SILLY TIME WITH ME (20) | Black Female | Anime and F1 friendly blog | Mainly repost and post ff | Gemini (leave me alone) | writing a book | Carlos 55 Oscar 81 FAN!!!
20 - African-American - Carlos Sainz, Oscar Piastri, and Lewis Hamilton fan - Will rant about F1
Hello Gang, I go by “Random Fanfiction” that is subject to change I will write about almost anything, as long as I have knowledge of it I write about it.
In my younger years I did BTS now i mainly do anime and f1 soooo YEAH
Hey! Idk if you write for Bad Bunny, but can you do headcannons for the media finding out about their relationship?
I don't know how long this has been here, and I am so sorry but here we go!
The media find out that you and Bad Bunny are dating includes:
-His social media managers preparing a joined statement from you and Benito where it states that neither of you will give explicit details of your relationship
-Benito being VERY nervous once the first pictures of you as a couple start trending, so many media outlets already writing the first articles about the two of you
-Your social media notificatinos SKYROCKETING the moment your joined statement is posted on Benito's Instagram page
-Your boyfriend being so worried that soon the hate will start and wants to be there in case you feel nervous or just anxious
-You ending up reassuring him that you're doing fine and that you got at thick skin. That all that matters to you is him
-Benito's managers already receiving so many interview requests, with you included and magayzines wanting to do a couple's interview and photoshooting
-The idea not being bad, but Benito is anxious that the interview might quickly go into an uncomfortable direction
-That man just wants to protect you
-His friends and families posting (with your permission) pictures where it's very obvious that you and Benito are an item and writing captions about how much they love you
-Benito booking a two-week vacation for the two of you to then escape the whole hype because after a few days it's starting to get intese as the threats, messy blogs and just the whole internet is trying to get into your business
-The two of you flying to a tropical island where there are barely any paparazzis and the vaction being just amazing
-Benito gifting you luxery gits and a meaningful promise ring to always love and protect you, no matter how harsh the world can get
-You accepting his gifts with grace and grattitude as you know that that man loves the fuck out of you
synopsis: a story in which a depressed satoru gets sent to the future and sees just how bright it eventually becomes. meanwhile, you're reminded of how much of a brat your husband used to be when you first started dating.
cw: MDNI, time travel, smut w/ a touch of angst bc we LOVE plot, satoru's actually so mean at first lol, dad!jo (him and reader share a daughter together)
notes: hiiii we got 6.5k words for this one ❤️ comm for the lovely @sadlittlecucumber i hope u like!!!!
song rec: drag path — twenty one pilots
Satoru’s life ended up being a fucking bummer.
His best friend’s a mass murderer. Shoko’s gone off to do her own thing with medicine. Nanami left to go become a banker or whatever. Ijichi’s… Ijichi. Oh, and Haibara’s dead. Everyone who’s alive seems to have moved on— so should Satoru, honestly. But times proved that to be quite difficult.
He’s starting to understand where Suguru was coming from with the whole exorcise-absorb mantra. Except for him, it was exorcise and destroy, leaving every cursed site he’s stepped foot on looking like god himself decided to hit the reset button to obliterate the place.
Nobody says anything about it. He’s probably the closest thing to a god. Despite having tried his hardest all throughout his youth to fit in and act as if he was just like everyone else, people were still terrified to fuck with him.
And despite the chaos he’s constantly surrounded by— mainly from his own doing— the days still find a way to bleed into each other, morphing into a never ending cycle of boredom and violence. It’s quite the combo. The higher ups are lucky he’s too tired to plot anything behind their backs.
He’s exhausted.
The past is too blurry. The future’s too bleak.
Gojo was bound to fuck up sooner or later. The thought of him finally snapping like Suguru did, dangling in the back of his mind, taunting him.
He didn’t snap. It’s so much worse than that. At least in the eyes of the arrogant boy who got bested by, what he assumed to be a grade two curse because of how pudgy and stupid it looked. The thing that caught him lacking looked like a fucking blob fish that struggled with crippling anxiety, how the hell was he supposed to know that it could mess with timeof all things?
One moment he’s laughing at the way it looks, the next he’s in the complete dark.
That was the first time he’s smiled in months, by the way.
“Huh?” Satoru huffs out, trying to look around before eventually realizing that he has a blindfold on, and rips it off in annoyance. “Don’t tell me that thing knocked me out,” he begins to grumble to himself. It’d explain why he had a blindfold on… but then he realized he was in a completely different outfit, one that you didn’t put on someone who was currently in rest and recovery.
He highly doubts Shoko would even change him, anyway, at least not for this.
“Oh hey, you’re home.”
Home?
He looks around, and all he knows is this isn’t the dorm he’s continued to stay in after graduation, purely due to the fact that he was already out on missions for up to 18 hours each day. Not to mention that the penthouse he was currently standing in was too clean to be his. Too warm. Way too comfortable.
You already knew there was something deeply off in those first few seconds of looking into his eyes. This wasn’t your husband— this was the hot mess you met and still fell in love with all those years ago.
You tilt your head to the side, more curious than cautious, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he snorts, literally the worst liar ever. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” you hum, holding eye contact long enough to leave him feeling a bit unsettled. “You tell me.”
First of all, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that?
Second, who even are you?
Something big and shiny on your finger catches his attention, then he looks at his own hand that has an equally shiny band around his ring finger.
Fuck.
“Honey–”
Satoru physically cringes at the pet name, giving himself away once again.
“I’m not Satoru,” he blurts out, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I mean, I am, but I’m not— FUCK– some fuckin’ curse blasted me into the future, and I need to go back.”
Well, that was quick. He’s always quick to fold under pressure when it comes to you— it’s something he’s unaware of though, as he fights back the urge to start pacing back and forth.
There’s a light smack from your mouth when you go to open it, only for the words to never even come, let alone die out. Nothing about this surprises you. This is not the craziest thing that’s happened since you’ve met Satoru.
Your lips thin into a smile as you take a deep breath, knowing you had no choice but to accept your new circumstances.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He raises a brow at how you just… accepted it.
“Yeah… I believe it.” You respond flatly, then point at him, casually motioning your finger up and down. “Your attitude kinda sucked when we first met.”
He grimaces, taken aback by the statement. “No, it doesn’t–”
“You also liked to argue, too.”
“Okay— whatever,” he waves a dismissive hand, not at all interested in hearing what else you had to say. At this point, it just sounded like you wanted to shit on him, something he actually doesn’t have any fucking time for right now. “You’re a sorcerer… right?”
“No.”
“Christ.” Satoru sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re fuckin’ useless—“
You scoff, more humored than offended. “Where are you going?”
“To figure this shit out!” he snaps, throwing his arms out as he turns around to face you.
“Okay,” you shrug, still way too calm for Satoru’s liking, as it pisses him off even more. “If you don’t get it all figured out tonight, you can always come back. We have a guest room.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, as if that was the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “I appreciate the offer.”
–
“Yaga” Satoru storms into the principal’s office, ignoring all his cursed stuffed animals, but noticing what he’s done with his hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”
The principal's brows pinch together, wishing he had locked the door to his office. Satoru fucked with him enough today by showing up to a meeting 20 minutes late with some sugary frap in his hand, and now he’s storming into his office, insulting him out of nowhere.
“Actually, nevemind.” Satoru waves a hand to stop him from even answering his question, reminding himself not to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I need your help. I got sent into the future by some curse, and I need to get back.”
Yaga inhales sharply. “What are you even talking about?”
“Exactly what I just said! I’m from 2009! Not whatever age I am now—”
“31.”
Satoru throws up a little in his mouth. “Send me back.”
Yaga lets out a long, disappointed sigh. It’s always something with Satoru. Always. Having to deal with the younger version of him was a painful reminder that he’s been dealing with his bullshit for well over a decade now. Nothing surprises him anymore.
“Let me see if some other windows would be willing to help look through the library. I’m sure you’ll be able to find information on what kind of curse you got hit with.”
“Thank you,” Satoru groans, still not very pleased by everyone’s reactions thus far, but grateful that he can at least get somewhere with Yaga… unlike a certain somebody.
Hours later, he finds himself at the school’s dusty, unkept library. It looks worse than it originally looked before he walked in. Books sprawled everywhere. Research papers were scattered all over the tables and floor. Assistants running around in every direction, more than half of them terrified at the total 180 in Satoru’s attitude.
“W-we can’t find anything,” Ijichi says, too old to be acting this scared in Satoru’s opinion.
He hums, elbows still resting on his knees, not bothering to sit up. “Hey, Ijichi?”
Ijichi gulped loudly, managing to annoy the world’s strongest sorcerer even more. “...Yes?”
“How are you even more incompetent now than you were before?”
“I tried my best! I swear!”
“Well, it’s not good enough— I’m still here!” he snaps at the nervous wreck of a man. Thank fucking god Ijichi listened to him and just became a window. He sucks at it too, but at least it’s easier for this dumbass to avoid death. “God— what the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”
“This is just one of the libraries, there’s more! And some in Kyoto too, that we’ll have the Kyoto branch check out.”
“Do whatever you need to do. I’m just letting you know right now that if I'm not back by tomorrow, you better watch the fuck out.”
The threat is followed by complete dead silence, aside from a certain someone's breath catching in horror.
“Me?!” Ijichi squeaks out.
The sorcerer doesn’t bother answering that and instead walks away, grumbling something insulting under his breath, just in complete and utter disbelief over how Ijichi truly hasn’t changed.
—
You figured your husband would eventually come back, so you set some food aside for him, and now you’re sitting at the dinner table, trying not to laugh at the pout on his face as he picks at his dinner with the chopsticks in his hand.
“Is the food good?”
“Sure.”
“I can warm that up for you, if you want?” you ask, barely trying to hide your amusement.
“No thanks,” he curtly responds before shoving another piece of karaage into his mouth. He’s known to have a sweet tooth, but chicken karaage’s probably his favorite food, savory wise. You almost want to tell him that he’s allowed to enjoy food even if his day hasn’t gone the way he had planned. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring.”
Your lips twitch, threatening to break out into a fit of laughter. “Right, sorry.”
“Mommy…? Is Daddy home yet?”
Oh great. As if the day couldn’t get any worse— now there’s a child.
“Yeah,” you respond in a tentative tone, shooting Satoru a look that screams ‘behave or else’, and even though you are currently a stranger to him, it intimidates him enough to behave for the time being.
A little girl, no older than 4 years old, walks into the kitchen and Satoru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon seeing his daughter. It’s pretty obvious she’s his with her baby blue eyes and stark white hair. Her facial features are entirely yours, though. It’s strange to see.
“Hey… kiddo—” he awkwardly says, not really sure how to address the little girl. You clear your throat, mouthing ‘princess’ when he looks at you, because your daughter also happens to have her dad’s attitude. “I mean princess.”
It’s hilarious how unnatural it sounds right now when he was the one who started calling her that the moment you two took her home from the hospital.
“You pomis to wead bedtime stowie,” she starts to pout— same exact way he does.
“Did I?” He gives the girl a sympathetic look, albeit fake.
“Yeah,” she frowns as she walks up to you, giving him the world’s nastiest side eye. “Liar.”
Why is that the one word she’s able to enunciate correctly? She didn’t even stutter.
“Yeah— I was a little busy with work today,” he murmurs, as if she knew what that even meant. With the glare she was giving him, he doubted she’d even care if he broke down what work and the importance of it was. “Maybe mommy can read to you tonight?”
Sai wasn’t having that.
Satoru spent the end of his night reading her favorite book to her. Multiple times. He almost asked if it was some form of punishment for not upholding a promise he didn’t technically make himself, but decided against it in fear that she’d make him read it one more time. Sai fell asleep… eventually. Despite there being no way to prove it, he knows that the little girl forced herself to stay up out of pure spite.
But still, he finds himself smiling as he thinks about his nightmare of a future, not wiping it off quickly enough when you lightly knock on the guest bedroom door.
“Here’s some jammys for the night.” You smile back as you walk up and hand him a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, both neatly folded up. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your work clothes.”
“Oh uh— thanks.” He clears his throat and forces out a laugh, pushing through the embarrassment of getting caught smiling to himself.
You’re giving him that look again. The one that’s mixed with amusement and a bit of fondness, where you look like you’re about to start making fun of him, but never do. Satoru would rather die than admit it makes him nervous.
“What?”
There’s a small pause as your smile grows. “Do you like your kid?”
“She’s weird.”
“Yeah, no— you wouldn’t believe who she got that from.”
“Fuck off.” A laugh easily slips through his lips this time, unable to stay serious at the thought of her inheriting even just a quarter of the traits he had as a child. Then it grows quiet again as he realizes she probably has the freedom to be a kid.
He wants to ask, but you beat him to it with a statement that answered the question he had in mind.
“Your duties as her father don’t end just because you managed to time travel by the way,” you say playfully, though he knows you’re being dead serious.
He can only guess what other horrors that little girl will subject him to for the rest of his time here. To put it simply, she’s not afraid of Dad.
For once, somebody doesn’t look at him as a god to fear.
—
It’s been over a month.
Ijichi and the rest of the windows are just as useless as they were when they first started trying to find answers. All that’s changed is that Nanami knows, and doesn’t seem to be too thrilled about the fact that he is now involved.
But still, the search for the fix to his predicament continues, turning every library and warehouse upside down. That’s all they could really do— aside from asking the elders for assistance of some sort.
Over his dead body.
Knowing they’d most likely do more harm than good, everyone’s agreed to keep this all a little secret from them.
So all that’s left to do, or rather forced to do, is to be patient. It’s hard. Satoru doesn’t do patient— he’s the type to snap his fingers and have a solution magically appear right before his eyes. You can only imagine how difficult it’s been for him to accept that he can’t immediately get what he wants right now.
Not to mention the fact that he had to continue working throughout all of this, but that wasn’t very surprising.
Now, what was surprising was learning that he has his weekends completely to himself. If anything, he assumed he’d just work more as time went on, but no. Turns out he threatened to kill the higher-ups if they didn’t let him have that when you two got married.
Satoru looks over your body once.
Twice.
He totally understands his future self.
He looks again for a third time, and you just so conveniently turn around, showing off your cute, frilly little apron covered in flour streaks.
It’s Sunday— you’ve been baking sweet treats all morning, and he wishes he had been a little nicer to you. Especially a couple of days ago when he snapped at you.
You had found him sitting alone on the balcony, head in his hands from yet another day of failure.
“Hey… any good news?”
“No,” he said impatiently. “If there was, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
“Fair enough.” Your voice took a dip as you looked at the ground, allowing yourself to feel a little hurt for a moment before trying to lift the mood again. “Well… me and Sai stopped by your favorite bakery and got you the cookies you like if you wanted some—“
“No— no,” Satoru cut you off. “I don’t want your fucking cookies. I don’t want to do a family movie night where all we watch is Ms. Rachel. I don’t want to read some book about a mouse trying to become a fucking painter over and over again. I don’t want ANY of it. I want to fucking go home— what part about that do you not get?”
You tried to stand as straight as possible despite your shoulders growing heavier, pushing against the small frown threatening to carve itself across your face. You forgot how mean he used to be, at least during that first year of dating him. It only stings more because the man you married would never raise his voice like that, and you remind yourself that this isn’t him.
After a long pause, he looked up at you and immediately felt guilt wash over him.
“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to meet your eyes as he began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I just— fuck. I didn’t mean any of that—”
“It’s fine.” You forced yourself to look at him again and smile. “I’ll uh… give you some space.”
The one thing about Satoru is that he doesn’t apologize. Like ever. So, one could only imagine how painfully awkward it was later that night when he knocked on your bedroom door to say he was sorry. It didn’t help that you were in a paper-thin silk slip, skin glistening from the lotion you rubbed all over it— he spent half his time trying not to stare at your tits. Had you been anyone else, it wouldn’t have felt as genuine.
But thank fuck he apologized, you probably would’ve spent all day ignoring him.
You raise a brow, and his cheeks start to pink. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing, you just–” he awkwardly gestures at your entire body, “there’s flour all over you.”
It almost sounds like he’s offended by it. He kind of is. You keep your foot on his fucking neck— he doesn’t even know why he came out here.
“Oh, right— 'cause messes have always bothered you,” you lean over the island ever so slightly. The pink on his cheeks darkens as you do, unable to control his eyes from drifting down to your cleavage. And while he’s not exactly ashamed of looking— you are his wife after all— he can’t help but be a little flustered.
He’s always had a thing for milfs.
Especially when said milf is talking about messes— he knows a couple of places he could make a mess on right now.
“Nah,” he rests his elbows on the marble counter as a playful grin stretches across his face. “This is nothing compared to how I like it.”
You tilt your head, a small laugh escaping you as you rest your chin over your palm, curious to see where this conversation will get you.
“How do you like it?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know how filthy and depraved he could get when he’s alone in a room with you.
And you fucking miss that.
He opens his mouth to respond.
Then you hear your daughter whimpering about waking up alone. It’s nothing new, and you revert back to mom mode as you watch her turn the corner and waddle towards you.
Satoru, on the other hand, is not used to this. The slightly bruised laugh he lets out just barely masks his desire to fucking scream. What a fucking cockblock— no wonder you only have one kid.
His kid completely ignores his existence as she wraps herself around your leg, continuing to whimper despite no actual tears streaming down her cheeks. “I had a nightmawh.”
Meanwhile, there’s Satoru, who has yet to wake up from his very own nightmare. He internally sighs, then attempts to grab her attention because it doesn’t feel very good watching her give it all to you. “You wanna share a muffin with daddy?”
It’s starting to sound more natural.
“Y-yeah,” she sniffles.
Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap, absolutely demolishing the blueberry muffin they ended up splitting— a complete 180. He couldn’t be mad, even if he tried.
His little girl was a dream.
—
Month two. Ijichi is still as useless as ever. He stopped complaining to you about him, though. You noticed he doesn’t talk about going back to his original timeline all that much anymore.
It’s not like Satoru’s given up hope, he’s just more present, as if he finally realized that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to send him back any faster. He’s unknowingly more like his future self— laid back, not a care in the world.
He’s even sleeping in for once. It’s not that hard though when Sai’s gone for the day. She seemed to care more about getting the hell out of the house with her grandparents than greeting her father a good morning. You didn’t push her to, either— figuring Satoru needed the sleep. He always does.
It’s too bad that his phone started blowing up at around 10:00 am. Unfortunately for you, he left his phone in the living room, leaving you to get up and grab it since the master bedroom was the closest room to it. With how thick the walls are, you doubt he’d even hear it.
With a long sigh, you rise from bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you snatch the stupid phone off the coffee table.
The snores coming from Satoru reach your ears before you even open the door. You have to hold back a laugh as you walk in and take a look at him. Face down, his long limbs sprawled over the bed, messy white hair sticking out in all directions.
You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surprised infinity is off.
“Toru?” He stirs a bit, and you cautiously attempt to wake him up again. “Toru— someone’s been trying to call you for the past 10 minutes now.”
He lifts his head, eyes still sealed shut as he murmurs, “Who?”
“Uhh,” you look at the screen, unsure of who it might be. “Your contact name for them is nerd.”
You know it’s not Ijichi because his contact name is “courage 🐶” in his phone. Someone else must've annoyed Satoru for him to change yet another contact.
Satoru shoves his head back into the pillow and groans before taking the phone off your hands.
It’s Nanami. He, of all people, should know now is not the time to be blowing up his phone right now because he is fucking sleeping. It’s a Saturday for fucks sake.
Satoru sighs and accepts the call, grumbling into the phone. “What?”
Nanami cuts straight to the chase, as he would rather be doing anything else right now.
“How long are you planning on hiding your secret from the higher-ups?” he asks in a clipped tone.
Satoru rubs his eyes, too tired to return the same sense of urgency his friend seems to have at the moment. “Forever.”
“Don’t give me that.” A vein pops up on the side of the usually stoic man’s forehead. “They asked me about you this morning. They know something’s up. I can’t keep covering for you if it means my own safety’s on the line.”
“You really haven’t changed, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—“
“You’ll be fine,” Satoru cuts him off. “They’re always up my ass anyway. I doubt they’re even suspicious. They just don’t know how to mind their own fuckin’ business. Seriously. You’re worrying over nothing right now.”
“I swear to god Gojo, if you—“
“Kay’ good night.”
Click.
Nanami’s probably fuming right now, but he’ll get over it. Satoru wanted to enjoy this. Lying in a comfy bed, surrounded by nothing but peace and quiet. He closes his eyes and stretches a bit, then rests his hands behind his head.
He would’ve forgotten that you were still sitting at the edge of the bed had you not lightly cleared your throat. One eye opens to look at you, then closes. The last thing he wants to do is share the reason why Nanami had been blowing up his phone all morning.
“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.” You cross your arms. “What was that all about?”
“Nothin’,” he easily says. “Just Nanami being Nanami— the guy’s a fuckin’ stickler for no reason.”
“That’s a little rude, no?” you chastise him.
“So is waking me up.”
“Sai wakes you up all the time, though.”
“Sai’s a ball of sunshine,” he says, quickly coming to her defense. “Not a grown man with depression— where is she by the way?”
“She’s spending the afternoon with my parents.”
Both eyes open this time, and stay open. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
“No way,” you wave a hand. “I need a break, too.”
“Yeah, no— I’m sure,” he agrees, feeling flustered all the sudden.
And Satoru being Satoru, he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding it, once again forgetting that you can read him better than anyone else can.
You smile, scooching closer, “You good there?”
“Yeah, m’fine,” he murmurs, trying not to shift around too much.
“I can take care of that, you know.”
“What?”
“That.” You look down at the boner he’s been trying to hide since finding out it’s just you two here.
“That’s not—“ His brain straight up short-circuits. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“No.” You continue to inch forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“No— never,” he shakes his head, answering a little too fast. “Fuck— won’t future me get mad?”
“Not at all. The most he’d probably do is make me show him what we did.”
“Make you show him?” he repeats after you in disbelief.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, that’s— that’s fuckin’ hot.”
Minutes later, you’re leaning forward with your hand wrapped around his base, and his breath catches as you start to slowly pump his cock.
“Feel good?”
His lids lower as he hums, “yeah— keep going.”
You lean forward, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to the tip of his cock, letting it mix with the precum that was already beading down from it. The wet sounds of you stroking him begin to grow, making the heat in between your legs start to pool.
“Can I sit on it?” You look up at him, batting your lashes as you innocently ask.
“Please,” he blurts out, just about ready to start begging you to.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as eager as him after all the weeks spent pretending like you don’t notice the way he stares at you. Lustfully. The slip you’re wearing happens to be extra short today, so you forego stripping down and practically pounce on him. Your soaked panties grazing over his rock-hard length as you straddle him, letting yourself get comfortable while Satoru grows impatient.
His hands find themselves planted on your hips and pull you down. A low groan escapes him as he grinds you against him. “God— fuck me. Please.”
“Well, since you’re being so sweet—”
You reach down, hooking a finger into the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side. He’s already lining himself up with your entrance, teasing your hole as he runs his tip through your folds, collecting all the slick. His lips part as he watches in awe at how damn wet you are.
His head tips back as you lower yourself, groaning and rambling to himself as if you weren’t there to hear it all.
"Fuck. You’re so hot.” His words come out strained as he watches you start to take him inch by inch, slowly working yourself open. “So fuckin’ tight, too.”
“Mmm— forgot how big you are.” Your voice is all soft and breathy from the fullness, nails slowly digging into his abs as you bottom out.
It takes a minute to adjust— it has been 3 months after all. But then you finally roll your hips, and Satoru almost starts singing praises at how good you are at that— lifting your hips all the way up and throwing them back, taking all of him.
"Fuck yeah– just like that," he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Feels so fucking good."
You murmur back a measly, “kay,” already dizzy from the stretch. You’re able to keep up the pace on your own for a bit, until you feel his grip on you tighten and the sounds of skin slapping against his start to grow as he starts to help you out.
You wouldn’t exactly call it help though, not when he ended up doing all the work— holding you steady while he practically bounces you on his cock, pulling more and more moans out of you as the head of his cock repeatedly kissed your sweet spot with almost no effort.
"You take it so good," he groans, pupils blown wide as he starts to feel himself lose control, snapping his hips up a little harder than the last. He wants more, he always wants more— so he pulls you forward and pulls your straps down far enough for your tits to spill out. "Perfect fuckin’ tits. Been thinking about these for weeks."
You let out a surprised gasp as he pops a nipple in his mouth with no warning. You fully believe him with the way he starts sucking and swirling and flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, all while snapping his hips up harder.
He pulls back with a pop, looking up at you for approval. “Was that good?”
“Mhm.” There’s a fucked out expression on your face as you weakly nod. “Harder.”
“You want me to fuck you harder?”
“Yeah.”
Something in him snaps. Eager to please you, he flips you over and folds you underneath him— grabbing the back of your knees and pinning them to your chest so he can drive his cock into you deeper.
“Better?”
He drives his hips forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs. “God— yes.”
“I can’t— fuck— can’t believe you’re all mine, can’t believe I get to have you,” he starts to ramble as the sounds of him absolutely pounding into you fill the room. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect— all of you.”
He crashes his lips into yours— the kiss is messy, powered by hunger. Satoru’s always been overwhelming, but it’s been years since it’s been this emotionally intense. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s been waiting for you all his life.
Your walls begin to squeeze and flutter around his cock, pulling another groan out of him. “You close?”
“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the pressure begin to coil. “Keep going.”
He’s close too, you can tell by how sloppy his thrusts have grown, no longer trying to control himself as he starts chasing after both of your releases. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you faster, harder— balls slapping against your ass with each lewd wet squelch.
Your orgasm hits you hard after one particularly rough thrust. Scratching at his back as a cry tears through you, and it only goes straight to his dick, not even realizing just how overstimulated you are from the way he drills into you.
“Fuck.” It’s just one word that comes out of his mouth after realizing how hard he’s about to fucking cum. He bites into your shoulder as his balls start to tighten, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself.
When it happens, it’s a lot. He shoves himself deep inside of you, unaware of all the weight he puts on you as hot spurts of cum begin to flood your walls. Slowly grinding against you, letting your tight pussy milk the rest of him.
You’re wrecked by the end of it. You both are— lids tired and heavy, bodies sore and out of breath.
And in the end, you just let yourself fall asleep, unaware of the soft kiss pressed against your temple as he watched you.
—
It’s month three, and Satoru doesn’t want to go back.
What was the point? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to go back to. Jujutsu Society never crumbled from him getting shot into the future. Would it really be that bad if he just never went back and continued on with his life from here?
He hasn’t uttered a word about it out loud, but the way he completely stopped asking Yaga and Ijichi for updates was telling of where he was at mentally.
Acceptance.
He likes his life here.
You’ve come to your own conclusion after these last three months.
No wonder why he was so hot and cold when you were trying to get to know him. Satoru got a little taste of genuine comfort, only for it to be ripped away from him sometime before you two actually met. It explains all the times you wondered why he even tried with you, despite being too emotionally inept to even be in a relationship. He probably went through the beginning of your relationship thinking you could disappear at any second.
With that being said, he can’t stay here. As much as you’d love to continue being the source of comfort for this version of Satoru, he needs to experience the last year he spent alone before meeting you. He needs to feel cautious around you. He needs to try and fail at opening up a handful of times before getting comfortable with the idea of truly being vulnerable with a person. Getting over that element of fear he had towards getting close to others is what made him a husband and father— he couldn’t just skip that part of his life.
You have no idea how you’re going to tell him that, though. You’re not one to kick a sick puppy, especially one as cute as him. He’s so happy here with you and Sai that the thought of doing so makes your chest ache.
He’s having a tea party with Sai right now, limbs way too long to sit in the little stool she pulled up for him to sit in. He drinks imaginary tea from the plastic pink cup she hands him, and your chest aches some more. You force yourself to look away before the tears start.
You’d do the next 11 years all over again if you could.
“Hey, Honey?” Satoru calls out to you.
There’s a pause before you whip your head around— it’s been months since he’s called you that. There’s nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes as his gaze meets yours. “Why is Nanami’s number saved under ‘nerd’ in my phone?”
He’s back.
“I don’t know,” you laugh, despite the tear falling down your cheek. “You tell me.”
—
Satoru didn’t want to believe it when everything around him went dark once again. It’s not until his feet touch the ground with a soft thud and he finds himself back in his messy, cold dorm when reality slapped him across the face.
Something between a sob and a gut-wrenching scream rips from his throat. Grabbing the round shades he had hoped he’d never have to fucking wear again, he rips them off his face and sends it crashing into the wall, breaking into a hundred little pieces. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give himself a chance to even breathe or think before raising his hand and releasing a purple orb with just a flick of his fingers.
Impulsive. Reckless. Deadly.
Satoru was fucking devastated.
Nobody knew what triggered him that night. All they knew was that the east wing of the school looked like it had been hit by an asteroid by the time he calmed down. He didn’t speak to anyone for a good two weeks following the incident. Everyone wants to think he was lucky the explosion didn’t have any casualties, but then they remembered who he was: Satoru fucking Gojo.
God’s don’t get punished, nor do natural disasters— it’s hard to tell which one he was at this point.
One Year Later
“If it’s that small of a curse, why are you sending me there?” Satoru continues to argue with one of the new managers over the phone.
It wasn’t that small of a curse. It was a grade one. But still, given the sorcerer’s title as a special grade, he was overqualified for the job.
“I’m sorry, we just don’t have anyone available to take on the case at the moment.” The young woman continues to apologize over the phone. “I think we might have a grade 3 available for the job. I- I can check—”
“Save it.” Satoru cuts her off. He wasn’t that heartless to push the case off to some 15 year old. That’s exactly how Haibara died. “Send me the address.”
The mission was nothing short of an inconvenience for him. He liked a challenge when exorcising curses, and the damn thing didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He traveled 2 hours to get here just for that? Unbelievable.
He wasn’t ready to leave and sit on a train for another 2 hours just yet, so he decided to walk around the town for a bit.
It was a cute place, a little quiet. Kinda boring. That’s never a bad thing, though. Lots of mom and pop shops, a few coffee shops scattered around, one of which he decided to try. A little sugar’s always good, at least to him.
The smell of vanilla and roasted coffee beans hit him as he walked into the place. There was a decent amount of customers inside. Not too much to feel crowded, but enough to stay busy. He keeps his eyes on the menu the entire time. The line moves fast, and he figures out what he wants just in time.
“And what can I get started for you today?”
His eyes are still on the screen, reading the item off the menu.
“Can I get a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, with an extra pump of…” his words die out, and his eyes widen as he finally looks at the girl taking his order. “Hey.”
“Hi.” You laugh at the way this stranger loses his train of thought. “Extra pump of white chocolate syrup?”
“Yeah.” He exhales, unable to rip his eye off you as you write the words down on the plastic cup with a sharpie.
“Name for the order?”
“Go– Satoru,” he corrects himself. “It’s Satoru.”
He’s a little awkward, but you still find him quite charming and smile. “Alright, Satoru. Your order should be ready in about 10 minutes.”
“Awesome. Thanks,” he nods rather pathetically, then goes to sit in an empty corner of the shop with only one thought in mind:
He has 10 minutes to come up with what to say to get your number.
୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩🎀༘ ⋅‧₊ asking jjk men if they would punch you in the face for 3 million dollars !!
sukuna ryomen;
“okay, be honest,” you start, eyes on your phone. “if someone offered you three million dollars to punch me in the face. like, one punch. would you do it?”
sukuna stops chewing, exhaling through his nose, and slowly turns his head.
“…what?”
you look up, standing up from your spot on the couch to get closer to him. “three. million. dollars.”
he squints at you, like he’s trying to decide if this is a test or if you’ve finally lost it. “define punch.”
“just a normal punch,” you say immediately. “to my face. boom.”
he scoffs, shooing you away. “go away, woman.”
you stand over, hands on your hips, and raise an eloquent brow. “answer the question.”
there’s a pause, a particularly long one. he leans back in the chair, clicks his tongue, eyes drifting to the ceiling like he’s actually doing the math.
“three million is a lot of money,” he says.
your eyebrows shoot up. “oh my god.”
“i’m not done,” he snaps, pointing a chopstick at you. “don’t interrupt.”
you shut up, barely, pursing your lips to stop a tirade of words from tumbling out. you’re curious about his thoughts after all.
he sighs, rubs his face. “first of all, i wouldn’t need to punch you. i could just… flick you. you’d act like it was the hardest punch ever.”
“hey! i’m not a drama queen,” you swat at his shoulder with a pout, “also that’s cheating.”
“i’d still get paid.”
“no.”
he glares at you momentarily, before looking back down at his food. “fine. then no.”
“…no?”
“no,” he repeats, annoyed now. “because you’d cry, and then i’d have to deal with that for the rest of my life.”
you grin, swooning. “so you wouldn’t?”
he leans forward, expression sharp but soft around the edges. “if i ever raise my hand to you, it won’t be for money.”
“…wow,” you say. “that was almost romantic.”
“don’t make it weird,” he mutters.
you lean down, kiss his cheek with a happy smile. “three million dollars though.”
he catches your wrist before you can move away. “ask again and i’m punching whoever put this thought in your head.”
“…what if it was five—”
he tightens his grip just enough to make his point. “drop it.”
you laugh, the sound of it making him smile. he rolls his eyes, but his hand never lets go as he continues to eat his dinner.
gojo satoru;
“okay, hypothetical,” you say. “would you punch me in the face for three million dollars?”
you’re sprawled across gojo’s couch, half upside-down, scrolling on your phone when you drop the question on him.
he doesn’t even look away from the tv.
“depends.”
you sit up. “on what??”
“on whether i get to choose how hard, silly,” he says cheerfully.
“satoru!”
now he looks at you, grin already stretching, eyes way too bright at the sight of your confusion. “hey, hey, relax. i’m kidding. mostly.”
“mostly??”
he hums, pretending to think. “three million dollars is a lot of money. i have more, but still.”
“that’s not reassuring.”
“no, listen,” he says, scooting closer, arm slinging around your shoulders. “i’d never punch you. ever.”
you narrow your eyes. “so that’s a no?”
“hard no,” he says immediately. “zero percent chance.”
“well,” you say. “that’s sweet.”
he beams. “because if i punched you, you’d dump me.”
“correct.”
“and then i’d be three million dollars richer and completely miserable,” he adds, tilting his head like it’s obvious. “terrible deal.”
you laugh, heart warming at his words. “what if it was five million?”
he gasps, offended. “wow. you think i’m that cheap?”
“six?”
he cups your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he’s checking them for imaginary bruises. “look at this face,” he says softly. “priceless. can’t put a number on it.”
you melt a little. “that was smooth.”
“i know,” he grins. “now if someone offered me three million to punch them for asking dumb hypotheticals—”
you swat his arm. “hey!”
he laughs, pulling you into his chest. “relax. i’d protect you from capitalism, baby.”
“ridiculous.”
“is it, though?” he mumbles, kissing the top of your head. you jab his side and relish in the sound of his squeak.
nanami kento;
“kento,” you say, watching him stir sugar into his coffee, “hypothetically… would you punch me in the face for three million dollars?”
the spoon stops clicking against the cup. he looks at you over the rim of his glasses, tilting his head. “no.”
you blink, surprised by his immediate answer. “that was—”
“absolutely not,” he adds, setting the cup down. “not for three million. not for thirty.”
“… oh. you love me!”
“naturally, sweetheart,” he studies your face for a moment, like he’s checking that you’re okay. “why would you ask me that?”
“i don’t know. was just curious.”
he sighs tiredly and reaches for your hand. “money is replaceable,” he says. “your trust isn’t. as your face.”
your chest tightens a little. “you wouldn’t even consider it?”
“the moment i raise my hand to you, i stop being the man you believe me to be,” he replies calmly. “that alone costs more than any amount of money.”
you sit closer, grinning. “so you wouldn’t hit me even a little?”
he gently taps your forehead with two fingers. “this is the maximum force i am willing to apply.”
“devastating.” you shake your head, placing a wet kiss on his cheek.
“i would, however,” he adds, deadpan, “report the person offering such a proposition to the authorities.”
you laugh softly. “of course you would, kento.”
he brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss there. “if anyone ever hurts you for money,” he murmurs, “it won’t be me. it will be someone who deeply miscalculated.”
you shiver a little, but smile nonetheless. “noted.”
he returns to his coffee like the conversation is over— but his thumb keeps tracing slow, reassuring circles over your skin.
geto suguru;
you ask it lazily, almost teasing, while geto’s braiding your hair on the couch.
“so,” you say, staring at the ceiling, “would you punch me in the face for three million dollars?”
his fingers stop mid-braid. carefully, he lets go of your hair.
“…who offered you that question?” he asks.
“answer first.”
he exhales through his nose, a soft, humorless laugh. “no.”
you tilt your head to look at him. “not even gonna think about it?”
he meets your eyes, dark and steady. “thinking about it would already be crossing a line.”
he reaches out, cups your jaw gently, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “three million dollars buys a lot of things,” he says quietly. “but it doesn’t buy back the moment you’d look at me differently.”
“…you think so?”
“i know so,” he replies. “you’d never feel as safe with me again.”
your throat tightens. “so it’s a no.”
it’s almost a smile when he nods. “it’s a never.”
you grin, trying to lighten it. “wow. you’re very serious about this.”
he leans in, breath mingling with yours. “violence is easy,” he murmurs. “protecting what you love is harder. i’ve chosen my side.”
you kiss him, soft and quick.
he smiles against your lips fondly, then immediately adds, dry as ever, “i would however let you punch me for that amount of money, you are weak—”
“suguru!”
he laughs, arms wrapping around you, pulling you close.
“don’t worry,” he says softly. “no amount of money makes you expendable to me.”
toji fushiguro;
you ask it while he’s on the couch, half-asleep, scrolling on his phone.
“hey toji,” you say. “would you punch me in the face for three million dollars?”
he doesn’t even look up.
“nah.”
that was too easy.
“…that’s it?”
he sighs, finally glancing at you. “you think i’m stupid?”
“three million is a lot of money,” you press.
he snorts. “yeah, and hospital bills are expensive.”
“mine wouldn’t be that bad!”
toji squints at you. “you ever seen my hands?”
“…okay, fair.”
he puts his phone down, looks you over like he’s actually considering it now. “besides,” he adds, “if i punched you, you’d stop talking to me.”
“obviously.”
“and then who’s gonna bring me snacks?” he says. “who’s gonna tell me i’m handsome for doing the bare minimum?”
you gasp. “so that’s why you wouldn’t do it??”
“damn right.” he leans back. “three million isn’t worth starving to death.”
you laugh. “what if it was five?”
he grabs your wrist, gently, dramatically. “listen. i’d punch myself before i punch you.”
“…for free?”
“don’t push it.”
you lean in, kiss his cheek. “so i’m safe?”
he smirks. “yeah. congratulations. you’re worth more than three million dollars and a concussion.”
“so romantic.”
“i know,” he says, already back on his phone. “now stop asking dumb questions.”
JJK men react when they find out their s/o got a tattoo of their name
Gojo Satoru
At first he laughs.
“Wait—no way. You’re kidding. That’s fake ink, right?”
Then he realizes it’s real.
He goes quiet. Rarely quiet.
“…You made me permanent?”
Grins, but his eyes soften.
“Well. Guess I better live up to that.”
Geto Suguru
He stares at it for a long moment.
“…That’s a serious commitment.”
Gently traces near it, careful not to touch too much.
“You chose this.”
There’s pride there—but also weight.
“I won’t take that lightly.”
Nanami Kento
He exhales slowly.
“…You didn’t have to do that.”
But he can’t stop looking at it.
“That’s… permanent.”
After a pause:
“…Thank you. I’ll make sure it was worth it.”
Toji Fushiguro
He freezes.
“…Is that my name?”
Looks up at you like he’s been punched.
“…You serious?”
A crooked smile forms.
“Damn. Guess I’m stuck with you too.”
Sukuna
He laughs—low, dangerous.
“My name?”
Eyes gleam.
“Bold.”
Then quieter, almost unreadable:
“…You marked yourself.”
Smirks. “Glad you're showing those peasants who you belong to"
Yuji Itadori
“HUH?!”
Eyes widen.
“You—me—FOREVER?!”
Immediately emotional.
“That’s—wow—that’s really cool—but also—are you sure?!”
Hugs you tight.
“I’ll protect that name. Promise.”
Megumi Fushiguro
He stares.
“…That’s permanent.”
You can tell he’s spiraling internally.
“…You didn’t have to do that.”
But his ears are red.
“…I won’t let you regret it.”
Choso
He looks at it with reverence.
“…You chose my name.”
Places a hand over his chest.
“That honors me.”
Very serious. Very touched.
“I will remain worthy of it.”
Yuta Okkotsu
He panics a little.
“You—are you sure? Like—really sure?”
Then his voice softens.
“…That’s incredibly meaningful.”
Smiles shyly.
“I’ll treasure that. Always.”
Aoi Todo
He gasps dramatically.
“MY NAME?!”
Falls to his knees.
“This is destiny.”
Laughs loudly, then suddenly sincere.
“You’ve engraved your loyalty. I respect that deeply.”
18+ sukuna always keeps his hand on your head and you wonder why.
you started to notice that whenever sukuna would have you pinned underneath him, he'd always have one hand resting on top of your head. at first, you didn't care about it. but then it seemed to become this habitual thing and while it didn't bother you in the least, you were very curious as to why he was doing it.
so one fine night, you decide to ask him.
as sukuna's fat cock is buried deep in your syrupy pussy, every thrust making the bed creak and your swollen lips whimpering his name, his hand is right at the crown of your head — right where you expected it to be.
"suki," you gasp, nails dragging along his wide back. "can i... can i ask you something?"
"huh?" is all he manages to get out, pace faltering slightly from the sudden question but still able to pound into you mean and rough.
"why do you−," your words dissolve into a pitchy moan as he digs his nails into your sides. it takes you a moment to catch your breath back. "why is your hand always on my head?"
that makes him stop completely.
he looks at you with this near petulant look on his face, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't be. it almost makes you giggle, especially after you see the way the tips of his ears are now dusted with a soft pink — his tell that he is embarrassed about something.
"if i tell you, don't you dare laugh or anything," he mumbles, his eyes averting yours. you simply nod, letting him take his time to admit whatever it is he is about to.
with a quiet sigh, he mutters, "first time we did this, you hit your head on the headboard. made you cry and shit. so... yeah. i don't want that happening again."
you can't help yourself but breathe out a tiny laugh. his ears have turned darker, brows knitted together into a little frown. "aww suki," you coo, planting a gentle kiss atop his nose. "that's so cute! you're—"
sukuna suddenly thrusts into you, your back arching off the bed as you mewl pathetically below him. he's pounding into you like he has some personal vendetta against you — which he sort of does now, what with you finding out this horrifyingly embarrassing secret of his! （it really isn't, but to him it is）
A/N ✰ I disliked writing MV3 so much that I changed it to MV33 and I still felt compelled to write LN4 after that. I can’t handle change I don’t like this can things just stay the same forever
Oh he tries his best.
You tell him to keep his arms up, and explain that it’s just a little challenge.
Bad Idea.
He takes it seriously, and is determined to follow the instructions. EVEN IF he really wants to scoop you up.
You’re kissing him, and you’re just so soft and sweet…
He almost folds.
ALMOST.
You’re a little disappointed, and when he asks what the point of the challenge was, you explain that it was more of a test. To see if he’d fold.
Danny proceeds to pick you up, peppering your face in kisses. You just shouldn’t have called it a challenge… Maybe he wouldn’t have tried so hard.
To be honest, he was a little hesitant about this in the first place.
You? Asking to record a video? Preposterous. He felt stupid holding his arms up above his head.
Then you started to kiss him, and all of that went away.
His arms lowered instantly, hands resting on your hips as he temporarily forgets the video in the first place. He just wants to keep kissing you.
You try to pull away, but he hungrily pulls you back in. When you gently push him off, he looks like a sad puppy.
“I just wanted to see how fast you would fold.”
“Ah.” Damnit. Really fast, apparently.
Isack is used to recording videos. So, he’s suspicious almost instantly.
He tries to be silly for the camera by admiring his arms as he holds them off, flexing his muscles.
And then his attention is dragged away when you place a hand on his cheek, slowly pulling him in. He keeps his arms out for a tad longer, and then slowly he melts into you, arms resting on your hips.
Isack is a grinning idiot when he kisses you, entirely oblivious to the point of the trend. He just dives back in for more, kissing you until you’re practically breathless and he decides it would be dangerous if he didn’t stop.
Even when you explain the trend to him, he just seems entranced by your lips.
You are STRUGGLING.
The video starts, and Kimi is already confused.
“Wait. Why do my arms have to be up?”
The second you move in, he’s reaching out for you. It’s cute, but that’s not the point, so you gently remind him he’s meant to keep his arms up.
Apparently you did too good of a job, because now he’s stiffly standing there while you kiss him. When you pull away, looking unimpressed, he pouts.
“Was my kiss bad?”
You explain the trend, and he nods with final understanding.
“Well, technically I melted before it even started.”
Technically… This is true.
You feel like you’re the one melting.
He stands there, arms in the air. It’s normal, except…
That look.
He stares at you like you’re his whole world, and your heart is absolutely racing. You try to lean in, but your cheeks grow warm and you stop.
“Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
He laughs, and he pulls you into the kiss. At the very least, it makes for a cute video. You watch it back like thirty times, unable to get over his look.
Too cute.
You can’t do anything cute with this man.
But you have a lot of fun.
He knew the trend. In fact, he was excited when you came up to him, already recording, and telling him to put his arms up.
Then you pantsed him.
You erupted into a fit of giggles. Cute, sure, but he wouldn’t let that stop him from getting revenge. It was safe to say you wouldn’t be posting the video, because not only did he do the same to you, but…
He lifted you up, and tossed you onto the bed, nearly tripping as he lifts his pants back up, stumbling after you while you laugh. He gets his kiss when he hovers over you, peppering your face with affection.
No way anyone would get to see this. Too corny. Too revealing.
Max does not ‘melt’.
No. Not quite.
While everyone else slowly eases their hold onto you, Max is there in a flash.
There is no melting, there’s rushing, like he’s scared you’ll pull away before he can even touch you.
You kiss, and it’s like his hands teleported to grab your waist. His grip is tight.
“That was quick.”
He rolls his eyes, leaning in for more.
Duh.
Baby, Lewis is melting before you even kiss him.
Sure, he puts his arms up, but the second you lean in?
He’s actively pulling you in, sealing the deal for you.
His hands wander, but he’s holding you so close, cradling you like you’re fragile as you kiss.
Looks smitten by the end, too.
Anyone who watches this feels like they’re interrupting something.
From the very start he’s being playful. kissing your neck, hands on your waist.
He puts his arms up, and the second you kiss him, he’s grabbing you like his life depends on it.
I’m talking hoisting you up, your legs wrapped around his waist, as he grips you.
Those arms… Wowza.
You get carried away, and soon forget all about the silly trend.
Carlos approves!
“Hey George, can you do your little t pose for me?”
Well of course.
He’s always willing to make you smile. What he doesn’t expect is for you to lean in for a kiss, arms looped around his neck.
Does he melt? Oh
Absolutely.
George is putty in your hands.
He quite literally leans in to you, stumbling forward like his legs were giving out on him.
He cups your face and wraps his other arm around your waist.
He’s grinning like an idiot, too.
“Is that your reaction to my pose?”
Oh my sweetheart
Of course he has a lot of questions.
“Why do I need to put my arms up?” “Is this a TikTok trend?” “Are you gonna try to tackle me or something?”
While that does sound very tempting, you just ask him again, and he complies without a second thought.
He instantly grins the second you move in, arms around his neck.
Oscar’s so entranced by your kiss that he forgets to move his arms. He’s just focused on his lips, his eyes fluttering shut.
After a second, his mind seems to work again, and he wraps his arms around your waist in such a gentle manner.
Ugh. Cutie
Never a dull moment with this boy.
You ask him to lift his arms, and he says he won’t unless you do it too.
So, with a roll of your eyes, you show him what you expected.
But instead of mimicking your pose, the brat reaches out to tickle your sides. You erupt into a fit of giggles, especially when he tosses you over his shoulder.
He sets you on the couch, only so he can tickle you more.
After his ruthless attack, you try again. Results are satisfactory, as Ollie nearly collapses, he’s so eager to kiss you back.
