh, “I didn’t recognize you out and about.”

“No! No, that’s alright,” you smile weakly, confused, “it’s been… a few years since I’ve worked with them, I guess.”

You make uncomfortable small talk with Satoru’s wife, shifting on your feet, trying to quell your stomach while Satoru talks to the man behind the counter, seemingly about anything under the sun, just to take as much time as he can.

It feels like an eternity has passed when the shop attendant finally hands Satoru the bag your dress has been placed in, along with a receipt before he then turns on his heels, handing it to you, letting the tips of your fingers graze over one another in the process.

“Um, thank you. I’ll… see you around?”

It’s a question for Satoru and you know he’s aware, watching the way you bite your bottom lip waiting for his reply as his wife offers a kind, “of course,” before patting Satoru’s arm and walking away.

“Perhaps,” is all he says in response to you, looking you up and down before turning around to follow his wife.

The club is loud tonight, with more bass-heavy music playing than you would typically choose to have during your sets. The lights are the same; dark around the bar and club with colored spotlights on the stage for the performances.

You haven’t danced in over a month. Feeling sick on an almost nightly basis has caused you to move from centerstage off to the side. Now, rather than taking your clothes off, you’re pouring shots and mixed drinks for tips instead.

Satoru hasn’t been in.

In fact, you haven’t seen him since the day he bought the dress you’re currently wearing.

Whenever you’re missing him more than you care to admit, you find yourself wearing this dress or — if you’re not working — the black Versace sweatshirt you stole from him. The sweatshirt is your favorite token of the times you shared.

Because it’s comfortable and oversized and you look in it while you lazily lie on the couch eating too many snacks. Not that your growing belly seems to mind.

“Oh, my god. Sukuna’s here!” Uraume squeals next to you, causing Manami to poke her head in from the back, immediately searching for Suguru. You turn your back to the bar leaning against it.

No point in looking out in the club for Satoru. You know he’s not here. He never is anymore.

Even though Satoru hasn’t come in, his friends have. And you watch as they throw their money down the drain in bottles and bottles of alcohol, whisking away one or several of the dancers, bartenders, or patrons.

And on those nights you can’t help but wish you were still able to spend time with them. But they don’t pay you any mind, and you don’t ask about Satoru. It’s like you’ve never spent time with them outside of the club.

And that level of rejection stings.

“Uraume, I heard Sukuna say he wants to spend some time with you,” you mention offhandedly, folding your arms across your chest, tilting your head in their direction, and flashing your eyebrows.

They waste no time in grabbing a few of the finest bottles the club has to offer before scurrying off in his direction. You snicker to yourself before Manami pouts, telling you how to mean you are while nodding your head toward a customer that’s just sat at the bar.

You’re met with clear blue eyes when you turn around. Eyes you’ve missed, eyes that have always looked like they can see into your soul and wants to devour you whole if you let them, “Who the fuck was that?”

“Uhm, they’ve seen Sukuna around and have a little bit of a crush- why are you here?”

You’re nervous and fidgety and the glass you’ve picked up to pour a drink feels as if it will fall out of your hands at any moment due to your sweaty palms.

And now, more than ever, you wish you could pour yourself a shot. Or rather drink straight from the bottle and pretend Satoru isn’t sitting in front of you.

Your cheeks heat at the sight of him. He’s always looked good, even more so tonight with his black button-down and black slacks, no shades hiding his gorgeous azure orbs from the world, and white hair strategically messy, hanging over his forehead.

Your heart aches, wanting to reach out and touch Satoru’s hand. To sit in his lap and kiss his lips, to taste the spearmint on his tongue that you’ve been trying so hard to convince yourself that you don’t miss.

The good and the bad. You’ve been through both with Satoru.

Now, the unexpected.

“Hear you’re pregnant.”

His voice is clipped with annoyance, eyes wandering your frame as you turn away from him to grab a few bottles. He doesn’t have to order anything, you know what he wants anyway.

“That’s none of your business after you fucking ghosted me.”

“Wanna know how I heard?” He muses, picking up the glass you slide across the bar in his direction before taking a sip, watching you over the rim.

“I don’t care.”

“I got a very interesting phone call this morning that someone leaked it to the press for a lot of money,” he continues anyway and your face could melt from the hole he’s burning in the center of your fucking eyes right now, “you told someone about us.”

You stare back, heart racing, but you don’t have any words to defend yourself. Everyone at the club has been made aware of your… circumstances, and why you switched from dancing to bartending.

But only one person was able to piece it together with a devilish grin, promising to keep your secret.

Your manager, Mei.

She watched, day in and day out as Satoru would come in, pay mass amounts of money for your company and take you away with him when he left.

If anyone else had been paying as much attention as her, they would have been able to figure it out too.

“Breaking your NDA,” he continues, swirling the liquid in his cup before taking another swig, “not a smart move. You know, I can sue your ass into the ground for defamation, take everything from you. You and your kid won’t have a home, let alone a leg to stand on. You’ll have to continue being a whore to make ends meet.”

You stare at him, tears threatening to escape the corner of your eye as he stares back, unwavering, emotionless. Your blood is boiling. Pissed that he would come in, in front of everyone, and talk to you this way.

“You’re a fucking asshole.” He always has been, but never to you, not like this. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

“Seems like you weren’t going to bother telling me at all.”

“Did you expect me to just call you up? Say ‘Hey, by the way, I know we’ve been fucking for the last year but now I’m pregnant, surprise!’ while you’re standing next to your wife?”

“Would you keep your voice down?” Satoru seethes through clenched teeth as another patron comes to the bar, raising an eyebrow at your obviously shaken demeanor.

You grab the towel on the counter, wiping a few spots where alcohol had splashed while making Satoru’s drink, hands shaking as you choke back a sob, refusing to look at Satoru or the other guests.

“Can I get a-”

“I can’t do this right now,” you interject, shoving the towel in Manami’s hands as she comes up from the back, “I’m going on break.”

You stand, outside, against the brick wall of the club in a dirty ally taking several deep breaths, head tilted back, eyes closed, as you focus on your breathing.

The pregnancy was a shock. You and Satoru had only been together one time, unprotected, and fate decided to play the cruelest of jokes on you.

You cried when you found out. Debated on calling Satoru, unsure of what to do. You’re still not entirely sure what you want to do.

You’re still in the first trimester, so you have plenty of options, though none of them seem all that appealing.

Kids were something you always saw yourself with. Way, way, in the future.

And not from this sort of situation. You had always hoped to be more settled, calmed down, and less wild than you are now, having wanted to live your life to the absolute fullest before bringing life into the world.

But sometimes life has other plans. And now all you can do is move forward and figure out your next move.

The door from the back entrance creeks open, and you know who it is without having to turn your head or open your eyes.

There is one thought that’s been in the back of your mind, should you ever see Satoru again, should he ever find out;

“You don’t have to stay, you don’t have to be involved in any way.” Your voice is quiet, dejected, “I’ll deny the claims to the press,” You open your eyes, watching him from the corner, “I’m not even sure if I want to keep it.”

He nods his head slowly, hands in his pocket, expression almost sad at your announcement, “Maybe we should talk this through before either of us makes any rash decisions.”

The car ride is quiet, and tense, as Satoru takes you to an apartment complex near Shibuya.

It’s not uncommon for him to take you to places you don’t recognize, but you’re more nervous tonight than any other, unsure of what’s going to happen.

You’ve never seen him this mad before.

He doesn’t bother opening the door for you, opting instead to quickly get out of his luxurious car and begin walking to the lobby from the underground parking garage you’re in, expecting you to follow suit.

And you do, diligently, quietly.

Your heels click on the marble flooring, echoing through the silent lobby as you watch Satoru nod his head toward the concierge before stopping at the elevator.

Satoru swipes a card before pressing a button for the penthouse. The ride to the top is the same as the ride here; tense, terse, and the air is thick with anger and words left unsaid.

The elevator opens at a small lobby, with one door directly in front of it where Satoru swipes his card again before opening it. Expecting you to follow him inside.

And once you’re there, your back is immediately pressed against the door, Satoru’s lips on yours in a wild, frenzied, yet passionate kiss.

The kind of kiss where your teeth scrape together, where you wrap your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his soft tresses as he kisses down your neck before licking a strip up from your chest to cheek.

“Satoru…” it’s not a complaint, even if you meant it to be one.

Having him here and now, in your arms once again, something you didn’t think was going to happen is more than you could have asked for.

Satoru presses his body weight against you, pushing you harder into the door before lifting you by your thighs, and carrying you out of the foyer.

After a few turns, you’re laid gently on a soft surface, Satoru climbing over you as your tongues continue to meld together, until he eventually pulls away, thumb tracing the outline of your now kiss-swollen lips.

“Stay here.” He demands, before getting off the bed and walking to a door on the other side of the room you’re in.

It’s an overly large bedroom with two nightstands on either side of the oversized bed, a dresser across with a mirror to the side of the bed, and modern paintings akin to something an interior decorator would select.

But it’s also filled with objects you recognize. A stand filled with the little black sunglasses he likes to wear at night, a hamper next to the dresser, overflowing with soft black tee shirts he likes to wear under his button-ups.

“Move to the top of the bed.” You're startled from looking around when Satoru emerges, but do as he’s said, resting your head against the softest pillows you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying on. Like little clouds brought down from the highest points in the sky, just for you.

He sheds his shirt, tossing it in the general direction of the hamper you saw earlier, before undoing his belt, letting it fall to the floor with a soft clatter before crawling onto the bed, eclipsing your body with a nefarious smirk.

Satoru presses his lips against yours in a slow, sensual kiss, like you’ve never experienced from him before. Your lips move in tandem, tongues tangling together as you relax, melting into the way his large hands slide down the length of yours while straddling your hips.

He smirks when you let out a breathy sigh before raising both your arms above your head, crossing your wrists, and using a soft white fabric to tie them to the bedframe.

You watch with big doe eyes as he tests the knots he’s created, making sure they’re not going to break loose before looking at you with softer eyes than you’ve seen all night, maybe ever. Satoru studies your face, eyes flickering across your features before his gaze shifts down.

“Pretty dress,” he pulls on the shoulder strap letting it snap against your skin when he lets go, “is this the one you were buying when you spilled coffee on my wife?”

Your brows furrow, realizing just how helpless you are in this position before swallowing thickly, answering quietly, “Y-Yes.”

Satoru clicks his tongue, fingertips gliding over the skin of your chest causing goosebumps to form before grabbing the thin silk fabric at your breasts-

“What-”

He rips the fabric open, exposing your bare chest.

“A- ”

Another tug and the fabric rips down to your navel.

“Shame.”

Your chest is heaving, tits rising and falling in anticipation, wondering what he’s going to do next.

You’d be upset that he just ripped an incredibly expensive dress if there wasn’t a fire burning in your core, desire running rampant, waiting for him to touch you in all the ways you’ve been dying for the last few months.

Satoru leans over you, pulling out a silk black fabric from his pocket, gently sliding it over your head to cover your eyes. It’s so dark you can’t see a thing out of it and it fits so snugly there are no cracks to make out any light.

You turn your head a few times, trying to find an angle that lets you see something but it’s useless.

Satoru sighs, content while sucking a few small marks on your neck before nipping and licking his way to your breast, slipping a nipple in his mouth while palming the other.

Your back arches off the bed, wrists tugging on the smooth fabric tied around your wrists as he pinches and tweaks each nipple with his thumb and forefinger, gently tugging on the other with his teeth.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, thrusting your hips up to try and meet his, to find stimulation while he’s rolling his fingers and tongue over your hardened buds.

He chuckles, watching how you shamelessly squirm beneath him in pleasure, cock straining in his slacks from the sight.

Satoru loves seeing you like this. All needy and helpless, waiting for you to inevitably beg him to fuck you. And he will. But not yet.

You don’t deserve it yet.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips when he lets go of your breast with a pop, squeezing the other before letting his hands roam to your waist and hips, leaving a trail of soft, teasing kisses in his wake, dipping his tongue in your belly button.

You lift your hips when he moves the fabric upwards, making it easier to allow the dress to pool at your waist, exposing the unreal wet spot that has formed at the center of your panties, soaking them.

“So sensitive,” he murmurs more to himself than you, palming his hard cock through his briefs at the sight before massaging the plush skin of your thighs, lowering himself between them.

“Fuck, Satoru!” You cry out when he gives an experimental lick up the center of your panties, leaving a too-soft, too-gentle kiss right on your neglected clit before moving to kiss and lick your thighs.

You want nothing more than to have at least one of your hands free to thread through his soft white hair, keeping him at your center to extinguish the flames that are swallowing you whole right now.

You attempt to close your legs around his head in sheer neediness, but Satoru pushes your thighs apart.

“Keep your legs open.” He commands, forcing a loud whine to leave your lips.

“Satoru, please, I need you.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs, snapping the band of your panties to expose your glistening pussy to him. He licks his lips at the sight, running two thick fingers through your slippery folds.

“Oh god,” you moan out, much to his amusement, rutting your hips in a poor attempt at keeping the slightest amount of stimulation he just gave.

“Need me here, baby?” He asks condescendingly, watching you through his long, thick snowy lashes as you gasp, feeling his tongue run up your center, “fuck, you taste so good.”

“Please-pleasepleaseplease,” you’re begging while he teases, letting his tongue explore every part of your newfound sensitivity.

And then he just stops.

You try your best to look around, unable to see anything still but you can feel the smirk that’s spread across his face right now against you.

“Satoru,” you’re whiney, needy and you want to keep rutting your hips to fuck yourself on his tongue but he’s moved his hands to your hips, halting any movement. “Satoru, what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps your legs spread wide open and hands cemented on your hips to keep you from moving.

“Satoru… please, please fuck me, baby, please.”

Normally that would work, begging for him to make you cum, but not tonight.

Satoru laughs into you, the vibrations from his voice shooting to the tips of your fingers to your toes, causing them to curl.

He’s teased you before, but tonight is different, more cruel. He’s still pissed and he’s making it known with the way he won’t let you have any stimulation.

“Please… I need you,” you pant out in desperation, voice so deliriously needy you don’t have any time to be embarrassed about how badly you want him, need him right now.

He perks at the trembling of your voice, watching as you lay your head back on the pillow in defeat and he laughs. Hot breath fanning your core before he enthusiastically licks along your folds, letting go of your hips to sink two fingers into your cunt, easily finding your sweet spot.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he focuses on rapidly flicking his tongue across your clit until you’re moaning all staccato and pretty for him, pulling on the restraints hard as you shatter onto his hand when he sucks your clit into his mouth.

He works you through your release, watching you shiver and tremble, walls fluttering so delicately around his fingers. He’s losing his patience, losing his will to keep himself from you any longer.

When you come down from your high, head lolled to the side, Satoru pulls the blindfold off to reveal a devious glint in his eye.

“Is it mine?” He asks suddenly.

“I-What?”

“The baby. Is it mine?”

It’s something that’s been nagging at him since he found out you were pregnant.

Sure, when he asked last time you were together, you told him you weren’t seeing anyone outside of him, and that made him happier than it should have at the time.

Now he needs to know if everything he’s done over the last few months has been worth it. That his absence from you has been worth it.

“Yes-yes, it’s only been you, baby. Only you.” The corners of your eyes are wet, tears having escaped with nowhere to go with the blindfold on, “the baby’s yours.”

Satoru’s cock twitches and jumps at your confirmation, unable to keep himself from you any longer, so he leans down and licks up your cheek to the corner of your eye before pressing a tender kiss to your lid.

“Satoru, can I-” you tug on the silky white ropes still binding you to the headboard, “I need to touch you.”

As soon as Satoru unties the knots, your hands are cupping his face as you hastily kiss him, letting your hands linger on his broad shoulders, down to his chest and hard abdominals.

When he pulls away, you latch yourself to him, sitting up as he sits back on the balls of his feet, never breaking the kiss. Your hands easily find the waistband to his briefs, sliding them down to free his hard length.

He groans in relief as soon as you grab his cock, tip red and sticky with precum as you use your thumb to spread it down his length, pumping several times as helps you out of the tattered remains of your dress.

Satoru grabs your hips, tugging towards the middle of the bed so he can line his cock with your entrance, running the tip through your soaked folds several times before rubbing his sensitive tip in small circles on your clit.

He’d tease you until the end of time and space just to watch the way you writhe under his touch in desperate desire and anticipation.

But he’s not that patient today, not after not being able to have you for so long.

“Fuck-holy fucking shit-” he groans, throwing his head back as he presses his cock into you at an agonizingly slow pace, “you’re good, so, so good to me, baby.”

Your back is arched off the bed as he fully seats himself inside you, running his hands along your breasts and waist, stopping at your stomach, staring almost longingly.

Satoru helps adjust your legs over each shoulder, locking your ankles behind his head as he immediately starts pumping into you at an unrelenting pace.

You feel nothing but Satoru as he leans down, pressing your knees to either side of your head, kissing you feverishly as he sucks small bruises onto the smooth columns of your throat, at that spot just under your ear that always makes you sigh.

“Right there, keep going,” You beg as your walls tighten around his cock like a noose, soft walls sucking him in, begging him to stay.

He would. He’d live inside you for all eternity if you’d let him.

Satoru brings his hand to the base of your neck, squeezing slightly, “I fucking love you. I really fucking do.”

Your brows furrow, gasping out a surprised moan, watching him with upturned brows at his confession, one you had convinced yourself wasn’t real, one that was due to drugs and sex.

“Tell me you love me.”

“Satoru, I-I,” You’re stammering, trying to find the words.

This isn’t something you’ve ever planned on saying, a feeling you’ve been trying to keep buried in the darkest pits of your heart, trapped away in a tiny box that you’d throw into the ocean and never see again if you could.

This is too much, he’s too much, but you can’t keep running from the feelings you’ve been suppressing for so long.

“I do, baby -oh, my god- I love you,” Your hands are tugging him closer so your lips meet fervently as his hips continue to wildly piston into you.

It’s angelic to him, the sound of your voice, your confession. Everything you do, so opposite of him but allowing him to corrupt you in unimaginable ways, sinfully so.

“Say my name, tell everyone.” He growls into your ear, slamming his hips into yours impossibly harder.

“Satoru, S’toru, S’toru” you chant deliriously, over and over again as he thrusts his hips until your orgasm rips through you like a tsunami, a tidal wave of pleasure washing over you.

He makes you cum so many times it’s impossible to keep track, and he’s lost count too, but he knows he’s not going to be able to last much longer.

“Cum again, baby,” he tangles his hand into your hair, grabbing at the roots and forcing you to look up at him, “you can do it, you’re such a good girl, so pretty - cum on my cock.”

There’s not much you can do but listen, walls spasming, legs shaking, back arching off the bed until your soft breasts meet his chest. He kisses you again, spitting into your mouth, moaning against him as his tongue plays with yours.

He thrusts for a few moments that feel like an eternity, gripping your hair so hard you’re convinced he might rip it out until he cums so hard he’s positive he would have gotten you pregnant if you already weren't.

Satoru watches your chest heave, tits rising and falling so beautifully with each breath you take before he sucks in a breath, nuzzling into your neck and pulling out with a wince.

He’s shameless, so he watches the way his seed spills out of you, drips down your ass, and onto the sheets of his bed.

He chuckles when you shutter, pulling your hips away from him due to over-sensitivity when he runs his fingers through your folds, dipping two inside you to coat them in his release before shoving them to the back of your throat, making you gag.

“Good girl,” he whispers while you roll your tongue over his digits the best you can, sucking on them as he pulls them out of your mouth with a soft pop.

You lay your head back on the pillows, eyes half-lidded and a goofy grin on your face. He lets out a low chuckle, leaning down to kiss you, letting his tongue explore every crevice, tasting himself on your tongue while helping you roll to your side as he slides in behind you.

“Look at you,” Satoru whispers, blue gaze looking at the way your bodies lay together in the mirror across the bed, fingers nibbly tracing your belly, drawing several small infinity symbols, lost in thought, “Gorgeous.”

Your cheeks flush in embarrassment while you stare back at him, watching the way he nuzzles into your hair, and kisses your neck and shoulder gently.

“I want you to keep it. I want to see you glowing,” he mutters quietly, “so big and round, full of me.”

You take a deep breath, looking away from the mirror before letting out a low, self-deprecating laugh because this isn’t a good thing, is it? You’re newly pregnant with a married man’s child.

There’s no way this is going to end well.

“Where are you going?” Satoru asks, confused when you pull away from his grasp, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

“To pee. The last thing I need right now is a UTI.”

He hums, rolling over onto his back pointing in the direction of the attached bathroom, shamelessly watching the way your hips sway before you close the door.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, looking over your features.

Nothing looks different. You still look like the same person you were three months ago, albeit a little more tired.

You’ll have to find a new norm. With Satoru… his wife and two other children. All of them will thoroughly hate you when they find out.

Which is absolutely inevitable judging by how excited Satoru seems to be.

The only mild saving grace is they’ll probably hate him as well. But you don’t want that. Not really.

Tears prick in the corner of your eyes. Not those of love or pleasure but of confusion.

Confusion about the direction your life is heading and what you’re supposed to do now. Satoru is married, with a family of his own. He doesn’t owe you anything. After all, he was just a client you let yourself get carried away with.

Will you be a single mother? Will his other children hate you and your child? Will they want to be involved in their life growing up, will you even want them to be?

These are a few of the questions that race through your mind, but there are so many more, and none to be answered tonight.

You wipe your face with your hands, turning away from the mirror as several tears stream down your cheek. These hormones are going to be a real pain in the ass, you can already tell.

After using the restroom, you splash cool water on your face, trying your best to hide the evidence of the tears that escaped.

Satoru’s quiet when you re-emerge, eyes flickering between yours as he hands you a velvety, white robe to cover yourself in. It’s oversized, likely his, but rather than using it he opts to stay shirtless with baggy grey sweats.

He gives you space, noticing the red rings around your eyes, letting you look around his apartment at your leisure. You don’t go far, not wanting to overstay your welcome, especially since you just fucked your late-night lover on his marital bed.

The thought makes your stomach churn.

Walking down the hall from his bedroom to his living room, you take your time looking at the few personal photos that hang on the wall. All of his children.

His son is clearly the oldest, with dark black hair, a spitting image of his mother while his younger daughter looks like she could be Satoru’s twin with matching snow-driven hair. They both were lucky enough to inherit his crystalline eyes.

They’ll both grow up to be little charmers, just like their father.

You notice two things as you make your way from the hall to the living room, continuing to look around your surroundings.

One, all of the decor and furniture, looks like it belongs in a catalog. It’s modern but doesn’t give a homey feel. Like it’s been primarily unused.

And second, in every photo you’ve found, his wife isn’t present in any of them.

“Satoru. Where are we?”

It’s obviously his penthouse, but it looks like it hasn’t been lived in, ever. An open concept with the kitchen and living room divided by a small half wall, the kitchen is filled with the newest appliances one could ever hope and dream of having.

One of the walls in the living room is all floor-to-ceiling windows, giving the most gorgeous view of Shibuya you’ve ever seen, the city lights bright, still roaring to life in the dead of night.

You watch as Satoru walks to the living room with a glass of water, setting it on the glass coffee table before sitting on the sofa.

“I’ve separated from my wife.”

“What? Why?” You turn to him, wide-eyed and confused, heart in your throat at the news, too much excitement coursing through your veins, where it doesn’t belong.

“We just… grew apart. We married young and had kids right away. Over the years, we realized we wanted different things.”

You nod slowly, turning to look at him through the corner of your eye, “I thought you were in counseling. I heard… at the hotel, last time we were together.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, sitting back on the couch, long legs spread in front of him, “we tried for a while, but we’re too different now, want different things.”

It’s quiet for a few moments while you turn your attention back out the window, viewing the Shibuya skyline. There’s some shuffling behind you before Satoru wraps his arms around your stomach, pulling you into him.

“I want to be with you.” A chill runs down your spine at his quiet admission, your eyes flickering up to meet his through the reflection of the mirror.

You place your hands gently over his, leaning into his touch, heart beating so loud you can hear it in your ears.

“Why would you want to be with me? I don’t fit into your world.”

A few months ago you wanted nothing more than to believe he actually loved you when he said it that night. But now that he’s telling you he wants you, that he left his wife and wants to make this work, you’re not sure if you can.

“Besides, what’s the press going to say, the people who voted for you, once they find out about your infidelity, that you got a stripper pregnant and you left your wife for her? This… this is too much, Satoru.”

But that’s why he wants to be with you. Because you’re so different than what his life has become.

Lies, sneaking around, constantly having to save face for his family's sake and his wife’s wellbeing. At least when he’s with you he can truly be himself.

Wild and crazy, calm and relaxed. You’ve seen it all in your short time together, helping him escape the loneliness he’s always been riddled with.

Satoru didn’t mean to fall in love with you, and he’s not sure when it happened. It could have been the moment he first saw you on stage, the most beautiful woman he’s sure he’s ever laid eyes on, or it could have been when he realized you liked to spend time with him and not his money or things he can provide.

You’re the only person he’s been with within his marriage. He hated himself after your first night together, but being with you is so freeing, in ways he hasn’t known, having been tied down to his overbearing wife for years, that he couldn’t stop himself from coming back for more.

After a few months, he realized he hated the way other men would try to garner your attention, and knew they couldn’t treat you like he could. Couldn’t match your energy the way he can.

“I want you to quit stripping.”

“Uhm, no? I like what I do, why would I stop?”

He sighs, it’s heavy, frustrated. And honestly, he wasn’t expecting a fight since he can take care of you in ways you’ve never even considered before.

“The papers, journalists, people on the street. They’re all going to call you a myriad of names, tear you apart and rip into your past to bring you down. It’ll be easier if you quit while we’re ahead.”

Also because he hates the ways guys look at you in the club. Hates the thought of someone else being able to put their hands on you.

If you did it with him, what would stop you from letting another man come and whisk you away from him?

“I’m not going to quit my job because of the decisions you made, Satoru.”

He runs his hands over his face, groaning, “fine, fuck! Just… I can…” he stops to think, waving his hands in front of him a little, “I can change the conversation. Say I support you with your career.”

“So you’ll lie?”

“Not exactly. I’ll just flip some words around and make it work.”

His reputation is ruined, nobody is going to accept him and his wife separating. Not when he’s built his entire career around being a family man. He has to find a new way to work this, otherwise, his career will be ruined too.

“Is that what you do… twist words until you get your way?”

“That’s part of the job, babe.”

He comes back behind you, grabbing your hand, leading you through his living room, down the hall, and back to his bedroom, “we can worry about all of this later. Let’s just be together before shit hits the fan.”

Satoru lays you back on the bed, nestling himself between your thighs. You accept the slow deep strokes he gives, unlike any you’ve ever experienced from him before.

You stay like this until reds, purples, and blues flitter across the sky with the rising of the sun, until you’re both spent, falling asleep in each other's arms.

“Is this your wife’s?” Your staring at the dress Satoru is handing you, early in the morning with a disgruntled look on your face.

“I’m not that insane. I bought it for you.”

You squint your eyes, judging him for buying you clothes to keep here before having actually spoken to you about it. You begrudgingly snatch the dress from his clutches and put it on, opting not to cause a fuss over something as trivial as that.

It’s a little snug, a little smaller than you would have picked out for yourself, but you’re not really in a position to argue when you have nothing else to leave the apartment in.

Lest you go naked, but something tells you Satoru would rather have an aneurysm than let that happen.

He’s in a white button-down, black slacks and is putting on his watch as he stares at you through the mirror in his bedroom.

“Just so you know, there’s going to be journalists outside waiting on us.”

“O-oh, um… Why?”

He takes a deep breath, walking over to place a gentle kiss on your lips.

“News broke last night about you being pregnant and my separation.”

It’s the reason he went to you last night and picked you up from the club. He knew this was going to happen overnight and he wanted to save you from having to deal with it alone.

You nod and don’t ask any more questions as you go down the elevator to the front lobby of the apartment complex, squeezing Satoru’s hand as he puts on his dark square shades, offering you a pair to help cover your face a little.

You’re sick to your stomach, not sure if it will ever settle. This isn’t how you thought your life would turn out, the pregnant mistress of a well-known politician, but you have no choice now but to see it through to the end.

When the doorman opens the lobby door, lights flash, cameras shutter and there’s a loud buzzing from journalists asking questions you can’t make out filling the open space.

Satoru makes his way through the crowd, following someone in a black suit to a fancy black car out on the street, holding the door open so you can squeeze into the back seat.

Now, all you can hope is that the two of you can make it work, and he won’t leave you and your child for another woman, like he did his wife.

@petalsrdead @sofiaconlaz @lovelylashawnalee @s-witch-bitch @watyousayin @desthevirgo @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @musababy @sagejin @ritsatoru @faewithsnakes @erenputurchildreninsideme @lex-dear @hvziers @babybae-shisui

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catindabag · 5 months

Text

TBOSAS on Crack short take (66)

*Are those our new friends?* Read [this] first.

Coryo: Clemmie, please stay.🥺

Clemensia: No! I want to go home-

Felix: Bestie, they haven’t served us the lobster yet. So I insist that you must stay.

Sejanus: For the lobster!

Diana: Mr. Lobster!

Clemensia:. . .

Diana: Pretty please.🥺🙏

Clemensia: I- I do like lobster.

Coryo: You can have the first bite.

Clemensia: Fine! But no more funny business. *side eyes Casca*

Drunk!Casca: That’s easy for you to say, Ms. Dove Goat.

Clemensia: It’s Dovecote.

Drunk!Casca: Dove Goat.

Clemensia: Whatever. Just don’t go arguing with old people-

Strabo: I’m not old.

Sejanus: Yes, you are.

Strabo: Strabo is sad now.

Drunk!Casca: Lol. Old-

Clemensia: Sir!

Drunk!Casca: But I have to win against that rock merchant-

Strabo: I sell guns, you drunk!

Drunk!Casca: I’m not drunk! I’m Casca!

Strabo: Drunk.

Sejanus: Pa, go away! You’re embarrassing me in front of my darling Coryo again!😫

Strabo: Little Snow doesn’t mind.

Coryo: I don’t mind.

Drunk!Casca: I mind.

Clemensia: Sir!

Drunk!Casca: Ugh. Fine! I’m here to tell you that there has been a change this year. One final assignment to prove your worth-

Festus: Are we having a dance-off competition?😀

Coryo: A singing contest!

Sejanus: Bake and Brawl!

Domitia: Dungeons and Dragons!

Livia: Love Island!

Pup: Please be Ninja Warriors!

Gaius: A stand up comedy show!

Persephone: Fear Factor!

Urban: Spelling Bee!

Hilarius: Singles Inferno!

Urban: Let’s do Project Runway instead!

Juno: I agree!

Io: Me too!

Drunk!Casca: What?! No! We are not doing those! This is the Reaping Ceremony! Not the fun and games party!

Felix: Let me guess, it’s a cooking competition, isn’t it?

Drunk!Casca: Heck, no! This is about the Hunger Games, you brats!

Livia: Boring!

Juno: Ew.

Felix: Sir, you do know that we don’t like watching the Hunger Games, right?

Drunk!Casca: I know. That’s why-

Florus: Think about my war traumas!

Coryo: Think about mine!

Persephone: Mine’s the worst!

Clemensia: No offense, but Monty takes the cake on this one.

Palmyra: I’m fine.☺️

Io: Monty-

Palmyra: I’m totally fine! Do you want a slice of my family’s pie?😀

Io: Ew. No.

Drunk!Casca: The important thing is that-

Coryo: No one likes the Hunger Games. Period.

Androcles: Yeah! Coryo’s right! Your Killer Kids Game sucks!

Drunk!Casca: That’s the point! No one watches the games!

Io: Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

Urban: Don’t look at me. I don’t care either way.

Drunk!Casca: Ugh! How should I explain this-

Festus: In simple terms. I’m dumb.

Apollo: I’m also not the sharpest tool in the shed. So-

Drunk!Casca: Each one of you brats will be assigned one Tribute.

Festus: So all of us will have a Tribute?

Drunk!Casca: Yes.

Lysistrata: Even Livia and Monty?!

Livia: Even me?!

Palmyra: I’m fine.🙂

Drunk!Casca: Unfortunately.

Coryo: What for?

Drunk!Casca: You will serve as their Mentors for the games-

Diana: Sir, can we befriend our Tributes?

Drunk!Casca: Why would you want to-

Gaius: That’s a good idea, Ring! Let’s all befriend our Tributes!

Felix: I do want a new friend.

Dennis: Or a business partner.😈

Lysistrata: I just hope that they won’t hate us for being a bunch of spoiled Capitol Nobles-

Clemensia: Lizzie, I’m pretty sure that they already despise us for being born Capitol.

Lysistrata: You’re right.😢

Felix: Bestie, don’t be sad. Just give them some vitamins-

Drunk!Casca: No! You’re going to be their Mentors and nothing else!

Felix: But-

Drunk!Casca: You are all forbidden to befriend your Tributes!

Diana: But I want a new friend!

Vipsania: I need a new gym brother!

Pup: I want to sleep.

Coryo: I still want to eat.

Livia: I need someone to carry my very expensive diamond encrusted handbag while I do my makeup and shopping!

Everyone:. . .

Palmyra: So who wants to eat raw meat?😀

Drunk!Casca: Ugh! Why are you brats acting so dumb and difficult?!

Festus: Because we are?

Urban: I’m not dumb. I’m just difficult.

Drunk!Casca:. . .

Felix: Sir, the Reaping Ceremony-

Drunk!Casca: As the reaping progresses live, I will allocate each District Tribute a Capitol Mentor-

Palmyra: That’s us!😀

Drunk!Casca: Unfortunately.

Palmyra: Yey!

Drunk!Casca: But behind the scenes, you brats must persuade them to perform for the cameras-

Persephone: Can we perform with them?

Vipsania: I want to perform too!

Hilarius: I can play the guitar.

Gaius: We can start a band!

Io: I can juggle.

Domitia: Jasper, you can’t juggle.

Io: I can-

Domitia: You can’t.

Io: Coryo, give me your plate.

Coryo: Sure-

Domitia: Coryo, don’t.

Io: Jasper is sad now.😢

Festus: But can my Tribute and I have an epic dance battle on stage?

Drunk!Casca: You can’t perform with your Tributes!

Festus: Why not?! The crowd would love it-

Drunk!Casca: Creed, please! You’re making me want to quit my job so bad right now!😩

Festus: Isn’t that a good thing?

Drunk!Casca: Ugh! Let’s just get this over with-

Coryo: How about a sing-off battle?

Drunk!Casca: Fine! Do whatever you want! I don’t care anymore.

Everyone: Yey!🥳

Drunk!Casca: But let me just make this clear-

Felix: Can we wear costumes?

Hilarius: I wanna wear a onesie.

Persephone: Are fursuits allowed?

Drunk!Casca: *sighs* You can wear whatever you want as long as it’s appropriate.

Hilarius: Can I wear-

Drunk!Casca: Short shorts are not allowed.

Hilarius: How about-

Drunk!Casca: Mini skirts are also not allowed.

Hilarius: My mom-

Drunk!Casca: Your mother is not allowed to help you.

Hilarius: My old man-

Drunk!Casca: Creepy Mr. Heavensbee Sr. is banned from attending the show. Period.

Hilarius: So I’m alone?

Drunk!Casca: You’re on your own, kid.

Hilarius: But-

Drunk!Casca: You always have been.

Coryo: Can we cheat to win?

Drunk!Casca: Sure. Why not. Just don’t tell Dr. Gaul.

Dr.Gaul: I’m still here-

Dennis: Nice! *evil laughs*

Drunk!Casca: But don’t forget, your role is to turn these children into spectacles-

Palmyra: Like us!😄

Drunk!Casca: Unfortunately.

Apollo: What’s the prize?

Florus: Is it worth it?

Coryo: Is it money?

Hilarius: I want money.

Persephone: Food!

Iphigenia: Free therapy!

Domitia: A cow!

Io: Love!

Crack!Casca: No! Victory in the games doesn’t mean much if your Tribute doesn’t perform well.

Domitia: So no cow?

Crack!Casca: No. However, your entire future rests on this last project-

Coryo: Oh, thank Panem! Thank you, Panem for giving me a rich man to marry! I don’t need to think about winning some sh*tty game!

Sejanus: I’ll give you anything and everything, my love!😍

Coryo: I know, Babe. That’s why I love you and your daddy’s money.

Sejanus: Kiss?😘

Coryo: Kiss.

Drunk!Casca: No kissing and making love inside my hall!

Hilarius: Technically speaking, this is my family’s hall-

Drunk!Casca: My school, my hall!

Clemensia: Sir, your speech.

Drunk!Casca: Oh, yeah. Where was I?

Clemensia: Last project.

Drunk!Casca: Oh, that’s right! Let the Reaping Ceremony begin!

Felix: I can’t wait to make new friends!

Diana: Yey! New friends!

Drunk!Casca: District 1 boy Fabric goes to Liver Cardew!

Livia: Fabric?! My Tribute’s name is Facet, you drunk!

Drunk!Casca: I don’t care, Liver.

Livia: Ugh. I’m telling mother.

Drunk!Casca: District 1 girl Velvet Bean goes to Palmolive Monthly!

Palmyra: Yey!🥳

Florus: Sorrows and prayers.

Felix: May the odds be ever in poor Velvereen’s favor.😔

Drunk!Casca: District 2 boy Marius-

Sejanus: No.

Drunk!Casca: Walrus.

Sejanus: Still wrong.

Drunk!Casca: Like I care! Martin from 2 goes to boyfriend stealer Syllabus Plinth!

Sejanus: Coryo, look! That’s my first best friend!

Coryo: Babe, is he the one who keeps ignoring your letters?

Sejanus: Yup! He’s just shy.

Festus: I think Marcus just doesn’t like you-

Sejanus: He’s just shy!

Coryo: Whatever you say, my love.

Drunk!Casca: District 2 girl Cabin-

Florus: Sabyn.

Drunk!Casca: Sharyn.

Florus: Her name is Sabyn.

Drunk!Casca: Saber Salamander goes to Flower Friend!

Florus: It’s f*ckin’ Sabyn!

Drunk!Casca: Doubt. District 3 boy Circuit goes to I Owe Casper.

Io: Is he smart?

Drunk!Casca: You tell me. District 3 girl Tesseract goes to Turban-

Urban: How the f*ck does a simple name like Teslee become Tesseract?!

Drunk!Casca: That’s her name. Deal with it. District 4 boy Milton-

Persephone: Mizzen.

Drunk!Casca: Martian.

Persephone: Mizzenmast!

Drunk!Casca: The little gremlin from 4 goes to Miss Maid Stew!

Persephone: I hope he likes pizza.

Drunk!Casca: District 4 girl Carlo-

Festus: It’s Carl.

Coryo: Her name’s Coral.

Festus: I’m pretty sure it’s Carl.

Drunk!Casca: Toyota Corolla goes to Fetus Creed!

Festus: It’s Festus!

Drunk!Casca: District 5 boy Hyena goes to Tennis String.

Dennis: Cool.

Drunk!Casca: District 5 girl Solar Flare goes to the local grocer.

Iphigenia: Is that me?

Drunk!Casca: Unfortunately.

Iphigenia: Ok!☺️

Drunk!Casca: District 6 boy Oslo goes to Apple Ring.

Apollo: Nice!

Drunk!Casca: District 6 girl Jenny goes to Dino Ring.

Diana: My new friend!

Drunk!Casca: District 7 boy Leech goes to Insignia Sicko.

Vipsania: My new gym bro!

Drunk!Casca: District 7 girl Stamina Mina goes to Tiny Harry Tone.

Pup: She’s already crying.

Drunk!Casca: District 8 boy Bobby Corn Poppy goes to You Know Flips!

Juno: You gave me a peasant?!

Drunk!Casca: District 8 girl Winnie-

Hilarius: No.

Drunk!Casca: Little Whitney from 8 goes to the clown wearing short shorts!

Hilarius: Her name’s Wovey and my short shorts are fabulous!

Drunk!Casca: Good luck, Queen Bee. District 9 boy Panini Pablo goes to Bias Green.

Gaius: I hope he likes bread.

Drunk!Casca: District 9 girl Chief goes to the local kleptomaniac.

Androcles: Nice! A new partner in crime!

Drunk!Casca: District 10 boy Toner goes to the farmhand.

Domitia: I hope he likes cows.

Drunk!Casca: District 10 girl Brady-

Arachne: Brandy.

Drunk!Casca: Right. Candy goes to Acne Crane.

Arachne: Whatever. Like I care.🙄

Drunk!Casca: District 11 boy Reacher-

Clemensia: His name is Reaper.

Drunk!Casca: The Creeper Paper Meter goes to that annoying angry dove sitting right over there!👉

Clemensia: I’m so telling Capitol News about this.😠

Drunk!Casca: District 11 girl Drill goes to President Raven’s Bill!

Felix: That checks out.

Drunk!Casca: District 12 boy Jessie goes to our local drug deal-

Lysistrata: I sell vitamins!

Drunk!Casca: Doubt. District 12 girl Lucile-

Coryo: No.

Drunk!Casca: Suzy!

Coryo: Not even close.

Drunk!Casca: Louis!

Coryo: That’s still wrong.

Drunk!Casca: I don’t care! Juicy Bae Bird goes to Crassus Xanthos Snow!

Coryo: It’s Lucy Gray-

Drunk!Casca: Goosey Lay Beard is your Tribute, Honey! End of story!

Coryo: Sir-

Drunk!Casca: Crassus, my love, the Reaping Ceremony is finally over! Let’s go on a date!

Coryo: Nope. That’s illegal. I’m going home with my boyfriend.

Sejanus: I’ll go get the car, my love!😍

Coryo: Thank you, Babe. Let’s go.

Festus: Yeah. I’m also going to Seji’s place.

Lysistrata: Me too.

Felix: Thanks for the lamb stew.

Gaius: Peace!

Diana: But what about Mr. Lobster?!

Androcles: Don’t worry about it. The lobster is now secured.😏

Dennis: Andie, why is the lobster inside your bag?

Androcles: For security reasons.

Diana: Ok! Let’s go to Seji’s!

Felix: To the Plinth Mansion!

Everyone: Yey!🥳

Drunk!Casca: Yo, can I go-

Everyone: No!

43 notes · View notes