#Tech Meets Taste | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inupibaldspot · 2 months

Text

Even 12 years laters,your soul was in a color of kindness.

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : purely self indulgent which I wrote when I was drunk so— some stuffs are funky

Gojo first met you when you where four.

He was five years old at that time too and was being escorted by a maid to go to the clan head meeting; he assumes you were also part of a clan brought by elders.

Normally, the white haired boy never really cared for other people. Why should he? He is the chosen one. He has the limitless technique plus the six eyes of the Gojo clan. He was the closest thing to God at this age. But today it was different.

He watched you turn your head around and stare at him, he could vividly remember the way your eyes shone with amazement either for something as superficial like his white hair or the fact he was recognized as The ‘Gojo Satoru.’

But after that amazement, you smiled. You smiled at him so bright, with the evening glow of sunlights made you so—so ethereal. Your smile was childish and that’s why it was simply pure; the white haired kid’s eyes silhouetted with the sunlight shone with surprise for he found you beautiful in ways he couldn’t describe.

Gojo looks away— he beat himself for looking away as that made him look standoffish. When he looks back, you were staring at him confused for why he didn’t greet you back.

The maid beside you turns and says something, as you nod and then walk away. Was it weird for Gojo to wish you would simply turn to him and introduce yourself? For years to come, he prayed that he’d love to hear your name; for your soul was in a color of kindness.

That chance came in twelve years later when he was a second year of his Jujutsu Tech. Him and his friends, Geto and Shoko wanted to meet the new first years. There is Nanami Kento, had a huge stick up his ass but that it self made him to be forever victim to Gojo’s pranks. Next was Haibara Yū, a bright eyed kid but Gojo found him to be a bit too— energetic for his taste.

And then you. I didn’t really need to describe Nanami and Haibara first because the first and only person he saw ever since he entered the first year’s classroom was you. Simply you. You sitting on the chair smiling bashfully at them. At him.

Ever since, every day. Without fail would rush to your side. At first you were confused as that is not the Gojo you remembered l; the one you saw and described to you by others were not this.

Nevertheless it warmed you up like a cool evening sun.

Gojo released quite early was you were kind, the type that would help others despite of her time , the type who would help every elderly by the street, the type who would feed strays and yada-yada-flowers and rainbows.

But that led to another realization. Had you truly different been treated differently?

Gojo's body tensed up. Any comfortable vibe he had felt before vanishing in an instant. He had known very well that you were a kind-hearted human being. Welcoming and warm. That made you so interesting. Your soul was so calm and simple and nice.

And even though he had observed you so closely before he wasn't able to recall any moment anymore where your own feelings had been obvious. You didn't stutter around boys.

You didn't blush. You didn't hesitate in a way which could be trailed back to her personal feelings.

Were you treating him like everyone else after all?

“Gojo?”

Your voice brought him back to sense, you were blinking curious, leaned close—so close.”what’s wrong?”

“Bring out your hand.” He smiles, as you did without question. “Guess the word I’m writing on your hand.” He smiles when the warmth from your hand soothe his nervous heartbeat.

“Eh—I’m not good at kanji!”

“That’s just too bad—!”

From then when ever Gojo feels anxious of everything—everything in this world he would play this game, with your fingers and her palm because his focus on you was more gravitating rather than that as you were simply too calming.

Geto felt slightly hesitant when he saw the type of Gojo he would become when he was by your side, he was a tad abit careless as if all of his six eyes were simply focused on you, he would be a tad bit kinder to the point Nanami gets the ick.

Where as Shoko had a blast!

She would make way towards you, give kisses on your cheeks gushing on how cute you were, wrapping her arms around you as she then sends a condescending look towards Gojo who was literally drowning in jealousy.

Shoko and you got close early on and more so because you two were the only two girls in those years. To the point where even a shy person like you was influenced to sneaking into a party with Shoko.

“Please don’t mess with my hair curler, Gojo.” You say as you look into the mirror, fixing your earring and from the corner of your eyes you could see Gojo holding up a lick of his hair into the hot iron.

Gojo peers over and immediately regrets it, you were in a short dress and high heel, hair curled so—cutely and boy, your face.

He looks away.

No, too cute.

He thought as he lets down the curling iron. Shoko peers out as she lets out a puff of smoke before passing it to Geto, who takes the cigarette in his hands. “Don’t tell me you want to come Gojo.” Shoko says. “I want a girls night.”

Gojo remember almost comically crying into his pillows as Geto nags him on ‘how woman don’t like clingy guys.’ He decides to forget Shoko and join you guys anyways.

He remembers being strangled by Shoko while you him a nervous smile trying to diffuse the situation.

Your nervous smile which made the world freeze to him, Geto sighs at the love sick look his white haired friend was giving you, who seemed so obvious to.

But don’t you remember when I said you were kind. You were kind like to help the cornered kid, the type who would volunteer to be with the loner kid, the type that picked Geto Suguru’s side.

Gojo sighs when when remembers Shoko saying you said something along the lines of ‘I don’t want Geto to be lonely along the path he takes…’

How stupid!

Gojo Satoru where ever he went would go around town mentally keeping sense of any cursed energy which could relay you back to him.

He meets you again though.

12 years later, while him and now—principle Yaga were walking along the hallways they sense a breach in security. He rushes over to first, see his once best-friend Geto Suguru by his current first year Okkotsu Yuta and secondly, you. Your eyes we’re nervously flying around before it lands on him and once again he was yours; Geto scoffs at the sight of Gojo’s expression when he was looking at you. He was almost worried that if you said ‘let’s join Geto’ with a plea—se, he just might. You just had that effect on Gojo.

But too bad, Geto was here to request war upon the Jujutsu Tech. On the 24 December, Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.

Gojo rushes through curses as he makes his way towards you; and when he does, he feels as if he can’t breath. “Can you come back…?” He takes a step closer.

You smile nervously,shaking your head as you watch him take another step closer to you, you felt his hands reach out and cup your face. His face was so close to yours, you could feel the warmth radiate off him in the cold winter air. “Don’t kill me for doing this.” You we’re reminded that you guys were enemies and in a battlefield.

His face was closer now, his blue—beautiful blue eyes were slightly closed. You breath out. “I can’t kill you through your ‘Limitless’ Satoru…”

“Say it again.”

“Huh…?”

“My name. Satoru…”

You breath out. “Satoru…” The name you accidentally let out, felt so right.

“Fuck… say it a million time more, love.” Gojo laughs, slightly hoarse. “My limitless is never activated when I’m with you…”

before you realize his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft, as you hands were tentatively placed on his chest, as his hand trails along to your waist you parts your lips for him, sighs in his mouth, and that small sound of pleasure drives him crazy, floods his body with heat and desire so intense the strongest sorcerer can hardly stand.

Your are pulled away from him, when a darker and tall man goes by. “Miguel!” Gojo listened to you say.

“I need you to focus.” The man says smiling, before he takes a stance to fight Gojo. And to Miguel credit, he does fend off Gojo well, so— well that he was ‘recruited’ by him.

The day ends with Gojo losing two of his best friends in different ways. Geto would be gone, into the afterlife ended by his own hands.

But you?

Where were you? Would he meet you again 12 years later? Love?

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #gojo imagines #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo fluff

1K notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 3 months

Text

Simple Math / Part Seven

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.8k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Brief suggestive content, sex dream. Mentions of domestic violence, stalking. Hospital setting, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear, anxiety. Mentions of stress and weight loss. Soft dads. Little bit of flirting. Simon is... Simon. You get caught in a spell.

Johnny knows this is a dream.

It’s an odd thing, to be conscious of it, to know you’re dreaming but still unable to control your actions. It’s like watching a movie of yourself, but also being yourself, directing your body without having a say in what it’s doing.

He knows this is a dream, because you’re in it. You’re in their home, in one of Simon’s oversized sweatshirts, boy shorts rucked up over the little lightning bolts that arc across your hips, the underside of your cheeks. You’re smiling at him too, like you belong in there, like it’s yours too, and his heart swells, growing to a preposterous size.

“There’s my bunny.” He pulls you into his chest, mouthing up your neck and over your jaw. Your skin tastes like sugar, and when he gets to your lips, his hands shift, sliding down your back to grab two fistfuls of your ass with a groan. “Missed ye.”

“We missed you too.” His fingers trace the edge of your panty line, barely dipping into where you drip for him. “Come to bed, Si’s waiting.” You whisper, stifling a moan.

“Johnny.” Simon calls him, too loudly. He wants to hiss, snap at him about not waking the baby. “Johnny!”

His eyes blink open. White ceiling stares back at him, and he turns his head, finding Simon with a bemused look on his face.

“I was havin’ a great dream.” Johnny grumbles, latching onto him. Simon scoots closer, lifting the back of his hand to his lips with a secretive smile, dotting kisses down to his wrist.

“I know.”

“- and he has access privileges, as long he’s not interfering with care, he’s allowed to be in the room whenever he deems fit. Obviously, in cases where he shouldn’t be, like burn debridement, he’s fine with stepping out, but you should expect him to sleep here.” The nurse nods, nervously peeking over your shoulder at Simon, who’s lurking in the hallway, staring through the glass at the transport techs getting Johnny settled in his room. You catch her eyes, motioning to redirect her attention, and she mumbles a meek apology. “They have a daughter, who Johnny has been mostly separated from since he got here, and he’s hoping to see her often, since she’ll be allowed to visit more freely now. I told him it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Okay.” Her toes tap against linoleum, weight shifting from foot to foot, and you resist the urge to sprint back to her boss and demand someone else. Fuck. Why does Nora have to be on maternity leave?

“This is my favorite patient.” You warn her instead, dropping your voice low, pitching it brazenly serious. “I don’t ever want to see him back upstairs again, and that’s going to depend a lot on you.”

“Okay, okay.” Her work phone rings, and you jerk your head in dismissal, not quite finished, but not seeing a need to continue to harangue her, either.

Simon glances at you from down the hall, head turning once you’re alone. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t call to you, or say your name, but you’re helpless to the magnetic yank of his presence, a beam of gravity dragging you closer until you’re shoulder to shoulder, looking into Johnny’s room. He’s asleep, dark lashes feathered against his cheeks, blissed out and nearly snoring. “This will be great.” You say quietly. “He can see Penny almost as much as he wants down here. There are far less restrictions, and he’s doing so well, there’s nothing to worry about it.” He doesn’t say anything, just watches you with the x-ray vision that peels you open. Like he’s digging around in your head again.

“D’you have a minute?” You blink at him, graceful words dried out and missing.

“Uh, I… yeah, I’m technically off now so. Sure?”

“Have a tea with me? I’ll meet you outside the café, on the patio. Ten minutes alright?” Have a… have a tea with him?

His eyes are heavy. They’re lasered, locked onto yours, brows knitted together in something soft, some form of emotion that you don’t understand, framing his face above the mask. How can you say no?

“Okay, sure. Ten minutes.” You try to hide how your hands shake, tucking fingernail to palm, squeezing tight.

It doesn’t escape him.

You grow more afraid with each day, that nothing does.

The paper cup cradled in Simon’s outstretched grip is like every other paper cup you’ve seen before, drank from a thousand times, with steam wafting from its rim and aromatics spilling out into the air. “Sorry.” You blurt, reaching. His fingers brush against yours, warm contact momentarily stunning you. ‘Thanks.” You lift the tea to your nose, inhaling deeply.

Irish breakfast. With milk. Your favorite.

“How do you know what tea I drink?” You don’t mean for it to sound so suspicious, or aggressive, but it does. It’s nearly accusatory, but doesn’t affect him. He merely shrugs in response.

“I pay attention.” An engine turns over in the carpark, a small car sweeping across the lot as it turns out onto the street. You watch, feigning mild interest, trying to get a closer look at the driver without appearing too fixated. “So.” He sips, and then removes the lid, vapor rising from the top in a delicate little dance. “How long have you been at Addenbrooke’s?”

“A few years.” The answer is effortlessly supplied, like you’re under a spell. Your eyes go round. What are you doing? Crow’s feet crinkle at the corners of his own, and you manage a shaky smile.

“What brought you across the pond?” He jokes, velvet, soothing lilt in his voice.

“Work.” It’s easy to lie about this, the fabrication usually used in casual conversation almost every day with patients and new coworkers, people who are interested in you being from somewhere else, having a different accent, different education, customs, the whole lot. His jaw moves behind the mask, and before he can push the question further, you rush out your own interruption. “Simon, I want… I want to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.” He nods. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s… the other night Johnny said something about,” Your face is nearly scalding, embarrassment laden lump stuck in the back of your throat. “about you and him, and… me, I guess…” you trail off, eyes darting down into the tea.

“Go on?”

“He said that you guys think I’m special, and you- you said-“

“That we’re here for you.” He finishes, nonchalant.

“Right.” You breathe a little easier, knowing he knows what you’re talking about, words picking up steam. “I want you to know that it’s totally normal to feel this way. It happens a lot, you know. Patients and, or their family members, loved ones, they get attached. This affection starts to happen towards a member of the care team because we become that person who… provides care, twenty-four seven. So, you and… and Johnny, feeling like you have this attachment towards me, it’s very normal. Not a big deal.” You finish in one big breath, cutting your ramble short. His cheeks swell behind the fabric, like he’s smiling, eyes squinting again.

“That’s not what this is.” That’s not… what this is? What does that mean?

“What?”

“Transference. That’s not what is happening here.”

“How do you…”

“I’ve had years of therapy.” He sighs. “Are you uncomfortable?” Say yes, the girl in your head screams. Tell him you need it all to stop. That you don’t like them, that it’s inappropriate. You know how this will end.

“No.” You don’t know why you don’t acquiesce to your own good sense, why you ignore the very clear boundaries and rules that have kept you alive this long.

“Bunny, I need you tell me, honestly, if you are uncomfortable.” He levels you with an intense look, seriousness bleeding from his irises to yours. You press your palms flat on the table, quelling their trembling.

“It’s not… it’s not you. Or Johnny.” You whisper, eyes slipping shut. It’s easier that way, to just close them, to hide. To pretend you’re somewhere else, to block everything out.

What the fuck are you doing right now? Your brain screams, but your heart wails.

What is it like, to be loved like that? To be known like that? To be held in someone's heart, cherished and protected?

“Sweetheart,” Simon’s voice is low, calming, and when you don’t answer, one of his hands folds over yours. “are you with me?”

“Yes.” You peek at him, and then fully let yourself look around, steadying the rancid fear that permeates through your body. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” He hums, hand still over yours. It’s warm, and broad, big thumb stroking a slow circle into your skin. “Is today your Friday?” You nod.

“It is, yeah. I’m… I’m looking forward to catching up on some sleep.” He straightens in the chair, shoulders and torso so unbelievably wide, like a long forgotten mythological god. Or the trunk of a massive tree.

“Will you have dinner with us, tonight?” The last of the orange red dawn spills over the crest of the buildings, and the world spins, cold sweat breaking out down your back.

“What?”

“Dinner, with us. I’m picking up takeaway for Johnny from his favorite place as a celebration, for graduating the ICU. We’d love to spend some time with you. Get to know you, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, I…” Say no, you have to say no, shut this down. It’s too much risk.

“No pressure. Just, hanging out, talking. As friends, if you like.” Butterflies thrash in your stomach so violently your knees bounce, and your heart leaps, pitching itself off a cliff like it wants to die.

“Okay.”

“Great. I can pick you u-“

“No! No, I’m fine. I have some errands to run after I get up for the day so, I’ll just meet you here.” It will be just like going to work. No harm, no foul. You can hang out with them, and go home, just like you’re at work. It doesn’t mean anything. It won’t.

You barely sleep. You pace, you nap, you thumb through endless craigslist listings in faraway cities for apartments, you read. You take the long way through the city back to your flat and slowly sift through pieces of your life that you want to keep. Your quilt from home, that’s been tucked away on a shelf. A sentimental trinket that belonged to your mom, also hidden in a drawer. These things that can be removed, without being noticed.

Not that it matters.

He hasn’t been here. Not since the sick shit he pulled with your underwear. It makes you curious when you inspect the undisturbed tape on the back side of the door, the light dusting of baking powder on the bedroom carpet, but not surprised.

It’s not unlike him, to make himself known and then suddenly disappear, the endless mind games partially intentional, and partially something not even he can control.

After all, duty calls.

He could still be in the city. He could still be watching. You don’t know anything for sure.

“Three things you cannot outrun in this world, babe. Death, taxes, and… me.” You mumble it to yourself, the same words that live in your head, in his voice, repeated, pulling a pair of scrubs from your dresser.

But you had been running, and still had your life to show for it.

It doesn’t matter, you know how this will end.

You’ve changed your clothes five times. You hem and haw in front of the mirror, trying not to look too closely at any one piece of yourself, switching shirt and pant combos until you finally settle on your usual, a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. They’re high waisted, because low rise is not even within the realm of possibility for your hips, and you appreciate how they fit, even if they may sit a little loose right now, given your recent stress levels.

You look fine, you decide. You look professional. You don’t really look attractive, in any way, but the scars on your torso are hidden, and with a little bit of make-up, you think you look presentable. At the very least, you don’t look like you’re half asleep, which is exactly how you feel.

Not like it matters, you chide. This isn’t a thing; it’s just hanging out. You’re going to put an end to this entire charade, tonight.

The train is quiet, and you’re extra watchful. Every face, every movement is logged, every jacket or hat or hood is inspected. Posture, skin tone, height, of every person you pass or see is tabulated and run through your mind. Your brain, a supercomputer in its own right, does it all, seamlessly. It wants to protect you, it keeps you on guard, it can look at a crowd of twenty people all facing the opposite direction and locate a potential threat, just by the shape of the shoulders.

You don’t see him, you don’t feel him, your skin doesn’t prickle, and you let the lack thereof bring you peace, if only for a few moments.

Johnny’s floor is bustling. You wave hi to those you know, checking in with his nurse for a moment, letting her know you’ll be hanging out for a bit. She doesn’t even bat an eye, thankfully, and you try to settle yourself as you turn down the hall.

You’re not prepared for what you find when you knock on his door and slide it open, breath catching for a moment, and you scramble to cover your initial balk.

Their daughter is here. She’s cuddled up on Johnny’s good side, the one without the burnt tissue or recovering surgical wound. She’s asleep, wearing a black onesie covered in skulls, her head tipped back and mouth open, chubby cheeks and sweet little face perfectly content. She’s got her entire fist wrapped around one of Johnny’s fingers, holding it right under her chin like she’s afraid he might vanish while her eyes are closed. “Hey, bun.” Johnny whispers, smiling so wide, two fingers stroking through the wispy curls on top of her head. “We snuck in a visitor tonight.”

“I see.” Your heart trembles.

“Fell asleep right away, next to her Da. Been missin’ him these past few nights.” Simon chuckles, patting Johnny’s leg gently, affectionately. There’s a bag of take out on the table behind him, as well as what looks like an overnight bag, a purple duffel stuffed full. “Price is on his way to pick her up.” Penny gurgles, eyes blinking open in a sleepy daze like she knew they were talking about her.

“Ye’re alright, sh-shh, wee lamb.” Johnny coos. She’s half soothed by his words, but the lights in the room are far too bright, and her small noises waver into a cry, frustrated and tired. He tries move her, cradler her higher up his chest, but his face falls with pain, and Simon swoops in, pulling her into his arms. “Bunny, could ye-“

“Would you-“ They both try to ask at once, and you flounder once you realize the intention, a cranky, sleepy Penelope being pushed into your arms.

“I-“ she wails, interrupting you, bending you to her will without fuss, and you hold her closer, rocking side to side, humming above her ear. Just like the NICU, like a patient, like your stint in L&D, it’s fine, it’s-

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Not fine. It’s not fine. Heat burns in your belly. He can’t call you that, not when you’re holding their baby. “Thank you.” Simon says over his shoulder. He’s moving Johnny, lowering the bed slightly to help reposition him, and they speak quietly to one another, voices low enough you can’t make out any of the words.

“I can help you with him, if you want.” He waves you off.

“I need the practice, won’t have you around all the time anymore, yeah? And once he gets home…”

“Ach. ‘m not paralyzed. Jus’ uncomfortable.” Johnny glowers, pouting, and you roll your eyes, rhythm steady, gently bouncing, letting Penny cuddle into your chest, snuggling her face against your arm and side. She’s beautiful, precious and sweet, cooing herself back into a light slumber, and you smile despite yourself, still rocking after her eyes start to shut. “Knew she’d like ye.” He says softly, and you glance up, surprised by the intensity of their focus, heavy gazes fixed on you.

“She’s very sweet.” Your lips twist.

“She is.” Simon agrees. “We were happy to get her some time with her Da. Good for both of ‘em.” His fingers find Johnny’s cheek, and then their hands meet, a palm pressed to lips, a whispered a I love you.

An intimate moment, as you stand there with their baby in your arms.

“Alright, now that ye’ve done the hard work by gettin’ her back down,” Johnny gestures, urging you to step forward, and you carefully place her back in his arms. For a moment, your faces are level, and you get caught in his eyes, nerves strung so tight they could be a tightrope. “I’ve got her.” Weeks in the hospital, and he still smells like cedar and oranges, woodsy citrus that envelopes you, your lashes fluttering on the inhale. “She likes ye.” He murmurs, breath warm and tickling over your cheek.

“Well, she’s...” you straighten, hands smoothing down the front of your top. They’re moist, somehow, and you tuck them behind your back. “She’s a good judge of character, I guess.” Simon’s phone vibrates, Johnny’s plush smile turning dour, and he sighs.

“Okay baby girl. It’s time.” She cries a little, readjusting to Simon’s hold, and he slings the purple duffel over his shoulder, promising to be right back. Johnny nods, eyes downcast, and his face twists once the door shuts, cheeks turning red, staccato, hiccupped breaths coming fast.

“Hey.” You whisper. “Hey, Johnny.” The chair at his bedside creaks under you, and you lean forward, fingertips lightly caressing the tape residue that still sticks to his skin. You should clean that off.

“’m alright.” His shoulders roll, chin jutting out, brilliant blue gleam in his eyes returning, like storm clouds rolling off after rain. He’s silent for a beat, pinky finger folding over yours. “How was yer day?”

“Oh, it was… fine.”

“Simon said ye were goin’ to catch up on some sleep?”

“Yeah, I didn’t.” You laugh, and he smiles. “I feel okay though. Still awake at least.”

“I’m glad… ye came. I’m sorry if the other night, I was too… forward.”

“That’s okay. You’re just… so flirty, I don’t even know what to do with myself.” You tease, expecting to get a lighthearted quip in response, or a laugh, but he gives you neither, only a serious, sympathetic expression.

“I didnae mean to make ye uncomfortable. Felt terrible, when ye ran off, I-“

“I’m fine, Johnny. You… you didn’t. I mean, it was just… confusing, this is… this is a lot.” He nods.

“I know it is.”

“And you don’t even know me.” His brow creases, focus narrowed in so tightly on you, white walls, white hospital blanket, white everything falling away in a spiral of color.

“I know ye better than ye might think." He cracks a smile. "We want to, if ye’d let us.” No, you don’t. You almost say it. Almost promise him that knowing you would be the stuff of their nightmares, that they have no idea what they’re trying to bite into, or bite off, a near guarantee that it would be than they could chew.

“Well, no harm in making new friends, right?” You entreat weakly, and his eyes flash, ethos of an entire life that you have no knowledge of slipping through, and the dark severity rumbling in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

“Aye, bun. Especially when they look like ye in a pair of jeans.”

Dinner is an idyllic affair. Johnny’s favorite takeaway turns out, is Indian, like yours, and the three of you talk for hours, trading bites back and forth, laughing and listening to stories, discovering little bits and pieces about their lives while running interference on personal questions about yourself, allowing them to dip in skin deep, skimming off the top but never getting further. They tell you about themselves, Penelope, their jobs, how they met, and Johnny confides in you about his sketchbook collection, pages upon pages of charcoal and pencil line work, portraits of Simon and Pen covering each page, landscapes, and the occasional cartoon. Your spine eventually starts to wilt, muscles liquifying into goo that can barely hold you upright, and you curl up in the armchair, chin on your palm, listening to the ebb and flow of their voices as they tell you a particular story about how they came to find their current home, a near slapstick comedy about an interaction with the previous owner. Their voices soothe your restless mind, wrap you in a cozy embrace that feels so safe, so comfortable that you can’t fight the languid, siren call of sleep, eyes drooping into darkness, drifting away on their melodies, content and too tired to rationally put together what’s happening. At some point, something covers you up, knit warmth that is tucked in around your shoulders, your feet, a tender touch on your neck and cheek. A whisper of affection soothes the unease that lurks in the background of it all, and you fall into it lazily, farther into the hold of sleep, something your brain and body are desperate for.

When the lights go dim, you don’t even realize, already lost to the sand of slumber.

Around midnight, you wake with a start. Your heart is racing, triple timing in your chest, and you squint in the dark, trying to parse together where you are, what happened.

Oh no. Oh god, did you fall asleep on them? Did you fall asleep in Johnny’s room?

Simon calls your name. He’s settled in a recliner, head turned your direction, mellow light from the little lamp spilling across his features. “Are you alright?” Your mouth is dry, the web of sleep that holds you in suspension finally starting to wane, fuzzy clouds in your head trying to clear without much luck.

“How long was I out?”

“Four hours.”

“I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head.

“Wanted to let you sleep. I know you were tired, and Johnny was out almost immediately after you.”

“Th-thanks.” Your back groans, muscle and bone grinding together, stiff from sleeping in a cramped position for hours, and you’re surprisingly unsteady on your feet. Simon’s out of his chair in a second, turning around the end of Johnny’s bed to offer you a hand, his other lightly resting between your shoulder blades.

“Easy.”

“Sorry… just… think ‘m more tired than I realized.” It’s dark, and you’re disorientated, woozy, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, limbs and lids still heavy and desperate to fall back asleep.

“I’ll drive you home.” His keys jingle, and you know you should reject him, refute this presumption, push him off, but you can’t string the right words together in your mind, can’t bring yourself to truculently pull away.

So, you don’t. And to your surprise, your shock, it feels… nice. You let him open the door for you, get you settled, you listen to his music on the way, city flying past outside the window, quiet hour of the night crawling by. You let him help you out of the car when you pull up to the curb, and when he asks if he can walk you up, your rational pugnacity is nowhere to be found.

“This is me.” You gesture to the door, fumbling in your wallet for your keycard.

“How long have you been in the hotel?”

“Oh, not long. Reno just started so…” His head turns, surveilling the hallway. You’re in an end room, far from the elevator but close to the stairs, as requested, and there’s a camera that sits on the ceiling, green dot consistently blinking. He glances at it, then back to you, head tilted.

“Are you safe here?” The world goes cold. Your stomach roils, blood draining from your face, and you try to hold yourself steady, mind turning over a million times. You’re overreacting. He’s just asking in a general sense. He doesn’t know. He couldn’t. Breathe. Deep breath.

“I uh, yeah. It’s got a deadbolt.” Along with a door stop alarm, and a security bar. He steps closer, so close that you can smell him, fresh laundry and musk, something spicy lingering there, something dark and enchanting.

“Are you in trouble, little bunny?” You’re in his shadow, beneath the stretch of a mountain, shielded by it, by a monolith so large it could blot out the sun. It overwhelms you, slows the racing pace of your mind, and you try to sort through the merry go round of feelings that are all trying to push their way out of your mouth.

You’ve never felt this. Never felt this… desire, to entrust someone with your life. Never felt this… attraction, this hold that the two of them have on you.

It makes you want to trust them. Makes you want to lay it all out and beg them to help you. Makes you want to close your eyes and leap, praying they’ll catch you.

It’s wicked. It’s dangerous. It’s a fool’s errand.

It’s unfair.

“No.” You whisper. You can’t look at him, and time slows in the silence, your anxiety piquing. Of course, he would assume something is wrong, after witnessing the panic attack. Don’t read too far into it.

“But you wouldn’t tell me if you were, would you?” He’s pragmatic, yet still kind, watching you with intent. It doesn’t allay any of the stress that’s building up the back of your throat and closing it, cutting you off from the oxygen you desperately need.

After an eon, he sighs.

“Okay, sweetheart. You can keep your secrets. For now.” You choke.

“I… I should probably-“ you jerk your head towards the door, half turning away to swipe your keycard.

“Alright.” He moves carefully, dipping low, and you stand immobilized, confused and quivering as his cloth covered mouth presses a slow kiss to the top of your head. It’s like he’s bewitched you, cursed you, and you can’t do anything but stand there, stunned. “Thanks for coming tonight.” You’re a deer in headlights, a rabbit in a scope.

“Simon.” His name is the only thing you know right now, and it comes out reedy, almost a squeak.

“Get some rest. We’ll text you tomorrow.” He pushes the door wide, arm snaked behind your shoulders, and when you don’t move, he urges you forward, an encouraging hand on the small of your back. Your feet blindly stumble through the motions, searching for the light switch, for your sanity. “Goodnight, bun.” He hums, and the door clicks shut, leaving you alone, staring at the beige-yellow paint on the wall.

The afternoon trains are packed. It makes your skin crawl, not because you dislike busy or hectic places, but because there are too many eyes. You force your head to stay up, casually scrolling past the faces that are turned every which way, keeping your back to a corner or window as often as possible. You’re not sure you even needed to take this route, the one where you loop around and change trains twice, but… old habits die hard.

You’re lighter today, mentally. It’s in your steps on the stairs, the way you tilt your face up to the sun, how you bounce and bob a little along to the rhythm in your headphones.

You try not to read into it, too much. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with the good morning text messages from Johnny and Simon, or the hilarious back and forth between them after Simon sent a god-awful joke to the group chat. It has nothing to do with the heat that spreads through your fingers to toes when you think about Simon last night, kissing your forehead.

You slip inside your apartment, popping your headphones free, glancing at the tape and the door jam, before setting your bag on the counter. You idly sort through some mail you left out the other day. Junk, junk, junk, nothing taxing or important, nothing work related or-

A shadow moves. It flickers against the wall by your bedroom, growing larger, stalking closer to the kitchen, to where you stand, frozen, heart pounding in your ears.

This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

“Hey there, sugar.” He croons, the thick, Texas accent unmistakable, and you breathe his name in horror.

“Phillip.”

#peaches writes #simple math #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader x ghost #simon riley #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x reader

1K notes · View notes

abbyromanoff · 5 months

Note

Request! Fem!reader x Natasha. Reader is hunting natasha as she is an assassin. Natasha (pre-shield) in her freelance days, captures Reader and tortures her using sex (not letting her cum etc) to see who is hunting her. They turn into “enemies with benefits” if u yk what I mean

NEVER KNOW

PAIRINGS: Natasha Romanoff x reader

WORD COUNT:

WARNINGS: smut, dark themes, kidnapping, mentions of killing, overstimulation, edging, orgasm denials, enemies to lovers typa feel, strap on usage, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

“You can take one more-“

“No,”

“Yes, you can.” She demanded, and you had no choice but to listen and comply. Her cock teased your g-spot with every thrust and led your mouth to part in a loud moan. The harness around her hips brought a small brush of the clit, causing her pace to quicken in hopes of reaching a further state of arousal.

“P..please, I can’t t-take anymore.” You mumbled out quietly, teary eyes glancing towards the woman in hopes of mercy being shown. But you didn’t even know if you truly wanted mercy, you just wanted her.

She was meant to be your enemy, the one you’d capture and turn in for your boss's approval, but it didn’t end the way you expected. Instead, you laid on a slightly hardened bed, your back beginning to ache with every thrust - but she didn’t care, she enjoyed this.

“Fucking slut. You like this, hm? You like Daddy fucking this tight cunt?” Her hands tightened on your hips that were raised to meet her liking, it had been like this for what felt like hours.

You knew there was a slim chance of even spotting her, not to mention taking her in as a prisoner. She was a highly trained assassin, the best of the best, you had no chance of coming close. Fury practically set you up for failure, and now you were stuck as her slave.

“Fuck, I’m- I’m close, baby.” This was her third orgasm in the last twenty-two minutes, and you wondered how that was even possible. Either way, you accepted the shots of cum that she let seep into your womb. The strap was designed with tech to release artificial cum, but you began wondering if it was even fake. If she had gotten this, stating she has been waiting to use it on you, who knows if she adjusted the settings or not? It would be difficult to do so, yet she could do anything she set her mind to, she was just that good.

“Gonna be such a good girl for your Daddy, yeah? You wanna be a good slut for me?” You nodded, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. She slapped them, gripping onto your left mound and tweaking the sore nipple. You bit your lip, nearly crying from the sensation.

“Can’t wait for these to leak milk for me. Fuck, I just know you’ll taste so fucking good.” She pressed her hungry lips to the hard bud, moaning as she imagined the sweet liquid. This didn’t distract her, though. No, she continued to let her pelvis bone slap against yours painfully. The room was filled with the sound of cheeks clapping together and reeked of sweat and sex. It was like a taunt, as if the air wanted to show you how humiliating and disgusting you were.

“P-please, Nat, I need to cum…so- bad!” Your nails raked down her back, clawing at the skin as she hissed in pain. Blood began to drip, and she only hummed in delight.

“Soon, baby girl, Daddy gets to cum first.” She already had multiple times, but that didn’t stop her. She wanted to make you suffer, it brought her enjoyment.

“I can’t h-hold on-“

“Yes, you can.” She retorted in a rough manner. You couldn’t listen to her anymore, you needed to finish. It was becoming unbearable, you couldn’t control yourself.

“Did- did you just-“ Came her voice after a few moments. You debated on how to get away with it, but you knew the punishment would be worse. But you didn’t care, you needed this more than she could imagine.

“I- I’m sorry, Nat-“ A slap came to your face, causing your skin to start reddening.

“You don’t get to call me that. You’re such an ungrateful fucking whore, can’t even wait till I give permission.” You sniffled quietly, and she only groaned in response.

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy ‘till I’m satisfied, you got that? And then maybe I’ll consider letting you cum. But for now, you’re my bitch and you’re gonna fucking act like it.”

“Yes, Daddy..”

It would be a long night, and you wouldn’t change this for the world.

2K notes · View notes

hopeastrz · 7 months

Text

𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐕𝐈🌼✨

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫/𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 + 𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐭.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞??! 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝟏,𝟓𝐤 𝐀𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐧 𝐨�� 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞!.

The childlike wonder 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒 posses is so precious, makes me feel like it’s their first life on earth, they are so so sweet when comfortable, because as much as they can’t hold their negative emotions at bay, they do the same to positive ones, which makes them share everything with you, especially little things that makes them happy and excited too.. i love them so much.

𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐘 — 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐎 harmonious aspects tend to give you a very magnetic and enchanting tone, you may have a low husky voice or you just have a very slight but attractive Hoarseness.

No because why does 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝟏𝟏° have the most unhinged/weird af thoughts out there.. Me and Felix of stray kids have the exact same mercury placement with the same degree 𝟏𝟏° 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝟏𝟎𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄, and when he said “chicken has meat in it,” + “i believe there are ghosts but i don’t want to believe there are ghosts.” I felt him the most, these two quotes gives you enough context i guess.

𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐎 𝟏𝟏𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 attract jealousy and obsession from their friends it’s kinda concerning so take care!.

𝟐𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐒 LOWER🗣️ YOUR 🗣️ DAMN🗣️ VOICE🗣️.. if i discovered that some of you have natural high tech speakers attached to your throats i wouldn’t even be surprised.

𝟐𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐒 𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐒 may become financially stable in an early stage of their lives, I’m talking like in late teenage years, they pay for their college tuitions or something, they just have to have this responsibility on their shoulders somehow, same thing for 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍, 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄.

𝐋𝐄𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒, go blonde, it suits you so freaking much, i don’t make the rules.

𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐔𝐌 𝐌𝐄𝐍 and the chokehold they have on me, i love them so much dude.

If a 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒 — 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 breaks up with someone just know that they really reached their limit, because they tend to turn blind eye on lots of things in a relationship, since they cherish harmony and love, they are one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet.

𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 dance, dance it’ll do wonders to your and your body.

𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐒 please im begging you, stop being so hard on yourselves, you are enough trust me.

𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈, 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 have the most diverse music taste in the world, it’ll literally blow your mind!, they listen to everything, any genre, rock, punk, home, R&B anything you have in mind and in different languages too.

𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐔𝐌 are very artistic it’s fascinating, really quite admirable, and if accompanied with 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 then you’ll have the most amazing multitasking creative individual ever, the type to be so good at everything, drawing, singing, dancing, writing literally whatever art related.. they have a wide set of hobbies and won’t fail to impress you.

𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 kindly give me your skin care routine right now. I’m not even joking the have the most flawless skin ever, so soft and chubby just beautiful!.

I’ll always recommend checking your 𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓 until my last breath because it will never fail you, to me it is the most important 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓 out there especially if you just can’t resonate with your natal chart ascendant..

.. furthermore I’m a Sagittarius rising in my natal chart with Pluto and bla bla, but for years i always thought that it doesn’t suit me, even though i have my exact right birth time, later on when i checked my ascendant persona chart IT MADE SO MUCH SENSE..

.. people used to say that i have a soft, delicate and dreamy nature to my face, like i seem lost, also they said that i look rich lmao, basically everything that had nothing to do with my natal chart rising, and when i checked 𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐂 i had pisces ascendant conjunct Uranus 7° and Moon 16°.. it was mind blowing istg.

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒 – 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐎/𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 fuck your self worth so bad, no because they are the type to question people love for them 24/7 because they just can’t believe it. In Neptune case it puts a veil on your face making you blind, but for Pluto it just makes you feel like you are the worst person out there and you don’t deserve to be loved… these people need a hug so bad rn.

You know who has this placement? 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐎, The Versace prince Hwang Hyunjin of stray kids!, and if you remember he once said in maniac concert “i still don’t know why do you like me.. do i deserve this kind of love?.”….. yeah, i can’t do this today *proceeds to scream in her pillow.”

Now lastly on 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒—𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 you have the best eyebrows out there, just quite neat and attractive, especially if 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐒 it’ll enhance this placement.

#astrology #astrology observations #astrology aspects #astrology degrees #astrology notes #astrology houses #astro placements #astrology planets #astro observations #astrology asteroids #stray kids #skz felix #felix birth chart #Hyunjin #hyunjin birth chart #stray kids astrology

1K notes · View notes

nyyrami · 22 days

Text

𐔌 𓏲 SHE WENT TO HEAVEN AND BACK

𓂅 synopsis. scenarios in which the boys kiss you, their dearest.

𓂅 tags. satoru gojo x reader, suguru geto x reader, nanami kento x reader. fluff. suggestive themes. making out. groping. touching duh. implied intercourse. pet names ( baby, love, angel, wifey ). fem anatomy. marriage. 16 plus?

𓂅 a/n. chase atlantic >>> does the title even correlate with the writing? idk. lwky not even that suggestive other than kissing. not proofread.

SATORU GOJO ⋆˚࿔. clingy and always wants more.

satoru cant keep his hands off you. wether your at jujutsu tech, just doing you work. a slim hand would always either be resting on your thigh or wrapping you in a hug. satoru’s clingy. everyone knows it. from him just following you around. to clinging to you in the comfort of your home, he shows his love in physical touch. but when his touches are always with unchaste thoughts of you…

‘‘’toru— dont you have like, a class to teach?’’

this was the 3rd time this week that satoru had purposely been skipping his lessons with his class to stay in your office. now he was sitting on your chair, sucking on a lollipop.

that did hide the very big smile on his face. ‘‘huh? Don’t you want to spend time with your husband sweet cheeks?’’ he gripped the fabric of his shirt, directly above his heart in a feigned motion of a heart attack.

you rolled your eyes, smiling at his little antics. you did like him staying with you while you worked. but he had a job and you don’t know how much principal yaga would tolerate.

‘‘honestly though, yaga is going to lose his head when he finds out your here, again.’’ you spoke, now looking through the countless papers on your desk. you would need to find some time to properly go through all of them—

‘‘well, how can he blame me when I have a beauty for a wife?’’

you turn to look at him, a deep blush coating your cheeks. even after all these years of marriage between you, his flirty comments still made you blush like a high school girl.

‘‘satoru!’’

long, slim fingers hooked around his blindfold and pulled it down till it was hanging off his neck. blue eyes on display, you could practically feel his laughter at your expression.

‘‘whatttt? cant i love my wifey?’’

it took two long strides for him to meet you. two. and another two second for his hands to be cupping your face before he leaned in to kiss you.

his lips were soft and tasted like strawberries and instinctively you leaned in further for more. hands wrapping around his neck you pulled him closer to you. hands running through his hair.

satorus hands traveled from the small of your back to rest on the sides of your thighs. pulling you even further into him till your breasts were plush against his chest. it sent him wild.

‘‘’toru—!’’

you pull away, face flushed and skin hot. you’d almost forgotten you were in a school, and an office. anyone could walk in on you guys doing…

blue eyes trained on your flustered expression. ‘‘c’mon, baby. no one’s going to—’’ you stand back and out of his arms.

‘‘satoru you have a class to teach, go.’’

‘‘nooo, it’s fine. they can take care of themselves—’’ you were grabbing him by the arm and attempting to push him out the door, to no avail. as much as satoru looked thin, he was a muscular man underneath his uniform.

‘‘babyyyyy cant I stay a few more minutes—’’

‘‘no!’’

‘‘two minutes—!’’

unbeknownst to him, you’d managed to shove him far enough to the point where he’d crossed the threshold of the door. at your amused silence, he raised an eyebrow.

‘‘what’s so funny, eh?’’

you shut the door in his face. that clearly didn’t stop him though for you could hear his wallowing outside. him begging for you to open the door before it turned to harmless threats of eating your food before you got home. you smiled. returning back to your desk to carry on with your work. you didn’t notice it before but now you did. on your desk was a clear plastic bag full of strawberry lollipops.

NANAMI KENTO ⋆˚࿔. loving yet always working.

kento knew he was a workaholic. he spent hours going over meetings he’d been through and doing— you didn’t know. but when he’s in the comfort of your home and he’s still working and not paying attention to you. you find some way to get him to abandon his work.

this was the third time of you walking into his study and telling him to leave his work. yes, you knew it was jarring. yes, you knew it was annoying but how else would you get your husband to pay attention to you?

‘‘kentoooo, dear. why don’t you take a break?’’

you stood behind him, hands massaging his scalp. by the way you were going, he was almost inclined to ditch his work but taking another look at the computer eradicated the thought.

‘‘cmon dear, atleast eat some food.’’

‘‘im fine, thank you love.’’

ever the stubborn man he was, he refused your subtle invitations. he knew what you wanted. you wanted him to come with you and relax. maybe watch a movie or two. and he really did want to do that, but his work was—

kento snapped out of his daze when he felt you sit on his lap. lgs on either side of his, you were practically trapping him onto the chair but he wasn’t complaining.

‘‘love—?’'

‘‘your practically married to your wok, kento.’’

you assaulted him with kisses, your lips soft and featherlight. you gripped his chin, looking him in the eye once before leaning in. instinctively he wrapped his arms around your waist, hand resting on the small of your back like the gentlemen he was.

for a few minutes, you didn’t break the contact. had you known this was the easiest way to get him to pay attention to you, you would’ve done it a long time ago.

pulling back, he gave a smile. his lips now puffy and red, clear evidence of your doings.

‘‘if you wanted me to kiss you, you could’ve just spoke up, love.’’

you blushed furiously, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. you have him a small pout. kento wasted no time before standing up, holding you up with him fluidly before walking towards your shared rooms.

‘‘ill show you who im married to.’’

SUGURU GETO ⋆˚࿔. touchy and very hands on.

suguru saw everything. to your quick glances or to even your slight movements where you’d move closer to him. you didn’t seem to realise you did that but he always noticed. it made him smile when he thought about it. today was one of those days but he couldn’t figure out what you wanted…

suguru was watching you. unabashedly. he was noting your movements as you walked around the room, looking through draws for something he doubted existed.

you knew he was watching you. you could practically feel his dark eyes watching your back. you didn’t know wether to turn to him.

‘‘angel, come here.’’

suguru spoke, arms now outstretched, an invitation you didn’t know you needed. he lay under the covers, practically naked and his long, dark hair was a mess. a telling of your previous activities.

you blushed when you remembered your earlier behaviour. you slid onto the bed, diving under the duvets you were greeted by his arms immediately.

hiding your face in the crook of his neck, you could practically feel the smile radiating off him. ‘‘what has you in such a twist, angel?’’

‘‘m’ nothing.’’ your voice muffled against him as you press yourself closer.

suguru knows only one way of getting whatever your thinking out of you. and so he does it. he leans down cupping your face, he leans for a kiss.

it’s hot and soft at the same time. fuelled with the desires of your love making, but soft at the same time, filled with adoration and love.

you don’t want to leave it. you know he doesn’t want to either as one of his hands crawl from your hips to rest on your behind gently pushing you further into him to the point you can feel everything.

when you break apart its hot and your panting for air. suguru only smiles, his pretty face never once leaving yours.

‘‘so, are you going to tell me?’’

you smile. ‘‘you just gave me what I wanted, love.’’ you fall back into him. this time with the intention of carrying it on further…

©NYYRAMI24 do not copy, repost or plagiarise my work.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #gojo x reader angst #gojo x reader #nanami kento x reader #gojo x you #geto suguru #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru geto smut #gojo satoru smut #nanami kento smut

515 notes · View notes

pupkashi · 10 months

Text

in which gojo realizes you truly see him

a/n: just a little thought i have i want to comfort him and hug him always <3 thank u to the amazing wonderful lovely @vagabond-umlaut for helping me w this fic <33 would’ve been hot garbage without u i love u xoxo <3

wordcount: 720

masterlist

Gojo Satoru had only known life through his many titles.

Gojo Satoru, head of the Gojo clan.

Gojo Satoru, holder of the Six Eyes and Limitless.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer.

satoru hated titles. he hated being known and labeled for the things that didn’t even make up who he was. no one after suguru came close to trying to get to know him.

his fellow sorcerers always too busy or intimidated, viewing him as a spectacle.

there was a sense of longing in his heart to find someone who really wanted to know him. someone to ask him all his favorites, someone to ask him what he wanted to be as a child, what his fears were, if he had a middle name, what animal he’s always wanted as a pet.

but there was never anyone who got past the surface level questions.

until he met you.

you who upon meeting him gave him a kind smile, not a clue of who he was, telling him he could sit with you in the booth of the much too crowded coffee shop.

“they really should get more chairs around here” he mumbles, looking up at you with a small grin when you laugh in agreement, glancing up from your laptop.

“seriously! half the time it’s a gamble if I’ll be able to get some work done or if I’ll have to drive back home” you chuckle, gojo smiling at your words.

you both spent some more time talking, sipping on your respective drinks and getting to know each other.

satoru found out you had no clue about Jujutsu, given by the way you’d never heard of jujutu tech or of him. he couldn’t stop himself from giving you a charming smile, scribbling his number on a napkin before saying goodbye, a smile on his face as he walked out of the coffee shop.

you who on the second date asked him what animal he thinks he could fight and win, asking him his favorite songs and if he’d ever been to a concert before.

you who on the fourth date had him giggling, confessing how much he liked you and telling you all about his life because he wants this to work out so bad and it can’t start off as a lie.

you who a week later calls him, asking him to answer truthfully when you ask him what animal he could really take in a fight, laughing when he answers with ‘at least a cow’ his lips curling upwards at the sound.

he’s laying on the couch with you, your hands lost in his hair as the movie plays in the background softly, your voice is quiet as you speak up.

“do you have a middle name?” the question is simple, some might think it silly. but to satoru it’s like his whole world is flipped upside down.

because here he is, in your warm and homey apartment that’s nothing like his cold larger one, with you, who brings him all the love and joy he could’ve ever imagined. he’s looking at you with glimmering eyes, heart stuttering at the sight of you in his shirt that you’d stolen with a smile.

it’s with that question that he’s realizing he’s finally found someone who really wants to know him. who doesn’t care for his power or status, but cares for his terrible jokes and interests.

“toru?” you asked, pulling him out of his daze and back to reality.

“sorry” he smiles sheepishly before shaking his head ‘no,’ a look in his eyes you can’t quite place.

satoru finally finds himself with titles that mean something to him. titles that he cherishes and holds close to his heart.

Gojo Satoru, who eats anything and everything that was sweet, claiming they’re no match for the sweet taste of your lips.

Gojo Satoru, who had an insane secret obsession with romcoms. an obsession you were sure was just to get you to cuddle him until you found him up at 3 am watching a terrible hallmark movie all on his own.

Gojo Satoru, who couldn’t stand when you were mad at him, going to drastic measures for you to forgive him.

Gojo Satoru, who considered himself lucky enough to hold the title of your boyfriend, your confidant and your favorite sorcerer.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru drabble #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru one shot #gojo satoru x reader fluff #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fluff

2K notes · View notes

spacedace · 10 months

Text

Here have some snippets of the AU that’s taken over my brain (featuring Elle unintentionally dunking on both of Bruce’s identities, Clark realizing he passed his taste in partners on to his son, a bit of pre/unaware that they are dating Super Serious Chaos, and some blink-and-you-miss-it background Enemies to Lovers Dick/Dan)

---

“Sorry, who’s Bruce Wayne?”

The room when quiet. All heads turned to look at Elle at the end of the table. Bruce didn’t visibly react, but Clark could make out the subtle indication of disbelief that his old friend was feeling - that they all were feeling at the interpreter’s question. Elle, suddenly aware she had the full room’s attention, had the look of someone who realized they’d said something wrong, but didn’t know what.

“You’re kidding.” John said, “You know Bruce Wayne. Everyone knows Bruce Wayne.”

Elle blinked. “I don’t.” She glanced from face to face, “Is he like a big deal? Does he work here or something? I haven’t been around that long so I might have missed him.”

It took every bit of self control Clark had not to laugh. His voice still came out a bit strangled from the effort as he offered, “No he doesn’t work here.” If Bruce was the type to do so in uniform, he’d be kicking Clark under the table.

“You live in Gotham. You have to know Bruce Wayne.” Barry said, voice going a bit high with growing bewilderment. “Mega ba-jillionair. CEO of Wayne Tech? Richest man in Gotham - in the world? Has like a hundred kids?”

Their interpreter’s nose scrunched. “So he’s like…in one of those fundamentalist cults obsessed with having a bunch of kids or something?”

Bruce actually twitched at that. The sound of utter disgust in Elle’s voice at the concept, the complete and total lack of any kind of recognition she had for the single most famous non-crime or crime-fighting related person in the city that she lived in, she truly had no idea who they were talking about. Clark had to get a recording of the room’s security feed, Lois would love this. Oh, wait no, Bruce’s kids. Maybe if he was fast enough he could text Dick to get there ASAP so he could see it all in person before it was over.

“No! Nothing like that! He adopted them - well most of them.” Barry tried to explain, looking utterly lost as he turned from Elle to the rest of them and back again. “You’re messing with us right? This is like a joke?”

Elle shook her head, looking just as lost as Barry did. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Do you know Dick Grayson?”

“I know of an officer Grayson who is a dick. Total tool. He’s been making my brother’s Dan’s life miserable for like a year now. Pretty sure not who you’re talking about though.”

“Jason Todd.”

“The library goon?”

“Tim Drake.”

“Sounds like a Dark Wing Duck character.”

“Cassandra Cain.”

“Isn’t that the author that started out writing incest Harry Potter fanfic?”

“Duke Thomas?”

“What’s he a Duke of?”

Barry snapped his fingers, pointing emphatically at Elle with a look of victory on his masked face as he shouted, “Damian Wayne!”

Damian, who had at that moment just walked into the meeting room with Jon at his heels paused in his place just behind Elle. He did pretty well at hiding his surprise at Barry seemingly shouting his civilian name and pointing at him upon walking in. Though the tense line of his shoulders suggested that if Barry was actually revealing his secret identity without warning or permission, there would be blood.

Stella Nightingale, unaware of the almost-kinda identity reveal going on around her, tilted her head in confusion at the speedster. “I’m assuming he’s related to that Bruce Wayne guy?”

“They’re all related to Bruce Wayne.” John said with open amusement now. The Green Lantern had given up on the research entirely, watching the entire debacle with a growing smirk he kept casting towards Bruce. “That man’s face is plastered absolutely everywhere in the news. How do you not know who he is?”

“If Lois Lane hasn’t written about him he can’t be that important.” Elle said with a casual certainty of one speaking a core tenant of their beliefs. Clark’s opinion of the young woman - already quite high considering her ferocious loyalty and fondness to Jon - rose sharply.

“You’re read the Daily Planet?” Clark asked, warmth curling in his chest at the mention of his wife and her work.

“I read articles by Lois Lane.” Elle said promptly, “I tried reading some articles that Kent guy she partners with sometimes wrote on his own but I couldn’t get past his writing style. Dude sounds like he’s from outer space with his word choice sometimes.”

Bruce, looking far too pleased, gave a quiet and not terribly convincing cough as Clark tried to will his soul back into his body.

It was going to be a long day.

—

“You are at least aware of who Gotham’s vigilantes are, yes?” Damian asked with a raised brow behind his mask.

Elle shrugged, giving him a sly smile. “The relevant ones.”

Clark tried to hide his short laugh with a feigned cough. Elle at least was distracted enough with Jon and Damian’s attention to notice but Bruce was giving him a look over the tablet he was trying - and undoubtedly failing - to review files on.

Jon grinned eagerly from his spot beside Elle as he asked, “Aren’t they all relevant to you? You live in Gotham.”

“I live in Crime Alley.” Elle corrected, bumping his shoulder with hers. “We have different standards of relevancy there.”

“So what are the relevant ones then?” Clark asked, pointedly ignoring Bruce’s burning stare. They’d get back to the research. Eventually. Finding out if the Gothamite who had been spending all her free time with Phoenix and Flamebird for the past year and a half was as oblivious to her city’s heroes as she was its celebrities was too entertaining a notion to pass up.

“Phoenix, obviously.” She grinned cheekily at Damian across the table, ticking names off her fingers as she continued. “Red Hood. Spoiler. Uh…Orphan?” She trailed off, forehead scrunching in concentrated thought.

“That’s can’t be all the ones you know.” Jon gaped, eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced over to were Bruce was seated, not five feet away before turning back to watch Elle try to rack her brain for any more Gotham vigilantes. Clark could see the moment that the words are taken as a challenge as Elle sat up and looked more determined.

“No, shut up, I know more. Uh…there’s the one, um Red Sparrow? It’s another bird one with red name, I’m pretty sure. And the one with the blue - fuck I should know his name. Nightjar? Wasn’t Nightingale I would have remembered that…shit, dude threw up on our couch once I should remember his name -“

“Nightwing threw up on your couch?”

“Nightwing! That’s the bitch! He got poisoned or something and Dan drug him to our place to patch him up since Doc Thompkins’ clinic was closed.”

Clark shared a look with Bruce and Damian. Dick had failed to mention that little event. Clark could see Bruce reaching for his wrist computer, undoubtedly typing out a message his eldest about what he’d just heard - possibly another to Alfred if he was feeling like pulling out the big guns.

At the other end of the table Elle ticked Nightwing off with a nod, even as Jon squawked that it shouldn’t count since he’d given her the name, “Then there’s…uh…oh! Harley Quinn!”

“Harley Quinn does not count.”

“She beat up a guy trying to mug me last week and got me a hot chocolate afterwards, she totally counts!”

“Someone tried to mug you?”

“Crime Alley, Nix, if someone doesn’t try to mug me while I’m out I get worried that I missed Hood calling in a Street Clear for something big.”

“We’re going to circle back on that later.” Jon said, sharing a pointed glance with Damian. It looked like young Miss Nightingale was going to be getting escorted to and from the Watchtower from now on.

Ah, Clark mused, falling head over heels for someone with no understanding of the concept of self-preservation and a stubborn determination to run straight into the heart of danger without a second thought. It brought back such fond memories. Of both Lois and Bruce. And Diana. And - Hmm. Kara might have been right. Clark might have a type.

Watching the three at the other end of the table and taking them in, Clark realized he might have passed his taste in partners on to his son. Well, at least he’ll be able to give Jon some advise on how to handle the heart attacks Damian and Elle will inevitably give him.

“Harley Quinn doesn’t count. You got any more?”

Elle rolled her eyes, muttering about Harley totally counts, before leaning back in her chair. “I think I’m out. I know there’s more but,” She gave a shrug, “I’m tapped out. Those are all the ones I can think of.”

It was, surprisingly, Bruce that spoke up at that declaration, a slant of amusement to his lips as he asked, “No one else comes to mind?”

Elle waved him off, attention turning to the mountain of alien script they needed her to translate for them. It was the reason she was even there rather than in her office trying to translate whatever incredibly dangerous magic tomb JL Dark had dropped off without accidentally summoning a demon or ending hte world in the process. J’onn was right, they really should give her a raise.“That’s all I got.” She said with a sigh, “Like I said, I know the relevant ones.”

“Hn.”

Twenty minutes of shared looks of amusement and suppressed laughter later Elle’s head shot up, a look of wide eyed embarrassment on her face. “Oh my god.”

“There it is.”

“About time Nightingale, I was starting to be concerned about your mental faculties.”

“Shut up, this so embarrassing!”

“Don’t sweat it kid, we all have our moments.”

“I can’t believe I forgot Signal.”

“What.”

---

Context of this snippet if anyone is interested:

This is actually the same AU as the Steph & Jason sibling bonding Anger Management snippet from a bit ago (I’m calling it my Ghosts in Gotham AU in scrivener so I guess that’s what I’ll call it here lol). This time focused on Elle and her misadventures as a Totally Normal Civilian (TM) working for the Justice League with her two besties Jon & Damian (none of them realize yet that they’ve been dating for months).

No idea when this is supposed to take place in terms of timeline with the other snippet, but kinda vibing the idea that while Steph & Jason are having a heart to heart on a rooftop over their shared background and Jason’s future as a dad, Elle is up in the Watchtower telling Bruce Wayne to his face that she has no idea who he is and forgetting Batman is a Gotham vigilante while he’s sitting at the same table as her.

Anyway, this AU has taken over my life. Expect more nonsense to come lol

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dani phantom #danielle phantom #super serious chaos #superseriouschaos #jon kent #jon el kent #Damian Wayne #clark kent #justice league #bruce wayne #barry allen #john stewart #ghosts in gotham au #batfam #elle doesn't pay any attention to the famous people in gotham unless they're trying to kill her or save her #and she might not even pay attention then #and yes this is more of my headcanon that the Justice League is the world's biggest polycule #no i will never let that headcanon go i love it too much #there's a version of this world where Elle never figures out that Bruce Wayne is supposed to be kind of a big deal #years in the future she Dami & Jon are married & she has a new friend she's made over for lunch #and they see some of the family photos and are like #is that fucking Bruce Wayne at your wedding?#Elle - oblivious: oh you know my father-in-law?#Bruce gets unmasked before Elle knows about everyone's identities & he's freaking out while she's just #full lex luthor moment: I have no idea who this is #Bruce: you know who I am now #Elle - does not know who he is but doesn't want to admit to it guessing: Clark Kent?

1K notes · View notes

riaki · 5 months

Text

thrifted romance | megumi fushiguro x reader

synopsis: you’ve never really spoken with megumi before, so when your friends leave the two of you behind on a snowy night, you take the opportunity to get to know him.

wc: 6.2k... SO SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY cw: swearing, college au, noncurse au, i don’t thjnk there’s anything else ??

this got way longer than i intended it to be and i rushed to grind it out so it may not be coherent.. if so i apologize :’3 and this one’s late but i hope the content makes up for it ! enjoy meemow barely proofread!

it's a late winter evening when you meet up with megumi and your friends on the side of the street— cozied up in puffy layers and a long blazer stained with coffee splashes and a few hot chocolate smudges here and there.

fall had melted away with the slow gradient of leaves from the trees, sinking into fluffy piles on the sidewalk that soon became coated and replaced with light snowfall; the first of many problematic inches. midterms were just around the corner, and with it meant late hours spent pulling all-nighters that left you exhausted, eyes dark around the edges with a lack of sleep; breaths of minty hot chocolate and coffee from the amalgamation you'd concocted to at least pretend to get into the holiday spirit.

(a fruitless effort, though— if not for your failure that warned you to stay out of mixology, but the way your roommate's cat had knocked over your mug and ruined the flashcards you'd been wrestling with and looked completely smug with itself.)

really, though, there was absolutely nothing jolly about school, or exams. so when your favorite inefficient, sidetracking study buddy had offered to spend the weekend out, who were you to say no? nobara had offered to go find a club, but it was far too cold out to frolic around in skimpy clothing and your expensive winter coats were much too valuable to risk being stolen in the haze of drunken students and sweaty bodies. so, you'd decided to go shopping, because what else is there to do with her? besides the usual karaoke session with the upperclassmen she seems to like so much, of course.

turns out, it'd had been a group endeavor. or, more accurately— a group of four, unlike the duo you had previously thought you'd be going out in. yuji and megumi were there too— friends from separate majors; you'd heard that yuji was involved in the uprising surge of software engineers and computer science majors clambering for a shot in the world of big AI tech companies, even though he supposedly was about as computer-smart as your teetering old grandma ripe with age, permanently stuck in her rocking chair crocheting the days away.

megumi, on the other hand, was a mystery. you'd shared a few classes together; his chipped dark nails that shone the same blue as his esoteric eyes beneath the warmth of the glowing sun, and his inky black hair that spilled over the collars of his simple gray sweatshirts like effortlessly graceful calligraphy on paper had captured your attention as smooth and seamless as the daylight turned to darkness, days cut short by the onslaught of cold. even so, you'd never brought yourself to interact much— he seemed like he'd prefer to keep to himself, if the way he'd disdainfully scoot away from anyone who tried to approach him and turn up the volume of his headphones indicated anything. you had laughed to your friend and called it introversion to its finest, only to promptly shut up when his unmoving gaze landed on you, leaving you feeling like a clown on the stage, rimmed by rich dark red curtains and a wooden floorboard as the beaming spotlight shines upon you imaginary button nose, hot and glaring under his gaze.

even though you'd approved of his music taste once you snagged a few notes by the ear, you'd really thought his taste in fashion was too bland to be the type of person to shop with nobara— her meticulous style and image were much brighter and more flamboyant than megumi's jaded attempts at a splash of color through the occasional blue argyle or layered turtleneck. still, those were better than yuji's paltry attempts at fashion; at least the myriads of color on nobara's figure were coordinated. the pink-haired boy with funny scars on his face would probably have been better off learning graphic design or art, with the disasters of clashing colors on his person.

and he'd gotten the opportunity to demonstrate his questionable tastes on the chilly evening, when black ice had begun to form on the roads and the soft light of boutiques with slow jazz flowing from the speakers filled your frost-bitten red ears as you walked up to the shade of a nearby lamppost. once you'd all met up, nobara had hooked an arm around your elbow and dragged you off, leaving the boys to follow along like it was walking dogs.

honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you were— at least, with yuji. he carried nobara's bags like she was the next princess in line, without complaint and with the little fearful quivers that dogs get in their legs whenever their owners scold them for barking or misbehaving, much like how nobara would yell at yuji if he dropped a single cream linen sweater or ruffled pink cami.

megumi, on the other hand, was far too lethargic and quiet to be considered any kind of canine. although the weaved bracelet on his left wrist with a cute little puppy charm you caught sight of when he'd rolled his sleeve up implied otherwise. the only reason he'd even had to do that was to rub the sickeningly sweet orange blossom hand sanitizer nobara had spritzed on each of your palms after you took turns petting a stray cat, one that seemed to take a great liking to you and megumi in particular.

the night seemed to drag on forever; pale yellow lights and holiday decorations blurred into swathes and bubbles of color in your vision as the hours passed and the caffeine from the cute little coffeeshop you'd stopped at earlier began to wear off.

but there had just been something magical about that evening; spending time with friends (albeit, more like acquaintances) had granted you a much-needed break from cramming your mind with an overflow of information that was sure to spill out the moment you answered the last exam question. so, when it was almost midnight and it was time to retire to your bed, you'd insisted on staying out for just a little longer while nobara and the rest returned to their dorms to catch some sleep. yuji had complained something about his legs cramping, but you were feeling giddy, and the stars were twinkling just as bright as the light in nobara's eyes were when you told her you had to soak in the fresh air for as long as you could before being locked in to study again as she laughed and headed home with her pink dog-boy escort in tow.

megumi had mumbled something about staying with you since it was late and he wanted to make sure you were safe. you didn't think too much about it, because if you did, you were sure you'd end up with a faced even more flushed than it was frostbitten from the cold.

so, here you were, strolling down the quieter side of town, a brooding boy with inky dark hair and hands pale with blue veins shoved into the pockets of his jacket trailing behind you. he had one airpod tucked into his pierced ear; you assumed he hadn't brought his headphones because yuji would be there to prattle and babble. even so, you were content not to say anything, so there was plenty of opportunity for him to wear both. but he wasn't. you decided not to linger on it.

you'd just finished writing a silly little note out of the crisp snow gathered on the windshield of some stranger's car; the flakes were cold and biting on your skin, leaving it feeling numb with little droplets of icy water when you pulled away to admire your handiwork.

"actually, maybe i shouldn't be doing that." you decided after a moment, mumbling under your breath. it was just a little message with a whiskered smiley face, but the headlights on the car and the bumper seemed to form a frown at you when you stepped back, shaking its motorized head at your vandalism.

"you think?"

megumi's voice sounded from behind you, a little weighed down by the cold with a wisp of warmth leaving his lips like a powdery exhale, curling into the prickly night air. he was standing on the sidewalk, observing you all prickly-like as if you were some flagrant toddler he was babysitting. you still had to get used to the way his voice sounded after rarely hearing it; the few crumbs you got when your professors forced obligatory presentations onto struggling students had sent this warm, fuzzy feeling collecting in your stomach at the rich tone of velvet it held. not rough or overly deep, but smooth and reassuring. the kind you could fall asleep to; like there was a lullaby just waiting to be poured from his tongue with little scratches in the indent of his tone.

of course, you hadn't heard enough of it to make such an assumption, so when you heard the little quip framed with irritation at the edges, it wasn't all sugary sweetness like you imagined.

"yeah, well, sorry i like to live a little," you huffed, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to resuscitate some warmth back into them with a small little sigh.

"you call that living?" he scoffs a little, cocking an eyebrow at the vandalized toyota behind you. now, it just looked a little sad; imaginary eyebrows over the red lights droopy in disappointment. you followed his gaze, before looking back at him and making a sour face as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

"maybe we just have different tastes, y'know? doesn't mean we don't have to get along like this," you mumbled, shaking your hands out a little to get the remaining snow droplets off before stuffing them back in your blazer pockets. "just like itadori and nobara. one has terrible taste in fashion and the other doesn't, but they both like their bright colors." you feel satisfied with yourself for that one, but clearly, megumi doesn't feel the same. but the corner of his pink lips seem to quirk up just a tiny bit, and you feel pride blooming in your chest.

there's just something about the way it looks— an almost implausible smile coaxed onto his lips by something particularly amusing, reaching his dull blue eyes in a way that made their usual tedious apathy morph into something like fondness, or appreciation. adding a shine to his navy irises the lamp light overhead could only hope to mimic. then again, you didn't let your mind linger on it for too long like usual— so instead you chalked it up to the one other thing that had caught your eye besides the sharpness of his jaw and the handsome slimness of his face: his jacket.

you take back what you said about his style and its blandness before— it would be unfair to what he was wearing right now. just a simple black turtleneck (one that you were sure he'd worn to the early morning wednesday lecture you had a few days ago, when the sun was still bright enough to catch on the condensation of the cup of lemonade your white-haired, oddly sweet-toothed professor had), and black jeans, but the vintage racing windbreaker hanging from his shoulders brought it together in a way that was unfairly seamless; all dark blues and stripes of checker; a neutral grayblue that reminded you of the sky on rainy afternoons, trudging about the shopping districts in tokyo. there were a few brand patches here and there, some red bubble lettering of names you didn't recognize in patches of color that brought out the shade of his eyes. maybe the labels of those energy drink brands you often caught him running on when the shadows beneath his long dark lashes seemed heavier than usual.

all that to say he looked good. like, seriously good. you didn't know how you hadn't noticed all night— but now that you had, it was hard to keep your eyes from his slim and tall silhouette (not that he minded). the jacket really complimented it.

"that's a neat jacket. where'd you get it?" you asked after a moment of chilling silence; he'd probably noticed you looking, and you prayed he didn't think you were checking him out. although, if that meant getting your hands on one of those windbreakers, you wouldn't really mind. he glanced up at you, tearing his attention from the sad snowy toyota camry that seemed worn past its years at the newfound attention on megumi's racing jacket. he blinked a little, and you didn't miss the little flake of frost on his eyelash; probably caught from brushing past a windowsill earlier. by now, most shops were closed; even so, the street still felt warm and safe. well, maybe it was to be credited to a person rather than the concrete— but like you had been all night, you ignored it.

"oh, this?" as if he was wearing more than one jacket (it was cute), "i thrifted it." and for some reason, you didn't expect to be surprised, but you were. him? thrifting? the few western-fashion tailored thrift stores you'd been to with nobara had been lacking— not like you'd been able to stay in them long; the artificial ginger had this... beef with reused clothes. she liked her clothes clean and fresh from the press, even if you reminded her they could just be fresh from someone else's press. megumi must be familiar with the antiquated racks of varied worn graphic tees and frayed pants if he could fish something that classy from a thrift store.

then again, it's not like you had any experience to go off of at all.

"really? y'know, i've always wanted to go thrifting," you sighed, stretching your arms out, watching the fabric of your blazer wrinkle and curve to follow the movement of your muscles. a light dusting of snow coated the surface, like powdered sugar on tiramisu. that makes the coffee stains fitting. "but i feel like i'm bad at it." you said, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, the rubber bottom of your sneakers brushing against a little clump of pine green weeds.

"bad at it?" megumi echoes, following you with a faint ruffle of smooth fabric, like the sound of a zipper sliding down. before, the world had been a cool shade of gray, like smoke rising from a cigarette or the blurry blue of the sky from the window of a speeding bullet train. but now, you let yourself soak in the sound of his voice, like grinded coffee beans and a smooth, soothing honey medicine for your throat on a sick day when you get to cozy up in your bunk bed and watch the clouds drift by.

it's nice.

"yeah. like, i wouldn't know where to go, or what to find, or what to look for..." you trailed off, rubbing your cold fingers together again as your breaths leave in little exhales of coagulating mist in the cold night air. now that it was late, it the temperature would only continue to drop.

you walked in silence for a little longer, listening to the scuffles of shoes against concrete, glassy with ice that had begun to creep up on the roads like a steady stream of seafoam from the tides.

"why don't we go thrifting now, then?" he asks out of the snowy blue.

you paused, and you almost smacked straight into a pole. "now?" you spluttered, turning around to face him. the look on his face was unreadable; a mix between exasperation, amusement, an attempt at stoicism, and something like affection in the corner of his lips as they curved upward. it was like a CPR compression; the smile that sent fuzzy electricity through your veins and reinvigorated your heart.

"yes, now." he said it like you were stupid, which you might just be, the way you stared dumbly at his face. "the place i got this jacket from is just over there," he said, jutting a ring-adorned thumb behind him. you had to lean up and peek around his shoulder to see it; you wouldn't've noticed if he didn't point it out. it was tucked between two buildings, a stairway downward into the store. the only thing indicating its status as a retail and thrifting store was the broken neon sign and painted red arrow that gestured towards the staircase.

"looks really shady. and it's late." you grumbled after you got over yourself, and he shot you an irritated look. that was all he really seemed to be doing tonight; that downward knit of his dark eyebrows and the slight pout weighing his lips down. not very suave, you think.

he swallows hard, and you aimlessly watch the bob of his adam's apple. "well?" he prompts, a hard edge to his voice despite the situation. you stand there for a little while, marinating in the growing cold until you cant feel the tips of your fingers.

"fine."

one accidental slip on the crosswalk and a few minutes later, you're stepping down the last wooden stair of the thrift store and into the building's basement; it's much bigger than you would've thought, with an expanse of layered clothing racks that obscure your vision, the corners of the walls clogged with cobwebs and years of dust build up. there's a faint lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cologne; something vanilla that you've caught clinging to megumi's wrists and neck on the rare occasion you brush past him. faint jazz spills from the speakers, something in a swing rhythm with the signature lilt of saxophone that makes you think you should be out enjoying a romantic fancy dinner instead of being cooped up between old wrinkly moth-bitten clothes. but you're here with megumi, so you convince yourself you don't mind either way.

"you sure this is the right place?" you asked, trying (and failing) to keep the obvious distain from your voice as you kick a folded 'floor-is-wet' sign from your path and step into the store. you can't even see the cash register from where you're standing.

"yes, i'm sure. can you stop complaining?" you can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice, and you're sure you could see it too if you just turned around. "trust me. it's not all shit." his voice softens, and you freeze up a little as he brushes past you; the corridors and margins are tight, so he has to turn sideways to fit. even so, a tag on your coat manages to snag on his jacket, and you hasten to unhook it before he can notice. he almost disappears into the racks, and you have to follow him, pushing your way through thick coats and worn graphic tees that have cracked logos and balls of lints clinging to them.

you're no thrifting expert, but you're pretty sure the store's supposed to be in better condition than this.

"hey." megumi's voice soon snaps you back into reality, and you look up from the mustard yellow top you were eyeing warily to meet his sedate gaze. "the good stuff's in the back. c'mon." he doesn't give you much room to argue even though it sounds like you're here to do drugs rather than find clothing, and before you can react he's reached forward to grab your wrist and tug you along. a yelp of protest almost spills from your lips, but you bite your tongue and let him drag you along, trying to extinguish the hue of cherry you know is making a home on the tips of your ears.

you brush past patchwork coats and a few leather belts that've tangled with the lace from the silk shirts next to them, but nothing really catches your eye, until you realize that he's let go of you only because of the lack of warmth around your skin and you focus yourself on the current again. you glance up at him, but he already has his back turned to you, sifting through a rack of black shirts that all look the exact same. maybe you have an untrained eye, though.

still, you can't help it when your gaze lingers over the back of his neck; one strand of dark hair has caught itself beneath the collar of his turtleneck, and it irks you. and you decide to do something about it because you'll know it'll bother you if you don't.

time seems to move in a liquid slow; things are blurring and there's no mothballs or ugly recycled coats to get in your way as you reach over and swipe your hand across his neck, hooking a finger beneath the strand and pulling it out of his collar. it takes you a moment to realize what you just did, and when you do, it's like there's a permanent mark seared into your index finger just from the touch of his skin against your own. you think he might have whiplash because he turns his head around so fast to catch your gaze before you can slink away, eyes wide and eyebrows knit, and you notice his bottom lip is snagged between his teeth.

he raises an eyebrow, but before he can utter a shaming word that'll only make you feel more embarrassed you shake your head vigorously, apologetically.

"sorry— it was bothering me. i hope you don't mind." you managed to say, the words spilling out in a rush before you turned away and slipped past him, disappearing into an aisle of dresses. you can feel his gaze burning cold holes into your back as you distract yourself.

you don't let yourself linger on what you just did— you seem to be doing a lot of that, lately, especially with him as you go through a few batches of clothing. by now, it's far past midnight, and you're feeling much more sluggish than you'd like to admit. you haven't seen megumi in a good twenty minutes save for the few times you picked up a few shirts and a cute diner jacket you thought would look good on him. he just thanked you bluntly, taking the bundle of clothing from your arms before walking away to the fitting rooms. you wished he'd stay to let you see the jacket.

you'd tried on a few things, discarding your blazer in favor of a cute knitted cardigan you grabbed, but nothing seemed to stick the way you'd like them to. it would be a great help if you had nobara to assist, but you were sure she was snoring away at home right now, and at the thought of your warm, inviting bed, your knees wobbled a little and you balanced yourself on the wall.

"hey— oh, you alright?" it's an unfamiliar voice; you lift your head up, looking for the source. it's a young boy— he looks to be about your age, maybe a little younger. there's a blue lanyard around his neck, and he's got a spattering of freckles on his hands, which are curled around the collar of a white linen shirt. he must be the one who's tending to the store.

"yeah, i'm okay. sorry," you said hastily, pushing away and rubbing the back of your neck. how embarrassing— he didn't seem to mind, though. he just smiled, big and bright and toothy. cute. reminded you of how toddlers would grin up at parents with those huge red lollipops in hand.

"no worries. i just thought i'd let you know that we're closing soon, since it's almost 2am." he said, shifting his weight on his sneakers. you nodded, about to give a hum of confirmation before another voice cuts through the slow jazz filling the stifling air above, all familiar in its smoothness.

before you could respond, though— "[name]?" megumi's voice rang out in the quaint little store, calling for you, and so you give the employee an apologetic nod before you turn and start toward the noise. you pass a mirror with a coat draped over the top, peeking your head around a tall rack of long skirts to catch sight of the raven head, in all of his glory. you notice that he's taken off his windbreaker.

"what’s up? we have to go soon," you reminded him, yawning a little and rubbing your eyes as you straightened up and stepped over to his side. there was another mirror in front of him, you noticed, with fading stickers pale in the dim yellow light stuck to the wooden rim. even so, with the smudges and the bare sheen of the silver, he looked good. that black turtleneck really suits him.

"i know. i just wanted to ask for your opinion." he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. you tilted your head curiously, and he held up a deep mauve sweatshirt, with some varsity logo branded on the fabric. it had a nice touch to it; a warm color that reminded you of red wine and slow evenings. you were sure it had been one of the pieces you'd picked out for him, but you were too sleepy to recall. "you should try it on. i think it'd look good," you said, gesturing toward the mirror.

you think you must've said something wrong, because he looks at you for a moment too long before he seems to catch himself staring and he nods, a choked little sound leaving his throat which he hides by ducking his head down and covering his face with his long bangs. you think you're hallucinating the pink on his cheeks.

after a moment, he glances at you. "hold this," he shoves his jacket towards you, and you have no choice but to take it. doesn't seem like he's used to taking no for an answer, but you're certainly not the one complaining when he tugs the sweater over his head, ruffling his soft black hair as he steps a little closer to you, observing himself in the mirror while straightening out the folds and fixing his turtleneck. you were right— it does look good on him. almost unfairly so— you don't know how he manages to rock granny clothes so well, like he was born a retirement home's runway model.

unlike him, you're not a reticent shut in— and although you'd like to say you have no problem telling him how good he looks, it's still a little difficult when the words feel like they're lodged in your throat in order to prevent you from making a fool of yourself again. but you ignore it and push on.

"you look great. i think it really suits you," you breathed, shaking your head as your hands tighten around his jacket in your arms. he blinks, adjusting the collar before glancing down at you. you take a moment to really appreciate the sight— him, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the chipped lights overhead. despite the dilapidated store and the antiquated, worn clothing surrounding him, he still manages to look like some ethereal angel boy you'd stumble upon in a bookstore on a dreary winter's afternoon and never be able to get out of your mind again.

ink black eyelashes flutter when he blinks, framing his eyes like the bangs falling over his face when he turns around again to observe himself in the mirror once more before he takes the sweatshirt off. it catches on his turtleneck, which rides up when he slips the mauve sweater over his head, tussling his hair and exposing the dip of his pale hips, all muscle and flesh and bone, and you pray he chalks up the red on your face to the cold. the end of his belt dangles from the buckle as you hand his jacket back to him, fingers almost brushing— just barely out of reach.

a meager conversation flows between the two of you; you follow him through the endless maze of used clothing until you somehow stumble upon the cash register and he buys his sweater; the only thing he manages to buy after all this time spent milling about in a dusty, dinky little retail store. the boy from earlier helps check him out, and the icy glare he receives from megumi when he glances at you seems to fly straight past your head as you pick at your cuticles. the tips of your fingers are still red from messing with the frosty snow earlier. you wonder when the car owner will find your message.

it's almost freezing when you get out of the dusty shop, emerging from the smoke-stained alleyway stairs and into the cold night air. your breaths almost seem to form a precipitate, and the thought reminds you of the chemistry conversions waiting for you on your desk beneath the lamp, and you cringe internally. staying out for a few hours longer seems way better than succumbing to the never ending stream of worksheets and documents calling your name. you wonder if your charismatic professor will let you get away with a few assignments if you call in sick. are papercuts excuse enough?

the click of a lock behind you signifies the store's closing— the employee left through a back exit, it seems. and you realize too late that you left your blazer in the dressing room when you turn around and a sigh falls from your lips. megumi, paper bag in hand, glances over at you.

"you okay?"

you almost forgot he was there, in his brooding vintage racing jacket glory. you shake your head, before sighing forlornly again. he notices this, making a little face; his lips press together and his pretty eyes narrow. he thinks you sigh far too much. you'd look prettier if you smiled some more. he likes it when you do.

"i left my blazer in there, but he just closed it and it's so fucking cold out," you whined, bringing your hands to your face and rubbing your eyes tiredly. you're cold and your fingers are going numb again, and there's light snowfall. so much for not losing your coat at a club. you can't tell which one's worse. "sorry to complain so much, but do you mind if we—"

you're promptly cut off; the words on your tongue left unsaid, burning with the taste of bitter black coffee. your gaze trails from megumi's hand, the clink of his silver ring against the zipper rail of his jacket as his fingers curl around the fabric, up his arm to the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, rounding the curve of his shoulders and up his neck to his face. he's not looking at you.

the words that leave his wet lips are so small and hurried that you think you're hallucinating them; when you inevitably looked back at this moment later, you'd realize that he was being shy. he mumbles something under his sweet breath, and you ask him to speak up.

"i said, you can use mine." he repeats, louder than necessary as he finally brings himself to look down at you from under his lashes, biting the inside of his cheek. his voice is a little strained, and a soft breeze carrying the smell of cinnamon and fresh ice rustles his hair. you blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights over a layer of thin ice, ready to shatter at a moment's notice.

"oh— okay. um, do you have anywhere else you need to go..?" you said tentatively, reaching forward to take his jacket again. it was exactly like how you'd done back in the thrift store, but the vague sense of deja vu you get is accompanied by an endless fluttering of warmth in your stomach that melts away the winters and tiring exams, and the night seems to become a soft warm orange, as if someone's drained the cool hues from the landscape.

megumi just shook his head, reaching into his bag and taking out the sweater he'd bought earlier. he slips it on again, adjusting it over his shoulders and refusing to meet your eyes as he crumples the paper bag in his hands. you notice they're slightly trembling as he does it, fingers digging into the material with much more force than is really needed. his hair follows each movement of his head; the strain of the muscles in his neck when he swallows again and gestures for you to follow him back down the empty street, past cars coated in melting snow and jaunty yellow lights twinkling over the awnings of closed store windows, shut down for the night. the sweater suits him really well, you think; not too loose, but tight enough in the right places to send your heart racing a mile a minute.

you pull his jacket over your arms, tucking your sleeves in and zipping it up. it's big on you— that's no surprise, and you can almost taste the vanilla on your tongue, his cologne lingering on every fold of the insulated fabric. it's warm, and it feels like being enveloped in a tight hug. in megumi's head, he hopes— prays its him you think of if you ever feel that way again.

you walk in a stiff silence; both of you want to say something, but you're dancing around it, letting your words linger unsaid until the other breaks the ice first. it's only ever cracked once you reach the dorms, where you part ways. there's light snowfall, and a thin layer of white has coated his hair when you turn to face him. you reach forward, learning onto the tips of your toes to brush off the ice. his hair feels unimaginably soft beneath your fingers, slightly damp from the snow. but he's the furthest from cold when you pull away; his face is burning up.

by now, you can't bring yourself to mind.

"thank you," you said softly, sighing contentedly. you move to take his jacket off your shoulders and return it, but he stops you, holding a hand up. the expression on his face is unreadable, but his lips are pursed together in a way that makes you think he's pouting.

"don't worry—" a pause. " you can, uh. keep it. i know you wanted one. just... give it back when you want, yeah?" he says, curt. almost prude, if it weren't for the way he was avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment. it was like trying to play the world's most difficult game of whack-a'mole, attempting to catch his eyes and see the iceberg that's melted into pools of warm glittering affection in his blue irises. at the thought, you wonder if he likes arcades, and you make a mental note to suggest an activity to nobara the next time she has the urge for an escapade.

you don't bother asking him whether he's sure, because you don't want him to take his words back. so you linger there in a moment of silence, letting it hang over your heads like a warm throw blanket, cozied in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. maybe a coffee mix like you'd attempted before.

angel boy clears his throat first to speak, all honey that links the syllables together like christmas ribbon; rich like orange flavored dark chocolate. "i'll see you later, then." it's short and sweet, but your heart is already flying so high on euphoria you can barely bring yourself to care, or suppress the giddy grin that's spreading across your lips.

yeah, you're tired. yeah, you're still a little cold and you think you need to thaw at your desk for a week until exams, but at least you've got his jacket to accompany you when your study buddy passes out first and you're alone on all nighters. frankly, you can't bring yourself to care— your head is spinning with the events of the chilly night, from crude messages in the snow to thrift store mothballs and lanyards, to one checkered racing jacket. but you don’t think it’s so bad when it threatens to stick to your memory, like chewed up gum under your professor’s desk. whether it’s from the students or the professor, that’s a mystery you’ll never solve.

"yeah. see you around, fushiguro." you can’t say the same about the mystery that megumi is, though. in fact, you think you’re already one step closer when you turn around and part ways, catching sight of him in the reflection of a frosted window. he’s slipping both of his airpods back into his ears, crimson at the tips.

the sound of your shoes against the rug stairway fills your ears as you clamber back up to your dorm, eyelids heavy with drowsiness and face flushed a pleasant warmth. even when you finally get to bed, you can't stop your eyes from drifting over to the bundle of lapis blue fabric sitting on your desk, and your mind from the soft spoken boy with eyes like the night sky and inky hair like calligraphy.

you decide you don't think his style is too bad, after all. and when you tell him that the next morning when he's still sleepy and his lashes fall slow when he blinks the weariness from his eyes, you get to enjoy the steady flush that stains his cheeks and prompts a hoarse cough from his throat when he ducks his head away and grumbles something under his breath, probably about being offended you even thought he was boring in the first place.

and if you ever ask, the only reason he lent you his windbreaker that night was to replace the scent of mothballs and dust with your sweet-smelling perfume.

so, as it turns out, you're able to get your hands on one of those pretty vintage racing jackets— except, it wasn't a new one; it was his. nobara hasn't stopped pestering you with questions since you showed up to class the next day; the only thing you hear for the next week is how much she regrets leaving early.

apparently, it's all yuji's fault.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

#ahhh im really sorry this is late;; got busy with life like those ao3 authors but much less impressive #i really like jazz i feel like not enough people do #just listen to persona music sometime. its worth #sometimes i make up words but thats ok as long as people buy it. i speak english first language trust 👨‍🔬#i feel like reader is kokomi or whatever her name is from saiki k #at that one ramen place but its a thrift store.. pretending it’s not all that bad except reader doesn’t rlly try LMFAO #for megumi!!! everything we do is for him 💐#megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #fushiguro megumi x you #megumi x reader #megumi x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro x y/n #billet-doux #and via thinks her titles r bad #I CAN FINALLMY. WORK ON MY CHRISTMAS EVENT

539 notes · View notes

stellarbit · 18 days

Text

Beg For It

1.6k words. Warnings - NSFW my guys. Heavy heavy petting and voyeurism.

Hunter had a hard time keeping his eyes off of you. Finding you tangled up with Tech was no exception and Tech was not having it.

I don't know what's wrong with me, but man oh man does a simpy Hunter do it for me. I'll die on the hill that Tech is the most confident of his brothers. Enjoyyyy

Being the oldest brother, Hunter learned early in his life that possessiveness was not a trait he could have. What was his was his brothers and he didn’t mind it that way. It was best for the squad and, if he had to be completely honest, seeing his brothers safe and taken care of was worth more than keeping something for himself. It was part of what made him such a good leader.

Hunter put his squad’s safety and happiness before himself.

Then you came along.

When you joined the Bad Batch, Hunter found himself unable to look away, although his helmet hid his gaze. There was something about you—the way you moved, laughed, and fought alongside him and his brothers—that drew him in more than he expected.

The first time he came in contact with you almost got him shot in combat. Blaster fire was coming your way when he tackled you out of the way. Pinned underneath him and heaving so hard your chest pressed into him with each breath, your scent filled his helmet. He shook his head in an ill attempt to clear his senses.

His hand, moving on its own, was headed for the curve of your waist when an explosion rocked the ground. It snapped him back to reality and he heaved the both of you to better cover.

There was a moment when he had to step in to stop you from going after Crosshair. You were so focused on reaching Crosshair that you ended up wrapping yourself around Hunter, your face pressed against his shoulder, one arm draped over him, and a leg trying to find leverage past him.

Hunter seized the opportunity to press closer to you and place his hands on your waist. He resisted the urge to explore further, even though your neck was just inches from his mouth. It took all his willpower not to turn his head and taste your skin.

For Hunter, this was a new sensation—not just smelling your scent but feeling it envelop him. Watching you fight stirred something deep within him. Being this close to you was enough to make him tense with desire. One night, catching you in a vulnerable moment in your cot nearly undid him. It was late on the Marauder, and you thought you were concealed by the dark. But Hunter could hear you, see you, and even smell you. Had his brothers not been around, he might have given in to his impulses right there.

The scent of your pheromones overwhelmed him, intensifying his reaction as your hips moved rhythmically against your hand. From his own cot, Hunter found himself grinding into his bed in sync with your movements, with a deep ache building within him. He clutched at his sheets, grounding himself, nearly tearing them in his effort to stay silent.

When your breath hitched, a new scent filled the air, pushing him to the brink. A shudder ran through him, and he had to fight back a groan as he went over the edge of release.

He often wondered what it might be like to catch you at just the right moment, but a different reality snapped him back before any scenario could play out.

You and Tech had been assigned to prepare the ship for takeoff, while Hunter and Crosshair were off meeting with a Jedi General. Needing to retrieve a datastick with vital intel, Hunter found himself hurrying back to the Marauder. As he reached the bottom of the ship’s steps, your moans reached his ears.

To anyone else, they might have been silent, but to Hunter, they were as clear as if you were standing right beside him. He ascended the steps quietly, taking two at a time, and positioned himself close enough to hear without being seen. The sound of your panting and the rustling of fabric were unmistakable, but there was another layer—an additional presence. His eyes widened as he realized you weren’t alone.

Hunter moved up the steps quietly and peered around the corner, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. At first, he saw movement against the wall, obscured behind a chair. Tech’s back was to him, seemingly engrossed in the ship’s systems. But as Hunter watched for a moment longer, he realized the true nature of Tech's engagement. His hands were busy, indeed, but not with the ship.

Unlike his brother, Tech was territorial and a bit possessive about things he invested in and that kept his attention. He took pride in maintaining control over his interests and was selective about who he allowed access, if he allowed it at all.

One of the things he didn’t intend on sharing was you. You were an unshared discovery he took every opportunity to explore.

The reality of sharing the majority of his life with a squadron of brothers meant he rarely had anything truly his own. Some things he had more ownership of, at least in responsibility alone, as was the case with the Marauder.

You, however, gave him something entirely his own. The sounds you made, the freckles typically hidden under your clothes, the taste of your tongue - these were experiences reserved for him, moments that he treasured as solely his.

He stood behind you, your hands braced on a control panel, one of his own hands working into your pants while the other snaked around your waist and pulled you tight against him.

“Careful,” He said into your ear. “If your voice becomes too loud, we risk being discovered.”

His voice in your ear had you arching into him. It sent heat through you and made it even more difficult to concentrate on controlling the sounds of your pleasure.

Tech learned very quickly how and where to touch you. The confidence his ability to draw out such noises brought him far overshadowed any brought on by his ability to decode encryptions.

“You’re…” You struggled to speak through a groan, “Not being fair.” You started bending at the hip to push back into him.

Before you gained the upper hand, Tech pulled you back by your arm and straight into his lap as he sat you both back into a chair. His hand remained in your pants, your wetness spreading further as his fingers worked on you, while his free hand slid into your tunic and over your breast.

“If you’d prefer,” The touch between your legs stilled and he swiveled the two of you in a different direction. He gave your nipple a pinch. “We can return to our assigned tasks.”

You pressed his hand back into you. “You’re cruel.” You purred.

His chuckle reverberated into your torso. “I prefer to think of it as strategic teasing,” he whispered. “Ensuring you’re always wanting more keeps things… interesting, wouldn’t you say?” He continued tracing shapes over your most sensitive parts, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Your head was tilted in just a way he could easily kiss the spot just beneath your ear. That always elicited the most delicious response from you. He made to do so when he suddenly caught sight of a tattooed face looking right at you two.

Hunter was watching and, Tech assumed, he’d been doing so from the start.

Tech imagined what Hunter could see. You fully draped back against him, legs spread wide as you straddled his thigh. His hands were still entangled in your clothes, one exposing your breast and the other hooked inside of you. With how worked up you were, a string of your fluids may very well have followed his fingers if he removed them.

Tech and Hunter locked eyes while you remained blissfully unaware. Tech glanced down over your body, confirming exactly what he feared Hunter could see. When he saw Hunter drag his gaze down your body, a muscle feathered in Tech’s jaw.

He was sufficiently annoyed. This sight was meant for him and him alone.

Your head started to face forward, but the hand Tech had in your tunic moved to grip your jaw and pull your face back against him. He was not going to allow Hunter to see the face you were about to make.

You let out a low moan, Tech’s name humming through it, and he pressed his mouth to your cheek.

He spoke with his lips against your skin, "It seems you're quite eager for release.” You whined in response, affirming what he already knew. Tech was still watching his brother devour the sight of you two. “Well then, if you really want it,” he made sure his voice carried more than loud enough for Hunter to hear, “you’ll need to beg for it. Really beg. Let’s hear how much you want it.”

You conceded immediately and with that Tech gave the bundle of nerves at his fingertips a light pinch. He’d never done so before, but it sent a shock through you so intense you couldn’t hold back a loud moan.

You spasmed into his touch, writhing against him as he slid his tongue to that sensitive spot at your ear. “Good girl.” He said, praising you.

All the while Tech trained his eyes on his brother. Hunter’s nose flared and, for a moment, Tech thought he might reveal himself. Instead, Hunter looked over you once more, eyes soaking in all the bits of you he'd been imagining for months.

Hunter’s eyes, unreadable and wild, snapped back to Tech, who wore a small smug smile, before retreating out of sight.

Tech was proud of what he’d accomplished and satisfied with the show you’d put on for his brother. If he was correct, Hunter would be keeping a satisfactory distance.

Tech released you, letting you collapse into his arm. As he suspected, when he removed his hand a string of you hung between his fingers. Touching his fingers together, he took note of how much you’d produced this time.

“What a delightful body you have.” Tech said. He would definitely be trying that technique again. "We'll need to replicate this again soon."

231 notes · View notes

akkaweo-akkaweo · 10 months

Text

Taste Test

Kim Jennie x Irene/Bae Joohyun x M!reader

Tags: threesome, blindfold, facesitting, edging(?)

WC: 4.5k

—————

Working at a bistro in Gangnam-gu had two quirks that didn't need explanation: first, the money, obviously; and second, the frequency of being around Korea's rich and famous. It's even come to a point where seeing awarded drama actresses or show hosts was less interesting than seeing some more interesting figures come by: chaebol hierarchs, mid-level politicians, and the like.

Tonight, the bistro is restless; busy, but not packed. And as you wait a table of some tech company management, you're called to the front to escort another set of customers.

"Hey, Table 27. You're assigned to Ms. Kim and Ms. Bae."

Those last names may be very vague at first glance, but you were all too familiar with this duo: K-pop royalty Jennie and Irene. This was not the first time you've breathed the same aromatic-filled air as them in this space, but in those times they had patronized the joint with different sets of guests. This would be the first time you spotted them together, much less served either of them.

Quickly adjusting your collar and trying to swallow the fanboy-sized lump in your throat, you meet them at the receptionist's area.

"Good evening, Ms. Bae, Ms. Kim. Please follow me to your table," you say, as rehearsed a thousand times by now. Nothing to freak out about. The two are busy with their respective phones, but are noticeably missing their usual entourage of managers and bodyguards. And as you lead them to a more secluded and closed off portion of the bistro, you catch them putting their phones away completely. You didn't think idols could be autonomous to this degree, but you set aside the thought as you pass menus to them.

"There's no need for that, dear, thank you," Jennie said with a smile. "I'll just have an espresso please."

"Right away, miss. And how about you?"

"Do you have any teas? Just a pot of whatever you have tonight," Irene replied.

You note their orders and head to your station. The location of the console where you prepare the coffee is just close enough to catch their conversation, but a glass divider mutes it enough that the clinking of spoons on ceramic distracts you away from it. Doesn't seem like anything particularly interesting though; both just seemed to be catching up from a break in their respective tour schedules.

Upon finishing their orders, you bring them over, with the usual pleasantries to exchange. "Is there anything else I can get you, miss?," you ask.

"If you don't mind me asking," Irene chimes in, "are you new here? I don't recall your face."

"Actually, I've been working here for almost a year, miss, maybe almost two," you respond. Staff normally aren't supposed to talk to customers so casually, but you decide that it wouldn't hurt to do otherwise being out of view from the rest of the crowd.

"So why here then? You have quite the face, why not anywhere else?," Jennie asks.

You try to charm your way out of an obligatory, potentially shameful monologue, saying "Well, short answer is, I do it for the money. Don't we all?"

The two giggle, and inside you're running a football victory lap for nailing a perfectly executed quip. You leave them to it and attend to other tables, but you swear you could catch them glancing at you time to time. They call you over a second time about thirty minutes later.

"Good evening again. Did you enjoy the drinks? Anything else I can get for you?," you say.

"It was great, I don't actually think I've tried the tea here. You have good taste," Irene replied., "but yes, we would like some dessert as well."

"Alright, what would you like?"

"How about you put that taste to the test and surprise us. We trust you," Jennie butted in, with a little smirk. While you would normally be fawning over the gesture, you also felt a growing fear of embarrassing yourself. You swallow the feeling, responding with a half lie, saying "I think I have just the thing."

You walk back slowly to the counter as you ponder on what the pair would like. After a few seconds, you had an idea: Jennie might like a light cream-based pastry, and Irene would probably prefer a sorbet or anything with fruit. You find the closest approximations in your menu and bring them over. To your relief, it seems you've delighted them once again.

"Spot on with the choices, I love it," said Jennie. "How about you Joohyun, what's your verdict?" Irene, however, seemed too busy savoring the treat. "Well, I guess that speaks for itself. Three points for you."

"Thank you, miss. I do believe that's all orders complete, anything else I can do for you?"

Irene, having finished her plate, replies, "How about the bill? We have some other plans tonight."

"Certainly, miss. Just a moment."

As you leave, you can overhear them bickering and exchanging whines and banter. Probably fighting over who pays, as is custom. By now the bistro is taking its last set of customers, so the discussion isn't as hard to overhear. As you return, though, it seems an agreement had been settled; you resolved to keep this interaction short to avoid getting told off.

"Here," Irene said as she handed back the holder. "Please hand this to your manager, there's special instructions for how to use the credit card in there. He'll know how to handle it."

"Of course miss. Thank you," you replied, walking to the cashier.

A part of you felt a bit sad that your interaction with the two was coming to an end. Nonetheless, work is work, and you call your manager.

"Sajangnim, I was told to hand this payment to you."

Your manager looked puzzled at first, but opened the receipt anyway, followed by a quick furrowing of brows. Was something wrong? You try not to overthink it, considering he processes the payment in a few moments. He hands you back the receipt, with the same half-puzzled, half-concerned look, adding, "Did you talk to the customers that much? Move to the front end when you're done with this."

Uh oh. Were you in trouble, for casual conversation no less? The struggle to not overthink is getting difficult at this point, but you have no choice but to stomp it down. As you reach the table, however, you notice the pair are missing already.

Panicked, you rush to the front end to ask your colleagues, and it turns out they were just about to ride their car. You rush out and call for them, hoping to return Irene's credit card before you cause a nationwide scandal.

"Miss! Please don't forget your credit card!," you call out.

The next 10 seconds are a blur. You reach the vehicle right as Irene steps in, and before you could try and call for her attention again, a cold hand grabs your wrist and pulls you inside the van. When your brain has processed the situation, you find yourself inside the black van, facing Irene and Jennie.

"I'll be taking that," Irene said, breaking the silence and swiping the credit card you were still holding in your hand. "You've been such a wonderful server tonight."

"That's why you're here with us," Jennie added. "Don't worry, your manager already knows. The whole credit card thing was a lie."

"Hey, it wasn't a complete lie. It's still a special credit card that I absolutely cannot afford to lose," Irene interjected. "Good thing we had you, right?"

The two started teasing each other, probably hinting that they both had a role to play in what just happened. You, on the other hand, are still evidently puzzled trying to process what had just happened.

"Relax. Consider this an early clock out," Jennie reassured. "Because you've been such nice company tonight, we have one last series of tests for you."

"How exactly is kidnapping me and testing me an act of gratitude?," you blurt. The shock starts to subside and you piece some things together, but try not to assume too much nor think too highly of yourself.

"I mean, would you like us to leave you back in there? You could go back to waiting tables, that's fine with us. But," Jennie pauses, placing a hand on your shoulder and leaning in a bit closer, "where's the fun in that?"

You pause for a second, looking straight into both idols' eyes for a few seconds. They looks seem as sincere as their words.

Without hesitation, you reply, "Well, if you trusted me, I'll trust you as well. Please take care of me."

Irene claps her hands before pulling out a black cloth. "Okay," she adds, "let's start with this."

~~~~~

Blindfolded, your ears are a little more sensitive than normal. In the 15 minutes you gave up your sense of sight, you got off the car, were escorted slowly and carefully by the duo across a bunch of corridors, and brought to what sounded like a medium-sized room (on account of how much their giggles seemed to fill the space easily).

You try to ask a question to gauge your surroundings. "Any chance this blindfold is coming off soon?," you ask.

Someone put their finger over your lips, replying, "Shh. Don't think about that just yet." The voice was a bit higher in pitch, maybe that was Irene? Seemed likely.

"So, are you ready for our little game?," a deeper voice asked. That must be Jennie then. "We're not gonna stop you from saying no." The aforementioned sensitive hearing was most obvious as you felt two different breaths whistle from each side of your face.

Nervously, you try and crack a joke. "Hey, as long as neither of you are serial killers, I think I'll be fine."

"Like I said," the deeper voice chuckled, "you're way too cute to be a waiter." Suddenly, a pair of lips peck yours. Now, your sense of hearing might be a bit stronger, but trying to identify a pair of lips from a kiss? That would almost be a superpower — one you wished you had as a softer voice started to talk.

"I guess that's your first test then. If you can successfully guess which one of us is kissing you three times in a row, you get a step closer to removing the blindfold."

Before you could interject with a "But that's impossible!," another pair of lips meet yours, this time kissing you deeper than the last. After a few seconds, you're asked, "so who do you think that was?"

You took a second to try and think, but the mere shock of what happened in the past few minutes alone blinded your intuition even more than the cloth over your eyes. You take a shot in the dark. "Uhh... Irene?"

"Nope. Try again."

Another pair of lips, this time her tongue meeting yours. They feel a bit less plump this time, and after the kiss ends, you're asked the same question. "What's your guess this time?"

"No, that's Irene. I'm sure."

"Please," a different voice replied, "just call me Joohyun. And yes, that was me. Two more guesses to go."

Another pair of lips meets your cheeks, moving down your neck. The sensation shocks you too much to make a more educated guess other than "I think that was Jennie?"

"Oops, guess you're back to square one," a voice taunted. You couldn't explain it, but the two voices started to match each other, yet were somewhat distinguishable. You could tell the one who just spoke was Jennie, so maybe it was Irene that time?

The test proved to be much harder than you thought. The two alternated between light pecks all over your face and neck, deep make outs, or some mix of both. At different points, their kisses sank deep into your skin, causing you to tremble and moan. And for every instance of that or any wrong answers, a couple of giggles follow. It was never actually long enough to catch any hints right away, but about 6 tries later, you actually make it to a second correct answer: you figure that Jennie tends to be a little bit more aggressive, while Irene was softer, but still playful.

"Last chance," Irene taunted. "Ready?" You give a simple nod.

This round's pair of lips go straight for your neck, but move lower to your collarbones as your dress shitt is slowly unbuttoned off you and exposing a bit more of your upper chest, at least what wasn't covered by any undergarments. Without warning, a second pair of lips meets yours, and starts making out with you. Fuck, both of them at the same time? Did they even want to do anything else except play with you?

Both lips stop at the same time, and Jennie asks, "So, who kissed you that last time?," which threw you off guard. You tried to give it serious thought, trying to think of whose lips you felt on your chest.

With a bit of hesitation, you reply, "That was Joohyun. Jennie was the one all over me."

A short bit of silence freaked you out, before being broken by Jennie. "Finally. We thought we'd have to let you go too soon."

"How about you show us how you kiss this time?," Irene says, as she grabs one of your hands and places it on her cheek. You try to hold back, scared of shocking the delicate woman, but another hand – Jennie's – turns your head the other way. "Don't hesitate. You're good," she adds.

They take turns guiding your hands to their cheeks, to signal whose turn it was to have a taste of you. After a few turns, both of them start working your undershirt off you, taking turns on your chest and neck. You weren't the most buff, but you could feel their soft lips cover you little by little. The past however-long-it's-been of teasing has most definitely gotten you hard. A hand glides over your groin ever so slightly, which is enough confirmation for them to continue.

Jennie giggles, breaking the silence. "Looks like you're ready for the second test."

"What makes you say that?," you reply nervously, your breath still rushed.

A hand guides you to what felt like someone's shoulder, down to their chest. You feel a soft handful of skin and cloth fit into your palm; instinctively, you squeeze, and you hear a soft, low moan. That's what that was. When did they even remove their dresses?

"I see you get the idea," said Jennie. "Same thing: three consecutive tries to guess who you're touching, and this time we'll actually remove your blindfold."

"Feel free to do whatever you want to figure it out," Irene added. "You're doing great."

This time, your other hand is guided to a bigger, softer handful. You guess Jennie, and you're correct. The second time however, your hand touches something warm, and your fingers are squeezed tightly inside wherever it currently is. You try to feel around, and you hear a louder moan just as deep as the last.

"Was that still Jennie?," you try and guess.

A voice whispers in your ear, "Nope. But that was good." Irene.

Just like last time, the two take turns having you touch their breasts or through their panties. You never realized how similar their bodies were; with every guess, each groin you touch is hotter and wetter, each nipple poking into your palm more sharply than last. It takes you less tries this time to get to two in a row, about 4, and by then the room felt much hotter – or perhaps it was just you, extremely flustered by the nonstop moaning in your ears that most definitely left you a little bit wet as well.

"Okay," Jennie huffed, since she was the last one you touched. "Another twist."

You feel your pants finally come off slowly, and both of them sit on either one of your thighs, slowly rubbing themselves against your legs. Their hands make their way all over your back and your neck, and you try to respond by reaching out for both their chests to play with their tits. Their moans are a bit too similar now, both louder than before.

You try to even the playing field by trying to remove their bras, and making your way to suck on their nipples. Whoever you were doing that to, their moans got louder. You could feel Irene's more toned body and firmer breasts on your left, paired with a deeper, more throaty moans. To your right, Jennie's higher pitched moaning matched her softer features pressing on you: her thighs, her breast, her arms grasping you.

Struggling to get a word in from the overwhelming amount of pressure, you gasp, "It's... Irene... I mean Joohyun... on my left, and... Jennie on the right."

Moans turn into pleased giggles. "Fuck, you're good," Jennie said under her breath. A pair of arms wrapped around your head, and you could feel the blindfold come off.

After being glared by the single lamp in the room, you can see both idols in full view: both their dresses and bras on the floor, and a pair of frazzled heads of hair and deep lustful gazes staring back at you. You proceed to take turns making out with them again, as you try and stand up to get them off. You find a bed right behind you, and you take them there.

Jennie and Irene are now both spread out on the bed, each trying to catch their breath. "You took care of me, how about I take care of you next?," you said.

You slowly work the panties off Irene, and Jennie sits up to kiss your chest. Irene comes in with a kiss to Jennie's lips, distracting her enough from you to get her panties off next.

"Don't worry, you'll definitely get to do that for this last test," Irene replied.

"Haven't I proven myself enough, miss?," you respond sarcastically.

"Not with tongue of yours, you haven't," Jennie added. "Here's the deal: one last round of being blindfolded. Three correct answers, not consecutive this time. Just three."

"The catch?"

"Just guess who's tasting you," cooed Irene.

"And the reward?"

"I think you know that already," Jennie teased.

Any sense of inhibition has left you at this point. "Surprise me," you reply.

Jennie grabs the blindfold from the floor and places it over your eyes once more. "One last thing," she adds, "if you cum, you lose."

Once more, before you could muster a "Wait, what?", you're pushed down on the bed and a different pair of lips meet yours.

Jennie's warning makes much more sense when you feel two pairs of lips start to work on your dick. Just the sensation alone of both of them working their tongues along its length, giving it light kisses and occasional licks, was enough to get you throbbing.

The pussy on your face is warm and wet, and you feel your cheeks and chin drenched. Every entry of your tongue deeper into it brings out a moan, which while being sucked off brings more pleasure-filled vibrations down to your base. The challenge is getting the one you're licking to make a recognizable sound, but your own stimulation makes it hard to focus. You catch a lucky break however, and you hear Irene's moan with a flick of her clit. "That was Joohyun!," you rush to say, trying to get the two to give you a break.

"Good job," Irene replied. "Two to go!"

You can feel the pair getting off the bed and walking around, likely to throw you off from assuming they'd just switch places. Your face gets sat on once again, while someone rides your thigh like last time. This time, a pair of hands meet at your cock, taking turns to stroke either head or shaft. You could hear their moans, but this time it seems they were making out with each other, because they seemed to be coming from the same area. You reach ever closer to the edge, and you try to focus on the pussy you have to taste. However, you don't find anything in particular to make an educated guess, so you blurt, "Is that Jennie?"

"Nope," she replied, with a light tap to your dick, as if to mock you. "Though Joohyun here is loving all the attention."

The girls get off the bed again, and you notice the one sitting on you this time is facing the other way. No one is at your dick fortunately, but you can hear Joohyun moaning. Something does feel different however, from the taste of the fluids drenching your face to Irene's moans sound a bit too distant. You weren't sure however, so you kept going for a few minutes (to also catch your breath), and you notice Joohyun's moans didn't match your pace. You make a guess again. "This is Jennie."

She lets out a deep gasp, as if she was trying to hold everything in. "That's two," she adds.

"One last," Irene chirps. Same routine, but this time it's back to facing the other direction, while another starts grinding along the length of your dick without getting it in. This was the toughest one yet: not only were the moans muffled with them making out with each other, or simply being right up on each other's faces, but whoever was grinding you was really good at it. You feel yourself ready to burst any minute, so you try to fixate on anything: the direction of the moans, the taste of the squirt, now mixed with sweat, anything. No dice, not for the two longest minutes of your life.

Desperate to not lose, you beg, "Let me guess!," hoping to buy time.

"Go," Jennie gasped.

"Hurry... please..." Joohyun added.

The synchronicity of their moans alone was testing your resolve to the fullest. But you think you've got it, from the taste on your tongue to the way your face was ground on.

"Fuck, get off Jennie! It's Joohyun on my face!," you plead, as you feel cum start to well up inside you.

The two get off the bed, and you remove the blindfold yourself. You're all heaving and gasping for air. You check to see who's closest to you: it was Irene, and Jennie, facing you from the farther end of the bed, looks at you. She stares for a few seconds – her eyes were incredibly seductive – and gives a smirk.

"Looks like... you won. You're good," she said.

Joohyun adjusts to meet your eyes as well. "Guess I guessed right when I said you'd be great in bed," she added.

You look up, staring at the ceiling, still dumbfounded at everything that's happened in the past... hour? Two? You've lost track. But you felt the two women crawl closer to you on both sides, starting to make light, tender kisses all over your neck and chest.

"We're sorry if we went too hard on you," Joohyun said. "We don't usually last this long with anyone... and we certainly don't feel as good as with you."

"Too good to be just wait staff," Jennie repeated. "But, I guess it's time for us to serve you then."

Their hands make their way down to your dick again, stroking it at the right spots to give you chills, but light enough to not bring you too close to the edge. They seem much more experienced than you thought – probably since they were a bit older than you as well.

"You can do whatever you want with us now. No more tests," Irene whispered in your ear.

"This is the best aftercare of my life," you joke.

Jennie giggles by your other ear. "How can you still make jokes?," she sighs, before locking her lips with her yours. Irene meets both of you in the middle, and the three of you take turns kissing each other, occasionally meeting all three tongues in the middle.

The two split away from your face and make out with each other, and you sit yourself up to watch them turn their backs to you as they flash their pussies in front of you. You don't see their faces, but you feel them start to work their mouths over your dick again, slow and steady but enough to lubricate your whole length, bottom to top.

You take advantage of your position, and moving up the bed to lean on the headrest, you play with their clits, much more properly now that you can actually see what your doing. Their light moans were enough assurance you were doing the right thing, doing the same process of sending waves of pleasure all over you.

You don't hesitate to try and please them more, moving between using two fingers and going back to rubbing their clits. The moans intensify; Jennie's moans turn into high pitched screams, and Irene's turn into chest-deep heaves.

Joohyun, unsurprisingly, is the first to buckle. "Fuck! I'm gonna...," she trails off, before holding her breath letting it all out in a single squeal. You can feel her cum all over your fingers, coating it thick.

"Please," Jennie begged, "me too." You oblige, and you use a third finger to try to stimulate her. Fortunately, it was enough to send her body trembling, and a bit of her juices sprayed out and all over your arm and the bed.

Both ladies catch their breaths before turning to face you, and resume blowing you, with a last wind of effort to try and fish out an orgasm from you. They take you in their mouths all the way, and you throw your head back, inching closer to actual release.

"I'm gonna cum," you try and warn them, but the pair stare at you while they do their deed, resolved to make you finish. They clasp their hands together with your dick in between and start stroking you fast. You find yourself moaning to a backdrop of Irene and Jennie begging for your cum, and before you know it, you burst all over their hands and faces.

They seemed to have fun licking each other up right after, sucking on each others' fingers and exchanging kisses to suck up any stray strings. They have quite the bond, managing to giggle and tease even after such a tiring night, up until they lie down by your sides once more.

"So," you break the silence again. "Did I pass your tests?"

Irene puts a hand over your chest. "With flying colors."

Jennie, however, props herself up on an elbow. "Though, I think I'll be visiting that bistro more often. Just to see if you've still got it," she added with a wink.

"Is that a challenge?," you tease.

"Sure," Irene replied, "if you don't mind us upping the difficulty."

"Well," you said, thinking hard about your answer for a few seconds.

"Then what can I do for you, miss?"

—————

A/N: much longer than my usual, and honestly a bit fun to write. hope it didn't drive you crazy with the length, though i'm pretty sure there's longer here.

#girl group smut #kpop smut #red velvet smut #irene smut #blackpink smut #jennie smut #male reader

765 notes · View notes